by J. N. Chaney
“I think she would be proud of the man you’ve become, and the one you are becoming,” Elon said as we walked back to the crate. “You’ve helped and are helping a lot of people here.”
My temporary lapse in trust had quickly come to an end. I nodded toward Elon. “Well, I’m going to get back to work. There’s a suit captain that thinks he’s in charge of a military invasion out there. I’m supposed to help him build a wall or something. You good here?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Elon said, looking down at the crate of bottles. “I think I’m going to stay here a while and destroy some more bottles. That felt really good.”
“All right, good talk,” I said, turning to go.
“Thank you, Dean,” Elon said to my back.
I didn’t turn around. My eyes were misting. Had to be my allergies. I needed to get out of my own head and throw myself into some physical labor.
5
It was already getting late in the day. I ate my midday meal on the go. One of the cafeteria levels on the Orion had been repowered and was serving food once again.
Out of the one hundred thousand Transients, two Eternals, and Cognitive that made the trip from Earth, only two thousand nine hundred and seventy-three of us had landed safely and found the Orion.
Not two thousand nine hundred and seventy-three, I reminded myself. We lost Ira today. Two thousand nine hundred and seventy-two.
The sandwich I put into my mouth and chewed as I traveled back out of the Orion wasn’t bad. I knew the taste was there. It was the mood I was in. It was hard to enjoy any kind of meal while thinking of someone’s death and not just Ira’s. Natalie, who was always a second away from being in my thoughts, was pushed to the forefront of my mind since my talk with Elon.
Riding in the cylinder-shaped elevator that traveled on its side was something I was still getting used to. The elevator was barely wide enough now for me to stand straight. My hair touched the top of the wall that now served as the roof.
When I reached the last available level, the elevator came to a rough halt. The doors dinged open, and I was given a view from the last level on the Orion. A hastily constructed staircase had been made traveling down to the ground.
Three stories of rough metal steps reminded me of the scaffolding I used to work on back on Earth. Scaffolding always made me think twice. The steel bars—put together like a child’s toy—never looked like they could hold as much weight as they could.
Three stories below me, the colonists were already at work. Captain Harold had every available hand searching for scrap metal from the Orion crash, gathering the pieces in a single location. Another group had already begun working on constructing a wall. They had started on one corner of the Orion and were working in a semicircle to come around and connect to the opposite side.
The Orion itself would serve as one fortified side. The exposed end of the ship would be protected by the metal wall. I traveled down the steps, speed-chewing the last of my meal, not necessarily for enjoyment, but rather the fact that I knew I needed the fuel to keep going.
The twin suns overhead were at their high point in the sky, beating down on us with harsh rays, as if to say, “I know you don’t belong here. Get off my planet.”
I fell into work, gathering steel pieces with the rest of the crew. A line of debris followed the deep indentation in the planet’s surface that the Orion had created when it had crashed.
It was a miracle in and of itself that Elon had managed to pull the craft up at the last minute so that it slowed enough to endure the crash. Rather than obliterate itself upon impact, major sections of the ship had survived well enough for its crew to walk away. Not all of us, sadly, but enough to start anew. The man had saved more lives than I could fathom. Better still, if the Orion had been allowed to strike the planet head-on, our food, water, and shelter would be entirely gone.
Thousands of metal parts ranging from giant sections of the ship’s outer hull to small metal chairs and tables littered the landing zone. About ten meters out in every direction, there was a suit stationed as a lookout. Each wore a dark blue uniform and black body armor. They held an assortment of rifles and blasters in their hands.
There were far too few of them to stop any serious threat, should something come our way. Still, I understood the reason for why they were there. The illusion of protection could often be just as important. It kept people working and allowed them to focus on the task at hand. Maybe that was all that mattered right now—getting the job done so we could move forward.
Something caught my eye in the rubble, buried between the dirt and a sheet of metal. It looked to be a pad—small, probably meant for a child. The screen was still active, although there were cracks running through the glass. I reached down and pulled it out, sliding the device from beneath the sheet and dusting off the screen.
“Draw me a sheep,” I read aloud. I touched the corner of the screen to see the title. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry. I’d never heard of it but wondered who could have been reading it and how such a fragile device survived the crash. The screen was cracked in multiple spots, but the fact that it was still active was surprising, to say the least.
I flipped the digital pages forward with a swipe of my finger, avoiding the cracks in the screen, until I was at the second chapter of the book.
“So I lived my life alone, without anyone that I could really talk to, until I had an accident with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago,” I read, then lowered the pad and looked around. With a slight smirk, I glanced back at the pad. “Too familiar.”
After flipping through the book for a short while, I encountered a glitch that caused the screen to freeze. I sat it down with some other salvaged pieces of tech, not wanting to completely trash it. Whether we could fix it or use it for parts, I figured the little pad still had some use left in it.
I found myself alongside an older man that had to be in his seventies. He was working on pulling a curved piece of metal across the dirt and back toward the workers constructing the wall.
