The Earth Has Died, page 4
“My men are so painfully awful at the art of navigation. Please, Samuel. All you’d need to do is point them in the right direction and we all get our just desserts,” Greeley sopped, nodding wisely and firmly. He looked over Samuel, reading him carefully, and a knowing glint joined the gold twinkling in his eye. “I just had myself a grand idea. How’s about we make ourselves a deal, Sammy boy?”
Deftly, Greeley reached into his pocket and smacked something sweaty, cold, and hard into Samuel’s hand. A coin, minted silver, and with Greeley’s face beaming outwards.
“That,” Greeley began with honeyed words. “Will fetch you all the moonshine you could ever want. Just head up to your drunkery of choice, knock your knuckles on the bar — rap rap rap — and say ‘hey, barman! Fetch me and mine drinks for the rest of the night!’ That’s all yours if you help me and mine out a little bit more. You tell me you don’t want that, and I’ll demand this imposter Samuel leave me be.”
Free moonshine for the entire night. An entire night. Samuel did want that. He’d needed a drink since he got here, and the prospect of having as many as his stomach could handle was a much-needed respite that seemed impossible to refuse. He thought of the Nullper fruits, juicy and popping, and pursed his lips. “Alright.”
“Excellent!” Greeley declared, driving his heels and either shuffling or dancing. “Drinks are on me, Sammy boy! You have yourself a good time, but not too good you hear! I want you alive and kicking in the morning!”
Greeley turned on a heel and sauntered back into his office, blowing a kiss at the swooning receptionist. Meanwhile, Samuel took deep breaths as he slowly walked through the farm, then picked up his pace as he made his way to the nearest drunkery.
After all, how much could a few drinks hurt?
Chapter 4
Stinking of sweet moonshine, and filled with all manner of cheering, jeering, and attempts at singing along to scratchy out of tune music, the drunkery Samuel had staggered into after being kicked out of the last swelled with noise. Fake-fires cast a low, orange light. Drunk patrons did their best to stay seated on metal crates and stools. What could only be acid dripped from furs lining the walls, dried from age, and stained with misuse.
People moved from table to table alone, in pairs, and in groups, mixing and merging in a disorganised and tumultuous congregation. Between them, burly men walked with hammers, clubs, and drinks of their own.
Samuel loved it all. Although more comfortable with silence than noise, and uncomfortable with crowds and the dangers that plagued them, there was not a place left in the world that offered such an amount of alcohol, or whatever exact narcotic moonshine was. Heat and warmth distilled into liquid form and offered on tap brought shivering crowds from all over, at first to escape the cold, and inevitably then for moonshine itself.
He was flush with it. Red-faced, sweating through his clothes, the blood coursing through his veins afire, he’d long since lost count of the amount he’d drank.
Sometimes, when he was half blind and face down, moonshine dripping from his clothes and spilled over the table, he could embrace the raucous cacophony around him, joining the revelry with his heart and spirit soaring. Most often however, he simply tolerated it. Moonshine made everything palatable.
His occupation as a scavenger rarely let him sample top-shelf moonshine. More often than not, he stuck to the swill, the sugared diesel that passed for moonshine.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, he carried with him a magical silver coin. Slick with his sweat, Samuel clutched it hard, reassured that it was safe when he felt it leave an imprint into his palm. Thanks to it, the moonshine flowed freely and tasted sweeter than ever.
The first glass had tasted of oversweet summer apples and pineapple undercut with a bitter combination of ethanol and mint, yet with each glass that burn faded. The fire raged, then burned, then fell away to naught but embers.
Within each glass was starlight sweetened with caramelized fruit. He tipped another dose into his throat and swallowed a fat, sweet slug of ichor. Waves of beautiful warmth rushed through his body.
Samuel stared at the dregs in his glass. Then, he looked at the bar. The bartender, moustached and strong, rested his hands on the bar and glared back. Jars of Nullper juice awaiting dilution lined the shelves behind him, arranged from the brightest silver at the top, like stars caught in bottles, to the pallid, milky leftovers trapped near the bottom. They were practically glowing.
