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This fanfiction article, DT 2023: Alerian Sunlight, was written by Distant Tide. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
The law enforcement officers were arguing loudly now. They were loud before, but now two of them seemed to be screaming at one another. Their voices were reverberating off the mine walls and side tunnels.
The masked-up policeman told to watch over the raid’s survivors was throwing nervous glances back and forth between his arguing team members behind them and swaying his short-barreled carbine in a distracted manner towards his detainees to dissuade any funny ideas.
Jefferson felt kind of dull about the whole affair. He spent twenty-five minutes listening to people shout at one another through the tunnels and between bursts of gunfire. He tried his best to hide from the assaulters, but they eventually dug him out of a shallow sleeping-hovel deeper in the tunnels. Apparently, they were police of some sort based on their uniformed appearances and some strange triangle emblem emblazed on their plate carriers.
“They tracked us via our rebreather signals…” Speedy whispered next to Jefferson, shifting his numb butt against the rocky floor and shouldering his companion for attention while his hands were bound behind him. “See there? They got the Boss’s com-pad.”
One of the yelling officers, seeming the leader despite all the police’s masked faces, clutched the computer tablet in one hand while standing over the bloody skull of said shift-leader. How he died, Jefferson wasn’t there to see. The Boss didn’t even find Jefferson before his death; at the very least that probably meant Jefferson was off the hook for the trading-shifts-for-rations fiasco the night before.
Another of the child-miners mumbled to the group, “They killed the Boss when they caved in a separate tunnel wall. Also covered me in rubble too. They—”
“Yo, quiet, all of you!” The guard shouted, pointing the rifle barrel with more focus at the crowd of detained miners, a group of sixteen boys and men between the ages of seven and probably-sixty-three.
The guard’s exclamation briefly cut off the argument between the two officers. At this point, Jefferson had treated them like ignorable, white-noise – the same way he treated his average workday in the mines. But now they were focused on the miners again, the leader wandering over the group.
The raid-leader addressed the guard, “They acting out?”
“No, just whispers here and there. For now, they’ve not moved.”
The leader nodded, glancing between his arguing-partner and the guard. “Were you able to hear anything they said? Given… Sorry.”
“Not really, unfortunately. But I’m not sure they’ll know anything anyway. I took that one,” the guard gestured to an old man – Yeon – from the group. “And he hasn’t been on the surface in seven years. Or he thinks that’s the right number.”
The leader prodded the com-pad with his finger for a few moments. “Five years, eighty-six days. Close enough… Well, shit. What about the children?”
“A year. Six months. That kind of short time, but they’re orphans from what I gather.”
Raid-leader pointed at Jefferson, technically one of the oldest among the kids in the mining-group. “How about this one?”
“Three years, orphan. Thirteen-year-old.” The guard rattled off with a shrug.
“Jefferson. No last name. Orphan. Probably closer to fourteen years old now,” The leader read out. He looked at Jefferson again. “Stand up.”
Jefferson stayed seated.
“Kid. Standup.”
Jefferson hesitated, and stood.
“What’s your name?”
“You already said it.”
“I’m asking you.”
Jefferson glanced back at his friends before addressing the policeman. “Jefferson.”
“What do you know about the Southwest-Fusion Guild?”
“I work for them.”
“How many work these mines?”
“There’s forty from two other shifts that sleep in the cleared tunnels above us when not digging.”
“Forty-three up above?”
“Uh,” Jefferson racked his brain for a correct answer. He didn’t know why he was being honest with the policeman. But the shift leader was dead. He didn’t know anyone else with authority. The old men in his shift were as beleaguered and burned out as the youths around them. And the Boss was a bloody-pulp-of-a-skull on the floor. An answer came to him. “Forty-three sounds right, yeah.”
The leader sighed with some relief.
“Sounds like we got them all at least,” he mentioned to his squad.
“Why did you shoot him?” Jefferson abruptly voiced his curiosity, gesturing with his head at the dead Boss while also giving a half-hearted twitch against his cufflinks.
The leader’s hidden eyebrows seem to scrunch. His hardened visor seemed to boar into Jefferson who retreated under the attention.
