Cataclysm Epoch

by Paul Heingarten

  “I always thought they were Deviant code.”

  “Not at all.” His eyes lightened up as he sat up in his seat. I really loved how he was this bona fide tech genius in one second and in the next he was still the kid who had grown up near me in the sector, a bright and inquisitive Intellectual Product.

  Otto said, “I found data on them. It looks like it's from a military unit.”

  “Like the Omegans?”

  His eyes left mine and darted back to the P-LAD. “Nobody knows for sure.”

  “Then, Lebabolis security?”

  “I don't know, honest!” He looked back at me, his eyes wide.

  “Does Baudricort know about this?”

  “I showed him, but he said nothing about it.”

  Another group out there. I stared off in thought, until an idea came to me. It seemed farfetched, but what the hell? “What if it's the Valkyrie returning?”

  “Naah. They were sent for Realignment, and the leader was executed.”

  According to what we were told in instruction, the Valkyrie led a special unit in the earlier days of Lebabolis. They faced off the Omegans, an invading army that almost tore the nation up. They would’ve succeeded if it wasn’t for Cataclysm hitting and crippling their forces.

  The Valkyrie and their group defended Lebabolis from the remaining Omegans back then, but when the leader refused to stand down and follow the Coursons, things ended badly for ‘em.

  When we were young, kids like Otto and me, and even Remy, played Valkyrie with sticks and whatever else we found lying around the woods near housing. However it went, we always did their salute: your arms crossed in an X over your head, like the symbol of the Valkyrie. We conquered the world until one or more parents had had enough and ended the fun.

  So far, the only people who gave us trouble here were Lebabolis. But if the Omegans had come back for revenge, it sure was a good time I left for awhile.

  Toward the front, Remy snickered. I figured it was a crude and demeaning joke. Yag and Wick laughed too. I glared at the three of ‘em. Was me being here a fancy idea of punishment for me by Baudricort?

  At least I knew about Wick, he and Treg were pretty close. And if Treg vouched for someone, that was enough for me. I slapped my legs in thought. “Ugh, that guy.” I glanced at Otto and asked him, “Could he be more annoying?”

  Otto shrugged. “I find ignoring him helps.”

  “Oh? I thought you Intellectuals stuck together.”

  Otto half chuckled and frowned in response. “We're in the Outlands; anything goes. Besides, it's One or None, right?”

  One or None was Baudricort’s brainchild. It was how he reminded everyone in the Action that we were together, even as spread apart as we were. It was a rally cry; a few people said it every day. Whenever Exodus dragged on and the raids came, Baudricort aimed everyone’s attention on how our goal was to the west, and together was the only way there.

  I smiled and patted Otto’s leg and looked away before the worry got to my face. They believed in it so much. It grew on me too, after awhile. But since Varrick was gone, thoughts of him washed over any growing sense of belonging I had.

  I remembered one day before he came down with the Pox, we had played in the woods close by our living area. I told him what I knew about the Product assignments as he listened, his eyes rapt with attention.

  “Can I stay with you after I finish instruction?”

  I chuckled. “No, dear. You'll be assigned a breeding partner and you'll go with ‘em, just like me with mine.”

  “Won’t we see each other again?” His eyes sank a bit.

  I ran my fingers through his hair. “Oh, of course we will. There is still rec time, but you'll have your own place. You'll see.”

  That was when I first thought of escape. The caches cemented it. Treg and I found one near our housing area. The container was made of some strange metal, and when we opened it the hinges made a whine like a suffocated person who fought for breath.

  Inside were books like the one Baudricort gave Remy. The people in those pictures from the caches looked so different than me and everyone else I knew. The stories I had read about growing food off the land; I had no idea how but I figured it was something I would learn. They traveled in strange vehicles. Some of them moved through the air, but they were way different than Hell Hawks looked.

  As happy as I was away from Lebabolis, I still had doubts about the Action. Baudricort was OK, and I knew he wouldn't have sent me anywhere more dangerous than where I already was.