Using his hands to push himself up from the table, Samuel stood up halfway, and the world tipped on its side, sending him plummeting to the floor. A gamut of discombobulating voices hooted and screamed. Samuel tried to stand, but his head was too heavy to lift from the ground. He groaned. How was he this drunk? Top-shelf moonshine must’ve been stronger than the swill he was used to.
From miles away, the door creaked open. Samuel’s eyes fluttered, threatening to close. Between each blink, he saw the blur of far-away faces turn towards a shock of light from the door. A wave of silence dispelled them. Following it came walking suits of armour.
“I told you he’d be like this.”
“He’s been worse.”
One of them leaned down, his armour all stark white except a single red blur. “He’s been worse, yeah, but never this early. Useless lump.”
“Leave him alone Eli, he’s probably stressed or something.”
“Stressed? I don’t care if he’s stressed, he still owes us a drink! Hey! Sam!”
“What?” Samuel slurred. A face loomed over him. “What?” he repeated, as unknown forces peeled him off the floor and sat him back into his chair. Two enforcers sat opposite him, their bodies morphed, their faces swirling like blown wet ink. “What?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“I… I don’t… a lot? Oh… too — too much.” Samuel replied, his head pounding.
“Idiot,” the other enforcer said. “How’s he going to remember? Better question is – hey, Sam! – how have you been paying for them?”
Samuel’s blurry vision began to sharpen. Hot, sickly-sweet air rose in his gullet, and he held up a warning finger. Nothing came. The enforcers were unhelmed, and were nearly identical to one-another. Both were square jawed, bore marks from constantly scowling, and wore buzz cuts. One of them had dark hair, and the other, who wore the red gauntlet, had hair so light a blond it seemed nearly invisible upon his head. Eli, from the gate, Samuel realised. He furrowed his brow. The other is… is… Dom?
Eli clicked his fingers. “Sam?”
Wordlessly, Samuel flung the silver coin at him, and Eli grabbed it out of the air. He smirked. “What did you do for the mayor to give you one of these? Hey, Dom – “
“ — Lemme see “Dom interrupted, yanking the coin from Eli. “I think it’s real.”
“What – Idiot. Of course, it’s real,” Eli snatched it back. “You seen anyone else with one of these? I don’t think I have.”
“Um, no. I don’t think so. Wait, I think I saw Jack with one.”
“Jack? You’re serious? The mayor gave Jack one of those coins?”
“That’s what I saw him with.”
“No. I don’t believe that, why would… ah, it’s not worth it. How’d you get this Sam?”
“Greeley.”
“I got that. Why’d he give it to you though?”
“Doing a job.”
“A job? What kinda job?”
“Work.”
Dom shook his head and turned to Eli. “Give me that coin,” he said, “and I’ll go get some food and drink.”
“I didn’t know it gets you food as well – does it get you food as well?” Eli asked.
“Does it matter?”
Samuel closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, three glasses of moonshine danced in the low light. An assortment of food accompanied them, steaming. He reached for the nearest glass and drank deeply. Honeyed peppermint coated his tongue, and the aftertaste numbed his mouth, masking both the texture and flavour of the food he ate afterwards. But it still was food. Still sobering.
“Thanks,” Samuel said between mouthfuls of something orange and fleshy. Carrots?
Eli raised his glass. Dom pulled an elasticated fruit from his teeth like a wad of gum. Samuel ate more, and as he did, searched through the ruins of his memory to recall how he knew the two enforcers sat across from him. Yet he found no greater understanding. Nearly all the enforcer’s he’d met had been friendly to him, far more so than they’d been to everyone else. But to Samuel, their apparent friend, they were actors in translucent armour.
However, he would rather be friendly with them than not. Ragged, poor, and starved, those that watched them feast and drink reeked of envy, an envy which capitalised on their hunger, magnifying it. Famine itself had risen to whisper sweet nothings into their ears. Eli and Dom had offered Samuel food and drink, and shielded him from the rats. Alone, ragged and despairing, they could do little against Samuel. Amassed they were a raw tide of primordial hunger.
