Son of Sedonia

by Ben Chaney

  ‘Database’...‘Assets’...‘Acquisitions.’ There it was. The list of every prisoner in Themis, designated by a serial number and status. Jogun touched a search prompt at the top. Had to stop and think. The Lifter had told him the name all those years ago. But that was before Themis. Before the Dose taught Jogun to read and write. The exact sound of it was a hazy memory. Jogun spoke aloud as he typed, listening for the right fit.

  “Randall...Rrrringle? No. Rindahl...Rindal.” That one sounded closest. He typed it in the search field and pressed enter.

  “No results found,” said the terminal. Jogun sank. His mind grasped for ideas that weren’t there. It could take weeks to find Matteo. Maybe months. Plenty of time to die on the Moon. The hatch lock snapped open as Jogun dropped to the floor. He seized as the stun baton was shoved into his chest.

  Jogun regained consciousness to the sensation of being dragged on the floor. Blinking in the fluorescence of the hangar ceiling, he recognized one of the faces dragging him. A much bigger version of the chubby little thug that used to pick on Matteo.

  “Oki?” Jogun said. The kid twitched at the name, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  “Oki! Have you seen him? Matteo, where is he?—” They tossed Jogun’s limp body to the feet of the perimeter guards.

  “Whoa! Hey fellas, whatta we got here?” one of the guards sneered. His voice seemed fuzzy and distant to Jogun’s throbbing ears.

  “This inmate displays aberrant behavior. I am remanding him to your custody,” Oki replied. The words sounded bizarre in his mouth, colored by an accent that had never once used them. The guard laughed.

  ‘“Aberrant,’ huh?” The guard looked down at Jogun. “The Moon claims another old timer.” He whistled. Two more Themis guards approached, one of them carrying a pole with a looped wire on the end. Jogun tried to twist in Oki’s grip, but the Earth-strong muscles held him steady as the wire slipped over his head. It pulled tight.

  “Toss him in the Decom chute. But tag him for Doc Yugi first. Man’s been chomping at the bit to get a peek at some of these guys,” said the main guard. He turned to Oki, “Back to your post, shitbird.” Oki nodded. Left without hesitation.

  Jogun clawed at the wire strangling his neck as the guards pulled him away. Atrophied muscles failed. Consciousness leaked out of him as they pushed him into one of several small pods set in the wall. Everything went black as the doors slid shut.

  20

  Stripped

  THE BLANK FLOOR was freezing in Matteo’s cell. He’d awoken there about an hour ago to the muffled sounds of rambling and screaming. His new neighbors. Through the plate glass front wall of his cell, Matteo could see them. Across from him, one paced back and forth, babbling in an unending stream of terminology.

  “Right pin-lock A, right pin-lock B, left pin-lock A, left pin-lock B, manifold housing, manifold carriage, primary intake manifold,” and on and on and on. Matteo tried to tune him out, but couldn’t help but recognize a few of the terms. From his ‘new’ memories or things he picked up from the Pits, he couldn’t tell.

  Clasping his hands over his ears helped somewhat, but sounds from another neighbor broke through. A constant thump-thump-thump. The young kid two cells down beat his head against the glass, forming a bloody patch. Matteo decided to either stare into the corner or keep his eyes shut. So exhausted. Sleep came but in restless, disorienting spurts.

  Unaware he had dozed off, Matteo awoke to a hydraulic hiss across from him. A guard looped a wire around the neck of the ranting inmate and pulled him from the cell.

  “CO2 scrubber unit, O2 converter, Recycled O2 filter—hurrrrkkkk!” The guard tightened the noose. Yanked the inmate down the narrow-cell block hall. Matteo pressed his face to the glass, trying to see where they went, but they slipped out of sight. He felt guilty to be so thankful for the silence. As if on cue, the thumping resumed. His other neighbor must have woken up, too. Matteo scooted along the cold panel floor to the back corner of his cell. Tucked his head between his shivering knees. Looked at his arm. Aden William Rindal.

  He rolled up the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. Pushed into his forearm with a thumb, feeling again for anything under the surface. Nothing...wait— Through the squish of muscles over bones, something hard shifted. Too deep to tell what, even if he knew what he was looking for. A long bruise had developed there under the hours of prodding. Aden William Rindal...Aden...William...Rindal. The name gnawed him. Crushed every explanation that tried to form in his head. He let go of his arm. Clenched fists.

