Part Three – Music from the Void –
Angela of the Pit Thieves received a message, “This is Michael Dandelinits. We are ready to perform our concert.”
Having forgotten about the performance, she felt a surge of delight. She shook her head, swinging her dread locks, and the color changed to dark green. Her bodysuit turned blue, and her eyes shifted to gold, all commands from her brain-computer to the cosmetic nano-devices installed around her body.
She spread her hands and told Vilens, “It’s time to receive what’s due for our tribe. Let’s go hear what they got.”
The Martian was sitting across the room, next to the oblong, bronze med-bed that held his brother, Fiddle. Three days ago, she pulled the wrong prank, and Fiddle fell into the hands of merciless, violent people. His body was unharmed, but his mind was torn apart with a Zero Star Zebra headpiece. The vile machine they had placed on his head allowed a group link with Fiddle’s brain. With this device, torments and degradations from the enemy tribe felt as though they happened to his body in real time. This torture process continued until the captive died, usually from dehydration. The ZSZ called these victims ‘meat puppets’.
Vilens nodded and the lid of the med-bed next to him slid open from the middle. Lying in it, Fiddle’s dark blue coat, matching corset, frilly white skirt, and violet leggings once stained with his fluids were spotless, and a pleasant odor wafted from the machine. He was unconscious, his eyes and mouth closed in dignity. A medical bed could heal any physical harm, but psychological trauma remained.
A twinge of sorrow crossed her mind looking down at the black-haired man and his adorable face. She had shared an experience that allowed Fiddle and her to link minds with a much friendlier device. She found him to be a kind and generous soul, something rare in Narsinyx. From combing through his memories, she knew he had been assaulted before, but nothing like this. What the ZSZ did to his brain was a year’s worth of torments in three days. If Fiddle had a brain-computer, he would be able to control the flow of chemicals in his brain. He could regenerate damaged cells, and isolate harmful memories, forgetting horrid events. Fiddle was from Mars, though, and had not received a brain-comp like everyone else in the solar system. His mind was trampled, and it would stay that way, unable to heal.
Much larger than his brother, Vilens reached down and picked up Fiddle’s inert form. His pale skin and cropped yellow hair were a stark contrast to his brother’s light brown tones and long, silky black hair. He was still wearing the worn-out green robe he arrived in, making him look like the pauper that he was. From Fiddle’s memories she knew the robe was like a social caste uniform from Mars, which meant he was still clinging to his past. She decided to teach him that the first rule of survival on Narsinyx was looking like you to deserved to.
Angela did not want to push him, but still asked, “Wouldn’t Fiddle be safer here?”
Vilens shook his head. “I don’t want him to miss this concert. Lead the way.”
Knowing he would insist on bringing him, she did not object. “Let’s make a stop at a fabricator. If we’re going to the first concert here in seventy-eight years, we should look our best.”
After reclaiming Stroker from where it leaned against the wall, she set out in the maze of halls with Vilens following, his brother in his arms. The closest fabricator was around the corner. The machine was six by six feet square, set into the wall. It had a small glass door on it. She commanded the door to open and motioned to the compartment inside.
“Put your clothes in here,” she told him.
He glanced at the compartment and back to her. “Which ones?”
She scoffed. “All of them. Fiddle’s too; I’m not letting him run around in that disgraceful frock anymore. Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve already seen your brother nude, and I’ve seen enough bodies to not be shocked by yours. I give you my guarantee I won’t touch you, so strip.”
Vilens pulled the robe off first, wearing only a tight undershirt, ripped pants, and boots beneath that. Strapped to one forearm he had a small sliding dispenser for a blaster, empty. The belt around his waist had the holstered blaster he used to help her finish the ZSZ. His pronounced muscles were long and lean, and she did not mind watching him since he made such an obvious show of ogling her breasts. Before removing the rest of his clothes, he undressed Fiddle, showing gentleness as he tended to his brother.
After the sibling’s clothes were in the compartment, she closed the door and activated the recycle phase. The garments were disintegrated, the particles swept away to a repository to be used for new apparel. Not asking for his input, Angela commanded the machine to make the new clothes. She ordered them basic undergarments, dispensed to them first. Not wanting to dress them similar, for Vilens she chose baggy, black trousers, tight, blue, sleeveless shirt, knee high, black boots, and a dark green long coat, to remind him of his former robe. For Fiddle she ordered tight, violet leggings, loose fitting gold tunic that came halfway down his thighs, and black, ankle high boots. She remembered the young man liked to show off his legs. The fabricator had them ready in moments.
Properly dressed, Vilens grinned and said, “I was afraid you might make me one of those body suits you like to wear.” He buckled his holster belt back on, but left off the empty forearm dispenser.
Her smile faltered and she replied, “No, that was mine and Morgan’s thing.” She ran a hand down the smooth material over her belly. “These were in style when Narsinyx was abandoned. We considered it a point of pride to keep wearing them.” Considering that she was also holding onto the past, on a whim she kicked off her boots, and pulled the suit off. Standing in her panties, she opened the fabricator and shoved the suit and boots in. She felt his eyes on her again but pretended not to notice. She decided she would let him touch her, tonight if he behaved himself, but not until she could get him somewhere private.
For her garments, she chose something she had not worn in over eighty years, a short dress of sparkling diamond beads, only slightly longer than Fiddle’s tunic. The beads glittered and flashed, and she smiled in delight as she settled it over her hips. From the compartment she took thigh high black boots and pulled them on, relishing the feel of new material on her legs.
The moment of simple joy was short lived as she began to receive messages from the remainder of her tribe. The messages were personal, some sad, some angry, others indifferent, but they all conveyed the same content. The remnant of the Pit Thieves had all joined other tribes. She had half-dreaded, half-expected the betrayal. Those Nyxians she had known for decades. For some she had stood guard outside the nursery while they were removed from artificial wombs, taking their first breaths as infants. With the loss of those fighters, she was as good as dead. Tribe leaders were never welcomed to join another. Her heart clenched as she realized one stupid mistake had destroyed a lifetime of work.
