by J D Morganne
“You’re two hours away.” Jaxon didn’t understand why she worried. Their mundane lives produced little surprise. Nothing was going to happen.
“It’s all celecomb. What happens if it malfunctions?”
“Seventy percent of this house is celecomb. Anyway, there was a boy on the train.”
“A friend?”
“Some kid.”
Jaxon’s mom chuckled and went on collecting a teapot and cups. “Like you?”
“He was going on and on about Irveng Syndrome.”
His mom frowned. “Yes. It’s sad. Your father’s getting to the age. He’ll have to get tested soon. Scares me. The last time he used his fire, he was a boy. You know that plays a big part.”
She was wrong. The last time his dad manipulated fire was when he’d burned Jaxon’s shoulder teaching him not to backtalk his mom. That was eleven years ago. Jaxon had learned to control his anger well after that. His mom liked to keep it out of her memory. Literally. She’d locked it in a repressed memory folder in her unconscious mind.
“Dad’s not susceptible. I mean… it comes with old age. He’s not even fifty yet.” Jaxon stiffened at the sound of the door. The simulated wood cracked as unseen forces broke it apart from the other side. He sat up straight in his chair. Outside, an automated voice announced the curfew through street speakers. A holoscreen popped up on the kitchen wall and cast a red beam across the room in perfect sync with Jaxon’s dad’s entrance. With Jaxon and his mom, he dropped to his knees.
“This is a public announcement.” It wasn’t the same soldier who had appeared on Jaxon’s screen the night before. “There have been incidents of holospray reported on public buildings. Defacing public property is against the law and punishable by up to two years in extreme rehabilitation. All major retailers will discontinue holospray, effective immediately. Please regard curfew hours. If Crimsons catch anyone without a passing permit outside, they will cite you. Have a beautiful night, Enkindlers. Obedience is peace.”
“Obedience is peace,” Jaxon and his parents chanted back. They waited until the screen vanished. Jaxon’s dad brushed his hands over his knees, walked around Jaxon like he wasn’t there and went to the cabinet.
“I’ll get it.” Jaxon’s mom slapped his arm with her dish towel when he reached for a glass. “You had a long day. Sit. I’ll warm up dinner. We’ll all eat. Like a family.” She smiled and turned to wash her hands.
Jaxon’s dad sat across from him at the table. He sometimes wished he could deny this man was his father, but they had the same face—from the pointed nose to the splattering of freckles along their cheekbones.
“Hey, Dad,” he muttered with caution. “Do you need updated celtech?”
His dad said nothing.
“Your simulators.” Jaxon made a gesture toward the wallpaper and out the window at the fence.
“Give me that tablet.”
Does he mean this fossil from his ancestors? Jaxon grabbed the glass tablet from the shelf in the corner and went to hand it to his dad, but it slipped and slapped against the table.
“Be careful,” his dad grumbled, grasping it and checking every edge for cracks. “Yumi, can you get me some water?”
“You’ll drink tea. Ooh, you could get your dad one of those fancy cornea-tab things, like they use at the palace.”
“You can both have whatever you want. You need to fix the gate, though.”
“You don’t have to worry about a single thing in my household,” his dad said, rubbing at a scratch on his screen. “Don’t need your army money or fancy tech.”
Jaxon had accomplished a lot at a young age. He had done the one thing he thought his dad would be proud of and still, it wasn’t enough. He tried a different angle and asked him how work was.
His dad grunted. “It was work.”
Jaxon nodded, thumping his leg and resisting the urge to run back to his apartment, which didn’t seem so lonely now.
“Jacky, finish telling me about the boy on the train,” his mom said.
“After he told me the stuff about I.S., he asked if I had any belief in our system.”
His dad glanced at him, laying the tablet flat on the table. “What does that mean?”
“He said his father was dying from I.S. and that doctors wouldn’t help and if I believed in a system that allowed people to die.” Jaxon shrugged. “I don’t even know what he was talking about.”
“My dad used to say, ‘We’re all sleeping children,’” his mom said with a chuckle, her attempt at trying to cool the tension.
