Darkside
based on the characters created by
Aaron K. Carter
Darkside
Copyright © 2019 by Aaron K. Carter. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1 7
Chapter 2 16
Chapter 3 26
Chapter 4 38
Chapter 5 52
Chapter 6 61
Chapter 7 69
Chapter 8 81
Chapter 9 89
Chapter 10 103
Chapter 11 112
Chapter 12 125
Chapter 13 142
Chapter 14 155
Chapter 15 161
Chapter 16 171
Chapter 17 181
Chapter 18 195
Chapter 19 202
Chapter 20 218
Chapter 21 226
Chapter 22 239
Chapter 23 252
Chapter 1
H ello, Who are you? I wonder how you can see me.
I can’t see you, but I can feel you here with me. this is interesting. It’s never happened before to my memory.
Oh well, you don’t seem to be doing any harm. I wonder if you’re in my head or I’m in yours. I could be a complete figment of your imagination or you of mine. I really don’t know. but then both of us must exist, mustn’t we? Because I’m here talking to you, and you’re there listening to me. so even if I’m only in your head or a chimera, some shape of a phantom in time, then I must be real. And you must be as well. for if we believe that something exists, then it’s real. Even if it isn’t. take the quintessential concept of love. It’s nothing tangible, yet we believe it exists. We don’t use it to describe a feeling, feelings are lust and cupidity and romance, those are feelings.
Love is something else. Something like you or me.
Something we believe in and feel and may even hear or see in our heads but it doesn’t exist by most practical definitions. That’s what love is. And that’s what you and I are. There aren’t any words to describe me to you because I simply don’t exist nor do you to me. but we both know the other is there. I wonder if we couldn’t exist without the other? Could we have before, or can we fail to exist without the other now? I’m sure not. now that you’ve met me, you can’t get away from me. you’ll remember this conversation so I’m imprinted in the fabric of your being and you in mine. Scintillating this. I do love a good enigma.
I’ll think about you sometimes when I’m bored, and I do get bored often, you’ll find. So do you I fancy. So think of me, won’t you?
Is it only me? am I special to you in some way, or can you see the others? I don’t know. you’re the only one I’ve ever known about. but maybe you’re not unique. Maybe there are dozens of you and I can’t tell you apart from the other. So I’m speaking to mass or an individual, and I can’t tell the difference. That would be good for stage fright if I had any. I don’t. I’m not frightened of things. If I can’t tell you apart, can you tell us apart?
I wonder if anyone else knows about you? probably not. I’m not like most others, but you’ll find that out soon enough. if you can’t tell us apart, I’ll bet you can tell ME apart from them. I’m not like them, I’ve found. In fact, I’m nothing like any of them at all. I sincerely don’t know why. I’m amoral, a renegade, always the outsider even in my own circle. I never fit in. I’m cut from a different cloth than the rest of them, I don’t know why. And I hate it. I hate not knowing things. I don’t mind being singular, sui generis if you will, but I don’t know why I am and that irks me because in all these years I still can’t figure out why. At least, I don’t think there is anybody else like me.
As I said, you can be the judge of that. see what you think of them as opposed to me. it looks simple to be them. and I don’t like simple things. But come on. it’s time for me to go now, no more ruminating.
Come along with me, won’t you? I promise it will be a fun ride if nothing else.
Intrigued? I know I am. Let’s go.
I line up with the rest, chin up, eyes forward, hands tight, there is shoving all around me shouting of corrections from our officious MTIs. Cries of explanation from befuddled cadets. I am not phased by either.
Because I know I am right. I have studied endlessly for this. Never have I wanted anything in the universe but to be a spaceman. But more than that, I want to be a pilot. I want to fly through the stars. A voice boom in my ear followed by a string of insults, that would be a chastisement for my unfortunate, bunkmate, a Logan King, a rather rotund, palled individual who is mastering failing at nearly every course of study presented to us here at Kepler’s officer training school for future Spacemen. For the past eight hundred years, humans have settled Kepler 52b, and fleeing an overpopulated Earth in droves, to form a nice, neat society here, in New America. There’s New Russia as well but we don’t like to talk about them in the history books. we’ve done pretty well by ourselves as a race, we aren’t polluting this planet half as much as we did the last one, and we’ve succeeded in fending off the locals, alien life forms known to us as Isylgyns (somebody without an affinity for vowels christened them that). These creatures call Kepler and the surrounding planets home, have their own space ships, which look faster than ours though I haven’t proved that yet, and seem relatively innocuous, other than their tendency to squirt acid at things and suck the blood out of people. But that’s what we’re here for, the Space Forces, we defend Kepler from the Isylgyns and human smugglers and if necessary New Russia, keeping the skies free for new refugees from Earth, and for us to settle other planets in the fabled ‘Goldilocks zone’ capable of supporting human life.
So, now you know what we’re doing here.
Back to the present, there is the usual torrent of tears which generally follows any instructions given to the unfortunate cadet. As I said, he’s not very strong-willed. Or clever. Or athletic. Or anything befitting of a spaceman. I don’t see why he’s here, but then again I’m not in charge. Yet.
