Children of Gravity

by E. R. Jess

  “Omo, we want to help you find what you're looking for. But first, we have to teach you some things. We have to teach you to separate from the people around you, to realize that, as members of the Solar Temple, we are not mere men,” Meder said, and pulled a pistol from his waistband. He led Omo to the shack. Kros opened the door.

  A half-dozen men and women gathered together in the rusty shack. They had dirt-smeared faces and ratty clothes. Omo looked at them and they shielded their eyes, some weeping, some hyperventilating and begging for release. Omo looked at Meder.

  “They're outcasts. They want to burn the Free City down around us. They are out only for themselves,” Meder said, “We have to teach you to survive. It's you or them. You know how little people of the wastes care for others. They would kill you for nothing. We have to cleanse the Free City of them. It's a matter of survival.”

  Omo looked at the people huddled in the shack, then looked at his rifle. He didn't feel anything, no real fear or worry. He knew what to do.

  Meder continued, “I'm sorry to have to put you through this, but we have to teach you this lesson. You or them.”

  Omo nodded slowly. He hefted the rifle to his shoulder and leveled it at the souls through the shack door. He winced as his frail fingers pulled the heavy trigger back, filling the shack with bullets and light. He grit his teeth as the sound blasted his ears. Omo held on to the rifle as hard as he could, leaned in and kept his footing as the gun fought to fly out of his hands. When the gun stopped with a clacking sound, Omo looked down the sight and saw the six people crumpled up together.

  Meder put his pistol down and helped the rifle out of Omo's hand. He didn't say anything. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and walked away with a thin smile. Kros looked inside then closed the shack door, patting Omo's arm on his way to leave the roof.

  Omo stared at the closed door. He stood there, expressionless, breathing easy. Meder didn't need to convince him. He would have done it anyway. Omo had finally found people he could talk with, people that could understand him. Omo walked over to the roof's edge and looked into the clustered mass of the City-State on the horizon, rubbing his now sore hands and shoulder. He wondered where his things were, his treasures from the wastes. He hoped they were okay

  Chapter 4: Citizen Zero

  Makz and Jenna walked side by side down a drainway, a concrete riverbed flowing from the mouth of the fringes to the deep wastes. A rain of warm soot blanketed pockmarked and stained drainway walls, turning from a soft curve to a dramatic slope into the waste water. The river started as a trickle from the foot of the mountainous City-State and was a raging torrent by the time it drained into flood plains to the west. Places that used to be living, breathing towns before UPC was born. Drainways carried storm water through the Free City, expanding and contracting and evolving much like real rivers. Some city streets turned into tributaries, carrying the ancient pavement off into gray current, leaving sidewalks as river banks. As the Earth lazily reclaimed the Free City, Makz and Jenna paced along in toe-deep water at the edge of the river and kept each other at arm's length.

  Their uneasy alliance was calm enough; each concentrating on the path ahead. They had decided to forge into the old residential areas populated with once decadent condominiums and tall apartments. They had high concentrations of people in makeshift communities. The nebulous region had a relative stability, akin to that of the fringes. Though there was no government or form of leadership, there was a small guard force and even a volunteer fire department. It was the best place to start gathering information. The journey there would take Jenna and Makz through the throat of the Free City, a tunnel system made for mag-hov trains. Though circuitous, the route had few hindrances, as opposed to the surface streets.

  Jenna approached a tunnel entrance and fought off apprehension. “I'm not sure about this,” she said as the river flowed by her feet.

  Makz shrugged and snorted. “Your idea,” he stated, “And I don't feel like breathing ash for a week. It's getting bad out. Besides, your shit-hole town will look like paradise after this sewer.”

  “Never been this far. Never been underground either,” she said, looking around for some courage. She inhaled slowly and checked her handheld for nothing. She tightened her grip around the overweight satchel bearing down on her shoulder. She let loose an awkward laugh and walked into the dark.

