His classes were a ten to one ratio of boys to girls. It had always been like that. No one offered an explanation of exactly what the Selection was or why only the boys had to participate. They spoke in generalities, saying things like, "It has to be done," and, "Every boy goes through it." They'd pat his head and smile as if it was the most natural thing ever. If it was, then why did Timo scream like he did? Why did Timo, his strong, energetic, unflappable brother, howl so fiercely?
Eron walked out of the lunch room and went outside. Shades of orange and yellow permeated the rich red landscape, the vegetation taking most of its color from the red sun that warmed the planet. A few laths flew above. Eron remembered learning about the creatures in history class. They were similar to birds and they could also swim for extended periods of time. The laths danced in the air, circling and darting around each other. Eron watched for a while, their sky theater a welcome distraction.
"You gonna stare at those things all day?"
Eron cringed. It was Bello. Bello was the same belligerent, loud-mouthed hulk of a boy he'd been in grade school that still got his kicks by picking on Eron. Bello was chosen for the second Selection as well. "Hi, Bello," Eron said. Timo had taught him to stand up for himself and treat Bello like everyone else.
Timo.
The screams.
Eron's mind drifted again.
"Why are you out here? Is it so I can kick your ass and no one will see it?" Bello said. Eron clenched his fists, ready for what came next.
"I'm out here because I want to, Bello. Shouldn't you be in class? You aren't smart enough to skip a lesson."
That set Bello off. He lunged at Eron, and Eron dodged his attack. Bello was huge, but Eron anticipated his moves. The two of them had tangled before. Bello fell to the ground. He leapt up, orange dirt covering his face and shirt.
"You'll pay for that, Eron!" Bello said. He feinted left and struck right, catching Eron square on the chin. A dull, heavy pain radiated across Eron's face. Bello didn't wait for Eron to strike back and punched him in the stomach. Eron tried to block the blows, and Bello punched him in the face again and again, staggering the boy, before Eron's fist could make contact. Bello held his hand to his face, checking for blood. Eron seized the moment and hit Bello several times in the stomach, though each shot was absorbed by the larger boy's girth. Bello smiled.
"That's all you got? I always knew you were a wuss. Your brother had to fight your battles for you. Where's he now? I hear he got killed in the Selection. Serves him right. Your family has always been a bunch of cowards."
Eron's face flushed a shade of red deeper than the trees surrounding them. Spittle flew from his mouth. "Shut up, Bello! Timo was not a coward and he's not dead!"
Bello laughed. Eron lunged at the boy, slamming into him, but he didn't budge. Bello wrapped his huge arms around him and squeezed tight until Eron could barely breathe before he let go. When Eron bent over trying to catch his breath, Bello punched him in the face. "This," he said striking Eron, "is for being a coward and being the son of a coward and the brother of a coward." He struck Eron in the face over and over.
His will broken, Eron stopped fighting back. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with his blood.
"That's it! Cry, you little wuss. Cowards always cry," Bello said. He punched Eron one last time in the face and stopped. "I gotta stop wasting my time on cowards like you," he said and stomped away, leaving Eron hunched over, crying and bleeding.
When Connor noticed Eron wasn't in their next class, he said something to his teacher. A janitor found Eron outside, lying on the ground, curled in a ball. He was covered in sweat and orange dirt. Blood streaked down his grime-caked face like the red rivers that wound through Anastasia. After cleaning Eron up without getting out of him who'd beaten him so badly, the janitor walked him home. His mother opened the door, shock visible on her face. She left him alone that evening, sensing he needed space.
CHAPTER 4
Eron stayed home from school the rest of the week, building bridges and towers out of things in his room. He didn't feel like he'd miss much anyway. School days were only five Earth hours long, as dictated by the shorter daylight hours on Anastasia. Early settlers tried to mimic the twenty-four-hour, three-hundred and sixty-five day calendar of Earth, though they altered it soon after to accommodate Anastasia's faster rotation. February and September were the first months to be omitted; then eleven and twelve o'clock followed. Months were later renamed in defiance of the planet that neglected them.
