Three Sons

by Saxon Keeley

  Quietly the assistant leaves the two brothers to catch up. Looking out of the window Oscar watches the forest with the same enthusiasm as the first time he saw it. Unfazed by the alien wilderness, he leans in closer.

  “Strange indeed,” Oscar agreed. “Arguably life in the universe is not that rare, hundreds of single celled organisms have been discovered within the Charted Systems, but nothing this complex has ever been documented. After the exploration era, many EMRs fell into disuse, either because the line of trajectory was too dangerous or there were simply no viable planets within that system. How they could have missed Eden is beyond me. An Earth like planet with carbon based lifeforms undergoing parallel evolutionary paths. It is phenomenal.”

  Wesley scratches his head. “I do not…remember reading about…giant bugs whilst studying Earth…back in school.”

  “Not from an Earth humans would be familiar with. This supercontinent has been taken over by forests, increasing oxygen levels in the atmosphere, allowing these invertebrates to grow to their current size. Eden is Earth during the Carboniferous period,” he explained joyously. “The very existence of this planet raises questions about our own evolution. To what extent is it forced by chance, or is it preordained by universal laws dictating the possible variations life can take?”

  He grows bored of his brother’s philosophising and continues to investigate the facility. At his side, Oscar spouts convoluted explanations for what each lab they pass is developing. The excitement in his voice deeply upsets Wesley as he realises the distance Oscar has put between himself and everything else in life. He begins to doubt the likelihood of convincing him to return to Maia and together stopping Alistair.

  Another set of cylinders preserve specimens that are far more recognisable and for the first-time Oscar goes quiet. Suspended in murky liquid are milky pink human foetuses, each at differing stages of development. Most are deformed, all of them abnormally large. These unborn babies are as alien as the insects that inhabit this planet.

  “What the…fuck?”

  Oscar places the tips of his fingers against the glass, silently proud of his accomplishments. “Old Russian research from the war,” he said, not looking at Wesley. “Many suspected that the Tyrant of Russia was born from such genetic engineering projects. Humans built stronger and faster, designed for the battlefield.”

  “People…bred to die?”

  His brother shakes his head. “No, purely hypothetical at this stage. Perhaps a way to save lives.”

  “Hypothetical?” said Wesley, backing away. “This is more than…hypothetical…they are real children.”

  “Are you content in watching your brothers and sisters die? What if we could find a way to save them?”

  “Those men and women…gave their lives for us…fighting because they…believed in a future…that is better beyond…the CERE. Not to die…in the dust protecting…the Golden Ring or…the madness which you surround…yourself with,” snapped Wesley.

  His voice carries through the facility. Scientists and engineers bury themselves in their work, doing their best to pretend like they are ignoring the dispute. The brothers stare each other down for a long while.

  “It was a mistake…to come here,” Wesley finally said. “You are…no better than him now.”

  While supplies are unloaded from the Grey Heron, Wesley waits in the lounge with a cup of tea. A spider-like leg stretches from the side of the window, feeling for grip against the glass. Eager to get off this planet, he cannot shake his guilt. He had been away for a long time, long enough not to see his brother slip away like this.

  In the reflection, he sees his brother enter the lounge. He takes a sip of his tea, playing Oscar no mind.

  “What is our brother up to now?” Oscar asked.

  “You cannot…help.”

  He sighs. “You came here for my help. So just tell me.”

  “Alistair has made some…modifications to the…Sister Ships,” Wesley began. “An independent team…has installed new weaponry…capable of an orbital…strike. Mu is to be…the first target.”

  Finding a seat, Oscar folds his legs and momentarily is lost in thought. Patiently Wesley sips on his drink and waits for his brother to contemplate the full implications of such an attack.

  “An orbital strike would be indiscriminate. Thousands of innocent people would die. Such an attack does not make sense if we wish to liberate the colony and make it our primary Inner Core,” he said, thinking out loud.