He was covered in sweat, his thin arms struggling to slide the piece of metal that was as large as he was across the ground.
“Here,” I said, grabbing on to the steel piece with him. “I’ll give you a hand.”
“Thank you, my son,” he said with warm eyes and more cheer in his voice than had a right to be there. “I was praying for help and you came.”
“Yeah, well, if you can pray for help to come and get us off this planet, that may be a better use of your time,” I said as I gripped the cold steel in my hands. We pulled together, sliding the piece along the ground like a sled.
“Everything that has happened, has happened for a reason,” the man said with a crooked smile. He wiped a wide sleeve across his bald head glistening with sweat. “Even if we can’t see that reason now, we will one day. You just have to have faith.”
Great, I thought to myself. The one time I decide to help someone carrying parts back to the Orion, and he turns out to be a religious nut. Good work, Dean.
“Not everyone believes what you do, Padre,” I said, throwing out the term not because I actually believed that he was a pastor. It just seemed to fit. “Maybe this didn’t happen for any reason at all other than hate from a few people.”
“You’re hinting at the rumor going round that this was sabotage?” Padre asked.
It wasn’t widely known that the Disciple sabotaged the ship. Arun and Elon had not given that information out as of yet. Right now, the survivors were left to speculate on their own.
“That’s what the word on the street is,” I said, playing dumb. “I saw a kid die today. You think that was some part of a master plan as well?”
“I know it’s difficult to wrap your mind around, but you must keep faith,” the old man said. He looked up at me to make eye contact.
I avoided his stare. I knew how these religious nuts worked. You give them an inch and they wrap you up in some long-winded conversation that
feels more like an argument. Next thing you know, you’re standing in a circle with them wearing deeply hooded cloaks and sacrificing virgins.
There was a religious group called the Church of Saints that used to go door to door in my housing block. I made the mistake of answering my door the first time they came around. What followed was twenty minutes of my life I would never get back. I felt like I was being interviewed for a job I didn’t even want.
“I have faith that we’re going to drag this hunk of steel over to that pile and others are going to use it to construct this wall,” I said, finally looking down at him. “How’s that for faith?”
He smiled with a genuine grin I wasn’t expecting. Crooked teeth waved to me behind his white beard. “We have to start somewhere.”
I was beginning to think this guy might not just be some kind of religious member but actually crazy himself.
We made it the rest of the way to the pile of scrap metal and placed our deposit down. He rubbed his dirty hands together, trying as best he could to clean them before extending his right hand.
“My name is Lou Ruiz. It is nice to meet you,” Lou Ruiz said.
“Dean Slade,” I said, taking the offered hand. I knew I should just break the conversation there and then, but my inquiring mind got the best of me. “You some kind of priest or something? Church of Saints?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Lou said. He gave my hand a firm squeeze then released my grip. “Just someone who has faith in a higher power. Someone who believes this place we landed on is special in a way we have yet to discover.”
“It especially wants to kill us, if that’s what you mean,” I said, thinking about what happened to Ira and the report Doctor Allbright had come back with when we first found her. Doctor Allbright’s story about the monsters in the mist to the south of our position was one I remembered well.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Lou shook his head. “There is more to this place than meets the eye. I believe—”
“You two going to start moving?” Stacy’s familiar voice sounded behind me. “Or does a girl need to do all the work around here?”
I turned in time to see Stacy lift a hunk of metal the size of her upper body and toss it onto the pile of scrap metal. She wore a blaster on her hip. Sweat trickled down her brow.
“Yes, of course,” Lou said, nodding to Stacy and then to me. “We’ll talk later, Dean Slade.”
“Right,” I said.
Lou moved on to grab another piece of metal.
“You looked like you could use some saving,” Stacy said with a wry grin on her lips. “I thought you didn’t like people. You sure are chatty around strangers for a guy that wants to be left alone.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure being left alone is an option for me anymore,” I said, walking with Stacy back out down the trough-like indentation of dirt the Orion had made.
“How’s Elon?” Stacy asked in a low tone. “Arun said he was pretty down and you went to go talk to him.”
“I think he’ll be alright,” I said as memories of the limping Eternal hurling bottles at the wall came to mind. “He just needs some time to get his head straight.”
“I think we could all use some time for that,” Stacy said with a weary sigh. “Most everyone has been laboring around the clock to get the water and food supply working again. Now it’s building this wall and getting Iris’ long-range scanners up and running again. I don’t think any long-term rest is in store for us anytime soon.”
“Are you trying to cheer me up right now?” I asked, arching a brow at Stacy. “Because if this is your pep talk, it sucks.”
“Not a pep talk.” Stacy grinned. “You’re just one of the few people who knows all of the truths around here. Really, you’re the only one I feel like I can talk to honestly about any of this.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “You seem pretty close with Arun.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Arun and Elon are my friends, but they’re keeping the truth of what happened to the ship and what’s really on this planet a secret. I don’t agree with that,” Stacy said. “Captain Harold knows now, but that man’s something different. I don’t know if he feels he has something to prove or what.”
