by M E Wise
“I would hope not?” Though I wasn’t sure.
Ahead was another palm print on the airlock glass. We approached quickly and made sure the area was clear. Inside was my Father! He had been worked over well. His back was against the lock and he was staring outside in a seated position. I clicked the open COM for the space. “Father! We’ll get you out.” Frank stopped me from clearing the space. “He doesn’t have a suit?” There weren’t any suits in the room with him. “What’s going on Vadim?” Frank demanded.
My Father’s hand shook and pointed to a device on the outside door with cable leading to the first set of doors. He was booby-trapped! Open the door and both doors would open ripping all of the air out of the area. There was no real solution here. “Vadim, what do you want us to do?” Frank stayed vocal while I fell back into my dark spaces. I didn’t want to sit front row for my father’s execution. Vadim Pri unflinchingly moved into the center of the space slowly. “Don’t.” I said softly. We all knew our time was running out, soon they would discover us and swarm the facility. My father did the only sensible thing and opened the chamber. Both doors swung open and the air rushed out. He turned to me beaten and battered. “Moy mal’chik.” He said and collapsed.
I grabbed his body and lugged his heavy frame back into the building. I pounded on the door mechanism for it too close but it wouldn’t respond. Frank stood watch as I shared this final moment with my Father. He died peacefully for someone who lead such a bold life.
Lost Tales of Reign
Gorgon’s Song Chapter 3
Control and Abandon
We survived the Mineral War as the News feeds sensationalized our suffering for headlines. It was 2075 and I stood 19 years old and in line at a recruiting station on Luna. I wore scars these other young men romanticized. Sign-on bonuses were huge considering the work wasn’t high on lists of people wanting to live long and happy lives. Several rumors circulated about Halfers being the result of extended time in space. I would never have a kid in this god awful life so it mattered not to me. Frank and I parted ways at the space port a few hours ago. The last of my family to walk away and the last I planned to make.
“Pri!” Called a recruiter ranked sergeant on his lapel. Strange dress for a military man.
I didn’t sound off and approached as he stood a head short to meet my handshake. “Damn you’re a big kid!” The recruiter cocked his head to make eye contact. Pre-processing was a breeze. The formal inquest though might get sticky as they question some of my less than moral history. “Strickland, Sergeant Strickland.” He introduced himself and I remained tight-lipped. Answer only the necessary questions and everything will be fine.
“Not much of a talker huh. I like it!” He said too cheery for my tastes. “You understand we will polygraph anything we don’t believe accurate.” That witchcraft is an age old forced confession in weaker people for sure. Not so much a concern for me. I rubbed my buzz cut and itched stubble many his age wouldn’t have. “First question then. Look forward please.” The light of the retina monitor was bright. “Take off your glasses.” He noticed as he read my paperwork. The pulse monitor on my forefinger had trouble reading through the scar tissue.
“You were on Mars. During the Mineral Wars, did you lie to get a contract with MCD?” He glared. “Yes.” I answered without hesitation.
“Why?” He parlayed. “I was hungry.” I answered coldly.
“Your father,” he shuffled a page, “Vadim Pri manipulated documents for your inception.”
“That’s a pause. Not a question.” I broke the tedious stalling. “And yes he did.”
“How old are you now?” He watched the monitor in the desktop more than me. “19.” I was short.
Strickland sat back and jittered like he had an issue with what he was doing. He waved over another recruiter and they whispered to each other. The man stayed now at the desk hovering over him. “It is now known your father died as a result of the internal conflict on Mars during the Mineral Wars. Were you aware of his dealing with the Red Dust?” I turned my head and lowered the collar of my button-down shirt. The red palm tattooed like a resting hand on my left shoulder was answer enough.
“The Orbital Guard is a new branch of the government’s willingness and effective means of protecting our citizens in space from outlaws, Tekkers and otherwise enemies of the state. Would you consider the Red Dust a terrorist enemy of the state?” They both had tense twitching jaws. The second recruiter, a specialist rested a hand on his issued pistol holster. I remained silent. “Let me guess.” The specialist leaned onto the desk. “One man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter?” He was smug for a desk riding gimp.
“At age 17, I watched a man suffocate to death. He died over a numerical calculation we didn’t meet. I watched men, women and children breathing in their own waste to punish us for courtroom drama we never saw. Father died from exposure in my arms.” I held out my oversized hands. I settled again as the vein in my neck began to throb.
“Why did you stay when so many left?” Strickland asked. The specialist backed off a bit. “A girl.” I answered as they smirked. “A girl? That’s your answer.” Strickland scoffed. “Her name was Numi. An entertainer for Sweet³.”
“Holy shit!” The specialist joked. “The Romeo of Mars sits right in front of us John!” Apparently they were on a first named basis. “I’m definitely jealous.” He was serious.
“At what point did this relationship end?” The Sergeant asked point blank. “Never began.” I replied.
