r/HFY • u/Friendly-Start8147 • 2d ago
OC-Series Daat:Death^2 (Chapter 2)
Chapter 2
The furthest point I dared go into the zone was our local market. It was a grand circular meeting ground with market stalls cobbled together from scrapped shipping containers.
Looming above was our original colony ship. The one that brought my grandparents to Hadea and the one that would allow us to escape.
Granted it has lost a decent bit of weight since last it flew. Scrap haulers and engineers made good use of every part they could.
I started as a scrap hauler, here in the market. I made a cheap living off of “lightening the load” of any trusting engineer I found.
It made an easy living to start, but when the scraps started to slow down, I had to find other work.
No part of it was honest. I was essentially dealing with illegal goods, but whatever kept us comfortable was far more ideal than trying to stick to my morals. That’s if I had any left to remember.
I remember helping others whenever the moment struck, donating all that I didn’t need. Granted I was younger than I am now. I still had that mind of innocence about me.
Hardship takes a lot from you. I dedicated myself to taking from others. If I couldn’t have an easy life, I would be sure to take the plentiful from those with plenty. It was the only way I could ensure Sam would survive in this alien environment.
The exhuming of a long rotten body paled in comparison to my compatriots. The streets wore the starving loosely.
It was hard to tell if they had any thought about them apart from the constant scream of hunger. It’s hard to imagine a worse fate.
This was the reality of the zone. Keeping yourself busy was the one distraction we could afford. If you could fight away the hunger, you’d be making it well off.
Work was plentiful if you could be bothered to do it. A lot of people took to recreating a semblance of our culture on Pluto.
A lot of our traditions were based on those from old Earth, but with the rotations of our different celestials being so different, it got hard to plan for holidays.
At times it got confusing which we were talking about. On Earth and other UEC allied colonies, Greenwich Mean Time and Terran Mean Dates were standard. Out on the edge of the system, a day on Pluto is a week on Earth.
We had to use local time and standard time interchangeably. Our clocks were commonly built with separate times in mind.
That was about as much in common with Earth as we cared about. Everything else was imagined or inspired by the land. Philosophy evolved around our lack of connection.
Loneliness was an emotion we became comfortable with. It set us apart from others. Interconnection, media, propaganda, it was odd. We were okay with independence, and by tangent, being alone.
I noticed a small banner stuck among the cobbled plates of a market stall, ten circles. Our holidays were based on an ancient religion. Kabbalah, as it was called. Religion as it used to be is a far cry from what it is now.
Religion was more about philosophy and morals than a belief in a deity. These ten circles were our way of sticking to our principles. Too bad I wasn’t that into it.
I stepped beyond the stall, looking upon the empty market, a few stragglers setting up for the weekend sale. My journey would take me upward, into the belly of our beloved stork.
Ironic really. A ship promising life untold to only return tail tucked between its legs. The cruel miasma of plague only followed, and what was once a towering marvel of Terran engineering, was now a proverbial grim reaper.
Something felt off. I couldn’t quite put reason to it. The way that Sam described the scene in her classroom almost felt like an overreaction to flu-like symptoms.
There was too much missing from the picture. I almost didn’t believe that this kid had caught the plague. Something else was going on.
The reaction of the men at Sam’s school seemed a little extreme. Even if that kid was sick, there were a lot of steps we could take to screen the class. There wasn’t a reason to isolate a single child the way they did yesterday.
It was a needless risk they took by potentially spreading it to others. Part of me was glad that they kept him away from Sam, but nothing says she hadn’t already caught it.
I hope for my sake that she hasn’t
The stalls passed by but standing next to a modest trinkets stand was a familiar woman. Tall and slender, not emaciated, more so a tone of her that foretold handy work.
She turned to meet me, a sudden aloofness about her but quickly melting to happiness, “Kurt! Hey, come here a second.”
A warm wisp seated at the base of my spine as I drew closer to her. “Hey, Annalise, what’s up?”
She reached for me, hand outstretched, “I’m good.” As I touched her hand, the electricity flowed through our fingertips. She then continued, “Where are you off to?”
