Orion's Arm Universe Project
Reclamation by MacGregor
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Taro had spent most of the morning messaging his classmate Fatima, making plans for the event. After some discussion, the two decided they would join their friends Zupong and Kapoc in Recreation Bay Bravo for the festivities. Having explored every inch of the old Stanford torus, Taro had not worried about running into any delays on his intended route. However, this bustling crowd was unlike anything he had seen before. While making his way, a monotone female voice came over the communication system "Proclamation in 15 minutes." Excited but measured cheers rang out as a few people pumped their fists in anticipation. Welcome news to be sure, but Taro still had to find Fatima. After descending a ramp to a lower level, he blinked as an icon appeared in his right contact.
"Over here, blondie," the attached message played in his ear. Following the vision overlay, Taro soon spotted Fatima Akmal perched on top of a recycler at the edge of the hallway. Apologizing profusely to the stampeding pedestrians, Taro pushed his way over to her.
"We don't have a lot of time," she said, taking his hand and yanking him forward.
A few moments later, the pair disgorged with the rest of the traveling multitude into the rec-bay. While not the largest room on the station, Bravo was the only multi-deck mass congregation space left on the spinning orbital suitable for the occasion. Alpha, covered chiefly in water tanks and aquaculture, was a nonstarter, and Charlie, long ago subdivided into dwellings, was out of the question. It seemed as if every resident was packed into the elongated slightly concave space, anxiously waiting. The hexagonal display suspended in the middle of the room finished its countdown and a woman's face suddenly appeared. The well-known image of Krisna Nur Nnamdi elicited an ecstatic roar from the crowd. Her face indicated that, unlike the rumors and false starts of the past few years, the hoped-for day had finally arrived. As Nnamdi began her address, recounting the tribulations faced by their people since the first colonists arrived over five centuries before, Taro stammered into Fatima's ear "Where are they?" Fatima shrugged in reply, as the noise from the speech and the raucous assembly made verbal communication all but impossible. Scanning, Taro's contact quickly identified Kapoc and Zupong. In hindsight, they were hard to miss. Standing at two and a quarter meters, Kapoc was taller than most vecs in the room, and with Zupong's reddish-orange fur covered body standing on his woven composite shoulders, the duo stood out.
Fighting against the surging masses, Taro and Fatima eventually made their way over to where their comrades were waiting at the base of a latticed pillar. Zupong extended a callused foot in greeting to the young pair and Kapoc uttered a low octave salutation. Returning their gaze to the central screens, the four witnessed scenes streamed from other locations on and around Mars. Footage of smiling crews from distant Martian ships mixed with that of similarly beaming station dwellers. Next came a demonstration from a small unit of ground forces, posted in the Valles Marineris by the looks of it, discharging their weapons upwards in celebration. The deafening gunfire was exacerbated by the jubilant sounds of the clamoring assembly.
Nnamdi's projection reappeared. Lifting her hands, she miraculously managed to quiet the crowd to a dull roar. "While there are still those of our brothers and sisters who refuse to join us in safeguarding civilization, in our great reclamation of the Martian surface, make no mistake. The time of Mars being subject to outside control, divided by petty internal squabbles, and victim to the lingering depredations of the so-called Technocalypse has come to an end. We have and will continue to welcome many of the refugees cast out by the Singularity GAIA, the self-declared Goddess of Earth, in its Great Expulsion. However, the time has come for us to take our destiny into our own capable hands. I hereby proclaim in the name of the Martian people, and with the full support of the Legislative Assembly, the founding of the Republic of Mars." A crescendo of exultation erupted from the crowds' pent-up nervous energy. Human shouts, whether unaugmented, tweaked, or cybernetic, stirred with the myriad noises of provolves and splices. The blaring horns and whistles from vecs punctuated the pandemonium, as multi-color lights danced around the chamber. As if everyone present were hollering at the top of their lungs or electrolarynxes. Fatima seized Taro by the collar, and before he could realize what was happening, pulled him in for a kiss.
"Do you have the flag??" She shouted.
Taro, utterly befuddled, reached into his backpack and silently pulled out the banner. Without saying another word, Fatima snatched the newly printed fabric and tossed it to Zupong. Kapoc flung Zupong, the flag securely clutched in his feet, straight into the air. After sailing through the rec-bay's third of g for a few seconds, Zupong's long simian arms grasped one of the overhead beams that ran rib-like from the ceiling's center. Swinging arm over arm, Zupong moved rapidly towards the central display screens. The watching horde chanted their approval with a rhythmic "Go! Go! Go!" Climbing under the visual display, Zupong tried to pry off an old tarnished sign emblazoned with the faded insignia of the defunct Inner Council. Zupong's orangutan face flashed into focus as the camera bots zoomed in on the action. After he released a final loud screech of effort, the thin panel fluttered down to the howling swarm. Using his feet, Zupong stretched out the red, green, and blue banner of the new republic to rapturous applause. At that moment, all eyes and thoughts were on Zupong and the Martian tricolor, but if Taro was honest with himself, all he could think about was Fatima.
Taro slumped down into the seat across from Kapoc. It was a few minutes before 1100, but the small eatery was already filling up. "You are late," Kapoc intoned in his usual melodious voice.
"I know," replied Taro curtly. After sleeping off last night's celebration, he had made sure to exercise, shower, and put on fresh clothes before linking up for breakfast, or lunch, or whatever one called eating at 1045. "Any sign of Fatima?" he asked dryly.
"I have not seen her since leaving Rec Bay Bravo."
"You should have joined us for the after parties,"
"A number of vecs gathered on the station's exterior to commemorate the day's events. I decided to join them."
"Suit yourself,"
As was often the case, Taro and Kapoc struck up a conversation regarding history, this time on revolutions. While Kapoc did not necessarily share Taro's passion for history, his encyclopedic memory more than compensated. A few moments later, Fatima plopped down next to Kapoc. Wearing the same dark tights and shirt as yesterday, she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands without saying a word. Zupong pulled himself into the chair next to Taro.
"Morning," said Taro with a forced casualness.
"Have you ordered? I'm getting a drink." Without waiting for a response, Fatima's ocular lenses shifted opaque as she perused the menu. She made her selection with a quick flick of a ringed finger.
Zupong turned towards Taro and croaked, "Have fun yesterday?"
"Of course," replied Taro almost defensively. "It's not every day that you witness the birth of a new nation, right?"
"Guess not," sighed Zupong as he lifted the arches of his eye sockets as if deep in thought. Hearing a chime inaudible to the others, Fatima swiveled out of her chair and approached the counter.
After an awkward silence, Kapoc expounded on the pedantic differences between the terms "nation" and "country" while Fatima returned carrying a mug of tea and a large beaker of burgundy colored slush. She slid the smoothie to Zupong and popped a pill before taking a swig of her steaming beverage. Her mood fast improving, she joined the group in rehashing the previous night's excitement. Station authorities had relaxed alcohol and narcotic rationing, which had caused the residents of Watkins Station to be in rare form.
"I lost you after we got to the club" stated Taro.
Fatima sipped her tea. "Well, it was nuts, wasn't it?"
Zupong chirped, "Sure was," without removing the fruity concoction from his gray-black lips.
Their antics in the rec area with the Martian flag had made them local celebrities, and they had managed to gain admission to arguably the most exclusive spot for oxygen breathing bionts on the habitat for their troubles.
"Well that's an understatement as usual Zu, we all know how you get when you've had a few drinks," said Fatima.
Zupong smiled widely and gave off a string of joyous hoots
"Don't encourage him," said Taro.
"Many would consider Zu's drinking a cause for concern," added Kapoc.
"You two wouldn't know a good time, if it bit ya." Fatima said.
While she was debating whether to purchase a plate of hummus or splurge on the plantains, Fatima's bracelet lightly vibrated against the hard plastic table. The orange glow the band emitted indicated it was an official station message. Oddly, no one else's bracelet made a similar display, as would be expected with a mass notification. Looking down, Fatima blurted, "Report to orbital security?"