A light knock on the door broke the silence of his room. "Son, don't you think you should get out of bed? Maybe go hiking or something? It's such a beautiful day out." Erin's mom waited for his answer. She held her hand to the door, hesitated, then left.
He ignored her and continued building a tower with his books, the largest ones on the bottom, tapering towards the top. One day he hoped to become an engineer and build marvels to rival those of Earth. If only he didn't have to take stupid classes like history, he'd have good enough grades to enter engineering school. If nothing changed, he was on track to join the agricultural branch of service, working in massive greenhouses growing food safe from the harsh Anastasian environment.
If he survived the Selection.
Eron spent the rest of the day in his room, daydreaming of what might be. He imagined creating a communications system and using it to contact his dad. He tried desperately to remember his dad's face, but the image wouldn't crystalize.
Soon after, he fell asleep on his soft bed, hiding under a hortath hair blanket. He'd heard the older settlers say it was a material so fine it rivaled rabbit fur, whatever that was. The past expressions didn't mean much to Eron. They were holdovers from a time long gone.
When he woke, he rubbed crust from the corner of his eye. Anastasia's fine dirt permeated everything. Even with lush red forests and deep orange grasses holding tight to the soil, it was everywhere. Their in-home filter caught most of it, but now and then it got clogged and the dust infiltrated through every tiny crack.
Hunger forced him out of despair. Eron left his room in search of a snack. It was about five in the afternoon; the sun had already started dipping towards the surface and the house was strangely quiet. It was just him and his mom at home now. He was used to things being quieter than when his brother and sister lived there, but somehow it felt even more so now. The hum of the filtration system was the only sound and it seemed particularly loud.
"Mom?" he called out. She should've been home. "Mom?" he said again. He ran from the living room to her bedroom, then to his brother and sister's former bedrooms. The house was empty.
Rubbing his temple, Eron attempted to reorder his days. Was it Tuesday or Saturday? He couldn't tell. He'd been in his room so long, he’d lost track. Still, his mom should've been there.
The kitchen was clean; not a single dirty dish in the sink. No pots and pans on the stove. It was as though she'd never been there, and he knew that wasn't true. Maybe she went out. He hunted around for the note she surely would've left. After searching the whole house, he gave up.His stomach rumbled. He fixed a dish of fruit. The small, sweet red goibing berries were his favorite and the yellow farfell fruit's crunchy texture complimented them perfectly.
When he sat at the kitchen table, he spotted the note on the floor. How had he missed it? He picked it up and turned it over.
"Eron, I went out with Janyce. Be back soon."
Janyce was nice enough. Usually, his mom would go to her house to play cards or gossip about the latest happenings in the colony. Lately, they were stuck on a particularly spicy bit of news about Connor's mom. It was something Eron tried to ignore. Whatever it was, he didn't want to know.
With the mystery solved and his stomach full, Eron cleaned up the kitchen and went outside. The red sun had almost fallen out of view and only the last bright remnants illuminated the purplish sky. Eron hadn't planned to go far; just outside to enjoy fresh air.
H
e walked around his neighborhood of dome-shaped homes built out of native clay. They were all dark red, and each one of them looked the same as the one next door. The houses were laid out in a grid pattern with roads large enough to accommodate a military transport vehicle. Eron knew of cars from Earth's history, but other than military transports, he'd never seen one.
When Eron turned the corner, he almost collided with a pack of dire craates. They were one of the first creatures humans encountered when they landed on Anastasia. About one meter long and half that tall, their small bodies were covered in striped fur that varied drastically from a dull black and white to a bright blue and green. They were often easy to spot because they didn't blend in at all with the surrounding environment. No one understood why they had no natural camouflage, but fortunately they did. They were aggressive, especially in packs.