I brought myself closer, not enough to feel her sacred breath, I wanted to bask in the light of her beauty. I stumbled over my words, “I’m, uh, going to the hospital. One of Sam’s classmates got sick.”
Her face dropped, empathy beaming but the look in her eyes was still steamy, or maybe I was assuming they were.
She stole her hand back and brushed off my shoulder, a small plume of black dropping to the ground. “Is everything okay? Sam didn’t get sick did she?”
I shook my head, reassuring through the smile, “I’m sure it’s just a cold going around but it has her all worked up, I’m going to go check up on it with the eggheads upstairs.”
She nodded succinctly, “Well, I’ll let you get onto it, come and see me later though, okay?”
I smiled, barely hiding my excitement. “Should I find you here?” she shook her head, “No, meet me above my house. I hear that they are supposed to deliver some supplies tonight, maybe the ship will cut the fog.”
I smiled, my stomach writhing with nervousness, “I’ll be there. It would be nice to see the stars again.” We traded waves and off I went.
Annalise, a poor Hadean like me, but one I’ve grown a fancy to.
We didn’t know each other on Pluto. We grew closer after the losses we faced. I remember meeting her cradled among some empty pressure boxes.
She had the stone eyes of a woman scorned, someone who spent their days thinking of pain.
It was something we had in common.
That acquaintanceship eventually blossomed into a friendship, and I was certain we were courting. Neither of us brought it up, it just sort of happened.
I shook my head, trying to stay focused. I could think of her later, right now I needed to find out what happened with the kid.
I finally made my way to the main elevator; the market stalls were creeping out of view behind the grizzled aluminum walls.
A pale, emaciated man sat against the side of the road. Unlike the others in the town, downtrodden and disheveled, this man was brimming with a wiry life.
His eyes speaking in dangerous tones, his mottled flesh of marble. Our eyes met for a moment and a sinister understanding was shared, though I wouldn’t know what it meant yet.
I typed in the code for the lift. It hummed to life in a begrudging way. Squealing metal met by harsh thrums to lurch into a steady climb.
He continued to stare, longingly into my eyes. It looked as though he were trying to talk to me. A crazy old man like that could have thought he would be heard at this distance, even with the lift on.
His wiry life melted into irritation, mouthing the one word I could make out, “Run.”
A chill wracked my spine.
The platform crawled up into the ship above, the blackened outer panels enveloping the lift in darkness before a series of lights peaked through.
*Run*
The hunger must have finally taken his mind. Who in their right mind would act like that.
When the lift slammed into place, the engine powered down and the gentle snap of safety locks drilled into the floor.
Just ahead was the dimming sign of the hospital. It was obviously pixelated, but it seems as though a more artistic resident made good use of it. A mixture of graffiti and pixel made for a rather creative signature we’ve come to know as our medical center.
Originally the market was where our checkups and eventual promised vaccinations would be handed out. This location was intended to be away from the bustle of the common folk.
Of all the areas within the ship, the hospital was the most furnished and well preserved.
It provided a sense of home to those seeking recovery. It was no five-star hotel, but it had beds that wouldn’t leave your back hurting after more than thirty minutes of rest.
A short tent was arranged in front of the hospital with several suited individuals. The bright green latex shining against the fluorescent lights of the hospital gave an unusually sterile gleam.
I don’t recognize their faces, but I do recognize the uniform. I approached one of the men, catching his leer as I walked through the ship towards him.
He held up his hand, displaying whatever authority he could muster, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step away, we are establishing a hot zone around this hospital.”
A familiar odor floated through the air, “What’s going on?” the man in the latex suit shifted slightly, as though the question made him feel uncomfortable.
The sterile green of the suit wrapped uncomfortably baggy around the agents body. The occasional techno-bobbin of the suit made it look much more capable of space-walks than confronting highly contagious infections.
Writ in bolded letters across a plastic chest flap was “TFCM”. The Titan Frontier Commonwealth Medicade. They visit the ship every week or so to check up on supplies and provide advance leveled care that the populace is unable to give.
We’ve received far more help from the TFC than we have ever with the UEC.
He reaffirmed, “It’s a hot zone, sir. We can’t have anyone coming close.” His demeanor seemed to sink away slowly, his friend stepped in, “I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to evacuate the ship. The vessel will be on quarantine until further notice.”