"What did you do?" inquired Kapoc with more than a modicum of concern.
"Nothing!" retorted Fatima.
Kapoc was peppering Fatima with a plethora of possible scenarios when a similar display appeared around Zupong's ankle band. Taro and Kapoc's bracelets followed an instant later. The cafe's other patrons, whose bracelets remained inactive, looked askance at the quartet.
Taro whined, "I swear, if you got us in trouble I..."
"I didn't do a damn thing!" Fatima protested, cutting him off. Running her hands back across the stubble of her mocha-colored scalp, Fatima groaned the obvious, "It must be because of the flag. What a bunch of killjoys." Taro rolled his eyes. Kapoc complained this would likely make him tardy for his shift at the docks where he was helping to refurbish a freighter badly damaged during its transit from Ceres. This occupational concern resonated little with the others: two undergraduates and an unemployed orangutan. Silencing the notifications, the group slowly finished their meal before filing out of the restaurant.
Station security was housed in Watkins Station 's innermost ring. Despite Zupong advocating for climbing the habitat's spokes, the four trekked to the nearest elevator. Walking at a leisurely pace across the shabby commercial district, they trooped through the bustling array of holographic advertisements and hawkers. A projection recognized Taro and began haranguing him on the merits of the Damsel Rescue VII virch simulation before Taro waved it off. "My hero," Fatima teased, flashing her green eyes. Outside a Resettlement Directorate kiosk, a family of newly arrived refugees queued, tiredly awaiting their domicile assignment. Looking up, Taro noticed Mars, a small rusty semi-circle hung in the black expanse. The contested planet smoothly passed by overhead as the station rotated.
At the elevator, they each waved their bracelets over the control panel, silently inputting the destination. Alone in the lift, the friends faced their reflections in the mirrored doors. While Fatima and Taro were essentially the same height, his stockier build and shock of dyed blond hair gave Taro a clearly larger appearance. He stared at his face in the reflection. Eyes and ears like his dad's. Looking at his mouth led to his eyes drifting to Fatima's lips and wondering if she was thinking the same. He moved his eyes away. Standing at the front, Zupong, barefoot as always in his green calf-length trousers, was the shortest by a good half meter. Kapoc's bluish-gray synthetic frame towered over the rest.
As the car glided to a halt in the tube, the transition to a sixth of a g made the automated announcement regarding the stop at the habitat's second ring superfluous. The doors swished open, allowing entry to a rounded cone-shaped cleaning bot, before the capsule resumed its ascent.
While the innermost ring was not without gravity, its slow rate of spin made normal bipedalism difficult. Fortunately, each side of the bright, square hallways had handrails to facilitate movement. After they had bounded down past several intersections, a disembodied voice buzzed them into the front office of station security. The transparent image of an overly pleasant receptionist greeted them and quickly ushered the puzzled foursome to an adjacent conference room. As Taro studied the half dozen occupants his attention soon focused on the figure at the head of the table. There, standing next to the embroidered upholstery, was the imposing visage of a tall bald man in a well-cut suit. He was at least 200 centimeters in height with a broad chest and well-proportioned muscular limbs. Preternaturally gray irises marked large almost catlike eyes on his hairless head. Judging by his penetrating countenance, he had not wanted to be kept waiting.
"Come in," the bald man said "we have much to discuss," his formerly stern expression melting into a reassuring smile. They moved carefully through the minimal gravity and stood by the empty chairs around the glass table. Kapoc magnetized his feet allowing him to accomplish the maneuver with considerably less finesse than the other three required. Taro's eyes darted around the T-shaped table. Besides the man in the expensive suit at the far end, six other individuals sat there with looks on their faces ranging from smug self-assurance to apprehension. Of those present, most notable was Simo Mataraci, a thickset cyborg and the longtime governor of Watkins Station. Next to him sat a vaguely familiar woman whom Taro's contact recognized as Isadora Chaves, the station's education director. The vec and two other people clad in copper colored civil service attire were unknown to him, but were presumably staffers with the station's administration. Nearest the entryway, an elderly woman in loose fitting clothes sat pensively with her arms crossed. The sizable tattoo of a double helix weaving its way across the left side of her neck and face quickly identified her as Dr. Calista Abassi-Winton, the habitat's premier geneticist and unarguably its most renowned resident. With a downward wave of his hand, the bald man gestured for them to take their seats next to the geneticist. They sheepishly tucked their legs under the table and used their hands to steady themselves as they settled into their chairs. The man remained standing at the head of the table.
"My name is Chao Fillopav, Legate Extraordinary for the Republic of Mars Executive Committee," the tall man stated in a rich unplaceable accent. With a confident smile breaking across his handsome face he continued, "You five have been selected from amongst your fellow citizens on this storied habitat to take part in an important opportunity to aid our young polity." Taro and Fatima exchanged startled glances. Zupong made a confused, pained-sounding whimper. Kapoc and Dr. Abassi-Winton kept their composure. Whatever this meeting was, it was not for a misdemeanor reprimand about escapades in Rec Bay Bravo. For the next several minutes, Fillopav waxed poetic that while the challenges facing the new Martian Republic might be great, the opportunity to "make a world anew" was a once-in-a-millennium occasion. Though captivated by the man's eloquence, Taro's curiosity intensified regarding how he factored into Fillopav's grand design. "Which brings me to you five," Fillopav said, spreading his hands to include the geneticist and the four friends. You, and more like you living in other habitats and settlements, are offered this opportune chance to do your part for the sake of civilization in these dark times. After receiving top of the line training in comfortable accommodations, you will travel to various spots throughout the Republic to share your stories. You will serve as beacons of inspiration for all Martians. Governor Mataraci will fill you in on the appropriate details. I look forward to meeting you all in person shortly. Mars Forever." Fillopav blinked out of existence. Taro blushed slightly, realizing only an idiot would think that a republican legate would bother to travel to a dump like Watkins Station in person to meet with a handful of nobodies.
The disappearance of Fillopav's projection signaled an abrupt change in the room's power dynamics. The Governor quickly moved over to his normal position at the head of the table. Straightening his shirt, Mataraci cleared his throat and asked perfunctorily, "At this time, what are your questions?"
"Umm, how about what the hell is going on?" replied Fatima.
"Weren't you paying attention, girl? This is a 'glorious opportunity'," Dr. Abassi-Winton said.
"Still confused," confessed Zupong as he raised a long furry arm in the air.
"I too am uncertain as to the role requested," joined Kapoc.
Governor Mataraci sighed heavily, the way a busy father might after repeated queries from an inquisitive child. "Listen," pointing a mostly mechanical hand down the length of the table, "the government has requested, read demanded, your participation in instilling a sense of national unity in this new republic. And you, as some of this orbital's better known residents, will play your part in whatever dog and pony show Legate Fillopav has devised."
Lifting his palms in confusion Taro asked, "How are we some of the station's better known residents?"
"My question exactly. How are they some of the station's better known residents?" Abassi-Winton echoed.
Looking pained, Mataraci explained, "The recording of your stunt with the Martian tricolor during the Republic Day celebration has gone viral over the past 24 hours. Every rust bucket habitat and refugee rock-jumper from L2 to Phobos has seen it. While I would simply dock your narcotic rations for a few orbits, the swells think the whole patriotic episode, or youthful lark, or whatever it was, can be made into good publicity for the central government. And seeing how this creaking station is short on celebrities at the moment, all we have to offer is one respectable scientist, two college delinquents, a vec pushing obsolesce, and an orangutan with THREE citations for public intoxication. Therefore, you are going to go where you are told, stand and grin, or reenact the scene, or do whatever the fuck they want for a month or two. Is that clear?" Silence permeated the small conference room.