His dad’s pfft was dismissive and rude, but he didn’t care. “Did you cite him?”
“For what?”
“I bet he was one of those Sungulder punks, huh? It’s people like them who make it hard for us—people like your mom and me—trying to live in this Door.”
“His father’s dying. I didn’t want”—
“It’s not about what you want. Aren’t you a Crimson Officer? Isn’t that what that badge means?” He nodded at Jaxon’s hand. “You’re still living in your childhood dreams, playing these silly games of princes and warriors and people who save the world. You’re a soldier. You’re Obedience’s fist, its authority. Not many people get to live their dreams, but you do. Now save us from people who seek to destroy the system we’ve created.”
Jaxon clenched his fist beneath the table. What did he mean the system they’d created? It was Farah’s system. She had created it. She was the one who made them live like this. “You should have a podcast.”
“You shouldn’t treat your job like a joke.”
For some reason, his words cut deeper now than they had when Jaxon was younger. “He was a kid.”
“He was a threat. His way of thinking is dangerous.”
“I can’t control what he thinks.”
“It’s your job to alleviate issues before they become bigger ones.”
“Why do you keep telling me what my job is? I know what my job is. I wasn’t going to get the kid killed because he was mad.”
Heavy breaths expanded his dad’s chest. “You’re as stupid as you’ve always been. An ignorant child.”
“Adam”— Jaxon’s mom interjected, but his dad put his hand up to quiet her. “I raised you to follow the rules. In nineteen years, you’ve done nothing that resembles obedience. You’re going to talk to me like that? We haven’t seen you since you left and now you come all this way… for – for what? To disappoint me more? To disrespect me in my house? You better look at me when I speak to you.” He pushed back from the table and stood.
Jaxon lifted his head. His dad’s eyes were a black void that reflected his ten-year-old self back on him. A deep-rooted hatred festered in his clenched fists.
“I don’t need to touch you to make you remember your place. That’s my blood in those veins and don’t ever forget it.”
How could he forget it? His dad wouldn’t let him. Jaxon watched his dad’s eyes with the caution of prey. He felt like he’d finally gotten his player to the middle of the game board before a wrong move sent him back to Start. He stood. “It was good seeing you, Mom.”
“Oh, don’t. Please stay,” she said, trying to swipe away her tears before Jaxon could see.
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Please stay. Get down, pray with me.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
She followed him to the door. “At least let me know you made it home safely.”
He felt her eyes on the back of his head as he took the walkway through the fluctuating gate. He always felt the magnetic urge to hold her hand, vent his frustrations. He couldn’t punch his dad’s teeth down his throat. He couldn’t do any of the things he wanted. And he wasn’t following rules? All he had ever done was follow rules. They were breaking him one agonizing crack at a time.
4
The next morning, Jaxon stayed in bed longer than normal. He’d stayed up all night, counting the inches from his window to his bedroom door, afraid to close hi
s eyes.
“Aicis.”
“I’m here, CO3 Fletcher.”
“Show me a forest.”
His walls glowed white before Old-World cedars projected on them and sprouted up through his floor and bed. He rolled over and swiped his hand through one that had sprung up through his pillow. He wondered how it would feel if real trees surrounded him, if he could breathe real earth, experience the smell his Environmental Earth simulation trainings couldn’t fabricate.
His mind drifted to the conversation he’d had with his dad the night before. It was true. He had dreamed of helping—no, saving—people when he was a boy. Becoming a soldier hadn’t made him a hero. It had taught him the same thing his dad had crammed into his mental—no one could be saved.
Years ago, the Door of Love had delivered five boxes of toffee to the palace. Farah called it wicked, but King Dasher loved toffee. Thanks to him, every Royal got to indulge. Naomi had snuck Jaxon a bar. He’d thrown it away, never comprehending how Farah and Dasher bent the laws to their liking. He was the same as everyone else, following bent laws.
“A total of three hours of sleep over the last couple days could be a result of stress, depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder—which puts you at risk of chronic insomnia and increased, severe night terrors. Immediate microsleep or long-term sleep is advised.”
