Alluvium

by Nolan Oreno

  From the steam of the scalding shower Saul emerged. The frigid open air sent tremors through his muscles. He immediately sheltered his exposed self in the wrapping of a nearby bath towel. He drew the moisture from his skin into the cotton cloth and waddled to the misty mirror once adequately dry. He wiped away a dewy-blur in the glass with his pruned palm and watched his features come into focus before him. He looked different than he remembered. Light stubble scattered across his depressed cheeks and his thin brows were frowning above his blue eyes. He looked intense and unkempt, like an animal taken directly from the wild and brought to a more civilized place. He wondered how the others had not taken notice of his wild appearance considering he normally kept himself clean-cut, however, they themselves did not look so different. To an outsider looking in, the colony must have looked like a zoo teeming with untamed beasts. Then again, there are no outsiders looking in, only insider’s looking out.

  At any rate, Saul did not like looking like a homeless man, even if he was precisely that. He moved his fingers in a particular fashion across the mirror’s surface, and the glass sparkled with light and electronics. On the mirror’s digital interface, a selection of commands appeared in text: Make-up, Trim, Shave, and Exfoliate. He selected the shaving icon with another particular hand motion, and in that moment hundreds of tiny green dots materialized on his reflected face, localized on the stubbled area.

  Shaving, please hold still, spoke the glass in a human-like speech.

  Saul felt a layer of heat rest on his cheeks and chin and suddenly the stubble vanished with the blink of an eye.

  “This is what a hundred-billion-dollar project buys you," joked Saul while patting his cheeks. He splashed his face with tap-water and drifted into the men’s locker room feeling a bit more presentable to the world beyond the bathroom.

  In front of another mirror, in a different part of the Hub, water from the same pipeline dripped from another man’s face. Something did not feel right to this man. He splashed himself with water again to be sure, but he was not sure. Where was he? What was he looking at? Which side of the glass was he on? He confused himself with questions, and in this confusion everything began to vibrate and twist like a world reflected in a whirled-pool. The mirror cracked beneath his knuckles, and his background was lost. Who was he? Who was this man he was looking at? Richard Virgil: the Commander. The Commander. He is the Commander of the Martian colony. Richard Virgil. The last leader of the last colony. Is that right? Richard- Richard- He is Richard. Richie, that was what the children on the schoolyard had called him when he was just a boy. Itchy Richie, because of the one afternoon that a dare brought him standing before the treeline at the edge of his elementary’s playing field. Exploring the arbor was strictly prohibited by all students and was strongly enforced by his teachers, but Richie wanted to show his classmates that rule’s did not frighten him. That he was his own rule-maker. So, being the social forerunner that he was, Richie took the dare, and stood at the borderline of the forbidden forest, glancing back only to see vacant swing-sets in the distance. His peers were gathering at the meadow’s border a hundred feet away, putting their precious recess on hold to see if Richie had the courage to break the barrier between the known and the unknown. Richie knew that the teachers would notice the congregation of students soon enough, so he would need to make a move. He picked up a stick from the tall grass at his feet and used it as a tool to penetrate the mysterious woodland.

  Richie would finally find out what kinds of things were on the other side of the treeline. After all the fables and myths whispered by his schoolmates, he would at last discover which ones were fact and which ones were fiction. It was the group consensus that if one of them were to go into the woods alone they would inevitably get lost and become mutated by the radiation of the surrounding area. They were convinced that there were horrific beasts of the forest who were mutated boys who had drifted too far into the radiation zones. In his new home, the lost boy would be forced to sleep under the cold moon and use the branches of trees as a bed. As the days would pass, the boy would get scarier and hungrier. He could only drink water from a flowing woodland stream and catch animals for dinner with newly grown claws to survive. He would miss his mother at first, and his friends, but soon forget he ever had any in the first place. He would become a lone wolf, a reject from society, and finally, when at long last he found their way back to the playground, he would be unrecognizable to all he left behind. He would be just another monster emerging from the forest. And the children in the playground would be frightened and throw rocks at the mutant boy to cast it back into the woods where it came. Where it belonged. They would continue keeping both worlds separate.

  Richie fiddled with this fate as the trees surrounded him and the other children in the schoolyard disappeared behind the trunks. He held the stick in front like a jouster riding towards his opponent and brushed the overgrown foliage out of his path. The further in he went, the thicker the forest grew, and before he knew it he was being grasped by the fingers of a hundred leaves. Astonishingly to him, the patch of skin where every leaf brushed against turned red and irritated. Was he mutating already? Had he walked far enough for the transformation to begin? Was he surrounded by the radiation all the adults warned about? Richie stopped and came to the realization that he liked being human. He liked being a child and being cared for by his loving family. He liked his home. So he dropped his stick and turned back towards the school. He did not move so delicately through the woods on his return and trampled through the greenery as it turned him even redder than before. He burst into the field in a frenzy of itching and scratching, barreling towards the grouping of kids who stood exactly where he left them, at the playgrounds edge. They were terrified of his sight and ran to their teachers from the hungry monster, screaming “It’s true! It’s true! Richie’s a mutant! It’s true!"