  My mind raced as images of Varrick poured through it. Baudricort better get his plans figured out fast. I was beyond tired of this.

  “One or None,” I said to Otto and sighed.

  Chapter 6 (Nelson)

  D ad and I sat in the Arrangement Room of Blazier Funeral Home Tuesday afternoon. The whole place felt uncomfortable, like a pair of pants that squeezed you to the point of pain. The room itself looked fake even. The vase with flowers in the center of the table was a bit much. I guess they had done some study on how flowers soothed people who had just had their hearts ripped out. A few shelves in the corner and a picture of butterflies on the wall opposite us rounded things out.

  I rubbed my arms while we waited for the funeral director, and checked the time on my phone for the sixth time in the past five minutes. My hands kneaded the leather covered armrests of my chair.

  Dad said, “We didn't have any prearranged plan or anything.”

  “I'm sure they’ll help us figure it out.”

  A man in a dark suit entered the room. He flashed a compassionate smile as he sat down at the opposite side of the table and placed a binder to his side. After he shook our hands, he said, “Hello, my name is James Bruel. First of all, my deepest condolences on your loss. I assure you we're here for you and will do our best to make this go as smooth as possible.”

  “Thank you very much,” Dad replied. “We, uh, don't have a lot of money.”

  Bruel watched Dad, but his gaze slid to me every so often. His compassionate expression was framed by his neat trimmed black hair. This guy would’ve been right at home in a bank, I mused, where he could’ve hawked the latest CDs or other top rate investment opportunities.

  Bruel grabbed the binder and flipped through several pages. “Alright. Let's see what's reasonable.” He stopped and glanced at me. “So you're the only son?”

  “Yes.”

  He winced, his mouth in a tight line. “I'm so sorry, this must be difficult.”

  “Very. Least I was with her at the end.” With that, the ache in my stomach returned. Even the mention of her death felt like it skipped me back to that very moment again, when the pain was so fresh and new.

  “Well, that's a comfort, I'm sure.” He smiled again, and I wondered if these were lines he recited for all of his customers.

  He stopped at one page in the binder and turned it toward us. “Here are some modest arrangements we can offer, if you're on a budget.”

  I gazed at the pages and froze. There they were, like on the pages of a damn furniture catalog: coffins and urns. On the following pages, floral arrangements. It was all so odd. Everything with a price tag, a catalog of death. It was very creepy, but what should I have expected? My face flushed. “What do you think, Dad?”

  He flipped through a few pages, stopped and pointed. “How about this?”

  On the page was a package that included the basic items, a cremation and internment in a mausoleum for $6500.

  I looked at it for a few minutes. Dad ran his finger over the pictures, as if he felt the actual flowers through the glossed page. I turned to him. “That what you want?”

  He said nothing at first, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, I think that'll be nice.”

  I looked up and saw Mr. Bruel’s gaze on me. “Mr. Bruel, can you excuse us for a moment?”

  Nodding, he stood up and left.

  “Dad, tell me what you need.”

  He sighed. “I can't cover all of this, but
if you can give me say, $4,000 that should do it.”

  My face got real hot.

  “D-dad. I don't have that kind of money.”

  He watched me, his glum eyes studied me while he processed my response in depth. His nod sent a tear down his cheek. My pulse quickened, and I glared at the catalog. How could we have failed Mom this bad? My mind decided to add extra torture to my woes and conjured up a tally of various life debts I owed her that left me on the short end of everything. Mom deserved the best. There had to be a way for this to happen.

  I shook my head and cleared my thought train. “We'll figure it out,” I said as Bruel reentered and sat back down.

  “Figure what?” he asked.

  I looked at Dad but he remained silent. My voice scratched as I began. “Mr. Bruel, I'm afraid we can't afford to pay you if you need up front money. Is there anything we can-” My words and rope ran out at the same time.

  Bruel slid the binder to the side. His brow creased in thought, and his expression faded from warmth to one a bit more stoic. “I see. Well, we do have financing options available, if you can make an upfront deposit, say 20%?”

