“It was kinda like a ship, I guess,” she said in between taking bites and sipping at the water bottle.
“What do you mean?”
“The doctors who were with me called it a housing complex, but I knew it was a lab of some kind.”
Strand raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what planet you were on?”
She shook her head. “No. They never took me outside either. The closest I got to the exit was near the elevators. I tried to sneak into one but one of the bots caught me and brought me back to my room.”
“You spent your whole life in that place?”
Maeve nodded. “Yes. I was never allowed to go out, and there were always people watching me, even when they weren’t around.”
“Why were they watching you?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly while putting the now empty tray back on the table. “But I could tell they were all there for me.”
“Was there a lot of people in this lab?”
“About thirty or so. I eventually got all their names, before some of them left and were replaced by others.”
“Wow,” Strand said. “There were no other people your age in that place?”
Maeve shook her head. “No. They were all adults.”
“I guess you spent most of your time in schooling, right?”
“Mostly,” Maeve said. “My teacher was a synth, but he wouldn’t answer some of my questions. Dhara I’ve known for years, and she was like a mommy to me. She has been there since I was born. It wasn’t a bad place to live in, but I just didn’t have anyone of my age to talk to. And the medical tests were sometimes pretty painful.”
Strand wanted to probe deeper, but he knew he had to be careful lest she got upset. “These tests they made you take, do you know what they were for?”
She shook her head again. “No. One of the doctors told me it was because I had a rare disease or something. But when I asked my teacher she denied it, so I was kinda confused.”
“What did Dhara say to you about it?”
“She just said it was for my own good, so I stopped asking why,” Maeve said softly. “I trusted her because she was always there for me. And now … and now …” She stifled a sob.
He wanted to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but Strand knew he was already in trouble for questioning her like this, so he tried to liven things up instead. “The grub you ate was pretty bad, huh? I’ll be sure to tell that crummy chef of ours by wringing his scrawny neck.”
Maeve gave a short giggle, indicating she was alright.
“That’s better,” Strand said. “Could I ask you a sensitive question?”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I don’t really have anyone else to talk to.”
“Your parents,” Strand said. “Can you give me their names? I could try to get in touch with them.”
Maeve’s lips started trembling and she quickly looked away. “Dhara told me they died. I was never told their names, but I figured at least their surname ought to be the same as mine.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Strand said. “I could try to find out about any relatives you have if you want.”
She looked at him with pleading eyes. “Could you?”
Just as he was about to answer her, there was a loud chime in his earpiece, and Commander Creull’s gruff voice could be heard over his com-link. “Strand, report to me over at the briefing room right now.”
He reached out and grasped her elbow gently. “I’ll see what I can do. I need to go, so I’ll speak to you later, okay?”
“Okay.”
5 The Culling
Located at the fourth sector of the Rim Marches, Far Tortuga was officially an independent world. Once possessing a thriving mining industry, the planet suffered heavily during the numerous wars between the Union and the Concordance, changing hands multiple times before its population finally decided that enough was enough. The entire sector had been a warzone, and millions were killed over the fierce fighting, until a handful of planetary systems banded together and declared neutrality from both galactic powers.
Thus the League of Independent Governments was born. When the fighting had at last died down, the remaining planets still being contested appealed to both sides. Their political representatives argued it would be better if there was a neutral area in between the Union and the Concordance, where neither side held sway. Not wishing to continue the protracted conflict, both of the larger powers agreed, and ceded a number of worlds along their borders as part of this new league.
Half a century later, the League continued to endure, its people doing their best to survive despite receiving no aid from either the Union or the Concordance. Even with the lack of cutting-edge technology, the citizens of the League remained content, for they believed in preferring a life of freedom from the domineering super states that surrounded them.
Far Tortuga never completely recovered, despite five decades of peace. The planetary siege weapons had destroyed most of its industry and cities, and without financial aid from either side, the world could not rebuild. The postwar economy ultimately collapsed, and much of its population emigrated to other worlds. The League had few monetary reserves, and each member planet was left to fend for its own. The very freedom the citizens of Far Tortuga had yearned for became a curse, for the world soon became known as a haven for outcasts and desperadoes.
The young boy had been asleep by the shade of an alleyway, and he woke up with a dry cough. He tousled his dirty blond hair to get rid of the sand, but he knew it was a futile gesture in the long run. Rubbing his eyes open, he stood up and dusted off his raggedy overalls before making another series of loud coughs.
I’m going to need more ointment, he thought. Despite having an atmospheric composition close to that of Earth’s, Far Tortuga’s climate was dry, with practically no moisture in the air. Water was a highly expensive commodity, for there were no oceans or rivers to speak of. Dehydration was the most common way to die, followed closely by starvation. The children growing up in this planetwide dustbowl tended to be a hardy breed if they could somehow survive into adulthood.
