by S. A. Tholin
He rattled off a list, thankfully mostly consisting of basics that even an unsupported colony like Cato should have available. In Nexus, or perhaps in the long-buried ruins of Stairhaven, if scavengers hadn't picked them clean. But the team was much reduced, especially considering that Lucklaw and his technical know-how had suddenly become mission critical. A fool's errand across lightning-streaked wastes, or into the decaying bowels of Cato, was not a risk Cassimer wanted to take.
Not while there were others who had good reason to take the risk for them.
9. Joy
Six months, two weeks, and three days ago, the only risk Joy had ever taken was signing up to go on the Ever Onward. Her every other choice had been made with security and normalcy in mind. Her apartment had once belonged to her parents and was the only home she'd ever known. Her education had been selected with a safe, indoors career in mind. Her social life had been nice and quiet.
A nice and quiet life - and then a hundred and nineteen years had gone by in the blink of an eye, and there hadn't been a day since that wasn't terrifying.
And all the while the counter on her med-bracelet kept ticking down. So was it any wonder that she had trekked through sewers to find the soldiers who had everyone so scared? Was it any wonder that when their commander had offered her a deal, she'd leapt at it?
Now she was back in the sewers, but she wasn't alone, and that was absolutely wonderful - though the soldiers' suit lights cast the surroundings in starker light than she might have liked. Darkness had its own share of terror, but not knowing exactly what it was she was stepping in made travelling through sewers significantly more bearable.
Thick-flowing sludge squelched underneath her worn boots, and stalagmites rubbed slime on her legs. There were spider corpses too, and worse, the empty husks left behind when the spiders moulted. Exuviae was the scientific name, and that didn't sound nearly as bad as husk (also known as: "you think that looks big? wait 'til you see what crawled out of it"). Stalagmite was much more palatable than "ancient pile of crap", and necrosis sounded far less scary than...
...no, actually, she couldn't think of any word worse than necrosis. Maybe one would come to her the day her med-bracelet ran out of doses, but for now, necrosis was the Awful Word of the Day.
If only she hadn't been so stupid. Sleeping on the dust was a bad idea, she'd learnt that her very first night on Cato. The spiders tunnelled underneath the fine soil, and body-heat was like a beacon to them, or maybe more like a "We're Open!" sign at a restaurant.
The spiders weren't venomous, as it turned out, but their bites stung and festered. Poor Duncan had been the one to discover the spider bites' tendency to turn necrotic. The bite on Joy's calf throbbed extra painfully when she remembered what Duncan's hand had looked like; how black tissue had eaten into healthy pink like fungus.
And still you were dumb enough to sleep on the ground. Come on, Joy, you need to stay sharp.
It wasn't really Finn who derided her; she hadn't gone quite that mad yet, but it was better to pretend Finn was calling her stupid than to have to face the crushing reality that even she thought she was an idiot.
Besides, it was for Finn's sake it had happened. As soon as she'd heard about the soldiers, she'd rushed to find them. When she'd finally had to stop to rest - about halfway to the mountains - she'd been too tired to take precautions and had woken up in the middle of the night when a spider crawled up the inside of her suit leg and bit down hard.
It would be worth it, though, she'd make sure of that. She'd get the items the soldiers wanted, they'd let her use their beacon, and then they'd all be saved. Happy ending all around!
If the soldiers could be trusted, that was.
Behind her, they were towering shadow. Each soldier a giant, inhuman in their grey-plated armour. Like titans of ancient legend, those divine descendants of sky and earth that were not quite gods and not quite men. But were they cruel Cronus or shining Phoebe? Too soon to tell. Not that it mattered; trust was her only option.
"Not far now," she said to break the suffocating silence. The soldiers hadn't said a word since they'd entered the sewers, though she suspected they were in communications with each other. It was an intuitive itch at the back of her neck, a feeling of being deliberately excluded from conversation. She'd experienced the phenomenon enough in high school to recognise it. At least the soldiers were unlikely to be gossiping about Joy's taste in fashion or giggling about her haircut.