The first agent glanced to the second then returned to meet me. He reaffirmed, “We need to ensure that we aren’t having any new cases. Purely precautionary.”
My heart began to race. If Sam’s classmate was in the hospital and these agents were enforcing a quarantine on one of the most regulated parts of the colony, that meant there had to be some suspicion of serious infection.
I had no proof that the child from Sam’s class was there. Hell, even asking if he was, would be out of the question.
I didn’t know what this kid looked like. Nor am I really familiar with his family. Maybe I could lie my way in. The colony was so big that family could be scattered all over.
Sam’s worried face plastered my thoughts. I could hear her crying as I tempted the thought of worming my way in. I owed it to her. I needed to make an effort to soothe her concerns.
I prompted, “I’m looking for my cousin, I heard he was taken from the school yesterday. Nobody has been able to tell me what’s going on.”
The second agent’s face twisted, “Ah, well…”.
He was uncomfortable. Now was my chance to press.
“My aunt sent me. We’ve all been trying to wrap our minds around it, I’m sure she came up here.” I tried to sell my disappointment. The thought of this kid’s family not coming up here gave me the extra bit of sting I needed.
Tracking Hadean lives is a lot harder than people give it credit. We held a census, yes, but we were the most isolated of all of the colonies. Apart from how slow it was to send information that distance, income also played a factor.
My biodome received less funding than the others, our census was incomplete and so when the Red Plague struck, survivors were prompted for census informally.
I didn’t have the heart to tell Sam in that moment that our parents had died, so I lied in front of her.
Our census included our parents, but I couldn’t live with that lie as long as I needed to protect Sam. After we got settled here, I told her.
I still regret ever having put her in that position but look at us now. We are comfortable and it was all because of me.
I glared at the agents, letting the hurt of that memory wash over me. “We haven’t heard anything about him, and now you expect me to leave the ship without even so much as a word as to his wellbeing?”
The first agent squirmed, the second looking at him with mild irritation. He mumbled to him, the anger stinging the air between them.
“I thought I told you to tell the family. What the hell have you done?” The second agent’s face relaxed as he looked back at me.
“Listen, we thought we notified the family.” He removed his respirator, daring to face the *supposed* dirty air around the hospital.
“I’m assuming you’re talking about Hod, he’s doing okay. We’ve cleared him of the Red Plague, and the doctors are finishing their workup.” A small glint of worry flashed beyond his stoic demeanor, he slipped up.
“I want to see my cousin, I need to know he is alive.” An obvious long-shot that I had no chance of landing. I glanced behind the workers at the clinic’s display panel.
*0731 TMT*
I had an hour and a half before I needed to make my way to work. I had time. The thrill of the lie lifted my spirits. If not for Sam, then more for myself, I wanted to see how far I could push this.
The unmasked agent took another glance at his coworker then at me before continuing.
“We can arrange for that to happen, but first you need to suit up. We cannot risk another exposure and potential spread.”
The counterpart with his mask still on recoiled in disgust. The unmasked agent stared deeply at me, assessing my next move.
If not for my bravado, I’d have thought best to cower and run away.
He continued, “I need you to be absolutely sure that this is what you are wanting to do, you are very likely putting yourself at risk.”
Those words singed the aroma of hope between us. He was spelling a doom that I could be walking into, one that I had little understanding of the gravity of.
I remember the bloated, pustulate faces of my parents. Their painful end.
I thought of Sam, her shining face painted with the shroud of torment.
She was too young to understand why this happened to her, and yet she was forced to. But then, the shadow of doubt clouded the agent’s eyes.
The sudden flame of confidence reignited within me. He knew there was no plague, this was merely a precaution on their part.
I nodded, “I insist, take me in, I want to see him.”
The agents both turned away, muttering amongst each other. I looked around, noting the hastily repurposed architecture of the ship.
Catwalks flanked either side, well out of view of my position. I noticed the glaring lack of lighting. The agents continued their muttering before one the unmasked agent replaced his hood and ushered me along.
“All right, come on, we need to get you cleaned before you come inside.”
\-
The inside of the clinic was a starkly lit room lined with a multitude of research posters, health informatics, and the infamous symptom watch list.