Looking up at the side of the jagged cliff walls, he knew it was close to noontime, and he could sell his urine and feces for a thimble full of water at the nearby recycler. The boy had a practical mind, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough, since most of the water loss came from the evaporating sweat through his skin and whenever he exhaled. He was hungry too, for he hadn’t eaten in the past two days.
Making his way amongst the numerous stalls of the lower marketplaces, he walked into one of the recycler outlets and used its toilet, making sure his discharges were properly weighed before accepting his ration of water from the attendant by the counter. Downing the entire cup of water in two big gulps, he held the container above his mouth for close to a minute, making sure every last drop of the nourishing liquid got to the tip of his tongue. As he placed the cup back on the counter and made his way out into the street, the mental image of his mother entered his thoughts, dredging up memories of his past.
He remembered holding onto her hand as she lay dying by the side of the street. Her cheeks were gaunt, and her arms were so thin they resembled white carbon rods, the kind of things he saw at the hardware outlets for building tents with. She had given him the last of her water, but there just wasn’t enough for the both of them.
“Be well … stay alive,” she said before closing her eyes for good. He remembered clutching her hand for days, long after it became cold and clammy. Later on, a man walked over to them and told him he would help carry her body to the recycler so he could get some water and money out of it, but the boy jumped up and swung his little arms at him in rage. The man threw him aside and picked up his mother’s corpse before walking away and disappearing into the crowd. Not long after that, he finally realized he was on his own.
At nine years of age, he needed money to survive, and for a time he sold his body to the ones who went for that kind of taste. One of the l
ocal madams even offered him a room in her bordello because of his enticing looks, and for a few years he got a sort of education, using the money he saved to learn what he could using online tutorials on the galactic net, until one night with a particularly sadomasochistic offworlder made him quit his first profession in disgust.
Later on, he fell in with a gang of other boys, and they would lure solitary travelers into deserted alleyways to rob them. Once again, he learned new skills, like how to pick someone’s pocket and how to fight. During one of those nights he had his first kill, even though he was only defending himself when a rival gang ambushed them. The other boy had tried to lunge at him with a knife to the stomach, but he was faster, able to block the blow with a rag he had wrapped around his left forearm, all the while getting close enough to stick his own blade into the other boy’s neck.
The rest of his gang dragged him away as he stood there frozen, unable to react after what he had done. For the next few days, all he could do was stare out into the night, thinking about the shocked look of his opponent as he lay on the ground, bleeding to death. His gang eventually defeated their rivals and drove them out of their territory. They earned respect in more ways than one.
For a time, his gang were living like kings, and they could do whatever they wanted until the law of averages intervened. One of his mates robbed and killed a visiting offworld executive touring the city’s bordello district, and the corporation the victim had belonged to soon hired a mercenary outfit to avenge his death.
The boy and his gang were sleeping on the rooftops of an abandoned building complex when they came. The mercenaries were all ex-soldiers, and they had planned the assault with care, even using a hover drone as aerial surveillance and for additional fire support. Most of the boy’s gang were killed while they were asleep, and the few who managed to wake up were quickly shot down anyway. The boy had gotten lucky, since he always slept by himself at the edge of their territory, hidden inside an old, inoperable trash compactor. His habit of being on his own had saved him.
When the boy woke up, he was alone. The mercenaries had swept the city clean of almost all the gangs that night, and the disparate survivors weren’t too keen to form another group, lest they became targets once more. The city as a whole didn’t care much for the carnage, since the youths were all petty criminals who preyed on them, so there was no outcry from the local government. For a while he eked out some cash by bringing his fellow gangmates’ bodies to the recyclers. That was four months ago.
Pushing aside his dark memories, the boy brought his mind back to focus on the present. He had gotten by with doing a bit of stealing from the food stalls, but they were nothing more than bits and pieces, not enough to quell the ever-present hunger in his stomach. He was reluctant to go back into robbery again, for his mind had told him that every offworlder now had mercenary connections, and the locals were wary of him.
The smell of roasting meats at the nearby food stalls made him dizzy, and he contemplated stealing a morsel stick to chew on, when he quickly noticed a change in the air. The time he spent wandering the markets made him an astute observer, able to gauge the city’s attitude. He could usually spot another boy near his age with the same desperation he had. Two other boys in particular frequented this market district, but they were nowhere to be seen today. Something clearly wasn’t right.
Another merc sweep? The boy quickly pressed himself against the side of an alleyway as he began a more careful scan of the area. He could see several people talking excitedly, as if some sort of event was going on. The boy was used to eavesdropping, and he slowly made his way to an unused stall so he could hear their conversation.
One of the men was a cobbler he recognized, and the old man was waving his arms energetically, the rotten teeth in his twisted mouth more visible than ever. “She’s gotta be from the Nepenthe, I tells ya.”
The second man sold scrap for a living, and he remained skeptical. “How do you know this? There wasn’t any announcements.”
“I recognize the shuttle that landed in the old quarry near Turing. That same craft landed here about ten years ago and I still remember. Exact same paintjob and insignias.”
