Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  'Gross.'

  Metal bars glint in daylight and sheer concrete stands in three other directions, but the summit of one wall seems to be within reach. Wading through the decay, I attempt to grab the ledge but my jumping is restricted by thigh deep rubbish. On my third attempt I grasp sharp concrete and it scrapes my forearms as I scramble out of the scrap heap.

  A noise comes from the vent as I get to my feet but the wrong person crashes into the garbage with heels over head. Rushing to a door, I glance back as I prise the handle but the guard is out of my line of sight. The door will not budge so I repeatedly smash my foot below the bending lock. Gloved hands grasp the concrete ledge and a sinister helmet emerges as the door finally flies open.

  Rushing up a stairway, I flying kick the next door which smashes open and I sprint along an ill-designed tunnel with a floor consisting of large pipes which curve into sloping walls. The irregular surface leads to a lobby with a reinforced door and a keypad. Scanning for another option I notice a fire alarm so I smash glass with my fist to set off a siren and the door unlocks.

  Phaser fire streaks past as I flee along the street, fuelling the exigency of a safe haven. I swerve around a pedestrian as she is stunned by a stray shot and I spot a star mounted on the steeple of a run-down temple. Oncoming traffic breaks as I cross the road to barge past unsuspecting members of the public on the opposite pavement until I reach myrtle doors.

  'Sanctuary!' I yell, half-expecting to spontaneously combust as my wretched flesh infringes on this unfamiliar realm of towering white arches and wooden benches. And yet I feel strangely cosseted as I take a pew. My eyes settle on a lace-covered altar adorned with rose vases which starkly contrasts the crumbling exterior. A ministress in full regalia strolls to the doorway and holds out her palm.

  'STOP!' she yells. 'I hope you were not thinking of bringing that weapon onto hallowed ground.'

  I laugh at the pathetic guard in the doorway as he gazes through his serpent-eyed visor; put in his place by an overweight lady whom he towers above. Full body armour conceals all sense of humanity apart from his frustrated voice as he clutches a weapon which has been rendered useless by superstition.

  'He is a wanted terrorist. You must release him into my custody immediately. This is a matter of national security,' the guard demands.

  'Right now, this child is under my protection and he will remain so until I say otherwise. Stand here and await my decision. I will judge his fate with the guidance of the goddess. Do not even think of making that decision for me... Okay young man, why don't you come into the back and explain why this man believes you're a wanted terrorist?' the ministress says.

  Winking at the guard I follow the ministress to a lucid chamber where I take a seat of varnished wood and red fabric at a table painted by the light of a stained glass window. Candles fill chandeliers which hang from rafters and create a haunting glow against brickwork eaten by the ages.

  'Can you tell me why he was chasing you?' the ministress asks with necessary urgency in her tone.

  'We were driving along when they chased us and started shooting for no reason... Look, can you get me out of here? I need to get home, quick,' I reply.

  'The STG tend to trump up charges but you did something to make them mad. I'm no friend of theirs but maybe you and I have a different way of going about things. Yours are not the eyes of a bad child, just one who is confused, in over his head. Maybe I can offer a way out.'

  'The bastards started to purge us, that's what we were trying to get away from - the slums - they were filled with hoverbots. We never see hoverbots in the slums. Then after that night, two of my friends got sick. One of them died. She was only fifteen. I don't know what to do.'

  'And you're upset? Afraid?'

  'Nothing scares me!'

  'But you're sad for your friend?'

  'Of course I am, she didn't do anything to anyone. Why did they have to go and do that? If I could, I'd kill every last one of them. All Samarians are evil.'

  'You think we're all the same? Even me?'

  'You... you must be. How else could you be a part of this?'

  'I'm not part of what you describe. Samarianism isn't bad. People are bad... and good. You can't blame religion for bringing out the worst in people.'

  'But the elites - I've seen their documents, they're evil.'

  'You've seen their documents?' The ministress raises eyebrows.

