Son of Sedonia

by Ben Chaney

  Six years in lunar gravity meant one thing. Atrophy. His limbs were in agony, filling with acid moments after the fleet broke atmo. It was like being under twenty tons of water and on fire at the same time. And now he would be expected to be...what? A hero? A prophet? A savior? He did his best to lay still in the sticky, sweaty upholstery of his cabin seat, trying desperately to enjoy what might be the last peaceful moment left to him. ‘All you ever tried to do was keep me in the fucking dark!’

  He felt the titanic feet of the landing gear flex beneath him and the whole cabin sagged to a full stop. Cheering erupted in the compartments behind him. He and the other old-timers looked around at one another in their forward compartment. Most exchanged tearful nods or held hands with the interlacing of feeble fingers. But the weight. Jogun could feel it in the others as much as himself. Heavier than the gravity dragging down on their bodies, the weight of a long forgotten home suddenly there again...and feeling foreign. Totally alien. He wished he was happier.

  Jogun flinched as the compartment door popped then hissed open. Cheering, singing T99s flowed in. Two by two, they lifted each of the old-timers and bore them to the exit ramp. Rusaam and Kolpa were the last two in. They approached with the care of Rasalla River priests, stopping beside Jogun in his private front seat.

  “Hey y’all,” said Jogun, “How was your flight?” A brittle smile creased the lines of his sunken cheeks. The two of them exchanged confused looks, each of them searching for just the right thing to say to the almighty ‘Healer.’ Jogun sighed. Nodded. Russam unhooked him from his harness, like a parent does a child, then raised the arm rest. Jogun took a deep breath as the two of them scooped under his legs and supported his back. He winced.

  “You okay, Brother? If we’re hurtin’ you, let us know,” said Rusaam.

  “I’m fine, but...just call me Jo.”

  Rusaam nodded, though Jogun noted the man’s wounded silence. Jogun took a deep breath into his heavy, aching chest.

  “Slow and easy, y’all. Let’s go.”

  The sounds of the celebration outside wafted up the exit ramp as they walked down. Laughing, crying, shouting, and singing filled the warm, dust-laden sweat of the sunset air. The long forgotten smells of Rasalla filled Jogun’s nostrils, squeezing his throat with the threat of tears.

  Ten young T99s in Themis jumpsuits flanked the center path of the ramp, holding fluorescent lanterns to light the way. They had been waiting for the last passenger. As Jogun appeared in the arms of his attendants, the hush spread like a wave in front of him. He fought down the seizing panic, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. Astonished whispers surrounded him as he felt Rusaam and Kolpa step off the angled platform onto the flat desert ground. More voices than he could count. Against every urge to keep them shut, he opened his eyes.

  In the fading violet bath of the setting sun, thousands of silent faces watched him. Rusaam and Kolpa stopped.

  “Stand me up,” Jogun heard himself say. His caretakers obeyed with delicate care, lowering him to touch first his right foot, then his left. The coarse shipyard soil ground into the soles of his work boots under his gathering weight. Legs trembling, he willed himself to stand. The electricity of the moment coursed from his fingertips to his toes and to his ears. His head felt light, as though it would carry him away. The lights across the Pits trembled at first in the gathering twilight, then seemed to rise into streaks of charged color.

  Cold with sweat and shaking, he reached up to shield his eyes. The streaks bled together into a blinding aurora. The last shape he saw was the ocean of people holding their hands up in unison. Jumping. Dancing. Everything went white and Jogun swooned. He felt the dull impact of the earth beneath him before everything just stopped.

  Jogun’s eyes fluttered open and awareness flickered on to the sensation of violent, shaking movement. The dull orange sky of dusk hung above, or rather in front of him. The tops of slum buildings passed to his left and his right. I’m on my back. His hand drifted to his face to touch something warm and wet. Red smeared fingers. My fingers...my blood... The stabbing pain above and behind his ears mounted in a single, sharp pulse. He winced as it subsided. Then it came again.

  More sensation switched on throughout his body. He lay on something hard. A wood cart. He spread his livening fingers over the rough planks. The roaring noise in his ears became the familiar rhythm of wheels on a packed dirt road. He lifted his head and peered through the dissipating fog.

  The familiar shapes of Rusaam and Kolpa loomed ahead. They had their backs to him, pulling the cart handles as they ran at a fever pitch. Jogun tried to speak, but the sound came out as a cut-off croak.

