Mother of Children
Author: Matteral
Original post: https://matteralleve.blogspot.com/2015/11/eight-thousand-suns-in-new-eden-contest.html
Entry for the YC118 Pod and Planet Contest in the Eight Thousand Suns in New Eden category.
Chapter 1
A young boy in worn-out clothes scurries around the street corner so fast, he slides before getting enough traction to fully sprint down a dark, dead end, alley. His hand clutches a small sack as he scans for cover. Seconds later, two men appear at the entrance where the boy was.
The darkness in the alley is thick, even impenetrable in places. Only occasionally is it interrupted by half functioning lights. Above them, tall residential towers house free citizens that live a world away, celebrating their milestones in comfort. In stark contrast, the miserable ones below forage for their next meal, often falling below the radars of the charities that are supposed to aid them. This city, in particular, has a disproportionate number of children, usually orphaned from dysfunctional, drugged-out parents that have ceased being parents in any meaningful way.
“End of the road kid. You shouldn’t take things that don’t belong to you,” one of the men calls out.
The two men are a part of organized crime. Underneath their nice clothes is an array of scars and tattoos from growing up on these same streets. Long ago, their fortunes changed when they proved themselves to the local strongman. The underworld in the city is carved up by dozens of strong men who run “social clubs.” These clubs provide meals for their members, as well as a sense of purpose, brothers and sisters, and money. For this, they break bones when asked.
"I know everyone in this sector, but I don’t know you. You're new. Maybe you don’t know the rules, so I’m going to give you a pass on this one. Throw me the bag." He says. After a moment, “No? Okay. Welcome to the hard way.”
The thugs seep into the darkness to stalk the boy. They split up. One covers the only way out, while the other puts on night vision goggles.The kid hears them and bolts for the street. He is easily brought down by the tall thug, who expertly subdues and pins the boy to the ground with one well placed knee.
The goggled thug grabs the sack and takes a look inside. "Yeah," he says, "We're good." He looks up at the windows to make sure there are no witnesses, and nods to his partner who is putting on beaded gloves.
“Sorry kid. I need to use your face to send a message to the other new guys. Nobody steals from Stinger,” he says, as he prepares to go to work on the kid despite groans of protest.
His partner drops his goggles, groans, and collapses mysteriously. A second later, two rounds cut through him. He crumples in place, falling on top of the boy. The man’s last labored breaths cease. The boy doesn't move. His panic has him frozen in place.
Thup. Thup. Quiet gun fire insures the two thugs are dead. The terrified boy wiggles loose but is met with a blinding light that paralyzes him. He cannot see. He is surrounded by four military men.
“What about this one?” asks a soldier.
“That’s a street kid. What do you think those guys were, before signing up with Stinger’s club? He’ll grow up to replace them so let's save us the trip,” the corporal says.
Thup. Thup. The boy falls over, eyes open with the fear of his last moments on his face. The corporal pulls out a paint canister and sprays a message all around them:
N-O A-L-I-E-N-S
He signs it with a Gallentean Military symbol of many years ago. A throwback to another age.
A light transport arrives and the paramilitary men jump in, helped by their commanding sergeant, who pulls them in. His damaged face doesn't detract from his rugged good looks. The doors lock and the transport speeds away.
“Good work. That’s five in one night. We’ll be hearing from their boss soon enough. He’ll get sloppy trying to counter us and we’ll move in,” says the sergeant.
“Four sir,” the corporal corrects. “The last one was a witness. A boy.”
“Gallente?”
“Looked Ammatar to me. Hard to tell with all the dirt on him.”
“You men did well. There are going to be extra casualties in this conflict, there always are, but we are right to clean the streets of these vermin. It will save lives in the end, Gallente lives, and people will see that for what it is.”
“Yes sir”, the soldiers agree.
The transport speeds away into the night.
Some time passes but no one has crossed the scene of the shooting. Rodents start nibbling one of the bodies, as more rodents gather. Nothing has moved in some time so the rodent's innate caution has been overcome by hunger.