Eron stumbled and froze. The craates growled and hissed, baring their long yellow fangs. He took in the sharp talons they used to hold down live prey as they tore it to shreds while devouring it. Often, they left a trail of bloody carcasses behind. They preferred the wilderness and rarely entered the settlement. They were the dominant species on planet until humans appeared, and they did not get along well with their intruders.
Backing away slowly, Eron kept his eyes fixed on the craates. There were eight of them, enough to rip him to shreds and leave an unidentifiable pile of bloody bones. Each step he took backwards was deliberate. He raised and lowered each foot slowly so not to startle any of them. They growled, saliva dripping from their menacing fangs. He backed away about five meters when he turned and ran.
That was a mistake.
The pack of craates bolted after him; the howling, snarling beasts soon closing the gap. Running as fast as he could, Eron barely kept distance between himself and the lead craates. He could feel their hot, rancid breath on the back of his legs. They snapped at him, nearly ripping his flesh. Eron slowed. He'd never been physically active, and the long time spent sulking in his room didn't help. He had to find someplace to hide before they caught him.
Most houses were closed up for the night. He wasn't too far from home and decided to run for it. Hoping for the best, Eron broke into a sprint. The craates nipped at him. One tore his pants and almost brought him down. He tripped, but righted himself and ran faster. His small dome house was in sight. Bolstered by the thought of safety, he sprinted faster the last few blocks. His lungs burned. His legs tightened. Every muscle in his body threatened to turn on him, screaming in agony at their abuse.
Then he saw his mom. She was near the door, ready to open it.
"Mom!" Eron yelled. She turned toward him. The waning light made it hard to make out her features, but he thought she looked at him. "Mom, open the door! Now! Craates!" he yelled, exhausting his lungs.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but then stopped. It was either yell or run. He chose to keep running.
One of the craates broke from the pack, rocketing towards his mother. "Mom!" Eron's warning was too late. The craate was on her. Growing darkness made it hard to see, but he knew the craate was attacking. Eron ran towards her, the rest of the pack chasing close behind.
As he neared her, Eron heard growling and snarling. The snap of jaws mauling his mother sickened him. His mother sobbed and tried to beat the beast off to no avail. It grabbed hold of her leg and twisted. Eron lunged, knocking it off her. He sent it flying, but it had ripped a chunk of her flesh in the process. It landed on its side, yelping, then sprung at Eron. Steadying himself, Eron dodged its first attack before the rest of the pack jumped on his back, knocking him down.
Snapping jaws threatened his neck, hot saliva splashing over him. He covered his head with his arms, fangs tearing viciously into his flesh as they attacked him. His mother lurched toward them, her arms swinging like pendulums. The beasts were unaffected.
"Get off him!" a voice yelled. Howls and yelps sounded in the dark. One by one, craates were ripped off. Snarls turned to whimpers.
"Get out of here, you stupid animals!" the voice said. The ravenous craates retreated.
"I told you your family was weak. I won't let anyone or anything else get you. That's for me to do," the voice said. It was Bello. Eron's arms burned from the attack. His back felt sticky.
"Thanks, Bello," he said in a shaky voice.
Craates.
And Bello.
It was too much to process.
"Where's my mom?" he asked. Bello pointed to a dark figure on the ground. Eron dragged himself to her and was relieved to find she was still breathing.
"Next time, don't be so stupid. Or maybe learn to fight. You're gonna need to know how before the Selection, 'cause I'm coming for you as soon as it starts," Bello said. He stomped the ground, feinting an attack, then marched off. Eron watched Bello go, feeling an odd combination of relief and anger at him.
He tended to his mother lying on the ground. Her breathing was shallow. A nasty wound ran up her leg. Eron wrapped it in his shirt to stop the bleeding.
"Come on, mom, let's get inside." She didn't reply. Eron helped her stumble into the house.
All Eron could think of was Bello. And the Selection.
And Timo.
Brave Timo screaming at the Selection.
Could he handle it? All Eron knew was that he'd better be prepared, because there was no way out.
