It's Getting Hot: Red Planet Dragons of Tajss: Short Story

by Miranda Martin

  That’s where their argument falls apart, for me at least. Humans have hearts. Women and men should be able to love who they want. We’re supposed to be better than that. Earth History on the ship was a required class, we learned we’ve risen above so much bigotry in our history but here on Tajss, it’s like everyone forgot that. Just because someone’s body is different doesn’t make them less than you.

  Trying to understand their hatred, an empty ache forms in my chest. I can’t. It just doesn’t make sense.

  Imagine how the Zmaj feel! They have no women at all, they were killed in the Devastation. Maybe it’s fate that brought us here.

  Always work towards the greater good, Rosalind has told me multiple times.

  A greater good. That I can get behind for sure. What brings the most good for the most people?

  Now if only Gershom and his followers would look at things that way.

  Gershom’s building looms ahead, dark and menacing in the fading evening light. It’s really no different than any of the other buildings around the city. Decaying, broken, maybe a bit dirtier than what I would expect but nothing outwardly makes it stand out. Except I know this is the heart of the enemy. Home base for those who would upset the balance that lets us survive on this planet. All in the name of a glorious future dominated by humans.

  Okay, Sarah. You got this. Giving myself a mental bracing and a good third person talking, I walk through the front doors.

  “Hey Sarah,” Enid smiles.

  She’s using a makeshift broom to sweep sand out of a corner. Almost all the buildings have the same design, a large open foyer with either stairs in the lobby area or double doors that lead deeper into the building.

  “Hi Enid,” I wave. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, what’s up?”

  “Missed you at breakfast,” I say, having rehearsed my excuse for coming here.

  “Oh, yeah,” she says, her eyes darting.

  She’s hiding something.

  “I was just worried, thought I’d check up on you and Jacob.”

  Enid is gaunt, tired looking, her eyes sunken deep with clear signs of extreme dehydration. A hallmark of following Gershom is refusing to take epis, so the heat of the planet is unbearable for them.

  “We’re fine, thanks,” she says, resuming sweeping.

  The stick she’s using has stiff reeds bound around the bottom with string. A couple of the reeds fall out as she works, making it even less effective than it was. The makeshift broom moves the sand around but doesn’t really clean it.

  Welcome to Tajss. Take nothing for granted and nothing is simple. Life on the ship didn’t prepare us for having to make our own tools. When we arrived at our destination planet we were supposed to have the full manufacturing capability of the ship available to us. Nothing prepared us for being effectively thrown back to the Stone Age.

  “Okay…” I say, trailing off, hoping to encourage her to say more.

  “Enid, what’s going on?” Jacob says, entering through the door at the rear of the open space.

  “I’m doing the damn job I was assigned,” she snaps over her shoulder at her brother.

  The family resemblance between the two is clear. They’re both thin, to the point of being gaunt, and they have the same sharp nose, same sandy-blond hair, and their eyes are the same shade of blue.

  “Don’t snap at me,” he retorts. “Oh, hey Sarah.”

  “Hi Jacob,” I wave. “Missed you at breakfast.”

  His eyes dart to Enid and back before he responds. “Yeah, wasn’t hungry today,” he lies. “What are you up to?”

  “Usual, scavenging and such,” I lie too. “Though I had an idea I wanted to work on.”

  “Oh yeah?” Jacob asks.

  Enid continues sweeping, short angry strokes of the broom swishing through the sand pushing it ineffectively around the floor.

  “Yeah, I’ve been looking at that fountain in the town center, couple blocks over,” I say.

  Jacob’s mouth tightens and Enid stops sweeping for a beat. Damn, I just hit a nerve and I have no clue what it is. The tension in the air rises a hundred degrees. Interesting.

  “Oh yeah?” Jacob asks, faking a nonchalant attitude.

  “Sure, wouldn’t it be great if we could get the water running to it?” I ask.