The boy’s dirty cheeks face the sky, the despair on his face has melted some. He’s tugged and dragged off by something much bigger than a rat. A heavy fur draped figure carries the boy away into the darkness. The bag is picked up too, by a small hands. The vermin that momentarily scattered begin to return.
Chapter 2
Most commerce is built into the the first floors of tall residential buildings. Above them, even taller buildings form the city's skyline. This district was once the focal point for the city, but that time has long passed.
Two people converse in the cellar of a claymakers shop that serves as half-home half-studio for Mauddi, a thin old man of modest means. He wears eyeglasses that occasionally fog over. The vapor of simmering water waffs as he adds herbs and stirs.
“It was his face. That expression; fear, confusion, pain.” Mauddi says.
Behind him the boy’s body lies on the table, almost completely stripped. Two wounds on his chest near his heart are covered by a blood stained cloth. His eyes are shut and his face, expressionless.
“His struggles are over.”
Further off in the room, a woman sits in the corner. She is dressed in many layers, topped with thick fur. Several children of varying age accompany her. They sit quietly around her on the floor until they are dismissed into the other room by her. Bessa is not the mother of these orphaned children, but she has brought them to live under her protection. The children gather in the other room where they tinker with scattered toys. They are familiar and comfortable in this home because they have been here many times.
Bessa stands up, her stoic face has clean Gallentean features framed by dark brown hair that slides down the sides of her face, framing it. She has a mature appearance, although she is young. Her athletic build is slightly softened by age but there is nothing clumsy about her movements as she slowly paces the room. Her eyes drop and gaze at the boy on the table.
“His face tells me everything, and yet I’ve never seen this child before. If he’d spent some time with me he might have had a better death.”
“Not a better life?” Mauddi asks as he covers the boy’s body. “The arrogance of a capsuleer. Traversing the heavens, dealing out death with banal indifference because it is not a problem for you.”
“I am not a capsuleer!” She responds defensively.
“You might as well be.” Mauddi insists. “These kids you collect, every fiber of their body commands them to survive, your meditations won’t change that. No one greets death. That is talk for philosophers, a luxury.”
“It is not a luxury; it is a necessity. Maybe at one time that life lust was needed, but look at us now; over populated, over fed, overstimulated. There’s no balance, we just consume because we think we are unique and deserving of whatever we can get.” Her eyes drop, saddened. “We are just the cells of a larger body, built to a purpose and then to expire. Not unique.” She puts her hand on the sheet. “This body here, was one of three. Tomorrow there will be more. Everyday there will be more. Yet our species is still progressing. They are not unique.
The old man sighs. “Yes, but you only brought the boy.” He opens the door to a large kiln, big enough to make ashes of a full grown adult. Bessa helps Mauddi move the body into the kiln. She whispers some words over the corpse and closes the the kiln. Mauddi starts the heating cycle.
“I brought him because protecting children is my purpose.” She says.
Chapter 3
A man walks into a tall residential tower, nodding his way past plain clothed men that guard the entry. He’s greeted with a pat down from two guards before he is allowed to enter the suite.
“Come in detective,” a thick voice invites him in. A very muscular, dark skinned man with facial tattoos approaches. He’s in a bright white robe, patting his bald head with a towel. Two women carry on quietly in the bedroom before they close the door. The large man offers the detective something strong to drink.
The detective accepts. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“A moment ago you might have been.” Says the big man. “Now, what do you know that I should know.”
The detective smiles, “Can I finish my drink first, Stune?”
The big man gets very serious. “Tonight call me Stinger, because tonight, we’re all about business.”
“Business it is.” The detective agrees, and shoots down the drink to buy time. “This whole arrangement works when no one ends up dead, and that includes your people. That complicates things. Citizens don’t like to see it, even in this part of the city.”
Stinger takes a good long look at the detective, deciding if he can be trusted. “These guys aren’t making demands, and other clubs aren't getting hit. This is personal.”
“Seems political.” the detective corrects. Stinger smirks.
