Solomon
Ken Sopher stormed out of the igloo, uncharacteristically wide-eyed, his blonde locks of hair bouncing with his steps as he ran towards the Mongoose that Justin quite literally just parked. Pete followed him out the atrium door lazily, as would be expected. He was keen to close the door behind him this time, deciding not to rile Justin up. Justin's mood could swing from one extreme the other in an instant, and Pete was too tired to deal with that prospect for the moment.
"Did I hear you right?" Ken asked. "We're going to Solomon's? Why didn't you tell me?"
Justin took his time in answering and lit up a cigarette as the Mongoose maintained its quiet thunder. He made a brief once over about the ATV, walking around it in a wide circle to make sure Chris had lashed down everything properly. All fuel canisters were there, as well as all the supplies they would need for the journey. "How the fuck are you so hyped?" Justin asked, perhaps not even expecting an answer.
"It's been a while." Ken said. "I want to go."
"Yeah," Pete said, "me too. Something else to do other than sit here or slave away at the city."
"Friggin' relax, we're all going. It's too dangerous for anyone to be alone anyways."
"Thanks to that bitch, Layla."
Justin shook off Pete's commentary and took another drag.
The mention of Layla prompted Chris to ask, "So what makes you all so afraid of Jim? Justin, didn't you teach him a lesson back at the city?"
"I did, but at a great cost. He's in with Sergei." Justin looked at everyone. "Get the skis, get what you need. You know the drill."
Bill took the time to walk over to Chris and said, "Make sure to dress warm. Grab a few waters, too. It's a long drive and we'll likely stay there a while." He received a firm nod from Chris. He gave the keys to him and said, "Lock up the igloo as well on your way out."
Chris headed inside to take what he needed.
At that moment, Bill looked to Justin and nodded. "I think it is good that you're teaching him how to run things."
Justin didn't reply.
One last stop at the stolen pallet of water bottles and Chris had everything. He made his way back to the group—huddled around the Mongoose.
"Anyone want water?" Chris said, his cupped hands overflowing with bottles.
"I'll take one." Pete said.
"—Just put 'em in the 'Goose." Justin ordered, tossing his smoke to the ground. "We need to get going if we're gonna beat sunset."
With that, everyone made their final preparations for the journey across the endless plains. Just how far they would venture, Chris didn't know. Justin's patience had already been tried to begin with, whether intentional or not. Thusly, Chris held back his inquisitiveness for the moment. The 'Goose's idle had sloped down to a mere hum, wisps of dirt and clay particulate drifting about the landscape as the others donned their ski equipment. The clouds were already starting to sink and the light of the day was at its peak as it crossed the sky's zenith. Half the day was gone. A yellow-tinged Dust Devil rotated over the top of an outcropping to the West where the wind currents were more prevalent. It drifted lazily, toward nowhere.
"That's so cool." Chris said.
"Always do your best to steer clear of those bastards." Justin said. "They herd together a nice amount of chemical in their vortex. You get caught up in one of those, and your skin will get bleached. You'll be itching for a week. And if you get any in your eyes..."
Chris frowned. Ugliness was everywhere here, even in beauty.
Justin released the 'Goose's parking brake, checked his gauges and gave it some throttle, and Pete, Bill and Ken were yanked from a stop—due south on a straight course to Solomon's.
-
For two straight hours the Mongoose cruised at a high-pitched glide, Chris at the brink of sleep as the engine's vibrations thrummed through the frame of the ATV and into his skin. The throbbing of both the engine and the occasional divot in the clay made attaining one single wink of sleep arduous, though. From one minute to the next, Chris would either force himself to slumber or give up on it entirely; the engine wasn't so bad, but when the Mongoose jounced up from a bump, it stirred him out of unconsciousness.
The three sets of skis behind the Mongoose spun up thin rooster tails of orange-brown dirt as the skiers zigzagged lazily from side to side in the dying sunset further aft. The cold wind was perpetually fierce; the Mongoose had no windscreen to offer so the bitter cold ate Chris up. Justin seemed to be content with it. When is he ever not? Chris thought. Chris could only imagine how the three being dragged along felt. But as if realizing the grueling trek that the ride had become, Justin gently decreased speed. The wind slowly died as Justin slowed ever more. Chris became fully awake after the gentle transition. Justin halted the Mongoose very slowly so as to prevent the three skiers from slamming into the back of the ATV. They couldn't stop on a dime like the Mongoose could. He chose a small outcropping to prop the ATV on so he'd have some vantage above the dirt-smothered clay. All skiers snapped out of their bindings and loosened up their boots to walk around and ease their aching leg muscles. They each loosened their jackets a little and drank a little water. Chris looked them over as he stepped off the ride: though they all had thick parkas with hoods and vented, full-width goggles, their faces were wind burnt—beat red like lying out in the sun on a more habitable world. Fleeting memories of tropical beeches ran through Chris' head. He instantly forced them away. Thinking about them only angered him—that he'd never get to see them ever again.
