Sunspots and Forever Dark Omnibus

by Gary Martin

  A lightbulb pings in my head and I can’t believe I didn’t put this together earlier.

  “Fuck a duck. Ez’s father owns the New White Star. That’s where she’ll be.”

  “Didn’t you say he hated you?”

  “Hate is too soft a word, he fucking despised me. But things are a bit different now. What with the end of the world and all that.”

  “Which, some could argue, you had a small part in.”

  “Fuck you. If I did, you had a part in it too.”

  “And that you left his daughter, who was pregnant and in a coma, alone in hospital while you ran away for three months. He’s going to welcome you back with open arms, he’ll treat you like the number one son in-law. Sorry, make that number two.”

  “Stick it up your arse, you fat ...” I realise I can’t really call him that anymore, as he’s now thinner than me. Not being able to think up a decent insult, I decide to be blunt. “Fuck off.”

  “Sometimes John, I really wish you had died instead of Mark. I preferred his banter,” he says with a smile.

  “Same back at you, except with Kerry, not Mark.” I then sigh. Even though it was said as a joke, I think it’s mainly true from both sides.

  “Nothing can really be any good anymore can it? By a miracle, we’ve got back to some sort of civilisation, but we can never go home. I badly want to go home. I want my house. I want my own bed. I want my holobox. I want my fucking drum kit, my guitars and I want Bruce,” I say and Robert chuckles under his breath.

  “It’s all still down there, John. Probably not quite how you left it, slightly frozen maybe, but it’s still all there.”

  “I know, but it’s all fucked by now. I think on that cheery note, I’m gonna try and get some shut eye. Nighty night.”

  I close my eyes and roll on to my side, hoping sleep will just come to me, as it often does. Not this time. My eyes just keep popping open, so I roll onto my back and look over to Robert to maybe continue talking for a while but he’s already quietly snoring away to himself. I stare at the grey ceiling and listen to the gentle rumbling of the Zeus. With nothing interesting to look at, or listen to, I finally start the descent into sleep.

  23

  I wake with a start as the door opens and bangs against the metal wall. My heart is beating fast. I blink my eyes rapidly and look around the unfamiliar grey room.

  “Time for your debriefing,” says the taller of the two guards at the door.

  “Now? We’ve only just got here, I’m barely awake,” Robert says, sitting up.

  My brain kicks in.

  “Oh, we’ve been rescued. I almost forgot,” I say.

  “Yeah, something like that. Come with us,” the shorter guard says, raising his rifle slightly.

  We’re led through the maze of corridors again and to another AG shaft. The tall guard moves his face in line with the control panel. The panel beeps and the door opens.

  “Two ... non crew members to level two,” he says.

  I feel the point of a barrel in my back, forcing me forward. I’m suddenly very aware that nothing is as fluffy as I’d hoped.

  “We’ll be waiting here when you come back. Your destination is locked, you won’t be able to go anywhere else.”

  “Why would we want to?” I ask as I’m shoved through the green force field into the gravity-less tube, quickly followed by an annoyed looking Robert.

  Rather than allow us to grab hold, the red handles turn in on themselves, revealing mechanical claws. They latch tightly to our wrists and pull us up the shaft.

  Watching the numbers in my eyeline descend as we rise, I think about the shift in attitude towards us. When we were brought aboard, we were welcomed. Sort of. Now, it seems like we’re the enemy. Sort of. I start to wonder if they’ve found out about Rupert. If by chance someone in the sick bay knew him and has recognised his decaying form, we’re fucked. It was a bad plan, but if we’d told Captain Baseheart the truth to begin with, I’d imagine we’d already be fucked.

  We stop at level two, get pushed through the force field and out onto the deck. We’re in a round white room with three doors. Well, four if you count the one we just came out of. Once again, everything is pristine. We must be near the top of the sphere. I walk up to the middle door and in small silver letters it says Captain.

  “This one I guess,” I say.

