Crimson Dawn

This place, the wilderness, was strangely beautiful. Beyond the barbed wire fences around the camp, an endless variety of pale-colored flowers and plants glowed in the black forests. Lex had once heard that everything in evolution served a purpose, but what was the point of a luminescent plant world without any animals? There seemed to be so much that humanity didn’t know. Veela had once told him that 98 percent of this vast planet remained completely unexplored, most of it not even mapped. Who knows? Maybe there were animals here. Or things he couldn’t even imagine yet.

He watched the glowing spores, carried by the night wind, drift over the camp. The sky was clear and full of stars. The crescent of Kronos hung in the surrounding darkness, reminding him of the time in Vega Prime. Lex sat with Ron on a bench, away from the larger group, picking unenthusiastically at the ration pack he hadn’t touched while on patrol earlier that day. Like Ron, he had skipped the hot dinner in the mess tent. He couldn’t stand being inside anymore, couldn’t bear the conversations that revolved around the cruelties they’d inflicted on the settlers that day. Every day.

"You can’t hide forever," Ron said.

Lex looked up from the cards in his hand. He studied Ron in silence, wondering if it was a threat or advice. They’d been stationed in the wilderness for over three weeks now. Time spent far from civilization could change you. Ron wasn’t the same anymore. In less than a month, the jungle had stripped him of his better qualities, and suddenly, Lex wondered if Devon Vasker wasn’t the real villain of the group after all, but this place, this jungle that seemed to corrupt everything and everyone.

"Sooner or later, you’ll have to get on board," Ron said. "You’ve got to become like us. Or we’ll tear you apart. Don’t take that as a threat, okay? Believe me, hurting you is the last thing I want."

Lex didn’t respond. He glanced from his half-eaten bread to the other boys in the camp. Only two of the eight green recruits General Whorlow had sent to the diamond mines had come back. "You’re right," Lex said. "Just the other day, they hanged one of the new guys for trying to escape. They’ve left me alone so far because I know Vasker from back then. But if I don’t start fitting in, I’ll end up just like the guy they strung up."

"That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along."

"There’s just one problem."

"What’s that?" Ron asked.

"I don’t find it as easy as you do, beatin' an innocent man to death."

He saw the boys from the diamond mines for the first time again that night. They were talking about their encounter with the rebels. Firefights, shrapnel flying, blood, death, and destruction. Violence had become a part of everyday life. The boys didn’t mention mistreatment, but Lex was sure it happened in the diamond mines, too.

Beyond the glow of the gas lamps, Lex saw Vasker coming up the path, carrying a net slung over his shoulder. The net was full of severed hands, settlers’ hands. They were small, some of them women’s, and many of them children’s. Vasker dropped the net on the large wooden table, right next to Lex’s unpacked meal, and greeted Ron and the others with a hearty handshake.

"These are all from today," he said proudly. "Haven’t seen this many lazy dogs in one day for a while. When will they learn that slacking off doesn’t pay?" He turned to Lex, who had gotten up and left his bread on the table.

"Where you going, softie?"

He walked down the long path past the supply tent, passing the row of boxy, diesel generators that hummed into the night. When he reached the checkpoint, he stopped and considered, for a moment, leaving the camp for a long walk. Maybe never coming back. The pull of the world outside tugged at him, the longing for the distance, for the place that was home. But beyond the walls, the settlers and rebels lurked, thirsting for revenge. He was unarmed, but even that thought barely bothered him anymore.

That was the moment his PDA pinged. He wondered how that was even possible out here. What connection could this strange device have, if not to the satellite network of the infonet? The PDA notified him of a new level-up in his system. He had almost forgotten about this little game, and it secretly annoyed him that he was still considered a 'Good Citizen of Vega Prime.' He wanted to uninstall the app (or whatever it was), just to free himself from the regulations and achievements Thandros imposed on citizens to promote hard work and diligence. But when he opened the hologram and looked at his character card, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

What is this?!

His rank had changed.

So had his username.

He was now [Moonchild], no longer a loyal corporate citizen, but a Level 15 member of the Crimson Dawn. Rank 3: [Keeper of the Dawn]. Just 1,430 XP to the next level.

What did this mean?

Since when had he switched sides?

It felt as if his PDA had made the decision for him, like a sentient being. Like fate itself. Suddenly, he thought of E.E.R.I.E., the AI on the ST SAMSON, which, just like this device, had assumed he belonged to the Crimson Dawn. He tapped on the achievements he had earned for the rebels, and once again, he felt like something was seriously wrong.

Achievements earned:

A Heart of Gold (Help a poor soul in need)

Breaking the Bonds (Break a corporate promise or contract terms)

Skeletons in the Boardroom (Uncover the dark secret of a major corporation. You uncovered: the secret of Wolf Glider Inc.)

PR Nightmare (Damage the image of a major corporation. You anonymously uploaded sensitive data to the infonet.)

