by Drew Avera
Dead Planet
BOOK 1
EXODUS
By Drew Avera
Copyright © 2013 Drew Avera
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including informational storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
First edition published 2013
ISBN-13 978-1483953922
To the reader,
Did I always want to be a writer? The short answer is no. Anytime a teacher assigned some kind of paper I would procrastinate to the point that I was lucky to get something resembling the project to even exists. The same was true for book reports as well. I was not a big fan of reading books until I came to discover comic books. These short stories with super heroes conquering the villain was right up my alley. I could focus on them despite my ADHD and grew to love reading. The next thing I know I’m devouring novels based on these heroes and the idea struck…I should write a book!
Now it’s fifteen years later and I’m married with kids running around. I’m active duty military and about as busy as anyone can be when the desire to write takes a fierce grip on my heart again. There have been moments when the inspiration struck, but the desire to take the first leap floundered.”I’m too busy to invest my time” or “I’m too tired to put that on paper,” the big excuse rears its ugly head and destroys the dream again. Then there is that moment of discovery when the planets align and all seems right with the world. That moment when a Google search brings you face to face with the spark that reignites your dream!
For me it was a series of steps that eventually led me to National Novel Writing Month 2012. I had begun writing a story that I didn’t exactly like how it was going. I had put a lot of work into it, but the changes I wanted to make would make all of the effort I had made a complete waste. What do I do. I asked myself. Well, part of the rules for NaNoWriMo is that the first word doesn’t touch the page until November 1, after that it is a race to reach 50,000 words by the end of the month. If you reach the goal then you’ve won!
The competitive nature that I acknowledged about myself made me want to take the challenge. I quickly plotted out a story idea and waited in sweet anticipation for NaNoWriMo to begin. On November 1, 2012 I put down the first 3,500 words and I completed the severely flawed first draft on November 20, 2012. You may say that I could have done more, but I had a trip home to visit family for Thanksgiving that I didn’t want to spend with my face stuck in my writing.
I had accomplished what many people hope to accomplish, I wrote a book. Content, I let it sit untouched for over a month. Fortunately the desire to publish the work made me want to tear into it again, which was a good thing, because the first draft was barely readable. I’ve spent a few months diligently attacking every flaw that my amateur editor brain can discover. Is this a perfect book? Of course not, I would be lying to you if I said it was (not that you would believe me anyway). What this book is for me is the beginning of a dream.
This book has inspired the next book to be written. If you want to fuel an accomplishment then the first step is to actually take a step. I was the kid who loved his imagination, but hated every aspect of writing (at least the work involved). Now, I’m excited for the future possibilities. With this book tossed out into the world I have become something that I didn’t think was possible. I have become a published author!
Regardless of the success, or lack there of in my future as a writer, I am happy that I made this journey. I discovered something about myself that I didn’t know existed. What is that? I discovered that I could accomplish a goal that I set for myself, no matter how difficult the passage is to cross, I found that ability in myself and that is enough to fuel me for the next one.
I hope that you enjoy reading the pages ahead. I think each person will discover something in this story, but what I really hope that you discover is your dream and the realization that you can achieve it.
Thanks,
Drew Avera
Acknowledgments
To Kim, Chloe, and Lucy. You are my ladies and I love you. Love can conquer anything and I use that principle in this book. I hope that you can see that flicker of hope through all the doom and gloom of this story. The main character has nothing on me when it comes to protecting my family.
To Dad, Hope, Ben, and Aaren for putting up with my geeky love for science fiction, comics, and heavy metal (the last one is not geeky). I love y’all.
To John and Gail, thanks for all you’ve done to support me, and especially for having your daughter who I married, that was good planning on your part.
To Uncle Dennis and Aunt Kathy, thanks for giving me a place to hang out during the summers of my teen years, I’m sure the small town of Pachuta appreciates it too.
To Robert Franklin, the one friend who believes that I can do what I put my mind too, even if it won’t happen in a million years.
To Jared Opoka for taking the plunge into this endeavor by eagerly dressing up for the cover photo. I’m sure the people driving by thought we were weird, but at least we got through it with a sense of humor.
To Bryan Avery, the first author I talked to and sought advice from when I decided to do this. It’s awesome to know that I have a broader family out there, even if you do spell your last name different than we do.
There are so many people in my life who have influenced me and supported me, thank you for your love, it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Prologue
Five years ago:
Pain was my only friend in this dark laboratory. This labyrinth of hell has held me captive for the last two months. It wasn’t bad at first, mostly physical exertion to the point of exhaustion. I had endured that kind of training growing up playing sports, but this new part of my training was something else entirely. ‘The human mind can only endure so much torture,’ at least that is what they told me coming into this. I wish I had volunteered, at least then I wouldn’t feel as if I were a prisoner being tortured by my guards.