  He hoped for his turn soon. Whatever lay in store for him at the end of that hall, it had to be better than waiting for it. Maybe he could pretend to be passive when the guard came for him. Give no sign of a struggle at all. Then when the moment came he would break free. Run. Then...what? It didn’t matter. He would figure something out. There had to be a way.

  Finally, footsteps approached. Matteo bristled, but forced himself to lie totally still. Like a beaten slum dog tied to a post. Closer and closer they came. He swallowed hard, imagining the wire loop tightening around his neck. I won’t fight. Not yet. Vivid scenarios hatched in his mind. Grabbing the noose pole and ripping it from the guard’s hands. Kicking the man in the kneecap or maybe punching him in the throat. All of it vanished when he heard the hydraulic hiss come from his neighbor’s cell. Not his turn yet. Anger surged through him. Violent, impotent anger. He beat his fists on the floor. Hit himself in the head. Then glimpsed of the dark patch on his forearm. Aden Rindal. Aden Rindal. Aden Rindal. Gritting his teeth, he dug his thumbnail into the skin. A drop of blood beaded from the wound and ran down his arm. He started wheezing.

  ‘Breathe, my boy.’ Utu’s voice drifted up with a gentle touch. He released his arm and wiped the wound. Choked on his tears.

  A sudden loud din of mechanical noise shattered the calm. Matteo shrank like a frightened animal back into the rear corner of his cell. In the cell across from him, the wall slid open and revealed a hatch door. Before he could think, the door yawned open and dumped out its contents: a skinny, frail man fell into a heap on the cell floor. He didn’t look like the others. Much older. Grayer. Missing hair in big patches and thin as any ascetic priest Matteo had ever seen at the Stepstones. The creature woke up with a gasp. Pushed itself up on the floor and started coughing.

  Matteo saw the faded ‘T99’ on the old man’s sinewy shoulder.

  “H-hey,” Matteo forced himself to speak, “Hey, can you hear me?” The old man froze. Slowly lifted his head with eyes closed. Opened them.

  “Little brother?” The voice. The face. There was no mistaking Jogun in both, but they were so...broken. Matteo’s throat tightened as though choked by the guard’s noose. Forced himself to swallow.

  “Jo...” said Matteo. It was all he could manage. The two of them sat for what felt like forever, staring at one another in the pale, silent hall. Finally, Jogun winced and crawled toward the glass. He seemed to smile but it struggled to crack the pain etching his face.

  “You grew up,” Jogun said, “Made yourself strong, that’s-that’s good. Real good.” Jogun nodded with tears welling in his sunken eyes. Matteo blinked and looked away.

  “Jo, I-I’m...I broke my promise,”

  “No. No. Don’t be sorry to me. It was my fault. Should’a been there. Should’a...should’a...” Jogun hung his head, balling his hands into fists.

  “Nah, man, don’t...this is on me,” Matteo said. Paused. “It’s good to see you, bro.”

  “Yeah?” Jogun snorted a laugh. Looked down at his starving body, “I’ve been workin’ out, you know...prison and all.”

  A brittle laugh broke out of Matteo, then utterly faded. Jogun scooted closer to the glass.

  “Yo, you got a girl?” Jogun asked, grinning. Matteo went dead quiet, staring at the floor.

  “N-nah... nah, man.”

  “Oh.”

  They both sat in charged silence. Quiet enough for Matteo to remember the slight throbbing in the cut on his forearm. He
stared at it.

  “Hey Jo? Ever hear the name ‘Aden Rindal’?” Matteo asked. Jogun looked up, furrowing his brow. Shook his head.

  “I...uh...Aden Rin...Rin...?”

  “Aden William Rindal. They found this thing in my arm with his name stored in it.”

  “Don’t know,” said Jogun. Something had changed in his body language. Matteo saw him tense his shoulders. Shift his gaze slightly. Matteo straightened.

  “You know something. What is it?”

  “I—no I told you…I...”

  He’s hiding something. Matteo was sure of it now, but had always sensed something growing up. The way Jo would go away in his head, or the vague answers to questions. Like he’s doing now. This had to be the heart of it.

  “What. Do. You. Know?” Matteo watched the panic wash over his brother’s frail body. He seemed more trapped now than the cell walls ever intended.

