A Game of Universe (13 page)

Mike followed Rebux into the cellar. They closed the door on me, and I stuck my ear to the warm metal surface, hoping to at least hear some of the virtuals. I wasn’t too young!

A couple of seconds went by then Mike screamed, “No!”

Boxes overturned, and the familiar sound of a backhand to the face, then Mike crying, all echoed up the stairway and through the basement door.

“You just hold still son and take your punishment like a man,” Rebux growled.

Mike was bawling now. I never heard him cry like this, even when he got hit hard.

“Germain,” he screamed, “help me!”

Mike would never beg for help like that unless something was really wrong. He never asked for my help. I had to go down there. I reached for the door handle—and froze.

I was too small. If I went down there, he’d hurt me, too. I couldn’t. I ran to my father’s bedroom. Inside, I heard the girl making noises of pain or pleasure, just like on the virtuals. Again my hand halted just before it opened the door. I didn’t dare bother him. He’d slap the teeth out of my head, so I stood frozen, not knowing what to do. I dashed back to the cellar, and heard Mike wailing like he was dying down there. I almost opened it, but chickened out and just listened, horrified.

Rebux then said, “How’d you like that, son? Now if you tell anyone about this, I’ll say you made the whole thing up. And who’d you think is gonna believe you? Now stop your bawling and get on upstairs. Tell your little brother to come down. I’ve got something to show him, too.”

This time there was no indecision. I ran. Grabbing a heat suit in the air lock, I barely got it on, snatched a breather, and was out the door, sprinting.

Thirty kilometers to the south, the cone we called Vulcan was alive today and glaring into the solid gray atmosphere with one angry red eye. Glowing embers fell on me, but I felt nothing through the insulation of my heat suit. To the old fields I ran. There, dozens of trenches crisscrossed, scars in the earth to mark where we cut looking for treasure. I hid in one—didn’t even have the guts to peek back to see if anyone followed.

“Necatane,” I demanded, “what else could I do? Tell me.”

Silence.

I started to cry. Maybe if I went down there, I could have thrown something at him. There were those rotten peaches, Mom’s old preserves. They would have made a good dent in his head. But I was too afraid. What if Mike died? Dad would kill me for sure. I ran through all the scenarios of what might have happened to Mike, and what Dad would do when he found out, until it was dark. Only then did I risk going home.

Rebux’s rover was gone. So was Dad’s.

Inside, Mike sat alone in my father’s chair. He gave me a glare of pure hate, then turned away and stared at nothing.

“Mike, I’m sorry.” New tears streamed down my cheeks. “There was nothing I coulda done.”

“Get out of my sight you little weakling,” he said with my father’s voice. It was a voice full of violence and hate, and it terrified me.

“But Mike—”

“Go! Before I belt you one good.”

I ran upstairs, more afraid of what Mike thought of me than anything else. How much did he tell Dad? Would he be angry because I didn’t get him?

Necatane spoke:
Are you ready for the truth, Germain?

“No,” I told the invisible and unwanted spirit. “Go away.”

The truth is your father knew what Rebux did to Mike. They planned it. He was angry at you the next day because you ran out on him. He had to pay Rebux with crystal instead of you.

“You lie!”

The circumstances almost make me wish I was,
he answered in a weary voice.
But it is the truth. And when Rebux returned every month, Mike endured the same torture, the same “punishment” as he called it. Your father cherished him for that, and hated you because you always ran away the night before and hid. How do you think Mike felt when you abandoned him to Rebux? He had to endure all the abuse and shame, because you never opened that door and tried to stop it.

“Shut up! What could I have done? You have all the answers. Tell me, what?”

You tell me, Germain.

I had no answers.

Our time grows short,
Necatane said.
We must hurry. Six more years shall pass, years of virtual silence between you and Mike. You are twelve, and he is eighteen, all grown up. He’s a real man now, and has even taken to drinking with your father. They have become much alike, don’t you think?

I grew a half meter and put on twenty kilos of muscle.

Do you recall the crystals Mike found by himself? The perfect Philosopher Stone he hid, along with a half dozen others from your father? His personal treasure?