No, they're more likely discussing what ditch to dump you in after they put a bullet in your head.
The (extremely unhelpful) thought flashed past, quick and bright like lightning, and her heart fluttered with panic.
"Tell me about Nexus. Is it underground?"
He spoke so unexpectedly that her fluttering heart all but stopped. His voice was low and dark, with hints of an accent she couldn't place, all rolling r's and sing-songy syllables. He was their leader... no, their commander. Now that was a good word. Commander sounded strong, reliable, trustworthy. A commander was almost definitely the sort of person to whom she could entrust her life and Finn's.
"Part of it is. The good part of town..." She hesitated, reluctant to exaggerate. If there was to be trust between her and these armed-to-the-teeth titans, veracity was important. "Well, there is no good part of town. There's a reason I'm out here and not in Nexus, after all."
"Keep to the facts. Population size? Layout?"
She could practically hear alarm bells ringing. That sort of information sounded like what one might want to know before invading a place. Not that she owed any allegiance to Nexus, but Duncan and Voirrey were still there.
"I'd put the population at about a thousand. Can't say for sure, with so many living underground. I've heard there are some who never come to the surface; who were born in the undercity and have never seen the sun. Not that they're missing much." She laughed; nervous, but happy for a chance to laugh again. "Nexus sits in the ruins of a spaceport, underneath a force field dome that's old, glitchy and completely unreliable, but I don't think anybody knows how to fix it. Last time it went down, I saw the maintenance crew kicking the generator until it coughed back online."
"Any ships in the spaceport?"
"Only derelicts. I'm told there are occasional visitors, but I've not seen anybody in all the time I've been here. Combine that with the fact that Nexus has no off-world communications, and it's no wonder people go stir-crazy on this planet."
The commander asked no follow-up questions, which was a little annoying. Since the wrong kind of people finding out about the Ever Onward could endanger its sleepers, Voirrey, Duncan and Joy had agreed to keep the truth of their situation secret. Together, they'd come up with a solid cover story, rehearsed to perfection before they entered Nexus - where it turned out absolutely nobody gave a damn. Not one person had shown interest in anything other than how they could use the new arrivals to their own benefit. In that regard, the soldiers weren't so different.
It'd be nice to be pressed for personal detail. Where are you from? Where were you going? What do you do for a living? What's your favourite colour? Bloody anything! The weather, the dust, the spiders - none of these things were so bad as the loneliness.
The sewer opened up into a chamber where tributaries of stagnant sewage merged into a wide channel. Any liquid had long since evaporated, leaving a thick layer of hardened waste. Numerous footprints dusted the dark green midden. Apparently, some of Cato's inhabitants were happy to take any shortcut.
The rusted rungs of a ladder were bolted into the far wall. A white chalk circle on crumbling brickwork marked it as an exit.
"That'll take you to the surface."
"The Poney's signal is strong, about two klicks east. Guess she was right about the sewers leading to the factory ruins." It was the female soldier who spoke. In spite of their suits of armour and darkly opaque visors, the soldiers weren't entirely indistinguishable.
They all carried assault rifles and side-arms, as well
as bags and belts laden with gear, but the woman also carried a missile launcher strapped to her back. Joy couldn't imagine carrying all that weight, but the soldier didn't seem to even notice.
The male soldier wasn't as heavily armed, but equally encumbered with technical-looking gear and a large toolbox. He'd never addressed her directly, though he had called her a dirty local.
The commander's armour was bulkier, and he was about a head taller than the other two, armed with a matte black handgun and a rifle that looked capable of putting a hole in a tank. He seemed nice, but it was an opinion based entirely on the fact that, unlike the others, he didn't constantly keep his gun trained on her.
Maybe that's what passes for nice here in the future, she thought, and just about wanted to cry at how plausible that sounded.
