Kepler-168F, Oppidium (Sector 1)
Etta Parker.
THE FLOODING had come early this year.
Etta Parker tugged her threadbare jacket tighter against the torrent of sleet coming from the north. Her thumbs looped around the excess fabric at her wrists; a futile attempt to shut out the raging wind and warm her numbing fingers.
The rain hadn't ceased for a week, maybe more. It was unusual for this time of turning. The messengers had reported that the crops were rotting in the soil, drowning underneath the swells of water. Some whispered that there would be a food shortage. Others feared another period of darkness.
Etta tilted her head backwards, exhaling smoke. Today was supposed to be her late shift. She'd had plans -
The crackle of radio noise cut through the morning air. Etta jolted from her secluded hiding place; a precarious ledge in the soldier's quarters that overlooked Oppidium. She dropped her cigarette, cursing as it fell into a puddle of icy slush. What a waste.
The radio crackled again. More persistent, this time.
Etta exhaled through her teeth. She counted from twenty, lingering on one, diving for the radio when she couldn't delay any further.
"This is Parker, over."
"This is Brandt. You must report to headquarters, over."
Hendri Brandt was the secretary of Ivy Alcado. He stood at around six foot three, taller than most who arrived on Kepler-168F, with a heavy-set body to match. Many soldiers joked that Brandt would have been better suited to a life as a soldier. Etta was inclined to agree.
"I'm on duty, over."
Etta eyed the growing crowd. Word had spread quicker than they'd anticipated.
There would be a hanging at noon. A child, no older than ten rotations. He'd been caught for thievery. A petty crime, but a crime nonetheless. Etta didn't think such a harsh punishment was suitable for a child who knew no better - especially a child with no previous record. She had tried to talk to her superior into bargaining Ms Alcado into a lesser sentence, with little luck. Even Damnationium, the prison state, would have been a better fate for the child.
"That's irrelevant. Ms Alcado requests your presence, over."
"Ms Alcado," Etta spat the words out as if she'd swallowed a poisonous berry. "Can get fucked. I'm not leaving my post without my superior's permission. There's a growing crowd of angry people and you need soldiers to contain it, over."
Silence. Etta thrummed her fingers against the radio impatiently.
"Parker, this is Walker. Leave your damn post and go to headquarters. I don't want to hear another word from you, got it? Over."
Etta ran her tongue over her teeth. She exhaled. Inhaled. This was madness. What was so important that she had to leave her post? There was little need to worry about riots breaking out when one of the Chosen stood guard. People feared them, if not respected them. If Etta left, they'd risk leaving gaps in their post. That was never a good idea.
"I'll be there in ten, over," Etta muttered, failing to hide the contempt in her tone.
Loosening her utility belt, Etta tossed it on the ground before her. Her sword clattered dully against the damp ground, slicing through mud and settling into an icy puddle. Etta left it. If the cold settled into the hilt, she could always buy another. The blade was beginning to rust anyway.
The other soldiers looked on with caution. Many had fallen victim to Etta's rage at least once. None were able to muster the courage to ask what was wrong.
Etta stormed from her post. Mud sloshed against her ankles as she walked along the heavily trodden path. Scrunching up her sleeves to her forearms, Etta exposed marred skin. Fresh wounds, remnants from yesterday's gruelling training, puckered over scarred tissue.
The crowd was growing; a bustling swarm of bodies that seethes with rage, like a beehive after the death of the queen. People roared in outrage, fists banging against the barbed wire fence.
Etta pressed her finger to her tragus, attempting to drown out the noise. It didn't help.
"What's the situation?" Etta barked at a recruit as she neared the fence line.
The boy was tall and gangly, with limbs too long for his tiny torso. His hair, saturated from the rain, clung to his forehead in an unpleasant manner, making it appear as if he'd gelled it forwards. The boy's beard grew in tufts around his chin. Etta didn't think he was older than fifteen rotations.
