by J. N. Chaney
Terry walked quietly down the overcrowded corridors with an empty, troubled head. He hated this part of the district. So many people on the move, brushing against him, like clothes in an overstuffed closet.
He raised his head, nearly running into a woman and her baby. She had wrapped the child in a green and brown cloth, securing it against her chest. “Excuse me,” he said, but the lady ignored him.
His mother paused and looked around. “Terrance, what are you doing? I’m over here,” she said, spotting him.
“Sorry.”
They waited together for the train, which was running a few minutes behind today.
“I wish they’d hurry up,” said a nearby lady. She was young, about fifteen years old. “Do you think it’s because of the outbreak?”
“Of course,” said a much older woman. “Some of the trains are busy carrying contractors to the slums to patch the walls. It slows the others down because now they have to make more stops.”
“I heard fourteen workers died. Is it true?”
“You know how the gas is,” she said. “It’s very quick. Thank God for the quarantine barriers.”
Suddenly, there was a loud smashing sound, followed by three long beeps. It echoed through the platform for a moment, vibrating along the walls until it was gone. Terry flinched, squeezing his mother’s hand.
“Ouch,” she said. “Terrance, relax.”
“But the sound,” he said.
“It’s the contractors over there.” She pointed to the other side of the tracks, far away from them. It took a moment for Terry to spot them, but once he did, it felt obvious. Four of them stood together. Their clothes were orange, with no clear distinction between their shirts and their pants, and on each of their heads was a solid red plastic hat. Three of them were holding tools, huddled against a distant wall. They were reaching inside of it, exchanging tools every once in a while, until eventually the fourth one called them to back away. As they made some room, steam rose from the hole, with a puddle of dark liquid forming at the base. The fourth contractor handled a machine several feet from the others, which had three legs and rose to his chest. He waved the other four to stand near him and pressed the pad on the machine. Together, the contractors watched as the device flashed a series of small bright lights. It only lasted a few seconds. Once it was over, they gathered close to the wall again and resumed their work.
“What are they doing?” Terry asked.
His mother looked down at him. “What? Oh, they’re fixing the wall, that’s all.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Probably because there was a shift last night. Remember when the ground shook?”
Yeah, I remember, he thought. It woke me up. “So they’re fixing it?”
“Yes, right.” She sighed and looked around. “Where is that damned train?”
Terry tugged on her hand. “That lady over there said it’s late because of the gas.”
His mother looked at him. “What did you say?”
“The lady…the one right there.” He pointed to the younger girl a few feet away. “She said the gas came, so that’s why the trains are slow. It’s because of the slums.” He paused a minute. “No, wait. It’s because they’re going to the slums.”
His mother stared at the girl, turning back to the tracks and saying nothing.
“Mother?” he said.
“Be quiet for a moment, Terrance.”
Terry wanted to ask her what was wrong, or if he had done anything to upset her, but he knew when to stay silent. So he left it alone like she wanted. Just like a good little boy.
The sound of the arriving train filled the platform with such horrific noise that it made Terry’s ears hurt. The train, still vibrating as he stepped onboard, felt like it was alive.
After a short moment, the doors closed. The train was moving.
Terry didn’t know if the shaking was normal or not. Mother had taken him up to the medical wards on this train once when he was younger, but never again after that. He didn’t remember much about it, except that he liked it. The medical wards were pretty close to where he lived, a few stops before the labs, and several stops before the education district. After that, the train ran through Pepper Plaza, then the food farms and Housing Districts 04 through 07 and finally the outer ring factories and the farms. As Terry stared at the route map on the side of the train wall, memorizing what he could of it, he tried to imagine all the places he could go and the things he might see. What kind of shops did the shopping plaza have, for example, and what was it like to work on the farms? Maybe one day he could go and find out for himself—ride the train all day to see everything there was to see. Boy, wouldn’t that be something?
“Departure call: 22-10, education district,” erupted the com in its monotone voice. It took only a moment before the train began to slow.
“That’s us. Come on,” said Mother. She grasped his hand, pulling him through the doors before they were fully opened.
