Redwood: Servant of the State
Read Redwood: Servant of the State Online
Authors: Jaxon Reed
Redwood: Servant of the State
Jaxon Reed
Copyright © 2014
by Jaxon Reed
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by BespokeBookCovers.com
Published by edbok.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.
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Hematophagia
– from Greek
haima
(blood) +
phagein
(to eat). Hematophagous animals feed on the blood of other animals. Old Earth examples include lampreys, leeches, and vampire bats. Hematophagous organisms have allegedly also been discovered on at least one of the outer planets in the Janus String …
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“Bloodsucker!”
It was my own fault, really. I should have locked the door. I didn’t know Peterson would throw it wide open while I was drinking blood.
We were heading home, back to Redwood, approaching Janus 28. It’s about two weeks to get to the Janus, and another two till touchdown on Redwood. I can’t go that long without blood.
What surprised me was how violent Peterson became when he caught me. He charged, threw me against the wall and choked me. My vision blurred as the rage in his eyes spilled out like liquid hate. I had to do something, fast. I kneed him in the groin. That loosened his grip.
I threw myself back on him, using all my weight, slamming him to the floor.
Not quite to the floor. His skull popped on the doorjamb, split open and gushed blood.
“Peterson! Aw, man, Peterson!”
I felt for a pulse on his neck, but it was weakening fast. All that blood flowed out on the floor …
-+-
And that’s how I killed my first man. I swear it was an accident. Self defense. It was me or him, and it turned out to be him. I don’t kill people for their blood.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll drink their blood if I happen to kill them. But I’m no murderer. I have morals.
Did I say Peterson was my first? Actually, he was my second. The first one was the bastard who gave me this disease. But that’s another story. That happened on the other side of Janus 29, on the last planet in the string, the one they call Orange. But that’s another story.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the blood. I had a baggie I bought in the black market while we were on New Texas. The black market there is great. Practically everything you could possibly want, including vials of human blood. The guy who sold it looked at me funny. I’m sure he knew what I wanted it for. Heck, he’s probably hematophagous too. That’s the scientific term for what I’ve got.
I know because I looked it up in an internet café while on New Texas. I think it set off some alarm bells somewhere, because a kid came running in right after I started reading up on hematophagia, yelling that the cops were coming. The proprietor, he was a good guy. He scooted all of his customers out the back door before they got there. I learned a little bit about my condition, anyway.
I couldn’t let all that blood go to waste. Poor Peterson was lying there on the floor in a pool of it. I drank all I could. I can usually go about a month before needing another fix, but I never had a dead human all to myself before. It was too much to resist.
But then I had the problem of a dead body with very little blood in it. About that time the ship’s computer decided to inform me we were five minutes from Janus 28. I started thinking fast, and came up with a plan.
I dragged Peterson’s body over to the garbage chute, and slammed his skull against the knob. The little door opened, and I shoved his body inside, leaving his right arm sticking out. I grabbed a hacker board from my pocket (thank you, New Texas black market!), hurried over to the beer machine and inserted the connector.
Naval beer is given to pilots once a jump, and we just had ours. They came in one-third liter plain white cans with “BEER” in big black letters, then “2.5% ABV” in smaller letters below. Pilots and co-pilots are allotted two beers per Janus jump. I’d given Peterson my two since I can’t stand the stuff. I jumped into the top directory of the vending machine’s computer.
Beer, as a controlled product, is supposed to be a major perk for pilots on these long trips. To make sure not too much can be consumed all at once, the operating system is encrypted. It’s supposed to be almost impossible to crack.
But I had a brainstorm while walking around the black market when I saw those hacker boards. What if you could fool the machine without cracking its system? Now was a good time to find out.
I got to the system properties, and breathed a sigh of relief. The machine’s main programming was indeed encrypted, just like I heard. Little to no chance someone could get in there and reprogram it to give out cans of beer on command. But, the programmers left the system settings open. Including the calendar.
I reset the calendar for yesterday at 18:00 hours. Four beers promptly came out of the machine, landing in the receptacle. I waited a minute, did it again, got four more beers. I did it once again to be sure.
