by Andrew Gates
“Hope Davis,” she replied as she shook his hand. “Sorry about that. You weren’t who I expected. I came looking for him too. I guess he’s out right now. I’m a history teacher though. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, I guess you can,” he replied. “Do you know if my daughter is in your class?”
“Sorry, what was her name?”
“Ophelia, Ophelia Saljov,” he answered.
The hot woman shook her head.
“No, not in my class. Here, I guess we can take a seat until Jorge gets back from wherever he is,” she said as she motioned to the chair in front of him.
The room was surprisingly barren and just as grey as any other part of the school. Whoever Jorge was, he had a massive desk, which took up a majority of the space in the room. The hot woman moved behind Jorge’s desk and sat down. Her tight dress conformed to her shape as she moved. Tracey sat down in the smaller chair, trying to cast subtle glances her way.
“I’ll see if I can handle your problems since Jorge isn’t here. Is something wrong with your daughter?” she asked.
“No, no,” Tracey said as he adjusted in his chair. “But I’ve heard there have been some complaints about the history that’s being taught here.”
The hot woman’s face went from calm to worried faster than a light emitting diode switching on. Whatever this issue was, she clearly knew about it.
“Ah, I see,” she said, trying to fake her calmness. She took a deep breath and adjusted her legs behind the desk. Tracey wished he could see more. “I just want you to know, I had nothing to do with the changes to the curriculum this year. In fact, I spoke out against it.”
“What is the change?” Tracey still did not know the facts. “I don’t feel comfortable with the government making changes to school curriculum, especially history. You can understand my concern.”
“Oh, this adjustment had nothing to do with the government. Harrison is doing this independently. This was all Jorge’s idea. The government, quite honestly, doesn’t seem to care what the hell we do,” she said.
This answer surprised him. Was the government really taking a step to the side and letting schools do their own job? This sounded too good to be true. Either this Jorge guy is doing a damn fine job or something is going on here.
“I’m sorry, what is the change anyway?” he asked.
“Oh, I thought you were aware,” she responded.
Tracey simply shook his head.
“For years we taught a small section of surface history, but mostly history of the last 200 years here in the station. Our feeling was, not only was this more relevant to the students, but much less controversial.” She took another breath. “However, between this school year and last, Jorge decided to expand surface era history to an entire year’s worth of curriculum. He even found some research type professional to teach it, though she’s never even taught a class before.” Her tone sounded bitter towards the end. “I’m surprised you were not aware of this. It’s gotten quite a lot of attention lately.”
Is she trying to make me feel stupid or something?
“Well, I’m sorry I haven’t been staying up to date,” he responded.
“You know, I think parents should be involved in their kids’ lives. You should probably follow what’s going on in your daughter’s school,” she said without even giving him a chance to say more.
“Excuse me,” Tracey snapped, “but who are you to tell me how to raise my kid?”
The woman suddenly looked less appealing. Didn’t this shit with the parent just happen yesterday? When else was I supposed to learn about this?
“I’m just saying, sir, most of our parents are informed,” she said as she lifted her hands into the air. It was as if she were trying to incite him.
Tracey was appalled. What a fucking bitch. He stood up. What came next needed to be said on his feet.
“Well Miss I-forget-your-name, I think if what you say is true, I am actually all for this change in curriculum. It’s about time someone is doing something good around here. I came in today not knowing what was going on, expecting to be upset at you guys for promoting some sort of Navy propaganda, but I find that I am pleasantly surprised by what I learned. If only I wasn’t treated like some half-ass piece of shit father though,” he said.
“Well sir, I’m sorry you disagree with me, but would you prefer a safe environment for our students to learn, or a place where the media, lawyers and protesters are up in their faces? We don’t need this kind of attention.”
Tracey did not say anything and neither did the woman. The room was silent for a brief moment and they simply stared at one another. Eventually Tracey just turned and walked away, not saying another word.
Fuck that kunda too, he thought as he walked out.
The meeting left a pain in his head like the morning after a whopski binge. While he was relieved to learn that the school was doing something good, the rude treatment from the woman in green left him fuming like vapor extractors in the lower levels. It was almost as if she wanted him to be angry, like she secretly wanted the controversy and attention all along.
Tracey grunted as he walked back to the yellow transition zones, pushing past kids as they hurried to their classes.
This detour had caused quite a delay. Harrison was on the opposite side of the station from his work. My commute is going to be twice as long today. He did not even need to check his pod to tell him how late he was going to be. Too fucking late.
This was not the best way to start the morning. Not only was he still frustrated from the teacher, but the situation with his brother continued to linger on his mind. Fuck it, he realized, I’m not going to work today.
Ever since his brother disappeared, it seemed like nobody gave him any respect, not the hostile investigator, not the rude teacher nor those goddamn whitecoats. All Tracey wanted were clear answers. What happened to my brother? What happens to me? What is going on at my own daughter’s school? At least he was given an answer to the last one.
Is your brother a traitor, Mr. Saljov?
The memory came back to him when he least wanted it to. He remembered the dark room and the compassionless glare of the monstrous questioner. He clenched his fist in frustration. There was no more time for nonsense. A day free from work was ripe with opportunity.