He grabs the detective's arm firmly. “Night after next I’ll be having an important meet at my bodega. I want some assurances.”
“I’m sure we can arrange something,” the detective, uncomfortable, gets loose.
“I need the ‘mother of the little fingers’, while you’re at it.” Stinger says menacingly.
Chapter 4
Bessa is face to face with her clone. She’s is well dressed and accompanied by two technicians and a representative that resembles a recent university graduate. She’s blond and buoyant and clearly impressed with Bessa. Security guards stand in the background.
The representative starts, “As you can see, your clone is in peak health, awaiting your arrival when you need it. We make the vitals available to you remotely.”
“I needed to see her with my own eyes,” Bessa replies.
“Of course. You are welcome to inspect any time you like.” The representative adds, “I’ve noticed you are past your rebirth interval, by quite a bit. Are you having any issues with your nervous system? Any muscle or bone issues? Any flutters?”
“I work those out on my own.”
“Perfect. We want to thank you for your business. It’s an honor to meet your storage needs, and although we are not the largest corporation, we offer everything the major --”
Bessa interrupts. “I picked you for your discretion.”
“Of course.” The representative indicates to the technicians and security. They leave the room.
“We can see the hangar next, everything is as you left it, with the exception of ordinance removal as that is prohibited within the city’s borders. Maintenance schedules have been adhered to, and your ship is ready to go when you are.”
“Thank you. I will schedule a neural re-scan, but I need to remember everything, every last moment. ” Bessa knows she is asking for the impossible. Only capsuleers in pods, or brain stem implanted infantryman can do that. They both require some kind of mechanism to transport the memories.
The representative is stunned and then cautious. “Who are you with?”
“You’ve done security checks. It’s just me and my money, which will be your money if you can help me.”
The representative knows bringing in money is the fast track to promotions and Bess prized client, still she proceeds cautiously. “The Federation’s Valkryie program makes use of different kind of transneural burning scanner. It’s much smaller but not completely portable. We’re in custody of some of this technology, working on improving its range.”
“I don’t need range, I need it implanted.“
“Implanting takes cerebral conditioning we cannot do, but there is another way. In our attempts to increase range we reverse engineered the correlated factors. Portability for range. At a portable scale the neural signal is theoretically not reliable past the atmosphere. In fact we don’t trust it past terrestrial features, like mountains, but here in the city...”
Bessa smiles. “I’ll test it for you.”
The representative smiles smiles, then becomes serious again.”Can I ask you why you need this, do you fear for your life?”
“No, I fear for the lives of others.” Bessa replies.
Chapter 5
At this time of the year the rain comes in waves and washes the streets clean of the debris the masses leave behind. The normally grey and dirty buildings in the market district reveal some of their previous luster.
The district is divided into multiple areas; some older, and some more dangerous. Most of the activity happens around Market Street. There are small pleasure shops next to street food shacks and minor body alteration shops.
On this day, a slight rain falls over the area causing the broken street to reflect the over done lighting from the shop’s advertising. The sun has broken through some of the clouds, showering the area with orange light as it sets, ending another day.
Hundreds of people splatter around over the wet stone as they bargain hunt the desperate shops. All types of people come here; the rich in search of adequate counterfeit merchandise, hagglers that enjoy the sport of price meeting, the disenfranchised, the foreigners, and edgy university students. The constables walk around in heavy coats to keep them dry and warm, making them appear much bigger than they are.
The downpour momentarily gets heavy, causing the pedestrians to seek cover under shop canopies. Vehicles take advantage, as a few more get through before the crowds drift back into the street, slowing them down.
Among the variety of faces, three street kids dart up to the counter of a noodle place. They find seats. One of them waves at the shop owner-cook, who acknowledges them and brings them food which they eat without hesitation.
“No yesterday?” he smiles at them.