  “Brothe—Jo! Can you hear me?!” Rusaam glanced back with wide, angled eyes. Jogun gnashed his teeth for another knife surge in his skull. Nodded. His head fell back onto the wood with a thud and his eyes clenched shut. After a never-ending instant, the pain melted away again. He spoke.

  “W-where?” was all he could get out.

  “Don’t worry, Jo, we takin’ you to the Temple. Gonna see Doc Utu,” said Kolpa. The name was warm in Jogun’s ears. He felt a teardrop stream down his cheek, then drifted back to blackness.

  Jogun awoke again as the cart stopped underneath him. The sudden stillness, after the constant rhythm of movement, vibrated in his bones and slackened muscles. Night now... The far-away dotted stream of headlights crawled across the dim clouds above him. To his left and right, gas torches flickered playfully along the Temple walls. The headache still pressed deep into his head, but was somehow less important here. Footsteps coming this way...fast. He lifted his head and saw the blurry forms of Rusaam and Kolpa. They came into focus as a third joined them. Utu.

  The relief of seeing this man slipped away before Jogun was ready to let it go. The laugh-creased, rich brown face of the family friend turned into a look of shock and deep sadness.

  “Hi, Doc,” Jogun rasped.

  “Jo...” said Utu. The man who always had a word and a smile for any situation was speechless. Jogun looked down at himself, remembering his busted body.

  “You uh...” Jogun coughed a dry breath, “I don’t guess I could get some water, could I?” The flanking jab of the question staggered Utu. His wrinkles accepted the familiar, squinting smile like the embrace of an old friend. He laughed. The sound washed over Jogun and spilled throughout the Temple alley.

  “Of course, my friend, of course!” Utu shouted, scrambling to grab a hold of the hollow gourd canteen that hung from his shoulder. He rushed to Jogun’s side and set the mouth of the canteen to Jogun’s lips. Tipped up slowly. The cool, earthy liquid flowed down Jogun’s dry throat and landed cold in his gut. He raised his trembling hands to take the canteen as though it were a holy relic. Drank deeply. Utu withdrew it at the proper moment, then started prodding. The Doc felt Jogun’s forehead with a palm, then the back of the hand. Took Jogun’s wrist in his fingertips and waited, counting seconds on a wristwatch. Utu spoke as he worked.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, gently lifting Jogun’s leg at the knee. Jogun gritted his teeth as the throbbing in his muscles seemed to squeeze tight to the bone.

  “Get ready, my friend. It’s a long story,” said Jogun. He felt Utu suddenly stop the examination. The pulse of distant voices caught in the air. Three shouts then a pause. Three shouts then a pause. As it got louder, the sounds came into focus.

  “RA-SA-LLA! RA-SA-LLA! RA-SA-LLA!” they chanted in unison. Soon, the tromp of hundreds of feet underscored the chanting. They rounded the corner. T99s, house-wives, old men, old women, children. The beating heart of the Slums filled the temple, then stopped at the sight of Jogun and Utu. All lowered their heads.

  “Of that,” Utu said, “I have no doubt.”

  30

  Flavors

  SURROUNDED BY THESE people, Matteo never felt more alone. But at least alone could be safe for now. Time enough to try and absorb the sensory overload. Up close, the City moved differently. In the shadow of giants, the Sedonia ci
tizens and their world had real color and texture. Lights of juicy bronze, aqua, red, gold, and emerald danced everywhere, transforming the buildings into collages of colored animation. People in the street walked past wearing intricate circuit-like patterns all over their clothes. Some glowed slightly, pulsing to the rhythm of their heartbeats. So much power, they wear it... He thought of all the cold nights when he couldn’t afford fuel for his tin lantern. Most people in the crowd were so distracted with their weird hand gestures that they didn’t notice the puddles and trash they walked through.

  Tints of the smells wafting through the air were familiar, but rotated into things entirely new to his nose. Freshly baked bread mixed with a bite of something salty-sweet. A slightly fishy smell tinged with a distant cousin of Utu’s garden spinach. A pale, spikey-haired couple passed him holding skewers of something that smelled like pork. Where the hell did you get that? He picked up the pace in the direction from which they’d come.