Mataraci relaxed a bit once he saw his gruffness have the usual cowing effect. "Doctor, I'm sure you will do this station and your already illustrious career proud in this new endeavor… And you lot," gesticulating menacingly at the other selectees with a finger encrusted in cybernetics, "will pack your bags and be ready for transport in two days. Instructions and itineraries have already been sent to your accounts." Images of travel documents circled on the table's glass surface in front of the five individuals.
"Don't we get a choice?" barked Fatima.
"Of course you do Ms. Akmal," commented Governor Mataraci, "but if you refuse, and sour this orbital's reputation with the new regime, you will see your future prospects here on Watkins evaporate. They will see to that…" he pointed to the staff lackeys sitting stone-like to his left. "You should be grateful for this, especially you two young people. When I was your age, we were trying to survive the malware attacks and nano-swarms. Certainly, nobody was offering us a veritable vacation like this. Do you have any idea how good you have it?"
"Um... Sir, what about our classes, we have finals coming up?" asked Taro, failing to sound unintimidated.
"Isadora," Mataraci queued the education director without shifting his eyes from the end of the table.
"You will be afforded an extension on your lab finals Mr. Hashimoto, while most of your other work will be submitted by the normal method."
"Well that's great and all, but what about my research?" asked the geneticist, manifestly unconcerned about the two students finishing their studies.
"It will all be here when you return, as will some extra funding and first pick of the litter for new assistants. I trust that's agreeable, doctor?" said the governor.
Abassi-Winton mutely nodded her short silver-haired head in agreement, apparently satisfied by the offer.
Another brief interval of silence ensued before Mataraci concluded, "Your home station thanks you for your service. Everything will be waiting here for you when you return in a few weeks. You are dismissed."
Taro shut his domicile's door behind him. There in his cramped one-room quarters he stood facing the tiny bathroom at the far end but looking at nothing in particular. His mind was racing. He had awoken this morning hoping, at best, for Fatima to acknowledge their kiss the previous day and maybe even have some sort of discussion clarifying their relationship. "Clarifying their relationship" was the term he, after considerable thought, believed to be the most casual way to broach the subject. While that had not happened, he was set to spend the next two months traveling with her, regaling strangers about their quasi-heroic deeds. This was better than any virch simulation, he thought.
He sat at the small table by his single bed. After pulling up the travel instructions, Taro poured over them as if they contained valuable secrets. He had two days before the transport departed for… Judian! Taro felt as if he would burst with excitement. Judian was not only the seat of the provisional government - well just plain government now — but also the largest station still left standing in Mars orbit. He would have given anything, up to and including his right testicle, to go there. Here he was, scheduled for a free trip.
The instructions mentioned he would have to clear out his room before he left. Lodging space was at such a premium with the influx of Earth refugees that no vacancies were left unfilled for more than a week. No matter, Taro thought, he could store his few belongings at his father's. He separated his worldly possessions into two heaps: one for items to accompany him on the voyage and another to be deposited with his dad. There was not much to sort. A bonsai tree was the single largest item along with a smattering of mementos he wished to save. Nearly all of Taro's clothes were to come with him: three pairs of pants, five shirts, a jacket, socks, exercise clothes and shoes, and underwear. He rolled them neatly before placing them into a duffel bag he had printed out at a public access fabricator. Taro wrapped a framed picture of his mother in a towel and placed it at the top of the bag. He would take his desk of course, but no need to pull it from the table's dock until he was going to leave. The entire exercise was finished in less than half an hour. To erase the last trace of his habitation, Taro zeroed out the room's wallpaper. The walls, formerly a beach scene with swaying palm trees and gently crashing waves, now glowed a static monochrome eggshell. Taro knew this was premature for a trip still two days away, but that did not bother him. When he was first assigned this billet at eighteen, he had thought of it as a palace. It had served him well over the years. It was even the place he lost his virginity- but in the grips of his current eagerness, he did not care what happened to it.
That evening Taro made his way over to his father's residence located nearly a third of the way around the station's outermost toroidal band. Taro, laden with an opaque plastic box containing his non-transportable property, took several minutes to complete the journey. To his surprise, his wristband did not give him access to his father's home. He had not been back for nearly two months but Taro thought the door would still recognize him. "Who is it?" his father's voice inquired.
"It's me," replied Taro.
The door retracted, and Taro stepped into the living area. The air was thick with the smell of cooking. Taro's father Shigeru looked sideways from the minuscule stovetop and greeted him with a monosyllabic "Son."
"Konnichiwa," Taro responded with a slight bow.
Shigeru's eyes lifted to a small clock on the wall. "Konbanwa," Shigeru corrected.
Taro rolled his eyes, hoping the gesture went undetected, and sat down on the futon sofa that for nearly all of his childhood had served as his bed. He placed the box on the ersatz tatami floor. His father asked Taro to carry their plates, as Shigeru struggled to lower himself to the floor. Shigeru's disability had been an ever-present reality throughout Taro's life, though Shigeru's old age worsened matters in recent years. Shigeru only told Taro once about the event which had nearly killed him. As a child during the Technocalypse, when the Hashimoto family was trying to evacuate from Aachen City on the surface, slaughterbots attacked. Shigeru's father, a pillar in the influential Japanese-Martian Kaseihito community, was killed in front of him. Shigeru's mother, Moriko, a kind looking woman based off her image in the apartment's small shrine, was separated and never made it off planet.
As they sat and ate their tonkatsu around the low table, Shigeru pointedly ignored the boxed items. Instead, he first quizzed Taro about his studies. Shigeru had wanted his son to become a habitat engineer like himself, a privileged occupation which afforded him the relatively spacious apartment, so Taro's current pursuit of a history degree was a point of mild contention. Finally satisfied with Taro's progress at the university, his father, as usual, talked at length about the latest developments from Earth. Considerable time was spent on the United States government's recent relocation off-world and their struggle to maintain control of American territories elsewhere in the system. Next came a familiar lecture on the dangers of the Singularity and how the rise of GAIA, the Last War, and the Great Expulsion could have been prevented. Despite Shigeru rehashing these well-worn arguments, the meal was pleasant enough. Taro thanked his father for the vat-grown pork cutlet. Clearing his throat, he began, "Dad, I need to tell you something."
Shigeru sat silently. This was as much encouragement from his father as Taro usually received when he wanted to speak his mind.
Taro informed his dad that, after meeting with Governor Mataraci and Legate Fillopav, he had accepted an offer to travel along with some other "honorable people" to Judian for a temporary public relations assignment promoting the new government. He continued on about what a great opportunity this would be for him and how it would not interfere with school. Taro intentionally left out how he had come to be selected for such a mission. After listening quietly through the duration of the half rambling speech, Shigeru asked bluntly, "And how much are these Martians paying you for this job?"
Uncomfortable, Taro shifted in his seat. "I'm not aware of any financial compensation."
"Not aware of any compensation?" said Shigeru indignantly. His father's once stolid facial expressions twisted into disgust, as if Taro had willingly fallen victim to an embarrassing con.
Taro attempted to reassure his father the whole enterprise was highly reputable, but Shigeru would hardly look at him.
"So you came here to leave your things with me, while you go off and do God knows what with God knows who. Is that it?"
Chewing his lower lip ever so slightly, Taro continued, "No dad. I just wanted to let you know where I would be."
"So you brought me a tree?" Shigeru said, voice raised, pointing at the bonsai in the plastic box as if it was incriminating evidence.
Feeling chagrined, Taro responded meekly, "I have to vacate my room while I'm gone."
"And who is to say that you will get a new one when you return?" Shigeru's eyes moistened with anger. "Some would say your place is here with your family." This was a phrase he had used before. Taro knew his father thought he should spend more time with him, serving as a caregiver, honoring your elders and all that.
Taro sat mutely staring at his plate.
After a silent pause of excruciating duration, Shigeru calmed.