“Sam? Hey, Sam? You feeling better?” Dom asked with a note of genuine concern.
“He’s had worse,” Eli said.
“Yeah, I’m feeling better. Headache’s gone.”
Eli smacked the table. “See! No headache! What’d I tell you? Bit of food with another drink’ll sort anybody out. But – “he sipped his drink, “It’s surprising.”
Samuel took a sip of his own. “What is?”
“Well, the recovery for one, but the main thing is that I didn’t think it was even possible for you to get that drunk.”
“Neither did I.”
Eli and Dom laughed, and the three of them fell into conversation. They asked Samuel what he’d been doing, and he gave them answers vague enough to not let slip the fact he didn’t have any idea what he might’ve told them already. Stories were shared, especially those involving Samuel as an unwitting participant. Questions were asked, all of which made Samuel uncomfortable; he didn’t know how to answer most of them, and the vague answers he gave made him feel deceptive. Maybe it’s another Samuel. Another Samuel who looks like me. Talks like me. Has a bad memory like me. Or not.
“So,” Dom started, handing out another round of drink. He placed the last with a resounding thunk next to Samuel. “Any changes up top?””
“Huh?”
“You’re our guide – that’s why the mayor gave you the coin, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So… anything we should know about? We haven’t been up there in… how long’s it been Eli?”
“Few months?” Eli offered, slurring. Red-faced, a sheen of slick sweat dotted his forehead and trickled down his neck. “Sure. Yeah. Been a few months. Or not. I don’t know.”
“Uh, it’s cold. I don’t know. I don’t notice the changes. I don’t remember them. I sort of just… walk, and I know my way around,” Samuel replied.
“Sometimes something’s changed. A tree’s fallen over. An avalanche. That sort of thing. Most of the time I think it’s gradual, really slow, which means I only notice when I stand there and try to see what’s changed, and most of the time I don’t do that. It’s too cold for it.”
Eli leant forwards and nearly fell onto the table. “What about… what about, yeah, the Fishbowl?”
“It hasn’t changed.”
“What about the afflicted?” Dom said quickly. “Was there only one, or was there more?”
“Come on Dom, let’s talk about that later.” Eli moaned. “Tom, tom – uh – tomorrow. You know, when we do the work we’re supposed to do. Sam! Listen. You must’ve seen something. What about Silas?
“Shut up. Ignore him.”
Begrudgingly, Samuel repeated a few details of his day in the Fishbowl, sharing enough information to appease their curiosity, not inflame it. Yet he could not restrain his own excitement when discussing Silas Bloom.
Eli swished his glass around and looked into the vortex. “So you didn’t find anything good this time?”
“Some messages between him and Kane. Nothing substantial. And the rest I couldn’t make sense of.”
Dom scowled and thumped down his glass. “Who cares about Bloom? He’s dead. All of them are dead except Kane, and we haven’t seen him in years anyway. There’s no point talking about the past – “
“ — Oh, shut up!” Eli said.
“ — when there are other things we need to be worried about!”
“Worried? Woah, calm down Dom,” Eli spat out a laugh, “you’re sounding like a dissident.”
“A what? What are you talking about?”
“Dissident. It means… it means that you don’t trust the mayor!”
“There are plenty of things to be worried about.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“The Legion,” Dom said severely.
“Oh, the big bad Legion!” Eli laughed.
“You’re not worried about them?”
“What’re they going to do? Poke us with sticks? We’ve got Bloomtech armour — ” Eli punched his breastplate, sending a pulse of energy rippling from the impact, “ — peacekeepers – “ he hit his own against the table, shaking the glasses, “ — and moonshine!” he finished, draining his own glass.
Then, he looked right at Samuel, his eyes hazy and unfocussed. “They need us. We don’t need them.”
“They have a nuke,” Dom leant forwards,” and I bet even you’re scared of the Man of Bones.”