  $1300 was a whole lot better than $6500. Dad nodded his agreement. “Yes, we can work that out,” I said. I breathed a little deeper with relief. Dad relaxed a bit in his chair. He was the only one who wanted this finished more than I did.

  I slid my card over to Bruel for the initial payment. “We'll take the $6500 package,” I said and pointed to the binder. “Page 15.”

  He grabbed the binder, nodded in agreement and turned the book back towards himself. “Very well. I need basic information from you about the deceased and we'll handle payment next.” He pulled a form from the binder. “Name of the deceased?”

  “Marie Forrester.”

  He stopped for a moment and stared at the name he had written. “Wow, that's interesting.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Oh, that name: Forrester. I, er, my family had a close tie with a Forrester family growing up. Where are you from?”

  “New Orleans,” Dad responded.

  “Oh I see. Well, I hail from Austin, Texas. Perhaps they're distant relatives.”

  Dad eyed me and shrugged.

  Bruel smiled before he went back to the form. “And your names?”

  “I'm Nelson Forrester, and my father is Jerry.”

  Bruel stopped again, his grip on the pen tightened a bit.

  “Something wrong?” Dad asked.

  Bruel stared at his handwriting on the page for a few seconds, then looked at us. “It’s nothing. I'm sorry. I had a rough morning. Work troubles, you know how it is.” He added a hasty chuckle.

  Dad said, “Always a challenge, but that's why they call it work.”

  We all laughed at that.

  After several more minutes, Bruel finished the form, and we looked it over. Everything was addressed, Mom's cremation, the flowers and a modest mausoleum for her.

  “Looks about right,” I said. Dad nodded in agreement.

  “OK, I'll need your contact information and method of payment so we can get this started.”

  We gave Bruel our address and phone numbers, and he left the room again. Dad slumped back in his chair like a weightlifter at the end of an all-day workout. “So glad we’re almost done.”

  “I know, Dad. It's gonna be alright.” I wondered if I said that more for Dad or for me.

  Dad managed a slight smile, and patted my shoulder. “Want to eat out tonight?”

  The mention of food was welcomed into my brain like the guest of honor at a surprise party. “Yeah, sure. My treat.”

  “Alright, my boy.”

  Bruel returned into the office and handed our cards back. “OK, we're set, except for scheduling.”

  I turned to Dad. He scratched his chin in thought. “Can we have this done very soon, like tomorrow?”

  “That's a bit close, but I can still check. Are you waiting on any family to be notified?”

  “No, just a few other friends I can tell today. Not much family.”

  “OK, well how about I call you this afternoon and let you know?”

  “Alright. And if you can't tomorrow?”

  “Perhaps we pick one other day to be safe.” I suggested.

  Dad thought a bit. “This Thursday?”

  “Two days from now on Thursday. I think we can arrange that. Morning or afternoon?”

  “Morning.”

  “Morning, right. I'll call and let you know when.” We stood up from the table. Bruel shook our hands and wished us well.

  Chapter 7 (Ana)

  W e gathered around the tech storehouse in Encampment 12 for a run through of the mission. Gear was piled up high against the walls, and it looked like at any moment it may have fallen on us. I leaned against the table and watched Otto while he wrote directions for Remy.

  “The Verge will take you to a remote part of the city. We don't have an exact location on Xander, so you'll need to be resourceful,” Otto said.

  “Any risks of talking with the ancients?” Remy asked.

  Otto shook his head. “Not any more than the usual. Keep interactions at a minimum, but yeah, you'll need to ask around a bit. Be careful you don't let anyone get your tech.” With that, Otto laid a P-LAD in front of Remy. Remy flipped it around and powered it up. His greedy hands pawed all over it. He disgusted me. All that showing off, and the extra care he took when he watched the supply stores even though it was never his assigned task. And then, he had proof of how much he was needed.