"Hashimoto Taro," his father stated solemnly. "You are a man now, and can do as you please. As long as you stay away from the surface you should be fine, but don't let these Republican dust pounders fool you into doing something reckless. Your future is here. You have responsibilities here. Remember that. Even if your mother didn't."
The reference to his long absent mother always pulled on Taro's heartstrings. His father knew this. While Taro resented the tactic, he understood his father's words to be a highly begrudging endorsement. Lacking the emotional wherewithal or inclination to discuss the matter further, Taro nodded in return. He felt obligated to stay a little longer, so sipped tea with his father as he mournfully watched the latest footage of Lofstrom loops being constructed over Earth's atmosphere to aid the exodus from the blue world. A half hour later, he bid his father goodnight and said he would contact him if any trouble arose on the trip. As the door closed behind him he set off to find his friends. He needed a drink.
Taro grabbed his duffel bag and walked to Berth # 6. It would be a 21-hour flight to Judian, and he was anxious to settle in. Taro had not left the station since he and his father had first arrived nearly two decades ago, and the thought of boarding a transport off the crowded spinning top that was Watkins Station thrilled him. Chewing the last of his breakfast, he decided to cut through a small park. Standing on the half-meter-tall retaining wall of a patch of greenery, a young man and woman were attracting a small gaggle of bemused onlookers as they proselytized. At first Taro thought they might be Catholic Evangelicals, who had been out in force since Pope John XXXVIII relocated the Vatican to the Belt. However, the blue tassels on the hems of their shirts quickly identified them as followers of GAIA. While not surprised, Taro did not believe the Singularity worshiping cultists would find many converts to here amongst the dispossessed and their embittered descendants. "She has reclaimed the cradle of humanity, and Her guiding hand will stretch ever outwards," the woman extolled.
"Lean not on your understanding, for She is the Lady of all worlds. Kill therefore with the sword of wisdom the doubt born of ignorance that lies in your heart," chanted the man with his arms outstretched.
An angry shout of "Make up your own stuff," rang out from one of the spectators. Taro was oddly comforted by this comment, as if wanting reassurance he was not the only person who found the GAIAnist appropriation of other religions' texts obnoxious. The GAIAn women retorted "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth!" as if conclusively answered the charge. "Anyone who raises a hand against GAIA or Her children will be struck down in Her good time."
"That's a load of shit!" hollered another. The crowd turned increasingly hostile as Taro made his exit.
Descending to the habitat's outermost layer, Taro felt as if he could almost sense the vacuum of space pulling at his feet. He knew it was his mind reacting to the slight increase in apparent gravity, in the farthest place that one could stand from the orbital's central axis. Yet even with a firm grasp of the centrifugal forces at play, the illusion of a tugging cosmic void persisted. He tensed as two members of station security went trotting past him towards the park, truncheons in hand.
Nearing the port, Taro saw Kapoc standing with his back to the bulkhead. A small mob of three individuals slightly younger than Taro were shoving and kicking the taller vec. Kapoc had his arms up defensively entreating the youths to cease harassing him. The two boys and a girl wielding a bit of pipe obviously enjoyed tormenting Kapoc. They knew his programming safeguards prevented him from retaliating. In addition to strikes from their hands and feet, the three rained down slurs and profanity.
"Fuck you chrome dome!" one screamed.
"Hold this soulless still while I take a piss on him," the larger boy yelled to the others.
Worried about being outnumbered, Taro stopped and thought about finding a different route to the dock. However, before he could, Kapoc noticed his presence and beckoned for help. "Hey!" Taro finally yelled at the three teenagers, trying to sound as forceful as he could. Caught off guard, the trio stopped their assault on Kapoc and spun around to face him. His throat tightening, Taro said, "Leave him alone. Security's moving around down here," half hoping his intervention would come across more as a friendly warning than a confrontation.
The three ruffians looked at each other, and then ran their eyes over Taro from top to bottom. Not a good sign, Taro thought, and he had no illusions about his chances in a fight. Even the girl, who judging by her bone structure had likely been born in a male body, looked as if she could mop the floor with Taro. She was a tall gaunt brunette with an ash-colored snake tattoo coiling around her neck. "And what do you care?" she said, cocking her head to the side.
"I don't," stammered Taro, uncertain as to what to say next.
The larger of the boys, clearly the leader of the little gang and by the looks of his pupils high on amphetamines, glanced down at what Taro was carrying. "What you have in the bag, brother?"
The framed portrait of his mother leapt to Taro's mind. "Nothing," Taro answered as he failed at attempted nonchalance.
"You usually carry an empty duffle around?" snarled the girl. She stared at Taro as a cat might at a cornered mouse.
Normally, Taro would have stalled for time. He had already sent a notification to security via his contact with the prescribed code of alternating blinks. However, the disturbance in the park was undoubtedly tying up available officers. The threesome slowly encircled Taro, as Kapoc continued blabbering helplessly. He was about to make a run for it, abandoning Kapoc, when a loud whistle interrupted. Down the corridor, half a dozen people and two bots hauling assorted luggage and equipment approached. Dr. Abassi-Winton was in the lead, flanked by attendants with quizzical expressions on their faces.
Snorting loudly through his pierced nostrils the leader directed his goons to follow him in the opposite direction. While the girl merely cut her eyes at Taro in disgust, the smaller boy muttered the word "puta" under his breath and spat a sizable murky glob onto Taro's right shoe before departing. Kapoc thanked Taro for the assistance. "Don't mention it," Taro said, feeling ashamed yet grateful he had not had to act on his inner cowardice.
"You kids all right?" the doctor said with an air more of condescension than concern.
Kapoc recalled the encounter with the three toughs before Taro interrupted him. "We're fine. We're all fine here."
Abassi-Winton furrowed her gray eyebrows and proceeded on with the group. Kapoc and Taro followed close behind and within a minute, arrived at the assigned dock.
Loading the transport took well over an hour. A utilitarian-looking vec administered various scans and sweeps to the baggage. All programmable objects received extra scrutiny. An elderly man with a heavily wrinkled face clad in yellow plastic coveralls swabbed their bodies repeatedly in search of contagion. Contacts, bracelets, and other wearable devices were removed for inspection. Fortunately, all indicators came back negative. Most of the passengers had finished when Fatima and Zupong finally arrived to start the process. Once complete, the five selectees, along with roughly twenty other passengers, boarded the craft via a translucent gangway. The tube slanted down to a hatch on the dorsal side of the small gray ship. For Taro, the whole process conjured the image of entering a whale by way of its blowhole.
They took their seats, filling half of a set of chairs arranged in two rows of four facing each other. Taro strapped into the blue gel cushioned chair directly across from Fatima. He accessed the viewing screen above, and flipped through the various cameras available to passengers. A pre-recorded voice droned lengthy safety announcements before terminating in a countdown for release. Freed from its docking clamps, the transport plummeted away from the station. Taro's stomach lurched in his chest. Fatima's legs, which she had slipped from her restraints, floated free as the spinning orbital flung the spacecraft out. They all watched as Watkins shrank away on their screens, the falling sensation replaced with the continuous weightlessness of null g. Taro took a good look at Fatima, who was distractedly toggling through the various camera angles. Her shortly cropped hair was unaffected by the absence of gravity while a silver necklace floated up around her slender neck. Shifting his eyes to the left, he realized Zupong had been studying him as he admired Fatima. Meeting Taro's gaze, the ape-man pressed his lips together and made a series of loud smooching sounds as his shaggy fur hovered in a cloud around his squat body. Embarrassed at being caught staring, Taro pretending not to notice Zupong's ribbing and returned his attention to the terminal. It was going to be a long flight, but he could not help but feel this was the start of the rest of his life.