  Makz pursed his lips, looked around, looked behind him, and walked into the tunnel with his right hand hanging loose; kept at the ready to pull his gun.

  They stopped short in the subway tunnel and closed their eyes. Makz let the dark ease the minimal light into his eyes slowly, revealing a dank expanse stretching before him. Pale amber light fell down from grates in the ceiling, giving the tunnel a warm glow. He rubbed his eyes and squinted into the distance. “We should be fine without flashlights,” He said.

  Jenna kept her eyes closed. She let the sounds of the underground bounce around in her ears for a while. She learned them. She acclimated herself to the random echoes and dripping water staccato. She opened her eyes and the view took her breath. She was expecting a simple walkway to the main train lines or simply a dead end, but found a grand arched structure boring into the Earth. The sounds were misleading and claustrophobic. She was relieved and frightened all at once.

  “It's a bit imposing, isn't it?” Makz asked honestly, not in his usual sarcastic tone.

  Jenna grit her teeth and started walking. “It is at that,” she said to the air.

  Makz tightened his bootlaces and followed after her. “This person we're looking for, your sister, what made her leave the City-State?” Makz asked.

  “Couldn't tell you.”

  Makz scratched his head, “And how did she beat the conforming?”

  Jenna shook her head, “I can't really talk about it, I don't have all the facts.”

  Makz clicked his tongue, “Okay. Can you tell me why she was conformed and you weren't?”

  Jenna slowed her pace a little, gathering her thoughts. “No. I mean, I can tell you that she was moved from the Free City at a young age and raised in the City-State with a family higher up the chain. All she knew was programmed into her. She was raised into the system.”

  “And you?” Makz queried.

  “I wasn't.”

  Makz put his eyes back on the tunnel before them, giving up getting information from her for that moment. And the tunnel creaked and moaned under the weight of the ruins above them.

  Walking Backwards

  Eight, Alessa and Kagan were scratching maps in the dirt. They needed to backtrack a dozen kilometers to get to the meeting place for the planning of the medical supply raid at Port Brunswick, a once prosperous village on an artificial lake. The group needed to head east and north, and do so swiftly.

  Alessa put her hand in the dirt. “We could leave everyone here and some of us could head there later.”

  Kagan shook his head, “That is not happening. We can't split up.”

  Eight chimed in, “I don't like either option. We should keep moving on. We should ignore this meeting and this raid. I don't just look out for myself anymore. Vorn's my friend, but I'm not what I used to be.”

  Kagan drew an arc in the sand to the east and spoke quietly, “None of us are.”

  Alessa surveyed the pacifist group from a distance, “No one here is fighting. We should just see if we can help. A lot of people could be hurt. I wouldn't feel right running away while the rest of the wasteland is fighting for us all.”

  Eight spat, “We're not actually considering this, are we? Supporting a raid, whether it's with a gun in hand or with bandages is still fighting. This isn't a difficult moral issue, it's the foundation of what we believe.”

  “Exactly, we use non-violence as a matter of principle hoping others will take up our cause. If we work with the people of the wastes, some of them will see that our way has merit,” Alessa said calmly.

  Kagan looked into the rectangle of dirt that marked their destin
ation. He studied it for a long while, lost in its shape, in the clumps of dirt and the metal scraps mixed in. He watched the square in the dirt and could conjure up in his mind what the building looked like, what the layout of its town might look like. A wave of chills flew down his body, but he did not react. He spoke up after he noticed the other two looking at him, “I don't want any of this,” he sighed with some effort, “I want some clean water. I want to grow fresh vegetables,” Kagan tore his eyes away from the map, “But we were born in the wrong time for that. Eight, we are denizens of the Free City. We are the afterbirth of civilization. And we a part of a larger whole. We have to go to this meeting and let our voices be heard.”

  Eight inhaled deeply, “If it must be, then this is it. If we get there and I find that I'm loading rifles for some ruster to loot supplies from UPC, then it'll be the last thing I do with the two of you,” And he got up and left peaceably, not storming off.