The last one hurt the most.
Trapz sent to her, “Momma, with Daddy gone I know you’d want me to survive. I can’t do that at your side anymore. I love you, Mother, but I’m a Candy Cane Pigeon now.”
Angela did not reply to any of the messages, not even her son’s, and did not waste water on tears. She gave Vilens a wide smile and told him, “Everyone else switched tribes, just like that. You can do the same, but not me. I’ll be one of the tribeless now, scratching out a living in the deepest part of the mines. Hunter and hunted, until someone brings me down and drains me dry.”
Her words barely registered on Vilens’ face. He glanced down at Fiddle lying on the floor. “What about him?”
Her mouth went flat, and she shook her head. “Without a brain-c, no one will take him.”
Then he shrugged, as though he did not even know his loyalty would kill him. “Then we’re still with you.”
She did not even try to talk Vilens out of it. Her only friend in the solar system was a man she met four days ago. She did not count Fiddle, since he would likely never recover, but she did not bother telling that to Vilens. “Then let’s go to a concert. The last of the Pit Thieves.” She took up Stroker and leaned the blade on her shoulder.
Vilens picked his brother back up and followed her again. They walked through empty corridors, silent and alert. She paused by a seemingly unremarkable patch of tiled wall, and part of the wall swung open. Inside was a storage locker with shelves packed with preserved food cubes, glass bottles of water, and a small, single hand blaster. She set Stroker inside, took out a holster belt of her own, and the blaster to fit in it. She inspected the weapon, checking its charge.
“A rare high capacity blaster, fifty shots,” she explained. “Morgan and I built this emergency locker six decades ago. We always joked if we ever opened this again, we would be neck deep in the rankest shit. Well, we were half right.” The secret compartment swung closed and appeared as any part of the wall. Not wanting to spoil the look of her dazzling dress, she carried the belt in hand as she led the way again.
He asked, “Are we in danger? Will they attack us on the way?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “No one wants to miss any of the first concert on Narsinyx in seventy-eight years. Afterwards we’ll be fighting for our lives, but for now we’re not a priority.”
“Can’t you just take your ship and leave?”
She reminded herself he just got a brain-computer yesterday, so kept her tone calm. “None of them would have let me know they switched tribes without taking everything of value first, so the ship is gone. I doubt if I could even get a drink of water at a reservoir.”
“What are we going to do?” he asked, testing her patience.
She looked straight at him. “We’re going to die, Vilens. Oh, I’m sure we’ll put up a good fight, maybe even last a couple days, but there are thousands of Nyxians that want the Pit Thieves dead. This city seems big now, but once they start hunting us, we’ll run out of room quick. They’ll toss us in a recycler, drink our water, and the word ‘pit thieves’ will never be spoken together again. This is how Narsinyx is: drink or be drunk.”
Incensed, he replied, “I didn’t go through all of this just to get recycled! I’m not giving up.”
Throwing her head back, she laughed, sending her mirth echoing down the hall. “I never quit. I’ll fight to the end no matter how dire, but I’m just being honest with you. We won’t go alone into that recycler, but we will be there, sooner or later.” Since she had nothing left to lose but her existence, she reached over and laid her fingertips on his arm. “Don’t think about it now. Get ready to have fun and enjoy this concert. There’ll be plenty of time for desperate plans after the Dandelinits.” She smiled again, almost giddy. “I was just a girl the last time I heard them. I can recall those songs with my brain-c, but they never repeat a performance. Every concert is unique.”
That finally shut his mouth, and they continued in silence. She led him upstairs and out into an open courtyard under the dome. Straight streets led away from the courtyard, but she did not need to check a map to know where she was going. The stars twinkled over their heads in their cosmic display. The air was thinner outside, but she set her brain-comp to reduce oxygen consumption, so it did not hinder her. Out of the underground, it was darker, but her eyes could focus the meager light clearly, allowing her to see just as well. The city towers loomed over their heads, deserted relics of a more prosperous time.
As they walked, she glanced over at him, curious of his reaction to the abandoned areas.
Craning his neck to look at the titanic structures, he asked, “Why don’t you live out here? Why down in those ugly tunnels?”
Smirking, she replied, “We were too busy surviving to worry with aesthetics. Most of these buildings were purely residential, holding generations of families. The useful stuff is underground, gardens, recyclers, purifiers, power-cores. Once the population dwindled, we set the dome to just keep air from escaping, so rogue asteroids can pierce it. That’s what caused the damage.” She pointed out cracks and impacts on the high towers from the hurtling rocks. Gazing over the multitude of windows in the walls she sighed. “When I was a girl all those windows would shine with light. Gigantic banners would hang with family crests.” Shuddering, she remarked, “We never should have stayed here. This place is nothing but a grave now.” Smiling again, she playfully slapped Vilens on the arm with the back of her hand. “But regret is a waste of water.”
Ahead was the massive main theater, made from the same stone, which could hold over two hundred thousand people. From the noise ahead, she could tell the place was packed. No one in the city would miss this performance, but she was glad she did not hear music yet.
Vilens said, “Jeremy and Michael are asking me where I am. They say they won’t start until I arrive.”
That perplexed her. “Why?”
He shook his head, and she could tell he truly did not know. “Ask them. I only met them on the shuttle, right before I met you.”
With a chuckle, she said, “Their music is legendary, but the Dandelinits are weird. They’ve always been weird guys.”
“They’re not from here,” he replied. He shifted Fiddle’s weight in his arms, as though troubled by his own declaration.
Angela scoffed and glanced at him sideways, “I know that. I was here the first time they came for a performance. They played a song called ‘Timeless City of Light’, so beautiful.” Over the decades she had pulled the memory of that song up and relived it a thousand times.