The recruit grimaced. His lips pulled back as if he'd rehearsed the action but hadn't the skills to execute it properly.
"They've blockaded all the exits." he gestured with his radio. "We're going to have to sit tight until word reaches Bellum. They've sent for reinforcements."
"I'm needed at headquarters," Etta responded sharply.
The recruit shook his head slightly, his eyes bulging out of his head. He glanced at Etta's scarred arms, at the Chosen symbol poking out from underneath the sleeve of her tattered shirt, with some semblance of fear.
"You're not going to make it through that crowd," he warned.
"Watch me," Etta replied.
Tossing her braided hair into a bun, Etta unhooked the knife strapped to her thigh, clutching it tightly between dirty fingers as she strode towards the metal gate.
The crowd rose to meet her like a tide crashing against a cliff.
Etta tugged at the lock. She barked at the crowd to get back from the fence, kicking at the metal for good measure. Her heel caught in the barbed wire, tearing at the sole of her shoe as she withdrew with a snarl. Today was not her day.
The lock clicked open.
No one moved. If anything, they swarmed closer - packing their bodies tighter against the metal fence.
Etta slipped through the open gate, fumbling to secure the lock before the crowd broke through the weakness in the fence. She reached for her sword, cursing as her right hand waved through the empty air.
Fuck.
People threw themselves at Etta with reckless abandon. Crudely-crafted weapons pounded against flesh as she struggled to put distance between herself and the crowd. No luck.
Dropping to her hands and knees, Etta crawled unnoticed for several paces. She reached for her knife, strapped to the inside of her jacket, cursing as her frozen fingers failed to undo the buckles holding it in place.
Etta's head snapped backwards as a stranger grabbed a fistful of her hair. She writhed, kicking outwards - sending people sprawling. The crowd swarmed forwards, outraged with the attack, trampling over those who had already fallen.
Clumps of hair tore as Etta tugged herself free of the stranger's grip. She reached for her knife again, finally tugging it free, holding it in her right hand.
An angry protestor reached for her, armed with an axe.
Etta whirled around, and on impulse, jerked her knife upwards.
The crowd recoiled.
The man staggered forwards. Blood poured in a steady stream from his abdomen, staining his forest-green jacket.
Etta pressed her hand firmly against the wound, holding the man to her. His skin prickled underneath her palm, slick with a mixture of blood and sweat. Vapour rose from between Etta's bloody fingers, intermingling with their breaths.
"Get a nurse!" Etta barked. Her heart pounded in her throat; angry and incessant.
No one moved.
People were all too happy to play soldier until someone got hurt.
"What the fuck Parker?" Walker hissed, waving an angry fist. He shoved his way to the ground, sending children, women and men flying in his rampage. Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, splattering against Etta's cheek. She didn't dare wipe it off. "You might not be so lucky this time, not with so many witnesses. They're going to call for your lynching. Ivy can't keep protecting you for shit like this."
Behind them, the young recruit held back a crowd of angry people.
Hovering over the man, Etta spat a glob of blood. It hit the snow beside her boot; the dark red a deep contrast against the gleaming white.
"Let them try. I've survived far worse than death."
"Unfortunately for you, lynching is permanent," Walker retorted dryly.
"Whatever."
A young woman pushed through the crowd to the centre of the commotion.
"Etta, what have you gotten yourself into now?" Hera sighed in exasperation.
Born on Etta's ship, Hera was the twelfth generation of a Chosen colony which had woken early from cryofreeze. Adept at all functions of running a space ship, Hera was the only engineer to grace Kepler-168F. Her skills were unmatchable: a speciality in growing nutritional bacteria and a handiness in repairing Earth machinery. Though useless with a sword, Etta intended to change that.
Hera's skin, rose-tinged underneath honeyed brown, was still soft and dewy, despite the harsh winter they were in. Even with the scarring of a cross protruding from the skin of Hera's forearm, none could express any flaws in her beauty. Etta often found herself jealous of the attention Hera received. She had none of the beauty Hera possessed. Where Hera was gentle and otherworldly, Etta was sharp and mundane.
