-Professor Leo Caesius
I was born in the Undercity.
If you were born on Avalon - or anywhere, really, outside the Core Worlds - you probably won’t understand what that means. Imagine a transit barracks from Camelot, with a thousand tiny apartments for immigrants in search of employment and a new life, then scale it up until you get a rabbit warren composed of millions of apartments, each one playing host to a separate family, linked together by dim corridors and illuminated by flickering lights. Every so often, there’s a school, an entertainment complex, a government office and not much else. Now imagine another such barracks built next to the first, and then a third barracks built on top of the first two ...
It was not a pleasant place to live.
Truthfully, I have no idea who fathered me. My mother, like almost everyone else in the CityBlock, had no job and no particular hope of getting one. She only survived - and survived poorly - on the regular handout of rations, as ordered by the Grand Senate. As she received extra rations per child, it was perhaps no surprise that she managed to get pregnant several times, giving birth to five healthy children. None of us grew up with a father figure, not even when my mother was cohabiting with a man. They showed no interest in us for fear of being charged with our welfare.
I would like to claim we learned to look after each other, but the dog-eat-dog attitude of the Undercity ensured that we didn’t. Trevor, my older brother, was a bully who’d learned that the only way to avoid being bullied was to be a bully himself. He was fond of saying, as he handed out beatings, that it was for my own good. The hell of it was that he had a point. If I hadn't been struggling with him, practically from the day I could walk unaided, I would have been eaten alive by school. Linda and Dare, my younger sister and brother, learned fast too. As soon as I was too strong to bully safely, Trevor switched his attentions to them. The only one of us children who escaped his attentions was Cindy, the baby.
In hindsight, of course, I was incredibly lucky to survive my childhood. The mortality rate in the Undercity was terrifyingly high and a child could die in so many ways. It wasn't uncommon for an ill child to be given bad medicine - someone in the assessment office missed the fact that the workers, in order to meet their quotas, had filled the capsules with powdered chalk instead of medicine - or simply to be killed by their parents or a random stranger. Or in an accident. The CityBlocks were immensely complex structures, keeping us all alive, yet by the time I was born they were already decaying. If a child went wandering in the wrong place, the child might well die.
It only got worse when I went to school, which was mandatory for kids from five to eighteen. Attendance might have been mandatory, of course, but learning something - anything - was not actually a requirement. The teachers had no power over us, which meant they were trapped in the sealed complexes with children who had learned that they could get away with almost anything, as long as they picked their targets carefully. If you showed a hint of weakness in an Undercity school, a hint that you couldn't stand up for yourself, you were targeted. And the teachers? They had no power. They couldn't do anything.
They tell me I’m a brave man. I’ve walked into firefights without showing a hint of hesitation, even though bullets were flying all around me. But I wouldn't willingly walk into an Undercity school and try to teach, not with the rules and regulations governing teachers and how they were supposed to relate to the kids. The merest suggestion that they’d hit a child, or spoken sharply to one, or made the grave mistake of telling them the truth, or hurting their delicate little feelings ... well, let’s just say it would destroy their lives. Teachers could be insulted, hurt or even killed by their charges and there was nothing anyone would do about it. I knew five teachers who left the school after being attacked, two of them in body bags.
I was lucky. I was strong enough to keep myself reasonably safe, thankfully, and Trevor’s beatings had given me just enough empathy to refrain from picking on the weaker souls myself. By the time I was thirteen, I could actually read and write, which put me head and shoulders ahead of just about everyone else, and I had figured out that most of the classroom tests we were meant to do were pointless. I spent the time we were meant to be staring at a testing machine - I don’t think I need to say that most of us goofed off - either doing nothing or reading from my datapad. There wasn't much else to do.
Matters only got worse as I matured. You can't imagine the horrors running through the schools as we grew interested in sex. Rape - in all of its horrific forms - was depressingly common, while the rapists were rarely - if ever - punished for their crimes. A smart girl would find a strong boy, someone capable of protecting her, and attach herself to him in exchange for protection. Others would hang around in gangs, trying to find strength and security in numbers. It rarely worked. There were hundreds of girls in my school on antidepressants, struggling to cope with the realities of helplessness, and countless others who chose suicide, rather than endure another moment of their hellish existence. When society starts to break down, it’s always the women who get the worst of it.
Like everyone else, I wanted a way out, but how? My exam results were poor - I just wasn’t a good test-taker - and I didn't have much hope of getting a place at Imperial University, no matter how much they lowered the standards. Nor did I have much patience, then and now, for bullshit ... and Leo tells me that Imperial University was full of bullshit. As I turned sixteen, I knew there were only a handful of options awaiting me. I could go to the gangs and become yet another savage, I could try to raise a family to perpetuate the cycle or I could try to break out. But how?