Vilens looked away without response.
The theater was made in the style of those from centuries ago on earth. It was oval, ten stories high, with a stage in the center that could rotate to let the artists face all their audience. A broad set of stairs led into the main area, and she let her gaze roam over the collected crowd. No one looked at her, and no one sent messages of greeting or threat. It was as though she was already dead, just a walking collection of resources waiting to be repurposed. The rational part of her mind loathed being ignored, but the feral pieces were eager for the hunt to begin, to put an end to it. She shut those thoughts out and searched for a place to enjoy the performance.
Vilens drew a lot of stares, and his head jerked back and forth as he received messages from those in the crowd. From his expression she could see his temper starting to rise.
Gently, she asked, “What are they sending to you?”
“Threats, insults, suggestions that I leave my ‘pet’ outside or throw him in a recycler.” He shifted Fiddle closer to his chest, as though that would protect him.
She nodded, understanding. He was fresh; she was old business. “What are you sending back?”
He turned a grim smile on her. “Nothing. I’ll sort them out face to face.”
Grinning, she was about to reply when she received a message from Trapz. “Angela, I’ve reserved a seat for you and Vilens.” Included in the message was the door code to allow access.
It cut her to the core to hear him call her ‘Angela’. Over the last two decades her favorite sound was hearing her only child call her Mother, or some version of that. Another part of her life that only existed in the past. She never dreamed she could fall so fast. In response, she sent back, “I would like that, Trapz. We’ll be there soon.”
It was a simple thing to find her son with her brain-comp, in the private boxes at the highest level. She motioned for Vilens to follow her, and then started up the stone steps through seated Nyxians. Even when she accidently bumped into those crowded on the steps, they did not respond, did not glance at her. Many glared at Vilens and Fiddle, but no one barred their way.
Small private viewing rooms lined the top of the theater. She located the one with Trapz and opened the door with the code. Inside the short, narrow room her son was alone, seated at a table with three empty glasses and two extra chairs. Trapz’ hair and beard were both blonde now, making his tan face look as young as he was. He wore a white and red striped shirt with loose khaki pants. Facing the table, the entire wall was transparent, granting them a clear view of the stage. Next to the table was a floating, circular container of clear water. On the side, in luminescent letters, was ‘Morgan’.
With remorse and mourning crashing around in her brain, Angela walked over and set a hand gently on the glass container. In honor of the moment, she allowed one tear to leak down her cheek.
Stepping close to her, Trapz said, “You two gave me life, something I can never repay. I thought it would be nice to share the performance and Morgan’s water as a way to say ‘goodbye’.”
Angela nodded and wrapped her only child in a hug, probably the last they would share. Savoring the feel of his grown arms around her, for a mere moment she recalled the first time he embraced her. His thin child limbs did not even reach all the wall around. Holding him out at arm’s length she softly told him, “A beautiful farewell. I’m so proud of you, Trapz. Don’t be part of the hunt that comes after me. I’ll kill you.”
Laughing as he stepped back, Trapz replied, “Oh, I wouldn’t even think of raising a weapon against you, Angela. I like my water right where it is.”
Vilens had set Fiddle on the floor and taken the farthest chair, staring straight ahead. Angela sat next to him, and Trapz took the last seat. One at a time he took the glasses, filled them from a spigot at the bottom of the glass cylinder, and set them on the table. Angela picked hers up, clinked glasses with Trapz, and took a long drink.
Vilens had not touched his water, but stared at it. Licking his dry lips, he said, “I got a message from Ludwin, supposedly leader of the Private Indentations. He says he’s looking forward to tasting water from Mars. He’s never had that before.”
Angela scoffed. “Ludwin is just an asshole, although he does lead that tribe. The recycler’s only take the H2O from a person. It’s as clean and pure as it gets. We trust that this is from Morgan, but there’s no way to tell, since there’s nothing left of Morgan in it.” She held up her half-full glass, inviting him to pick his up to toast with her. He messaged a question of poison, and she answered, “Water is sacred on Narsinyx. No one would defile it for a kill. If Trapz was going to murder us, we would have been ambushed outside the door.”
Vilens picked up the glass, gently touched hers with it, then set it to his lips. He drank deeply, not spilling a drop. He drained the glass before setting it back on the table, licking his lips again. Angela drank the rest of her water, then set both glasses next to her son.
With a smile she said, “We’re thirsty, Trapz. Pour us another.”
____
By the time Vilens finished his second glass of water, the performance began. The Dandelinits were onstage, far away, but with a brain-comp he could increase magnification, seeing as close as he wanted. The crowd around them, over two hundred thousand Nyxians, began to clap in unison. No one screamed or cried, and the sound of their hands together filled the theater.
The twin artists were dressed exactly as before in square shoulder black suits. Their wigs were black, their skin beige, with the same gold goggles covering the eyes. In front of each was an identical panel, black glass. The Dandelinits did not touch the panels, keeping their hands to their sides, but the surfaces began to light up as music played.
The tempo was upbeat and Vilens glanced at Fiddle, wondering if he could hear it. The Dandelinits began to sing, their voices blended in perfect harmony. Michael was a high tenor, and Jeremy a bass.
The lyrics sent a shiver of disgust through his brain, as they sang their first song: Music from the Void.
Skipping through space on this little rock, a fallacy to think you’re really living.
Rip each other apart for water in your veins, taking what you’re never given.
All drowning in your dry world of pain. You keep on fighting, but it’s all in vain.
Can you see a future in death? Hold someone else’s breath?
When you have nothing left to kill, your last victim is yourself.
Oh, sa-a-ay,
Can you hear my music from the void?
Can you tell from these pleas, I’m crying for help?
And if this is the end that you have made,
I’m not afraid. If you’ll take me back, back to the beginning.
