by M E Wise
The pale man moved slowly and caught his balance with a palm on the floor. I tried to get a clear look of his face. If he was a Halfer, his face would show it. And if he is a Halfer he is quite different from any I had ever seen. He stumbled heavily and fell face first into the floor splitting his head wide open. “Doctor!” I screamed out loud. “Somebody! Come help this guy!” I waved at local security cameras and started thrashing at the panel door of my cell. The new occupants blood ran under his door and into the hallway.
The guards came in quickly and Dr. O’Shea was with them. She held a huge needle, had to be a sedative. I felt woozy for a minute. The doctor noticed my dizzied demeanor. “Are you experiencing pain?” She called to me. I placed my hand over my ears. “Mr. Itou are you unwell?” She asked again.
“Can you hear that?” My question confused her. “There’s a heartbeat? And a baby crying.”
She looked stunned. The door to my cell opened and the guards pinned me to the floor and she administered a sedative. I fell into a deep sleep.
Lost Tales of Reign
Gorgon’s Song Chapter 1
The Divine Eyes
This transport vessel was little different from many Father and I had ridden hundreds of times before. The significant difference; this one left Earth behind in a tiny speck of blue. The gentleman around me in the crowded compartment drank ridiculous amounts of Vodka celebrating their new big break!
“Drink! Drink son.” Father pushed a shot glass with a splash into my face. His crossed look demanded a participation I would reluctantly adhere too; save the hand. “It’ll put hair on your chest!” The barrel-chested brute displayed a posthumous pride of old tradition like his father before him. Generations of work on oil fields, mining sites and heavy labor avoided by men with any sense fed us. But we did not live.
“Always stuck.” Vadim Pri, my Father ridiculed. “Always stuck in your own world.” He was drunk and still his outward demeanor made no true measure of it. A functionality translated well in our genes. At fifteen I could drink most men under the table-my father though, had an unnatural stomach for constant imbibing of untold amounts of poison. His eyes were heavy on my face, always looking for a new way to bring me into the stage he felt made a man.
“Lay down that old book boy!” He drew attention to my bible. “We’re among the gods now! Far from the judgment of pious men!” He laughed hard from the belly as other’s followed suit in a toast to his profanely empty statement. “Za tee-bya!” I held my glass high and shot the crisp fluid into my mouth and felt the warm of my chest receive it. “To you, to you!” My Father saluted.
I placed the Bible; an old testament my mother carried around when I was a child, into the safe box in my rucksack. Some children had different lives, mine was short-lived if I had ever known it. Mother was a mad daughter of the Ukraine. She left one day without a word and my Father made little effort to find her. Her scribbled, almost unreadable rants littered the margins of this story that held her mind captive and together. When I hold the book I can still see her, pacing and writhing like someone possessed. I sat now, drifting off-world, three years too young and headed for Mars.
My Father dribbled more Vodka than he poured, missing glasses of the men he tried to bond with. It was a different group every time and always somehow the same. “Drinking to settle the nerves?” A paunchy British lad asked innocently, too drunk to monitor his surroundings. My Father instantly twisted this into an insult and his face went somber and mean. “I drink ‘cause I want to.” A large deeply black man moved between the two. “No need for words friend. He meant no harm.” He mediated.
“This your man?” My Father blurted. Neither gave an answer. “This your man, Pip?” The reference to the old novel by Dickens left the Brit red-faced and fuming.
“I’m no fancy boy!” The foolish young man squandered his ally and he backed from the fray.
My Father bellied up to the fit but smaller man. “Care for another drink?” My Father enjoyed a good fight. “It’s on you mal’chik!” He poured liquor straight from the bottle over his head. The men, tightly packed, made space for the inevitable. I watched uninterested. The Brit ignorantly went to remove his blouse and my Father clocked him hard in the jaw sending him crashing to the floor. “Don’t lay down Pip!” The Brit lay stunned. “It’s all done then.” My Father extended a hand to the young man who was very unsure if he should accept. “Come on mal’chik!” He offered again.
The crowd was quiet and shared as much unease as the fattened lipped British man shrugging off the embarrassment. “Vadim.” My Father slapped his chest. “Tomlin.” The Brit took his hand and was easily pulled up from the floor. My Father placed the vodka in his hand and gave him a wink then belted out bold laughter. Tomlin wiped his swollen mouth and took a healthy snort. I needed air and space where none was to be had. I dodged and maneuvered free of the group returning back to their senseless charade of togetherness.
The hold was cool and I shivered for a moment as the opening seal blew the air forcefully at me. The freight and cargo holds had room enough to stretch and get head space from the cramped bunks and lodging of the working class storage pretending to be housing. The Home² and Sweet³ logos marked many of the crates. Our equipment wore the Core Too label. The parent corporation of the shadow company MCD Ltd.; Mineral, Chemical and Drill Limited who paid our bills and we, if better equipped to challenge the contracts we had, would learn we’re indentured in many ways. This was a way of life for these men though.
“Smoke?” The large black man from earlier offered me a cigarette. This wasn’t allowed but our kind didn’t care. Neither was drinking and fist-fighting.