  Wesley takes a seat on the sofa opposite him. He swirls the tea sediment around the bottom of the cup, trying to find the easiest way to articulate what he believes has happened to their brother.

  “Alistair…does not see this…war as a means of… independence from the CERE…any longer. He is seeking… domination over the CERE…complete control over…the Charted Systems.”

  “What do you suppose we do?”

  He shakes his head, not sure either. “Talk with…him. Make him…see reason. Those ministers do him no good…out for themselves…rather than providing just council.”

  Despite their differences in the means of how to win this war, Oscar believes he shares Wesley’s reasons for fighting it. His absence has left Alistair weak. How weak has he too become? The silver ring is a poignant reminder of that rainy day the three of them stood as one.

  “Give me an hour to sort things out here, then I will come to Maia with you.”

  Wesley gives him a relieved nod, then leans back against the sofa, resting his arms along the top and waits for his brother.

  Alone, and his temper appeased, he is pleased to have the time to enjoy this beguiling unfamiliar world. The spider timidly attempts to crawl along the glass and in the small spaces between the trees dragonflies roam the air. Even if they are smaller, Wesley considers himself fortunate not to have been born on Earth.

  Maia

  Nicholas Jung

  The test paper in front of him has little more than a sentence written. Above the teacher’s desk the clock ticks into the final minutes of end of topic assessment.

  Across the room, she concentrates on finishing her History essay, pushing back her hair and biting her bottom lip as she thinks of a compelling conclusion that will secure her the best marks in the class. She wears her uniform proudly. Top button done up, socks covering her knees and she displays her student council badge for all to see. Nicholas allows his eyes to wander, following her legs up her tartan skirt.

  She feels his depraved gaze and crosses her legs, derailing her trail of thought. She scowls, disgusted at the very sight of him. Turning back to his paper, he quickly jots down half a page’s worth of ramblings.

  The bell goes and the teacher waits at their desk for all the papers to be handed in. Nicholas squeezes between two classmates and lets his paper inconspicuously fall onto the accumulating heap. Before he can escape the classroom, he hears an abrasive cough and then his name being called. The others laugh as he drags himself back to the teacher’s desk. When the final student leaves, shutting the door behind them, the teacher begins.

  “Mr Jung. Just by reading the first and last line of this whopping half a page essay, I can confidently tell you that you scored absolutely nothing on this test,” said the teacher, throwing the paper back at him. “I can also, with confidence, say that you are not this incapable. The young man who walked into my classroom at the beginning of his year was amongst the brightest I’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. You have by tomorrow morning to hand me in something worth marking.” The teacher hands Nicholas a fresh exam paper.

  He doesn’t bother responding to the comments, knowing full well they are more than fair. Placing the test into his bag he makes his way for the door when his leave is interrupted again.

  “Oh yeah, I’ve been told to pass you on a message. Stopping skipping your counselling sessions.”

  Out in the courtyard, Nicholas sits alone on a bench watching the other students. Some leave the Academy, either heading home to their paren
ts or back to their dorms. Others lounge on the fake grass soaking up the sun, glad to be done with the day. He waits for art club to finish, which always overruns, hoping to get the opportunity to talk to her.

  Over and over he rehearses their conversation in his head, thinking of all the possible things they could talk about. He tries to gauge what is meant by ‘playing it cool’, a term many of the guys use when talking about girls.

  The studio eventually empties and she appears surrounded by her friends, their sleeves rolled up and skin speckled with colourful drops of paint. Her high spirits are quickly dampened as she spots Nicholas watching them from the bench. Blending into the group, she goes quiet and tries to hurry them out of sight. They realise the source of her discomfort and as they disappear around the corner, they hurl insults at him.

  “You weirdo.”

  “Fucking pervert!”

  Nicholas hangs his head, avoiding the stares of those who remain in the courtyard. Disheartened that his opportunity was squandered by her friends, he throws his bag over his shoulders and heads home.