Vilens turned to Angela, sure to see the horror that he felt. The words described life on Narsinyx, making it seem not worth the effort.
“They’re mocking you,” he said.
Bobbing her head to the beat, Angela reached over and took his hand. “They’re not wrong. The Dandelinits always call it like they see it. That’s why they’re such great musicians.” After a slight pause, she asked, “Have you ever linked with anyone?”
He stared back, “I wouldn’t know how.”
Angela smiled. Life seemed to fall into slow motion. The music became secondary as he felt her brain-computer reach out for his. He reached back, and the link was achieved. It was not what he thought it would be when Fiddle described it so many times. He thought of embracing her, and he could feel her body with his hands. Finally, he could explore her curves, and he let his hands roam. To his mind it was no different from moments that he spent with lovers on Mars. He could smell her, a pleasant, welcoming aroma, familiar but unique. He kissed her passionately, and could feel her lips against his, taste her saliva. Her hands caressed his body, but at the same time he could still feel her one hand gripping his, resting on the table. There were no clothes, no barriers between them, and they writhed in their union. He knew what she was feeling, how everything he did affected her. He did not know her specific thoughts but could read her reactions so well that adjustments were immediate. Her pleasure and comfort became his, and the reverse as well. It was a wonderful feeling, giving, and taking as needed. After a while he began to see flashes of her memories, over a century of life on the asteroid.
Vilens saw Narsinyx as it used to be, through her recollection. The city glowed with light, pouring from the square windows, magnified by the dome at full strength. The dome blocked out the stars, pouring down necessary ultraviolet rays for human and plant development. Shocked, he saw living, green, leafy things growing in plots between the buildings. The towers of Narsinyx were bright blue. The color came from the adhesive used to bind the pulverized rock together.
Until she was two decades old, she ran in the streets, playing games, learning the facts of existence. The most primal fact was that outside the dome was the void, where nothing lived. There were other worlds, asteroid, moons, inhabited by people just like her, Angela Meunez. She would need a ship to reach them, though. The second primal fact was that earth, the home world, was off limits to outsiders. She never cared about earth, or any other part of the solar system. With the recyclers sucking the water from the rocks, Narsinyx was one of the most prosperous communities. Everyone had enough. Everyone completed tasks. Rewards were given for tasks completed. In this way, the city maintained itself. These tasks were easy, done by the machines controlled by brain-computers. Tasks were often switched among people. At one decade of age her personality compatibility rating brought her to Morgan, over a foot shorter and thin. Vilens almost did not recognize the short man with curly brown hair and a constant smile. The compatibility rating was not off, though, and the two formed a bond, mating for life.
Vilens was surprised to see animals in her memories. There were birds flying among the buildings, making their nests in corners and crevices. Deep trenches and pools were filled with fish and reptiles. Many species of mammals, creatures he had never seen with his own eyes, walked the streets. The animals understood the effects of their actions on the city. They excreted waste in only certain areas, did not hoard resources, and did not fight over territory. They were not pets, nor feral, but co-inhabiting lifeforms.
No one was bored. There were high speed races between the towers in air ships, or between who could climb buildings the highest and fastest. She enjoyed witnessing these activities as a child, eager to participate. Yet, she could not operate a vehicle of any kind until two decades old. At three decades she could race and climb towers. She and Morgan trained to be athletes, anticipating the day they could finally compete. Before her twenty-sixth birthday, Narsinyx was declared abandoned. She and Morgan were among those that protested, entreating earth to allow them to keep enough water to keep their city alive.
The memories that came after that were full of suffering. Clearly, Vilens saw in her mind the first time she went to a reservoir for her daily needs and found it dry. Desperate with thirst, Narsinyx quickly degenerated into violent factions. Former friends tried to kill her, forcing her to kill them. Those that refused to participate in hunts either fell as prey, or were found in sealed rooms, dead from dehydration. Still their desiccated bodies were put in the recyclers, drained of every life-giving drop that remained.
Through the decades of surviving, she and her mate stayed true to each other. Morgan became her bodyguard, and his quick violence earned them both a fearsome reputation. They formed the Pit Thieves tribe with two thousand others. The original leader was Pitfall, a short man with light brown skin and straight, gold hair sticking up from his scalp in spikes. Morgan and Pitfall were as brothers, linking almost as often as she and Morgan did. Angela never linked with Pitfall, though, for he would feel her contempt. She did not cause his death decades ago; Black Baron took care of that. Narsinyx was too dangerous a place to waste time on murder plans, but she did not mourn her former leader either. She resented having to keep up his tradition of going topless into battle, protected by the shield belt, but the tribe refused to fight if she did not. Everyone called her leader of the Pit Thieves, but Morgan made just as many decisions as she. They did not merely survive; they drank well.
The loss of Morgan, and now Trapz to another tribe, left Angela feeling empty, desolate. She had lived over a century, fought, and killed for decades. Now she saw the fight was almost over, but her bravado from earlier was genuine. She would struggle to the last breath, but in her mind, she was already recycled.
Her delight over the music was infectious, and Vilens adapted to feel it as she did. The lyrics were not as important as how the song made you feel. The beat from the instruments, and the sound of the voice were more relevant than the message.
Vilens enveloped her weary spirit, cocooning her in his vigor, his lust for living. He felt her respond, and her shudder as she released her pain and misery. In return, he released his agony, losing his people from the caves, learning the truth on Enigma Jupiter. His concern for Fiddle was a constant burden, more like a child than a brother. The music continued with new songs, but he let go of the words, feeling the beat instead. Angela stroked him, and in his mind, he gasped. His lips did not make a sound, nor did he writhe in the passions he was sharing.
Physically, the two sat still, smiling at the performance. In the mind link, Vilens and Angela took all their frustrations from each other, grinding, thrusting, groping. The beat changed to be in time with their indulgence. All through the concert they continued the link, not promising or demanding any from the other. Vilens received what he was given, and that made him want to give more.