  Alessa and Kagan were left there, not sure what to say. Alessa spoke anyway, “We don't have to go. Maybe this city doesn't want us.”

  Kagan rubbed her arm and whispered, “Well, they'll have to put up with us just a bit longer.”

  The group headed northeast. It was a pleasant enough journey. There were flat streets to walk on, a few traders along the way. A village called Noble was on their path, a small community of people clustered together making the best out of what they had. Kagan and Alessa passed a roadside garden, and she raised an eyebrow to Kagan.

  “Like that?” She prodded and smiled.

  Kagan rubbed his jaw, “Yeah, something like that.”

  Alessa tugged at his arm and they kept moving. They resupplied, trading with valuables that they had scavenged from their travels. A few villagers were curious about their group and asked a few questions. The pacifists didn't proselytize, and didn't draw attention to their philosophy, but they also didn't shy from promoting peace. One thing they tried not to do was draw attention to themselves; an unarmed group in the wastes was a good target. An old-timer came up and winked at Sam, who blushed in return. Are you raiders come to burn our homes to the ground? The man asked with awkward humor. Sam laughed.

  Their feet were tired and a community leader of sorts from Noble named Malek offered them a place to stay for the night, humble lodgings in a warehouse. Kagan accepted warily, not a person to trust or take help from strangers.

  Alessa nudged Kagan, “Should we call Eight up here to read their memories? Dangerous folk, to be sure.”

  Kagan let a smile slip, “Yes, I know, I'll loosen up. But you never know out here, desperate people can do almost anything.”

  “These people are doing alright for themselves,” Alessa said, “I'm impressed.”

  Kagan looked around, the old financial district that the villagers resided in was not too badly organized. Food and supply stores, volunteer guards and lookouts, all along a wasteland trade route. It was almost enough to make Kagan rethink their whole plan to leave the city. But he had seen it before. He'd come across many villages like Noble, had seen many homes carved into the ruins. They never lasted. Something always tore down the dream. Disease, raiders, or UPC. Kagan nodded politely to Alessa, “It's always good to see what people can do when they work together.”

  Alessa let the worry behind Kagan's eyes stay there; she preferred to remain blissfully unaware of what was troubling him.

  The pacifists were huddled into the warehouse. It was humid and warm, more so with the number of people in the confined space. It felt safe. Dernen and Malek stayed up discussing the events of the wastes. Dernen was careful not to mention anything about the meeting or about who they were. Malek was still curious. It was the first group of people he had seen go through Noble without guns or some kind of protection. Dernen had an answer for everything. He told Malek that they were migrating to a village for better lives. That they were tougher than they looked and had seen their share of trouble. All true, really.

  Malek, not too many years younger than Dernen, tried to broach a tough subject. He told Dernen, “We might not be able to make it. We simply can't sustain our numbers. Noble may seem like it's in good shape, but it really isn't. Many of us are sick, and still more are out of hope. It's hard to go on without that.”

  Dernen smiled knowingly. “We are a varied people, out in the waste, but we have much in common. If there's anything we can do, we will try,” Dernen said.

  Malek looked at him with hollow eyes. “We have another path. And if you find yourself lost, I know someone who can help,” Noble's leader said as he wrote down a number in the dirt. “Only if there is no other choice, you understand?”

  Dernen recorded the number mentally. “Another path?”

  Malek nodded once and got up and left.

  Dernen swallowed his breath and sighed into the dirt. He wiped the number clean from the floor and slumped back. Another path. He thought sternly to himself. He sifted through his pockets and found a tattered pamphlet. He began reading it.

  Kagan slept very well that night. No dreams. The quiet white noise of wind buzzing through the rafters helped him get some much-needed rest. The group got up, filled their stomachs with the newly traded food, and started on their way. Alessa and Sam were joking about something to themselves, Eight joined in, a joke evidently aimed at Kagan. Kagan shook his head and packed his things. Someone had drawn a map on the concrete floor of the warehouse with a burned stick, a map of their route. He looked at their destination on the floor, a bit more than a day away. He got that uneasy feeling back when he saw the building they were to meet in. His instincts told him to turn the whole group around and head west. To forget the whole thing. But his reason, his intellect, it asked him to keep moving, to ignore his suspicions.