“Using child labor is illegal.”
Jefferson, despite his distress, still managed to speak up. “We’ve been here for years. Nobody told us that. Did you tell Boss that? The Guild?”
The leader seemed to frown through his cloth mask. Maybe Jefferson was reading too much into the small shadows on the policeman’s mask, but he thought he was reading the man correct.
“It might be a little late for that now,” the policeman offered a slight, humorless chuckle.
“Why didn’t you save us sooner?” He asked quietly, not even a whisper – more like a mumble on his lips without a gasp of air. Jefferson could feel himself trembling, shaking. The policeman had done something to him. Not directly, but something. His words, his behavior. The lack of…something. Of care? It lit a fire in Jefferson.
The child-miner repeated himself a little louder.
“Why didn’t you save us sooner?”
The policeman kneeled so he was eye-level with Jefferson. “I’m sorry we didn’t find you. We would’ve if we found you.”
“You’re some offworlder, aren’t you? This whole planet is child-laborers. You can’t save all of us, and you never will.”
The question seemed to freeze the policeman for a second. He then nodded to Jefferson. He replied, “I am. And I have-to try.”
“I don’t know where you’re from, but this is what Aleria is… It’s better to be down here, than up there.” Jefferson nodded upwards, imagining his neck pointing through solid rock to the Alerian surface.
“Maybe, but children shouldn’t work mines. You should be at home playing. Going to school. Living a life.”
“I don’t have a home. I was taught to read. What else could I ask for?”
“How about the power to stop children from being used as laborers?”
“The sun would kill us. And the night will freeze us.” Jefferson whisper-growled out through gritted teeth. “Without these jobs, we’re up there. Eating mud cakes, and dying of thirst. Down here, its cool, we get money sometimes. We get real food and real sleep.”
“Well, maybe you all can help us make it better.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you the whole plan, I don’t know. But I can make sure you don’t go hungry. I can make sure you’re all taken care of. The heat and freeze won’t hurt you. This I can promise. I just need your help.”
“Doing what?”
“Stopping your Guild. And the other guilds after that if possible.”
“And what do you want from me? Us?” Jefferson glanced back at his shift-group feeling somewhat confused, being the center of attention.
“We need to find the other mines. Need to map these tunnels. Make sure we get everyone out, help everyone live better lives.”
“I can help with some of that stuff. Will I be hurt if I say ‘no’?”
“No. You would be taken to the surface. Put in the care of the Department of Colonial Security.”
“Never heard of them.”
The policeman pointed to his chest, the weird triangle with a circle in the middle. “You can call us ‘Oni’ if you like.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Let’s just say, we find and protect people. Help people. Like you. We’re the good guys.”
That was the first time anyone called themselves “good guys,” as far as Jefferson knew. How true that was, he did not know. But they had the guns, were making promises, and giving orders. How could someone say no to that?
“And in your care, where will we go?”
“An air-conditioned base of ours. Three meals a day, shelter, and medical care. You will meet with our people and tell us everything you know.”
Jefferson wonder about it. “Will I have to be in the Sun a lot?”
“If you don’t want to, no.”
“Will I have to be down here again?”
“If you don’t want it, same answer. But we could use the help mapping the tunnels, so, if you’re feeling brave enough after going back up to the surface, I’d appreciate it. We’ll go with you too; we’re going down here again anyway. Our job isn’t done.”
Jefferson squinted. “It never will be.”
The policeman shrugged. “Still got to try.”
The boy shook his head, confused by the policeman’s insistence. This “Oni” he referred to seem crazy…but in that “good way” he described. Maybe they could be trusted. Maybe he would help.
“Okay, I’ll help you,” Jefferson decided with some slight conviction. “I just want something better than what this is. None of us want to do this ever again, and to never be in a place like this ever again. Ever.”
The police-leader nodded, especially at the emphasis.
“Never again. I promise. I’m glad you can help us. We can help each other.”
Jefferson nodded but then shook his cufflinks, “Could you remove these? They’re itchy.”
The policeman shook his head, “After we get to the surface. Yes. Just wait a little longer.”