  'Yes, their plans for a purge, their mind control chips. They're evil bastards.'

  'No wonder the STG are after you. You need to understand there is a distinction to be made between the elites and Samarianism.'

  'But you're one and the same.'

  'NO! We're not. The elites betray scripture whenever it suits them. If it was not for Samarianism they would use another mechanism, but the end result would be the same. We need to bring about change for the sake of our nation and the world.'

  'But you could be executed if they heard you talk like that.'

  'That'd be a pretty brave move. Their control is more tentative than you think. Why else do you think they would resort to drastic measures?'

  'That's exactly what I think. That's why we installed a vir...'

  'So you're part of the rebellion?'

  'No.'

  'You installed a virus, that's what you were gonna say, isn't it? Cyber-terrorism is one of the rebellion's most effective techniques but these are not victimless crimes. Lives are being taken by the rebellion. Innocent lives. Their way is not the way.'

  'The rebellion don't kill people. Well not unless there is no other option.'

  'The recent cyber-attack brought down our shielding systems. Children were killed in the rocket attack that followed. Two atrocities don't make a right.'

  'I didn't know they were going to kill anyone. The rocket attack almost killed us.'

  'It sounds like you've been manipulated, but I sense something in you, something beyond the ordinary.' The ministress gapes, staring through the ceiling to her imaginary goddess. 'I may live to regret this but I'm gonna give you a chance. Is there anywhere I can take you?'

  'Yeah, take me back to the jungle please. I'll find my way from there.'

  'We better hurry.'

  The Return Home

  With every chance the cavalry is defying orders, the ministress escorts me to her garage and my escape attempt could well be ephemeral but if faced with re-arrest I will fight to the death. My imminent fate may be dependent on the authority of this member of an unholy order, but I could not ask for a more effectual getaway vehicle as I pass through a door with elaborate hinges.

  I am met by the unbefitting sight of a blue and white arrow complete with tail fins. An aerodynamic masterpiece of engineering which has been designed for stealth and speed. The tinted bubble window and exquisitely crafted side panel swish open like liquids, enabling us to step into the cockpit before seamlessly sealing behind us.

  'A Blue Flame.' I squeeze into a spongy seat and the belt slides across my body, automatically locking in place.

  'This thing's pretty quick, gets me across the continent in hours. One of the perks of the job. And the best thing about it - optical camouflage. A little OTT but the elites feel such technology is necessary in today's climate. And right now it is ironically they who could be watching. We'll have to be fast... Take us to Saltwell Park. Camo on.'

  The wait for the garage door to rise is not a pleasant one, but fortunately we are not met by a row of hostile rifles. Taking off, we whizz through the streets of the outer hub without any sense of momentum or gravity as passing scenery blurs. The speedometer superimposed on the windscreen reaches one hundred miles per hour, less than half the maximum velocity.

  I repeatedly call Mila on my holowatch and her lack of reply confirms the worst so I try to contact the rebellion, but her best chance of rescue has gone incommunicado at the worst possible time. The enemy is the only one helping me.

  'This is getting frustrating, someone answer. ASTR emergency, damn it!
'

  'Tricky situation, eh?' the ministress asks.

  'You can say that again. I'm sixteen years old with one friend dead, three missing and every officer in the city looking for me.'

  'I hope I'm doing the right thing, letting you go. My gut says you're one of the good guys and my gut is rarely wrong. With the guidance of the goddess you can make a positive difference in this world, I can sense it.'

  'I won't let you down, ministress what's-yer-name.'

  'Ministress Cotes. So young and naive. I sometimes wonder why the goddess saw fit to place children like you in such a world, but then again you have the spirit to survive. Your audacity is a gift, you represent hope.'

  'Actually there's not too much hope right now, only desperation.' I droop my head as a migraine strikes.

  'There's always a source of hope, if you're prepared to let her into your life.'

