Neon Sands Trilogy Boxset: The Neon Series Season One

by Adam J. Smith

  He’d found that – and magic, it seemed. Now he just had to get Annora back.

  Or maybe she had found something equally amazing and wanted to share it with him.

  If Kirillion doesn’t do something first.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Avery, “is how did things deteriorate so badly, knowledge-wise I mean? How could the two men and this Caia have kept so many people in the dark, and for so long? And you say there are other large domes, as big as Sanctum? Are they connected to the city too?”

  “They had scouting crawlers as well. If they were looking for the same thing, then it’s possible.”

  “I can’t believe you’re an orphan,” said Elissa.

  “Many of us are.”

  “And Annora?”

  “Yeah. We arrived at the same time.”

  “And you don’t remember from where?”

  Calix shook his head.

  “Neon City have a habit of sending out orphans.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think they sent you to Sanctum in that submarine thing, along with Annora. How many orphans did you ever see arrive?”

  Calix thought for a moment. Herm, Delia, and other faces, all ran across his mind but none of them came with a wanderer, or a fanfare; an entrance being opened. “None. They were just there when we woke up.”

  Elissa nodded. “We get our orphans in the convoys, only they’re not really orphans, unless you count a laboratory as a father, maybe the geneticist as your mother.”

  “I don’t really understand.” But could I really be from Neon City? It made sense. All the secrecy surrounding how he and Annora got to Sanctum. I could be inside there right now.

  “Have you noticed a lot of similar-looking men?”

  There had been so many faces that he had skimmed them, on to the next building and window, the next pedestrian or rickshaw rider. “No.”

  “They’re called the brothers and they all live together in the orphanages in the centre of town. In exchange, they give their blood to the convoys, who take it back to the city.”

  “Blood? What for?”

  “Son, isn’t that the perennial question,” said Avery. “The theories range from being a core ingredient in a skin lotion for the super rich, to biofuel for the engines that run beneath the city, to the key to immortality. ‘Drink the blood of the Son of Man’ said a philosopher once. Something about eternal life. Truth is, we had the tools once to run blood tests, but the operation was shut down and whatever was revealed was hushed up. Ever since, our engineering capabilities have been severely limited, and now mostly focus on survival and comfort. Bastards.”

  “Immortal queens. Identical twins.”

  “Not twins,” said Avery. “Clones.”

  “This place is crazy.”

  “If a prison is crazy.”

  “A prison?”

  Elissa handed him another bottle of water. “You’re sweating buckets.”

  Avery continued: “We live in a dust bowl. The sand mountain was our hope that maybe there was something else. Something better for us.”

  Calix laughed. “You think this is tough? At least you have solid ground beneath your feet and jobs to go to and people all around you. Imagine not even being able to step outside your home without sand shoes and an air regulator in case it storms. And your home is one of only a handful. The one good thing I can think of right now is we’re protected from this unbelievable sun.”

  “You’re trapped by the sand. We’re trapped by the bowl. And we’re both trapped by Neon City.”

  “I’ve got to get there,” said Calix, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “You and half the town, Cal,” said Elissa. “There’s only the trials.”

  Calix had learned all about the Liberty Trials. “No-one’s ever tried to just... fight their way in or blow their way in or something?”

  It was Avery’s turn to laugh. “They’ve dug, they’ve climbed, they’ve drilled, they’ve sliced, they’ve tried taking hostage of the convoys – they’ve run out of ideas. And ideas just got them killed, anyway. No-one has succeeded. Everyone has been killed. People just don’t take the risk anymore.”

  “The Liberty Trials, then. I’ve got to win.”

  Elissa laughed. “You’ll have to beat me first.”

  ***

  Elissa felt like she could sleep for hours but she’d promised to cover a shift tonight, so she busied herself trying on a few outfits while drinking strong coffee to try and perk up a bit. The last twenty-four hours had really worn on her, and now that Calix had his freedom, she felt like she’d earned some respite. So she wasn’t happy to open the door just as Rohen was about to knock.

  A few hours ago and she’d been ready to inflict great pain on him. Now all she felt was pity: he looked shrunken in the face, and leaned to one side from the damaged leg. He needed a haircut and a shave and you mustn’t forget he’s a murderer!

  “Rohen. What are you doing here?”

  He peered around her into the apartment, which was about as invasive as she could take. She closed it part-way and peered around the door.

  He took a step back. “Sorry, your... Elissa.”

  “Hmm, what? What were you going to call me?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I’ve been in the chamber today, just a slip of the tongue.”

  “Great, ‘cause I ain’t better than no-one, man or woman.”

  “Be that as it may, I need to speak with the stranger.”

  “About what?”

  “The Matriarchs have given me a message for him.”

  She opened the door a touch. “I can give it to him.”

  Rohen’s eyes darted and the letter in his hand crinkled. “With respect, I’ve crossed their paths too often recently and just want to do as they instructed.”

  “Well, two murders will do that. Or is it three now? What’d they want to see you for yesterday?” She felt a little safer now that she had the two-by-four she kept by her door in her hand.