“Dr. Roblin, how is Prospect Blackwell holding up?” the man in a black Agency uniform said as he walked through the door. I could not see his face but I had heard his voice before, come to think of it I had heard his voice several times throughout my time here. Wherever ‘here’ is, I’m not sure.
“He is physically a perfect candidate, Agent Gentry. I must confess that I am concerned with his mental capabilities though,” the doctor talked about me like I was a caged animal, unable to think on my own.
“What capabilities would that be, Dr?” There was an air of concern in the agent’s voice, though I’m not sure why. I would think that the idea of someone who is willing to put up a fight would be an attribute worthy of a member of the Agency.
“He is not responding well to the reprogramming. Each time we show him a picture of you he becomes discontent, almost as if he is remembering what you did to his father,” Dr. Roblin said. Just the mention of my father brought me back to remembering what had happened. I can only see it in short spans of time, my father dead in the street, Kara crying in my arms, flashing lights surrounding the scene, and finally his face, the man who murdered my father.
Agent Gentry paced around me, even under heavy sedatives my eyes were able to follow his form. His long, tired face reflected his years of abuse at the hands of the Agency. Now as a prospect I would have the same future in store for me. My eyes closed under the weight of my heavy eyelids. It had been days since I have slept and I could feel every ounce of pressure on my body from the electrodes that stimulated my senses.I decided to close my eyes and listen as the other men spoke.
“What do you propose we do about that, Dr?” Gentry asked as he turned away from me.
“Well, many prospects have become valuable agents without receiving one hundred percent of the reprogramming procedure. Given his physical strengths and mental stamina, I would say that he will pass the Agency’s standards with a minimum of seventy five percent of the reprogramming completed. That is purely an estimate, I will have to conduct further analysis to be sure.”
“How much of his memory will he retain?”
“As much as we allow, sir,” Dr. Roblin typed some commands into his computer. I could see the holographic display illuminate his corner of the room as I opened my eyes. “These are the areas of the brain that respond to memory stimuli. Prospect Blackwell is apparently fixated on those memories created within the passed twelve months or so. I suspect that the trauma of losing his mother and father in a short period of time has caused these barriers to our programming. I would suggest overriding the safety protocols to ensure a proper reprogramming, but it is risky. If it doesn’t work then we may lose the prospect entirely.”
“Meaning he will die?”
“Yes, sir,” the doctor tugged at his collar and swallowed hard. Agent Gentry loomed over the doctor and stared down at the hologram. The blue and green light reflected from his face as he looked back at me. Our eyes met and I could have sworn that I had seen something like remorse in his eyes. I blinked once and the look was gone.
“If he were to keep these memories, how productive would he be with the Agency?”
“If we can get to seventy five percent then he will perform above average, sir.”
“Is there a way that we can target a specific memory that he is attached to?”
“Which memory do you have in mind, Agent Gentry?”
Gentry walked in front of me and grabbed my face in his hand. He lift my head so that our eyes met. I was too afraid to close my eyes as he spoke, “My request is that when you are done with him, I don’t want him to associate my name or my face with the execution of his father.”
“That is a very specific request, Agent Gentry. At best I may be able to create a cloud over that particular memory. Anything more than that is speculative,” Dr. Roblin typed more commands into the computer as he spoke.
“Then I suppose that is the best that we can hope for,” Gentry said as he released my face from his grip.
“Why would you want me to target that particular memory, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Because I don’t want some rookie agent armed with a gauntlet to have it out for me, that’s why. I have four years until retirement, I’d like to spend that time without looking over my shoulder. It thought it would be a good idea to put in for a transfer, just to keep things on the safe side,” Gentry said as his communicator buzzed in his pocket. I watched him retrieve it and answer, “Gentry.” He stood silently and held the communicator to his ear. I could see a vein throb on his temple, it was a visible sign of either anger or distress. I had been learning the different signs, but I still was confused by some of the emotions that sparked similar reactions. “Understood,” he said before closing the communicator and shoving it back into his pocket.
“Another assignment, sir?” Dr. Roblin asked while looking over the computer console.
“Yes, I’m going to be reporting to Clenist tomorrow, so I’ll be leaving you under the supervision of another agent.” Gentry looked back at me for a moment as I tried to raise my head to meet his gaze. It was futile, I did not have the strength to move at all. “Just see to it that this prospect doesn’t remember who I am, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” more typed commands emanated from his finger tips as I glared up to see Agent Gentry walk to the door. I could feel the cold fluid of sedative entering my bloodstream through the veins in my arms. I made eye contact with Gentry one last time, then everything went to black.