CHAPTER 5
After the attack, Eron spent several days in agony, burning pain emanating from the wound to the surrounding flesh. This was the major side effect of a craate bite, and humans had yet to create an antidote. The only thing they could do was to let it burn itself out. Everything they knew about pain suppression didn't help with a craate bite.
Eventually, the pain subsided and Eron could think straight. With his grades getting worse, he couldn't miss any more school. Bello left him alone, but being near him made Eron anxious. The coming Selection loomed like the tidally-locked moon. Every night, it reappeared, bright and pink in the black sky. Each day, the Selection felt the same way; always there and inescapable.
Eron's mom didn't complain about her craate bites. She limped but acted as though nothing was wrong. Eron didn't bring it up unless she did.
Considering Bello's words from that night, Eron worried even more about the Selection. He asked around, but no one would indulge him with information about what the Selection really was. The few remaining men in the colony were tightlipped when he approached them. None of the women had anything to say, other than, "that's just how it is."
At school, he approached one of his teachers, Mrs. Stephenson, after class. He enjoyed her biology class, though his grade didn't reflect it.
"Mrs. Stephenson, can I ask you a question?" Eron said. The classroom was empty except for the two of them.
"Sure, Eron, what is it?"
"It's about...the Selection. I know I have to take part, but why? What is it? Why are only the boys part of it?"
Her eyes narrowed as he spouted his questions. She sat back in her chair with her arms folded.
"Eron, it's just something you have to do. It's always been that way."
"I know. Everyone tells me that. But there's got to be more to it. I don't even know what it is!" he said.
"How can you say that? You've been taught about it since you were young. I know you have. How old are you?"
"Seventeen Earth years."
"Seventeen? Then your time is approaching. Are you ready?"
"Ready? For what? What's gonna happen? No one says anything. I asked you because I thought you would tell me the truth. My mom won't tell me. My brother went through it already, but--" The screams were back in his head.
Timo, poor Timo.
"Timo, right?" she said. He nodded.
"He was a good student. Always at the top of the class. He studied a lot. You might want to do the same. It will certainly help you during the Selection."
"It didn't help Timo," he muttered. Mrs. Step
henson closed her eyes and bowed her head.
"I'm sorry, Eron. I didn't mean to hurt you." She looked at him and Eron thought he saw her eyes glisten. "Did I ever tell you about my son? His name was--I mean is--Nicholas. Nick was an average student. He loved to be outside. He was fascinated by plants and animals and learned everything he could about them. Actually, I'm pretty sure he knew more about nature than I do, and I'm a teacher! When he turned eighteen, he, too, had to go through the Selection."
Eron hung on every word.
"Nick went out with the rest of the boys at the Selection. It broke my heart to know I may never see my son again. Mothers are taught to expect it; taught that one day, it will happen. Watching him leave crushed me. My only consolation is the hope that his knowledge of nature served him well and he made it through."
This was more information than Eron had ever heard.
"You hope? You mean you don't know?"
Mrs. Stephenson shook her head. "No, I don't. That's another part of it. Your mother will also have to give you up. It's the most painful thing a mother must do, but it's how it is. It's an inevitable consequence of our being here. It's the price we must pay."
Eron's mouth hung open. Her words circled in his mind, drowning out everything else.
"Oh, I've said enough. You'll be fine. We all must face the Selection, though each of us in a different way. Remember that. You aren't alone. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have tests to grade." She waved him towards the door and he paused.
"Eron, you're not going through this by yourself. There are others. Look after each other."
Eron hesitated, wanting to know more, but Mrs. Stephenson had already turned to her papers.
No one had ever spoken so openly to him about the Selection; not that he remembered, at least. As a young boy, he was only told it was something he'd have to face later and nothing more. He figured the information was vague on purpose, but now he felt it was almost as if no one knew any details about it. Frustrated, he determined to find out on his own. Somehow.
The Selection Page 2