Pilgrim One: Prominence (Project Pilgrim Book 1)

by Christopher R. Marrs

  PILGRIM ONE:

  PROMINENCE

  A novel by:

  Christopher R. Marrs

  V. Love.

  A book is a project, it takes many hands. My heartfelt thanks to all that have helped me get this far.

  Pilgrim One: Prominence

  Copyright © 2017 by Christopher R. Marrs. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Amy Marrs-Steinhour

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Christopher R. Marrs

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: Dec 2017

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  As Ria sprang over the edge of the horizon, her harsh first light shone through the polypane and fell across the haggard face of Narmer, causing him to stir. He was not interested in stirring, not in the slightest. His eyes were closed tight against the glare as he groped for his p-tab. His toned right arm dug under the bedding pile next to him. He hit something, uh, someone. Someone, soft and warm.

  “Tikt!,” he heard a muffled curse, “You’re annoying…”

  His brain was starting to warm up…who? What? “Ugh.” With his head pounding, he was in need of something. He thought about getting up, but fell out of bed instead. Gathering himself, he grabbed the end of the bed, clawed his way up to a semi-standing position and stumbled to the hygiene stall of his habitat, looking for refreshment and relief. Standing in the front of the reflector, he noticed the lines on his face, the darkness around his fair eyes. Now remembering. Survivor of another morbid Farewell attendance. He struggled to remember the Honoree’s name, Woonan or similar. Doesn’t matter much now, less so, soon. “Again, too much culg,” he mumbled as he contemplated just how much he smoked last night. “Well,” he thought, “it won’t kill me now, and I can probably survive another eight rises,” or were there only seven left?

  After his relief and a drink from the nip, Narmer shuffled back to bed. He landed on his back with a thump and loud exhale, finding his p-tab with his left shoulder blade. He reached behind and underneath himself, drew out the device and thumbed it to life. His first glance, to the top left, for the time, it indicated two chirps after the rise, so, still early. Then he looked for the dreaded counter he had set up in the top right corner, the countdown to Departure. It displayed ‘7’. Seven rises until Departure. The rock reappeared in his stomach.

  The mound next to him stirred and reached out to poke him in the face. “Hey, where’s mine? Get me something to drink,” again a muffled voice is heard.

  “Get your round gule out of bed and get one yourself” was his polite response, “I’m not your spal.”

  “Sweetness, if we were joined, and you were my spal, I wouldn’t have done the things I did to you last night,” she said, “so get me a tikta drink before I put a digit somewhere painful!”

  With a somewhat more graceful exit, Narmer headed out of the bedchamber of his somewhat drab and messy standard public residence and across the off-white floor to the food service panel. While squinting, he was able to conjure up a hot brew of the gaberry in a relatively clean vintage mug that was given to him by another Honoree that wouldn’t be needing it any longer. Being overly careful not to spill, he delivered the mug of brew to the bed and to the outstretched hand attached to an elegant arm, belonging to his companion. Nothing else was visible of her, however.

  “Hmm, going to be difficult to drink it like that…” stating the obvious.

  With a groan and flip of the bedding, the mostly nude, and surprisingly attractive frame of his mystery date appeared. Then the long auburn trusses that topped her head, and hid her face. Fumbling her hair with one hand, and trying not to spill with the other occupied hand, she sat up.

  He saw a beautiful green eye peering at him, a partial face with a smirk pasted on it. He watched her sip, then gulp the brew. “Ahh, much better already” she muttered.

  He watched her while trying to remember her name. She laughed and said, “It’s Deides, my sweetness, we met at the Farewell.”

  Narmer flushed crimson, “I remember,” he lied.

  “Uh-huh,” was her response as the smirk got bigger.

  “But what I don’t remember, is why I, or you, were there,” he said, trying to recover.

  “Well, I was there as I’m about to be an ex-spal,” she explained, “and you were there because I needed an event, and a bed, companion. I found you in line for this tower’s lift, and I had my Departure Crescent on me. I grabbed you, and we passed the line and got on the lift. It was a fabulous party on the Departure deck, and you enjoyed yourself almost too much, you and your culg. I, however, was enjoying watching my spal, Woodam, trying not to be jealous. He had his new soon-to-be spal, but he couldn’t stop watching us. A bit of justice….”

  This was not registering well, “Your spal? Departure Crescent? What were you doing, toying with me? You’re Selected, I’m not. Getting the last bit of fun with the unworthy before Departure?” he growled, his anger beginning to rise.

  “I am soon to be as ‘unworthy’ as you are. Once his new spal is registered, I will lose my Departure Crescent. So, it was a farewell of sorts for me too. And I wasn’t going to be alone. So sorry to drag you into some fun!” Deides huffed.