The logo emblazoned on the soldiers' cuirasses was a white cross set inside in a stylized sun. Simple, but very corporate-looking, as though it had been through countless advertising consultants and graphic designers before being deemed worthy of display. Stark and memorable; a dependable brand that spoke of order and professionalism. Not a logo for mercenaries or pirates, but for soldiers, who surely had no reason to hurt her or go back on their word.
Dust filtered down from above as the female soldier pushed open the manhole cover. She climbed out, and then, blocking out the sun, leaned back in to give the men two thumbs up.
The commander turned his attention to Joy and, to her surprise, returned her gun.
"Do you know where the copper dome is?"
"Where the city used to be? I've seen it from a distance. I know there are tunnels leading out that way. Used to be a good place for scrap metal, apparently."
"When you have what we need, take the items there. The tunnels will be sealed, so exit three kilometres out and stay put. We will see you. Come alone. If you tell anyone of our location, the deal is off."
And we will hunt you down and kill you. He didn't say that, but his tone implied it well enough.
"Wait, before you go..." Without thinking, Joy touched the commander's arm. Her fingertips brushed his peculiarly warm vambrace, and she pulled back, half-expecting him to shoot her on the spot.
He didn't. He just stopped and turned to look at her, and in the shiny blackness of his visor, she saw her own reflection. So pale, so sad; her hair a mess and her cheeks smudged with dirt. No wonder he'd not responded violently.
For the first time in months, she felt embarrassed, and it was fantastic. Embarrassment was not having enough change on the bus, or slipping on newly cleaned floors. A normal feeling; a lovely, mundane, human feeling.
Glad you like it, because you're in for another big, juicy dose!
True enough. She didn't actually have anything to say to the commander, had spoken up almost reflexively to keep him there just a little longer. One more minute of human interaction before it was just her in a sewer full of spiders again.
Well? Don't keep him hanging. Don't annoy your best chance of getting off this rock.
"What do I call you?" Her cheeks burned, though honestly, he was the one who should be embarrassed. She'd introduced herself, but the soldiers hadn't bothered to reciprocate. That was pretty rude by anyone's standards, and while she had missed out on over a hundred years of human development, surely basic manners hadn't gone the way of the panda.
"Cassimer."
Then he was gone, and it was just her and the spiders.
◆◆◆
Three hours of backtracking through the muck and grime. Three hours of her spider bite throbbing with every step and the word 'necrotic' dancing merrily through her mind. Three hours, and finally she reached a source of water.
Not in sewers anymore, but old subway maintenance tunnels. Less slimy, but significantly more spidery, and she had to clear layers of webs from the wall to access the water tap. A chalk checkmark had been drawn on the bricks behind it - Cato underground jargon for 'potable', although Joy had some serious doubts about the local definition of the word.
She turned the tap and it spat ruddy water onto the floor. The urge to drink straight from the tap was overwhelming, but that was the sort of short-sighted thinking that had landed her with a spider bite. Joy forced herself to resist, reminding herself of all the horrible things the water might contain.
Salmonella. Leptospira. Metazoan parasites. A nice dose of any of those, and the spider bite - necrotic or otherwise - would seem like nothing.
The filters in her canteens wouldn't truly purify the water, but provided some peace of mind. Doctor Voirrey had made them after a lecture on the dangers of drinking dirty water; as if Joy was a child and not a scientist in her own right.
Thunder roared in the distance, and the canteens threatened to fall over as the ground shook. The twice-daily train was on its way into the underground station at Natham's farm, and the temptation to run for it was strong. But the station was at least an hour away by foot; even if the farmers had much trading to do, even if the train broke down - not an unusual occurrence - she'd never catch it. Better to go slow, go safe.
Canteens filled and thirst quenched, she swung her backpack over her shoulder and began the long walk. For lack of writing material, she'd scrawled the list of items the soldiers wanted her to procure on her wrist. The ink had already begun to smudge. She got the pen out of her jacket pocket and filled in the lines, over and over, until they were pure black and her skin sore.