  It was too much for me, and silence escaped me yet again. “You may have to ask for directions.”

  Simple as that remark was, it turned his knuckles white, and he met my eyes with a stern gaze. “Don't you have anything better to do?”

  I enjoyed his reaction way more than I should’ve. “No, doesn't look that way.”

  “Ahh, right. Your protector gave you a free pass.” Remy scoffed and looked around the table for support. “Instead of packing and moving an Encampment and doing real work, you tag along with us.”

  “Remy.” Otto reached toward him, but Remy waved him off and instead faced everyone. “I wonder if the rest of you know who's really sitting with us.”

  My gut flexed, and I felt my face flush. I wasn't sure what his deal was, and the empty looks from the others told me at least here Remy was alone.

  His arms folded, Remy said, “See, I know a lot about you, Ana. And your parents, your REAL parents.” He smirked, and I imagined how it would’ve felt with my hands around his throat. My fist burned from how much I squeezed my fingers together. Otto furrowed his brow.

  “See, Ana's parents were known pretty well by Charista. They made a name for themselves by looking for any Deviants they could find, and especially anyone who was with the Action. They'd rat them out and get them hauled away for Realignment.” Remy shook his head. “Happened to someone in my housing section.”

  The heat beneath my shirt started an itch up and down my spine. The others looked at me. I bit my lip so hard I was sure it bled.

  Otto said, “Remy, you know Deviants were always hunted by Lebabolis, and they had their own forces looking for people, I've never heard about anyone working from the inside.”

  “Of course not,” Remy snickered. “They didn't want it recorded, so it was done off the record, not through MODOSNet.”

  I thought back to what I remembered about my parents, and how they disappeared. I remembered a few strange people by our housing unit, but... no, ridiculous. He just always had it in for me.

  “How convenient.” I sighed. “You've got ‘em branded, me too, with no evidence besides a wild story.”

  Remy pointed a shaky fist at me. “You're only here because of orders. Stay outta my way until this is over, or so help me.”

  “I’m not leaving this room. Why don’t you pay attention, little helper, I think you’ve got bigger problems right now.” At that point I flashed him a look of daggers.

  Otto coughed
. His eyes flipped between Remy and me. “We don't have maps of the area, but with that P-LAD you'll be able to take a sig of a vehicle for tracking purposes. It's crude, but this and plain old eyesight should get you around.”

  “What kind of transportation do they have?”

  “There are vehicles, but be cautious. Again, the more you interact, the more suspicion you draw. It’s best to move around at night as much as possible. No killing unless it's life or death for you. Try not to be seen by too many people. And for God's sake, don't get arrested or anything.”

  Otto talked about who else was looking for Xander. Lebabolis had a special group that handled security and discipline. They were a group within the Security Force, under Charista's watch, but with their own commander. They included the best Warrior Products and were known for things like Realignment. As much as Remy irked me, I still shuddered at the thought of him up against ‘em, alone. Even one on one with ‘em was a scary thought.

  “What about Omegans in the Verge?” Remy asked.

  “We’ve never had any proof they’ve been through them, but stay sharp and act quick. We don’t know if Lebabolis isn’t just out to terminate Xander.”

  Otto handed two tethers to Remy. “These are for the Verge. One for you, the other for Xander. Once you acquire him, make the Verge jump and you should return to the Outlands, near Encampment 13. Bring him in for evaluation.” He turned to Yag and Wick. “Baudricort said he filled you guys in already. Get Remy to the Verge and return to Encampment 12 with Ana. Don't stand too close when Remy makes the jump, or the aftershock might pull you in too. And Remy, watch this Xander guy when you get him back here. This big a jump, we can't be sure how his body will take it, even with a bracelet.”

  #

  I pulled Remy aside as we left the meeting. “I dunno where you get your delusions, but we both know Baudricort wouldn’t sabotage his own mission.”

  Remy shrugged.

  I clenched his shirt around his chest. “And don't spout whatever that was about my parents. For all you know, that's a rumor.”