Next I took the cans and wrapped Peterson’s hand around each one. Then I drained them in the sink, holding each by just my thumb and forefinger, and I tossed them in the recycle bin with the four from yesterday.
“Approaching Janus Twenty-eight in thirty seconds.”
I went back to the garbage chute and pressed Peterson’s hands and fingers all over the hacker board. Then I tucked his arm in. His body was shriveled and limp, starting to grow stiff. His face was still masked in rage, even in death.
“Goodbye, Peterson.”
I threw in my empty baggy of blood, secured the lid and prepared the chute for jettison. The needle on the gauge showing air pressure in the chute dipped lower. It’s really just another airlock. When the gauge neared zero, the chute’s outer door opened, and Peterson’s body shot out into space.
-+-
If you’ve never been through a Janus, it’s fascinating. They orbit around each planet we’ve found that’s inhabitable. Janus 1 orbits around Old Earth. Go through it and you get to the first planet we colonized, Europa. In geosynchronous orbit on the other side of Europa is Janus 2, which leads to Asiana. Janus 3 leads to Bharata, and so forth.
I was born on New Texas, an orphan, a ward of the State. Never adopted. Now I’m a Servant of the State, stationed on Redwood. I’ve been to five planets in the chain. The outermost one, Orange, Redwood of course, New Texas, Athena, and Alexandria. Most people stay on the planet they were born on, but I’ve done a lot of travel for the State.
After going through a Janus as many times as I have, it gets boring. I stared out the front viewer as we approached a huge metal ring floating in space. As a pilot, I don’t really do much. The computer handles everything. Flight path, logistics, lining up the ship so that it goes through the ring the right way, yada yada yada. I could just make out huge lettering, caught in the starlight and reflecting weakly back toward the viewer: “Janus #28.” Then everything turned white and I lurched forward thousands of light years in an instance.
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I had 16 days to work out my story, about Peterson’s “accident.” Meanwhile I listened to a new pirate radio station I found. Not sure how these guys smuggle transmitters through the Janus rings, or even who they are. The State controls all media. The pirate radio guys are decidedly low tech, which maybe helps them avoid detection, I thought. They sneak these satellites through and send out transmissions that can be picked up by passing spacecraft. Most of the planets employ blocking technology so people on the ground can’t hear them. At least I think most people can’t. Maybe somebody has figured out a work-around by now. People don’t talk much about things they’re not supposed to know about.
This station played “classic rock.” I don’t care much for the genre, but the State forbids it, so I listened to it. All the way to Redwood. That’ll show the State. Can’t dictate my music, man.
I flipped it off before hitting Redwood airspace. No sense in tempting fate more than necessary. The signal was almost certainly blocked there, anyway.
“Entering Redwood airspace. Would you like the Tourist Channel?”
“Sure why not.” I like to listen to the State sponsored tourist speech as I’m coming home. I’ve heard it dozens of times. Something of a tradition, I guess.
The computer started in her pleasant female voice as we bumped into the planet’s atmosphere.
“Redwood is the twenty-eighth planet colonized by humans, and the second to last in the Janus String. It has one giant continent. The remainder of the planet’s surface is covered by ocean.”
The ship skimmed over that ocean now, a beautiful sunrise cresting over the planet’s Pangaea. We approached land quickly. Soon, it raced below us.
“Redwood is categorized as a frontier wildlife planet and is under special ecological impact restrictions. Human activity outside Redwood City is strictly regulated, and leaving the city without permission is prohibited.”
I snorted at this. They always made it sound like there were no humans at all out there. What about the Rangers? What about us Servants they send on errands out there? Typical State lies and half truths.
Down below a giant forest appeared. Branches and leaves crested a few wispy clouds in places. The ship quickly skimmed over it and green leaves covered the view below for miles. It’s a beautiful sight, and had long been my favorite part of the trip.
“Redwood derives its name from its forests of gigantic trees. Scientists are intrigued by these remarkable arbores, the likes of which are found nowhere else in the Janus String.”