  Richie heard their chanting and stopped his running and fell to his knees crying. ‘I want to be human again’, he cried. ‘I don’t want to be a monster’. He could see the teachers rushing towards him as his classmates ran away. 'You're not a monster, Richie', the teachers assured him. 'Everything will be okay'. The other children quickly found out later that Richie was not a mutant boy but had accidentally stumbled into a hotbed of poison ivy. They happily named him Itchy Richie from then on to further the day’s alienation. From then on, the children all decided to never tread into the forest again, not because they were frightened of turning into radioactive beasts, but because none of them wanted their own nicknames.

  Richard was no longer Richie. He was no longer in the forest. He was in the desert, in front of a cracked mirror that ran red with his blood. He felt wetness under his nails and held them up to see more red. He’d been inching his arms wildly during the remembrance of his childhood and had been peeling back his skin and digging into the sensitive flesh beneath. The bathroom was violently vibrating now, and the cracked mirror reflected his mad eyes back at him. What was going on? Was he drugged, hallucinating as Hollis Reyes had? Or was he just losing his mind?

  The smart-suit latched itself to Saul, and he adjusted the suits mesh for a better fit. The architects hammer-logo illuminated in a golden radiance on his left breast, and he knew then that the suit was synced with his body. Its symbiotic threads were designed to regulate its host’s internal body temperature and be aware of any instance of dropping heart-rate, failing organs, and or inefficient oxygen levels. The advanced colonial suits had, many times in the past, saved the colonists, always without them realizing it. The suit’s heroics were always hidden and could easily be missed. Technician Julius Douglas was not informed of the night that an alien virus had entered his system, bringing him severe hot sweats and dizziness, and was unaware that it was his suit that kept him alive to its end. Without the suits ventilation, his brain would have overheated, and he would have gone into a coma for the remainder of his life on Mars. In another unseen instance of near-death, during the early construction of the Hub, Engi
neer Alexander Orsa’s suit filtered extra oxygen into the pores of his skin, warding off the dangerously undetectable levels of carbon dioxide in particular unfinished rooms. Engineer Elisa Perry was also ignorant to the fact that her suit had deflected a spark from her skin at an electrical console in one of the outlying stations, preventing her from catching fire. There were many possibilities of unforeseen deaths, and in all of these cases, the suit was a savior. And yet, to the majority of the colonists, its purpose was merely a fashionable formality.

  Saul brushed the uniform clean and closed his locker. It was time to return to his workstation and draw up more plans on the settlement. He could not let the others hopelessness infect him too, and whether or not they were with him, he would continue construction no matter the cost. He was running out of time. As Saul turned to leave the lockers and exit the bathroom, he found himself facing a man with blood on his hands and a lost look on his face.

  “Richard-?" asked a stunned Saul. He examined him up and down. The Commander’s suit-icon was that of a star, and it was flashing a heavy red alerting to a health hazard. Beyond that, rivers of blood seeped from his torn arms and dotted the floor.

  “Richard, is everything alright? Why is there blood on your hands, and your arms- my God."

  Before Saul could recognize the situation he was in the Commander was on him like a rabid dog. The two flew back and slammed into the lockers, crumbling the tin with the sides of their propelled bodies. They rolled along the lockers as both tried to pin the other against it, and eventually the Commander had his hands around Saul’s neck.

  “St- Sto- Stop-" choked Saul.

  Saul watched as the lights in the locker room slowly dissolved as he grappled at the fingers straining his throat. When he saw his own icon turn red he knew he had to do something and quick. He was nearly emptied of oxygen. With a free arm, he flung open a nearby locker into his assailants back, knocking the two apart for a brief moment of oxygen gulping, and then they were back on each other. Saul tackled the berserk Commander to the tiles before he had the advantage and threw a solid punch in an attempt of knocking him out. It failed, and Saul was kicked into the air landing on his back a few feet away. The Commander was on top of him again and beating his head into the hard tiled floor. The first impact nearly sent Saul unconscious, but he was awake just long enough to watch the Commander raise a claw and scratch him across his cleanly shaven face. Saul braced for the second, and most-likely final impact when just before it was to happen the crook of another’s elbow locked around the Commander’s neck and yanked him away. Saul laid there composing himself and bearing the throbbing pain the lingered, listening to the scuffling of two bodies a few feet away. He flinched at the sound of a booming blow and heard a body collapse to the tiles. Pessimistically, Saul opened one eye, but to his relief saw another colonist shaking his hurt hand over the fallen Commander who laid crumpled and unconscious.

  “What’s going on here?" panted Franco Anton, the United Nations liaison of the colony.

  Saul achingly sat up and watched as his icon returned to a healthy golden glow, still in shock of the unexpected altercation that began as quickly as it ended.

  “Why was the Commander was trying to kill you?" Franco asked in his high voice, cautiously approaching Saul. “I mean, shit, I knew you two hated each other, but I never thought it would go this far."