They both sat there uncertain what to do at this point. I was bored with the entire affair; either I was going down in flames or I would gain at least some respect. “Pri’s are born for this. I lied to go where many men wouldn’t dare go. Bloody greedy bastards played a game with my life and the lives of others and we fought them. We fought them where they slept and in their wallets. We sabotaged, broke, destroyed and made our enemies lives so unpleasant they hired mercs to deal with our families and take back our breaths!”
The two tinker soldiers sat fixed on my words. “I held my breath. The girl left me in the dust. I came here because I can’t get paid to do that anywhere else.” Strickland took a deep breath and shared a long wide-eyed glance with the specialist. “Well Pri, you have one hell of an interview method that’s for sure!” Strickland slid through the monitor results and continued to show signs of shock and awe. He shared them with the specialist who made a comical eek face.
“Ok. So here’s the bad upfront.” He held a tablet and turned it to two different angles shifting the way it was read each time. I didn’t appreciate the mind games. “You have horrible vision but will not accept surgery as an option. You have inner ear damage in your left ear,” he yelled, “that could continue to worsen. You have had two untreated concussions, and nine lacerations of significant effect. Some stitched like a football I might add. Fifteen broken bones but surprisingly no incurable sexually transmitted diseases.”
“On those alone I could deny you entrance into the armed forces. But I must continue for the record. You have failed not only one level of the entry psyche test but a second psyche test will have to be administered to determine if any of your story that never registered false was a complete an utter hallucination or a great movie in the making.” Sergeant Strickland took a long deep breath. This was a mistake. I stood up and turned to leave sticking my bible into my back belt.
“A believer?” The specialist questioned. I stopped and glanced back for the next insult that could open up the genies bottle. “After all you have allegedly been through; you carry a bible?”
“It’s all I have left.” The statement took both of them by surprise.
“Could you carry that into the service? That unflinching persona?” Strickland stood up.
I took my bible out and thumbed at the worn cover. “I’d take both. This book and myself.”
“Welcome to the OG!” Strickland saluted me.
I sat in the bri
g again. Undergoing these psychological reparation exercises strained any manner of my humanity to its bitter ends. Dr. Molnar was as mad as they come, one could say if you were crazy he was the stick to which it was compared. His tests were taxing and the reversion therapy that caused dramatic recalling and resurging feelings of traumatic events were torture, no other name would fit. The doctor was also a Captain seeking high offices any way he could achieve them.
“The remedial program is having quite the opposite effect on Trooper Pri than we had expected.” He noted to himself as he stared at me like a rat in a cage. “He is fit for general duty but his viability into special programs will be limited.” He clicked his recorder closed. “Trooper!” He sang. “You may return to your post.” I was so confused. The brig officers came to collect me. Every time they put me out there in the general service areas I found some conflict. These men; boys had little to fight over. We were fed, we had bunks and we had strict orders that followed ordered instruction, there was no need for competition and disorder.
Yet with every transfer and every duty station I have been assigned the same crowd seemed to populate each squad, platoon, company and battalion. The service was easy; however, the camaraderie was not there. At least from my perspective. I was 21 now in the year 2077 and felt like forty, even if I couldn’t make the statement out loud for being a laughing stock. The desk receptionist handed me my belongings and I tore open and sorted the bag. “Where’s the book?” I felt rage build in me. The female officer was completely unaware by her reaction. “Where’s my bible?” I screamed deeply.
The two brig officers made ready for a fight. Their shined half armor and boots glistened over thick formal uniforms. I placed my glasses on my head and made sure to look each of the two men destined for an infirmary in the eyes. They were greatly intimidated. Late shifts like this had a limited staffing and it took six men of their ilk to take me in. “I’m not in the mood Sirs.” They stood their ground but made no efforts to arrest me. “One more time Ma’am; where is my book?”
“This book?” Molnar chimed from down the hall. He held my bible like a carrot on a stick.
“So help me?” I whimpered with anger as he held it near the incinerator chute.
“You place such significance on age old sentiments. I value that in a man. It’s too bad you don’t have the stability of mind to match that conviction.” He walked with a prance and his demeanor was a man who enlisted as an officer not at the ground level like us less fortunate dregs. “Follow me.” He waved the officers away. I wasn’t a dog. I held my ground too. “Follow me or it tastes the very flames it preaches.” He dangled my Mother’s bible over the open chute.
“Sir.” I collected myself. And fixed my wear. “I’m your man.”
“That you are. That you are.” Molnar lead us into a training room with excessive workout equipment and medical monitors to match them.
“It’s simple. I need someone to volunteer for dangerous duty, risking life and limb. The security of the position is that your perseverance is absolutely paramount to the success of the,” he bounced the corner of my bible off his chin in thought, “study.” He took to a podium in the center of the area. “You will survive because it is imperative. Any questions?”
“Was that a job offer?” I wasn’t playing stupid. There was never a clear question posed.
“Yes. Welcome to SPEAR, a private initiative.” He was a calculated man; someone whose nature was clearly legible. I could respect that. “What’s first?” I asked. He tapped his fingers on the podium. “A question?” He grinned as his Abe Lincoln half beard moved back following his balding hair line around his head. His round wire framed lenses completed his look. “What is it to be human?”