It was sheer luck that led me to discover the marines. One of the teachers boasted constantly about his achievements in the military, as if it would impress or intimidate the barbarians he had to teach. Perhaps it would have done, if we hadn't been raised on a diet of ultra-violent movies that were both profoundly stupid and anti-military. The idea of him clowning around like the heroes of those movies struck us as absurd; we laughed at him, of course. But I grew interested in the military. Maybe I didn't have the qualifications to go to a colony world as anything other than an indentured colonist - a slave, in other words - but military experience might just offer me a chance to make my way in the world. I started to look up online resources, glancing through the different files on offer ...
... And it didn't take me long to start sniffing bullshit.
The thing you have to understand - and you probably won’t, if you were born on Avalon - is that the Empire’s military was having a horrific recruitment crisis. It wasn't getting the sheer number of new bodies it needed, no matter how much it spent on propaganda. (The idea of giving soldiers respect and a living wage probably never occurred to them.) The kindest thing civilians on Earth said about the military was that it took idiots off the streets, gave them deadly weapons and pointed them at the enemies of civilisation on other worlds. By the time I started to look for prospective opportunities, there was a sheer mountain of bullshit about what the military would do for me ... and, as I had learned in the cradle, anything that looks too good to be true probably is. It was only a reference on a datanet forum that led me to the marines.
Their site was different. The marines promised nothing to me personally, beyond a chance to make something of myself. Their site talked about being the best of the best, about fighting enemies on distant worlds ... the more I read their blunt plain-spoken words, the more I liked it. There was no attempt to lure me in; indeed, if anything, their words were designed to repel anyone who couldn't stand the thought of seeing blood. The movies they showed me were live combat footage, not elaborate promises of keg parties and girls by the score. It looked harsh and unpleasant ... but it still looked better than the Undercity. At least I’d be able to shoot back at my enemies.
At sixteen, I needed parental permission to enlist. My mother said no. My younger siblings needed me, she said, and my older brother might need me too. I grew frustrated and we exchanged harsh wo
rds; there was nothing to look forward to, I said, beyond finding a wife and starting a family of my own. Or, perhaps, impregnating a dozen different girls, secure in the knowledge that the state would take care of them. The argument ran backwards and forwards for hours, ending with my declaration that I could seek a special wavier from school - to signal my maturity - or simply wait until my next birthday. And, with that, I stormed out.
Trevor caught up with me an hour later. He wasn't too pleased.
“If you go into the military, you might die,” he pointed out, curtly. “And for what?”
“A chance at a better life,” I said. “What do we have to look forward to here?”
“I’ve made connections,” Trevor said. “Why not join us?”
I groaned. Trevor had joined the Blades, one of the thousands upon thousands of gangs who controlled the Undercity. They were nasty; they fought each other for territory, or women, or what passed for honour among them ... and, in the meantime, extorted payments from everyone unfortunate enough to live in the territory they controlled. Their primitive weapons - weapons were, of course, forbidden on Earth - should have been laughable, but their aggression and ruthlessness made them a threat to everyone. The police? Don’t make me laugh. In some places, the gangs paid off the police force; in others, the gangs were the police.
And while Trevor might boast of his connections, I knew better. He might work his way to the top, but it was far more likely he’d end up dead in a pointless fight.
“It’s pointless,” I said. I hated the gangsters. Everyone did, but no one had the nerve to fight them. No wonder so many young men, denied a healthy outlet for their aggression, set out to join them. “And I don’t want to lie dead in a sanitation tube.”
Trevor smirked. “You’d prefer to lie dead on an alien world?”
I shrugged. There was no point in talking to Trevor. He only saw the Undercity ... and how best to make himself a major player. I knew he wouldn't care how many others got hurt, including his family, as long as he became a strong man. It was the only way to survive in the Undercity. But I just wanted to get out.
“What about Linda? Or Dare? Or Cindy?” Trevor asked. “Do you want to leave them here?”
“I could take them with me,” I protested weakly. Linda was thirteen; Dare, at seven, was already showing signs of becoming a successful bully. Cindy, the baby, was barely old enough to walk. “I ...”
“I don’t think the military would be so glad to have you they’d provide accommodation for them too,” Trevor said, sarcastically. “And what will they do without you?”
He showed no concern for them - or our mother - at all. And why not? The Undercity broke down parental bonds, convincing children they shouldn't listen to their parents on one hand and ensuring that parents had no power over their children on the other. Even I didn't think much of my mother; Trevor would happily have sold her - or our younger siblings - into slavery for money or power. It wasn't until much later that I learned how horrific - and unhealthy - such an attitude actually was.