  'The goddess you mean? You expect me to gain hope from crazy myths about how the world is a few thousand years old and people can be healed by the power of touch and angels are watching over us? It's nonsense! Why would the goddess demand something as unreasonable...'

  '...as faith?'

  'How did you...'

  '...know? I get asked a hundred questions a day. I doubt there is anything you could throw at me that I've not already heard. The goddess does not demand anything from you other than to be a good person. We are put on Eryx to stand on our own feet. Faith is simply a crutch and we all have our weak moments, there's no shame in that. The nonsense you refer to can tell you a lot about morality if you can interpret the message.'

  'Then how come no-one can agree on the message? Does the goddess believe men to be less than women? Care what kind of food we eat? Expect us to chop off parts of our body? Or are we just going to change our mind with every generation? It's a confused mess, I don't have time for that.'

  'How about do unto others as you would have done unto yourself? Turn the other cheek?'

  'Those beliefs have nothing to do with religion! They're just common sense - a sense of morality.'

  'And where does that morality come from?'

  'Er, from inside us.'

  'From the voice we so rarely listen to. Samarianism reminds us to listen to that voice. Maybe some of the elites have forgotten how... I can see you're not ready to embrace Samarianism, but every time you question yourself, every time you reconsider and do the right thing, that's the voice of the goddess. Whether you believe it's her or not, she's always there. And if you listen I promise you will grow to become a better person. You don't need to believe in her to be loved by her.'

  'So I'm not going to hell? I'm gonna have to stop listening to these sermons!'

  'You'll go to heaven as long as your intentions are true.'

  Ministress Cotes brings up a hologram as we come to a halt, detailing the modest apartments close to our jungle exit on the fateful day we met Dynah. She scans nearby roads to confirm there are no hostiles in our vicinity. And knowing nothing about this bottom leveller other than the look in my eye and the weakness in my voice, she has trusted me. She has risked her own livelihood and personal safety as a matter of faith. Just when I thought nothing could further mess with my head, she forces me to re-evaluate who the enemy are, or whether such simplistic terms are ever appropriate. My team have been devastated in every sense of the word and there is an urgent need to repair the damage, but the most viable source of help is a lair of escapees who may be reluctant to jeopardise their own freedom for the sake of a virtual stranger.

  'Remember there's always a place for you at the temple. I don't think we've been followed, but be careful and stay out of sight. Think twice before making your next move. Good luck.'

  Exiting the Blue Flame, I wander through the jungle in my natural state of tumultuous confusion, clueless as to how to locate the underground hideout in these transformative surroundings. The woodland is weirdly cold and quiet, even for late autumn and the transhuman occupants are tucked out of sight. Ice crystals have formed on leaves, brambles seem more vicious than ever and there is no point of reference. I unleash my frustration by yelling into the holowatch:

  'Jardine answer, we need help. You said the rebellion would always be there, you bastard! Lel's dead, Mila's missing, Dynah...'

  An eagle cry pierces the sense of uncertainty as a much-needed supernatural ally materialises, a reminder of the powers which may be able to reverse our fortunes. The firebird guides me to a hideout entrance which was closer than expected and the cave system below my feet may be our refuge from genocide if my pleas are heeded. The auburn leaves of a bush part to reveal a hole in the ground and I am set to ramble incoherently at those who may not recognise Dynah's unspecial friend but our mutual point of contact, who should be at home with the others, ascends muddy steps in a white robe with hints of concern rupturing through her face.

  'Arturo, I've been expecting you. I tried to bring the others but they didn't want to leave home. They thought they'd be infected. I tried to tell them it would be safer here, I sense danger. Things are going to change. Where are the other two?'

  'I got separated from Smig and Mila. The STG may have them. I don't know.'

  'Maybe your father can tell us. We should ask him for guidance.'

  We take the wooden elevator to the canopy which parts to reveal the clouded sky as I wait for the spirit of my father to appear. Uneventful minutes pass and the strangely prosaic experience is somehow empty of the earlier magic, even as ice crystals spontaneously expand before my eyes and leaves turn completely white.