Memorising the list would be better, but she didn't know what half of the things were. She hadn't told the soldiers that, had simply nodded and smiled, because what choice did she have? There was no telling what was advanced tech and what was basic future stuff, and if she went "huh?" at the wrong thing - well, at best, she'd look a right idiot. No matter how good her memory was, if it was all she had to rely on, chances were pretty good that instead of a "monolithic microwave integrated circuit", she'd end up bringing the soldiers a microwavable meal.
It was best to keep the list in writing until Voirrey and Duncan could take a look. Between the two of them, they'd know what the stuff was, and more importantly, where to get it.
She sighed, already hearing their condescending voices. Why oh why did nobody on this planet need help with their plants? If only the soldiers had asked for a nice bouquet of irises or the best way to cross-pollinate plums!
◆◆◆
Joy reached the train station under Natham's farm just after nightfall, presumably. It was hard to keep track of time underground, but she felt very strongly that it was important to try. Being able to say oh, it's quarter past three was just another way of saying civilisation, after all.
The platform was empty, which was good. Although her shoulder ached where the female soldier had shoved her, the company of the soldiers had been preferable to that of most Cato natives. Natham wasn't too bad, although he did like his drink and after a few cups he was all hands. Soil-stained, chewed-nail, groping hands.
Still, he was mostly harmless. Nothing like the predators of Nexus or the razor-wielding shadows of the undercity. And certainly nothing like the drifters. They claimed no home, but roamed the underground as nomads, scavenging to survive, all the while growing more feral. Her own eventual fate, she supposed, if she never escaped Cato.
She switched off her flashlight and lay down on a bench, using her backpack as a pillow. From the dark of the train tunnel came a metallic tapping sound.
Drifters. I thought about drifters and now they're coming.
She closed her eyes tight and drew her knees up to her chest. There were no drifters. She was alone. It was just the background noise of a dying planet.
The fear constricted her throat until every breath became a chore. She tried to fight it, unwilling to use one of the few doses remaining in her med-bracelet.
Relax. Don't think about breathing, let your body do the work.
"If only you were really here," she whispered to her imaginary brother. "If only we were both anywhere but here."
◆◆◆
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br /> It was hard to get used to falling asleep in darkness and waking to the same darkness. In her apartment on Mars, the digital filter on her windows had greeted her every morning with a sunny blue sky and the waving fronds of the palm trees on her neighbour's balcony. It was nice to have the soft light of the morning sun even when the weather report told her it was raining, or warned of dust storms. Discreet speakers in each corner of her apartment had played birdsong - which made Finn roll his eyes - while she lazily scrolled through the news over breakfast.
Back on Mars, that was how Joy had liked her mornings. This Joy, who woke up hoping the distant scratching was just giant spiders, couldn't help but secretly hate her old self.
"Trilling blackbirds and soy milk on granola," she muttered as she reached for her flashlight. The light flickered weakly. The battery was running low, had been for a while, but she couldn't afford to change it until it was completely depleted. "You didn't know how good you had it."
Though life on Mars hadn't been all roses and rainbows. She seemed to remember worrying over piles of bills and fretting about her future.
At least that question had been resolved once and for all. The future was horrible.
From the bottom of her backpack, she pulled out one of three small packages carefully wrapped in canvas. A quick tug at the knot, and the package unfurled to reveal the dead spider within. Its eight legs were tightly wrapped inwards, hugging its fat belly.
She cut off the legs and made a deep incision in the spider's abdomen. Dark brown suet welled from the cut. Raw, the spiders' innards were more akin to yellow pus. This one had been cooked, which did little to improve the flavour, but made the texture easier to stomach. The trick was to swallow as quickly as possible, to pretend that it was just granola and soy milk being eaten in a rush because she was late for work, and to resist the urge to throw up if a bristling hair or two tickled her tongue.