I remembered. It was a perfect cluster with all twenty points intact. This one was almost round, it had so many needles poking out from its center. Mike had it hidden with his private stuff in a box under his bed. We found it together one day when Dad was at the marketplace. We were running around, and throwing chunks of pumice at each other pretending they were grenades, and bow and arrows, and laser beams. The crystal was right on the surface, just lying there, waiting to get picked up. I took it out to admire it whenever Mike and Dad were busy.

Twenty points of emerald crystal it had with veins of gold like spiderwebs running through it; all of them radiating from a center where the green stone turned so dark, so dense, it was pitch-black. I’d heard other miners tell stories of complete Philosopher Stones, but the best Dad ever found was a twelve-pointer (and he got drunk for a week to celebrate).

Tonight, Mike and Dad were drinking, spending some of the profits from a successful day of trading at the settlement. I tried to stay out of their way when they drank.

I knew what was about to happen, and I willed my hands to stop, but they removed the cigar box from under Mike’s bed anyway. I tried to halt my rebellious fingers when they picked the perfect stone out and held it before the light.

The cluster was heavier than the others, more massive than could be accounted for by the extra points. It was as if it had some special quality, something extra added to its nature by virtue of having all its points, by virtue of its perfection. It must be worth a fortune. What did Mike plan to do with it? I’d never been to the market, so I didn’t know exactly how much it was worth. Maybe he’d sell it and buy a corporate contract of his own. I knew if Dad ever found it, he’d give Mike the beating of his life for keeping it from him.

Stop before it’s too late,
I thought. It didn’t work.

I held the twenty-pointer cupped in my two hands, rolled it back and forth, watching it flash in the artificial light, lustrous, rich gold, brilliant green … wishing it was mine. The specimens we usually found were broken, and their points dull. This one, as I said before, was perfect, right down to the needle fine tips and razor sharp edges. When I rolled it back and forth, those edges and points cut my hands. The thing was so sharp; I didn’t even notice until my hands were bloody.

Startled, I dropped the stone and balled my hands tight to stop the bleeding.

The twenty points of light, christened with my own blood, spun through the air. I reached for it, caught it by a point, but it slipped free.

It hit the concrete floor.

There was the sound of glass breaking. Three points snapped off.

My stomach turned to ice. I was as good as dead. When Mike found out, he’d kill me for sure.

I grabbed a towel and wrapped my hands, then snuck downstairs, past the kitchen where my brother and father laughed drunkenly, and through the cellar door, into the basement. It was dark and I was scared.

You could almost hear those peach jars groaning with pressure, waiting to explode given the slightest excuse. Still, this was the safest place to be. If I hid in the fields, Mike would find me, and we’d be alone. At least here, he’d think twice before killing me. He might beat me up, but not so much that I couldn’t work tomorrow. If he did, Dad would see that he got a taste of his own medicine.

I snapped the lights on. On the lowest shelf, near a pile of dirty heat suits, were the jars looking like a military formation of dusty green beetles. I counted the number of steps down, then turned the lights off. In the dark, by touch, I made my way to the laundry heap, buried myself under it, and hoped no one found me.

Hours must have gone by. Fear dulled to fatigue, and I dozed, hardly noticing when the lights came on. The dirty suits lifted. Mike stood over me, red-faced, and fists clenched.

He picked me up and punched me in the stomach, hard.

I expelled all my air and fell over.

“You little bastard,” he spat. “You left a trail of blood in the house. Dad could have found you and my stash if he hadn’t been so drunk. Lucky for me, he thought you took off for the fields like you always do. He’s there looking for you now.”

“Mike, I didn’t mean it. I was just holding it. It was so perfect.”

“Yeah, it
was.”
His eyes narrowed.

Let me show you what your brother thinks,
Necatane whispered.

Through a red haze of anger, I sensed Mike’s hate welling to the surface. It burned the last traces of kindness he had for me, and left only the ashes of his contempt. In his eyes I was weak, clumsy, and worthless. I was responsible for Rebux raping him. I was responsible for our father’s callousness. But most of all, I was responsible for our mother’s departure. Had I never been born, she would still be here, and perhaps life would be endurable.

