Orion Colony

by J. N. Chaney

  “That would be my guess,” I said, going over to the doorless entrance and into the med station. The yard was in chaos. Mechanics and workers ran all around, looking for safety as the suits continued firing at the truck. More of them piled into the yard as they arrived from the station down the road.

  My stomach soured as I realized the reason why this truck had come. The Disciples were the most outspoken group against the colony missions. They hated the Eternals and refused to go along with the colonization plan. As they’d said, this planet belonged to the Transients, not the mutated and disfigured Eternals, who, in the Disciples eyes, were no longer human.

  We had multiple key sections of the colony ship in our yard, which made us a target. I don’t think there was a doubt in anyone’s mind that the truck carried a payload of explosives. The Disciples had threatened as much, time and time again.

  This wasn’t my fight, though. I was only here to do a job, but that truck had almost killed me, so I couldn’t help but take all this a little personally.

  “Screw it,” I muttered, launching myself to my feet and heading for the torn doorway.

  “Wait!” Doctor Allbright screamed behind me. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I shouted back, unable to afford the time to give her a decent answer.

  I sprinted down the yard, but the truck was going way too fast. The suits were peppering the area with red blaster fire as they tried to bring it down before it reached one of the larger construction centers. One lucky suit got a shot off, blowing out the truck’s front right tire.

  The vehicle careened off course from its beeline for the ship. For a second it seemed like all would be saved. Then the runaway truck slammed into the lunch tent, set up for the contingent of mechanics that worked around the clock on The Orion. Right now, it was smack dab in the middle of two lunch breaks.

  My lungs burned as I ran toward the nightmare unfolding in front of me. Mechanics raced out of the tent seeing what was about to happen, but they were too late.

  The truck detonated in a terrible display of heat and force.

  A wave of intense pressure slammed against my body even though I was still a good Sixty meters from the point of impact. It lifted my feet and hurled me through the air a short distance away.

  I crashed violently into the hard ground, the wind knocked out of me. A cut opened on the left side of my face, and the familiar metallic tang of blood filled my mouth.

  I rolled onto my back and lay on the ground, trying to focus on where I was and how I’d gotten here. I could barely breathe, see, or think.

  For a moment, the clouded sky opened enough for the sun to beam down on me. The yellow light hit me in the face, but I couldn’t feel the warmth at all. I closed my eyes, trying to focus. A second later, the clouds rolled back in, killing the light.

  The screams of the dying and wounded finally broke my temporary stupor. I pushed myself to a sitting position, wincing at the pain. “Jesus,” I said, holding my head as I finally sat up.

  Nothing felt broken, but then again, I could barely feel anything.

  “Mr. Slade!?” Doctor Allbright rushed to my side, sticking her thumb on my eyelid and forcing it open. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, then pointed to the destruction in front of us. “I’m fine. Help them.”

  Doctor Allbright gave me a quick nod and raced toward the demolished section of the yard. It really wasn’t much of anything now. Nothing of the massive white tent remained; not the steel rods that kept it in place or the anchors that ensured it withheld the winter winds when they came.

  Large pieces of the truck were still smoldering in the wreckage, while countless bodies lay strewn across the gravel. Several of the mechanics and engineers moaned in pain as others remained still.

  “What—what happened?” Ricky asked, out of breath. He’d arrived at my side from our workstation, a decent walk from here. “Are we—are we under attack?”

  “I think the attacking part already happened,” I said, looking at him. I was grateful he wasn’t one of the ones in the tent. He helped me to my feet and I dusted my clothes off. “We should help.”

  Ricky nodded furiously.

  We rushed forward, then abruptly skidded to a halt. A team of suits was desperately trying to lift a portion of the still smoldering truck off one of the mechanics. The man’s left leg was pinned under what looked like the rear axle of the truck, and sheer panic was etched in the young man’s face.

  Ricky and I took it upon ourselves to go to his side.