Follow Your Heart (Choose love over duty. Break the slave chains!)

Front Row at the Revolution (Attend a Crimson Dawn event. You attended: public execution at LowerCity market.)

Crimson Dawn Insider (Travel to Luvanda and join the heart of the rebellion.)

What did all of this mean?

The achievements seemed to have been awarded in chronological order. But what dark corporate secret had he uncovered? Wolf Glider Inc. was the company he’d worked for in Keldaraan, before quitting to go on that date with Veela. He couldn’t remember any of it. Everything that happened during that time was a blur. It was because of that weird guy with the fancy black hair (CR?) who’d given him a Vanta-B, which had wiped his memory.

What the hell happened during that time?

And why did his PDA know all these things?

What kind of system was tracking his progress and growth?

Lex still didn’t want to be a rebel. He just wanted to live in freedom, with her, Veela.

He turned off the hologram with a quick tap.

His temples throbbed from all the questions spinning around in his head.

He took a deep breath of the fresh jungle air. Even at night, the jungle was swelteringly hot and humid.

With heavy thoughts, he followed the sandy path to the northeastern watchtower, where a spotlight flared over the walls of the camp from the roof. He wandered over to the asphalt lot where the off-road vehicles were parked, as if that was the only place he could survive. He climbed onto the hood of a camouflaged 4x4 with large off-road tires, the suspension so high that he had to climb up over the grill. Then he stretched out across the hood, letting his legs dangle. Rain clouds drifted in from the west, not yet reaching the camp, and the stars above him shone in dizzying numbers.

He pulled Veela's amulet from his jacket pocket. Weighing it in his hand, he gently brushed his thumb over the white pearl at the center of the butterfly pendant. It began to glow. He could hardly believe it. It was glowing. It was as if their love had been condensed inside it. The pearl radiated warmth and comfort, as if the very essence of the girl was sealed within. He missed her so much. Her presence. Her courage. Her beauty. Her scent. Her voice. The mystery that surrounded her. The sadness that never fully left her, even in those rare moments of happiness.

The glow of the pearl felt like a compass.

And suddenly, the welding goggles on his chest felt heavier than before. He thought of Tayus, of Mori, and of the prison moon. He never would have believed—never in his life—that he would one day long for life back on Limbo.

*****

When he woke in the fading moonlight, it took him a moment to understand what was happening. The boys and men in his barracks were hunched over their cots, vomiting. The sour stench of stomach acid hung heavy in the already stifling air. More and more were hit by the wave of nausea, minute by minute. The boys curled up on their beds, their retching and groaning mixed with screams of pain.

Suddenly, the lights in the tent came on, and General Whorlow stood at the entrance, dressed in camo gear and heavy armor. He was shouting something, but it was drowned out by the sound of vomiting. Still, the boy knew what he was saying: the rebels were attacking.

The vomit was mixed with blood, and the men were practically puking their guts out. It was an attack by the Crimson Dawn, the boy realized. A guerrilla tactic just like the one on the ST SAMSON, when Flint had poisoned the guards in the cargo bay with their dinner.

Alarm sirens blared across the camp, followed by a series of deafening explosions. Shards of the protective wall rode the shockwaves, slicing through the thick tent fabric like bullets, whizzing past the boy. In the chaos, he couldn’t tell who had been hit by the debris, who was poisoned, or who was still okay. He followed the loudspeaker's order to grab a weapon, but as soon as he stepped outside the tent, rebels were flooding through the breach in the western wall, opening fire.

Lex sprinted across the open ground, heading in the opposite direction of the gunfight, towards the armory. He took cover behind some barrels near the water purification system, where Vasker and a few other goons were crouched, armed only with basic pistols.

Lex took a quick glance over his shoulder. Everywhere, there was muzzle flash, and glowing rifle barrels cutting through the night. A light drizzle began, and the moon faintly pierced the clouds overhead. Half-lit by a spotlight, some thirty or forty meters away, General Whorlow lay in the grass, wounded.

"I knew this was going to happen," said the young man crouching next to Lex. "I knew it. I’ve been here two years. It was only a matter of time."

"What do we do now?"

"We die, obviously."

"We need to make a run for the parking lot, grab a Dingo, and head south towards Aalgongonok’s center," Vasker said. "It’s our only chance."

"And how are we supposed to make it there in one piece?" the boy asked.

"No idea. But the damn rebels are overrunning us right now. I’m not sticking around."

One of the boys nearby popped out of cover and fired three or four shots into the night.

"You idiot. Now they know where we are."

"I’m not running out there. That’s suicide," Lex said.

"Just sitting here and shooting into the dark is suicide too. Screw it." Vasker leapt from behind the barrels and sprinted across the open field, past General Whorlow, who was crawling through the grass, screaming with a wounded leg. Seconds later, a grenade exploded next to him, tearing his body apart and flinging him five or six meters into the air. The blast knocked Vasker to the ground, and as soon as he got back on his feet, he was mowed down by machine-gun fire.