It was time to find some answers.
Tracey traveled to the residential sector of an old friend, just across the entertainment district, where the multicolored walls were comfortingly familiar. He could name nearly every bar in here, but had hardly ever seen it at this time of day. Yet today his business did not concern shots of green milk bombs or hallucinogenic Looper Inhalant. No, today he came for something else, or rather someone.
Baltir Yavenna.
That was who Tracey came to find. Baltir was an old friend and a computer programmer on payroll by the Strategic Action Room. Their paths first crossed back when Tracey was still a slave to the Navy. A damn whitecoat. They had remained friends even after his departure, though Baltir never stopped working for the SAR.
Tracey pounded on the door when he finally reached Baltir’s home. This side of the hall was white, but behind him was the color of strip clubs and tattoo parlors. As if painting the walls different means anything.
The door swung open only a few seconds later.
“Well fuck,” the man greeted with a smile, “Tracey!” They shared an embrace.
Baltir Yavenna was an illegal crossbreed. His eyes were a piercing greenish brown and his skin a strange tone of dark tan. He had been hidden at home for the first few years of his life and by the time he was discovered as a teenager, he was too useful to be executed for impurity. His computer skills were valuable and sought after by anyone willing to pay, including Ortega’s most outspoken opposition.
In exchange for Baltir’s loyalty and service, the Federation agreed not to kill him. They even added in a bit of pay as extra incentive. Service in exchange for life. Money doesn’t m
ake that a fucking deal. But that did not stop him from taking a secret contract under the table once in a while. Perhaps the government knew about his secret dealings, or perhaps not, but Baltir played along either way.What was it the Lord Beyond Both Seas said about the crimes of the father? Tracey could not remember the exact words, but he knew the message. It damn well isn’t “punish the shit out of the son for the father’s wrongdoings”. In this case, “wrongdoings” meant slamming some young lady he probably met in the entertainment district, though Tracey never asked about Baltir’s parents and could only speculate.
They opened their embrace and Baltir motioned for Tracey to join him inside.
“How you doing?” he asked as Tracey entered.
“Not so good.”
Baltir nodded his head.
“Yep,” he replied, “I know. I’ve been seeing your shit on the fucking logs. There’s an interrogation transcript of you on the Deepnet. Not that they’ve got anything on you, but that Parnel lady is some fucking bitch.”
“Fucking kunda. Thanks for bringing it up,” he replied, hoping not to relive that shit.
Baltir pulled out a chair and motioned for Tracey to sit down. He grabbed a beer can from the refrigerator and brought it over, knowing full well that Tracey would accept it.
“So what brings you here?” he asked.
Tracey popped open the can and took a sip. The taste was refreshing after his meeting with the teacher.
“Unfortunately the same deep shit you saw in the Deepnet. You’re not busy, are you?” Tracey did not mean to be rude, but Baltir was a man with seemingly infinite free time.
Baltir smiled and pulled up a chair for himself.
“Yeah, I’ve got time,” he replied as he sat down.
Tracey chuckled back.
“How do you fucking do it, Baltir?” he asked.
Baltir simply raised his hands and smiled.
“Do what? Get you a beer? Sorry if I left my skirt behind.”
“No, not that,” Tracey replied, shaking his head. He leaned back in his chair comfortably. “After all this goddamn time, after all the shit Ortega’s put you through, how do you still have time to live like this? Smiling, look at you.”
Baltir sighed and paused for a moment. The smile never left his face.
“Ortega hasn’t put me through anything. I’ve never met the guy. Hell, I’ve seen some files from his pod and some fucking weird security footage. But he’s never done anything to me.”
“Oh stop being a smartass, Baltir. You know what I mean. Not Ortega, maybe, but this whole fucking system. This Empire he’s built. They’ve got you by the balls, man. You’re basically a slave to them. But here you are, smiling and drinking beer,” he replied.
Baltir shook his head and stood up, slowly walking back towards the kitchen area again.
“Ortega didn’t build this system. This is how it always worked. My dad knew what the hell he was getting into. And if you notice, you’re the only one here drinking the beer,” he replied as he opened the refrigerator. “Well… I guess I’m about to get one too. But you know what I mean.”
“No, what do you mean?”
Baltir popped open his own can and took a sip. He closed the refrigerator door and slowly walked back to the chair again.
“I know what you think of the government. I know you probably expect I have the same opinion, but I don’t. I’m not as upset about it as you think I am. Keeping racial purity… it makes sense. I get it. That’s our history.”
“Do we need that history? So what?” Tracey interrupted without letting him finish.
“We’ve already given up everything else down here. Why not keep what we can? Do you know how much nitrogen used to be in our air?” he asked. Tracey remained quiet and simply shrugged. “It was like 78 percent of the air we breathe. Now half the people down here are setting their oxygen levels way too fucking high. This station has changed everything about humanity including what we breathe.”
“But they’ve got you by the balls, Baltir. What can you fucking do? Quit working for Ortega?”
“The government, you mean.” Damn the Lord Beyond Both Seas, does he really need to be such a fucking smartass?
“Yeah the fucking government. You know. And what about a girlfriend?”