  “Tell me!” Matteo shouted. Jogun winced. Then withered.

  “When you were a kid,” Jogun began, “I told you that you should be glad you never knew Dad. That was true, but I never said why. I shot him. Killed him.” A long pause followed.

  “Okay,” Matteo said, chewing on the information, “Why? What happened?”

  “He—he—” Jogun ran bony fingers through thinning hair, “He killed you.”

  “Me? Jo, what the—”

  “He killed Mom and...the baby. My baby brother...he dropped y—him outta the balcony, so I pulled the trigger.” Jogun trembled as the words spilled out of him. Matteo stood up and spread his hands on the glass.

  “More.”

  “I...I can’t...little brother, I—”

  “MORE!” Matteo pounded the glass. Jogun seemed like he would faint as he took a deep breath and struggled to his feet. Put his own hands on the glass.

  “There was a crash. About a month after y—after everything happened. Me and some of the other kids, we made it there before the Cutters did. Got first pick. The others didn’t wanna go in the cockpit with the bodies, they were... I went in. I went in and I found a baby in the back seat. Too sick to cry loud, so the others didn’t hear. I took him and I ran. I took you.”

  Matteo staggered back away from the glass. His legs buckled, dropping him to the floor. Jogun fell to his knees.

  “You’ve been my little brother ever since, man. You been my family! ‘Teo, please, I wanted to tell you. Tried so many times...”

  “Tried?” Matteo laughed bitterly. “Now it all makes sense. All you ever tried to do was keep me in the fucking dark! I never understood, thought maybe I’d be strong enough one day for you to tell me, but now... You only wanted to keep me for your damn self!”

  “Little brother...” Down the hall, a door opened and footsteps approached.

  “STOP CALLING ME THAT!” Matteo banged on the glass and shouted down the hall, “In here! It’s my turn to go, so go ahead and fucking take me!”

  “Please, Matteo. I just—I just wanted to protect you! I’m sorry man! I’m so sorry...so sorry...” Jogun rocked back and forth in his cell, clutching fistfuls of hair. Some of it tore off in his hands.

  “Hurry the fuck up! ‘Decom’ me or whatever, but do it soon, I—” The footsteps stopped in front of Matteo’s cell. In place of the guard stood the most feared EXO in the history of Rasalla. Sergeant John Kabbard. Fatter and grayer than that night on the rooftop, but it was him. Matteo felt like his head would burst. The man casually scanned the numbers on top of each cell. Pointed to Matteo’s.

  “This one,” Kabbard said. A Themis employee crossed to a keypad by the cell and started punching commands. Gas seeped into the chamber, taking little time to slacken Matteo’s muscles. His cell door slid open.

  “YOU?!” Jogun’s voice rasped as he screamed. He beat his fists on the glass. Kicked it. Shouldered into it. All the while shouting with a rage Matteo had never heard.

  “NO! DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HIM!” Blood spattered on plate glass with each wet thud. “I’ll kill you, Kabbard, you got that?! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

  The regular Decom guard appeared from down the hall, trotting to a stop. He looked at Jogun. Matteo. Then Kabbard.

  “Friends of yours?” said the guard. Kabbard snorted a laugh as his thugs pulled Matteo’s limp body from the cell. Matteo used his last bit of strength to turn his head. His eyes met Jogun’s. His brother, or whoever he was, pressed bloody palms on the glass.

  “Careful with that one,” Kabbard said, “if he’s your idea of ‘pacified,’ then you guys are in deeper shit than I thought.”

  “Never seen a conditioned unit act this way, sir, and I’ve been stationed here eight years. We’ll get him down to the infirmary immediately and get to the bottom of the issue,” said the guard. He tapped a few keys next to Jogun’s cell, filling it with the same gas.

  “Uh huh,” said Kabbard, “Let’s go.” Matteo watched through tunneled vision as Jogun was pulled from his cell and down the hall. The hall seemed to warp and stretch. Kabbard’s square frame loomed up beside him like a demon from a Blue Lady’s story. His head felt fuzzy and dull. Wake up. He thought. This ain’t real. I know it’s not. Wake. UP!