I searched the area around us for any sight of the captain. I didn’t see him at the moment. I had no doubt he was out there somewhere doling out orders and giving instruction.
Stacy and I worked side-by-side for the rest of the day. Soon the yellow and orange suns had fallen, and we chose to call it. Dinner, a shower, and sleep came soon after.
6
I knew I was in a dream. I knew this wasn’t happening right now. It had happened before. It was an event I was forced to live over and over again. I couldn’t wake up. I could never wake up from this dream. Maybe I didn’t want to. It was the closest to her I would ever get again.
I was in the locker room of the largest stage in gladiator history. The Titan Coliseum roared overhead as thousands of fans readied themselves to witness the fight for the championship belt.
I was with my trainers and coaches, staying loose, checking and rechecking the wraps around my hands and ankles.
“Just do what you do best.” Jonny Bones, my head coach, was saying from his spot behind me where he worked over my shoulders. “Do what you were born to do. Ain’t nobody got your talent or spent the hours dedicated to the craft of hand-to-hand combat like you.”
I nodded along with his words. Going through my pre-fight routine, I saw the fight happen in slow motion in my mind’s eye. I saw the strikes come from my opponent. I saw them miss and batted away. I saw myself winning the fight and holding the belt over my head.
I smelled the stale sweat of the locker room. The harsh vinegar tang touched my nostrils and strangely comforted me. This was the world I knew well. I heard my coaches talking to one another in the corner.
The sound of knocking at the locker room door drew me out of this deep level of concentration. My eyes snapped open, taking in the worn rows of lockers in front of me. Around the left end of the lockers, two security guards stood at a wide grey door.
The door was cracked open at first as words were exchanged, then widened all the way. An older man with thick hair and a mustache to match walked into the room with his own entourage of security. He wore an expensive tuxedo and bowtie. He walked right over to me with a wide grin on his lips.
“Mr. Dell.” My coach removed his hands from my shoulders and shook the right hand of our visitor. “Thank you for stopping by. This is quite the Coliseum you have here.”
“You’re too kind,” Mr. Dell said with a sideways grin. “I know the lockers aren’t much, but they’re next to get remodeled. Wait until you get upstairs and see the Coliseum with those fans cheering for you. There’s nothing in the world like it.”
Mr. Dell looked at me with that same sideways smile. “And you must be the man of the hour, Dean ‘Steel Hands’ Slade.”
I rose from my seat, knowing exactly who stood in front of me. Mr. Dell was a multi-billionaire, owner of the Titan Coliseum and heavily involved in the sports industry. He was respected as a capitalist, known for his ruthless business strategy and questionable tactics.
“Mr. Dell,” I said, accepting the offered hand. “Thank you for putting on the fight.”
“Of course, it’s what I do,” Mr. Dell said, releasing my hand. “Your reputation precedes you, Dean. I’ve seen every one of your fights. There hasn’t been a fighter like you since Rio the ‘Riot’ McClain. You don’t go down easy and you don’t stay down for nothin’. You’ve won the hearts and minds of a lot of fans. Especially in that last fight of yours. What was it? All ten rounds?”
“He went all ten rounds and knocked out his opponent seconds before the bell rang,” Jonny Bones said the same way a proud father would when speaking about his son. “Dean was knocked down in the third, fifth, and eighth rounds but kept getting back up. That’s who he is.”
“That’s what people love about you.”
Mr. Dell looked behind him to the handful of coaches as well as security members. “Do you think we can speak a few moments in private?”
I looked at Jonny. The fight was going to take place in twenty minutes. This meeting wasn’t planned nor was it protocol.
Jonny had a worried expression on his wrinkled face. Wise eyes told me something was wrong. “All right, Mr. Dell. With all due respect, we have to prepare for the fight, but for you, we can give you a few minutes if that’s all you need.”
“Thank you, yes. It’ll only take a few minutes. You have my word,” Mr. Dell reassured Jonny. He looked over his shoulder. “Gentlemen, if we could have the locker room, please?”
Despite his position, our own staff of coaches and trainers looked at Jonny. It was years of respect that led them to defy the most powerful man in business if Jonny asked them to.
Instead, the old trainer nodded for them to go. “It’s okay. It’ll just be a few minutes if you wait outside for us.”
They nodded, looking at me, then to Jonny again. They understood this was out of the ordinary for all of us. Instead of asking questions, they made their way from the room along with our own security and that of Mr. Dell.
A moment later, it was only the three of us in the room: Mr. Dell, Jonny, and I. Mr. Dell waited half a beat after the door was closed to begin. He alternated looking between Jonny and me, laying out his business proposition.
“You two may be the greatest coach-gladiator combo we’ve seen in a long time, maybe ever. Time will tell.” Mr. Dell was still all smiles, flashing his white teeth in that signature sideways grin of his. “What I’m about to ask you will go against everything in your core as competitors, but I assure you if you look at the long game and the future in this industry, you’ll realize that there is really only one choice in all of this. I would like you to throw the fight tonight.”