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Chapter 1:
Exiting his room, Taro Hashimoto stumbled down a narrow well-worn corridor along the habitat's outer ring, jostled by the chattering throng. The excited denizens of Watkins Station had had so little to be joyous about over the past years they leapt at the chance to finally celebrate something. Granted, today (Jung 17, 629 or April 15, 2598 on the old calendar Taro's father insisted on using) was undoubtedly special. Although the declaration had been considered imminent for weeks, the sudden announcement that it would be broadcast at 0800 hours Olympus Mons Time electrified the station.Taro had spent most of the morning messaging his classmate Fatima, making plans for the event. After some discussion, the two decided they would join their friends Zupong and Kapoc in Recreation Bay Bravo for the festivities. Having explored every inch of the old Stanford torus, Taro had not worried about running into any delays on his intended route. However, this bustling crowd was unlike anything he had seen before. While making his way, a monotone female voice came over the communication system "Proclamation in 15 minutes." Excited but measured cheers rang out as a few people pumped their fists in anticipation. Welcome news to be sure, but Taro still had to find Fatima. After descending a ramp to a lower level, he blinked as an icon appeared in his right contact.
"Over here, blondie," the attached message played in his ear. Following the vision overlay, Taro soon spotted Fatima Akmal perched on top of a recycler at the edge of the hallway. Apologizing profusely to the stampeding pedestrians, Taro pushed his way over to her.
"We don't have a lot of time," she said, taking his hand and yanking him forward.
A few moments later, the pair disgorged with the rest of the traveling multitude into the rec-bay. While not the largest room on the station, Bravo was the only multi-deck mass congregation space left on the spinning orbital suitable for the occasion. Alpha, covered chiefly in water tanks and aquaculture, was a nonstarter, and Charlie, long ago subdivided into dwellings, was out of the question. It seemed as if every resident was packed into the elongated slightly concave space, anxiously waiting. The hexagonal display suspended in the middle of the room finished its countdown and a woman's face suddenly appeared. The well-known image of Krisna Nur Nnamdi elicited an ecstatic roar from the crowd. Her face indicated that, unlike the rumors and false starts of the past few years, the hoped-for day had finally arrived. As Nnamdi began her address, recounting the tribulations faced by their people since the first colonists arrived over five centuries before, Taro stammered into Fatima's ear "Where are they?" Fatima shrugged in reply, as the noise from the speech and the raucous assembly made verbal communication all but impossible. Scanning, Taro's contact quickly identified Kapoc and Zupong. In hindsight, they were hard to miss. Standing at two and a quarter meters, Kapoc was taller than most vecs in the room, and with Zupong's reddish-orange fur covered body standing on his woven composite shoulders, the duo stood out.
Fighting against the surging masses, Taro and Fatima eventually made their way over to where their comrades were waiting at the base of a latticed pillar. Zupong extended a callused foot in greeting to the young pair and Kapoc uttered a low octave salutation. Returning their gaze to the central screens, the four witnessed scenes streamed from other locations on and around Mars. Footage of smiling crews from distant Martian ships mixed with that of similarly beaming station dwellers. Next came a demonstration from a small unit of ground forces, posted in the Valles Marineris by the looks of it, discharging their weapons upwards in celebration. The deafening gunfire was exacerbated by the jubilant sounds of the clamoring assembly.
Nnamdi's projection reappeared. Lifting her hands, she miraculously managed to quiet the crowd to a dull roar. "While there are still those of our brothers and sisters who refuse to join us in safeguarding civilization, in our great reclamation of the Martian surface, make no mistake. The time of Mars being subject to outside control, divided by petty internal squabbles, and victim to the lingering depredations of the so-called Technocalypse has come to an end. We have and will continue to welcome many of the refugees cast out by the Singularity GAIA, the self-declared Goddess of Earth, in its Great Expulsion. However, the time has come for us to take our destiny into our own capable hands. I hereby proclaim in the name of the Martian people, and with the full support of the Legislative Assembly, the founding of the Republic of Mars." A crescendo of exultation erupted from the crowds' pent-up nervous energy. Human shouts, whether unaugmented, tweaked, or cybernetic, stirred with the myriad noises of provolves and splices. The blaring horns and whistles from vecs punctuated the pandemonium, as multi-color lights danced around the chamber. As if everyone present were hollering at the top of their lungs or electrolarynxes. Fatima seized Taro by the collar, and before he could realize what was happening, pulled him in for a kiss.
"Do you have the flag??" She shouted.
Taro, utterly befuddled, reached into his backpack and silently pulled out the banner. Without saying another word, Fatima snatched the newly printed fabric and tossed it to Zupong. Kapoc flung Zupong, the flag securely clutched in his feet, straight into the air. After sailing through the rec-bay's third of g for a few seconds, Zupong's long simian arms grasped one of the overhead beams that ran rib-like from the ceiling's center. Swinging arm over arm, Zupong moved rapidly towards the central display screens. The watching horde chanted their approval with a rhythmic "Go! Go! Go!" Climbing under the visual display, Zupong tried to pry off an old tarnished sign emblazoned with the faded insignia of the defunct Inner Council. Zupong's orangutan face flashed into focus as the camera bots zoomed in on the action. After he released a final loud screech of effort, the thin panel fluttered down to the howling swarm. Using his feet, Zupong stretched out the red, green, and blue banner of the new republic to rapturous applause. At that moment, all eyes and thoughts were on Zupong and the Martian tricolor, but if Taro was honest with himself, all he could think about was Fatima.
Chapter 2:
Taro slumped down into the seat across from Kapoc. It was a few minutes before 1100, but the small eatery was already filling up. "You are late," Kapoc intoned in his usual melodious voice.
"I know," replied Taro curtly. After sleeping off last night's celebration, he had made sure to exercise, shower, and put on fresh clothes before linking up for breakfast, or lunch, or whatever one called eating at 1045. "Any sign of Fatima?" he asked dryly.
"I have not seen her since leaving Rec Bay Bravo."
"You should have joined us for the after parties,"
"A number of vecs gathered on the station's exterior to commemorate the day's events. I decided to join them."
"Suit yourself,"
As was often the case, Taro and Kapoc struck up a conversation regarding history, this time on revolutions. While Kapoc did not necessarily share Taro's passion for history, his encyclopedic memory more than compensated. A few moments later, Fatima plopped down next to Kapoc. Wearing the same dark tights and shirt as yesterday, she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands without saying a word. Zupong pulled himself into the chair next to Taro.
"Morning," said Taro with a forced casualness.
"Have you ordered? I'm getting a drink." Without waiting for a response, Fatima's ocular lenses shifted opaque as she perused the menu. She made her selection with a quick flick of a ringed finger.
Zupong turned towards Taro and croaked, "Have fun yesterday?"
"Of course," replied Taro almost defensively. "It's not every day that you witness the birth of a new nation, right?"
"Guess not," sighed Zupong as he lifted the arches of his eye sockets as if deep in thought. Hearing a chime inaudible to the others, Fatima swiveled out of her chair and approached the counter.
After an awkward silence, Kapoc expounded on the pedantic differences between the terms "nation" and "country" while Fatima returned carrying a mug of tea and a large beaker of burgundy colored slush. She slid the smoothie to Zupong and popped a pill before taking a swig of her steaming beverage. Her mood fast improving, she joined the group in rehashing the previous night's excitement. Station authorities had relaxed alcohol and narcotic rationing, which had caused the residents of Watkins Station to be in rare form.
"I lost you after we got to the club" stated Taro.
Fatima sipped her tea. "Well, it was nuts, wasn't it?"
Zupong chirped, "Sure was," without removing the fruity concoction from his gray-black lips.
Their antics in the rec area with the Martian flag had made them local celebrities, and they had managed to gain admission to arguably the most exclusive spot for oxygen breathing bionts on the habitat for their troubles.
"Well that's an understatement as usual Zu, we all know how you get when you've had a few drinks," said Fatima.
Zupong smiled widely and gave off a string of joyous hoots
"Don't encourage him," said Taro.
"Many would consider Zu's drinking a cause for concern," added Kapoc.
"You two wouldn't know a good time, if it bit ya." Fatima said.
