City Without Suns (4 page)

Chapter 6

September 30, 2829

The air was really bad today.  Sometimes it is so cold that I worry we will freeze, and on other rare occasions like today, the heat is intolerable.  There was obviously something wrong with the regulation of thermal energy coming from the reactor sections.  Eon and I stayed in our perimeter room for an extended time where a portion of the excess heat radiated through the window to the outside.

To my surprise, Salazar appeared at our door again.  I had not seen him for nearly three weeks.  He came under the guise of checking on my safety and explained there were repairs underway, but when he stayed for an extended time, I could see he was in need of my friendship. Salazar was the most physically adept of anyone I knew, and unquestionably the strongest. He was feared even by the bravest of his colleagues on the police force, but on this occasion he was a broken soul in search of something he would not admit he needed. He wanted to simply sit with someone who was compassionate about him and did not view him as an authority figure.

We talked for hours after the lights were out. I was more than happy to exchange sleep for the company of my old friend, the closest thing to a brother I would ever have.  Sweaty from the heat but without any complaint or show of discomfort, he finally left and promised to return soon, leaving me half the night to sleep, an activity my body demands but my mind considers a waste of time while in a constant state of worry for the safety of my son.  I succumbed to sleep with the slight relief that Eon seemed to be resting easy even in this unusual temperature.

Father, please write again.

Chapter 7

October 23, 2829

I hope in vain every day that another transmission will arrive.  I am beginning to wonder if the first one was real.

The first celebration of any kind occurred today on Gambler.  At least, it was called a celebration.  When we arrived at the mess hall, the interior walls were lined with police bearing the emblem on their sleeve.  The embroidered five-point star started as a regular symbol of their role, but it has become a mark of a totalitarian system under the current leadership. They watched us all like statues with their hands held tight behind their backs.  There were also an unusual number of people in the dining facility that day, as if all shifts had been called to eat at the same time.

The portions that were brought out were larger than normal, but it was the same stuff as usual.  Then something additional was brought. I stared at the unfamiliar sight of a dessert, something I had not seen since we left our old home.  I wiped some of the glaze off it and touched it to my tongue.  The taste of sugar awoke senses that I could barely remember.  Old associations of luxury, family, and holidays wisped through my thoughts for a moment, but then they were gone.

A drink was placed in front of me.  Before I sipped, the strong chemical smell revealed it was not the typical water we had at meals.  I wondered if it was poison, some form of euthanasia, but some of the older folks were drinking it and laughing.  It was a manufactured alcoholic beverage of some sort, not wine, not anything else that used to be familiar.

Eon whispered in my ear, “That’s the guy that attacked me.” He nodded toward an old man. The one that attacked him, the derelict rogue, was one of the elders drinking the concoction just a few seats away.  I could not tell what emotion prevailed within Eon.  Whether it was fear, rage, or both, he only picked at his food.  He just stared at the man and would not let his eyes drift.  I was confused by the presence of the man, because his earlier behavior suggested he was a wanderer who had been banished, unentitled to rations.

Music began to play over the intercom loudspeakers.  It was a recorded instrumental piece from Earth that I could not recognize. I imagined someone thought it was supposed to be soothing and celebratory, but it sounded more like something that was taken from an old movie scene with a ghoul playing an organ inside a haunted mansion.  The eating and drinking stopped as our fellow diners paused to listen to the unfamiliar forgotten sound of music, although dissonant.

Leonidas Verga entered preceded by twelve patrols. It is interesting how the mind does not forget a face.  I remembered him from the Islands, the former Police Chief recruited originally by General David Mason to do a very similar job on Gambler.  He was wearing a robe, not a lightweight synthetic suit like everyone else.

Two girls who could not have been more than fourteen clung to him, one on each arm.  They were barely clothed in garments that were more artistic than functional and would not have been made for any useful purpose on this space voyage.  They caressed his arms as he strolled to the front.  The parade stopped along with the music, and Leonidas stood surveying the crowd in the dining room. 

He did not speak directly.  Instead, a voice came from the speakers, one spoken from a place unknown, while the Commander stood stoically without reaction. I put my hand on Eon’s forearm to evaluate whether the sensation of touch was indeed real or if I was asleep and imagining these events.  I refocused to hear the words.  As they were spoken, I grew uneasy and frightened, and I scanned the room hoping to see Salazar, but he was not there.