Never losing complete touch with the physical, he still knew Fiddle was laying safe against the wall. Trapz did not say or do anything except refill their cups. Occasionally, Angela and he would take sips. The martin suspected the younger Nyxian was engaged in a link of his own.
A note of discord in the song caused Vilens to focus his attention on it, turning away from Angela. The link was severed.
At first perturbed, she then heard it too. Instead of concern, like him, she smiled sadly. “The last concert of the Dandelinits,” she said.
Standing to his feet, Vilens stared at the stage as Nyxians from the audience were rushing it. A force field protecting the musicians flickered and failed under the onslaught of so many bodies. Jeremy and Michael barely had time to raise their hands in defense before they were overwhelmed. The black instrument panels went dark and were knocked aside as the musicians disappeared behind a crush of bodies. He sent messages to both but received no answer. To his enhanced sight blades rose and fell, splattering the crowd with blood. The attack was over in moments, and he gasped in anger as the dismembered pieces of the Dandelinits were carried out by the crowds as tribal trophies. In the absence of the music, there was coarse laughter.
Horrified, he turned to her. “Did you know this would happen? Was this your plan?”
Angela burst out laughing. “No, boy, this wasn’t my plan. I was going to let the Dandelinits go, but my tribe got sliced up and split. My oath of protection went down the waste chute with the Pit Thieves. I thought this might happen on the way here, but honestly, I was too busy surviving the last few days to even think about this concert.”
He felt numb. “They saved our lives, bargained for us.”
She nodded. “Yes, they did. If not for them, I would have killed you and your brother on the transport ship. I would still have my tribe.” She shrugged, palms up. “That’s life in the system, human.”
“You could have warned them,” he protested, instantly regretting it. He sounded like a boy.
Cocking her head, that is how Angela spoke to him. “If they called off the concert, they would have been dead that much sooner. Then we wouldn’t have that amazing performance. Honestly, and you can look at my memories if you need the proof, that was their best concert. Looking back over it, seems obvious to me that they knew they were going to be killed here. Listen to their third song, ‘Gargantuan Mourning’ if you don’t believe me. They know their people are going to miss them. There are billions of people all over the solar system, and the Dandelinits had billions of fans. Only a few hundred thousand people live here in Narsinyx, and we’re the only ones with memories of that performance, their last concert. Think about how amazing it is that only we Nyxians have that.” She laughed again. “And since we’re cut off from the Big Sis, we couldn’t share it with anyone if we wanted to.”
Most of the crowd had dispersed, and a drone was already swooping in to take up the blood.
“The Dandelinits weren’t from this solar system,” he admitted.
She nodded. “Yeah, I know that now. I didn’t see it before, but they made that very clear in their fourth song, ‘Which Way Out of Here’?” She leaned forward and put her fingertips on his hand. “You couldn’t have saved them. Killing the Dandelinits was as much about showing that I have no power in Narsinyx anymore. I’m amazed they let it go on as long as it did.”
“Me too,” Trapz agreed. “Before you say anything, Vilens, I asked Kerneldowns, the leader of my new tribe, to take over concert protection.”
“He refused,” Vilens finished.
Trapz smirked. “He was the one carrying out Michael’s head.” He took their glasses and refilled them again.
Vilens drank the water in a few gulps. “I hear what you’re saying, but it burns my brain to see my friends go out like that.” He glanced at Fiddle, then back to Angela. “What happens now?”
Trapz answered, “Now I take my exit.” He drank his water as fast as Vilens, then threw the glass into the corner, shattering it.
“Goodbye, Angela,” Trapz said.
“Goodbye,” Angela replied. “I want you to live longer than me, so take care. You’ve got a long way to go.”
“Don’t I know it,” Trapz chuckled. “Love and long life.”
“Love and long life,” Angela repeated.
Vilens had heard of this phrase on the atmosphere mines of Jupiter. When two people exchanged ‘love and long life’, it meant they had reached the end of their journey together. Angela and Trapz were no longer ‘mother’ and ‘son’; just two Nyxians with linked genetics.
Trapz stepped past Vilens, saying to him, “Luck to you, friend.” He went through the door and closed it behind him.
The only thing Vilens could think to do was make sure Fiddle had some water. He took his glass and knelt next to his brother. Slowly, he poured water in his mouth. Fiddle gasped and swallowed it.
With haunted eyes, he looked at Vilens and whispered, “Treat me like a good boy.”
Almost breathless with joy, Vilens contained his excitement. His brother was still in a fragile state. “You’re not in the machine anymore, Fiddle. You’re out here with me. We got you out.”
Fiddle nodded. “I know. That’s a lyric from one of the Dandelinit’s songs. I think it’s about me.”
“Yeah,” Angela agreed. “The fifth song, ‘Tumultuous Children’.”
Sighing, Fiddle admitted, “I so envy your ability to see memories anytime you want.”
Viliens stared at his brother, realized he was healed, and grabbed him in a hug. “We thought your mind was gone, destroyed by the Zero Star Zebras.”
Patting Vilens on the back, Fiddle said, “It was. I was lost in that nightmare maze set in my brain. The Dandelinits spoke to me through their music. They don’t have brain-computers like you do, but they could do biologically what you do technologically. They linked with my mind during the concert and helped me reform my fractured consciousness. They didn’t take anything away. I still remember it all. I woke up when they died. I didn’t even know it was a concert. I thought they were singing those songs just for me.”
Vilens backed up and let his brother get up off the floor. Fiddle took the rest of the glass and drank. His hand wandered over his new outfit.
“Who dressed me?” Suddenly he noticed Vilens’ new clothes, and he looked at Angela. “Thank you. I was dreading finding something appropriate.”