  Slowly the events began to filter into his fogged head. “Yes, now I remember, the culg was widely available, you were hovering around me at times, and left me to myself otherwise. Then you forced me to bring you here.”

  “Forced? You had me half undressed on the lift.”

  “Half? I must be slipping!” he boasted, unartfully, and, untruthfully.

  She smiled, “Now there’s the companion I was with last night. Witty, but barely.”

  “ ’Soon to be unworthy’? That doesn’t happen too often...”

  “Rare, but it is possible,” she sniffed, “Woodam has decided that as a perk of his departure, he’s going to take a new spal with him. His right as the owner of the Departure slot, he can take whomever he chooses. Or,” she said with a sinister smile, “you could kill him for me, and I’d
inherit the slot, and I’d take you with me!”

  “Whaaat?”

  “Sweetness, I’m joking…maybe,” again that smirk.

  “A little out of my range of experiences. I’m probably not your guy…”

  “I was sure you’d feel that way. I guess then that you’ll have to entertain me until Departure,” as her smirk turned into a smile.

  “Uh…I don’t really have plans, but that was kind of on purpose…”

  “Well, as you know, after Departure, and during the Last Rises, the Ruling Council calculates that a third of the population will commit ritual suicide either alone or as part of one of the hundreds of suicide cults that they’ve estimated exist. Another third will waste away as they cannot come to terms with the End. The rest will live out in relative contentment, happy with their last choices before the End. I’m planning on making it into the last group,” she declared.

  “I don’t believe the Council’s projections,” Narmer’s sardonic reply, “the people of Kepteyn will not go quietly. As a forward thinking and capable people, we’ve always been able to find an answer to our issues. Even now, there is an answer, the Selection, and the Pilgrim Project. But it is only a partial solution, one that saves so very few and leaves the rest of us to our fate. This will break us eventually. Some have given up, and some are giving in to selfishness and mayhem. Cracks in our peoples’ psyche are beginning to show. Thus, the Home Guard has already unarmed every citizen. But we all know that it is not possible to unarm us all. As soon as the Guard stops caring after the Departure, chaos will ensue. I’m not sure if I want to be around for that.”

  “I didn’t see you as a quitter…”

  “Pragmatist more likely. I have lived with the End hanging over me for eighteen of my thirty-five cycles. Originally, I was in denial. I was young, and there was time. Time to find a solution to eliminate the End, or to become Selected. But as the cycles flew by, I became angry. There were those who were Selected and who had a new life to begin working on. The rest of us were to be left to meet our end. Whichever way we chose to, but the result was the same. The Council was trying to soften our fate as much as possible. The public residences, events, food, and work. But in the last few cycles, even they knew that there was little that they could actually do.”

  “Then I started to panic, as many did, frantic and self-destructive. And finally, resigned. Angry, but resigned to my fate. I do have dark thoughts about those that are going. Even though someone must make it. It just won’t be me.”

  “You are definitely more fun at parties,” she said.

  “Yes, the parties are to celebrate and to forget. The Selected Honoree gets to have hundreds of people toast to his good fortune. Most of them he probably does not know, but it helps assuage his guilt to bring a little happiness to the masses. While secretly, and less secretly lately, the guests toast to a hope of his or her painful and dramatic demise. The unworthy get invited to spectacular parties they could never have imagined in their normal lives. It provides a salve for all involved.”

  “The truth we all do not wish to hear,” she whispered.

  “A sign of the times.”

  “Well then, shall we go out and enjoy a risemeal and plan for this set’s Farewell?”

  “Do you have a Farewell that you want to attend?”

  “Tikt no! Hate them all, but easy enough to find one,” she laughed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ria popped above the horizon, but one couldn’t see it as the sky was low with clouds and mist. As it was the warm chonts of the cycle, the light came early. Narmer awoke to a buzzing in his head and a pounding that he felt in his guts. He noticed that the buzzing was coming from the p-tab that was underneath his pillow. The pounding was coming from the door to his residence. He checked the time, one chirp after the rise, fairly early, for him lately. And he noticed, ‘6’ rises until Departure. The buzzing was a vidcon request, Deides. He heard his name called between poundings at the door. He accepted the vidcon request.

  “Narmer!” she exclaimed, “Thank the Ancients that you are alright. I have to warn you; the Home Guard is coming to take you in for questioning. You must leave now and remain hidden until I send for you!”

  “Uh, good rise to you. I am now noticing that you are not here and that they are. And they are rather insistent that I let them in.”

  “Tikt! Tikt! Tikt! Say nothing. About anything. I will send someone for you. Narmer, do you understand?” she implored.

  “Easy enough, as I know nothing about anything at the moment.”

  “Citizen Narmer Yen-Stedt, you will open the door! Or we will gladly open it for you in thirty nauks. Resisting will be an added offense!” someone said rather too loudly for the current time of the ria. Actually, too loudly for any time of the ria.