Today marks the twentieth anniversary that Leonidas Verga has been the Gambler Commander.  In honor of this occasion, you are provided with extra food and drink to demonstrate his caring and nurture of all on board.  We recognize and share your hardships.  Remember, it is not our place to be comfortable on this mission.  It is only our obligation to survive until we reach our destination.  Surviving will require many sacrifices and difficult decisions.  To that end, we cannot tolerate any tampering or vandalism.  As you know, these crimes are punishable by death. They endanger us all.  To celebrate this day, one of these criminals will be brought to justice for your entertainment.  He is sitting among you.  To those of you that share our common goals, let his punishment be assurance that you are protected. For those of you with malintent, let this be a warning.  Enjoy your meal, and may we all persevere honorably until our death, making way for new generations of survivors.

Three patrols from the side of the room seized the old man that Eon had been watching.  He struggled against their grip with strength reminiscent of Eon’s encounter.  A fourth patrol wrapped an arm around his neck.  The man continued to fight until the grimace on his face slackened and he was unconscious. The patrol did not let up until the life was choked out of the man. At one point in time, the punished one and I must have shared the same cause. After all, he was an original traveler, possibly an officer of some sort. Now we had arrived here, to a place where he was a victim of murder. We were supposed to share the same collective goals, except now I was left with a daily fear for my safety and that of my son.

Some of the young males in the room yelled and applauded.  Leonidas smiled.  He raised his hand to bid farewell and was escorted out in the same manner that he entered.  The guards that were in the room before we arrived followed him out with the dead body in tow, and we were left to finish the meal.  I did not eat.  I left Eon there to finish and walked straight back to our quarters, stunned at what took place. What was this strange reality? The brazen display of violence had reached new heights.  Our commander had lost his mind, and if not, then I certainly had.  I could not fathom how we would ever survive for centuries into the future.

When Eon returned shortly after I did, even he was shaken by the unusual display.  There was something different about this one, performed in an unprecedented open forum, ordered by the highest authority onboard.  Admittedly, there was a natural desire for him to see his assailant punished, but the extremity was unexpected.  For the first time I can remember, I think Eon realized the thin boundary between one wrong turn, one mistake, and imposition of death.

The whole incident made me think of General Mason again.  I feel compelled to reveal to you that he was Eon’s father, a role he was never able to play.  Dad, any embarrassment I feel in admitting this to you is mitigated by my belief that you are probably not reading this anyway.  The week after our encounter, General Mason became ill, which may have been a fault of mine that I never revealed to anyone else.  Since Salazar and I have a common heritage, gifted (or cursed) with different anomalies, he suspected what I knew.  I was overcome with guilt that I kept secret, for I did not know for sure whether contact with me might have caused the condition.  The bacteria in my body that is able to breathe nitrogen as an energy source is deadly to others.  The General, our Commander, was admitted to the infirmary and never checked out.  I visited him right before he was quarantined, and he was coughing so uncontrollably he could not communicate.  His condition degraded until he died on October 23, 2809.  We are all so accustomed to death in space – yet the demise of our seemingly indestructible leader made it even more real.

              Leonidas did not waste any time.  He controlled the small group of enforcers on Gambler and became the de facto Commander.  Nobody questioned his status.  There was no process in place for the selection of a new leader as far as anyone knew, which I find hard to believe to this day.  Neither General Mason nor any of the officers would have planned a mission for over a decade without forming a succession plan.  They knew we would be on this ship for generations.

Chapter 8

November 1, 2829

I still want to make our way to the upper levels if possible.  I used to imagine visiting the Ward and finding my sons, but now, I just want to find some degree of normalcy with some different crewmembers.  It is too dangerous here for me and Eon.  It might be a lost cause because even if we can find an unpatrolled corridor, we could be identified as unrecognized faces and sent back to level seven.  Death waited there, whether by the violent hand of a wanderer or by my expired right to live in the eyes of the ship leaders.

Eon and I walked like we used to before the conversion of the adjacent level six to a prison.  The transverse hallway around the perimeter of the ship could be traveled for an hour before circling back to our starting point, unless we ran, which I was in no condition nor mood to do.  Eon would sometimes do that, choosing to run with or against the rotation depending on his appetite for a challenge. 