While she was debating whether to purchase a plate of hummus or splurge on the plantains, Fatima's bracelet lightly vibrated against the hard plastic table. The orange glow the band emitted indicated it was an official station message. Oddly, no one else's bracelet made a similar display, as would be expected with a mass notification. Looking down, Fatima blurted, "Report to orbital security?"
"What did you do?" inquired Kapoc with more than a modicum of concern.
"Nothing!" retorted Fatima.
Kapoc was peppering Fatima with a plethora of possible scenarios when a similar display appeared around Zupong's ankle band. Taro and Kapoc's bracelets followed an instant later. The cafe's other patrons, whose bracelets remained inactive, looked askance at the quartet.
Taro whined, "I swear, if you got us in trouble I..."
"I didn't do a damn thing!" Fatima protested, cutting him off. Running her hands back across the stubble of her mocha-colored scalp, Fatima groaned the obvious, "It must be because of the flag. What a bunch of killjoys." Taro rolled his eyes. Kapoc complained this would likely make him tardy for his shift at the docks where he was helping to refurbish a freighter badly damaged during its transit from Ceres. This occupational concern resonated little with the others: two undergraduates and an unemployed orangutan. Silencing the notifications, the group slowly finished their meal before filing out of the restaurant.
Station security was housed in Watkins Station 's innermost ring. Despite Zupong advocating for climbing the habitat's spokes, the four trekked to the nearest elevator. Walking at a leisurely pace across the shabby commercial district, they trooped through the bustling array of holographic advertisements and hawkers. A projection recognized Taro and began haranguing him on the merits of the Damsel Rescue VII virch simulation before Taro waved it off. "My hero," Fatima teased, flashing her green eyes. Outside a Resettlement Directorate kiosk, a family of newly arrived refugees queued, tiredly awaiting their domicile assignment. Looking up, Taro noticed Mars, a small rusty semi-circle hung in the black expanse. The contested planet smoothly passed by overhead as the station rotated.
At the elevator, they each waved their bracelets over the control panel, silently inputting the destination. Alone in the lift, the friends faced their reflections in the mirrored doors. While Fatima and Taro were essentially the same height, his stockier build and shock of dyed blond hair gave Taro a clearly larger appearance. He stared at his face in the reflection. Eyes and ears like his dad's. Looking at his mouth led to his eyes drifting to Fatima's lips and wondering if she was thinking the same. He moved his eyes away. Standing at the front, Zupong, barefoot as always in his green calf-length trousers, was the shortest by a good half meter. Kapoc's bluish-gray synthetic frame towered over the rest.
As the car glided to a halt in the tube, the transition to a sixth of a g made the automated announcement regarding the stop at the habitat's second ring superfluous. The doors swished open, allowing entry to a rounded cone-shaped cleaning bot, before the capsule resumed its ascent.
While the innermost ring was not without gravity, its slow rate of spin made normal bipedalism difficult. Fortunately, each side of the bright, square hallways had handrails to facilitate movement. After they had bounded down past several intersections, a disembodied voice buzzed them into the front office of station security. The transparent image of an overly pleasant receptionist greeted them and quickly ushered the puzzled foursome to an adjacent conference room. As Taro studied the half dozen occupants his attention soon focused on the figure at the head of the table. There, standing next to the embroidered upholstery, was the imposing visage of a tall bald man in a well-cut suit. He was at least 200 centimeters in height with a broad chest and well-proportioned muscular limbs. Preternaturally gray irises marked large almost catlike eyes on his hairless head. Judging by his penetrating countenance, he had not wanted to be kept waiting.
"Come in," the bald man said "we have much to discuss," his formerly stern expression melting into a reassuring smile. They moved carefully through the minimal gravity and stood by the empty chairs around the glass table. Kapoc magnetized his feet allowing him to accomplish the maneuver with considerably less finesse than the other three required. Taro's eyes darted around the T-shaped table. Besides the man in the expensive suit at the far end, six other individuals sat there with looks on their faces ranging from smug self-assurance to apprehension. Of those present, most notable was Simo Mataraci, a thickset cyborg and the longtime governor of Watkins Station. Next to him sat a vaguely familiar woman whom Taro's contact recognized as Isadora Chaves, the station's education director. The vec and two other people clad in copper colored civil service attire were unknown to him, but were presumably staffers with the station's administration. Nearest the entryway, an elderly woman in loose fitting clothes sat pensively with her arms crossed. The sizable tattoo of a double helix weaving its way across the left side of her neck and face quickly identified her as Dr. Calista Abassi-Winton, the habitat's premier geneticist and unarguably its most renowned resident. With a downward wave of his hand, the bald man gestured for them to take their seats next to the geneticist. They sheepishly tucked their legs under the table and used their hands to steady themselves as they settled into their chairs. The man remained standing at the head of the table.
"My name is Chao Fillopav, Legate Extraordinary for the Republic of Mars Executive Committee," the tall man stated in a rich unplaceable accent. With a confident smile breaking across his handsome face he continued, "You five have been selected from amongst your fellow citizens on this storied habitat to take part in an important opportunity to aid our young polity." Taro and Fatima exchanged startled glances. Zupong made a confused, pained-sounding whimper. Kapoc and Dr. Abassi-Winton kept their composure. Whatever this meeting was, it was not for a misdemeanor reprimand about escapades in Rec Bay Bravo. For the next several minutes, Fillopav waxed poetic that while the challenges facing the new Martian Republic might be great, the opportunity to "make a world anew" was a once-in-a-millennium occasion. Though captivated by the man's eloquence, Taro's curiosity intensified regarding how he factored into Fillopav's grand design. "Which brings me to you five," Fillopav said, spreading his hands to include the geneticist and the four friends. You, and more like you living in other habitats and settlements, are offered this opportune chance to do your part for the sake of civilization in these dark times. After receiving top of the line training in comfortable accommodations, you will travel to various spots throughout the Republic to share your stories. You will serve as beacons of inspiration for all Martians. Governor Mataraci will fill you in on the appropriate details. I look forward to meeting you all in person shortly. Mars Forever." Fillopav blinked out of existence. Taro blushed slightly, realizing only an idiot would think that a republican legate would bother to travel to a dump like Watkins Station in person to meet with a handful of nobodies.
The disappearance of Fillopav's projection signaled an abrupt change in the room's power dynamics. The Governor quickly moved over to his normal position at the head of the table. Straightening his shirt, Mataraci cleared his throat and asked perfunctorily, "At this time, what are your questions?"
"Umm, how about what the hell is going on?" replied Fatima.
"Weren't you paying attention, girl? This is a 'glorious opportunity'," Dr. Abassi-Winton said.
"Still confused," confessed Zupong as he raised a long furry arm in the air.
"I too am uncertain as to the role requested," joined Kapoc.
Governor Mataraci sighed heavily, the way a busy father might after repeated queries from an inquisitive child. "Listen," pointing a mostly mechanical hand down the length of the table, "the government has requested, read demanded, your participation in instilling a sense of national unity in this new republic. And you, as some of this orbital's better known residents, will play your part in whatever dog and pony show Legate Fillopav has devised."
Lifting his palms in confusion Taro asked, "How are we some of the station's better known residents?"
"My question exactly. How are they some of the station's better known residents?" Abassi-Winton echoed.
Looking pained, Mataraci explained, "The recording of your stunt with the Martian tricolor during the Republic Day celebration has gone viral over the past 24 hours. Every rust bucket habitat and refugee rock-jumper from L2 to Phobos has seen it. While I would simply dock your narcotic rations for a few orbits, the swells think the whole patriotic episode, or youthful lark, or whatever it was, can be made into good publicity for the central government. And seeing how this creaking station is short on celebrities at the moment, all we have to offer is one respectable scientist, two college delinquents, a vec pushing obsolesce, and an orangutan with THREE citations for public intoxication. Therefore, you are going to go where you are told, stand and grin, or reenact the scene, or do whatever the fuck they want for a month or two. Is that clear?" Silence permeated the small conference room.