  “Well, my dear Deides, it appears that I must attend the door.”

  “Remember, nothing about anything. Trust me!” she said, with more seriousness than he thought necessary. What did he have to fear?

  “Until I hear from you then…” he said with half a smile and closed the vidcon.

  “Fifteen nauks!” that same someone again, and again, rather loudly.

  Not enough time to get decent he supposed. He slipped out of bed, with much more agility than the prior rise. He grabbed some bedding, and draped it around his nude self and strode to the door as if to meet a friend. He thumbed the lock and tossed the door open as the someone said “Five.” rather loudly.

  He saw five men, in their Home Guard scarlet single piece uniforms with black boots, and the loud someone in mid bellow. “Fou---r!” He noticed that the loud Guardsmen’s face was a slightly less scarlet color than his uniform.

  “Citizen Narmer Yen-Stedt,” he loudly stated, “I am Team Leader Bea-Rader. You are to accompany us to Citizen’s Hall. Please do so willingly, and you won’t have any trouble. Please get dressed immediately, or we will take you with us, as is.”

  Narmer thought about this for a nauk. He wasn’t known for his stylish clothing, and he was a modest man normally. The thought of going mostly naked had its allure, as it would add to the non-normal situation. But common sense prevailed, so he turned and entered the sleeping chamber, grabbed some mostly clean utilitarian clothing and donned it as quickly as possible. As he was trying to pat his hair down into some semblance of order, he snatched his p-tab from the bed and returned to the main doorway.

  Team Leader Bea-Rader looked Narmer up and down, then turned to leave and led down the hallway to the lift. Narmer figured that he was to follow next and, so he did. The other four Guardsmen fell in behind.

  “And why are you escorting me to Citizen’s Hall on this dreary rise?” Narmer inquired.

  “Orders,” was the Team Leader’s terse response.

  “Orders from whom?”

  “You’ll be notified once we arrive and turn you over to the Investigators.”

  “Investigators? The Home Guard has nothing to do with the Investigators. Besides, the Investigators were disbanded, no need for them after the Departure.”

  “Orders,” the Team Leader said with finality.

  As they entered the lift, Narmer took the opportunity to look at the Guardsmen. He saw that they were older and more serious than the usual Guardsmen that he’d seen in public. There was no warm or kindness in them, but no animosity either. Just coolly professional.

  None of the Guardsmen looked at him directly, but Narmer noticed that they were covertly watching him. So, he thought that not letting his hands twitch like they wanted to, was probably the smart play at the moment, no sudden moves. As he was trying to control his newly found twitch, he thought back on what possibly could be the reason the Investigators, if they still existed, would want to question him.

  Nothing came to mind. The lift descended the thirty-two levels to the ground level, in silence. Then the doors opened, and the Team Leader led the way through to the commons area and then out the main polypane doors, and outside. He came to a halt next to a gr
ound car. A rather nice one, big enough for eight or so people.

  “Get in the middle row and be quiet. It is a short trip,” commanded the Team Leader.

  Now, Narmer wasn’t trying to be difficult, but the middle row of a four-row car was row two? Three? He looked at the Team Leader with one eyebrow arched.

  “You pick, because if I do, you won’t like it,” said the Team Leader with a hint of menace.

  Narmer chose the second row and seated himself on the bench seat. The other Guardsmen entered behind him, and the Team Leader took the command seat in front, while a Guardsmen acted as driver. The ground car hummed slightly as the energizers were enabled and the car moved smoothly towards the main thoroughfare.

  Narmer looked out the polypanes. The clouds still clung low in the sky, and this mist was about to turn into rain. He saw few people about, as a fair number had attended various Farewells the prior set. Some looked rather worn, reminding him of a Farewell two sets ago now. He understood that look. But he thought about the Farewell that he had attended with Deides the prior set. It was a tame affair; the Honoree was a well-known pious Speaker to the Ancients. Narmer had spent his time being introduced to people he didn’t know then and didn’t remember now. Deides knew them and was enjoying parading Narmer around and introducing him to them. Not a sprig of culg to be had, so he indulged Deides and tried to enjoy himself. He found that he actually was. It felt normal, almost like his old life, before the Discovery. He was able to block out the countdown and allow himself to be drawn into a small bit of the lives of other people, but nothing memorable. Except, there was one person that he remembered, a foppish, older fellow.

  Jegit Hus-Klost, he was a self-styled Gifted. He dressed and carried himself as being very refined and proper. One of those who had the End figured out. He and the other Gifted, those “gifted to see the truth,” would inherit the world of Kepteyn from the ones that would abandon her via the Departure. They believed that the End was a political fable created to manipulate the populace to develop the technology for seed ships to speed up the expansion into the realm of the void.