Chapter 1
Present Day:
Another assignment nestled itself snuggly into the promised chaos of my day. Multiple assignments in a single day had become something of a rarity for me as of late. Alas, good things often come to an end, and given the circumstances of my life, I’m quite surprised that the good things in life have lasted this long. My guess was that the Syndicate had a few extra thorns in their side that needed pulling today. The United Martian Syndicate, or the Syndicate as most people referred to it, has stood as the dominating power since the inception of our civilization.
It is operated by the wealthiest men in the world, the ones who hold control over everything; the economy, health care, education, even the population of a given region is in their hands. I suppose they figured population control was just short enough of a rein to allow them control over every aspect of our humanity. It’s fair to assume that they are right, the amount of criminal activity here is negligible for a place that has established so many laws. Our society did away with any kind of historical judicial system as it was known on Earth. Now any kind of criminal activity, confirmed or circumstantial, meets its demise at the end of a gauntlet. It stands to reason that fear would be the most motivating tool at their disposal and they use it with a gleeful vigor.
I could smell the sea salt in the air as I turned the corner on the rust colored sidewalk that drove me deeper into downtown Archea. All through the city you could see an homage to our planet as each building’s exterior was constructed from the same rust colored sand, at least in some part. It was such a common design element that most people didn’t even notice, but it was my job to pay attention to small details like that. Those details are the ones that can keep a man alive in this society.
I moved quickly down the sidewalk maintaining my usual pace. Time wasn’t of the essence, but two years of training for this kind of job taught me to constantly keep on the move, regardless of whatever situation I found myself in. I have been a policeman for just over five years, and I have found over those years that I am just another pawn of the Syndicate. The policemen stand as the second most feared organization on this planet, but we are also the most oppressed. We are not eligible for marriage, property ownership, nor are we revered as citizens. We are basically the discarded children of our society, owned by some and loved by none. Of course that wasn't always true for myself. I had hopes and dreams of having a family once upon a time. I was even engaged to be married when I finished high school, but that engagement lasted three weeks. My dreams were suspended by my recruitment into the Agency, the legal name for the company that I work for.
The one thing that every prospect learned about the Agency was that they found you for the job. Once recruitment began you were stuck, unless they determined that there was something within you that conflicted with their programming. I was certain that the resentment I held for the Agency for putting a hit on my father would have been enough to disqualify me. I was wrong, I was burdened with this job one way or the other because after all is said and done you have two choices; accept the position or accept the alternative...death.
I had been miserable for the first year of this job and it showed on my face, the misery still does even to this day. Coming out of the programming portion of my time as a prospect had a debilitating effect on my psyche. I had been cursed with the memories of a life that the doctors wanted me to forget. Those memories coupled with the programming forced into my mind almost drove me mad. I remember being called a success, but I felt like a failure as everything in my life fell down around me. The Agency accepted the fact that I remembered my family and what I had left behind, but I could not accept it for myself, this created a lot of tension in my life, and I found it difficult to create a balance in my world of regret.
I stand six feet tall and weigh in at one hundred sixty pounds, I’m strong and agile despite my looks. My face has become sunken in where my cheeks used to be plump. My black hair hangs longer than it should, but finding time for a haircut is not usually a priority when on the job. The only possessions I have are my uniform and gauntlet which were tailor
ed to fit me, everything else is issued by the Agency. My apartment and furnishings are mine so long as my employment lasts. I have nothing and I am nothing. This job is the only thing that has defined me for the last five years. I have had nothing else to show for my life except for a death toll that rises on a daily level.
I turned another corner and entered the Whelming Building through the front entrance. Mr. Whelming was a wealthy man with a lot of power in the Syndicate, at least until he started making risky decisions with his investments in an attempt to build up his wealth. Now he was a target of the Syndicate because he had brought this undue attention to himself and they have tasked me with the hit. In case I failed to mention it before, the term policeman is a politically correct term for "political assassin". There is no law enforcement agency established here on Mars. There is only the Syndicate who controls the Agency, everyone else falls in line or is quickly removed from their life of servitude.
I passed by the reception desk on my way into Whelming's office which was guarded by two retired policemen. I noted the face of each of the men as I passed, a part of me recognized the taller of the two men. His weary face was very distinguishable, but after a few years in this line of work and dealing with the wealthy and all of their lap dog lackeys it could be easy to see a face and not remember the context for recognizing it.
The two men knew better than to interfere with official Agency business so they stepped aside. The brief eye contact I shared with them confirmed the years of mental scarring they had experienced with thirty years of assigned murders under their belts. Retirement was the only way out of the Agency while you were still breathing, and these men had served the Syndicate well. I often thought of retirement as a fool’s reward for doing such a dastardly good job. Maybe I was the fool because I'm still doing it instead of jumping off a cliff or firing a laser into my brain. Or, maybe my compulsion to succeed has driven me so far over the edge that I have plummeted further into the darkness.