Finally we left the forest behind for an endless plain of grass. The viewer found distant specks on the ground and the computer magnified one. It showed a large cow-like animal. Reddish mottled fur, with a white face, it munched slowly on six-foot strands of grass.
“Redwood cows are also giants in comparison to those on other planets. These mammals are the largest land dwelling ones known in the Janus String. They are roughly five times the size of an Old Earth elephant.”
“I bet they taste good, too,” I grumbled. “But no, eating them is prohibited along with everything else.”
The grasslands gave way to a desert. The big blue cube that was Redwood City grew in the distance, finally filling up the view screen as the ship slowed and descended closer to the desert floor.
“Redwood City is chartered as an American colony. As such, measurements are in US customary units, and the standard language is English. The city itself, however, was built by Deng Planetary Corporation using metric measurements. It is one cubic kilometer in size.”
“And nowhere near filled up with people,” I muttered.
The ship settled to a stop on the landing pad near the base of the giant cube. A small army of load bots stood ready to handle cargo. I stood up and stretched.
“The city uses a variety of power sources to house inhabitants, including solar, geothermal, wind, and nano-nuclear.”
The main airlock slid open and Adams slowly traipsed my way. He wore a natural frown. I’ve only seen the man smile when he’s assigning some particularly unpleasant duty to a Servant. When he saw me coming out of the airlock alone, he frowned even more.
The computer’s cheery voice behind me said, “Please prepare for Customs, and enjoy your stay in Redwood City!”
I grabbed my duffle bag and headed toward Adams.
“Where’s Peterson?”
“He had an accident.”
“What happened?”
“He got drunk and split his head open.”
“He okay?”
“No. He’s dead.”
For once, Adams’ expression changed from a frown to something like shock.
“Dead? Well where is he?”
“I jettisoned the body.”
“You what?”
“I wasn’t going to go two and a half weeks with a dead bloody body. That’s creepy.”
He was back to frowning now, and giving me the stare. He was older, maybe in his mid-forties, and he never hid his disdain for Servants rated as pilots. Probably because he wasn’t a pilot, and had never travelled off world since being assigned to Redwood.
I stared right back. I had nothing to hide. Everything I said was the truth. Sort of.
Finally he looked away, toward the ship, and rubbed his chin in thought.
“Well, get your butterfly wings on and up to Customs. You’re going to have to file a report. There’ll probably be an investigation.”
-+-
The “butterfly wings” are officially known as “Personal Helicopter Units,” or PHUs. They have two rotary blades attached to a power unit strapped on your back. The blades are surrounded by plastic rings so they don’t get damaged if they bump into something. They’re stationed at just above shoulder level once you get the unit on, one off your right shoulder, one off your left. Two control sticks jut out in front. One has a throttle, the other controls pitch. It takes some learning, but once you get the hang of it you can fly up and down and flutter around. Like I butterfly, I guess. Or a hummingbird.
I cinched the unit on tight, buckling the belt and shoulder straps, grabbed the controls and shot up toward Customs Entry, five levels up. I stopped to hover halfway there and looked around. Load bots scurried with cargo at the ship, taking stuff off for Redwood City, putting stuff onboard for Orange, the next stop in the line. By the time these cargo ships reached as far out as Redwood, there wasn’t a whole lot of stuff onboard from Old Earth or any of the inner planets. Most of what we needed for consumption was provided by Athena and New Texas. Some of it was from Alexandria and New Hong Kong. Some of the stuff we sent on ships going back the other way do make it all the way to the beginning of the Janus String. Or so we’ve been told. Knowing those guys that run the State, they may just be telling us that to try and instill pride in our planet or something. You can’t really trust much about anything the State says.
I turned back toward Customs.
-+-
Several hours later I stood before a tribunal. My first one. I’d heard about these things. People talk, you know. But I was expecting it and I’d psyched myself up for it. I stared ahead at a spot on the wall just above The Old Man’s head.
They say his name is Tom. Nobody seems to know his last name. I’ve also heard that T-O-M are initials for The Old Man. But, nobody knows if that’s really why he’s known as Tom. Nobody calls him anything but “Sir,” from what I’ve heard.