Mataraci relaxed a bit once he saw his gruffness have the usual cowing effect. "Doctor, I'm sure you will do this station and your already illustrious career proud in this new endeavor… And you lot," gesticulating menacingly at the other selectees with a finger encrusted in cybernetics, "will pack your bags and be ready for transport in two days. Instructions and itineraries have already been sent to your accounts." Images of travel documents circled on the table's glass surface in front of the five individuals.
"Don't we get a choice?" barked Fatima.
"Of course you do Ms. Akmal," commented Governor Mataraci, "but if you refuse, and sour this orbital's reputation with the new regime, you will see your future prospects here on Watkins evaporate. They will see to that…" he pointed to the staff lackeys sitting stone-like to his left. "You should be grateful for this, especially you two young people. When I was your age, we were trying to survive the malware attacks and nano-swarms. Certainly, nobody was offering us a veritable vacation like this. Do you have any idea how good you have it?"
"Um... Sir, what about our classes, we have finals coming up?" asked Taro, failing to sound unintimidated.
"Isadora," Mataraci queued the education director without shifting his eyes from the end of the table.
"You will be afforded an extension on your lab finals Mr. Hashimoto, while most of your other work will be submitted by the normal method."
"Well that's great and all, but what about my research?" asked the geneticist, manifestly unconcerned about the two students finishing their studies.
"It will all be here when you return, as will some extra funding and first pick of the litter for new assistants. I trust that's agreeable, doctor?" said the governor.
Abassi-Winton mutely nodded her short silver-haired head in agreement, apparently satisfied by the offer.
Another brief interval of silence ensued before Mataraci concluded, "Your home station thanks you for your service. Everything will be waiting here for you when you return in a few weeks. You are dismissed."
Chapter 3:
Taro shut his domicile's door behind him. There in his cramped one-room quarters he stood facing the tiny bathroom at the far end but looking at nothing in particular. His mind was racing. He had awoken this morning hoping, at best, for Fatima to acknowledge their kiss the previous day and maybe even have some sort of discussion clarifying their relationship. "Clarifying their relationship" was the term he, after considerable thought, believed to be the most casual way to broach the subject. While that had not happened, he was set to spend the next two months traveling with her, regaling strangers about their quasi-heroic deeds. This was better than any virch simulation, he thought.
He sat at the small table by his single bed. After pulling up the travel instructions, Taro poured over them as if they contained valuable secrets. He had two days before the transport departed for… Judian! Taro felt as if he would burst with excitement. Judian was not only the seat of the provisional government - well just plain government now — but also the largest station still left standing in Mars orbit. He would have given anything, up to and including his right testicle, to go there. Here he was, scheduled for a free trip.
The instructions mentioned he would have to clear out his room before he left. Lodging space was at such a premium with the influx of Earth refugees that no vacancies were left unfilled for more than a week. No matter, Taro thought, he could store his few belongings at his father's. He separated his worldly possessions into two heaps: one for items to accompany him on the voyage and another to be deposited with his dad. There was not much to sort. A bonsai tree was the single largest item along with a smattering of mementos he wished to save. Nearly all of Taro's clothes were to come with him: three pairs of pants, five shirts, a jacket, socks, exercise clothes and shoes, and underwear. He rolled them neatly before placing them into a duffel bag he had printed out at a public access fabricator. Taro wrapped a framed picture of his mother in a towel and placed it at the top of the bag. He would take his desk of course, but no need to pull it from the table's dock until he was going to leave. The entire exercise was finished in less than half an hour. To erase the last trace of his habitation, Taro zeroed out the room's wallpaper. The walls, formerly a beach scene with swaying palm trees and gently crashing waves, now glowed a static monochrome eggshell. Taro knew this was premature for a trip still two days away, but that did not bother him. When he was first assigned this billet at eighteen, he had thought of it as a palace. It had served him well over the years. It was even the place he lost his virginity- but in the grips of his current eagerness, he did not care what happened to it.
That evening Taro made his way over to his father's residence located nearly a third of the way around the station's outermost toroidal band. Taro, laden with an opaque plastic box containing his non-transportable property, took several minutes to complete the journey. To his surprise, his wristband did not give him access to his father's home. He had not been back for nearly two months but Taro thought the door would still recognize him. "Who is it?" his father's voice inquired.
"It's me," replied Taro.
The door retracted, and Taro stepped into the living area. The air was thick with the smell of cooking. Taro's father Shigeru looked sideways from the minuscule stovetop and greeted him with a monosyllabic "Son."
"Konnichiwa," Taro responded with a slight bow.
Shigeru's eyes lifted to a small clock on the wall. "Konbanwa," Shigeru corrected.
Taro rolled his eyes, hoping the gesture went undetected, and sat down on the futon sofa that for nearly all of his childhood had served as his bed. He placed the box on the ersatz tatami floor. His father asked Taro to carry their plates, as Shigeru struggled to lower himself to the floor. Shigeru's disability had been an ever-present reality throughout Taro's life, though Shigeru's old age worsened matters in recent years. Shigeru only told Taro once about the event which had nearly killed him. As a child during the Technocalypse, when the Hashimoto family was trying to evacuate from Aachen City on the surface, slaughterbots attacked. Shigeru's father, a pillar in the influential Japanese-Martian Kaseihito community, was killed in front of him. Shigeru's mother, Moriko, a kind looking woman based off her image in the apartment's small shrine, was separated and never made it off planet.
As they sat and ate their tonkatsu around the low table, Shigeru pointedly ignored the boxed items. Instead, he first quizzed Taro about his studies. Shigeru had wanted his son to become a habitat engineer like himself, a privileged occupation which afforded him the relatively spacious apartment, so Taro's current pursuit of a history degree was a point of mild contention. Finally satisfied with Taro's progress at the university, his father, as usual, talked at length about the latest developments from Earth. Considerable time was spent on the United States government's recent relocation off-world and their struggle to maintain control of American territories elsewhere in the system. Next came a familiar lecture on the dangers of the Singularity and how the rise of GAIA, the Last War, and the Great Expulsion could have been prevented. Despite Shigeru rehashing these well-worn arguments, the meal was pleasant enough. Taro thanked his father for the vat-grown pork cutlet. Clearing his throat, he began, "Dad, I need to tell you something."
Shigeru sat silently. This was as much encouragement from his father as Taro usually received when he wanted to speak his mind.
Taro informed his dad that, after meeting with Governor Mataraci and Legate Fillopav, he had accepted an offer to travel along with some other "honorable people" to Judian for a temporary public relations assignment promoting the new government. He continued on about what a great opportunity this would be for him and how it would not interfere with school. Taro intentionally left out how he had come to be selected for such a mission. After listening quietly through the duration of the half rambling speech, Shigeru asked bluntly, "And how much are these Martians paying you for this job?"
Uncomfortable, Taro shifted in his seat. "I'm not aware of any financial compensation."
"Not aware of any compensation?" said Shigeru indignantly. His father's once stolid facial expressions twisted into disgust, as if Taro had willingly fallen victim to an embarrassing con.
Taro attempted to reassure his father the whole enterprise was highly reputable, but Shigeru would hardly look at him.
"So you came here to leave your things with me, while you go off and do God knows what with God knows who. Is that it?"
Chewing his lower lip ever so slightly, Taro continued, "No dad. I just wanted to let you know where I would be."
"So you brought me a tree?" Shigeru said, voice raised, pointing at the bonsai in the plastic box as if it was incriminating evidence.
Feeling chagrined, Taro responded meekly, "I have to vacate my room while I'm gone."
"And who is to say that you will get a new one when you return?" Shigeru's eyes moistened with anger. "Some would say your place is here with your family." This was a phrase he had used before. Taro knew his father thought he should spend more time with him, serving as a caregiver, honoring your elders and all that.