“I got this.” Jaxon finally dragged himself from the holographic forest and his bed. With a shower, a teeth-brushing tablet, and Farah’s favorite black-on-black suit, he started his day. After brushing his hair back, no strand loose, he slurped self-heating tamagoyaki and natto-jiru packages. He said his prayers—people all over Obedience were doing the same thing—and walked over an hour to the palace where Crimson Soldiers warned him the queen was in a surly mood.
“A maid stole a necklace,” the soldier with a single crimson line around his wrist said, saluting another soldier entering the palace on Jaxon’s right.
“Where’s Prince Kenner?”
“Haven’t seen’em.”
“Peace be.”
“Peace be, Sir.” He placed three fingers on his chest.
Jaxon’s mornings were always the same, but today his dad’s words weighed on him. Trying to live. He thought about it until a clang forced him out of his trance. A maid had dropped a cutlery tray at the other end of the hall. Jaxon was on duty. He didn’t have time for daydreaming. He ran to help the maid, reloading the tray with the dirty soup spoons. The woman ducked her head the whole time like she had something to hide and rushed off before Jaxon could ask if she was okay.
Jaxon continued on his way. He kept his hands in his pockets and pretended he didn’t know Kenner and Neco were tailing him. They had gotten into the ritual of sneaking up from behind and trying to scare him, but he expected it now. He whistled to himself, dipped into a stairway and jogged up the steps. Their snickers were loud enough to echo through the empty hall, but they were having too much fun to care. Princess Neco jumped out first. Kenner followed with a, “Gotcha!”
“Is that the best you can do?” Jaxon said, expressionless.
“Did we get you?” Kenner strode beside him and shoved his hands in his pockets. The eight-year-old imitated him often, except Kenner’s collared shirt and blazer were finer than Jaxon’s.
“Does it look like it, dummy?” Neco strolled on the other side of Jaxon. “Did you find my answer?” She wore a crown of white poppies atop a shimmering gold scarf.
Jaxon nodded. “I’m pretty certain, Your Highness, that a volcano didn’t kill everyone in The Forbidden Door.”
“It’s called Knowledge,” Kenner said.
Jaxon winced at the name. He was sure Kenner had gotten some kind of demerit for speaking it and when the prince rolled his eyes and said, “dismiss,” to his AI, Jaxon’s thoughts were confirmed.
Neco pouted. “I bet everyone’s dead, though.”
She sounded more like Farah every day. Sometimes, it was like they shared the same mind. Wondering if people had died was fine, but she acted like she wanted them to. Jaxon drifted behind them as they neared the throne room, where Farah spent her mornings punishing poor victims she’d suspected of breaking the commandments. With Farah as queen, Jaxon puzzled over why anyone broke commandments.
He pushed open the simulated grand doors and was about to step inside before her voice echoed through the chamber. Across the marble floor she sat on her throne of black glass serpents, same as the crown atop her head. On either side of her—both standing three-feet-tall—were her Phoenix Danes, their flicking tails aflame.
Farah turned her head to Kenner and Jaxon, before she turned back to a girl no older than Neco, who was kneeling, bare-kneed, on a bed of rice. The girl’s ecru veil matched her skin. From where Jaxon was, he could see the goosebumps on her arms.
Jaxon had Naomi’s fairytale book in his pants, hidden beneath his jacket. He wouldn’t walk in there with it, not in the company of the queen, but he had an intense urge to help the child. “Come on.” He tried to shoo Kenner and Neco away, but Neco ran around him to her mother, who gave her a loving grin. She would never so much as raise her voice at her own children the way she did the frail girl before her.
Kenner cowered. Jaxon didn’t know how to comfort him without using words and he was afraid to speak to attract Farah’s glare, trained on the girl.
“I swear to Kamiaka.” The girl spoke with a sharp and bitter tone.
Kamiaka was the giver of peace, the goddess who had risen from the ashes and forged the Doors, the goddess who had gifted everyone with the ability to manipulate the elements. Throwing her name around wasn’t something Farah would overlook.