  'Dad, where are you? I have questions... Dad, I need to know where they are. I'm not coming down until you speak to me.' Forlorn, I turn to Dynah for assistance. 'What now? I thought you had powers. Why can't you conjure him up?'

  'I can't, only you can. His spirit is connected to yours, it should respond to your presence. I don't know what to suggest.'

  'I have to return home. They may be waiting there.'

  'It's dangerous to return home. The illness is airborne, you may get infected.'

  'If that was the case, Dynah, I'd probably already be infected. It's a chance I have to take.'

  I trample over the vine-bridge without caring whether quivering beams can withstand pounding feet because a trouble-freeing plummet appeals. Three, maybe four members of our adhoc family have been lost, I may as well be next. The coward's way out germinates in my mind until I hear a whispering voice carried by the blustery air. Dynah's lips are not moving so I stand still.

  'Inevitability is a result of predictable actions but those actions themselves are not inevitable. The wrong choices can have disastrous consequences but the warning signs are always there. Remember to take decisive action. Only change can lead to salvation.'

  'Did you hear that?' I ask.

  'Hear what?' Dynah replies.

  'Never mind, I assume it was a private message. I'm going to check upon the others before deciding on our next move. If you're not coming, how will I contact you?' I ask.

  'Call my name. The bird will hear you, no matter where you are.'

  Leaving the supergirl behind I walk a lonely road to our uncongenial abode, the site of our heartbreak, and the chatter of my teeth is the only audible noise in the abandoned industrial estate. The record low temperature amplifies the sense of agitation as the sight of Lel's grave turns my intestines. A swing of my leg kicks up dust and I do not know what to think, or do. I cannot be bothered with this lot, they are going to annoy me.

  My plan to disregard these nuisances for a peaceful wait for Mila and Smig to return is distracted by suspicion - the usually barricaded fire exit is wide open so I quicken the pace as my fears are compounded by a scream.

  'EMMI! Is that you? Are you okay?'

  Sprinting to the building in five furious paces, I fly through the door and fling my elbow into the neck of a uniformed security officer, causing him to crumple to the floor. His pistol drops but I catch it mid-fall and immediately aim at the exposed throat of hi
s armoured colleague. Gritting teeth, I show no mercy. BANG! The under-prepared professional collapses, making a gargling sound as he holds his gushing neck. This is my home, my family and there is NO-ONE with the authority to violate that.

  As I turn towards the living room door, another ill-fated security officer enters and the bullet I unleash rips through his neck, causing him to twitch like a crippled insect. Rushing over, I kick the gun from his outstretched hand and place one more bullet through his visor. From the doorway I check the corners through iron sights and burst into the unoccupied junk room.

  'Ivor, wake up,' I yell, but the mechanoid fails to respond and sparks convulse from his chest, possibly due to an EMP grenade. I hear another scream.

  'Get off me!'

  I rush to the garage area where several dead soldiers lie in a bloody mess and my muscles twitch with the urge to destroy the one bastard who is still standing. His uniform has the black and green colouring of the elite guard, but I restrain the desire to blast his fucking head off because he is dragging my sister by the neck. Emmi kicks her heels and prises the guard's arm so she can breathe. I point my gun straight at his faceless head and he points his rifle at mine.

  'Let her go! Let her go, now!' I scream.

  'My gun is ten times as powerful as yours. I'm a trained soldier. What do you think you can do?'

  'Just ask your friends who are lying in pools of blood.'

  'Do you really think you can pull the trigger before me?'

  'I don't know, but I swear to the goddess I'm ready to find out.'

  Lowering his helmeted head, the elite guard uses my sister's drained face to shield his vulnerable visor and again points his rifle at her temple, awakening every last ounce of rage in my being.

  'Arrturroo.'

  'I swear if you hurt her, you can't even imagine what I'll do to you. I'll keep you alive. You'll feel more pain than...'