  They shoot glances at each other, full of hidden meaning. Maybe it’s a sibling thing, that ability to communicate with just a glance. One way or the other, I know they know more than they want to let on. A lot more.

  “That would be nice,” Enid says, her voice stiff, eyes darting to Jacob. She’s hiding something.

  “What would be nice?” a new voice says, causing me to jump.

  Turning to see who’s joined us, my mouth goes dry.

  Gershom. Damnit.

  He’s an older man with gray at the temples and a deeply lined, tanned face. He’s wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and bright suspenders. The first thing I notice is that he shows no signs of dehydration. Actually he looks fit as a fiddle. Too fit for someone not taking epis.

  “I was just talking with Enid about the idea of getting water back to the fountain in the town center,” I say, turning to Gershom.

  He smiles broadly. Teeth too white, too clean and perfect for the way we live now. Toothpaste ran out, as far as I know, months ago. Cleaning your teeth now is brushing them with a dry toothbrush, water being too precious to waste.

  “Well that’s a great idea,” he says. “That would bring power to the people, wouldn’t it?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I tilt my head, trying to decipher what he’s getting at.

  “Yeah,” I say, buying myself time. “I thought so.”

  “Jacob, you worked in maintenance on the ship didn’t you?” Gershom asks.

  “Yes sir,” Jacob says.

  “Well then, there you go. Maybe Jacob can help you?”

  “That’d be great,” I say.

  Another couple walks out of the back of the building, hand in hand, stopping when they see our gathering. They’re young and I know I should remember their names but I don’t. Their eyes widen and mouths drop open as they look from me to Gershom.

  “Evening, Anna and Phillip,” Gershom greets them. “Did you get plenty to eat?”

  Plenty to eat? They’re not entering the building from outside so they couldn’t have come from the dining hall.

  “Yes sir,” Phillip says, taking a step forward so that he’s shielding Anna with his body.

  Does he think I’m a threat or Gershom?

  “Good, good,” Gershom says.

  “Gershom, uh, what’s going on?” I ask.

  He turns his brilliant white smile on me, making my skin crawl. How can anyone believe anything that comes out of his mouth?

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand your question,” he says.

  “What’s going on? Why aren’t they eating at the dining hall?”

  “Oh!” he exclaims, laughing and rubbing his forehead with one hand. “Of course, that. Well, you see, some of us prefer to eat our meals without fear. One never knows what our hosts might get up to, so I’ve been making arrangements for those who prefer to eat in quiet and safety to be able to do so. For the people of course. It’s all very routine.”

  Very routine. Right.

  An old fable my mom used to tell me about a scorpion convincing a frog to carry it across a flooded river comes to mind. Funny, it sounds like something Rosalind would say too.

  “Oh,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

  “Come now,” Gershom says, moving into my personal space and placing a hand on my shoulder.

  Revulsion grips my stomach, forcing a bit of bile up my throat. Barely, I suppress a shudder before taking a step back but he doesn’t take the hint, keeping his hand in place.

  “Yes?” I make it a question, forcing it out through pursed lips.

  “Take a tour, come see how good life can be.”

  “Sure,” I agree without hesitation.

  He�
��s handing me a golden invitation to get a look inside his camp. I’m not going to pass that up.

  “Sir, are you sure?” Enid asks.

  “Of course I am,” he says, smiling bigger somehow, if his grin goes any wider his head is going to flip backwards. “Sarah is curious and we have nothing to hide here. I’m well aware of the vicious rumors that are spreading about me and those I’m responsible for. The best way to fight a lie is with the truth.”

  I study his face for any signs of deception. That last line is exactly what Rosalind has said to me more than once. Damn he’s clever.

  “Come along Sarah,” he says, finally taking his hand off my shoulder.

  Gershom leads the way through double doors at the rear of the lobby. Though no one said or asked anything, Enid, Jacob, Anna and Phillip all fall in behind us, making a parade out of my visit. There’s no going unnoticed with this entourage in tow.