  At the end of the bridge, a block of neon storefronts hugged the base of a massive, tiered neighborhood of buildings. The pulsing beats of several stereo systems overlapped. Matteo felt like every step took him out of one song and into another. He saw more people holding skewers. They were centered around a semi-circular counter that jutted out in neon yellow from the wall. A gigantic cartoon pig ran, did backflips, and faced the crowd over and over above the counter. Going near it was out of the question.

  “It’s kinda over-cooked this time; must have the B team on the grill tonight,” a voice said as it walked by him. A milk-faced teenager ran fingers through a fountain of hair and tossed a full skewer into a round can on the street. Matteo pounced, reached into the can, and pulled out the meal. He sank his teeth in and tore at the juicy, brown flesh, swallowing chunks before they were fully chewed. His eyes teared as they rolled back into his skull.

  Digging into the last morsel, the rest of his senses trickled back to him. The crowd kept its distance. A group of exotic, mouse-like girls crinkled their noses at him through their multi-colored hair. Shame-faced, he stuffed the last bite in his mouth.

  A hard knock to the shoulder almost sent it flying back out. He whirled, ready to fight, but froze when he saw her.

  “Ah shit, sorry!” said the voice from behind a flowing mass of red curls. She stooped to fix her shoe that had popped off in the impact.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said as she stood up and brushed her hair out of her face. Cute, pursed features with sharp, green eyes and pouting lips. Matteo had turned into a wide-eyed statue with a lump in his cheek. She snorted a laugh and started jogging.

  “Have a good one, buddy. Don’t choke!” she called back to him. Matteo swallowed, tossed the skewer, and walked after her. The smells of food faded, giving way to the familiar cocktail of cigarettes, alcohol, and vomit. Lines formed around corners to get into structures clothed in other-worldly displays of light and color. In glimpses, Matteo saw the redhead break from traffic, skip to the front of one of the lines, and slip past a door-man about the size of Oki. The Sing—u...Sing-u-lar... ‘Singularity.’ The name of the place hummed over him in brilliant, aquamarine script.

  He wiped his mouth, cracked his neck, and shimmied through the crowd to the door. Stopped dead in his tracks. The hotdog-sized fingertips of the doorman’s giant paw jabbed into Matteo’s chest, holding him there.

  “Uh-uh, chief. End of the line’s back there.” He pointed down the block over about a hundred heads. Matteo looked down the line, hesitated.

  “O-kay...” said the doorman as he leaned into Matteo, pushed him aside, and beckoned the next person in line. Matteo noted the looks he was getting, hung his head, and walked down the row of psychedelic bodies in search of the end. Anger chewed at him the whole time. Clever, manly things to say to the doorman materialized in his head by the dozens, but nothing cleared the shame of just taking it and walking away. ‘Don’t ever fucking touch me.” “No way, ‘chief,’ the end is right HERE!”

  Once The Singularity was nowhere in sight, he found the end of the line. People clumped together in groups, talking with one another in familiar words and sounds, but in patterns he didn’t understand.

  “Yeah, I was blurred the fuck beyond focus at that spot! Utterly blurry.”

  “I’m not texting him back after that shit-show...”

  “Oh, tag me when you check in! Besties!”

  All the while, they flitted and swept their hands through the air at the same imaginary shapes. Every time the line inched forward his legs begged him to just walk on and leave. His eyes wandered. The wall to the right was embellished with small blocks that stuck out, forming a kind of overall wave pattern. The ends of each block pulsed with bits of a giant video feed. He reached out and touched one. Sturdy. Looking up, the wall of blocks stopped some fifteen feet above to a ledge. He glanced back at the oblivious club kids and grinned. Good thing I’m invisible.

  It felt good to climb. Hand over hand, he scaled the wall in seconds and crouched into the recess at the top. He crept along the edge above the queue until he reached a gap. The roof ledge ahead would take a bit of a jump to reach, but easier if he used the sign that stuck out just underneath. Matteo leaped toward the sign, planted his right foot, and then launched himself toward the ledge. Climbed up and over.

  A battery of angled vent shafts lined the short roof of the club. He’d hoped for a door, but one of them would do. Matteo popped the slatted covering on one and lowered himself inside. After a minute of squeezing through the cramped shaft, he hit a drop-off in the path. Looked down. Women’s voices drifted up to him, laughing, shouting, and squealing above the thumping bass. He grinned, carefully removed the vent cover, and lowered himself down.