  “Hey—hey,” Ricky said softly, clenching the young man’s hand. “We got you—we got you. Hang in there.”

  “I-I can’t feel my leg. Please, help me,” the young man said.

  “It’s—it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get this off you, and then we will get you some medical help,” Ricky promised.

  “Come on, we can move it together, on three,” I said to the pair of suits straining against the axel. I placed my hands on the hot steel, ignoring the pain. I straightened my back and bent my knees, finding finger holds along the bottom. “One, two, three!”

  I threw everything I had into the act. Pulling from the memories that drove me forward every day. Each person had their own well of power they drew from when they were up against something physically demanding. I pulled from mine, as memories of everything I’d lost threw me into action.

  The hot steel under my fingertips budged, then moved a few centimeters.

  “Come on!” I raged at the suits struggling beside me. “Pull!”

  With a groan, the axle moved up and sideways, off the young mechanic's leg.

  I fell to the ground, panting. Sirens were already growing closer, promising more help to those who desperately needed it. The two suits next to me pulled out a medical case and began working on the young man’s leg.

  The next few hours passed in a haze of helping wherever I could. I held bandages in place, searched for survivors in the rubble, and gave my statement to someone named Officer Serol.

  By the time we finished, the sky had begun to darken. The emergency crew thanked us for our help and told us to go home. Stacy walked up to me, and we stood looking at the aftermath of the confirmed Disciple attack.

  “They’re saying the colony ship wasn’t the real target,” Stacy said, her eyes never leaving the carnage in front of us. “The ship needs a crew of over two hundred able-bodied mechanics and techs to man the craft when it launches in a few weeks. They’ll be shorthanded now.”

  She wasn’t asking a question exactly, but there was some uncertainty in her voice.

  “The Disciples preach to their cult about keeping human DNA pure and untainted,” I said, looking at her. “They hate the Eternals for what they’ve been able to accomplish. Now, the Eternals are giving the Transients a chance for a new beginning by creating these twelve colony ships. You’d think they’d welcome the chance to start over with other Transients. Other unaltered humans with pure DNA.”

  “Maybe the Disciples see anyone willing to aid the Eternals as traitors to their own kind,” she said, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know. Like you said, they’re a cult. They’re crazy.”

  “Guess so,” I said.

  “One thing’s for certain,” Stacy said, looking at me sideways. “The colony ships will need mechanics. I heard our ship will have two Eternals and a Cognitive manning the controls, with one hundred thousand transients headed for a new world. That’s quite the responsibility for whoever gets the job. I’ve heard you’re good at what you do, Dean. You might want to try applying for--”

  “Not interested,” I said, cutting her off. “I’m not kooky enough to travel through space in a metal ball to a distant planet I can’t come back from. I mean, come on. You’d have to be insane, right?”

  The words died on my lips as I saw the look on Stacy’s face. She was one of those people, and she’d just asked me to join her. What the hell could she be thinking? As bad as
this place was, why risk your life for an uncertainty?

  “I signed up a few months back when they were looking for volunteers,” she said, shaking her head. “I just knew I wanted to get away from all of this, and it seemed like the best option. The Eternals are doing us a favor. They realize there’s no way for the Transient class to move up anymore. No more opportunity in the world when the people at the top can’t die and refuse to retire. If they left things as they are, someone would eventually start a war. This is our only shot. It’s the only chance humanity has to avoid killing itself.”

  “Well, it ain’t for me,” I said, ignoring her words. “Besides, for as much as the Eternals are doing, maybe it’s out of guilt and not a sense of actually wanting to help. Maybe they realize what position they’ve put us in and this is just their way of getting rid of us—thinning out the Transient herd, so to speak.”

  “Either way, I’m going,” Stacy said, turning to leave. “You can stay here and work in a scrapyard your entire life, maybe get enough credits to pay for a few extra years of life, but you’ll still have the same job you have now. You’ll still be here, serving someone else.”

  “We’re all serving someone,” I told her.