It had been quite some time since I walked the entire circumference.  We came to the next longitudinal corridor and looked right.  A patrol could be seen in the distance a few levels up, so we kept going.  I was wary of encountering a rogue criminal, but what could I do? After twenty-plus years, this was my new reality. I find myself becoming apathetic about my own welfare, ready to let my fate be what it will.  My desire for self-preservation has been deteriorating, but I still have concern for Eon.

Our footsteps were the only audible sound as we ventured further from our room.  We passed countless doors, all locked, closing off uninhabited rooms. As we continued, Eon rapped each door one time, creating a rhythmic beat for our march.  I was both curious and fearful whether by chance there was anyone behind one of the doors, but I felt relatively safe together.  No answers came. 

We walked until we came to the next longitudinal corridor.  Again, a patrol was standing in the distance.  These guys must have been just as bored as me, monitoring empty hallways for hours and days on end for purposes they probably did not fully understand. 

Frustrated, I detoured inward toward the core through a ladder tube, even though I knew the only corridors that would traverse all the way to the upper portion of the ship were on the perimeter.  I climbed past a few floors before exiting the tube with Eon following.  We were a little bit lighter on our feet when we began down the new transverse hallway, over ten floors from the previous one inside the radial lattice, but the surroundings looked no different except for the subtle curvature of the floor.

We detoured again up thirty more floors, where we were noticeably lighter.  With much of my weight lifted, I obliged my son and we ran for a few minutes.  I stopped when I got tired, and we resumed a slow march past the myriad of vacant rooms, isolated by locked doors.  Eon again gave a thump to each passing door even though I urged him to stop.

There was a creak of a door opening behind us.  Someone inside must have heard the knock.  We turned to investigate, and although reluctant, we returned to the open door. My heart raced momentarily as I peered around the wall edge into the room.  Eon stepped past me to look at a man sitting on the bed.

The placid demeanor of the individual in the room was not enough to subdue my apprehension, and if anything, I was more suspicious of his intentions than if he confronted us.  There was neither a welcoming nor hostile acknowledgement of our presence.  He just sat there.  Finally, after a few seconds, right before I was about to run away, he looked up with a smile.

“Please come in, Isla,” he addressed me directly as if I was supposed to know him.  I did not move from the hall.

“Who are you?” I asked holding my ground with Eon close by my side.

“They call me Mr. J, or Jay for short,” he replied.

“Who calls you?” Eon asked.

“Not important.  There are people around here.  I help them, and they help me.”

He seemed nonthreatening, but I was cautious.  If he really wanted to hurt us, running would probably not be the answer anyway.  Eon would be able to get away, but I would not.

He tried to put us at ease, perhaps wary of our reserved manner of engagement.

“Isla, I was on General David Mason’s staff.  Chief Architect of Gambler, a position Leonidas neither valued nor deemed necessary, so here I am, surviving with no other cause than to aid my fellow refugees to find what they need, a task with which I am very well content.”

He seemed to want for nothing, although I had no idea how a person hidden in the bowels of this vessel could find supplies with no visits to the common areas.  Isolated in that inner room, he appeared perfectly sane, as if he was in very regular contact with others.  In fact, with limited observation, he seemed very well content indeed.  He was perhaps the most endearing person I had met in a long time. 

I was uncomfortable that he knew me.  He was looking Eon over very intently.  He finally added, “You have David in you, don’t you?”

He drew the obvious conclusion from the resemblance of Eon to the General David Mason.  To a new observer, it was within the realm of possibility Eon had been engineered, but this man seemed to understand Eon’s history.  However engaging the stranger was, it would be easy to claim membership on the well-known General’s staff.  We didn’t know him so we decided to move on.

We departed with as friendly a salutation as I could muster.  As we were leaving, I heard the words ‘God bless you, Isla’ from the room where we came.  Once we stepped back out into the corridor, neither Eon nor I knew where we were in relation to our own floor and room. We took the next ladder down all the way to the perimeter, past the starting point of our room, and we backtracked to our quarters.  My search for an unguarded route to the upper levels would have to wait.