  Just outside the Academy, the group of girls are talking with some of the boys from the year above. One of her friends points at Nicholas. He continues along the path, watching his feet. Then the boys run ahead, blocking his way. He attempts to walk around them, when that fails he tires pushing passed. The tallest of the boys puts his hand on his chest and shoves him back.

  “Why are you perving on my sister?”

  Nicholas doesn’t answer.

  “Hey, creep. I asked you a question.”

  The boy prods him, baiting him for a reaction. His eyes become watery and a lump gets stuck at the back of his throat. He holds back his tears and attempts to return to the Academy grounds. The boys circle him. The girls shouting further abuse.

  Nowhere to run, Nicholas clenches his fists ready to defend himself. He is swung around by his shoulders, and before he can react, the tall boy punches him square in the eye. Nicholas stumbles to the ground. As the gang of seniors repeatedly kick him, Nicholas curls up into a ball.

  “You ever look at my sister again, I will kill you.”

  Over the thumping in his ear, he hears a voice crying out.

  “Stop,” called the voice.

  One last kick winds Nicholas. None of them run away, and from the ground Nicholas watches as a pair of legs come running. The girl, though a few years younger than the seniors, manages to sandwich herself between them and Nicholas. Furiously she throws her bag to the ground and size them up, ready to take on the world to protect her brother.

  “Get out of here Jess, this has nothing to do with you,” said the tall boy.

  Her patience wears thin and is not willing to entertain the argument. Instead Jessica swings back her leg and with full force she lands her foot below the belt. The speed of the blow catches him off guard and the boy falls to his knees, left panting from the shock and nursing his groin. The rest of the boys’ edge away. The girls are silenced by a sullen glare.

  “Do not mess with my family,” warned Jessica.

  “You bitch,” exhaled the suffering boy.

  The gang help the boy back to his feet and support him as he shuffles towards the dorms to seek medical assistance. Jessica wears a smug grin, and after picking up her bag she offers Nicholas a hand. He smacks away her offer and pulls himself to his feet, rushing off in shame. The faster he walks, the quicker the footsteps follow him.

  “Nicholas, slow down,” she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Leave me alone. I do not need your protection,” he snapped.

  “But,” she said, letting him go, “I just want you to be safe.”

  Jessica Jung

  Jessica sits with her feet dangling over the canal, enjoying the last bit of sun light before Maia disappears behind Thule. Tonight, the freeze will grip the colony and snow will blanket the entire moon. A picturesque view stretches as far as the horizon. Up high, she can see the whole city. The Lotus Gardens to her left, the Southside to her right, and in the centre dividing the two sits the Foundry. The city was all so much smaller when she originally came here, expanding over the years, giving refuge to those who could not bear the sorrow of Shanxi.

  In one hand, she munches on lunches’ leftovers, while in the other balances a book borrowed from her great-grandfather’s library, a hardback of ‘Dream of Ding Village’. Captivated by the tragedy of a small community, she doesn’t notice her cousin approaching.

  “Careful,” warned Alexander. “It is a long fall.”

  “You worry too much. How else could I possibly get such a great view?” she said, meeting him with a smile.

  He precariously leans forward to gage the drop and decides he is close enough. “I can see it perfectly well from here,” he said. “How was your day?”

  “Good, mostly. Yours?”

  “A day,” he quipped. “I heard what happened to Nicholas. Is he alright?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Those guys are suck jerks.”

  Alexander nods in agreement. “I saw them heading towards medical. Him and his sister are borders here, he has the room directly above mine. Both their parents are away at war, their father is stationed on Jotunheim with Uncle Wesley.”

  “You think that is why they picked on Nicholas?” she questioned.

  “Probably. But who knows. I mean, I have never had a problem with either of them.”

  “Me either.” She then realises he is no longer in uniform with a fully packed bag. “Where are you off to?”

  “My father is back,” he said, trying to hide his excitement.