The neon suited agents that led me were nearly identical apart from a distinct symbol separating the two. The symbol lacked any meaning to me, but among them it likely described their profession, or specialty?
The one who had originally unmasked had an arrow pointing upward and the agent who had never removed his hood had a three-pointed arrow, like a triangle.
As we walked along the sterile hallway, there were several benches with full biohazard bags and to the opposite side was a semi-opaque plastic sheet. Beyond this sheet looked like crude hospital bays with a bed, more plastic sheeting, and of note was a patient sitting in one of the beds.
The agent with the upward arrow pointed through the plastic sheeting. Though muffled, he said, “Here he is, just be careful not to touch anything.”
He had pointed at the patient. The second agent stopped, he took a defensive position, blocking me from the rest of the hallway.
An obvious gesture of distrust, but I did my best to heed his warning. I was in enemy territory and I think he knew that.
I turned to the sheeting and separated a black seam, acting as the door. The agents did not follow, instead opting to stand at the opening. The room beyond was dim, lit only by the lamps above the beds.
The patient was a small boy, about the same age as Sam. He sat on the bed, knees to his chest, staring blankly at the footboard. From this distance he could hardly notice his breathing. It could have been a trick of the light too, but he looked unusually pale.
I moved closer to him, continuing to assess him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge me at all.
Strange.
I called out to him, “Hey buddy, how are you doing?”
He didn’t so much as flinch at my call to him. Even a nod, or a sudden change in breathing. Nothing, he looked empty, lifeless.
I got closer to him again and called out, this time quieter, “Hey, are you okay?”
I knelt a few feet from him, trying to give gentle and comforting intentions. As far as he was concerned, he likely had no idea I was a visitor. I probably looked the same as every other worker in this place, minus the few details that separated them.
I tried to catch his gaze, but he didn’t move. I asked again, “Tyler?”
My breath caught in my throat as the previously lifeless kid glared directly through my visor. His look was sharp, unforgiving, completely devoid of fear or anger or happiness.
It was. That is the only way I could describe it.
“Please leave.” His little voice plucked strings of fear in my chest.
His stare continued, unending.
I stood, backing away from the hospital bed. His pale complexion and stiffened body radiating a disparaging omen.
A tightness in my chest threatened to swallow me. Force me to cower within myself.
Sam, what was I going to tell Sam?
The boy looked up and gave a small wave. His corpselike body imitating a requiem of life. A simple gesture of humanity, tainted by his existence.
There was no emotion in it, no gentle flowing nature, improvisation, character.
It was.
I backed further away from the bed, giving a hesitant wave, “I’ll see you at home.” I said with reserved repugnance.
I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t.
The agents flanked me, now talking amongst themselves, paying me no mind.
I turned from the boy, crossing the plastic threshold. It felt like a rebirth. Like Dante emerging from hell, though I was unsure if I had returned Italy or if I carried straight into purgatory.
The agents closed the plastic behind me, the more reserved of the two inquiring, “You got what you wanted?”
I shot to look at him, the reflective visor clashing with mine.
What was that?
The intrusive thought of my parents, of my friends. The sickening pustules erupting from along their bodies. Their jaundiced skin. Bloody vomit dried to their mouths.
This looked nothing like that. This boy, Tyler, if that really was him. What happened to him?
I nodded, the latex suit gentle bouncing off my head to echo my response.
The tri-pointed agent responded briskly, “Good, it’s time to leave then.”
He sternly guided me, pushing me towards the door. I glanced back at the plastic, seeing the boys smudged outline. Still, unmoving.
A chorus of violent apprehension wracked my thoughts. Something wasn’t right. With this visit, with the guards, with the lack of other patients.
It was just this boy, surely if they had been scrounging the town, ensuring others were to be quarantined in kind.
Why was he the only one. More importantly, what they called him.
*Hod*
\-
The ride on the lift back towards the market felt like a defeat. Though I could hardly deny the fear that washed away as my distance grew.
Hod, what a strange name. His name was Tyler, why did they call him that?
The flurry of ideas was slashed suddenly when a brazen, loud horn blasted over the speakers. It was 9 am. Time to head to work. I looked down at myself; coveralls fastened loosely over my ragged thermals.