  The door opens and two guards come out, these ones are wearing masks. They look identical. Behind them I can see Captain Baseheart sitting at the far end of her office, behind a massive desk or console.

  “Which one of you is Robert Bell?” asks the faceless guard to my left.

  “Me,” Robert says, half raising his hand. He starts walking towards the door, but the dark grey clad guard to his right stops him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the guard asks.

  “I thought I was going to be debriefed,” Robert replies.

  “No. Straight to work. You were the engineer on your ship, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll be useful down in weapon storage.”

  Robert looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he says.

  “Here’s your card. It will let you go to weapons storage and red level only.”

  He hands Robert the card and pushes him towards the shaft.

  “John Farrow,” the other guard says. “You can see the captain now.”

  Looking left, then right at the guards, I walk through the doorway into Captain Baseheart’s office. The room isn’t very wide but it’s long and clad in dark stained wood. There are four square windows behind the captain, the two middle windows slightly taller than the outer ones. In a strange way, it reminds me of an old pirate ship.

  Captain Baseheart is looking down at a pad when I get to the desk. There’s a chair tucked in, but I’m not sure what the etiquette is in this situation. Do I pull it out and sit or wait to be told to? I decide quickly that the latter is the better option and stay standing.

  “For pity’s sake sit down,” she says loudly.

  “Sorry,” I say and clumsily sit down.

  “I guess I should give you a brief outline as to what’s been happening since the sun died. With your radio not functioning, you’ve probably been mainly in the dark.”

  “I think we all have,” I say and smile.

  She stares at me blankly.

  “Life cannot survive on the Earth anymore, it’s simply too cold. Anyone with a ship has left the dead planet but there’s nowhere to go. The closest solar system with inhabitable worlds is a lifetime away. Skylark has picked up most of these people in an effort to rebuild a society in space on a fleet of ships. We’ve entered into agreements with the biggest shipping companies and our brave new world is beginning to take shape. We just need to deal with the Utopian project.”

  “Who are the Utopian project?” I ask.

  “Vermin. They have their way, we have ours. We thought they were destroyed years ago, but apparently not. When they are found, they will be swiftly dealt with.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “I think that’s enough recent history for today, John. We managed to retrieve a few files from the burned-out mess of a computer system on your ship, but those files were mainly empty. Just some out of date crew info.”

  “There really wasn’t anything on them to begin with. Martin Hooper didn’t trust computers. Refused to store sensitive information on them,” I say.

  “I guess that’s understandable after all of that Internet nonsense. But we’re here to talk about you, Mr Farrow. Not events from forty odd years ago. There is a big hole in your story.”

  My heart speeds up. I’m fucked.

  “A hole?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

  “We think that your ship was instrumental in the death of the sun. When you came aboard, my second in command believed it possible that you were Rupert Rawling.”

  “Who’s that?” I ask a bit too quickly.

  “Obviousl
y he’s not you. I knew that straight away. If you we’re him, you’d have been tortured and executed by now. But we know he had to have been on your ship.”

  I’m more than fucked, I’m a dead man.

  “We believe he may have been hiding in Sunspot Two’s hangar deck, with something highly classified. It’s a pity. He managed to do what no leader ever could. He created a situation where only the strong would survive,” she says and smiles almost imperceptibly.

  That definitely was not his plan. If Rupert realised that he’d created a situation where Skylark were the only survivors, I doubt he would have gone through with it. But then, he was, and is, a complete nut box, so who knows?

  “John, I believe Rupert sabotaged your ship, caused the death of most of the crew and himself. You were very lucky. But I’m afraid that now you’ll have to get by on more than just luck. You were a shift manager, is that correct?”

  “That’s right,” I say.

  “We don’t need any managers. This is a military ship. What else can you do?”

  “I used to drive forklifts.”

  “We have enough people who can do that. No, I’m afraid you’ll have to start at the bottom. You’ll be working in the clean zone on red level.”

  “Doing what?” I ask apprehensively.

  Her almost imperceptible smile widens.