“Look, man. It sucks that I can’t do what I want. It sucks that they ripped my balls off. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m castrated. And you know what, there’s probably some illegal mixed girl out there hiding under a fucking bed or protected by the Federation like me. In fact, I’d be stunned if there weren’t several. But if she’s out there, it’s not my business. What can I do, huh? It blows, but we take what we can get. My parents fucked up and I paid the price, but I’m lucky I wasn’t executed, you know? I should be thankful and you shouldn’t be so quick to judge,” he replied.
Holy shit, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is this guy really so warped in the head?
“You’re fucking insane, Baltir. I didn’t know you actually supported any of this shit,” he said in astonishment.
“And you’re too quick to blame the government. I assume that’s why you’re here today?”Tracey adjusted in his chair again and took another sip.
“Uh… yeah, I’ll give you one guess as to why I’m here. And no, it’s not to talk about your damn balls,” Tracey replied.
“And here I was thinking you were all ears,” he joked. Even now he continues to smile. But his smile quickly faded away like water sliding down the drain. The brown man paused for a moment as his face grew sterner. He leaned forward in his chair. “You’re right, I know why you’re here,” he said. His voice sent chills down Tracey’s spine. “You want to know if I can help you find Damien.”
Tracey nodded.
Baltir nodded back and sat silent again for a while. He turned his head to the side, looking into his living space. Similarly to Tracey’s own residence, there was a large open area in the center living room with a kitchen off to the side against the wall. At the end of the living room were two doors, which Tracey had never seen open, presumably the entrances to Baltir’s bedroom and bathroom. Everything looks same down here. Baltir turned his head again and revisited Tracey’s eyes.
“Disagreements aside, you’re right to come to me. Your brother, if he’s still alive, is in some deep shit. Deeper than you, that is,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know much more than you do. I know he was pulled from the hull of that ship he was in, but his body is lost. I’m so sorry, but if you want my professional opinion… I’ve got to say your brother is dead.”
No surprise there.
“To be honest, I assumed the same thing. But what do you mean, ‘he was pulled from the hull’?” Tracey asked. This was news to him.
“There was a hole in the ship when they found it. Parnel’s team. They have a 3D scan and everything. It looks fucking brutal, like some claw came and grabbed him. Whatever sunk that ship was not an accident. It had to have been another station or maybe some rebel faction from the Atlantic with way more capabilities than we thought.”
An attack.
“What are you saying?”
Baltir paused again and took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry to tell you this. I’m your friend, you know that. But I’m telling you, that ship was definitely attacked,” he stated quite bluntly. “I don’t know who did it, or for what reason, but that ship was not brought down by any fish. Someone somewhere wanted that ship destroyed.”
His opinions on the law aside, Tracey trusted Baltir. He was the best when it came to accessing data like this and had no reason to mislead him. As surprising as it was, Tracey believed every word.
The questions of who and why naturally popped into his head. There had been no word from any of the other stations in years, and even then, the messages were supposedly incomprehensible. Nothing suggested the other stations had any reason to be hostile, especially against a small two-person vessel so far from their waters. A rebellion was sli
ghtly more likely, although if such an armed rebellion did exist, Tracey did not know about it. And I’d be the first to join.
“You’re sure it was attacked?” he asked.
“I mean, I guess I’m not sure of anything, but I’m pretty fucking sure. Do you want me to show you?” Baltir responded. Anticipating Tracey would say yes, he stood up again and walked towards one of the rooms at the opposite end of the living area. “Follow me.”
Tracey poured the rest of his beer into his mouth until the can was vertical. When it felt light and empty in his hands, he placed the empty can on his chair and followed his friend to the next room. Inside was not a bedroom like he expected. Instead the room was dark and small. A black desk protruded from the wall, following it around the corners like it was boxing them in on all sides. When Baltir turned on the overhead LED lights, the room seemed to come alive. Several monitors all along the desk began to glow at once and a faint humming sound came with it. The unexpected burst of light caused Tracey to shield his eyes for a moment but when he lowered his hands, he noticed that the long desk was not black like he originally thought, but another dark color he could not quite identify. It was like a dark purple, only with some of the color removed. It reminded him of the depths of the ocean, or a darker version of his own eyes.
Colorless, yet dark.
“So, this is your workroom, I take it,” Tracey said, surprised by how small and crammed it was.
“It is,” Baltir replied, pulling out a rolling chair and sitting down. Tracey found another chair and sat next to him. “This is where I spend most of my time.” Baltir faced a monitor on the left side of the room.
“I’m surprised it’s so small like this. I thought the government needs you,” he replied.
“Who do you think gave me all this equipment?” Baltir responded, tapping away at the monitor in front of him.
“They give you gear, sure, but they need you, right? Why not give you a nice office? You still don’t think you’re a prisoner?” Tracey asked.
“Oh I’m definitely a prisoner. If I don’t deliver, I die, remember? But they’re just as captive as I am. If I’m not happy, I don’t deliver. They need me, you see, like you said. There’s nobody that can do what I do. Not to sound rude, sorry. But it works both ways,” he explained, still tapping away at the screen, pressing icons Tracey had never seen before.
