by Dan Ackerman
Penumbra
Dan Ackerman
Smashwords Edition
Supposed Crimes LLC
Matthews, North Carolina
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2021 Dan Ackerman
Published in the United States
ISBN: 978-1-952150-64-7
Cover Art by Vincent Pesce
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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For David
Penumbra
For generations, Eden had watched, motionless, as the planet died below it.
Although, Arden supposed, he only thought of the planet as below because the gravity made by the space station oriented them so that the north pole of the planet was beneath the floors they walked. In space, above and below didn’t really exist.
Built to house several million people comfortably, most of Eden sat unused, cleaned and serviced every so often by the thralls. Arden’s great-great-great-grandmother had built Eden with room for the population to grow, a haven for humanity.
It hadn’t gone exactly to plan.
Most people couldn’t afford a place on Eden.
No one new had come aboard since before Arden had been born.
“Your Eminence?”
Arden peeled his eyes away from the dying planet to look at the thrall who addressed him. A plain, unremarkable man, one of the thousands of generationally indentured people that served the peerage.
Rhys kept his eyes demurely lowered and his hands folded over his abdomen.
“What could have you disturbing me at this hour?”
“I beg your forgiveness, Your Eminence. I thought you might want to review this quarter’s numbers.”
The slightest bit of defiance.
No other thrall would have dared to approach Arden in his private viewing room, let alone suggest he might need a thrall to remind him of anything, let alone something as important as Eden’s quarterly reports.
No one would have allowed a thrall to get away with something like that, but Arden let Rhys do so with disturbing regularity.
Arden stared down Rhys, who peeked up with a hint of a smile curling one corner of his mouth. “Is there any difference from last quarter?”
“I regret to inform you there’s no improvement.”
Arden grunted.
The same problems as always: not enough people to do all the jobs Eden required. The limited number of thralls couldn’t produce enough goods or crops. Oh, no one starved, of course. Not even the thralls.
“Did you wish to see the numbers?”
“No, I trust you, Rhys.” Arden moved over to one of the lounging couches and reclined against the arm. His robe spilled open to reveal a pallid expanse of scrawny chest, all bones. All of him looked like that, too thin and too pale.
Even the most sycophantic peers had never managed to convince Arden that they wanted to fuck him for anything but status and favors.
None of the thralls had ever dared to so much as look at him, let alone touch him. Plenty of thralls came on to the peers; it was an effective way to get something special, a nice treat or an hour or so off from work. None of them came on to Arden. Not a hint of that flirtatious defiance that thralls used to show interest in a peer.
“Does Your Eminence need anything?” Rhys offered. “Breakfast?”
Arden stretched and twisted a length of auburn hair over his shoulder. “How about a little bit of Twelve?”
Rhys bowed his head and withdrew from the viewing room. He returned a quarter of an hour later with a tray bearing a shot of Twelve, as well as a small bowl of oatmeal and strawberries.
Arden downed the shot and closed his eyes as the familiar warmth and numbness rolled through him, toes to teeth. He sunk lower into the couch and ran his fingers over the smooth, soft fabric of his robe.
He smiled.
“Any appetite?” Rhys asked.
Arden opened his eyes. He took the oatmeal. He wasn’t hungry but he liked strawberries.
By the time he finished eating, the Twelve had settled over him, smoothed him out.
Rhys casually reminded him of a Council meeting and Arden consented to be bathed and dressed.
A few more thralls came in, their eyes so downcast Arden thought they would have gotten more done blindfolded.
But that was their place.
How would Arden have behaved toward someone to whom he owed more money than ten lifetimes could ever repay?
Every thrall on Eden had indentured themselves to the Torre family. Even the debts of those who had come aboard with the first wave of citizens had not yet diminished by half. Arden’s children and his children’s children, and likely even their children, would still hold indentures.
If he ever had children.
Some peers his age had taken a spouse and started a family, but many more waited. A thrall of thirty-five would have a brood, as many as they could have by biology or adoption. More children spread the debt around and made it somewhat more likely that it might ever get paid.
But Arden, well. He’d never had occasion to know any children and couldn’t say whether he liked them or not.
As for a spouse, he could have had anyone he wanted, even if they had already wed another.
A thrall pulled a long jacket over his arms and onto his shoulders. It glittered, the thick black fabric studded with black beads.
Another helped him into silver shoes, the only color in his ensemble that day.
The thralls departed.
Rhys followed him to the Public Chamber, which, funnily enough, only became available to the public twice a year: Founder’s Day and Giving Day. Except for those days, only Council members and the head of the Torre family could enter.
And Rhys.
But he never said anything that anyone else could hear. He stood behind Arden, a shadow clad in the plain garments of a thrall. He would, rarely, lean forward and whisper something.