  Jessica knows that her Uncle has not come to Maia to see Alexander, but cannot bare to break his heart, so joins in with his high spirits. “Do you think that means Uncle Wesley is back too?”

  “Probably. Something big must be happening for Father to return.”

  “Well, let us go,” she said, packing away her things. She places the book in with such care.

  “Why are you so eager?”

  “If Uncle Wesley is home then he usually takes care of us, rather than her.” Jessica jumps to her feet and leads the way into the city. Across from the Academy, the Crystal Castle glistens in the setting sun.

  “Does she still get drunk?” asked Alexander.

  “All the time,” Jessica rolled her eyes. “But it means we get real home cooked meals, and old western television programs are not playing at full volume until the early hours of the morning.”

  Alexander forces a laugh, hoping to lighten his cousins’ situation.

  Oscar Jung

  “How is school?”

  Alexander sits across from his father, unenthusiastically prodding his food. He had ordered his son’s favourite dishes, hoping to ease the tension. But as the dishes turn cold, most of the food is left untouched.

  “It is fine.”

  “How are your grades?”

  Alexander hangs his head. “Top of my class for everything.”

  “Good,” Oscar said chuffed. “That is the way it should be. We Jungs’ have a lot to live up to.”

  Alexander gives an unimpressed grunt before scooping up a mouthful of rice.

  A thick layer of dust covers every surface of the house. An indelible sense of emptiness fills each room. Neither of them feel comfortable in being home. Not a single image of the family is on display. The walls remain characterless and cold. There are no personalised quirks found within the house born from fussy habits or gritted compromises. The house is just as they found it when they moved in six years ago.

  “What are you studying in Science?”

  “Magnetism and Electromagnetism.”

  “Ah! An important topic.”

  “I guess.”

  “So,” Oscar said, reaching for conversation, “why is iron a suitable material for the core of a transformer?”

  Alexander rests his chopsticks on the table. “I am done. I am going to my room, I have a History assignment to finish for tomorrow.”
/>   “Oh,” he said disappointed, and tries once again to connect with his son, “maybe I can help you?”

  Alexander shakes his head. “We need to base it on our own research, not the stories your grandfather told you.”

  Oscar gives a weak smile and concedes. The door closes behind him, and Oscar sighs long and thoughtfully. He sips his wine, washing away the guilt of feeling relieved that dinner is over. He rubs his eyes and looks at all the leftover food.

  *

  Knocking twice before letting himself in, Oscar finds Alistair slumped over his desk exhausted. Rhythmically tapping a stylus to keep his motivation, Alistair mulls over document after document, none of which make coherent sense any longer. Oscar swipes his fingers against an inbuilt sensor in the glass wall, the transparent office is blacked out and the lamps automatically brighten. With the sudden privacy, his brother puts down the tablet and stretches out the stresses of the day.

  The smell of food rouses Alistair out from his fatigue and clears the end of his desk for Oscar to lay out the leftovers. As he places out the bowls, his brother lays out two tumblers and pours them an even measurement of the whiskey he has stored in the cabinet behind.

  “I always knew the life of a politician was stressful, but that is something else,” joked Oscar, inspecting the fragrance of the liquor.

  “It is a useful tool in difficult negotiations,” Alistair jested in a calculated manner.

  “Is this one of those times?”

  “I cannot imagine why else Wesley dragged you back to Maia.”

  “As shrewd of a politician as Grandfather,” Oscar toasted. “But first you must help me finish all this food.”

  Alistair does not hesitate in accepting the offer, already leaning over to serve himself a generous helping. Whilst his brother scoops up the food, Oscar watches with a concerned look, imagining this is probably his first and only hearty meal of the day. He does not look ill, but the way he picks at the food is ravenous.

  Scoffing down his meal he notices Oscar’s expression and slows down trying to savour each bite. Across the desk are the directives for the orbital strike. Ignoring them just for now, Oscar hopes first to find common ground.