“I don’t know how the pearls got in there.” It was impossible for her to cover up her disdain for the royals. Aphotic eyes glared back at Farah through narrowed eyelids.
Farah locked her hands around a set of transparent glass beads. Fire swam inside each one. “You swear to Kamiaka?” She laughed. “You lie before Kamiaka?”
The girl said nothing.
“I found them.” Farah’s screech made Kenner grab Jaxon’s jacket. “On you. They stink. Because you touched them with your filthy fingers.” She basically spat the words at her.
“I didn’t.”
“Hold your tongue!” Farah stood to her feet. Her crimson dress dragged behind her as she descended the stairs. “Do I look like a fool?” She stopped in front of the girl, who sat on her knees, her palms against the marble floor. “I bring you into my home. Around my children. And this”— she held the pearls high above her head— “is the thanks I get for my generosity?” After a moment of waiting for an answer that never came, she slammed the pearls against the floor. The glass shattered, skittering in every direction. Her Danes growled, teeth bared in anticipation of their next blood prize.
“I can’t blame you.” Farah began to pace again. Red fabric poured off her like blood, slick and wet, pooling around her feet. “It was my carelessness and sincere adoration for my kingdom that’s caused this. I believed that my people loved me as much as I love them. You’ve proven me wrong.”
The girl opened her mouth to plead, but Farah’s hand-fan silenced her with a blunt slap. Jaxon felt it from where he stood. Kenner trembled behind him. Neco’s eyebrows arched high above her eyes, her jaw dropping in awe and amusement.
“But you broke them.” The girl’s voice was brave in all its meekness.
Farah’s eyes widened to the size of one of the glass beads she had broken. “Excuse me?”
“You broke them. How could they mean anything to you?”
Jaxon observed the girl in dismay. He couldn’t believe her courage. No one talked to Farah like that. But this girl had missed the point. The point was that they were more important to Farah than her. They were broken now, and they were still more important. With her chin raised high, and smugness in her smile, Farah glided back to her throne. She waited for the girl to challenge her again.
Jaxon waited, too. The room was si
lent, the air suffocating. He wanted the girl’s bravery to come back with a vengeance. He wanted her to scream at Farah or to grind those beads into the dirt. He wanted her to say something. Anything. She didn’t. She dropped her head in regretful defeat.
“You broke the fourth commandment. The penalty is”—
“Death.” Neco hopped around Farah and plopped on the king’s mighty throne.
Farah raised her hand and snapped.
Kenner turned and sprinted in the other direction as the Phoneix Danes descended on the girl and circled her. Jaxon couldn’t look away. The last thing he saw before chasing after Kenner was the Danes tackling her, plunging their sharp teeth into her torso, and her body going limp. Neco’s laughter merged with the girl’s agonizing screams. Jaxon looked on in horror as Farah snapped, lighting the girl in neon flames.
Jaxon sprinted in the direction he thought Kenner had gone. “Aicis, track Prince Kenner.”
“Unable. The prince has removed his celrings.”
Jaxon shut his eyes and took a deep breath. The last thing he needed was a runaway prince. Kenner could’ve gone to Tech, where he liked to sneak and play with Dasher’s ancient figurines. But he wasn’t there when Jaxon checked. He could’ve gone to shelter himself under Naomi, who was always ready to cheer him up. Jaxon hurried downstairs, across the skyway into the kitchen, where he thought he’d find Naomi.
“CO3?”
He spun around to find her waiting. Her naked toes peeked from white frills. Jaxon bowed, breathless and delirious. Still reeling from what he’d just seen, he couldn’t imagine what Farah would do to him when she found out Kenner was no longer in his care.
“Heart rate elevated,” Aicis chimed in. “Chronic stress levels detected. Immediate rest advised.”
“Why’re you all breathless?” Naomi said.
“Chasing Ken. Did he come this way?”
“Don’t think so. Track him.”
“He took off his rings.”
“Why? What happened?”
Jaxon didn’t want to ruin her day with another Farah chronicle. “Nothing.”