  Kagan smudged the building map from the floor. He took the youngest child in the group, Nanny, by the hand and helped her out of the building. He lifted Nanny into the air and onto one of the group's supply carts. She settled in among the now-full wagon and put her arms over the side, shouting thank you to Kagan, who waved back.

  “We're a day out. When we get there, stay at least a block west. And don't forget to set up the proximity alarms.” Kagan told Alessa as he walked by her.

  Alessa rolled her eyes, “I know, we know,” They had planned for Alessa to keep the group away from the meeting and keep them safe, it was a compromise she had agreed to without thinking it through. “I know, women and children stay behind,” she said mockingly.

  Little Nanny, from the cart, clapped and enthusiastically said, “Women and children!”

  Alessa pointed at her. “Don't you start,” she said in funny scolding tone.

  Kagan stood on the side of the road, adjusted his implanted air filter, and surveyed the group as everyone passed. He checked their gaits, making sure no one was limping and not saying anything about it. He looked at their shoes to see if they were holding up, checked to see if any of them seemed ill. They were fine, and in fairly high spirits. They nodded at him as they passed. They waved and said good morning. He let them all pass by as he thanked Malek one last time. Malek handed Kagan a bottle of homemade alcohol. Kagan smiled and laughed.

  Malek said, “You're a good man, you watch over your people well. Now watch over yourself.”

  Kagan shook his hand and jogged off to meet the group, looked back occasionally, saying silent goodbye to Noble.

  The Best Hiding Places Are All Taken

  Makz and Jenna traversed along a web of interconnecting tunnels, some dipping down into waist-deep rain water, others immersed in a thick darkness. Their feet were tired from stepping precariously. They stopped to rest at a drain pipe that rained pink light from the surface. They ate a few bites and drank some water that Jenna filtered through a device she'd carried with her.

  “What else did you bring? One of those ugly lamps from your flat?” Makz asked in good humor toward her heavy backpack.

  “Since all you brought was a gun and smile, I assumed we'd need a few things. And stay out of my sh
it,” Jenna said.

  Makz stretched as he leaned against the curved wall. “Sure,” He said as he rested his eyes, “So, boss, how do we find these vector cameras?”

  Jenna pulled herself up to sit in the drain pipe. “Well, when we get to a fairly intact part of the city, I'll use the Outernet to look for signs of power. There are bound to be active cameras around. When we find one, I'll scan its logs to see if she had passed by it. If not I'll tag it and we'll move on to another. If she did, then we'll track it and look for more in the area to start a trail.”

  Makz opened one eye and spoke tiredly, “And this will take how many decades?”

  “Not too many. Outernet cameras have a huge field of vision. Even if she didn't pass by one, that camera might have communicated with one that she did stroll by,” Jenna said, “And to answer your next question, no, I can't just walk around the Outernet looking for the right camera, the data that the cameras capture goes straight into the mainframe and loses all its individual identity. Don't ask me why they made them that way. Probably because they never expected a city half the size of America to fall into ruin.”

  Makz nodded in understanding. “And what if she's got a bandaid covering her bar code?” Makz asked.

  Jenna paused, looking at him with a blank expression, “Then I guess you'll have to find her your way.”

  Makz savored that thought and stated proudly, “My way, I knew you brought me along for more than my smile. I'm flattered.”

  Jenna sat back. “Your way and I don't care what it takes. As long it doesn't rain hell on us.”

  “Your dime,” Makz said. He checked his gun, popped the clip and slammed it back in, startling Jenna. He ran his thumb along the sight and put it back in its holster. He spoke up after letting the silence thicken, “Got a score to settle? Bad blood in the family, huh?”