“CARD!!!”
“Yes, sir?” I wake myself from my comfortable thoughts, attending to the maledicent pile of man in front of me, his face something like three inches from mine.
“If you’re so goddamn PERFECT all the time, why didn’t you show Cadet King how to make his rack?” An MSgt. Ebbel, a brute of a creature who I am almost convinced is at least half or two-thirds dog, says. he takes great delight in shouting my name at the highest of decibels, preferably when I am doing nothing wrong.
I am planning to murder him.
It’s been two weeks already and I simply cannot bring myself to imagine another two with this person existing---in a space---near to me. there are plenty of others I loathe. But his voice is particularly grating.
So he shall die.
I’ve been planning it since the day I arrived. It is complicated, certainly, but basic training and my imprisonment thereafter were so mind-numbingly dull I had plenty of time to work out the general philosophy of the murder that I wanted to commit. Now I have selected a victim.
It’s been fun, scouting out a place, watching for behavior patterns, studying camera angles. Waiting for those dead quiet moments where there’s nobody around to hear you scream. I’ve only killed once before and that was a spur of the moment. Messy at best. I am a perfectionist in everything. I must
do it better this time. neater, cleaner. That was a sleight of hand, a party trick, there had been every chance I would be caught. Not this time. this time I will be smooth and clean. It’s my treat to myself, after enduring the vapid drudgery that has been training so far.
But soon we will get into our MOS schools and I want at least half of my brain for that. so, I shall end this little activity, and soon. But not quite yet. for now, I still need to make the bed.
“Sir, we practiced yesterday, it was my understanding that Cadet King was appraised of proper bed making,” I say, resisting the urge to glare at King, who is still sniveling.
“It was your Understanding???” he also makes my elevated rhetoric the brunt of his base rants. This is another reason he shall die. “Well, then why don’t you appraise”
See?
“that he needs you to check his work? You are both Spacemen. That’s what you do”
so descriptive please dear God use fewer proper nouns.
“so appraise him of how to fix it. now!!”
He turns his back to leave and King moves to wipe his runny nose. I just pull his arm down to the proper position before Ebbel turns and walks backward, shouting that we have an hour to get the barracks clean.
“Here,” I say, once we are released, “Let me show you again.”
“I tried to do what you said,” King snivels, wiping his nose on his sleeve before I can stop him.
“Well you clearly didn’t succeed,” I say, undoing the sheet and offering him an end to pull tight. He crumples it between his hands nervously.
“Be nice, Titus,” a voice says, from behind me, surprising me not only because it is my first name, but also because have been longing to hear that voice. It’s the girl I was paired in Combat training with yesterday, she’s a few bunks down, I knew, but I didn’t expect her to notice or speak to me. Although I wanted her to. the lovely Nicole Tom. she’s not like other girls. Not to me. something about the way she says my name. I want to listen. That’s it. I want to listen. I don’t generally. But I do to her. She’s an Academy Commissioned Cadet, tall and well-muscled, with the typical shaved head and short fingernails, she doesn’t stand out in any way. except for me. I am not typically prone to flights of romance let alone sexual attraction but Nicole Tom is my opulent exception.
I burn when her quick eyes turn so fiercely upon me. never before in my life have I cared to be in someone’s good graces for anything other than material gain. But I do now. oh, how I do. love is terribly inconvenient, don’t you think?
“He’s upset, it’s not easy you know, and he’s just gotten shouted at you could be nicer,” she is saying, casting me a disapproving look, “Here, King, we’ll take one side and Card will take the other, it’s much easier when you have more than one person.”
“I’ve never had to comfort someone before. I didn’t know it wasn’t nice,” I mumble annoyed that I’m explaining myself to her and unable to clearly articulate words in her presence. I bite my lip, I don’t elucidate myself, especially not with the truth. she’s my exception again, it seems.
“Well, now that’s something you know,” she says, curtly.
“Yes, it is,” I say, not daring to look at her but instead looking down at the sheets, which we are pulling tight between us.
“H---how do you know how to do it so well?” King asks, biting back the last of his tears and moving to help.
“I grew up at the Academy; they taught us this, as well as marching,” Tom says, kindly. Ah, so she’s Academy bred as well as educated. The rich can pay to have their children admitted to the prestigious Space Forces Academy for the last four years of their education, then a chance at a commission in the Space Forces; the poor and clever children get partial scholarships; then there are the Project 10s. Project 10 is essentially a breeding project, whereby those with a certain IQ are matched with potential mates, and through in vitro fertilization, a child is conceived. That child is the property of the Space Forces, they grow up at the Academy and receive all their education there. Tom said she grew up there, and so she is a Project 10. King is here on straight commission, hence his general ineptitude. He went to a public university but got selected for stellar academic achievement.
“Oh, that makes me feel better, I feel stupid sometimes,” King says, cheering up a little at Tom’s kindness.