  “I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You’ll see when you get there. Any questions?”

  “Um, yeah. How’s Tim doing?” I ask, very relieved that she thinks Rupert’s dead.

  “As you know his spine is snapped and he’ll never walk again. We’ve given him some strong medication to relieve his pain. But to be blunt, that’s a waste of resources. He’s of no use to us and will be put to death within the next few days.”

  I stare at her, gobsmacked.

  “What?”

  “It’s a brave new world, John. Only the strong can survive. We can’t carry the weak or the helpless. I hope you prove to be useful or the same will happen to you and your engineer.”

  There’s nothing I can say to that. My brain seems to have gone numb.

  “Can I see him?” I finally ask.

  “Under normal circumstances, no. But these are not normal. I will let you see him, to say your goodbyes and make peace with the situation, but only once. And after your first shift in the clean room.”

  I’m scared. Everything is quickly going to hell.

  “Is there any way I can look up survivors? My girlfriend may still be alive,” I ask, desperately.

  “No. Only officers and high-ranking crew are allowed that information. Anyway, it’s highly unlikely she is still alive. You’re only alive by blind luck. Anything else?”

  I don’t know what else to ask. If I can’t find out whether Ez is still alive, I truly have nothing to go on for. I just want to go back to Sunspot Two, hide away and dwell in my newfound, but familiar misery.

  “Can I go back to my ship?” I finally ask.

  “Absolutely not. We’ve just started the process of ripping her to pieces. She’ll be used for spare parts and scrap. Anything left over will be used as target practice.”

  I knew it, but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Finally, it’s punched me full force in the face. My old world is officially gone. Whatever tiny pieces were left are now out of reach and slowly being dismantled.

  Captain Baseheart presses a button on her giant desk and I hear the door open behind me. She nods her head slightly, then looks back down at her pad. I stare at her for a few seconds. A hand touches my shoulder and makes me jump.

  “Follow me, Mr Farrow,” the guard says.

  24

  Back down on red deck, I walk in the direction the guard pointed me in. The card I’m holding in my hand will only let me go to my destination and nowhere else. Not even my quarters.

  “The door to your quarters will open again once the card reads that you have done your sixteen-hour shift,” the guard had said. Sixteen hours? I don’t even know what my job is going to be but sixteen hours of whatever it is will kill me. Twelve hours on Sunspot Two was bad enough. This place is going to slowly erode my personality down until I end up an institutionalised drone, who dribbles from one side of his mouth and does every fucking thing he’s told. That’s the best-case scenario but I doubt it’ll get to that. I’ve never been a team player, never been any good at any job I’ve had. It will quickly become apparent that I’m not in any way useful and then my time will be up. I’m at the end of my emotional tether, and as I walk down the corridor, towards what I honestly believe will be the last thing I will ever do, a tear decides to make its way down my face.

  The double doors I finally get to after almost twenty minutes of walking through the badly lit corridors of red deck are almost a relief. Looking up, I see a lit sign above the door that says Recreation area. I’m not sure where I was expecting to be but the recreation area wasn’t it. I wave my card in front of the control panel and the doors slowly open with a horrible screeching followed by low prolonged grinding noise.

  The first thing that hits me as I walk through the doors is the smell. It’s like a mixture of every drug I’ve ever tried, and then some. The massive circular room must be close to one hundred metres in diameter, but I can’t see anything on the far side except for dulled multi-coloured lights due to the druggy haze. All styles of music are blaring out from every direction, the rhythm nothing but a confused mess. There are small booths dotted all around that seem to sell drink and drugs, lots of doors around the circumference that have either vacant or engaged glowing above them, and tables and seating everywhere, with hundreds of people, mainly soldiers, milling around, laughing, joking and fighting. It’s the end of the world and I seem to have walked into a rave. I must be on a different ship. This doesn’t make any sense.

  Still not really knowing where I’m supposed to be going, I look around for someone friendly looking to ask. A woman wearing a very short skirt and a tiny bra walks past me, limping slightly. I stop her.