  Franco Anton was an annoying man to most. His big ego sometimes made people overlook at how small he really was. As the employee of the United Nations from a very young age, Franco was taught to have a mind for confidence, if not arrogantly at times. He was groomed by the elites to observe the colonists of Mars and report any mission deviance to the United Nations officers back on Earth. He was a spy, and everyone on Mars knew this. Few liked him but respected that he did not care much about this fact.

  Saul shook his throbbing head. “No, no it’s not like that," he sputtered. “No, listen Franco. I did nothing to him. I don't know what just happened."

  “Well, something you did pissed him off.”

  Saul staggered to his feet and looked at the Commander sleeping on the floor, impressed that Franco had it in him to put him there.

  “Apparently my speech during the meeting made a bigger impact for him than I thought. And you would follow this guy? He’s not in the right mind to lead anyone," Saul said, taking advantage of the situation.

  Franco glanced back to the Commander. “He just attacked you?"

  “That’s right. Out of nowhere. I don’t know if I can trust a guy like this. He needs help.”

  “I always thought he was taking it better than most," Franco interrupted. “He’s been hiding from us, sure, but I never thought he was losing it. Maybe that’s why he locked himself away."

  Saul straightened his sore back. “Sad to say it, Franco, but I saw this coming. I did. He hasn’t been well and he’s been convincing all of you otherwise. I know it’s hard to admit, but the pressure of everything that has happened has finally gotten to him. He’s been strong for us, that is certain, but perhaps he needs to rest. We need to relieve him of his position, at least until he gets better. It’s just too much responsibility for one man to share alone."

  Franco’s reluctantly agreed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. We should go get the others."

  “Of course," Saul nodded.

  The two lifted the Commander and balanced him between their shoulders, slowly leaving the locker room and exiting into the hall. Before they reached the more populated areas of the Hub, Franco’s energy drained, and he halted.

  “Come on, we’re almost there," Saul huffed. “Lift him back up."

  Franco leaned up against a nearby wall, leaving Saul to support the Commander. “He’s too heavy. Must weigh at least two-hundred pounds. We need more help," said Franco.

  Saul sighed, propping the Commander in a seated position. “Fine. Go find someone to help us. Hurry."

  As Franco ran off, Saul inspected the cuts and bruises from the battle. The Commander did a fair amount of damage to his body, but not as much damage as he would do to him. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The moment when Saul could show the colony who the Commander really was and humanize him by putting his insanity on display. Once the Commander had lost the respect of everyone, Saul could finally take his place and return the colony to full operation. Everything was falling into place.

  A moan came from the side of Saul, and he followed it to see the Commander rolled over. He was waking up from his slumber. No. No, thought Saul. Not now. He needed the others to see the Commander as he was: weak and helpless. He could not get away this time. He could not lock himself away from this truth. Saul rapidly mulled over a plan of action, looking back and forth down the hallway expecting the others, but they did not come. A ways down the hall Saul saw a door. Without further thought or wait, Saul began to drag the Commander by his legs towards it, feeling spasms in the man’s muscles as his body rebooted. He grew closer to the door but could feel stronger resistance from the Commander as his arms flailed at his sides, grappling at objects they passed.

  “I want to go home, with the other children," the Commander said. “I don’t want to go back to the forest."

  Saul hurried, and the vault door coming into sight. He could see now that it was one of the Decompression Rooms that laid ahead.

  “I’m a boy, not a monster," the Commander coughed.

  Saul let go of the Commanders legs and frantically inputted the code to the Decompression Room hatch: ERROR. INCORRECT CODE.

  He did not have the time to make the mistake again. Saul re-entered the code, slower this time, and the door successfully unlocked. He turned back to see the Commander sliding away from him.

  “A boy. Not a beast. A boy," he moaned, crawling on all fours.

  Saul leaped after him, grabbing at his ankles, and knocked him flat onto the floor with a hard yank.

  “No!" cried the Commander. “You can’t make me go back!"

  In a flash of adrenal
ine, Saul fought against the Commander, pulling him the rest of the way into the Decompression Room, and he threw him down hard in an attempt to have enough time to exit the room. Once safely out, Saul quickly locked the vault door behind him, effectively locking the Commander inside. It was at the end of this, in a long sigh of relief, that he could hear the groupings of footfalls echoing down the hall towards him.

  “What’s happening here?!" hollered Hollis from down the hall. At his sides were Maven Atoll and engineer Colleen Ralph. Falling behind in a tired sprint was Franco.

  “The Commander-" Saul started and took a breath. “He’s lost his mind."

  The three gazed into the small window on the hatch door and witnessed the Commander as he leaped about the small chamber, crazed and incoherent.

  “My God, you weren’t lying," whispered Hollis.

  “I’m not a monster!" roared the Commander from behind the locked door.

  “When did this start? What does he mean that he’s not a monster? Did you provoke him in any way?" Hollis asked.

  Saul shook his head. “I did nothing. I was in the locker room changing and he just attacked me. That’s when Franco found me. The man has officially lost it."

  Maven pushed against the door. “It looks like the hatch will hold until we figure out what's happening to him. Maybe Saul’s right and the stress of all this caught up to him. We really can’t say right now, we just need to wait for this fit to run its course."