“That’s absurd, you’re cleverer than half of them,” I say dismissively. He is. He’s a terrible spaceman, but I know he tested in as a civilian from a second rate university, which is no easy task. Make no mistake, he’s still a complete idiot, but I’ve found most of my fellow cadets are.
“Really?” he asks.
“Yes—pull that tighter, here,” I reach up to my bunk. I’m on top since I am small and lithe and can crawl places. King falls down from places. I pull a pair of pins from the bottom of my mattress. “Use these to hold it in place while I tuck this side.”
“Where’d you get those?” King asks.
“Our dress whites, from the alterations, I thought they’d be useful,” I say, kneeling to complete a corner.
“That’s clever. Did you go to the Academy---only you don’t look familiar,” Tom asks, her tone is kind she regrets her harsh words earlier? But of course, it is the question I am loathed to answer. But I cannot lie to her. she’ll find out eventually after all.
“No--- I ---ah, went to BMT,” I mumble, again. arg. I am not a mumbler. I seriously considered just saying ‘no’ but knew she’d a) find out b) she was asking nicely so I didn’t want to be curt c) I liked it when she smiled a little at me like that and I didn’t want it to ever stop.
“You did?” Logan asks, surprised.
“Yes,” now I’m curt.
“You did? I thought you were our age?” Tom asks, surprised. Of course, I look every bit my sixteen years.
“I am, at the end of the training, you take final exams, and if you do well enough you get the chance to test into OCS,” I explain, finishing my side. what this means is that I’ve never been to university. When children turn eleven, they either enter university, bound for higher careers like Space Forces, or law or medicine or teaching. Or they go to a public trade school to finish out their education. I am from a disgustingly poor family. there was no money to send to me the Academy, even on the copious scholarships I was eligible for. so I went to a trade school, for mechanics. That was the opposite of enthralling. But anyway, the moment I turned fifteen, I was at the recruiter, applying to join the Space Forces. The reason Tom asked about my age is that it is less common to test in, and more common to return to OCS after completing a three-year commitment and gaining credits to be used towards OCS.
“Oh, yes, I’d heard that that could happen,” Tom says, lightly, even though I am sure she now thinks less of me. I’ve never been to a proper school, I’m clearly just a poor boy. “I didn’t know it ever did happen, though. thought it was just a gimmick.” Judging by the number of people it took to process my paperwork, as well as the number of people who had no idea how to process my paperwork, a great number of people think it’s just a gimmick.
“So you didn’t go to university?” King confirms, still surprised he actually has one up on me. I am annoyed he knows. Tom won’t do anything with it, I think. He might.
“No,” I say.
“What sort of scores did you have to get to test in?” Tom asks as we fold the comforter between us.
“I don’t know, they didn’t tell me. they just said I got to go,” I say. that’s true, well a part of it is. They did not tell me how high the scores needed to be to test in. because it didn’t matter. I didn’t miss any questions, achieving a perfect score. apparently, that’s never happened before. I know that because I was in a military prison for two weeks while they tried to figure out how I cheated. Then they couldn’t figure it out, because of course, I hadn’t. so they rewrote a harder test and sitting in the prison, I took that. and I still made a perfect score.
So they set me free.
&nb
sp; Their mistake.
“That’s really cool, I bet you were surprised,” I say, his face has gone terribly dark all of a sudden. I don’t like it like that. he’s got a lovely face, still baby fat on his cheeks, a button nose, freckles on it. and the most unimaginable blue eyes, like the sky, reflected in the sea. a stormy sky. And a stormy sea. there is something about him. some loneliness that makes me want to hug him. yet there is a darkness that makes me shiver. I shiver a bit to look at him when his eyes go dark as they did just now. he’d never been to University, was it really wise just to toss him in with us? He didn’t fit in, the others would have a great time with it if, when—they found out. he’d be bullied, and surely he was terribly clever. He must be shouldn’t they---do something with him rather than throw him in with us? I feel awful to think about it. but I know I’m right.
“Yes, I was quite pleasantly surprised, as I’m sure our classmates will be,” he says, dryly. He also anticipates the bullying that will ensue.
“I won’t tell them,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says, graciously, so formal, he’s too old for his age one could say ancient, “But they’ll know soon enough, once we get our SBUs. My rank’s sewn on. the rest of you will be slick sleeved.”
“Yes, you’re a Spaceman Basic,” I realize of course he completed BMT he would be.
“Yes, I absolutely cannot wait till Ebbel realizes he has to address me as such,” he says so dryly King and I both laugh.
“Can’t you just hear him ‘Spaceman Basic Card you’re out of step!’,” he imitates Ebbel almost perfectly, sending us laughing again and laughing himself this time. nervously, though, like he’s not well-practiced at smiling or making people smile.
“I can, that’ll be awful,” I laughed.
“It’s all right, I love being a Spaceman, that’s what I’ve wanted---my whole life, to fly out there,” he says looking up at the heavens as though they are waiting specifically for him.
“Me too,” I say, smiling a little and he returns it. just a little.
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