  “Hello, I’m John. I’m new here. Do you know how I get to the clean zone? I’m kinda lost,” I say.

  “Hi John, I’m Amanda. And by clean zone, do you mean skin reclamation? I’m going there now, follow me,” she says in an odd monotone and continues on her way. I follow her and wonder what the fuck skin reclamation is, as it sounds properly horrible. That trail of thought is interrupted as I notice that although Amanda looks quite young, her skin is oddly sagging around her shoulders, elbows and knee joints. I try to put it out of my mind, thinking maybe it’s some sort of condition she has and I shouldn’t stare, until I notice other scantily clad males and females with a similar skin condition going on. Most are leading soldiers away to the doors on the room’s circumference. I have no idea what’s going on.

  I continue following Amanda through the dark and hazy throng of people, looking in every direction because of the sheer amount of stuff going on around me. I’m trying to take everything in, inhale the insane atmosphere, when I see a young girl, I guess in her early twenties, with bright blue hair being led somewhere by a soldier. She looks up as she passes me, her eyes are glowing red, but intermittently flickering. I’m guessing her ocular implants have stopped working properly, and I doubt there is anywhere left to repair them. She looks somehow familiar, I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere before. I stare as she walks past, trying to figure out if I do know her or if I’m imagining it. She stares back, tilts her head and squints at me. Then she’s gone, and I continue following Amanda to skin reclamation.

  A hand then grabs me by the shoulder from behind and turns me around. It’s the girl. She’s standing in front of me, staring into my eyes with her flickering, unnerving red ones. Her skin is pale and smooth, she has piercings in her nose and lips and is stunningly attractive. She moves her face close to mine. For absolutely no reason I stupidly think she’s moving in for a kiss, but she moves her lips to my right ear and whispers, “Posh prick.” I stand back, trying to place those words. She then tur
ns around and walks off with the now annoyed looking soldier. Who the hell is she?

  The door to the clean room is anything but. Amanda presses her hand against the grimy pad next to it, and I follow her as she walks through. I still have no idea what I’m doing here and watch in slight shock as Amanda takes her clothes off. She then walks onto a conveyer belt, which starts to move slowly forward. With a hiss, a three-pronged clamp then comes down from the ceiling. Amanda looks down and the longer middle prong shoots down into the top of her spine.

  “Fucking hell!” I shout and stand back. I’m not ready to see someone die in front of me again, but I watch transfixed as the smaller prongs either side then stick into her shoulders. They open out, and her skin is effortlessly removed revealing a plastic and metal skeleton covered in tiny silver squares.

  The skeleton disappears through a hatch, and the skin hanging from the clamp is clumsily dropped to the deck with a squelch.

  “Bollocks. It always does that,” a voice from behind me says. I turn around and see a very tired looking man, probably just older than me, wearing a stained white boiler suit.

  “Does what?” I ask.

  “The skin’s supposed to follow the fuck bot’s inside into the clean room to be steamed. Gonna have to do it by hand now. Useless piece of shit.”

  “Fuck bots ...?” I’m at a loss. He smiles.

  “You must be John. My name’s Edward. Welcome to the worst job on the ship.” He passes me a metre-long stick with a clamp taped to one end. “Pick up the flesh with this, go through that door and give it a thorough clean. Got plenty of sprays and shit out there to deal with it.” He turns and starts to go out the way he came in.

  “Where are you going? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I’m going for a sleep, and it’s fucking obvious what you’re doing. Just make sure you empty the waste sump,” he says and walks out of the room, leaving me with a pile of synthetic flesh to deal with.

  I poke the skin a few times with the stick and pick it up. It’s much heavier than I expect it to be. I walk through the door with it into the clean room and place it on the table in the middle. I look behind me and there’s an armed guard at the door, inside the clean room, watching me. To my right, Amanda’s skeleton is being steamed in a glass booth. Above that, an empty chamber is steaming away to itself. I guess that’s where her flesh is supposed to be.