Matters rested there for several weeks. I asked at school for a waiver, but I didn't have the money to pay the bribe and was told I’d have to wait. Trevor made several attempts to get me into the gangs, alternatively telling me how great it was or making veiled threats against my life. Linda, growing into womanhood, watched me fearfully. Trevor had told her that the only thing keeping her safe was my reputation - not his, for some unaccountable reason - and that it would be open season on her when I left. I asked him why he couldn’t protect her himself and he said nothing, merely glared. Did it really matter so much to him that I joined the gangs?
I kept quiet and waited, patiently, for graduation. I’d be seventeen; I could join the military, if I wanted, or seek employment elsewhere. I spent the time reading more about the marines, and their role in the Empire, while trying to prepare myself as best as I could. The datanet offered all sorts of pieces of advice, some of it contradictory. I spent hours in the gym, trying to build up my muscles or running around the track as fast as I could. I’d never looked so fit, I told myself, as I looked in the mirror. I was sure the marines would take one look and beg me to join.
One week before graduation, all hell broke loose.
It was rare for us to have a family dinner. Our mother would get the rations from the local store, sell half of them to pay for her drug habit and leave the rest in the cupboards for when we felt peckish. There was never enough, really; it wasn't unknown for older siblings to steal food from their younger siblings. But Trevor was feeling full of himself for some reason and he’d actually paid for a proper dinner, one that tasted of something other than recycled cardboard. We were just sitting down to eat when the door unlocked and a stream of masked gangsters raged into the apartment. Trevor, it seemed, had alienated someone during his desperate struggle for power. That person - and I never found out who - had decided to nip this upstart challenger in the bud.
Resistance was futile, but I tried. I knocked one of them out before four more slammed me down and tied my hands and feet with duct tape. Trevor was slammed down too, despite his fearsome reputation. Dare, only seven, was thrown against the wall so hard that it cracked his skull. He died instantly, I hope. Linda and my mother were not so lucky. By the time they died, they’d been raped so savagely that death would have come for them anyway. And Trevor? I had to watch as they cut him open and bled him to death.
I don’t know why they left me alive, when they’d finally finished their ghastly task. Perhaps they wanted someone to spread the word, just to make sure everyone knew they were bastards, or perhaps the drugs they were taking as they had their fun interfered with their thoughts. It took me hours to wriggle free and, when I stumbled over to the cot, I discovered that my baby sister was dead. They’d put a pillow over her head and ...
My family was dead.
The Undercity doesn't encourage you to care. I knew people who had quite happily done horrific things to their families and gotten away with them. Trevor probably would have sold his younger sisters for power, if he’d been asked. And yet, I felt a pang as I stared down at their bodies. None of them had asked to be born, nor to grow up in hell. I forced myself to close their eyes, then step back from the bodies. There was nothing else I could do for them.
I knew there was no point in reporting the crime. No one would give a damn. It wasn't as if anyone in the Undercity had friends. Hell, I was sure the neighbours had heard the screams, but they’d done nothing. And I knew there was no point in trying for revenge. I didn't know who to target, let alone where to find them. All I could do was shower, change into something clean and search the apartment for money before leaving and closing the door, one final time. I have no doubt that our neighbours broke in the following day and took whatever they wanted, but I have no idea what happened to the bodies. They were probably carried to the nearest trash chute and dumped in.
Using some of Trevor’s money, I boarded a tube and set off for the recruiting office. I was an orphan, without parents. There was no one to grant me permission to enlist - and no one who could object. Maybe the military would take me ...
... Because, as I knew all too well, there was nowhere else to go.
This is the end of the free excerpt from “First to Fight” by Christopher G. Nuttall. Want more? “First to Fight” is available at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B010E9QZJG.
Did you like “The Search for Gram?” Take a look at “Mako” from author Ian J. Malone.
Mako (The Mako Saga, Book One) by Ian J. Malone
A down-and-out history professor leads a team of old friends to virtual glory as the first-ever group to beat Mako Assault, a revolutionary new game that has emerged from nowhere to take the online world by storm. As a reward for their achievement, and under the guise of publicity, the group is flown to meet the game’s mysterious designer, only to learn that Mako’s intent was never to entertain its players… but rather to train them.
An epic science fiction thri
ll ride of action, suspense, laughter, and romance; MAKO is the story of five ordinary people rising to the challenge of extraordinary events, driven only by their faith in each other.
Reader’s Note: The Mako Saga continued in 2015 with the release of “Red Sky Dawning,” book two of the series.
What readers are saying:
“Trust me, you’ll enjoy this.” — Arthur Harkness, The Brotherhood of the Evil Geeks blog.
“A marvelous adventure!” — John on Amazon.
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IJM website: http://www.ianjmalone.com/
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RED SKY DAWNING on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0989032752/
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
The Search for Gram Page 32