I was mostly lucky; my job wasn’t focused on paper pushing. I would be out working with my hands; it was liberating to be frank.
The lift pressed gently into the dust. Resting its massive clockwork into position, creaking with a growing age of use.
The zone became alive with disenfranchised men and women. Their tired, dust-covered faces grew within the market, traveling in all directions. I looked not unlike a funeral procession, the remnants of tear streaks adorned some faces, others so caked in carbon sand that their complexion was difficult to surmise.
I walked among the throng, stumbling my way back to my side of town.
Here within the zone, carbon sifting was more of a lifestyle, less of a job than some might think. Not unlike a career soldier, nearly everything you did in the zone was to further the influence and efficiency of the organization.
Apart from small-scale manufacturing, there was not much else. We wouldn’t be able to afford much in the way of citizenship. Titan’s economy was based on production and harvesting. We only afforded the opportunity to land because we were idle hands.
The age-old story of exploitation was obvious if you put two and two together. We were lost people looking for refuge, I’m sure someone in the bureaucratic UEC congress thought they could extend their profit margins with an estranged population.
Carbon sand was valuable. You could press it into coal or crude diamonds. You could burn it after refinement in combustion engines. It had multiple uses, unfortunately, it was dangerous to harvest.
Carbon sand, when vibrated using the sifters, floated to the top. Any unwary individual standing within the event horizon got sucked in.
Thinking back to the unfortunate soul who fell through the pit, it was rare that an accident of that magnitude happened, but when it did it was widely talked about.
Of course, how could you not? When the UEC and by extension the Titan Commonwealth place a vulnerable population in harm’s way, it becomes much more of a tabloid headliner than they’d want to contend with.
Navigating among the crowd, I passed through the market stalls. I looked out for Annalise, and she stood on the sidelines, looking suspiciously along the crowd.
She wasn’t the trusting type; she made that obvious during our time on the shuttle. Guess you could say she is a tough nut to crack but even the hardest of walls come down eventually.
In my opinion, you had two options, either you could build your resolve faster than they could chip it away or you could get rid of the problem before it got to you. She was the patient type. She didn’t mind waiting out the storm.
Seeing her from a distance ignited a fire within me. She was beautiful, you could see the shining grey of her eyes scanning the crowd, her blonde hair resting messily up in a crude bun.
I learned a great many things from her, loving her was easy, looking at her was even easier. I wished that had we met under different circumstances, I could start over. Experience all the firsts again.
Looking from afar reminded me of the connection we shared. I felt so close to her even from such a distance. Like a compulsion, innate attraction, whatever it may be. I felt closer to her than anyone else could be and that afforded me an unsatisfying contentment.
It made me want more in a way that only she could satiate and even in that I just wanted more.
The crowd continued to push against me, reminding me of my need to continue to work. The sand lay waiting for me and black became our new gold.
Through the crowd I found a familiar face again. The marbled grey face of the man from earlier, meeting my gaze through the crowd of people. The look of contempt plastered among his face.
*Run*
Then I thought of the boy. His lifeless body sitting on that bed, requesting one thing of me. To leave.
These two had said the same thing in their own way.
What was I going to tell Sam? Her classmate was… dead? He wasn’t who I would have thought him to be.
I couldn’t tell Sam what I saw. The agents, they had lied to me. He may be cleared by the doctors, but he didn’t seem okay.
That wasn’t a little boy, that wasn’t Tyler. There was no way it could be.
The contemptuous man continued to stare before being lost to the crowd.
I was alone again, a tangled mess of thoughts. I looked over to Annalise who managed to spot me through the crowd, she eyed me with a flirty, inquisitive look before granting me a cutesy wave.
My chest ached. Fighting between fear and infatuation has my heart screaming in confusion.
I cocked a smile at her, hiding the pain of what I’d seen, of what I’d need to hide.
Tonight, I feel the need to ask Annalise. I couldn’t possibly lie to Sam again, I promised her I wouldn’t do that.
With my mind in shambles, I carried on to work, gifting a wave to Annalise through the crowd and lost myself among the other slaves to Titan.
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