Angela turned her head, responding to a message. “Oh, that was fast,” was all she said before the door opened.
A short woman stepped through, dressed in a full suit of midnight blue scale mail. In her hands was a double barrel blaster, pointed at the floor. Behind her was a mob of Nyxians, scowling and cursing.
Vilens received a message from Angela. “The armored woman is Perceiver Stanlee of the Narcinyx Grievance Brigade. They like to act as though they represent some law here on the asteroid, but they’re just another tribe.”
“Peace to you,” Perceiver Stanlee said. “There is a dispute that must be settled first before any other. Fiddle was found guilty and sentenced to torture death. Only one of those punishments has been carried out. You must surrender him at once for death.”
Vilens balked. “On what authority?” For a moment he thought about the blaster on his hip, but even if he could pull it fast enough to shoot, the armor gave her the edge.
“You are tribeless,” Stanlee told him. “I am here to offer you a place with the Narsinyx Grievance Brigade. Walk through the door behind me, and you’ll be accepted as one of us, a true Nyxian. Refuse and you die here with the brainless Martian and the ex-tribe leader.”
For a moment Vilens worried that the insult might wound Fiddle further, but his brother did not respond at all. He realized all the communication with Stanlee was performed through brain-comp. To Fiddle’s limited mind they were just staring at each other.
“Are you a tribe leader?” Vilens asked.
“Fuck no!” Stanlee retorted. “I’m as expendable as this blaster. Killing me gets you nothing, even if you could.” The barrel of the weapon edged up slightly.
Angela held up her hand. “I had planned to at least make it out of the theater before the hunt started. Certainly, there’s plenty of city left to play in.”
Stanlee turned her attention to her. “And you know we’ve got you cornered here. You’re one of the original hold-outs Angela-PT. Not many of you old timers left. I was sorry to hear about Morgan. I always thought he would outlast you. When I heard the Pit Thieves and Zero Star Zebras were sparking off a war, I had to double check it. With Black Baron and you gone, this entire sector will be reshaped. That’s where everyone else is, grabbing the open territory. A handful of tribes are full on in the slaughter right now. Not your first time starting a city-wide conflict, though. I would say your water will be sweet, but it’ll probably taste like any other drink.”
Angela gave a sly smile. “When I’m done killing everyone that comes after me on this rock, I’ll jump into the void. My water will freeze, and my life will end. I’ll tumble through space and time until some far-flung society thaws me out and makes soup.”
Ignoring the boast, Stanlee turned back to Vilens. “So that’s a ‘no’ to our offer?”
“That’s no,” he responded, but she was already backing out the door.
Sensing the intent of the NGB, Vilens leapt at Fiddle, tackling him to the ground. Angela rolled the other way. As soon as the door closed behind Stanlee, blaster bolts began to rip through the walls and door. The crowd was firing at them blindly. Fist sized holes were blown to dust, clouding the air with debris. After a first barrage, the blaster fire ceased.
Chuckling, one of the retreating NGB members stated, “See you in the tunnels.”
Angela rolled across the floor, and came up in a kneeling position, single grip blaster raised. She fired through one of the holes in the wall, and Vilens heard a cry and thud of a body hitting the ground.
“Not you,” she whispered to the dead man.
“That was a great shot,” he told her.
She shook her head. “He made a mistake when he spoke. With a sound that loud and multiple angles I could triangulate his position. That’s how we used to find people back in the desperate days. We were so thirsty we did anything to get a drink.”
“So, are you going to throw him in the recycler?” Fiddle asked, peering through one of the blast holes.
Angela smirked. “A drone will pick him up and scour away the blood. If we live long enough, we can hit up a reservoir for a drink.”
The younger Martian nodded. “The goal is to drink water, not become water.”
Her lip curled in distaste. “That’s a perverse way of putting it, but that is the point.”
Confusion evident on his face, Fiddle asked, “Perverse? I didn’t think Nyxians knew that word.”
Vilens interjected before Fiddle could continue the pointless banter, his specialty. He asked Angela, “What about a ship? Could you find where one is?”
Her smile was condescending. “Have you tried looking for them?”
Conceding her point, he was searching the Big Sis for ships before she completed the sentence. He found only the knowledge that Narsinyx was abandoned. No ships or people officially existed on the asteroid. As before, he pushed to know more, seeking to delve deeper into the Big Sis. He searched for large energy signatures, like the kind made by ship engines. He found fourteen, but eliminated ten of those as power generators, located in deep vaults near the center of the asteroid.
The remaining four energy signatures were all in docking bays. He could not find any registry or configuration of the ships. They had all been spliced together from other vessels.
Vilens ended the search as Angela was turning to Fiddle with a smirk.
“This ought to take a minute,” she declared.
It pleased him to exceed her expectations. “I found the ships. Four of them.”
Shock was plain on her face. “You did? How? Only four? I have it from other tribe leaders that there are eighteen space worthy vessels. Those assholes have been lying to me. Wait, how do you know?”
He explained, “Instead of searching for ships, I looked for energy signatures. I eliminated the ones with patterns from power supply and found the remaining four all in docking bays.” He expected her to look impressed, but her face bore confusion.
“Energy signatures? There haven’t been any energy signatures on this asteroid, on any scans in the Big Sis, for seventy-eight years. You think we don’t know how to look for energy signatures? They don’t show up for us. As far as scanners go, this place is devoid of power, deserted.” Angela stared directly at him. “You said ‘power supply’? You can sense the power-cores for Narsinyx?”
Vilens nodded. “There’s ten of them.”
“Ten left,” Angela’s voice held nostalgic melancholy. “There used to be sixty. Once those power-cores that ran the city were the most advanced in the solar system. By the time Narsinyx was declared abandoned, they were so obsolete that no one bothered to dig them out to recycle them. There are over a thousand reservoirs to store water, but only ten cores left to draw power from. The Narsinyx Grievance Brigade control those power-cores. The NGB are a tribe that came from the engineers that maintained the cores and the security forces that protected them. It’s an old tribe, but one of the smallest.”