The oldest of the three shakes his head. An old Jin-Mei woman from the souvenir shop next door drops a couple sweet treats in front of them for dessert. Most children are chased off for fear of stealing, but these three are known to the shop owners. They are cared for by the ‘mother of children’, as Bessa is known in this sector. Her children move around freely and are watched over by the regular occupants and shop owners. They have a symbiotic relationship; food and safety in exchange for trust and service that has been built over months.
The kids finish their meal and split up the dessert without complaints. The older one gives a little more of his to the younger ones. Once they are done, they wave thanks to the shop owners and step down. They quickly go about cleaning and picking up trash left behind by the patrons. The older one grabs a broom and sweeps the water and mud off the curb.
In the distance a constable is interrogating a shop owner, who turns and points to the children. The old Jin-Mei woman notices this and warns the kids.
“Go.” See shouts as she prepared to intervene. The kids dart and weave through the crowd easily.The constable uses his communications device while he pursues, bumping into pedestrians. The noodle shop owner knocks over a bucket of water causing the constable to slip belly down into the street. A second constable restrains the shop owner. Pedestrians stop to watch the scuffle, but the kids have escaped.
The kids slow to a fast walk once they are a few blocks away from Market Street, and head for home, their hearts racing. They turn a corner and are picked up by some men that grab them and drag them off. They children do not scream for help, or whimper. They are taken one street over, to a bodega in the middle of the block. It looks well guarded.
The two constables that were pursuing the kids see what is happening but they do not intervene. They keep their distance and one uses his communication device.
“Stinger’s got them now. We’ll close the street,” he says, as he wipes off his coat.
A very young constable approaches from the far side. He’s waved off, but continues to approach. He looks down the blocked street.
“What’s going on over there? Lots of fancy vehicles,” he jokes with his older colleagues.
“Nothing. It is fine, We’ll watch over it. Get back to your rounds before I write you up for not being around,” the older constable says, as he cleans the mud off his coat.
“Yes sir.” The younger constable senses the hostility and walks away, but not before catching a glimpse of Stinger in front of the Bodega. After a distance, he discretely activates a communicator.
Several kilometers away, the paramilitary unit is armed and ready. The corporal’s communication link lights up, a little earlier than expected.
“We’re lit.” He’s reading the incoming information. “Five or more targets this time. Drop zone is close. A few blocks from the red zone. That’s a lot of exposure,” he informs the sergeant.
“Doesn’t matter. After this we’ll break the whole thing open. It’s about time we caught the city's attention and said some things.” says the sergeant.
“We could use drones sir, and send a message to media,” the corporal offers.
“This is a revolution, not an assault. Never send a drone to do a soldier’s job,” the sergeant shouts, as they make for their armored transport.
Stinger has been interrogating the kids in front of the bodega. He discovers they have his sack from the killing of his men and the boy.
“Tell your elder to bring it to me now. These two will stay with me until you bring her here.” He gestures towards the smaller kids. He lets the boy go, who runs away with all his speed.
He signals his men to enter the Bodega. They carry the kids in with them. The kids are coping with their captivity by breathing deeply with eyes closed. A couple of men guard the doors.
Bessa’s thoughts echo in her head, until she unknowingly speaks, ”With my own eyes.”
“Excuse me madam, I didn’t catch that?” the tech asks.
“Nothing. Just a thought. Are we done?” Bessa asks.
“Yes, all done,” the technician informs her.
Bessa redirects her attention to her communication device that has been making a variety of noises for some time.
She quickly starts for the exit. “Thank you, my money is well spent with you.” The representative follows her. Bessa turns to her. ”I need a lift. Do you mind? It’s urgent.”
“I’d be honored, everything is ready for you.” the representative replies.
They move quickly as Bessa tries to contact Mauddi.
Mauddi has left the door open and is well on his way to the bodega, being led by the older boy that has come to get him. He carries the sack that was taken the other night. His communication device is left behind.
The two men standing guard outside the bodega are seen through a digital viewfinder. They stand near pillars that hold up the front patio roof. They constantly scan their surroundings, cognizant they’re practically at war with an unknown force. The viewfinder is constantly taking measurements of distance, wind, gravitational pull, and air density. The scope is used by a paramilitary sniper, who is half a kilometer away, on top of a building. He’s alone, but connected.