I shook my head no as he placed the smoke back in the pack. “Glasses?” The man pointed to my face. Most people had laser surgeries these days to repair their eyes. I had insurance for it but had not done so. “I was raised to not barter with God’s property.” I answered him as he sized me up. “God huh?” He lit his cigarette. “You’re a big kid! That your dad back there?” I stood eye to eye with him and neither of us were small. I stood six feet and three inches. I didn’t answer him.
“Sorry friend. Francis; call me Frank!” He was cordial and offered a hand shake.
“Gorgon.” I shook his hand. “Most call me Gorgy. Not that I like it.” He chuckled.
“Francis and Gorgy!” The big man laughed. I think I liked this guy right off.
“They say we are nearly starting from scratch there.” He nodded in the direction of Mars barely visible in the distance. “Just another job I keep telling myself. Another job as dangerous as any.” I had nothing to add to his comment so I kept quiet. “Tough kid huh?” He grinned at me. “I’m 18. This is just a long trip to the next job.” I played up the expected age. Frank just tilted his head with a questioning smirk.
“I won’t tell a soul kid. You’re not 18.” He stated boldly.
I first shifted as if to protest an absent wound but couldn’t. “15.” I said cautiously and felt stupid immediately after.
“15!” He faked a stumble. “I knew they were desperate but damn!” He collected himself as I wore my insult well. “Sorry.” He put his hands up and smiled.
“Most people just assume I’m older. It’s the widow line in the hair, my size and the glasses.” I was set to continue when he interrupted my tirade. “The arthritis, the bad knees and the whisky dick!” We both laughed. “How did you get out here?” His question caused a confused look on face. “On the Dodo?” He laughed at the inside joke we had for the carrier we rode to Mars in. The Dodulus was named for the Captain Dodd who chartered trips to and from Earth for Red Planet Industries, the real benefactor of this investment.
“Same as you I guess.” I fidgeted. “My father got me this job and all the others.” I felt like a kid.
“Everybody starts somewhere Gorgy.” He socked my arm. “You just took the fast lane to the big table. Eat up!” The Home² pamphlets we were given had huge dining r
oom tables on the cover with happy people eating with Japanese servants. We all knew it well. “I for one am looking forward to some of that!” Frank produced a pamphlet I hadn’t seen before. He grinned hugely. “Look as those girls!” He opened it to a marked page with a bent corner. “Sweet three for me!” he joked.
“I think that’s cubed. Like their other temporary domiciles.” I knew some things enough, others less. Entertainment, Food and Drink! was splashed on the page in bold. The focus was entertainment apparently with bands and fully stocked bars. Naked pleasure bots and dancers lined another page. Frank made note of my wide-eyed and open-mouthed reaction and put the small book away.
“Good eye kid.” He smiled at the correction. The hale horn sounded. “Lights out.” We made our way back to the workers’ car.
I had already had breakfast in the mess and returned my utensils and dishes when my Father breeched the cabin hung over and belching. A day still hung between us and Mars. The three-month long trip was slow and tedious. Any cliques that were going to form had, and everyone sat with the groups that made up their pecking order. “Get me something strong.” Father barked at me. I looked to Frank sitting across from me and moved back into the mess line. Vadim had no doubt already stretched his credit and was already leaning on mine for the little things.
The line moved quickly and I swiped my wrist over the cash-out reader after selecting black coffee as my order. Father’s daily breakfast. I turned to take the pot to him and someone caught my eye. The doors separating our class transports had a small window. Inside the people with better contracts than mining, drilling and construction gathered in similar but better conditions. They were entirely more formal too. I wasn’t jealous of these things, I just wanted to be respected for who I was. Frank came to see what was keeping me.
“Ah the clean folk!” He bumped me with an elbow and leaned against the door. We both continued to look. “Let’s schmooze shall we!” That’s a bold idea. I hurriedly took my Father’s coffee to his table and was hot on Frank’s heels as he entered the small port between classes. A red light stopped the door to their group from opening with a signal. Frank pointed to our surgically implanted credentials in our wrists. “Ain’t that a bitch.” He said smugly. “Wait!” I held his arm from leaving as a waiter buzzed the door accidentally mistaking us for different clientele. Frank pumped the collar on his worker uniform. We strolled in.
“Howdy!” Frank addressed a pretty woman eating some artificial eggs and sipping artificial milk. “Francis Bacon!” He added as we passed by her, his name fitting his stalwart philosophy to pursue and investigate. His American demeanor contrasted my conservative Russian and Ukrainian youthfulness greatly. He was twice my age, thirty maybe. I followed his lead though. We didn’t blend well and settled for whatever reception we could get while observing how the other half lived. They weren’t upper-class by any measure but they weren’t roughnecks either.
“My goodness.” He nudged me from a tasting table. “Look at them. Look at them!” He admired a group of beautiful women dressed to accent their attributes to entertain. “Sweet three!” He barked quietly. They were possibly the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I found myself staring and drifting awkwardly to each lady with something different in each to fall in love with. “Don’t drool on the floor kid!” Frank woke me from my daze.