  “As you’ll see, there is nothing nefarious happening here,” Gershom says, pacing himself to walk beside me.

  “I never said there was.”

  “Of course you didn’t, you’re polite. Raised well by your mother, Fariss was her name, right?”

  “How do you know that?”

  Gershom grins. “I make it my job to know things. How else can I ensure every person is well cared for if I don’t know what they need?”

  He looks at me with his fixed smile, bright eyes dancing with too much knowledge, dangerous.

  “Sarah,” he says. “Is it important that I know or is it really important that I care?”

  Swallowing hard and giving myself a mental shake, I shrug. “So, about the food?”

  “This way,” he says, but not before his grin makes it clear he knows I’m avoiding his question.

  He leads me through the building. The dining hall is similar to the communal one. An open space with tables and benches. Zmaj furniture style is mostly benches or backless chairs. It accommodates their wings and tails. They may be Human First here, but they’re obviously not above scavenging from the existing Zmaj remnants.

  Several people are eating when enter. It is dinner time, my grumbling stomach reminds me.

  A surprising number of couples are in the dining hall. I’d thought most of Gershom’s followers were single, unmarried folk but I’m wrong on that point. Unlike the communal hall where roommates tend to share their tables with each other, there’s a bigger mix here of male-female pairings.

  “Where are you getting your supplies?” I ask, an obvious question.

  “Fairly,” Gershom says, not answering.

  I don’t push it. Pissing off my host isn’t a good idea right now. I’m not Captain Kirk, willing to shoot my mouth off while deep in the clutches of the enemy’s home base in a staccato delivery of words. Playing it smart is the best way to be. Observe and report. It’s what I do. I guess on that front, I’m more of a Spock.

  What I do observe pisses me off. Somehow, they’re getting supplies that are supposed to be for all the survivors. Ration packs are on every tray as well as cured meat. Are they hunting on their own? Are they part of the reason the area herds have been over-farmed?

  Gershom keeps up a steady stream-of-conscious conversation, telling about how wonderful things are for those who he ‘cares’ for. It’s all bullshit. Though they are eating better than the rest of us. They have to be stealing it.

  He leads me through the quarters portion of the building. The first room we come to has only two beds so I assume it’s for a married couple. As he continues the tour though, no room has more than two beds.

  “Where’s the dorm rooms?” I ask.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The dorm rooms? You know, where the singles sleep.”

  “Ah,” Gershom says, shaking his head like I’ve made the most profoundly sad statement that’s ever been uttered. “Yes, of course, you’re one of those.”

  “Those what? What does that even mean?” I ask, ire rising despite my best efforts to control it. Rosalind would not be proud.

  “Ship-siders,” he says.

  “A what?”

  “A ship-sider, it’s the term we’ve been using for those who haven’t adjusted to life off the ship.”

  “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Gershom turns on his full smile and slimy charm, putting his unwelcome hand back on my shoulder. I don’t care about being nice right now so I jerk away.

  “It’s nothing, really,” he says. “We don’t live on the ship any longer. There’s an entire planet to be explored, conquered, and tamed. It’s what humanity does, if you study history, we come, we see, we conquer.”

  Clenching my jaw tight enough my teeth are grinding, I glare.

  “That doesn’t explain what you mean,” I growl.

  “The rules of the ship no longer apply,” he says, condescension in his voice like he’s explaining something to a child. Which just pisses me off even more. “We don’t force people into small spaces. It’s not necessary. One of the many freedoms I have encouraged among those who have come under my wing.”

  “Force?” I say, my face burns hot and my hands ball into fists. I want to wipe that smug look off his face with my fists.

  “Of course,” he says. “Freedom of choice is a basic tenet of human rights, is it not?”

  Rosalind’s face comes to mind, knowing she wouldn’t want me to act like this, I get myself under control.

