GC Tale "Exa" Chapter 1 - Edited by DH

A Galactic Chronicles Tale:



Exa
© by Vanessa Ravencroft 2014



Chapter One
Exa jumped of Stallion, as she had named her riding Snapper, as if she was born riding one of these semi domesticated beasts and rushed toward another Fangsnapper that was part of the Olafson herd. It was a female and it just had given birth.

Without the slightest fear she yelled at the top of her lungs brandishing her own sword and chased two Nubhir wolfs away.

These were feral ones, probably broken loose from one of the Nubhir farms to the East and roaming the southern ice region, hungry and attracted by the smell of the blood.

One of the Nubhirs bolted, but the other was probably so hungry, it would have taken its chance with a full grown Fangsnapper bull at that point.

The Nubhir was bigger than a Terran Timber wolf, from which this breed took its core DNA when it was tailored so long ago to survive here on Nilfeheim.

The Nubhir attacked, with a fierce growl. Its finger long, razor sharp claws giving it excellent traction on the rock hard ice. The thin powder like snow engulfed the beast as it rushed the short distance that separated it from the teenage girl.

Only two years ago she would have fled in sheer horror and terrified, now she was a cool as the ice itself, stood her ground and only moved aside in the very last moment. The teeth filled jaws missed her face by mere inches.

Her blade, a special lighter version of the Nilfeheim broadsword and a gift from Uncle Isegrim driven by both of her fists swung down, and sliced through the neck muscles, fur and bones right behind the animal's head, almost completely decapitating the Nubhir.

The beast, already mortally wounded, kept its forward momentum when a spear pierced its side.

It all happened in mere moments and Exa felt sorry for the big animal as it lay dead on the ground and its blood pooled in the pristine white snow. “Sorry big wolf.”

Siegfrieda and Elena came rushing by. Siegfrieda, recovering her spear, said to Elena, “Are you sure she is not related to Eric for real?”

Elena was like everyone else was technically unrecognizable in her thick furs, but her cold mask fashioned from the face of a beautiful white Nubhir was of course known to Exa. Elena threw up both her arms. “If I didn't know better I would never believe anyone telling me that she was not born on Nilfeheim and not of Olafson stock. Exa, in Loki's name, do you have any idea what Hogun would have done to us if we allowed you to get hurt?”

Exa's face was also hidden behind a cold mask, so Elena could not possibly have seen her smirk. “Papa said I should learn the Nilfeheim ways.” She pointed at the dead Nubhir. “Running away from something isn't what a Neo Viking does.”

Siegfrieda in her all black fur mask said with a muffled voice, “She even talks like a Neo Viking, I guess

“I ran all my life, I ran and hid and was afraid. I was a bottom and nobody without a home or a family. I am home now, no one ever treated me like an outsider. Not once did feel not welcome. I have a loving mother and the best Papa anyone could ever have. I want to make him proud, I want to make Uncle Isegrim proud and I am Exa Olafson of Nilfeheim. I will never ever run from anything again.”

Then the fifteen year old former off-world orphan pulled a sharp knife and started to gut and dress the dead Nubhir. It showed more than anything how well she had adapted to her new home.

--””--

His name was Benjamin, at least that is what the Care governesses of Mother Moore’s Happy Orphanage had called him and put in his documents.

He was an orphan.

As far as he knew his parents had been Gal Drifts, those wacko screw balls who considered themselves Citizens of the Universe.

Preached peace and the completely ancient and outdated philosophy of pacifism; rejected order and all forms of government. Of course love and procreation too was considered to be freely given and shared.

No marriage, no bonds existed. The resulting children were more often than not burden to the young brainwashed, care for nothing but themselves, mothers.

Simply abandoned, tossed away like useless baggage.

The United Stars of the Galaxy was enormous and perhaps the richest multicultural society in the history of the Galaxy.

Its citizens no longer knew poverty, hunger and was by and large free of the causes that bred crime.

However, citizenship was not free and had to be earned. A social development born out of the need for self reliance and work needed to make the countless colonies successful and out of the realization that the Universe was an unforgiving and dangerous place where discipline and the willingness to sacrifice personal comfort for the greater good. Union Citizen, no matter the species, were a proud and arrogant society. Much worse than the Kermac,

In order for a Non-Citizen orphan kid to earn its citizenship it had to be in a Orphanage and go to Union School (or get adopted of course).

The very concept of Orphans was completely alien to many member societies. And the parent-less children of mammalian citizens were well taken care of.

There was only one federal approved Orphanage for Non Cits in this sector of space and that was Mother Moore’s Happy Orphanage.

It was part of a social services contractor with branches all across the Upward Sector of this Galaxy. Moore Humane Services Inc. was a tightly controlled and privately held company that also provided Maximum Security facilities to planetary governments for their Non Union Crime Convicts.

Benjamin was wearing a cumbersome protective suit and wide soled low grav boots of a dust miner.

He was dragging the mining hose behind him, no longer really seeing Gigaball, the depressingly large, sky filling Gas planet.

His legs ached with every step fighting the positive pressure of the suit. He also had to fight the heavy hose and the deep powdery dust that, despite the low grav boots, did not allow for easy walking.