Almost to the school, Terry thought. He felt warm suddenly. Was he getting nervous? And why now? He’d known about this forever, and it was only hitting him now?
He kept taking shorter breaths. He wanted to pull away and return home, but Mother’s grasp was tight and firm, and the closer they got to the only major building in the area, the tighter and firmer it became.
Now that he was there, now that the time had finally come, a dozen questions ran through Terry’s mind. Would the other kids like him? What if he wasn’t as smart as everyone else? Would they make fun of him? He had no idea what to expect.
Terry swallowed, the lump in his throat nearly choking him.
An older man stood at the gate of the school’s entrance. He dressed in an outfit that didn’t resemble any of the clothes in Terry’s district or even on the trains. A gray uniform—the color of the pavement, the walls, and the streets—matched his silver hair to the point where it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. “Ah,” he said. “Mara, I see you’ve brought another student. I was wondering when we’d meet the next one. Glad to see you’re still producing. It’s been, what? Five or six years? Something like that, I think.”
“Yes, thank you, this is Terrance,” said Mother quickly. “I was told there would be an escort.” She paused, glancing over the man and through the windows. “Where’s Bishop? He assured me he’d be here for this.”
“The colonel,” he corrected, “is in his office, and the boy is to be taken directly to him as soon as I have registered his arrival.”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “He was supposed to meet me at the gate for this, himself. I wanted to talk to him about a few things.”
“What’s wrong?” Terry asked.
She looked down at him. “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry. You have to go inside now, that’s all.”
“You’re not coming in?”
“I’m afraid not,” said the man. “She’s not permitted.”
“It’s alright,” Mother said, cupping her hand over his cheek. “They’ll take care of you in there.”
But it’s just school, Terry thought. “I’ll see you tonight, though, right?”
She bent down and embraced him tightly, more than she had in a long time. He couldn’t help but relax. “I’m sorry, Terrance. Please be careful up there. I know you don’t understand it now, but you will eventually. Everything will be fine.” She rose, releasing his hand for the first time since they left the train. “So that’s it?” Mother said to the man.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She turned and walked away, pausing a moment as she reached the corner and continued until she was out of sight.
The man pulled out a board with a piece of paper on it. “When you go through here, head straight to the back of the hall. A guard there will take you to see Colonel Bishop. Just do what they say and answer everything with either ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘No, sir,’ and you’ll be fine. Understand?”
Terry didn’t understand, but he nodded
anyway.
The man pushed open the door with his arm and leg, holding it there and waiting. “Right through here you go,” he said.
Terry entered, reluctantly, and the door closed quickly behind him.
The building, full of the same metal and shades of brown and gray that held together the rest of the city, rose higher than any other building Terry had ever been in. Around the room, perched walkways circled the walls, cluttered with doors and hallways that branched off into unknown regions. Along the walkways, dozens of people walked back and forth as busily as they had in the train station. More importantly, Terry quickly realized, most of them were men.
For so long, the only men he had seen were the maintenance workers who came and went or the occasional teacher who visited the children when they were nearing their birthdays. It was so rare to see any men at all, especially in such great numbers. Maybe they’re all teachers, he thought. They weren’t dressed like the workers: white coats and some with brown jackets—thick jackets with laced boots and bodies as stiff as the walls. Maybe that was what teachers wore. How could he know? He had never met one besides Mr. Huxley, and that was months ago.
“Well, don’t just stand there, gawking,” said a voice from the other end of the room. It was another man, dressed the same as the others. “Go on in through here.” He pointed to another door, smaller than the one Terry had entered from. “Everyone today gets to meet the colonel. Go on now. Hurry up. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Terry did as the man said and stepped through the doorway, his footsteps clanking against the hard metal floor, echoing through what sounded like the entire building.
“Well, come in, why don’t you?” came a voice from inside.
Terry stepped cautiously into the room, which was much nicer than the entranceway. It was clean, at least compared to some of the other places Terry had been, including his own home. The walls held several shelves, none of which lacked for any company of things; various ornaments caught Terry’s eye, like the little see-through globe on the shelf nearest to the door, which held a picture of a woman’s face inside, although some of it was faded and hard to make out. There was also a crack in it. What purpose could such a thing have? Terry couldn’t begin to guess. Next to it lay a frame with a small, round piece of metal inside of it. An inscription below the glass read, “U.S. Silver Dollar, circa 2064.” Terry could easily read the words, but he didn’t understand them. What was this thing? And why was it so important that it needed to be placed on a shelf for everyone to look at?