  “Sure,” I agree. With my anger gone, Gershom’s smile falters. “Freedom of choice. Right, should have thought of that.”

  Frustration plays across his face for an instant before he schools it back to his fake happiness.

  He was trying to push my buttons.

  “Good,” he says. “Shall we continue our tour?”

  He takes me through the rest of the building, though I notice one wing he carefully avoids. I wonder what’s in that one that he doesn’t want me to see? The route he’s led us on has been carefully twisty and windy. Certainty fills me that he intended me not to notice we missed that wing.

  “Well this is all very nice,” I say as we return to the lobby. “You said that Jacob could help me with the water project?”

  “Of course!” Gershom says, his voice booming in the empty space. “Actually, I’ve had the same thought and to that end we’ve been working on a solution. As it turns out, we think we’ve found the lines that feed the fountain.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  His smile communicates more than any words ever could. I don’t know how, yet, but this is bad.

  “Of course not,” he says. “We haven’t resolved it fully yet or it would be working.”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to figure out what his angle is.

  “Jacob can you take you down below the building. There’s a control center located there we suspect is the key to getting the water flowing.”

  Right under this building. How did he know? Could he have planned that all along when he picked it? The ramifications take my breath away.

  Jacob steps forward. “It’s this way,” he says, sullen with downcast eyes.

  Gershom looks on with beaming benevolence. Smug dick.

  “Sure,” I say, turning to follow Jacob.

  I can’t just walk away.

  Stopping, I turn back and look at Gershom, surrounded by his sycophants. He plays the savior role-model for all it’s worth.

  “How long have you known?”

  He shakes his head, the smile slowly turning to a frown. Classic Gershom, he’s playing dumb. The followers around him watch and even I feel a touch of awe at his ability to play the crowd.

  “I don’t understand the question Sarah,” he says, shaking his head. “Could you clarify what you are wanting to know?”

  “How long have you known that the key to supplying much needed water is here, under this building?”

  “Not long,” he lies.

  I know it’s a lie. The way he says it, his eyes dart to the left, and a grin plays at th
e corners of his mouth, threatening the carefully schooled frown. Shifting my gaze to Enid, she immediately breaks eye contact, looking down. None of his followers will meet my gaze. They all know. They’ve known for a while.

  Swallowing hard to push the lump in my throat down, I nod like I’m buying the lie. “Of course.”

  It takes an effort of will to turn away. Every muscle aches as I fall in behind Jacob, the tension is too much.

  He leads us back to the lobby, then through a side door into a dusty and dank smelling hallway. About halfway down the hall he turns into a room. This room has the Zmaj equivalent of monitors, floor to ceiling clear constructs. Each of them is about three or four inches thick and two feet wide with a shelf that protrudes from the ‘front’ at a height that would be comfortable for a standing Zmaj. I would have to stand on tip toes to use it.

  Only one set of these is working that I know of, which is in the main building, the one that imparts the ability to speak and understand the Zmaj language. The going theory is that they are the equivalent of a computer. Though with the intermittent power, the damage done in the war, and the ensuing decay of time, no one knows if they can be made to function again.

  Jacob walks through the screens into the back corner of the room. As he kneels down, I see there’s a trap door in the floor. The dirt and debris have been cleared, making it obvious it’s been opened and likely that the traffic in and out of it has been heavy.

  “Can you help with this?” Jacob asks, looking up.

  “Sure,” I agree, moving next to him and kneeling.

  The handle is big enough for both of us to grip. It’s designed for a Zmaj, of course, and the weight of it might be nothing for them but it takes both of us straining to lift it.

  It slams to the ground with a loud bang and a massive puff of dust. Sneezing, I wipe the dirt from my eyes, trying to clear the tears.

  “Damn,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Jacob agrees. “Every time.”

  Of course. He’s been here often but they just found this. Right.

  A dim light shows a ladder leading down into a large shaft. It looks like it goes down ten to fifteen feet to a tunnel with lots of pipes running through.