  21

  Test

  JOGUN STRAINED TO keep his neck muscles tight. He focused on the smearing red trail he left on the floor as the guard pulled him by the throat. Where? Each time he began to guess the thoughts jumbled into floating madness. The blood. Straight for a while. Then a left turn. Straight again. Then a right. Or was it left? Stopped. He heard a series of beeps then a hatch door opening behind him.

  “This one’s totally gonzo, can I get a hand here?” Footsteps followed. Arms scooped him up under the shoulders. Their touch was plastic. Cold.

  “You kidding me with that trail of shit running from here to the cells? It’s gotta be all crapped up with cosmic rads by the look of this asshole, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna mop it up.”

  “Relax, man. Jesus! Didn’t have a free hand for the mop on the way here, okay, I’ll clean it up in a second. Hey, Doc! Got a special case for you here!” Jogun felt himself lifted off the ground and dumped onto a hard slab. Metal by the way the cold surface stung his skin. The blurry image of a man in a heavy gray coat seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Long white gloves spattered with red reached for Jogun’s face. Grabbed his jaw, then shone a white hot light in his eyes.

  “Special, you say? Doesn’t look like much. Textbook radiation sickness, decrepitude, gravitational atrophy. Should be in the ovens, not on my table.” The light withdrew. Jogun pinched his watering eyes shut.

  “See his knuckles?” One of the guards asked. The gray-coated man said nothing. Just grabbed Jogun’s torn hands and turned them over. Like he was buying meat from the market.

  “Did that himself,” said the Decom guard. “Beat ‘em bloody on the holding cell glass screamin’ something about killing us all.”

  The faces started coming into focus, though only from the eyes up. They wore masks of powder blue fabric.

  “Really?” said the one they called ‘Doc.’ “That is special. Pass me the scanner, would you?” Jogun heard some metal clinking before having his head wrenched to the left by Doc’s palm. A dragging sensation tugged at the skin on the back of his neck. Something beeped.

  “Six years, two months, and thirteen days since he was Dosed. More than enough time for the conditioning to fully integrate and metabolize.”

  “Huh?” said the Decom guard. The Doc sighed.

  “Would even a little scientific literacy kill you people? The nanotech! Long enough in the human brain and it breaks down. Passes out of the body through the blood stream. BUT!” The Doc stabbed a syringe in the direction of the guards, “Whatever changes were made become part of the brain’s physical structure. For all intents and purposes: Permanent. Habits form neural physiology, gentlemen, and the life a Themis inmate...that’s all about habits.”

  “So why’d he break his?” asked the Decom guard.

  “The million dollar que
stion! Why indeed? I imagine beating his monkey fists against the glass hurt more than just his hands. Probably set his whole brain on fire. So a few electrodes here and a bone saw there, and we might be able to shed a light on our friend here.”

  “Whatever, Doc. Have a ball. Hit the comms if you need anything else.”

  “Gentlemen,” said the Doc. The guards turned to leave. One of them hesitated. He turned around, reached for the mop and wheeled bucket, then rolled it out with him through the hatch. Muttered something as he left. The door hissed shut behind them.

  Without the ambient sound of the open hall, ear-ringing silence stifled the infirmary. Broken only by little metallic clinks made by the Doc as he rifled through a drawer off to the side of the slab. The man paused.

  “Now that is too quiet...” he said. Jogun watched as the Doc swept his gloved fingers through the air, pressing invisible buttons. Jogun flexed whatever muscles he could, trying to wake them up. Nothing more than twitches answered the effort, but he jerked when a flurry of crawling notes filled the room. Music.

  “Bach. Cello Suite number 1. Perfection. Please don’t fight, you’ll give yourself an aneurism. Very painful for you and rather inconvenient for me. Now, where to start?” The Doc prodded the skin on Jogun’s neck and arm. “Ah! Let’s just see how ‘crapped up’ you really are. Blood and tissue samples, all ‘round.” The Doc lifted a syringe and took Jogun’s forearm in his plastic fingers. Veins bulged from the under-fed skin.

  “Well that’s not going to be hard, at least. Now then,” said the Doc, “You may feel a little stick, here.”

  A point of fire seared Jogun’s arm where the needle entered. He tensed.

  “Well done, my boy! Now tissue...tissue, tissue, tissue. Funny word isn’t it? Any word that makes a grown man purse his lips like that...sorry, I digress.” The Doc took out what looked like a fat, white pistol. Tiny metal points glistened at the end of the barrel.