“I can get one, I think. They are using cover. We have them spooked. Weapons free?” he says.
“Negative,” says the sergeant. “You’re our eye in the sky. Just keep the big Tarr from leaving. We have this all worked out.”
Bessa reads her communication device. She tracks all her children through it. Each one has a tracer embedded in their hip monitoring their vitals and stress levels. It is clear that something is not right. The representative operating the vehicle is chatting away and trying to make polite conversation, but Bessa is fixated on her readouts.
“Go straight to these coordinates.” Bessa’s device transmits the coordinates to the vehicle. “Speed up.” At her feet is a large bag and her huge coat.
The Mauddi and the boy can see the bodega the distance. “Go to the street and get the constables, but give me some time first, so I can get them out.” Mauddi instructs.
“No, they are bad too.” the boy says.
“Do not be afraid.Bring them to the bodega,” he urges. “I must go.” Mauddi makes his way down the street.
Mauddi is seen approaching. One of the guards walks inside to alert Stinger. Mauddi arrives, and the guard reaches for the bag, but the Mauddi recoils. “Not until I have the children,” he says.
The guard can see Mauddi’s determination and decides to let him keep the bag. He opens the door to let Mauddi in.
Bessa is dropped off on Market Street. She grabs her large bag and coat. The busy intersection prevents her from crossing, but she does it anyway, eliciting shouts from drivers.
She moves through the crowd quickly, zeroing in on the older boy who is taking refuge with some shop owners. More of her kids are there too and they gather with her. She takes count and has all but two. She instructs them to stay there, and makes for the bodega, using her communication device as a guide. She puts on her large coat and clutches tightly to her bag.
Down the street, she is spotted by the constables, who signal her to approach. Bessa appeals to them. “I need your help; my kids have been taken from me. They are right over there.”
“Your kids? I’ll take you madam,” replies the constable. He grabs her arm tightly and walks her down the street. Bessa senses something is wrong about this constable. His coat uniform is muddy and he makes no attempts to reassure her. By the time they are near the bodega, he is practically dragging her.
In a flash the front windows of the bodega explode outward, gunfire crackles around. Bessa and the constable are blown off their feet. Screams and yelling with more gunfire spill out into the street. People stream out of the bodega, including Stinger and his men, who run, keeping their heads low. The constable rolls over, bleeding from glass shrapnel. Bessa is unhurt, her coat is lined with an impenetrable material that protected her. She get to her feet and grabs her bag.
At the far end of the street an armored vehicle screeches to a stop and the Sergeant deploys his men, ordering them to attack. Bullets fly back and forth as Stinger’s crew looks for cover. People are scrambling and running in all directions. Some falling, after being hit by rounds.
Bessa runs into the smoking bodega. A fire caused by the blast begins to consume the room. The blast has left furniture thrown around. A few dead, and more wounded, are scattered. The old man emerges from a corner of the room, near a dead body that probably shielded him from the blast. He is disoriented but has both kids with him. They appear unhurt but in varying degrees of shock. Bessa grabs them and covers them. She screams, “We have to go now, there is more coming!”
“I can’t. I cannot hear you,” the Mauddi yells.
Bessa pulls him to his feet and covers them with her coat as they make their way out. They run into Stinger’s men, who move in and around the patio of the destroyed bodega, rounds whizzing by, snapping on walls and columns.
“Keep moving!” they run for safety, staying low.
Stinger moves fast and confidently as he makes his way back to the bodega patio. He grabs Bessa with impressive strength. Her bag falls, a small helmet rolls out. She yells to the Mauddi, “Go, Go!” He’s recovered some of his hearing and takes the kids away from the gunfire. A small crowd has started to form around the corners of the street and a few men aid the Mauddi and the kids, helping them turn the corner to safety.
Stinger pulls Bessa close and holds her up as a shield.
“You want to kill your women! Huh?! You murdering bigots!!”