“It’s a long climb back to the surface.” Jefferson noted.
The police-leader paused and looked back to his team members. They seem to gesture at one another with their heads, talking silently. Maybe a different voice channel or radio technology? He looked back at Jefferson.
“Alright, we’ll cut you free but you can’t run away. You can lead the group up, but my friend here leads with you.” The policeman pointed to his guarding team member.
Jefferson nodded in confirmation. The policeman turned him around and brought out a serrated knife. The boy froze in place, suddenly very on edge but the man simply cut the plastic material and freed Jefferson from his bindings. He promptly rubbed his aching wrists.
“Better?” The policeman asked.
“Kind of,” Jefferson answered.
The policeman nodded and gestured to the rest of the group to do the same. He planted a large hand on Jefferson’s shoulder and pushed him towards the guard. “Take him to the entryway and stay with him. We’ll file the miners in a line and walk them up.”
The guard nodded and gave Jefferson a strangely-light push to get him moving towards the rubble-marked entryway from the prior gunfight where the police breached in. He offered Boss’s smashed-watermelon-like-head a glance of thoughtless consideration as they passed it. Jefferson never saw something so grotesque and wet. But he lived in a desert-of-deserts; he never saw gun violence like this up close. He felt nothing, he didn’t know how to react.
“Stand here,” the police guard ordered. He released Jefferson’s shoulder by the breached entrance, Jefferson could still smell a sweet, smokey scent from the walls. Like paint or glue.
“What are your names?” Jefferson asked the guard to make conversation as the rest of the police cut his fellow miners free.
The guard glanced in the direction of his leader and back at Jefferson as if contemplating the question. “Well. He’s Boss, and I’m Nigel.”
“I can’t really call him Boss,” Jefferson noted. “You guys killed Boss.”
The guard hummed. “Call him Captain then.”
Jefferson nodded. So, these were ‘Oni,’ or Colonial Security. Captain. Nigel. The other policemen. The good guys.
The boy thought long about them as he both led, and was led, down many labyrinthian-like mining tunnels. Some better lit than others, some more reinforced than others. The column passed other chambers. Sometimes they saw other miners from other shifts, and other times they saw an occasional policeman from ‘Oni’ here or there.
It took time, more than Jefferson remembered getting down from so many years ago, but it wasn’t long before they made it to what he thought was the surface. It was bright. Blinding. Warm. Very warm. There was a wind. The wind tasted sandy, but it tasted clean – fresh. Not stinky of sweat, feces, and mud.
Jefferson couldn’t see and had to close his eyes against the burning glow of the Elduros-sun. After so long in the dark, the sunlight turned his vision a void-gray. He couldn’t see the town that existed over his mineshaft he remembered existing in the past. He couldn’t see the base the policeman talked about.
But Jefferson could hear the nearby sounds of vehicles and people going about their business in some location that was ‘on the surface’ and ‘outside.’ He heard the captain giving orders somewhere behind him.
Whatever was next, Jefferson decided he like the warm sun against his skin. It was alien sensation, but a welcoming one after so long. He knew it would soon burn him, but right now it burned a lot less than he remembered. He could feel himself sweating already, getting sticky, but it was a better feeling than living in your sweat all the time in the damp tunnels of the Alerian earth.
He thought about the three years he spent crawling through the same tunnels, worrying about cave-ins and punishments, going hungry and losing sleep. About not being able to think.
Jefferson could think now. He was feeling, thinking! Was this what freedom felt like? He couldn’t see freedom, but he could hear it, and feel it.
This was a taste of what Oni could be. Maybe if Jefferson did a good job with them… Maybe they’d treat him well. Maybe they would take him with them; maybe even off the planet. To where? Jefferson didn’t know.
But he knew he wanted to go somewhere. Do something. Be something. The blind boy began to daydream in the Alerian morning. The sounds of people and vehicles drowned out a little bit as Jefferson focused on other thoughts. He could hear them again.
The chirps of the Alerian fleas and the dust locusts. Like three years ago, when Jefferson went down into the Alerian earth. He could hear them again, and they sounded beautiful.