Eli shivered. “Look, I’m not scared of it, him, whatever that thing is. And we can talk about this and that all night, but all I’m saying is Silas Bloom is more important than any of us. Even if he’s dead. He made Bloomtech. He sent a million of us up to Mars! Baselines! Sent a rocket ship through that, that space debris, and started a colony! A Martian Colony! I bet they’re living better than us right now.”
True enough, Silas Bloom had nurtured a whole Martian colony of one million Baselines. Through the atmospheric debris that stopped all prior attempts at space travel, Silas had threaded colony ship after colony ship, each an arrow whistling through a keyhole. Solar panels. Hydroponics. Drills for mining the ice buried deep in red dunes. The colony was designed to be self-sufficient, designed to last regardless of what befell the Earth. Samuel looked up at the ceiling, as if to gaze beyond the stone and all the way to Mars itself. Maybe it was green up there.
“And” Dom started, “he commercialized enhancements. He only sent baselines up there because we didn’t want to pay for his enhancements. I was happy being me, living my own life. I didn’t need enhancements, and I definitely didn’t want to fly halfway across the solar system just because someone who thought they were better than me told me to. And look where we ended up! We’re the ones alive now, not those colonists, and not the enhanced.”
“Well, we’re baselines, aren’t we? Why didn’t we get sent up there with the rest of them? Hey, Sam! You’re smart. Why aren’t you on Mars?” Eli asked.
Samuel shrugged and swished his glass about. “I didn’t want to be.”
“Why not?”
“I lived in the Woodlands. I had everything I wanted.”
Eli nearly fell off his chair. “Come on! They must’ve been begging for you to go.”
Samuel sighed, then drank. “Sometimes you don’t need change,” he said after a while, looking at the silver in his glass. “Those people went up because they wanted an opportunity to live. I think we shared that feeling. I wanted to leave the cities, leave the enhanced, forever, and go as far away as possible, wherever that meant. All we ever wanted was to be free. Not ‘enhanced’ or modified to suit whatever role they needed us to be in, always competing with our peers for the best artificial changes. I wanted a home. Somewhere far away.
“Mariana Trench? No. Didn’t have the enhancements. Low orbit research? They needed brains, not baselines. Mars? Or any other celestial object? Even they thought it was going to take centuries to clear a way off Earth, so I never planned for it, but when they did it in less than a decade and asked me to go with them, I said no. I already had my home. Turns out I didn’t need to go that far to find it.”
Grief panged in Samuel’s heart, and his head throbbed with unfettered memory. Detail flooded into his mind. He didn’t know if his words were true, or merely token thoughts strung along by ideas and notions he might’ve once held, but it didn’t matter to him. They hurt all the same.
“I would’ve gone if they’d asked me,” Eli said. “I mean, look at us now. Sitting in the cold and drinking. I’d rather be on Mars, sipping cactus rum and having the time of my life.”
“You really think they’re still alive?”
“Who knows? I don’t, for sure. All I know is that it’s better for me if I think they’re alive.”
“Yeah. Wait, where’s Dom?” Samuel asked, taken aback by the suddenly empty chair.
“Getting another round,” Eli gestured to the bar. Dom stood at the front of the bar, and looked to be making specific requests from the bartender. “In fact, that’s a perfect opportunity for me. I am going for a piss.”
Weight pulled Samuel’s head down to the table. When he next looked up, Eli’s seat was occupied, but not by Eli. A woman sat opposite him, staring at him with eyes of dark green, both the canopy of bushy trees in late Summer. There was something about her that he recognised, like an old friend who’d become weathered after so many years. Under the wrinkles and scars was something undeniably familiar.
“What do you want?” Samuel asked.
Messy strands of brown hair ran all the way down to her hips, and her pale face was long and thin. Snow and dirt covered her. Was she pretty? Samuel couldn’t tell.
They sat there in what seemed to be a mutual discomfort.
“What do you want?” Samuel repeated.
“What’s your name?” She whispered, her voice hoarse, as if in disbelief of her own question.
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Samuel.”
“Samuel,” she repeated, eyes widening. “Is it really you?”