  “Maybe so,” she said, beginning to walk away. “But I’d rather serve myself.”

  I watched her leave, choosing to stay silent. I had no interest in leaving this planet, especially with a couple of Eternals and a Cognitive leading the charge. I’d never interacted with a Cognitive up close before, but an artificial intelligence controlling my fate was something I wasn’t ready for.

  “You headed back to the apartments?” Ricky asked, sidling up next to me. He was soot-stained from the smoke. Weariness in his eyes suggested that, like me, he’d had enough for one day.

  “Yeah, I’ll walk with you,” I said as he and I began making our way from the yard.

  “You two!” Boss Creed’s familiar voice took me off guard. He stood in front of us at the broken gate. “Work tomorrow, same time. We aren’t going to give these terrorists the satisfaction of changing anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ricky said.

  I just nodded, wanting to get through this exchange as quickly as possible so I could go home and sleep. I didn’t know any of the crew who’d died today--not their names or their stories. I didn’t know if they preferred chocolate or vanilla, if they had families, or if they were single. Maybe that was better, maybe it wasn’t. I couldn’t think about it right now.

  We headed back up the street to where we lived, passing other Transients walking to and from their homes. There was a nervous chill in the air as everyone saw our smoke-stained faces and understood we’d been at ground zero.

  They gave us a wide berth, pretending not to stare when we made eye contact. Ricky and I traveled in silence, both of us lost to our own thoughts.

  A few blocks from where we lived, Ricky stopped me with a trembling hand on my arm. I looked at him, then followed his eyes.

  A group of men walked towards us.

  “Um, just let me do the talking,” Ricky said, swallowing hard. “I got this.”

  Chapter 5

  “Ricky!” The man leading the group opened his arms. He was average height, but wide like a wrestler. A bald head and a cheap suit gave him the stereotypical cheesy salesman look. Four other men hung behind him. I recognized one of them as the gang member belonging to the Warlords that had booked it out of the alley after I knocked out his friends.

  “You don’t call. You don’t write. How have you been?” the group leader continued.

  “Mr. Harold, I-I’m fine,” Ricky stuttered. “Listen, I have your money. I know I was late, but I swear I have it. D-don’t shoot me or anything. I’m going to reach into my pocket for the credits.”

  “Ricky, Ricky, Ricky,” Mr. Harold said as he moved forward and slung a meaty arm across Ricky’s shoulder. “You know your money’s no good with me. How far do we go back?”

  “What, really?” Ricky asked, looking at me confused.

  Something was very wrong. Between Mr. Harold eyeing me like I was a prized possession and the thug who’d witnessed me putting down two men in the alley, I couldn’t help but be on edge.

  “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?” Mr. Harold asked, looking at me with a wide grin. A gold tooth shined through his greasy lips. “We can all be chums now.”

  “Oh—well, this is...uh,” Ricky said, trying to warn me with his eyes and shaking his head.

  “The name’s Dean,” I said, already suspecting what was about to come next.

  “Dean, that’s a good, strong name,” Mr. Harold said, extending his right hand. His left arm was still draped around Ricky’s shoulder. “I don’t know too many Deans these days.”

  I accepted the offered hand, and his grip felt like a vice around my own. The calluses on his palm were evidence of a lifetime of lifting weights and fighting with his hands.

  “Say,” Mr. Herald said, looking at me with a tilted head. “Before that crazy beard of yours and the long hair, you wouldn’t have gone by a different name a few years back, would you? Maybe a title or a nickname?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I squeezed his hand back just as hard, and a warning sign exploded in my head. I was already doing the math. There were five of them, probably all armed. This wasn’t a fight I could win.

  “I like that about you, Dean,” Mr. Harold said, releasing my hand. He looked over at his group of men, specifically the one who’d been in the alley earlier that day. “You’re a good liar. See, one of my boys told me you KO’d two of my guys today. Now, don’t worry. I’m not out for vengeance or retaliation. He told me he thinks you’re a prizefighter that fell off the radar a few years ago. A real gladiator in the ring, he said.”

