Mutationem

by Phoenix Jericho

  Carefully Sophi cut, rewired, and reconfigured the telecom helmet. Placing both halves back together, she manually threaded each screw partway into its hole and, with a screwdriver, twisted each screw till its recessed head was flush with the surface of the helmet.

  Taking off her magnifying loupes, she slid the bulky helmet over her head and pressed the power button above her right ear. The inside of the visor lit up, everything vital to the operator easily observable. What made this telecom helmet special was that it could integrate itself with the operator’s brain; commands were sent via brain waves to the visor, which in turn signaled the drone.

  Power up, drone, thought Sophi.

  A green bar lit up in the visor and steadily got longer. At the same time, all six electric motors started up, and their props began spinning silently. The drone lifted up off the Engineering deck about three feet and then flew in place, appearing motionless.

  Sophi moved the drone around with her mind, doing one system check after another. Each thought input was immediately carried out by the drone.

  One final test, she thought as she glided the drone over to a large, anvil-shaped piece of iron. Lowering it, she engaged a hook under the dead center of the drone’s belly and carefully inserted it into an eyehook sticking out of the steel block. She flew it around the room and back to its original position.

  “Very good,” said Merc with enthusiasm. “That is excellent!”

  Merc had slipped up behind Sophi unawares, as she had been completely engrossed in the task at hand. Powering the drone off, Sophi removed the helmet and smiled at Merc.

  “I’m glad you approve. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.”

  “Well, that’s great, Commander,” said Merc. “But now I need you to help me weld up the hole in the garden’s steam line. Leea just tried to kill Smitty.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Bang, bang, bang went the heavy quartz gavel as it hit its round base.

  “Order, order!” yelled Captain Kriss. The room was filled with the chaotic sound of nearly one hundred women.

  The gavel sounded again, and Kriss barked even louder into the mic. Finally, a hush came over the room.

  Captain Kriss was dressed in her full military uniform, only worn at formal events. But today wasn’t a special awards ceremony; it was a trial. The captain stood behind a podium, flanked by two crew women in their space suits and helmets. You could only see the lower third of their faces because their visors were flipped down. What was visible was stern.

  The most noticeable thing to the crew entering the Great Hall was that both guards were armed with bolt guns. It was obvious that the captain wasn’t messing around, and no longer did she look happy and relaxed. In fact, Kriss looked cold and deadly. Her demeanor, and the fact that she had two armed guards present, made the entire crew uneasy.

  Clearing her throat, Kriss said, “Today marks a step backward for all of us on board. We no longer are a free society built on trust and cooperation. Yes, we are a democracy, but that is because I allow it. There are certain things on this ship that I alone control. I am not a power-hungry person who abuses this right. But when I believe it is my duty, I do it without hesitation, especially when it means the survival of our species. In these matters, it’s my way and my way alone.”

  As she spoke, her words grew louder and more intense. It was obvious to the entire room that the iron will of the captain was law.

  “I’d hoped this day would never come,” said Kriss. “We are supposed to be a body of one, but the lessons of Earth have been forgotten too soon. When a part of our body becomes a threat like cancer to the rest, it must be removed, cut out, and destroyed. Not one cancer cell can be allowed to grow and spread, because if it does, it will destroy its host.”

  Looking sternly into the face of each woman, Kriss spit out the words like venom. “You are the host. You are the last living body of all mankind. If you get infected and die, we become extinct like the dinosaurs. So help me God, no ice age is going to wipe my species out. Not under my watch,” she bellowed.

  She grabbed the gavel and smashed it down on its base with such force that the solid hammer shattered. Captain Kriss’s face was bright red, and she was shaking with fury. A large blue vein bulged in her forehead and traced a serpentine path across its surface from above her right eyebrow to her hairline. Kriss was the most petite woman on board, but right now she looked ten feet tall.

  Pausing to let her words sink in, she cleared her voice. “All section commanders, come up to the front of the room now.”

  Every commander made their way to the front of the room. They were all wearing long blue robes fringed with gold cord.

  “Please be seated,” commanded Kriss.

  They sat down to the left of the captain in the seven chairs facing the audience.

  “Each of you, place your right hand over your heart and repeat after me. ‘I solemnly swear I will listen to the evidence and be unbiased. I will be diligent and make my judgment based only on the facts, and I do this solely for the good of my colony.’”

  Each commander repeated this pledge.

  “Good,” said Kriss. “Now, by the power vested in me as the ship’s commander, I nominate you seven as our colony’s grand jury. Bring in the prisoner!”

  The doors in the rear of the Great Hall opened, and everyone turned around to look. In came Leea. With shackles on her ankles, she had to shuffle in. She was handcuffed, and two women in their space suits and helmets were holding her elbows. Both guards had crossdraw holsters on their backs, with the butt of a bolt gun sticking up over their left shoulders. Leea’s head was down, her eyes staring at the floor. Her hair was tangled and matted, and she was wearing a black jumpsuit that was loose and wrinkled. She obviously had just come from the Hole. If her snake tattoo had been visible, it would have been pale and still.