For the most part, no one noticed him. Just another thrall, his dark hair in a small bun, his skin pale brown, and his eyes as black as the void outside. Unobtrusive, unremarkable.
Half the time Arden forgot he was there. Sometimes even when Rhys was talking to him.
Eleven Council members took their seats around the long table of the Public Chamber. They chattered among each other, grumbled about the earliness of the hour, the incompetence of the thralls they rented, the surliness of their partners or children.
Arden soaked in the calm of the Twelve he’d taken.
He listened, half-heartedly, to the usual discussions about shortages, especially on items deemed luxe. At the direction of the Council and the distress of the peers, the Work Committee had moved most artisans from their crafts to different trades. Farming, maintenance, those more necessary things.
The Council had resisted Arden’s suggestions to do so for about a year.
Arden had ignored Rhys’s advice to do so for longer than that. Rhys had bought Arden’s confidence with quiet bits of good advice for a decade.
“My daughter hasn’t had new shoes in months,” Burton Riley said. “The poor thing is heartbroken.”
Arden blinked slowly a
nd examined the beading of his jacket. “Are her feet still growing?”
“I’m sorry, Your Eminence?” Riley asked.
“She’s close to thirty, now, isn’t she? She can’t still be outgrowing shoes.”
“I…Your Eminence…For a young woman of the peerage, you must understand the importance of staying relevant.”
“I have three pairs of shoes,” Arden pointed out. “Am I irrelevant?”
“Of course not, Your Eminence, I didn’t mean to imply any such thing. Only that my poor Esme, she doesn’t have the same advantages…” Riley trailed off.
“Councilmembers, shall we weigh the merits of food against silk?” Arden asked.
“It is only that the peerage is accustomed to a certain lifestyle—” began Madge Yarrow.
“Then they shall become accustomed to a different one,” Arden cut her off. He didn’t snap. He didn’t have to. Others stopped speaking as soon as he opened his mouth. “There are not enough workers for new shoes or dresses or jewels every few months. Even with the thralls breeding as they do, it takes time to grow a thrall to working age.”
Behind him, Rhys shifted.
It was so unusual that Arden noticed. He ignored it, but he noticed. “Three years ago, we nearly had to put in place rations. I would not revisit that. Bex Torre didn’t build this place so it could fail because we’ve become too indulgent to understand the value of a meal.”
The Council members stared, some angry, some cowed.
Arden stood. “Reconsider your priorities before I reconsider my Council.”
He left the Public Chamber.
Rhys trailed behind him and stood quietly nearby as Arden leaned against a railing and looked over Curie’s Esplanade.
A young man of the peerage dropped his cup in front of a thrall cleaning the floor. A few drops spilled onto the floor. “Pick it up,” he told the thrall, his voice carrying.
She dutifully mopped it up without a word.
He made a face but left her alone.
Another thrall intentionally bumped into the young man. She barely brushed his elbow.
“Watch where you’re going,” he warned.
She didn’t drop her eyes. “Pardon me, sir,” she answered shortly.
They looked at each other for a moment longer, long enough to confirm the thrall’s consent to what happened next.
The peer took the woman by the upper arm and led her away.
Arden had lived among the game between classes his whole life but still didn’t fully understand why anyone bothered with it. Oh, he understood sex and he understood the exchange of favors for pleasure, but the game itself seemed silly.
Easier to say, “I’ll blow you for an apple tart,” or “I’ll give you bracelet if you let me cum on your tits.”
People didn’t take well to that kind of forwardness, though, now that he thought about it.
They tolerated it from Arden, but they would have tolerated outright assault from him.
His uncle Morris certainly got away with a lot of that and he wasn’t even the Autarch.
“You didn’t like what I said in there,” Arden said to Rhys.
“You spoke admirably, Your Eminence. Some changes must be accepted for the sake of survival.”
Arden glanced at him. Eyes lowered, hands folded. Not in the mood to speak his mind, subtle as that could be.
“Go, Rhys, I know there’s work to be done elsewhere and I don’t need a shadow today.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
As Rhys left, Arden said, “You do bore me sometimes, you know.”
Rhys kept walking.
The wiser course.
Rhys always walked the wiser course. Arden didn’t know anyone smarter than Rhys. He saw things Arden couldn’t, that the Council couldn’t. He knew exactly how to shift around numbers to keep Eden alive for another year.
Arden walked Curie’s Esplanade, bored by every peer he came across. The same simpers and praise from every mouth.
He shouldn’t have left the Council early, but he hated to hear them whine.
Maybe he did need a new Council.
Fresher minds.
All eleven members were remnants from his mother’s days, nominated and elected by the peerage, then confirmed by the Autarch.
New Council members.
The idea rolled around in Arden’s head. It could be better. It would, at least, be different. Maybe even interesting.
Hadn’t Rhys suggested something like this a while ago?