The other miners had told told him he would get used to it or die when he arrived here after he was sentenced by the local court.

That was almost three years ago. And by now it was quite clear to him, he would never get used to it.

The very thought that he had to endure this another seven standard years was something he did not want to think about and yet it was never far from his mind.

Ten years of Dust Camp the Judge sentenced him. Ten standard years for attempted murder of a Union Citizen. The Judge even told him that he was lucky, as the incident occurred on Federal ground and could have meant the death penalty.

His old gang, the Port Roaches, was not so lucky. He heard the surviving members had all been rounded up and charged with kidnapping. They all were hanged.

On days like this he often wondered if they weren't the lucky ones after all.

Even if he made it and survived the full ten years. What was there for him? He was legally adult now. Maybe he could join a Drift Club like the Bad News or the Black Skulls.

This world was called Twilight and was one of the large moons in orbit around a Jovian called Giga Ball.

Twilight was tidally locked in its orbit around the big mother planet and did not spin on its own. This moon was almost Earth sized and had a Ni Ox atmosphere acceptable to many of the Nitrogen Oxygen breathers that were part of the community of sentient species that made up this oh so glorious United Stars of the Galaxies, simply known as the Union.

A narrow strip of about twelve thousand klicks long followed the permanent terminator line between the night and day side.

A bit strange was the fact that the day side was in strict technical terms the night side, as it was always turned towards the big planet. While the side locals called the night side was exposed to the local star whenever the moon swung around the planet. But the local sun was distant and did not provide much more light than a very bright star. While Giga Ball was a failed sun and provided a sickening orange glowing light of it's own and thus illuminated the moon's night side all the time.

Part of that green terminator strip was a long and deep canyon.

On the bottom of this natural deep trench conditions were moist and agreeable to an unprotected humanoid,

But on the surface conditions were lethal.

Temperatures could soar on the planet turned side to over 250 degrees on the C scale.

While temperatures could drop to minus fifty when Big Ball was between moon and sun..

These extreme temperatures created storms of gale force circulated in a perpetual convection pattern around this world. These winds had smoothed and eroded mountains and filled valleys with mile deep micro dust.

Benjamin turned his head inside this unwieldy helmet and the scratched face plate to bite on the silicon feed tube for a drink of water.

The water wasn’t cold as they all wished it would be but the Camp Medic said cold water would be unhealthy and the lukewarm water would be just as good to hydrate them.

Of course he was sitting in a climate controlled office back at Sun Side City and only checked on them via Remote Avatar.

Benjamin was certain this son of a bitch had never been outside in in person.

His helmet radio crackled and the rough voice of Gang boss Arvid barked loud into his ears.

“Get your ass to the left and start sucking that glimmer patch.” Benjamin stemmed his weight against the hose reel automatic and thus forced the thirty centimeter diameter metal reinforced flexi-plast hose attached to a sucker head to un reel.

He dragged it, wading through the powdery light brown dust towards a barely visible glimmer patch.

Metallic shining dust spots indicated a higher metal content and that of course was the reason he and the sixty men of Camp 43 were out here at the most eastern shores of Talcum Lake.

The big automated hover platforms behind them slowly floated behind them holding the Cyclone Dust Pump.

The whole contraption looked like nightmarish bloated octopus floating in a foggy cloud of billowing dust with long thin tentacles stretching out to sixty tiny figures slowly moving forward. Like a geyser the worthless dust was blown in a wide stream back into the landscape, while a steady stream of 500 kilo metal cubes left the other side on a conveyor, made of the metals and useful minerals separated and ultra-compacted into easy stackable and shippable cubes. Another gang of men with load handler suits stacked the cubes onto the cargo beds of rugged fliers.

To him it was senseless and primitive.

Robots could have done all this tireless, around the clock and with much bigger machines just as Noire Mining did two hundred miles over at Lake Pixie.

Of course using convicts was much cheaper, not to mention that the government paid 60 Credits every day for every convict used.

That was a nice extra income for smaller mining outfits, since they hardly spent more than five credits on them per week.

He was now close to the Glimmer patch and stuck the wide round nozzle of his sucker into the dust, the suction of the pump at the other end of the hose created a little temporary funnel crater.

It was mindless terrifyingly boring work in a terrifyingly boring landscape.

There weren’t any real dangers. The suits were ancient and cumbersome. Cheapest surplus equipment not meant for comfort, Federally inspected. These suits had to pass basic safety standards.

The Health and Safety inspectors were the only entities feared by the Mining managers and Gang bosses.

Death came in only two ways, by suicide or murder.

The fact that many men dreamt of suicide was maybe the best indication of these inhumane conditions.

Even suicide was not as easy as one would have thought. The three timed cursed Justice Department had one or two Med bots at each camp.

These machines had no sense, no mercy and there was nothing the miners had to damage one of these machines.

Unless you managed to kill yourselves completely and very fast, these merciless machines rushed in to save your live.

That they never missed anyone was virtually guaranteed, each of the convicts had a health monitor chip glued to their skulls.

Only a week ago, Lurun, a Thauran could no longer take it and managed to pry open the seals of his suit by scrubbing them against an Octo pumper.