  Leea was brought up to the front of the room and forcibly pushed down in a chair to the right of Captain Kriss. All seven jury commanders could see Leea across from them, with the captain in the middle behind her podium. All the crew in the audience could see the entire makeshift courtroom.

  Banging her fist on the podium, Kriss barked, “For the record, the prisoner’s name is Jennifer Lee Jones, also known as Leea. She is formally charged for the following offenses to her colony: Number one, she assaulted Chief Science Officer Connie Boskind. Number two, she tried to murder Dozer, a cat that has been given the honorary medal you see wrapped around his neck for saving our ship from being incinerated by a gas halo,” yelled Kriss. “Yes, you heard right; he was the one that saved you, not me. I didn’t want you to know that we came within a few degrees of melting the hull. We all would have died without Dozer’s help.”

  A wave of emotion fell over the room.

  “Dozer has full honorary privileges as a section commander, and that bitch that he saved tried to kill him.” Kriss pointed at Leea, her eyes ablaze with fury. “Number three, she tried to kill Smitty, my first mate. Number four, she ruptured the steam pipe. If Merc hadn’t been able to turn off the steam generator, it could have been catastrophic. The garden is the lifeblood of this ship. Without it, we all starve to death.

  “Number five, Leea vandalized Med Bay, and could have killed the whole colony if the bolt gun had destroyed the gene sequencer. Without the genetic code Connie hopes to get from the male cadaver in the freezer, we all die. Moreover, when Leea assaulted Connie, she could have killed her, and the colony would have died again. Number six, Leea stole a bolt gun, a weapon designed by Merc to protect all of us, not to be used against us.

  “Leea has a total disregard for the crew’s safety and the ship’s well-being. Her violent behavior is a cancer that could kill us all. It is my recommendation to you, the panel of seven, and to my entire crew in the audience, that Leea be sentenced to death by emulsification in the garden.”

  A loud murmur ec
hoed across the room.

  “Order!” yelled Kriss.

  Leea raised her eyes. She had a hollow, faraway look, like her body was present but not her mind.

  Turning to the seven chairs, Kriss barked, “I want a verdict. All in favor of death raise your hands.”

  Reluctantly, three hands went up.

  “That’s it? This bitch almost killed us all, and four of you don’t favor her death?”

  No one said a word. To do so would have set Kriss off on an individual manhunt, and not one juror wanted that fate. As a whole they could withstand her barrage of words, but not alone.

  “Very well,” said Kriss in a sinister tone. “Who favors life?”

  Again, three hands went up. It was a dead tie.

  “Jesus Christ, what in the hell is wrong with you?”

  It was obvious someone hadn’t voted. Kriss turned her attention to that one person like a predator staring down its prey.

  Standing up unsteadily, with a bandage around her head from the savage blow she had received from Leea, Connie spoke in a low, shaky voice.

  “I know in my heart I should vote death. After all, Leea did attack me. But in my head I vote life. With Earth gone, almost the entire human race gone, and now the fate of one when we no longer have many, this weighs heavy on my heart. In good faith as a commander, I cannot vote at all. Instead, I ask your permission, my captain, to allow me to let the remaining crew cast a vote in my place to decide Leea’s fate. After all, the place we called home was a democracy, and I believe that is one tradition we should all carry with us to this new frontier we call A-64.”

  Applause from the audience followed Connie’s last statement. With a look of resignation, Kriss said, “Very well. Who chooses death?”

  Scanning the room, Kriss counted the hands held high. To Smitty, Kriss said, “You count as well. I want no mistakes.”

  Soon they compared a tally of the votes and agreed upon the same number.

  “And who chooses life?”

  Smitty and Kriss did another head count.

  Kriss cussed. “Which one of you didn’t vote?”

  “It was me, sir.”

  All eyes in the room panned towards the standing figure. It was Jade, one of the young women from the garden.

  “Do you realize we have a split vote?” asked Kriss. “The fate of this woman’s life is in your hands. Do the right thing for this colony.”

  “Yes, sir,” whispered the woman.

  Leea was dead, she knew it. The captain would break this woman down and Leea would be emulsified.

  “Well, are you going to stand there all day? What is your decision?” yelled Kriss.

  The Great Hall became eerily silent. The only sound was the frustrated breathing of the captain. Even Dozer’s gaze was fixated on the mouth of the standing woman. He didn’t know what was happening, but his instincts told him it was very important.

  “Out with it,” shouted Kriss. “Do I have to throw you in the Hole for contempt?”

  At first everyone thought young Libby had spoken, since the word was said in such a quiet, childlike manner. But it was repeated again, this time in a louder tone.

  “Life! I choose life! I’m in love with her, and I choose life.”

  Brooke stiffened. She was one of the seven; she had voted life as well. The girl glanced at Brooke and their eyes locked. The animosity was instantaneous, but it was cut short by the captain.

  “Take the prisoner to the Hole!”