  He landed in a tiny, dark room with a black door ahead of him. A dim, blue light filled the space from glass tiles in the floor, and dainty, clicking footsteps approached outside the door, followed by a rapid knock-knock-knock-knock. Before he could say anything, the door opened.

  “Oh my god, you sleaze!” The pointed claws of a skinny, rope-haired girl grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out. Wide-eyed, he found himself surrounded by a pack of shrieking women. In a circular room of curved mirrors and shock-white lights, they shielded themselves from his gawking eyes. Gorgeous women of all shapes and sizes, dressed in clothes that shrink-wrapped their bodies in electric colors.

  “Get out! Get the fuck out, perv!”

  “Are you serious with this shit?! Somebody go get Trey!”

  “Haha! Hey, wait! He’s kinda cute!” Against the several pairs of hands shoving him toward the exit, Matteo turned and smiled wide. The door caught him in the face and swung hard open, spilling him onto the cold glass floor outside. A couple of passers-by jumped aside to dodge him.

  “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” He said, coughing. The strangers seemed to understand, if not appreciate it that much. They continued on their way down the black hallway, walking the path of the same glowing tiles. The floor, walls, and air hummed with a throbbing current of music. I’m in! He excused himself from the screaming ladies behind him and followed the others.

  The hall opened up into a gigantic, perfectly circular chamber with the same black walls and indigo-lit floor. Silhouetted bodies danced in dramatic, curving sweeps and primal rhythms on the largest segment of the floor rings. People in wall-set booths crowded around tables of exotic drinks. And along the perimeter were the bars. Towers of neon bottles loomed behind each of the curved counters. Matteo licked his dry lips.

  It took some doing to get anywhere close to the bar through the layers of people, but he finally found a hole. Leaning forward and waving seemed to work for the others. He pushed in and raised his hand higher than everyone else. A familiar laugh answered him.

  “And you, sir! What is your question?” In the twilight of the room, Matteo made out a head of curly hair and a familiar, arresting face. His stomach flipped.

  “You...can put your hand down now,” she laughed. Matteo obeyed. She sank
a scoop into the ice bin and spread her hands on the bar. Cocked her head at Matteo.

  “Do you...have an order open or something? ‘Cause if we didn’t get it, you didn’t send it. Probably gotta reboot.” She tapped a shiny red fingernail on her temple. Matteo raised a hand and mimicked her, tapping twice on the side of his head.

  “Ummm...gotta hold it down, bud.” She raised a perfect, thin eyebrow at him. He bunched two fingers together. Pushed hard. A beep sounded in his inner ear, making him jump. Then a patch on his forearm vibrated under the bruise. ‘A System shutdown occurred to prevent damage to your RFID Platform. Continue reboot?’ The message in his mind was clear and crisp. Umm...’Yes?’ He answered in thought. A gold square flickered to life on his arm.

  “Whoa! Well hello, your majesty,” the redhead said with a mocking bow, “Good of you to come down from your ivory tower to hang out with us Low Folk.”

  “What’s that supposed to mea—,” the entire room around Matteo brightened and somehow seemed to bend, squeezing in on itself. BoooooooOOOOOOP! The black walls of the club came alive in twisting, imploding patterns of bright gold and jade. Vibrant blooms of mathematical shapes moved in perfect time with the music, cascading over the ceiling and floor toward the DJ booth, then rushing back out as the beat changed. The floor tiles seemed to react on the dance floor to the feet of each person in the crowd. Chills prickled up through Matteo’s fingers and toes, up his arms and legs, and into his core. He parted his lips in a breathless gasp.

  “Working now, I take it? Your Goldi-box software’s probably a few versions ahead of this place. Try ordering again,” said the redhead. Matteo rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and turned back to her. A floating band of light had appeared in the center of his vision. Focusing on it, he made out a string of words. ‘Update Available! Do you want to proceed? Yes. No.’ He reached for the lights and touched ‘Yes,’ feeling a slight vibration in his finger. Another rush of blinding brightness later, and interface appeared everywhere. Everywhere. The meaningless gestures of the others around him suddenly made sense as he saw them interacting with hovering screens that flitted back and forth, up and down, in and out. Information about each of them poured out in front of Matteo. Their names, interests, social status... ‘Relationship Status?’