The boy stared at the outlines of two lifeless bodies on the grass, frantically searching for a way out. Pressed tightly against one of the man-high barrels, he listened to the wild battle cries of the rebels. They were advancing steadily.

He didn’t know how many there were, but they clearly outnumbered them. Soon, they would overrun the entire camp. What did they want besides the promised freedom and justice for the people? Most of all, the death of the TC goons. Revenge for the murder of their men, the torture of the settlers, and then ammo, weapons, equipment. Once they had looted everything, Lex thought, maybe they’d leave the camp.

Screams.

Gunfire.

Explosions.

All the terrible sounds of war danced on top of the wailing alarms. The barrels at the purification plant were sealed, but there were water drums scattered all over the camp. Lex stood up and left the group. Avoiding the beams of the spotlights, he crouch-ran towards the southern wall. The moonlit grass shimmered in the wind. With almost superhuman strength, he toppled one of the 200-liter drums, turned the opening towards the wall, and crawled inside.

He stayed there, cramped, his heart pounding, his temples throbbing. He could hear violence and death sweeping through the camp like two malicious friends. As he clutched the amulet, his thoughts were consumed by the girl.

He stayed there for nearly the entire night, his limbs numb from lack of blood flow. Sporadic gunfire rang out like the last raindrops after a heavy storm. After a while, someone turned off the alarm, and suddenly the voices of the rebels filled the air. Lex wished he could understand what they were saying. He heard engines starting and stopping again. Then, suddenly, a beam of light from a flashlight swept across the southern wall, dangerously close to him.

He held his breath, listening intently.

Footsteps.

They were getting closer.

Several pairs of boots stopped right in front of him.

The boy crouched perfectly still in the water drum, shaking and praying they wouldn’t find him. His eyes were fixed on the black boots outside.

Then one of the men crouched down and shone the flashlight into the barrel.

Lex squinted against the blinding light.

It was as if they knew his exact location, down to the meter, like he was equipped with a GPS tracker. As if they had been searching for him all along. But they had no reason to.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

Even his heart seemed to skip a beat.

Then the rebel started shouting, and the nightmare began.

Still blinded by the light, Lex felt his life flash before his eyes as they dragged him out of the drum. He took a sharp kick to the stomach, collapsing onto the wet grass, writhing in pain and gasping for air.

They’re going to shoot me, he thought.

The men hauled him up by his arms, patting him down for weapons or explosives. One of them, a captain, judging by the decorated uniform, tried to yank the butterfly amulet from his hand. The boy refused to let go, fighting back with shouted curses as he clung to the last thing that mattered to him.

As soon as they got him on his feet, someone choked him from behind with a rifle barrel. The captain, having finally managed to pry the amulet from his hand, examined it closely before turning to the scattered rebels across the camp. He gazed proudly at the men and women who had taken the place, then turned back to the boy. His crooked smile revealed a mouthful of missing teeth.

"What are you grinning about?" the boy said. "Give it back."

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. The rebel behind him pressed the rifle barrel so hard against his throat that there was no doubt he meant to crush his windpipe. Desperately, Lex grabbed at the rifle, struggling with all his strength to break free, but the man behind him only tightened his grip. Veins bulged on Lex’s forehead, his face turning a sickly dark color from the lack of blood flow. Panic rose in him, dizziness took over, and his vision narrowed, darkening.

This is it for me, he thought.

In that moment, the captain gave a signal to the rebel behind him, and the chokehold loosened.

Lex’s heart pounded wildly.

With his legs spread, slightly crouched, he gasped for air, coughing and rubbing his neck.

Paralyzed by the horrors of the past few hours, he let them tie his hands behind his back without resisting. A moment later, the captain fired a few rounds into the air.

Lex flinched.

His ears rang, and for a moment, he thought he’d gone deaf from the machine gun’s roar. He felt the searing heat of the gun barrel on his back, burning through his clothes as the captain kept prodding him forward. For a while, all the shouts exchanged between the men around him sounded like distant, muffled whispers.

They led him across the camp to the completely destroyed checkpoint. Along the way, bodies were piled high. Corpses everywhere. Lex caught one last glimpse of the general’s mangled torso and Vasker’s bullet-riddled body. When the rebels reached the main road, an old pickup truck was waiting for them, parked on the grassy field. A dozen captured TC goons from the camp were already crammed onto the truck bed. Lex climbed aboard, finding the only remaining spot on the floor. A rebel with a carbine sat on the roof of the truck, the rifle resting in his lap.

A light bar mounted on the grill flared to life, cutting a wide beam through the rainy darkness. The truck rumbled to life, heading deeper into the jungle, down the main road toward the rebel camp.