  Leea held her head high, looking each crew woman in the eye who had voted death. She memorized each face.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The slow dripping noise continued all night long. It never changed tempo, but was constant like the ticking of a clock. Drip, drip, drip. The moisture was softening the discarded cardboard box lid. Eventually the sodden weight caused the lid of the box to sag, until the vertical walls were higher than the peak of the roof. The dripping came from the inverted center of the box’s lid. If you had poked it with your finger, the cardboard fibers would have torn easily.

  The box shuddered slightly from the shivering body of the girl curled up inside. She was young, about twelve years old. Her age wasn’t known because she had never been told her birthdate. Age has no meaning when you are homeless, and birthdays aren’t celebrated like in the homes of the wanted.

  The girl was wearing pants, a T-shirt, and no shoes or socks. She was curled up and cuddling a stuffed toy elephant with a colorful headpiece like real elephants wore in India. The drips missed the girl and the elephant but hit the bottom of the box. The softened cardboard had a hole there, as well, the size of the girl’s index finger.

  The box was sitting behind a large abandoned warehouse, and the matted dirt it was sitting on came from the exfoliating fall leaves of the trees across the way. The leaves blew up against the building and had begun to compost themselves.

  The rain drizzled all night; even the moon had deserted the young girl.

  Being born to a prostitute wasn’t any unborn child’s dream. Her mother didn’t even know how it had happened. She’d been addicted to Dream, and it had replaced everything she had ever dreamt of. The newborn baby didn’t understand this irony.

  The infant felt the rejection as she continued from one foster home to another. No one wanted her. She was merely a dollar amount paid for by government social services and used as a source of income. She wasn’t treated like a scared little girl who needed love and nurturing, but rather like an animal. Poultry farmers don’t see one chicken individually, nor do they care; all they see is a means to an end. The dead look in the girl’s eyes was like that of the chickens’; they both knew their outcome.

  It had been a struggle, but she had finally dug a hole through the drywall in the back of her closet with a screwdriver. He hadn’t seen her steal it from his toolbox. For months the girl had been putting stuff in the drain to plug it up. This night, she had the sink full of dirty dishes that she was pretending to wash when her plan finally worked. He was in the living room, drunk as usual, watching a hunting show on TV. Timidly, she told him about the clogged sink. He didn’t hit her, as was his custom if she spoke. He actually came in and tried to fix it. Slipping the screwdriver into her back pants pocket, she went to her room and waited.

  Eventually he came in and grunted, padlocking the door from the outside. She heard the heavy lock swing down and hit the door after he snapped it shut. The room was dark; he had tripped the circuit breaker in the panel box, so there was no electricity in her room. She couldn’t see, but she was used to the dark; she had lived in this foster home for the last three years.

  Crawling on her knees to the closet, she felt for the back wall and gently tapped it with the base of the handle. She could determine by the solid sounds where the two studs were that supported the wall. Putting one finger beside the handle to mark the place on the wall, she flipped the screwdriver around and pushed it as hard as she could. Tapping the other way to make a solid sound, she repeated the same method to make a mark. This then became her nightly ritual for weeks: breaking through the drywall and pulling out the insulation.

  The siding resisted being broken and the process was loud. She only could work on it late at night when she knew he was passed out. He mowed his own grass during the summer, and if it wasn’t for the propane tank sitting lengthwise by the house, he would have seen the little holes from the screwdriver.

  Finally, one night she made the hole big enough to stick her hand through and could feel the night’s cool air. It thrilled her. She hadn’t felt the wind on her face for three years. Reaching through the hole, she felt strands of grass. Grabbing a handful, she ripped it out by its roots and rubbed it all over her face, sticking some in her mouth. It tasted like freedom.

  With a desperate fury, she attacked the siding and soon had a hole big enough to stick her head through, then
her head and an arm. Finally, it was big enough to squeeze through.

  She didn’t think about shoes or a blanket; all she thought about was running. And run she did. She ran and ran till her feet bled.

  A spatter of rain hit her face, just enough to announce its presence. She had to get away, far away. She was never going back to him.

  Soon she began to shiver. Her body didn’t have any fat to warm her, as he’d only fed her once a day. The spatter now turned to a drizzle, making it hard to see, but she kept walking, running, and falling down.

  An owl hooted, scaring her half to death. The noise echoed eerily in the heavy mist that cloaked the woods. She desperately wanted help, but she knew help was never for her.

  After walking for hours, she finally saw the low outline of a building appear in the gloom. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she could hardly hear. This made her even more scared; if she couldn’t hear, she might miss a warning.

  Creeping up to the side of the windowless steel building, she saw the box. At first she didn’t know what it was, but soon she saw the outline of its cardboard silhouette. The end toward her was open, and the interior was black. She couldn’t see in, but soon her nerves relaxed and she knelt down to touch it. Nothing happened.

  Satisfied that it was safe, she crawled in and pulled the four end flaps of the open box in till they overlapped each other and held themselves shut. She was sore, wet, and exhausted. But she was free. Pulling her wet elephant to her chest, she went to sleep.