Taro sat mutely staring at his plate.
After a silent pause of excruciating duration, Shigeru calmed.
"Hashimoto Taro," his father stated solemnly. "You are a man now, and can do as you please. As long as you stay away from the surface you should be fine, but don't let these Republican dust pounders fool you into doing something reckless. Your future is here. You have responsibilities here. Remember that. Even if your mother didn't."
The reference to his long absent mother always pulled on Taro's heartstrings. His father knew this. While Taro resented the tactic, he understood his father's words to be a highly begrudging endorsement. Lacking the emotional wherewithal or inclination to discuss the matter further, Taro nodded in return. He felt obligated to stay a little longer, so sipped tea with his father as he mournfully watched the latest footage of Lofstrom loops being constructed over Earth's atmosphere to aid the exodus from the blue world. A half hour later, he bid his father goodnight and said he would contact him if any trouble arose on the trip. As the door closed behind him he set off to find his friends. He needed a drink.
Chapter 4:
Taro grabbed his duffel bag and walked to Berth # 6. It would be a 21-hour flight to Judian, and he was anxious to settle in. Taro had not left the station since he and his father had first arrived nearly two decades ago, and the thought of boarding a transport off the crowded spinning top that was Watkins Station thrilled him. Chewing the last of his breakfast, he decided to cut through a small park. Standing on the half-meter-tall retaining wall of a patch of greenery, a young man and woman were attracting a small gaggle of bemused onlookers as they proselytized. At first Taro thought they might be Catholic Evangelicals, who had been out in force since Pope John XXXVIII relocated the Vatican to the Belt. However, the blue tassels on the hems of their shirts quickly identified them as followers of GAIA. While not surprised, Taro did not believe the Singularity worshiping cultists would find many converts to here amongst the dispossessed and their embittered descendants. "She has reclaimed the cradle of humanity, and Her guiding hand will stretch ever outwards," the woman extolled.
"Lean not on your understanding, for She is the Lady of all worlds. Kill therefore with the sword of wisdom the doubt born of ignorance that lies in your heart," chanted the man with his arms outstretched.
An angry shout of "Make up your own stuff," rang out from one of the spectators. Taro was oddly comforted by this comment, as if wanting reassurance he was not the only person who found the GAIAnist appropriation of other religions' texts obnoxious. The GAIAn women retorted "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth!" as if conclusively answered the charge. "Anyone who raises a hand against GAIA or Her children will be struck down in Her good time."
"That's a load of shit!" hollered another. The crowd turned increasingly hostile as Taro made his exit.
Descending to the habitat's outermost layer, Taro felt as if he could almost sense the vacuum of space pulling at his feet. He knew it was his mind reacting to the slight increase in apparent gravity, in the farthest place that one could stand from the orbital's central axis. Yet even with a firm grasp of the centrifugal forces at play, the illusion of a tugging cosmic void persisted. He tensed as two members of station security went trotting past him towards the park, truncheons in hand.
Nearing the port, Taro saw Kapoc standing with his back to the bulkhead. A small mob of three individuals slightly younger than Taro were shoving and kicking the taller vec. Kapoc had his arms up defensively entreating the youths to cease harassing him. The two boys and a girl wielding a bit of pipe obviously enjoyed tormenting Kapoc. They knew his programming safeguards prevented him from retaliating. In addition to strikes from their hands and feet, the three rained down slurs and profanity.
"Fuck you chrome dome!" one screamed.
"Hold this soulless still while I take a piss on him," the larger boy yelled to the others.
Worried about being outnumbered, Taro stopped and thought about finding a different route to the dock. However, before he could, Kapoc noticed his presence and beckoned for help. "Hey!" Taro finally yelled at the three teenagers, trying to sound as forceful as he could. Caught off guard, the trio stopped their assault on Kapoc and spun around to face him. His throat tightening, Taro said, "Leave him alone. Security's moving around down here," half hoping his intervention would come across more as a friendly warning than a confrontation.
The three ruffians looked at each other, and then ran their eyes over Taro from top to bottom. Not a good sign, Taro thought, and he had no illusions about his chances in a fight. Even the girl, who judging by her bone structure had likely been born in a male body, looked as if she could mop the floor with Taro. She was a tall gaunt brunette with an ash-colored snake tattoo coiling around her neck. "And what do you care?" she said, cocking her head to the side.
"I don't," stammered Taro, uncertain as to what to say next.
The larger of the boys, clearly the leader of the little gang and by the looks of his pupils high on amphetamines, glanced down at what Taro was carrying. "What you have in the bag, brother?"
The framed portrait of his mother leapt to Taro's mind. "Nothing," Taro answered as he failed at attempted nonchalance.
"You usually carry an empty duffle around?" snarled the girl. She stared at Taro as a cat might at a cornered mouse.
Normally, Taro would have stalled for time. He had already sent a notification to security via his contact with the prescribed code of alternating blinks. However, the disturbance in the park was undoubtedly tying up available officers. The threesome slowly encircled Taro, as Kapoc continued blabbering helplessly. He was about to make a run for it, abandoning Kapoc, when a loud whistle interrupted. Down the corridor, half a dozen people and two bots hauling assorted luggage and equipment approached. Dr. Abassi-Winton was in the lead, flanked by attendants with quizzical expressions on their faces.
Snorting loudly through his pierced nostrils the leader directed his goons to follow him in the opposite direction. While the girl merely cut her eyes at Taro in disgust, the smaller boy muttered the word "puta" under his breath and spat a sizable murky glob onto Taro's right shoe before departing. Kapoc thanked Taro for the assistance. "Don't mention it," Taro said, feeling ashamed yet grateful he had not had to act on his inner cowardice.
"You kids all right?" the doctor said with an air more of condescension than concern.
Kapoc recalled the encounter with the three toughs before Taro interrupted him. "We're fine. We're all fine here."
Abassi-Winton furrowed her gray eyebrows and proceeded on with the group. Kapoc and Taro followed close behind and within a minute, arrived at the assigned dock.
Loading the transport took well over an hour. A utilitarian-looking vec administered various scans and sweeps to the baggage. All programmable objects received extra scrutiny. An elderly man with a heavily wrinkled face clad in yellow plastic coveralls swabbed their bodies repeatedly in search of contagion. Contacts, bracelets, and other wearable devices were removed for inspection. Fortunately, all indicators came back negative. Most of the passengers had finished when Fatima and Zupong finally arrived to start the process. Once complete, the five selectees, along with roughly twenty other passengers, boarded the craft via a translucent gangway. The tube slanted down to a hatch on the dorsal side of the small gray ship. For Taro, the whole process conjured the image of entering a whale by way of its blowhole.
They took their seats, filling half of a set of chairs arranged in two rows of four facing each other. Taro strapped into the blue gel cushioned chair directly across from Fatima. He accessed the viewing screen above, and flipped through the various cameras available to passengers. A pre-recorded voice droned lengthy safety announcements before terminating in a countdown for release. Freed from its docking clamps, the transport plummeted away from the station. Taro's stomach lurched in his chest. Fatima's legs, which she had slipped from her restraints, floated free as the spinning orbital flung the spacecraft out. They all watched as Watkins shrank away on their screens, the falling sensation replaced with the continuous weightlessness of null g. Taro took a good look at Fatima, who was distractedly toggling through the various camera angles. Her shortly cropped hair was unaffected by the absence of gravity while a silver necklace floated up around her slender neck. Shifting his eyes to the left, he realized Zupong had been studying him as he admired Fatima. Meeting Taro's gaze, the ape-man pressed his lips together and made a series of loud smooching sounds as his shaggy fur hovered in a cloud around his squat body. Embarrassed at being caught staring, Taro pretending not to notice Zupong's ribbing and returned his attention to the terminal. It was going to be a long flight, but he could not help but feel this was the start of the rest of his life.
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