“Can we talk to them?” I asked innocently enough. “No you can’t.” A voice not Frank’s chided my question.
“Crap.” Frank tugged my arm. “Let’s go Gorgy.” A Merchant Officer of the Dodo’s staff was gracious enough to not make a scene but draw our attentions to our obvious misplaced passenger status. One entertainer in particular held my attention as we sidestepped back to our compartments. She was a tiny Japanese woman. Older than me obviously but she did something the other’s didn’t and smile at me. I grinned goofily as we were rushed through the port between classes. Frank sighed and made a funny stressed face. “That was fun!” He said.
My Father’s eyes cut through me like daggers from across the long room. “I’ll catch you later Gorgy.” Frank slid away and off toward a path that avoided my Father’s. I slowed my pace and thought of avoiding the entire ordeal and making for a quick exit through the bunk area and into the cargo hold for the remainder of the day but I didn’t. “Always in your own world son.” He said coldly. I sat and he yanked me by the jacket to his angry face with the table separating us. “Never again. Out here mistakes aren’t so easily forgiven. No who you are and what we’re here for.” He relented and I slid back humiliated.
I laid on my bunk and watched shadows play on the ceiling from the men bustling about in the cabin. My operators ear plugs needed fitting and I took the opportunity to wear them and drown out the unruly workforce. Muffled hollers and other boisterous noise drifted only when close like being underwater. I held my Bible close to my chest and was dwelling on a chapter in Corinthians. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, this will pass away. I rolled to my side and looked out into the curvature of Mars as we had now synchronized our orbit and began descent protocols.
I was lovesick and this made me feel horrible inside. It wasn’t a reaction I expected but I couldn’t get that Japanese entertainer out of my mind. Nothing in my life had taught me anything about these emotions and I wasn’t about to consort that bastard of a Father for fear he might use it against me. Or worse drag the entire affair into an audience of his peers. But her eyes stayed burned into my mind. When I was young my grandfather told me about the origins of my name. The Gorgon were ancient and immortal women-folk with feared stares. As a boy finding out that I was named after women, even monstrous gods, I was appalled. He played down the sex of the creatures though.
“It was their eyes!” He would point at his huge eyes and bulge them with great exaggeration. “They may have been women but their stare would stop a warrior dead in his tracks. Dead in his tracks like stone!” I remember his mountainous size hovering over me as I lay in bed. I was sick a lot as a child. Grandfather’s visits saved me from my drunken Father’s obliviousness and my Mother’s madness. Whatever made me sick effected everything, my eyes, my hair, my growth and left me lanky and gaunt. A constant diet of mushroom gruel and warm milk was my only consistent medicine.
“Medusa was the only one of her sisters who could die and it took a half-god with greater gods’ weapons to slay her!” Grandfather roared. “Even then he had to trick her. You pay attention Gorgy and no one can trick you. You find it in their eyes first.”
Eyes were the window to the soul. My Mother’s eyes were wild and always moving. My Father always avoided eye contact unless you were unlucky enough to become his focus then he found a way to back you down into a place he could fit you in. Grandfather was sick and dying when I was born. He survived seven miserable years with my parents, they were my fondest memories. I focused on people’s eyes; the lady entertainer’s eyes were beautiful and alluring. And best of all she had seen me and smiled when she could have looked anywhere else.
“Passengers in the aft sections of our ascending tour need to begin entry preparation.” The loud speaker carried the Captain’s voice throughout the caravan. I had already secured all of my gear in the designated cargo area. I had my pass in my pocket and kept my bible for good luck on entry into the Martian atmosphere. “Good luck contractees and travelers! Mars awaits. Please consider using our services for future intergalactic trade, commerce and transport!” The Captain didn’t waste an opportunity to pitch business to a captive audience.
I dropped down from my bunk and tore open my Core Too space jumpsuit; a cheaply designed outfit more plastic than anything substantive. “This helmet’s like a damned goldfish bowl.” Frank complained down the lane. “I’ve had better gold fish bowls!” Tomlin joked to a rouse of laughter. My Father was noticeably nervous but no one drew attention to it. I helped him attach his bre
ather hoses and we began checking each other for pressure leaks. Deep sea gear was similar in their makeup when we worked on offshore rigs. Father somehow couldn’t resolve the comparison in training for a fear of the emptiness of space apathy.
“Ready as ever.” He signaled himself ready to the group. He was a team leader according to our docket.
Vadim Pri sold MCD a ripe history of our exploits to get this contract. We had spent six months at sea on a floating oil rig drilling the ocean floor. A year we spent in the Middle East bouncing from rig to rig armed and escorted for the tribal unrest still plaguing that region. The minerals and oil there were always a commodity for the world and the vehicle for their persistent wars. We tested new equipment under the most dangerous conditions and that was only what I could remember from puberty on. His own history was far more saturated with lore and fabled exaggeration than I could comprehend. Now Vadim Pri and his baggage son Gorgon Pri were about to extend that legacy to Mars.
Five. We jeered as a group as the clock counted down.
Four. The caravan began to rumble.
Three. The cars shook violently.
Two. Thrusters fired and we jerked in our locked wall stations.