A horn sounded. Low and bleak, the kind that sticks in your throat.
Midday.
"That's my cue," Etta murmured, taking advantage of the crowd's averted attention. "Ivy is expecting me. I wouldn't want to be late."
Scoffing in disbelief, Walker shook his head.
"You will be facing time in Damnationium for this," he shouted.
Etta had already left.
Shoving her way through the remaining throng, Etta glanced over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of Hera kneeling over the man's body. His chest moved; heaving up and down. At least he wasn't dead. Etta would never hear the end of it if he were.
The wind whipped in Etta's ears, tugging at the bun she'd thrown her hair into that morning. Tendrils of braided hair tangled around her neck. Etta pulled at them distastefully, slowing her pace to a jog. She needed to cut her hair, and soon. The length was beginning to hinder her.
Wracking her brain for the reason behind Ivy's call, Etta came up with nothing. She didn't understand why she'd been summoned. In the eight years she'd lived in Oppidium, she'd only been summoned to headquarters once. A stabbing - one of her earlier crimes. It had been a small misunderstanding. She wouldn't have drawn blood if she'd known they were being watched.
Citizens were only summoned to Ivy's office for pressing matters, like a serious crime, or an arranged marriage between states. Ivy didn't have time to talk to anyone for mundane issues. If she really needed to involve herself in civil business, she'd send Brandt on her behalf.
Etta didn't think she'd done anything particularly worth mentioning. Nothing that she knew of, anyway. Unless they were planning to discuss the incident from earlier that day.
Etta sucked in a deep breath. There was no use worrying about what she couldn't control. Ivy would explain everything.
Slowing to a walk, Etta surveyed her surroundings. Long, spindly trees in hues of purple and pink stretched into the sky, limiting the view of the double rings in the sky. A thin veil of snow covered the stone pavement, freezing the small flowers which sprouted from the cracks. In Harvest, they would cover the walkways, crushed underneath the feet of passersby. The scent in the air of those months was nothing less than intoxicating.
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Etta pressed on. The cold air would set in her bones if she wasn't careful.
Even so, Etta found herself slowing down to a shuffle. She blamed it on the lack of oxygen, not her own laziness.
To most living on Kepler-168F, the oxygen was difficult to breathe. The scientists on Earth had promised the cryofreeze would assist in adapting their bodies to the lower levels of oxygen on the new planet. Most were convinced they had been wrong. It wasn't uncommon for people to die in their first twenty-four hours of disembarking the space shuttle.
The lack of oxygen reminded Etta of Earth, in a sense. Like on Earth, the air felt heavy in her chest; like she'd been sucker-punched in the diaphragm. On Kepler-168F, at least, the air was fresh - not clogged with smog from burning cities.
If Etta wanted to return to Earth, even if she had the slightest desire, she couldn't. The planet wouldn't be the same when she returned. It would have been thousands, maybe millions, of years. Nothing would be as she remembered it. The cities would have grown over. The creatures, or what was left of them, would have evolved.
"You're late," Brandt noted sourly. "Ms Alcado doesn't like to be kept waiting. She pushed back a meeting with Bellum for this."
"Bellum?" Etta questioned.
"Three hundred arrived at the landing site this morning. The cryofreeze failed. Those who survived woke to skeletons and the descendants of survivors who'd been woken hundreds of years too early. Bellum was first to arrive at the landing site. They plan to take the supplies for themselves."
The cryofreeze had never been a complete success. There hadn't been a space shuttle where the entire group had survived. Etta's shuttle had resulted in six fatalities, out of twenty-five. They'd woken to three descendants. Hera had been one of them.
Ivy's firstborn had been one of the fatalities. Four years old, not yet old enough to fend for himself. Etta didn't think it was that much of a loss, though she was not brave enough to admit those thoughts out loud.