“I said come in,” said Bishop abruptly. He sat at the far end of the room behind a large brown desk. Terry had forgotten he was even there. “I didn’t mean for you to stop at the door. Come over here.”
Terry hurried closer, stopping a few feet in front of the desk.
“I’m Colonel Bishop. You must be Terrance,” said the man. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to show up.” He wore a pair of thin glasses and had one of the larger pads in his hand. “Already seven. Imagine that.”
“Yes, sir,” Terry said, remembering the doorman’s words.
The colonel was a stout man, a little wider than the others. He was older, too, Terry guessed. He may have been tall, but it was difficult to tell without seeing his whole body. “I expect you’re hoping to begin your classes now,” said Bishop.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“You say that, but you don’t really know what you’re saying yes to, do you?”
The question seemed more like a statement, so Terry didn’t answer. He only stood there. Who was this man? Is this how school was supposed to be?
“Terrance, let me ask you something,” said the colonel, taking a moment. “Did your mother tell you anything about this program you’re going into?”
Terry thought about the question for a moment. “Um, she said you come to school on your birthday,” he said. “And that it’s just like it is at home, except there’s more kids like me.”
Colonel Bishop blinked. “That’s right, I suppose. What else did she say?”
“That when it was over, I get to go back home,” he said.
“And when did she say that was?”
Terry didn’t answer.
Colonel Bishop cocked an eyebrow. “Well? Didn’t she say?”
“No, sir,” muttered Terry.
The man behind the desk started chuckling. “So you don’t know how long you’re here for?”
“No, sir.”
Colonel Bishop set the pad in his hand down. “Son, you’re here for the next ten years.”
A sudden rush swelled up in Terry’s chest and face. What was Bishop talking about? Of course Terry was going home. He couldn’t stay here. “But I promised my sister I’d be home today,” he said. “I have to go back.”
“Too bad,” said the colonel. “Your Mother really did you a disservice by not telling you. But don’t worry. We just have to get you started.” He tapped the pad on his desk, and the door opened. A cluster of footsteps filled the hall before two large men appeared, each wearing the same brown coats as the rest. “Well, that was fast,” he said.
One of the men saluted. “Yes, sir. No crying with the last one. Took her right to her room without incident.”
Terry wanted to ask who the last one was, and why it should be a good thing that she didn’t cry. Did other kids cry when they came to this school? What kind of place was this?
“Well, hopefully Terrence here will do the same,” said Bishop. He looked at Terry. “Right? You’re not going to give us any trouble, are you?”
Terry didn’t know what to do or what to say. All he could think about was getting far away from here. He didn’t want to go with the men. He didn’t want to behave. All he wanted to do was go home.
But he couldn’t, not anymore. He was here in this place with nowhere to go. No way out. He wanted to scream, to yell at the man behind the desk and his two friends, and tell them about how stupid it was for them to do what they were doing.
He opened his mouth to explain, to scream as loud as he could that he wouldn’t go. But in that moment, the memory of the doorman came back to him, and instead of yelling, he repeated the words he’d been told before. “No, sir.”
Bishop smiled, nodding at the two men in the doorway. “Exactly what I like to hear.”
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Books By J.N. Chaney
The Variant Saga:
The Amber Project
Transient Echoes
Hope Everlasting
The Vernal Memory
Renegade Star Series:
Renegade Star
Renegade Atlas
Renegade Moon
Renegade Lost
Renegade Fleet (February 2018)
Renegade Empire (March 2018)
Standalone Books:
Their Solitary Way
The Other Side of Nowhere
About The Author
J. N. Chaney has a Master’s of Fine Arts in creative writing and fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at www.jnchaney.com.
He migrates often but was last seen in Avon Park, Florida. Any sightings should be
reported, as they are rare.
Renegade Lost is his ninth novel.