He is old, I thought. A circle of gray hair, a white Van Dyke beard. Crows feet around the eyes. I’d guess he’s somewhere in his seventies. Brownish skin. Like the rest of us, his ethnicity has been mixed so many times over the generations, you can’t really tell what dominant race he is. We all have all the races in our blood. If I took a stab at his primary ancestors, I’d say Asian. But there’s no way to tell for sure without asking. And that’s not going to happen. Nobody has a casual conversation with The Old Man.
He is the biggest man on Redwood, I thought. Top dog. Primary Representative of the State. Right now he’s glaring at me.
“Marcus Savitch. Servant of the State. Pilot rated, Corvette through Cargo Class. Explain to me again what happened, son.”
I bristled inwardly at the “son” bit. I was an orphan. Nobody’s son. Which is exactly why I was stuck being a Servant of the State.
But I hid it well, and recited my story again in a dull monotone.
“We were fourteen days out from New Texas. When the beer machine discharged the standard ration, Peterson asked for mine. I gave them to him. After those were gone he said he wanted more, and he retrieved some sort of device from his duffel bag.”
“A hacker board. Any idea where he got it?”
That was Agent Hernandez. Despite the name, he is white as I am. Maybe not quite as white. I’ve got blonde hair and blue eyes, which is rather rare. He’s got darker hair and brown eyes.
“No, sir. If I had to guess, I’d say the black market on New Texas.”
Hernandez grunted in assent. That was the way he saw it, too.
“You ever bought anything in the black market, Savitch?”
Adams this time. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him.
“I’ve strolled through it, sir,” I said in an admitting tone. “It’s near the spaceport. But, I’ve never bought anything there before.”
I can lie good. I matched his stare for a minute before The Old Man spoke again.
“How old are you, son?”
“Seventeen standard years, sir.”
“How are you rated on computers?”
“Admin level, sir.”
“Not sysop?”
“No, sir.”
The Old Man looked at Hernandez to his left, then Adams to his right. “Peterson was rated sysop, right?”
Adams nodded.
A timid knock came from the door. It opened a crack. A young Servant popped his head in. New kid, about thirteen years old. I hadn’t seen him before. The Old Man waived him over. The Servant handed him a sheet of vid paper, then hurried out.
“Agent’s report. Quite a bit of blood spilled and cleaned up near the bathroom door. The clock is off on the beer machine. A hacker board and sixteen cans of beer were found in the recycle bin with both pilots’ prints. Mostly Peterson’s. Why were your prints on there, Savitch?”
“I was the one who threw them in the recycle bin, sir.”
A long silence followed as The Old Man, Adams and Hernandez stared at me. Finally The Old Man grunted.
“Well, the Agent’s report backs up your story. Obviously this was a tragedy. I hope you learned something about staying away from black markets. It looks like you don’t have a taste for beer, and that’s good too. You see what can happen to people when they get drunk. Go on back to your quarters now. Report for duty as usual in the morning.”
On the way out, I heard Hernandez mumble in awe, “Sixteen beers!”
Adams said, “At two and a half percent, it’d take that many …”
-+-
I should feel elated, I thought. I’ve literally just gotten away with murder. But I’m tired. The emotional energy of the tribunal, and the last two weeks or so mentally preparing for it have left me exhausted. I walked listlessly through hallways and corridors, up elevators and escalators to Servant Quarters. A few recognized me and greeted me as I passed.
“Hey Savitch! Long time!”
“Welcome home stranger!”
I waved at them but shambled on, promising to catch up later.
Finally I found my room. A cell, really. 10 square meters of floor space all my own. The palm reader recognized me, the door swept open and I collapsed on my cot. The view screen still showed a video feed of Redwood from space. It’s beautiful. Mostly ocean, slowly revolving. Soon the lone continent will slip over the horizon. Same channel I left it on two months ago. It reminded me of the openness of space. Freedom.
Sleep came quick, along with dreams of an angry Peterson lunging at me again and again and again.
“Bloodsucker!”