  Rohen’s eyes turned from puppy dog to devil dog. When he spoke, it was slow and calculated and through a locked jaw. “I’ve been told to give this message to the stranger. Do you know where he is, please?”

  “For all I know Quintessa has sent you to kill him.” She didn’t really believe this, but it also wouldn’t completely surprise her. The look of puzzlement on his face eased her worries in this regard. He was not that good a poker player. “Never mind,” she said, dropping the two-by-four and stepping out of the apartment. She turned her back on him and locked the door, then said “Follow me,” as she went down to ground level.

  “Calix,” she called as she knocked on Avery’s door. This would make her late for her shift but she had to hear what the message was.

  He opened it a few moments later. “Yeah?” He looked like she felt.

  “Calix? Here,” Rohen pulled an edict from his back pocket and handed it over. “This is from the queens. I bet you shook them up a bit with your revelation.”

  “I guess.”

  “And your lack of propriety. They want both of us,” he bit his lip and rolled his eyes. “They want you on the retraining course to teach you your place in the town. If you’re to stay here, you have to learn our ways.”

  “You too, eh?” said Elissa, trying not to laugh.

  Rohen ignored her. “Take it!” he snapped.

  After Calix took it, Rohen limped away.

  ***

  After Calix had read it, he put it on what appeared to be the kitchen table, though it was strewn with no end of machine parts and had toolboxes piled high against the wall it was attached to. Avery switched on an overhead lamp just as the alarm rang out. “Blast,” he muttered, standing and heading towards the switchbox beside a kitchen cupboard. He pulled down a relay and said “What’d you make of the edict?” The room darkened and the electrical humming hushed.

  Calix sat at the table and held his head in his hands. “I’m too tired to think much of anything.” His sto
mach grumbled, but he felt like he’d be sick if he ate anything. “Every day for the last couple of weeks has just been chasing after something, you know. Whether working, or worrying about Annora, or chasing her down, or fighting, or climbing that damn mountain, or getting sick, or fending off advances. I can’t stop, but I’m just so tired. And now this. If I go to this it’s like I’m giving up.”

  “You should probably spend the next few days just resting up. Not going anywhere or speaking to anyone. I can ward off anyone else who comes to our door, and I’m sure Elissa will help in that regard too.”

  “It just feels so wrong,” he shook his head and a faint throbbing erupted. “To do nothing.”

  “You can’t do anything while you’re like this. And even then, you can’t do much more, afraid to say.”

  “I am not going to stop until I find Annora.”

  He heard Avery hum faintly off to his left, where he still stood, waiting for the ion blast to pass so he could continue working on his projects. “I should have done more.”

  “More what?”

  Calix groaned. “When I had the chance. What if that is the last time I see her? And I just let it happen?” He looked up into Avery’s eyes hoping he’d have something to say. Kirillion would have had something to say. He could spin every negative into a positive. Instead, Avery’s grey eyes looked at him with sympathy.

  “She was right there. Even if I’d have died trying I should never have let Kirillion taken her in the sub–”

  “–Calix, my friend. From what you’ve already described to us, there was nothing you could have done. You did the right thing, to live and try another day. One day we are a zero. Another day we are a hero.”

  The alarm stopped and the blast pulsed down the streets of the town, and Avery relit his apartment. His eyes were blue again.

  Calix knew Avery was right. Exhaustion and worry were wearing him thin and allowing his negativity to filter through. He’d feel better after a long rest. He said his good night and shuffled across to the small room that had been made up for him. Half the room was an assortment of drawers of electronics and salvaged parts, old bike frames and their counterpart wheels with the spokes missing, and husks of monitors and radios that no longer sang their tune. He collapsed into bed and slept.

  Condition

  ing

  He was here, but he wasn’t really here. He nodded along and sang the songs of praise and admiration, his mouth moving and saying the right things; he heard the words and recognised his own voice, but it wasn’t his true voice: his inner voice – his only friend. He saw the recordings of the Matriarchs from hundreds of years ago, and he was assured of their integrity and sincerity; they were indeed the same women who had subjugated him in the chamber. The freaks. And they thought him a freak.

  He wasn’t really here. He was giving the Matriarchs a lesson they’d never forget; each time their face appeared on the screen, instead of fighting the head-clamps he embraced them: let them hold his head. He could drift off into his own world and not have to worry about his body. He could piss himself and they’d clean him right up. Here’s Kali; stunning, every proportion perfectly aligned except for the cheeky ever-present dimple in her cheek that reminded him of Elissa when she did her lopsided smile – and now Kali’s face turned into one of horror as she realised what he’d done. Here’s Frita; stern but beautiful with eyes that could make you do whatever she wanted you to – now wide with fear as she contemplated the reaction to his actions. Not my fault, your Grace. Just the sum of my experiences. Here’s Quintessa; blue-eyed and near-white of hair and brow, turning whiter, whiter, until she was the albino she sometimes reared and had disposed (or so the rumours went). Maybe she would ‘dispose’ of herself when she saw how white his terror turned her.