He of course was exposed to the 350 degrees of blistering heat and hard radiation. Benjamin remembered Lurun screaming as he was cooked alive, but the damn robots were there before he died.

Only two days later they shipped Lurun to Elysium, to change his mind.

Elysium was Moore Corporation's Inmate Sanatorium. There he was to be treated for his depression and his suicidal tendencies but everyone knew they would perform Psycho Surgery, do a complete Ego change on him.

Psycho Surgery of the most controversial and frightening kind.

Lurun would never again remember his name, his favorite food or even his own mother.

With a set of new memories and a new society conforming personality and a Union residence license and less personality than a S-10 robot personality.

Living out the rest of his life as a recycling tank cleaner somewhere a galaxy distant.

Benjamin had thought about suicide himself, many times since he had been arrested.

This was not a rock mine with sharp tools and big machines on heavy tracks. They were stuck all day long in these nearly indestructible, daily inspected Syntho-Rubber and Silicone suits that could only be opened inside the Changing rooms and not by themselves but by a suit opener.

Their only tool they had were these sucking pipes and hoses.

Neither big or heavy enough to damage the suits or the helmets.

During their rest period they showered supervised, ate supervised and slept supervised of course by tire-less robots.

They ate from plastic trays and used plastic spoons and had to wear Inmate control suits that were comfortable, transparent and virtually indestructible. Even able to control Pertharians and Dai.

Whatever wound you could create with a plastic spoon was not life threatening, the suit covered most of the body and robots were to damn fast.

Strangulation was the only way and too slow. Punishment was harsh. Any infraction reported by the robots resulted in education measures. Sleeping in the suit for days, marinating in your own urine and shit.

Loss of recreation privileges, reduced sleep and rest time and everything else the Guards could think of.

There was very little in terms of recreation and it too was supervised.

Benjamin moved the sucking pipe across the glimmer patch as the Gang boss wanted.

He hated that pompous Pan Saran bastard like he never hated anyone before but it was him who had the say who got one of the few PDDs loaded with magazines, porn of any kind and vids.

Six of the PDDs were even GalNet enabled to watch news, new movies or listen to music.

The men fought and snitched on each other for a chance to get one for the PDD privilege and did whatever the Gang boss asked them to do.

Before he received his sentence of 10 standard years of hard labor, he was a Port Roach, belonging to one of the Kid gangs that roamed the Port and the City.

Gal Drifts and Non Cits were a laughable small group living on the very fringes of Union Society, but they existed on many of the Union Traffic Hubs where they could “stow” or “showwl” to another planet.

Stowing in a freight was dangerous. Some freighter captain were known to sell a stow to a slave trader. Or expose the freight bay to open space in order to “sanitize for vermin”

Showwling was a Squack word for illegal traveling or paying a Travel arranger for an illegal passage. Travel arrangers were not always trustworthy and did business with slavers or agents for the Togar. And if a travel provider was caught by Federal police it meant the loss of the ship master patent and usually the ship.

His mother had abandoned him right after birth and here on Twilight. He was found only a few hours after his birth in one of the Scrub and Soak shower facilities and brought to Mother Moore's Happy Orphanage in Termi Town, 500 miles up Canyon in the Terminator Strip.

The first time he ran away, he was maybe six.

He ran away like so many others did.

Mother Moore's was anything but happy. It was a business and they got paid from the Social Services Council of the Assembly.

Every Non Cit kid they raised and turned into a Union Citizen made them money.

The more difficult and hard to educate a child was the more money they could charge, and so “running away” was very easy.

The Runaways would find themselves in one of the big Cities or at the Port without means to really escape and without food or a place to go.

So they joined one of the Kid gangs to steal and live of petty crimes until they got caught and sent back to Mother Moore;s as a “Runaway with a criminal record.”

This of course meant Mother Moore could charge much more money.

Someone tugged at his hose. He turned and saw Mocam waving at him.

At last it was quitting time. He was looking forward to the showers and the sloppy food. Maybe he sucked enough glitter to get a turn on a GalNet enabled PDD, if not there was always his bunk, and nothing in his current situation was more welcome than to simply stretch out and sleep.

He and the rest of his work gang climbed onto the bed of a freight skimmer and sat down.

Sixty, mostly humanoid, convicts looking almost like dust covered brownish Nul in their bulky suits and bubble helmets found easily room on the big bare bones freight bed.

The camp was not much more than a collection of stacked prefab buildings thirty kilometers outside of Sunside City.

The Foreman opened the helmet radios and the men could talk or listen to Local Radio. During the work day the helmet speakers played so called Alpha Wave music and the radio was one way only, no taking possible.

After a while you didn't really hear that damn music and only noticed it when it was turned off. It was designed to keep aggression and stress down.

Not that he ever had any real education, he knew it somehow messed with the mind and made it as dull as the dusty landscape.

The Union was so damn efficient in everything. Even how they managed their prisoners. To Benjamin it made no difference that the corporation was a private organization hired by the local authorities and was not a Union institution. He was a Non-Cit and everything run, owned, managed or otherwise associated with Union Citizens was “them” and how he hated them!

--””--