“The Nepenthe are the toughest pirates ever; why would they land a shuttle down here?”
The old man gave him a wink. “They be recruiting, I bet. They did it the last time too.”
The scrap dealer’s eyes opened wide. “Oh yeah? Maybe I can go over there and ask to join them. I can finally be out of this craphole.”
The old man wagged his finger. “Uh-uh. They only accept kids. You be way too old for them.”
“Aw well, I guess it’s back to work then,” the scrap dealer said with a dejected shrug before moving away.
The boy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Pirates recruiting children? He could only dream about leaving this planet in order to find something better, and yet here was his chance. Forgetting the hunger, he turned and began running towards the city outskirts.
With the Turing district at least two klicks away, he had a lot of ground to cover. He could normally run faster, but the lack of food in recent days had made him weak, and he was now using sheer adrenaline.
On and on he ran, darting in between the crowds, using his agility to prevent last-minute collisions with porters and wanderers. Sprinting from one street and into another, the boy nearly got run over by a vehicle crossing his path, but the AI driver managed to pump the truck’s brakes in time, with half a meter to spare. The boy gave the transport a glancing smile before quickly disappearing into the maze of alleyways.
He was nearly out of breath when he got to the outskirts, the more desolate parts of the city that led out into the numerous old mining sites. The billowing sand irritated his eyes, but he raced on, the broken concrete road now morphing into a sandy path, leading upwards to the base of a hill.
The unused quarry resembled a crater. The remote mining bots had carved a circular pit ever downwards to get to the precious metals underneath the sands, only to be abandoned by their owners after the economic collapse. He was out of breath, but he kept on moving, as the nose tip of the shuttlecraft was clearly visible since it had landed sometime in the early morning on top of a nearby rock plateau.
Making his way past several groups of onlookers, the boy came upon a checkpoint manned by two warbots that blocked off the path leading down into the quarry. The crowds in the area predictably stayed at a fair distance, retreating even further when the battle machines issued a loud klaxon any time one of them got too close to the perimeter.
For some curious reason, the warbots didn’t react when the boy got closer. A collapsible tent had been erected by the side of the path leading down to the pit, and a violet-skinned man walked out of it and stared at him for close to a minute before beckoning him closer. Remembering his tutorials, the boy knew this being was a synthetic.
The boy edged closer, ready to run in case the warbots aimed their weapons in his direction.
“Good afternoon,” the android said. “I am Zeno. Unlike the others still here, you fall within the acceptable range. Do you wish to be part of our crew?”
The boy nodded silently.
Zeno held out a flat pad device in front of him. “Very well, please press your right hand onto this scanner.”
The boy placed his hand on the flat surface of the device and heard a chime coming from it. He quickly withdrew his hand and pivoted, fully prepared to flee.
Zeno nodded. “Reaction time adequate. Eyesight good.”
A tinge of hope brightened the boy’s face.
“I can see you are carrying two knives,” Zeno said. “Place them on the table.”
The boy figured this synth was using electromagnetic vision of some sort. Not wanting to break the rules, he took out the two knives he carried and put them on the nearby folding countertop.
Zeno gestured towards the path leading downwards. “You may proceed to the final selection process. I would hurry up, since it should be
starting anytime now.”
This time the boy didn’t hesitate. He ran past the synthetic and down the path, his patched-up shoes almost making him slip and fall, but he somehow maintained his balance. As he made his way down, he could see a small crowd of other boys at the bottom of the quarry. Sure enough, the two other lads who hung around the marketplace were there too—he remembered their names as Rod and Lucky.
There were about forty of them in all, and he recognized quite a few of the others, many of them survivors from the gang purge. The group was in a semi-circle as they all faced a raised stone platform. After finally getting off the path, the boy moved closer until he stood at the edge of the group while he began to regain his breath.
Standing on the platform was an alien species he had only read about on the net, but never seen in person until now. The being was clearly a riwwr, a type of species that resembled a bipedal Earth panther. Standing on two legs, the riwwr had uneven patches along its black furred coat, clearly indicating the numerous scars it had acquired over the course of its lifetime. The alien’s right leg was also cybernetic, another sign that it had seen some action.
From what he could remember, the riwwr had a clan-based culture that stressed extreme loyalty to their own respective prides. Their homeworld and the majority of their population remained staunchly loyal to the Union, though there were smaller clans of riwwr that ended up emigrating to the Concordance after the devastation of the Singularity Wars.
The riwwr placed a stubby finger on its earpiece. The voice emanating from its fanged snout was tinged with powerful growls as it apparently communicated with the android at the checkpoint. “Let this be the last one, Zeno, we have enough candidates as it is.”
The sound of the alien’s voice sent chills up his spine, but the boy maintained his composure. The riwwr were known for their love of personal dueling, preferring to fight with fangs and retractable claws over more high-tech weaponry. For a human to go up against one of their kind in a brawl would likely result in serious injuries or death.
Nepenthe Rising (Stars in Shadow Book 1) Page 6