  He wasn’t really here. The water through a fixed straw was a nice touch – something they had added since his last rendezvous. Maybe there was a suggestion box hanging on the door – he’d have to check as he limped – oh so badly – out of it. Why not make it a commode? He could sit here all day then. Rows and rows of commodes gently filling with the slurp and splat of shit – how ironic would that be? he thought; to see the queens and smell shit, to smell shit and think of the queens.

  He wasn’t really here. He was immune. If it hadn’t worked by now it never would. The natural childhood indoctrination – or history lessons – had been more than a farce, just so boring he had never paid much attention. Instead he daydreamed of racing in the trials and winning and leading an exciting life in the city where there were no other brothers, and where the ladies didn’t recoil from his sight. A life not run by the Matriarchs. And nothing had changed now; still daydreaming, except about the many ways to create destruction and mayhem. Not my fault, your Grace.

  As the film rolled on, talking about how the greed of men, their destructive natures and the fragility of the male ego, had reduced civilization to tatters through wars and countless famines, Rohen remained inside his head. He thought of his final trials and whether or not he wanted to run it. Or if it would be more satisfying to wreak havoc instead. Perhaps he could get away with wreaking havoc and then win the trials anyway? Decisions, decisions.

  ***

  At last it was over. Calix felt buzzed from whatever drug they had made him take, so he didn’t fall asleep (and good thing too). The clamp around his head lifted, and he had a weird sensation of his head toppling to the side with his neck too weak to support it, and then he stood up with a groan. His legs ached. He cracked his neck and looked around as the lights came up. The one called Rohen was the only other person here. He looked like the other brothers, but there was some tension within him that the others didn’t have. From Rohen’s protruding cheekbones down to the wiry strength of his forearms, he looked ready to snap or bite.

  All week it had been odd to sit outside The Crank answering the questions of the brothers, going from one same-face to the next, the same pairs of eyes staring at him from all directions. A little dreamlike, if he was honest. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t the last dregs of ghost in his system playing mind games with him. This strange reality was all too real.

  Made all the more surreal by the five hours he just had to endure, and the everlasting Matriarchy who sired a whole town with their wombs. If he had been hoping for answers, he’d received none – just more questions. He had to pledge himself to them and this female-dominated society, without prejudice. It was not for him to ask questions, only serve and be obedient. Inside, he felt like Rohen looked.

  On the outside, his impending drowsiness made him sound docile when he said “Hey,” which was the inverse of Rohen who asked “Enjoy the show?” with an ease that opposed the tension on his face.

  “It was interesting,” said Calix. Elissa had called Rohen a murderer, and he finally understood how a man like him had managed to avoid severe punishment for so long. He felt a little uneasy, talking to him – even being in the same room as him had been awkward at first. There was a viewing mirror at the far end of the room that had gradually eased his fears. It was there he looked now, waiting for the side entrance to open and let them free.

  “All hail the Matriarchs,” said Rohen with a smile.

  “Is that it? Free to go?”

  “Until next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “We’re signed up to a six week session – did you not know?”

  Calix sighed. His head had begun to pound again and the room was looking more and more like the inside of a shrinking coffin. “I gotta get some air.” He headed for the door.

  Rohen sat back down. “Not until they let us out. They like to let us stew for a bit, let everything sink in.”

  “Are you kidding? What if I need a piss?”

  Rohen pointed to a panel in the corner. “Toilet’s in there.”

  Calix knocked on the entrance door but there was no reply, and sat in a nearby chair. Without thinking, he kept his head forward in case a clamp could wrap itself around hi
s head for double the pleasure. “Guess this isn’t your first time?”

  “No,” said Rohen. “It took a few turns but it’s finally sinking in. Our queens are our mothers and we should be gracious.”

  “They’re not your mother.”

  “Or yours.”

  “I didn’t know mine.”

  “Does that make us brothers?” Rohen grinned. It was a pointed smile, raising his cheeks high on his cheekbones. Kirillion had had a similar smile hidden in his beard, only with lighter, less dead eyes. These eyes weren’t grinning.

  “Elissa said you’re here so often you have a chair with your name on it.”

  The grin remained but his teeth gritted as he called Elissa a “Cheating cunt.”

  “That’s not very subservient.”

  “Didn’t take long for her to get you under her boot, I see.”

  Suddenly, Calix didn’t feel quite so tired and stood, looking down on Rohen.

  Rohen pushed himself up and they squared off.

  He wanted to defend Elissa’s honour, who was just about the opposite of what Rohen had called her, whatever that could be. He wanted to defend his own honour for being called a bootlicker. But what ran through his mind were the images and lectures of the last five hours and how the men were seen almost as sub-human – like slaves – and on top of that, how the justice system here worked, taking into account every known variable. Looking into Rohen’s soulless eyes, he came to empathise; how would he react in the same situation? Would he play along? And if he didn’t, whose fault would that be?

  It could all be laid at the feet of the Matriarchs.

  Sometimes though, an asshole was an asshole no matter the circumstances, and Calix threw a punch across Rohen’s cheek.