“No one ever took them over before?” Vilens asked.
She replied, “The cores are heavily defended, and they move. Beneath Narsinyx are miles of tunnels and immense chambers where ice and rock to build the city were dug out. The power-cores ride on huge anti-gravity slabs. Whenever one was discovered by chance, the tribe could just move it again. The core slabs are literal floating fortresses, but if we can take one over, we would be set for life. Especially since you can find the others too. I don’t know how you’re able to do that, but it just saved our lives.”
“How?” Fiddle asked the obvious question. “We’re still just three people.”
Angela laughed. “No one told you this because they didn’t think it would happen, but if I can come up with a great caper then I can form a new tribe. I can definitely get my old Pit Thieves back, and a lot more people would join for the experience.”
Vilens was perplexed. “And other tribes would allow that?”
Angela scoffed and waved in the air. “There are no rules to this thing. We do what we do to survive. Other Nyxians will jump at the chance to be part of a tribe that controlled its own power supply. With a monopoly on power, the NGB have demanded tribute for decades. You saw that armor Stanlee was wearing. Powerful defense.”
“You don’t want to go for a ship?”
She shook her head angrily. “And go where? Do what? I’ve been living on the same rock for over a century. I’m not going to learn how to live somewhere else. Wherever I go, Narsinyx would come with me, so I might as well stay here.” She touched her fingers to his. “I’ve been to the Jupiter mines twice. I know how comfortable they are. You could have stayed there, lived a nice, good life, but that’s not what you wanted. What you want is here. Form a new tribe with me. Lead us to those power cores. With our own tribe, we can protect Fiddle, get him a brain-computer. It’s that, or we take our chances in the tunnels right now. I can tell you one thing; we are not fighting our way through to those ships. If there really are only four, then they’re the most precious things in Narsinyx. Well-guarded.”
Vilens relented. “I thought they would be, but I hoped you would know a way around security.”
She shook her head. “Going for a ship is the obvious play. We’ve got to make the surprise move.” She held her slim, brown hands in the air and shook them for emphasis.
After a slight pause, he smiled and asked, “So, what do we name our tribe?”
She gave him a broad grin. “It has to be new. Seek the name in the Big Sis. In your mind, generate a random list of a thousand words and then eliminate them one at a time. When you get to a set you like, say it out loud. If you don’t like it, try again.”
Vilens created his word list and in a moment said, “Kinetic Attorney.”
Angela nodded. As she spoke, she sent messages through the Big Sis. “This is Angela of the Kinetic Attorney. I have two words to tickle your brain: spectacular caper. Those of you that know me can confirm I do not throw those words about trying to lengthen my own life span. If you want to know what I’m about and how to join the Kinetic Attorney, then find me at the forty-seventh level reservoir.”
She turned and headed for the door. “Let’s go. There’s another fabricator on the way where we can get some new outfits.”
Fiddle followed her first, then Vilens.
“That’s it?” he asked to Angela’s swaying back.
With a delighted laugh she said over her shoulder, “No, now comes the hard part. Now we need to convince everyone that shows up to the meeting not to kill us.”
____
The closest fabricator was in a tunnel beneath the theater. By the time they trailed Angela out the door, the recycling drones had already collected the body of the NGB member she shot. Fiddle’s jaw had dropped when he heard the dead man collapse after she shot him through a blaster hole. He could never be that precise in his life. Hiding his melancholy, he smiled at Vilens, but he only glanced back.
‘One day’, the phrase echoed shame through his mind. He had not lasted one day in Narsinyx without his brother’s protection. What did that make him? To everyone else in the asteroid city, he was Angela’s pet, but to Vilens he was an anchor. His brother was still fighting to save him, but was it wasted effort?
They followed their new tribe leader through maintenance corridors and down so many levels of stairs that Fiddle did not bother to count. The walls were all blue-grey tile, sometimes cracked and missing pieces. The three continued in silence, and they saw no one. The under-halls were dimly lit, but it seemed Vilens and Angela could see clearly. After his second stumble, Vilens took his hand and led him along. He felt like a pet.
At the fabricator, Angela stripped her dress and boots off first, exchanging them for one of the bodysuits she wore before. When she took it from the device, the material was dull white, almost light grey. As she changed, Fiddle let his eyes roam over her body, appreciating the firm lines of her legs and hips. Growing up in a brothel, he had seen plenty of women unclothed, but the trend on Mars was towards slender frames. He had not seen a round ass like Angela’s until he made it to Enigma Jupiter.
Strangely, Vilens looked away from her, pretending to keep watch, but his eyes darted around too much. When his gaze lingered on Angela pulling her bodysuit on, Fiddle realized his brother was infatuated with the woman. Fiddle crossed his arms and said nothing. He was afraid of the tribe leader as soon as she stepped onto Hickle’s shuttle, and the time they shared minds did not alleviate his fears. Some of the things he had seen in the woman’s memories were horrific slaughters that she gleefully participated in. She was much more suited to his older brother.
After Angela was comfortably attired again, the bodysuit changed to shimmering blue, similar to Vilens’ shirt. Shaking out her hair, it turned to black, but her eyes stayed gold. She wrapped the holster belt around her slim waist and settled the weapon on her hip. They started off again through the maze of tunnels. After going down more stairs, she stopped in the middle of a hall next to a broad panel with blinking lights. Although he saw no markings letting him know it was the forty-seventh level reservoir, he knew it must be the place.
“Where’s the reservoir?” he asked.
Angela turned an amused expression on him and casually motioned to the panel. “On the other side of this wall.” At a silent command from her, a small compartment slid open and three bottles of clear, cool water were waiting. Angela passed them out.