Oh, he never would have outright said it. He had probably said something like, “The Public Chamber hasn’t seen a new face since your mother’s time,” or, “This is the longest-serving Council, did you know? Such loyalty to the position.” Spoken with quiet appreciation but meant to spark a thought in Arden’s mind.
Arden lunched with a few old schoolmates. He didn’t strictly enjoy their company, but he had once upon a time. That had to count for something.
Zira, just as pale and thin as Arden, picked at a salad and sighed wistfully half a dozen times.
Arden knew that trick. She wanted him to ask what was wrong. He didn’t bother. He peeled apart his edamame pods and fished out the beans.
Cole and Mace chattered about their latest game of handball and teased Arden about never playing anymore.
“Ardi’s too busy to play games,” Cole said. “He’s the Autarch, don’t you know?”
“But we miss him. Don’t we miss him?” Mace asked.
The two of them leaned together and tittered.
“Leave him alone,” Cathie scolded them. She put a hand on Arden’s forearm. Her hand warmed his skin instantly, gorgeous bronze against his watery paleness.
She always felt so warm. She always had.
Arden had loved her in the worst way as a child. He’d liked her since the first day of school. Another child had yanked a toy out of his hand and Cathie had snatched it right back and returned it to Arden. She’d been a roly-poly little girl and she’d grown into a beautiful, gloriously large woman. She swallowed up people with her hugs and Arden, even now, felt that old familiar urge to bury himself in her arms.
He’d thought that urge outgrown, or at least, fully suppressed.
He twisted his fingers into her hand.
“Bull and I walk the Solar Deck every morning. I know you’re up, so you might as well join us.”
Arden and Bull shared a mutual dislike, not over Cathie, of course. Over other things, ugly things that had started long before Cathie and Bull had gotten together.
“Maybe.”
She made a face.
“I’d take it, Cath. A maybe is more than any of us have gotten out of him in years,” Cole advised.
Arden scowled at Cole. “Some of us do have responsibilities greater than handball, poetry, and fucking.”
“My poems get very good reviews,” Cole sniffed.
“Critics are still out about the fucking, though,” Mace teased.
Cole smacked him.
Arden smirked out of reflex rather than amusement.
Cathie kept her hand around his for the rest of lunch. She insisted on walking him to his next location.
Once out of earshot of the others, he said, “So you and Bull are fighting?”
She protested, “No.”
“You only want to spend time on me when you two are on the outs.”
“Ardi! That’s not true,” she scolded.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m hurt, honestly,” she said.
He didn’t apologize. He didn’t say anything.
“Bull is a little grumpy these days, though.”
“And why’s that?”
“He wants us to move in together.”
“And…”
“And I like having my own place! There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Arden hummed a non-answer. He had no answer to give, no opinion on the matter.
“Is there?”
“No. Do what you want,
Cath. Who cares what Bull wants?”
“I do! I love that man but…I like my apartment. I like having…”
“Breathing room?” Arden guessed.
She rolled her eyes. “I told him a thousand times I don’t want a wedding or kids. He doesn’t listen.”
“He never has.”
She gave Arden’s arm a light smack. “I thought I was walking you to Hydroponics Three.”
“You are.”
“We walked by four lifts.”
“But not past the stairs,” he said.
She smiled. “And here I was thinking you just liked to walk with me.”
They walked down to Hydroponics Three together, down at least a dozen flights of stairs.
Arden had given his first handjob in a stairwell. Maybe not this exact one, but the stairs went almost entirely unused, even by thralls. He’d been…fourteen. He didn’t remember exactly who it had been with. One of the Han triplets. They were identical, so he thought it forgivable to get Wei and Li confused. Ai had turned out to be a girl, which made things a little easier when it came to telling her apart from her brothers.
In Hydroponics Three, Arden stopped thinking about which Han sibling he had fondled and started to frown at the plants.
He glowered at the unsown rows.
Thralls hustled around the bay, their arms laden and their heads bowed. They gave him an extra-wide berth, either due to the look on his face or the rarity of his visits to their work areas.
Charles Raleigh, the supervisor of this bay and Hydroponics Four, made a big show of telling off a few thralls for their sloppy work, then greeted Arden with a false smile. “How are we today, Your Eminence?” he asked.
“We’re well, Charles.”
“Honored to have you visit, of course. Is there something you needed from H-Three?”
Arden glanced around the bay. So many unsown rows. “Numbers are down.”
Raleigh glowered at the nearest thrall. “Unfortunate, I know. A lot of bad things piling up down here. Four on maternity, a few home sick, and six passed this quarter. We do have an unusually high number of aged thralls in H-Three.”
“Hmm.”
“We make do as best we can.”
“It’s a little warm in here!” Cathie noted.
“The plants here like it warm. Eggplants and peppers. Things like that,” Raleigh told her.