He wanted to escape Hades. That’s what the crystal was for. But it was no longer perfect. He rapidly calculated its value with the three points missing. Considerably less than when it was whole, but more than our father made in two years. It was still enough to buy passage off this world and start a new life. There was a moment of indecision—if he’d leave me alone with Dad or not—then he made up his mind. He’d abandon me. But first, there was one thing he wanted to do, one thing he’d been saving up for a long time.

“Time for your
punishment
,” Mike hissed, hate dripping from the word. He grabbed me and shoved me face first into the pile of heat suits. He pulled my pants down.

“No!” I cried.

It was the same thing that happened a moment ago, six years ago, to him. Only this time he was the rapist, and I would be the victim. I tried to push him off, but he was too strong and too heavy. Panic flooded my mind. I wanted to kick him, punch him, but I was twisted the wrong way to do anything. His body touched mine, his hot breath a whisper on my bare back. I nearly retched.

Through teary eyes, I saw the jars of peaches on the shelf, plump flesh encased by dusty glass. One had bubbles on the inside that clung to the smooth walls, and looked like clusters of silver grapes. I tried to grab it, but my fingers couldn’t quite reach. They slipped off.

Mike laughed while I struggled.

I stretched again, and this time found purchase on the glass, smearing the dust and tearing the label. With both hands, I threw it awkwardly, backward, over my head. It exploded.

Lances tore into my shoulders and scalp, slivers of glass.

Mike let out a strangled cry and let go.

I turned and pulled up my pants. I was ready to fight now, kick him in the balls if I had to.

Mike lay on his back, on the floor, out cold.

I grabbed another jar, but Mike wasn’t going anywhere. Sprawled on the concrete, with his pants around his knees and his head crowned in a halo of peaches, syrup, and blood, Mike was dead. Glass from the pressurized jar cut his face, eyes, and neck. His blood pumped out in dribbles and spurts. The odor of rancid fruit was strong, too strong. I threw up in the pile of dirty laundry.

Your second kill, assassin,
Necatane said.
First your mother, now your only brother. You were fortunate not to die yourself.

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to—”

—Kill him? Of course you did.

“Lies!” I shouted, then cupped my hand over my mouth. Dad would be back soon. I had to leave. He wouldn’t kill me, he needed me to work, but I’d be beaten within an inch of my life. And if he was drunk, he might forget he needed me.

I tossed the pile of heat suits over my brother, and wished I had a prayer or words to speed his soul to heaven, but all I managed was: “God, don’t be too hard on Mike, it wasn’t his fault. I made him angry.”

I crossed myself and ran upstairs to get a heat suit and breather. But where would I go? Dad’s rover was outside, and I knew how to drive it, but there was no place to drive it to.

Mike’s crystal! I’d use it to live in the settlement, maybe even buy passage to another world as he had planned to. Upstairs, the twenty (minus three) pointed star had been returned to the cigar box, along with its broken shards. I took it and sprinted down to the rover, then, driving in surges and grinding the gears, I coaxed the vehicle to the settlement.

Two dozen buildings, foamed concrete with rusty corrugated steel roofs, circled the marketplace. Once a week, the miners gathered to sell their stones to eager buyers, have their accounts credited, buy supplies, whiskey, or the other limited pleasures on Hades.

I ditched the rover about half a kilometer out, then ran the rest of the distance. Along the way, I saw my first spaceships glide to the landing pad. So wondrous were they, moving with silent ease, that I forgot my brother, my father, their violence, and what I was doing here, just for a moment.

“What’cha got in the box son?” a man wearing no heat suit and only a breather asked. He had a patch over one eye and was missing three fingers.

“First aid kit,” I said. “I cut my hand.”

He looked at the bloodstains on my gloves and the back of my heat suit, shrugged, and moved on.

Marching to the marketplace before the crystal got stolen, I saw only five or six traders were still there. Most had packed up, but a few wandered about the plaza to take one last look before they left. One man in particular wore a clean heat suit, unblemished by ash or sweat. He sported a snowy white beard, perfectly groomed, which was another oddity here among the unwashed. I stood before him, trying to think of a way to bargain with this man. I didn’t want to show him the crystal for fear of it being taken, but how else could I interest him?

“Excuse me, sir,” I said meekly.

He stopped and his clear blue eyes found my face. “Yes, my child? How may I help you?”

“I have a crystal for sale, sir.”