"Well then. Ivy," Etta articulated the name carefully, swirling it around in her mouth as if she were sucking on a lolly. "Will be fine."
Henri touched his tongue to the tip of his tooth, exhaling in exasperation.
"Why do you insist on causing trouble?"
"Why did you call me here?" Etta deflected the question with a scowl. "What did I do to deserve council from Ms Alcado?"
Henri's upper lip twitched with a smirk.
"I received news that you did not make a silent departure from the riots."
"The people are not pleased with the hanging of a young boy," Etta retorted. She glanced at her bloody hands, scrubbed them between her thumb and forefinger until the redness of her hands could not be distinguished from the bloody mess. When she looked up at Henri, whose head tilted in silent judgement, she added, "nor am I."
"I'm sure," Henri stated, unconvincingly. "I cannot tell you why Ms Alcado asked you here. She intends to break the news herself."
Etta swallowed the words like a bitter pill.
The door swung open.
Ivy peered her head through the gap. Tendrils of ash-brown hair curled at her chin, shadowing the stress-creases that plagued the skin around her lips. Once considered beautiful, Ivy had been the playtoy of The Council - gaining her influence through sleeping with various members until she'd scraped together enough power to find a foothold with the Chosen.
"Henri, love, you can leave us," Ivy crooned to Henri, who lingered in the doorway. His hand, poised carefully on the doorknob, gave Etta the impression of a deer caught in headlights - frozen, yet desperate to disappear.
"Goodbye Brandt," Etta mouthed mockingly.
When she was sure Ivy wasn't looking, she jabbed her middle finger in Henri's general direction, shielding her hand behind her thigh.
"Real mature Parker," Henri snorted. He picked up the small girl as he went, ignoring her protests as she dropped her stuffed toy on the wooden floor. Etta scooped up the toy, holding the worn teddy bear in her hands. There were rumours that Henri was the father of Ivy's child. Etta wouldn't be surprised.
The room fell silent. Etta heard the thrum of Ivy's watch, tick, tick, ticking away in the background. It was a useless item, though Ivy held onto it as if it were some priceless novelty. She threw supply cards at the item with reckless abandon, desperate for some sort of reminder of her life back on Earth.
Etta didn't get it. The watch was useless. There were twenty hours in a day on Kepler-168F. It would never be at the right time.
"Can I help you?" Etta's voice oozed sarcasm, dripping with the frustration of being pulled from her post so early in the morning.
Ivy pursed her lips.
"I'll tell you why you're here when you stop with that attitude."
Etta rolled her eyes. Digging her fingers into the wooden chair, she bit back a smart remark; one that would certainly result in her spending a night locked in Damnationium.
"Your brother is alive."
Etta paused, twisting her fingers in her lap.
"This must be some sort of sick joke. Elijah is dead, Ivy. You of all people should know that."
"I wouldn't lie to you about this, Etta," Ivy smiled sadly. She wrung her fingers in her lap, twisting them through the fabric of her knee-length skirt. "Bellum sent word of the survivors this morning. He's listed as one of the inmates."
"He's dead. I watched him die!" Etta insisted. She slammed her fist against the wooden armrest, wincing as a jarring twinge shot up her forearm.
Ivy watched in silence.
Fifteen years, and a couple of thousand light-years in space, had allowed Etta to accept her brother's death. She'd always felt that truth in the pit of her gut. Elijah would have been too young to be any use to The Council. He would have been slaughtered in the winter culling when they needed meat.
It wasn't possible for Elijah to be alive. Cold sweat collected in the lines of Etta's palm. She gripped the armrests tightly, forcing herself to remain in her seat.
"When can I see him?" Etta asked.
"We're making a deal with Bellum now," Ivy replied. "I'll get someone to escort him to your apartment when he's arrived."
Twisting her fingers together to control her restless, Etta nodded.
Elijah was alive.
After all this time, Etta would be able to reunite with the little boy she'd vowed to protect from the moment he was born.
And yet, the churning in Etta's stomach told her that something wasn't right.