The question was a loaded gun. I didn’t care what he expected but I was honest to a flaw at times. So I cracked my neck. “It’s not who we are, it’s what we are.” I said. “And what is that?” He asked with a high inflection. “It’s what it’s not. Anything unnatural stresses the name. It weakens the source. Human is our nature of being. Made in God’s image.”
Molnar didn’t question the concept. “Can we be perfected? As humans?” He asked. I thought on this for a second. “We are perfection but it has to be maintained. Each day we spend in this wretched world we degrade that perfection in contact with everything unnatural.” Molnar seemed to enjoy my train of thought, my philosophy.
“Spoken like a survivor of the human condition!” Molnar glowed with ambition and sick focus.
Years went by quickly as Molnar pushed his agenda to anyone who would hear it. He believed in man returning to some natural state of cohesion with the universe abroad. There was a rigorous schedule of tests and studies too which he assembled some very young but talented staff for. He climbed the ranks and so did I. We remained stationed on Luna for a great many years while the fleets flagship Stonewall was being commissioned. Molnar was promoted to Vice Admiral of Science, a special recognition for his black projects many gains; the Stonewall was his reward.
My rage never quite healed. It was my nature. Molnar respected this even if at times I found myself caged for violent outbursts and caged until the imbalance passed. The Vice Admiral was control and I was his abandon. My reputation proceeded me and brave men ridiculed me knowing I would test their mantle. I was honed into a motivator for anyone he wanted to become something powerful. It was by chance I stumbled upon an aged Numi at a Martian checkpoint in the trade lanes.
“Gorgy!” She cried from the crowd. At forty-seven I wore my age well. The same could not be said for Numi. She pushed forward to the group registration line. “Gorgy.” She again called.
I waved off my detail and answered her. “Numi. Not dead?” I asked bluntly. She smiled and grimaced. “No! Should I be?” She bantered but I didn’t feel the need to entertain it. I went back to monitoring traffic coming onto the Stonewall. This wasn’t my job but I enjoyed it much more than drill in these times. “Well, we should catch up if you can get free, uh, Mister…” she tip-toed to read my rank, “Lance Leader?” She had a furrowed look.
“All those years whoring for soldiers and businessmen and you don’t know my rank!” I verbally lashed at her.
“It’s a bullshit rank for an overgrown asshole!” She barked and stormed away. My detail fought their amusement. “Stop her.” I gave them an order to retrieve the insubordinate little monster. Health improvements had everyone very spry in what used to be old age but now was a third the average for a normal lifespan, so at 57 Numi still had a great deal of fight left in her. “Let me go! Let me go!” She argued and struggled.
“Dinner?” I made an offer. She gave up the fight. “My detail will see to your bags.”
We talked until the early morning hours. She still had that alluring gaze even without the electronic assistance. I could still see her tattoos under her loosely strapped gown. Numi could still turn it on. “I left.” She finished her story. “There wasn’t anything left but to die there.” Her story of the Mineral War evacuations matched many I had heard before. “I can’t believe you stayed and fought those jackasses!”
“I had nowhere else to go.” The bitter taste still rotted my palette. I sipped some whisky.
“So you are some big wig military man now!” She strolled my cabin with a forward view of space. I didn’t answer but watched her round the room. “You never did get that birthday gift did you.” She teased. I still admired her in that way. Even if I resented everything she represented then and wasted her life on. Numi slid one strap down a shoulder and then another to match its pairing. Her gown fell to the floor. A simple and silken nightgown fit neatly underneath. The silk felt good as she pressed against my face. We rehearsed an old song played by two fools in thin blue lighting.
By mid-morning I had lost interest and sent her on her way. She didn’t argue. I wouldn’t have cared if she did. I must admit the day went a little bit smoother though. I had greater problems today as a family smuggling Halfers was ca
ught and were needing to be extradited back to Earth for quarantine. They had some flyers and pamphlets on them for some resort called Green Acres. The palm tree on the front partially hid a sun with sunglasses. “What garbage.” I mocked the paraphernalia going to be destroyed. I crumpled the one in my hand and tossed it at a gentleman named Jim. He was hideous.
I left standard OG Troopers to finish processing them. I needed some sparring and a drink. Or drinks and sparring in that order. I caught my image in the glass panel blocking vacuum from taking our lives. My beard was getting thick and my beret covered my balding head. For a brief second I saw Vadim Pri staring back at me. I shook the image from my eyes and worked the bridge of my nose. In the crowd a woman cried out biblical verses while standing high on a crate. People were reaching for her and trying to bring her down without a fight.
“But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable...” she bellowed, “and murderers, and whoremongers, and the idolaters, and all the liars!” She cried with her manic episode. “Shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone.” They had her now but she didn’t give in. “That is the second death!” She kicked and fought. “The first is this unnatural nightmare we’re living now!”