  Ricky’s eyes widened as Mr. Harold kept talking.

  “I think your man might be mistaken,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just a mechanic. Have been for a while now. Ask Ricky. He’s known me for years.”

  “Is that so?” Mr. Harold grinned, but didn’t bother looking at Ricky for verification. “Well, if you did happen to be a skilled fighter, I would have a use for someone like that. I could make them a generous offer that’d make that mechanic pay look like garbage.”

  I held Mr. Harold’s gaze, showing no reaction to his words.

  “And,” he continued with that stupid grin on his face, hugging Ricky a little too close. “I would overlook any debt that his acquaintances owed to me.”

  “I-I have your money,” Ricky squeaked again. “I have it here in my pocket.”

  “Oh, your money’s no good with me anymore, Rick,” Mr. Harold said. The grin on his face suddenly disappeared, along with any sign of friendliness, replaced by something far more dangerous.

  “But that’s only Dean,” Ricky said. “He’s not a boxer or a fighter or anything. He’s just--well, he’s just Dean. He doesn’t have any friends outside of me. Sorry, no offense, brother.”

  “None taken.” I waved the apology away.

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to see about that,” Mr. Harold said, pursing his lips and eyeing me again. “You see, despite all your words to the contrary, I know a killer when I see one. I’ve been around long enough to have gained a sixth sense about these things, and I’m never wrong. Not to worry, Dean. I’m a generous man. I’ll tell you what. You take a day to reconsider my offer. If you decline, I take out my anger and frustration on Ricky here. Sound fair?”

  “Do I get a vote in any of this?” Ricky asked.

  “Naw, Ricky,” Mr. Harold finally released him and motioned for his men to go. “Think about it, Dean. For your friend’s sake.” He smiled at me. “See you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t bother saying anything, since there really wasn’t much to say. I knew if he discovered who I was, things wouldn’t end well. My plan had always been to move on if I was recognized. Now because I had saved Stacy, I’d ruined everything.

  “Sorry—sorry,” Ricky said shakin
g his head. “I’ll figure this out. I’ll pay him back double. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Too many drugs have warped his imagination. I mean, come on. You, a famous fighter? Even the mid-listers get paid tons of credits and can have any woman they want. They live in penthouses, not work in the yard or become mechanics.”

  I chose to stay silent on the matter as we walked the rest of the way home. Ricky may have been my closest friend—hell, he was probably my only friend--but there were things from my past that I wasn’t willing to share with anyone.

  “I’ll get it all sorted,” Ricky reassured me as we stopped at the entrance to my apartment. “Don’t lose any sleep over it tonight. I’ll talk to Mr. Harold. He’s a reasonable man.”

  “Yeah, he strikes me as the reasonable type,” I said, sarcastically.

  “Good, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, Dean,” Ricky said, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay any attention to my remark.

  “See you tomorrow,” I answered, unlocking the outside gate to my complex and looking up at the peeling paint and bars over the windows. I let out a long sigh as I stepped inside, then shut the gate behind me.

  Making my way to the fourth floor, I passed kids playing in the hall, barking dogs, and open doors to other apartments where spouses argued about what to eat for dinner.

  My apartment wasn’t much of anything. I didn’t really need it to be. It was a one bedroom with a kitchen that opened on the far side to a bathroom. A regular old shithole if ever there was one.

  For a guy that tried to keep his head down, I was failing at it rather miserably. In a single day, I had stuck my neck out twice for someone else, only for the day to end with a job offer from a crime lord.

  My body ached from the exertion of the day, so I decided to turn in early. On my back in the dark room, my hand strayed to the medallion on my neck. I let it run through my fingers as memories washed over me again. Memories of my ex-wife. Memories of a better life.

  And I fell asleep like that, with the necklace still between my fingers, praying to forget.