Fiddle drank his down, relishing the pure taste of it. Smiling, he said, “I thought it was going to be like a big pool of water. I thought I might even play on the beach while we wait for people to show up.”
The look that Angela gave him informed of how stupid that sounded to her. “No, it’s a big tank of water. There are many spread out through Narsinyx. Water is so vital; we couldn’t afford to have one vulnerable source.”
Embarrassed, Fiddle decided to change the subject. Renewing his smile, he told her, “You looked smashing in that sparkling dress. And thank you for my outfit. I know Vilens didn’t pick these out.” He smoothed a hand over his gold tunic and admired his leggings, proud of his appearance. He glanced at his brother, to see if he noticed the comment, but Vilens was looking down the hall, watching for enemies.
“You’re welcome, darling,” she said with a smile and let her arm drape over his shoulders. “I hadn’t worn a dress in eight decades, but the Dandelinits were worth it.”
Thinking about the alien musicians still hurt, and his smile faded. “They saved me. Guided me back to sanity with their music, but I couldn’t do anything for them.”
Angela’s smile turned rueful, and she stepped away from him. “I gave Jeremy and Michael my promise I would protect them on this asteroid. I was so deep in the battle with the ZSZ that I forgot about them. Which reminds me that I still owe you an apology about Black Baron. I never should have sent you to that mad man. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would reach him. I asked Tolera to keep you with her until Vilens woke up.”
Fiddle gasped, suddenly remembering his new friend. “Tolera. What happened to her?”
Angela winced. “I’m sorry again. Tolera and that band of Servitors were wiped out before the ZSZ even attacked us. To keep them from warning us the attack was coming.”
His heart fell. He was looking forward to seeing Tolera again. Eyes glistening, he asked, “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just ask me to go stay with the Servitors? I would have done it.”
Fiddle looked her in the eyes and saw real remorse.
She told him, “I didn’t know that. I thought I would have to trick you into staying put. It’s our way in Narsinyx, to rebel.”
It made him feel a little better that she wasn’t trying to get rid of him. He admitted, “I should have turned back as soon as I killed those guards. They were so hostile. There was no reason to think I would find anyone rational beyond those doors.”
He was about to say more, but Angela looked away, down the hall. Suddenly Fiddle felt invisible again.
With an eager gleam in her eye, she said to Vilens, “They’re coming, dozens of Nyxians. They’ll hear us out, so let’s make it good. If we convince them, thousands more will join.”
“What should I say?” Vilens asked.
Shaking her head, she replied, “Nothing. Watch for the sneak attack. If anyone looks like they’re about to take me down, don’t wait for my signal. Do what you do.”
Vilens nodded. Fiddle did not bother to ask what his role would be. He put his back to the cold, stone wall, and stayed silent.
Far up the hall, from the same direction they took, came a group of Nyxians. Fiddle watched Angela slip into character. She cocked a hip, letting a hand rest next to her blaster, flashed a brazen smile, and waited for them to approach. Standing behind, but to the side of her, Vilens was relaxed and ready.
The group did not get too close, but stopped a few yards away. Fiddle recognized Colette as part of the group, wearing a suit of worn, brown leather. He was glad she survived the tribe war he caused, but he did not try to get her attention. He knew she would not appreciate it.
The silence between the people was tense, with the new group as anxious as Angela and Vilens were calm. Fiddle was about to ask what was wrong; why was no one talking? Then he realized they were communicating through their brain-comps. He could see the body language change, their limbs motioning as though they spoke with their mouths.
Suddenly Colette stepped forward and said out loud, “I lost my mate because of you and your Martian! Six decades Poufa and I were together, and now I am a lonely shell.”
Fiddle could see the misery on her face, and knew it was no angry boast. Hanging his head from the shame of causing so much death, he silently cursed the day he came to this awful place.
Angela snapped back, “You dare say that to me? Those Zero Star cunts came for me first, and Morgan took his last fall! We drank his water at the concert and toasted a century of life! Six decades is a good time for a mate, but nine is even longer.” She sniffed and regained her composure. Still out loud, she said, “I mourn for Poufa and the rest. I lost my whole tribe, but past pain is past. Time to aim for the future again. Now you have my pitch for the Kinetic Attorney, and if we grab those power cores, it will be a new day on Narsinyx.”
Colette turned away, as though to face her group, then spun back around, blaster in her hand.
On Mars, Fiddle and the rest of the brothel relied on Vilens’ protection more than once. There were whispers around, never said in his brother’s presence, that the man could read minds. Vilens had never confided anything like that to him, but he had an uncanny ability to know where and when an opponent would strike. Hence it did not surprise Fiddle one bit that as soon as Colette turned, Vilens was already moving, pulling his blaster free. Before the woman could even aim her weapon at Angela, his blaster shot struck her through the heart, dropping her on her back. Empty eyes staring at the ceiling, Colette’s chest was a smoking hole.
Fiddle was numb. Another death because of his foolish journey.
No one else in the group even flinched.
Angela stepped forward, bent down, and picked up the dropped blaster, inspecting it casually. Chuckling she said, “I gave this gun to Poufa. Seven decades I knew him and Colette. I haven’t known any of you half as long. So, are you ready to give your oath to the Kinetic Attorney?”
The rest of the recruitment ceremony took place through brain-computers. Fiddle sat in silence, watching as two drones came to collect Collette’s body, and whisk her off to wherever they broke down corpses. No one else even glanced at the dead woman floating beneath the machines.
Fiddle looked over at Vilens, and saw his brother staring at him.
Conjuring up a brave smile, Fiddle said, “We’re a long way from home, Vilens.”
Vilens shook his pale head and replied, “No, brother. We are home.”
Continued in Part Four: The Kinetic Attorney Get Their Due
By Aaron Ward
Published by Aaron Ward
Copyright 2020 Aaron Ward
Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Original Literature 