The corporal aims a bright flood light at Stinger and Bessa. “Gallente,” he informs his superior. The sergeant calls ceasefire. A few shots ring out but everyone is taking cover. The battle calms rapidly. Smoke billows into the night’s sky. Some of the crowd are recording the carnage on their personal devices as they look for safety, while still retaining a good view.
The sergeant uses a voice amplifier. “We’re here to do what has to be done. You are like a virus, you and your kind. Infecting our society with your corruption and filth, but you alone are not the problem. Our “freethinkers” and their politicians that allow you to persist are also to blame. Our people may not say it out loud, but they know what I say is true.”
“You kill children like dogs!” Stinger yells.
Corporal whispers into his communicator. “Just the woman, take the shot.” Bessa is close enough to hear the corporal and turns to reach for the helmet. She sees a small flash far away on a building top. It hardly registers before she feels an enormous pressure on her chest and shoulder.
Stinger falls on top of Bess’s dead body and rolls off her. Scurrying for cover. Shots fly and the battle erupts again. Bessa’s vision grows dark. She reaches for the helmet but it is beyond her. With every fiber of strength she drags her broken body to it. Her body numbs, but she fights through and puts the helmet on her head, pushing the control repeatedly. A needle is triggered that enters her brain, killing what’s left of her.
Several kilometers away Bessa’s new body erupts to life. She gasps, sucking in oxygen. Her memory up to the last moments are intact. The protective cover begins to lift and the mechanisms that keep her clone healthy snap. Steam fills the air as her leg steps out of the container.
Sergeant calls out over his voice amplifier “It’s over for you. That poor woman was just another example of your savagery.”
The authorities are starting to arrive, along with some reporters’ camera drones. They order the crowds back and evacuate nearby buildings.
Some paramilitary soldiers have planted mines behind them and their first victim is a constable transport. It explodes, disabling the vehicle, killing some of the passengers, and injuring others. They stumble out in no condition to fight.
Stinger has only a couple of men left. The rest are dead or dying in the street. The heat from the bodega is starting to burn. He has no way out.
The Mauddi is far away from the battle with the kids. Medics start setting up a triage center nearby. He gathers the kids around. In the night sky, he hears the burning of propulsion trailing a large shadow in the sky.
The sniper takes aim at Stinger. The digital readout calculates and adjusts. “I’ve got the shot.” The corporal on the ground relays to the sergeant. The sergeant smiles. “We won this one. Take the shot.”
The sniper makes one last adjustment when he hears a huge sound that is instantly on top of him. His last glance is of the black outline of an Ares class interceptor, before it crushes him, taking off a large part of the building with him.
The crowd starts to panic at the sound of large engines overhead. They begin to scatter.
The Mauddi sees the Ares fly overhead with great speed and precision as it burns a bright path to the battle. “We have to go. Now! Run!”
The sergeant looks up. “What the fuck!”
People run away from the street, panicked. Some holding their recording devices behind them to catch what is happening. The news camera drones stream live to their broadcasters.
The Ares pulls into a steep incline before it begins to fall sharply on top of the whole street. Stinger runs, as do his last men. The paramilitary soldiers fire their weapons at the incoming spaceship.
The corporal now understands what a terrible situation they are in. “It’s a starship. Only Capsuleers fly this way. We’re all dead.” The sergeant takes cover in the vehicle.
The Ares twists to wedge itself between the streets’ tall buildings. The heat is instant death for everything below. Metal becomes liquid, stone catches fire. The Ares smashes down, taking parts of the building with it. It stops moving four stories up.
The sound of the micro warp drive starts up and a huge plume of smoke and dust mushrooms into the air, just before the ship detonates. The whole area turns white as day and a terrible concussive explosion rips through everything in the area. The earth shakes violently. Power drops for a kilometer in every direction. A large gray cloud drifts high up into the night’s sky.
The Mauddi has found cover and the kids are safe, but scared. He takes in the view of the vast darkness interrupted only by the fire and wreckage.
“It’s ok to be frightened.” The old man says.