Pete had wandered a furlong away, just out of voice range. "What's he doing out there?" Chris asked, his concerned gaze dominating the horizon that Pete lingered on.
"He likes to be alone, kid." Justin said nonchalantly atop the Mongoose. Chris nodded and feigned a smile as if he understood, but Justin knew him well. "In time, you'll understand the need for it." Chris smiled again as Justin lit up a cigarette. Chris' incessant optimism wouldn't last long, Justin probably thought. Everything about this world was a depressant. There was little good in it. Bottled up emotions, paranoia, drug addictions and whatever else that a good society strives to shun was the norm on Traxus IX. Kids and young adults growing up on any other world tasted these things only when they thought about living on the wild side for a night. They had that luxury—to take chances and make mistakes while they were young, but that was just everyday life here. Perhaps chief among hardships (and strangely among the most benign of them) was pure monotony. Enough time goes by on Traxus IX, everything that can possibly be said under the sun is uttered until there is nothing left to be said anymore, and the memory of a past life, a better life, is just that: a memory. It was better to be alone for as many reasons as one could think, but Justin understood Chris was just a kid.
He had given him enough discourse in the ways of Traxus IX, how to survive here, but the more seasoned of Traxus IX's residents knew the decision to be alone was seldom resultant of external stimuli—it was usually about shame. Shame that you even wound up here in the first place. Shame from the mistakes you made—just how far you went until there was no turning back. Shame that you could never go back.
You most likely wanted to be alone because you were forever broken. There was no going back to the old you.
But in order to just survive, one had to find the good in anything despite such an unforgiving existence. Either that, or perish. That was always an option and Justin had seen many people take it before, the easy one. Justin reminded himself of that. The easy path wasn't always the correct path. And Chris was so young, so innocent, so naïve. "But he's probably just taking a piss." Justin said lightheartedly.
Chris laughed.
Justin flipped a few brown strands of hair away from his face, seeing Chris a little clearer. He assumed Chris was copasetic for the time being; He didn't need any empathy from anyone.
Justin immediately dismounted and checked the fuel gauge, then detethered a canister, opened the spout and gingerly poured its icy-cold contents into the fuel tank to top it off. Bill knelt and kissed a Rosary in the dimming light of the afternoon, his black robe taking on clay stains at the knees. Ken stood idly next to him with a thoughtful gaze. His body language suggested he was less interested in Bill's prayer, and perhaps more so about the time of day.
Justin took notice as he tossed another cigarette to the dirt. "Break's over. We need to get moving."
"Agreed." Ken said. "We've lingered too long."
Justin brought his hands to his mouth and forced a freight train-like whistle that easily permeated the cold winds bearing down on the plain. Pete picked his head up a second later and slowly began his trek back to the Mongoose. Chris scanned all 360 degrees of the horizon, nothing for it to offer. Just one-half steel-grey and one-half orange-brown underneath. It was mind-numbing.
Chris started to think he might have to partake in the drugs that the others were into, if not just to keep sane in the cold, damned world. Chris knew it wouldn't be long until his good nature withered away and he had nothing to look forward to, nothing to offer. From then on, it was kicks to bring about some measure of joy and ecstasy. He was well-educated in the effects of narcotics and excessive alcohol use.
The 'Goose growled to life and settled into its usual, soprano purr as Justin took the helm once again. In dull silence, everyone made ready. "Not much further now." Justin said as Chris took pillion behind him.
Chris nodded as they sped off into the eternal gloom.
-
The last rays of light shone the way.
Darkness was brimming all around except for the bare horizon where light held on just a moment longer, like their Shepard guiding them to Solomon. Like the light's last deed of the day was to ferry them to safety as well as enlightenment. It would see it done, then, diminish into the north.
"Perfect timing." Pete said.
"We should've been here earlier." Justin said with a dry disdain. "Solomon doesn't like unexpected guests at night."
"I'm sure he'll be fine with us." Bill offered.
Once the three skiers--Bill and Pete and Ken--were done unfastening their gear, they made ready to enter. They were huddled in close around the Mongoose in the drape of night. Justin hadn't switched off the headlight just yet. He pushed on the ATV until it came about to face Solomon's establishment: a network of steel containers arranged in a way not unlike Justin's own igloo. But there was more than met the eye with this setup.
Everyone was laden with supplies as they walked ever closer.
Solomon's hideout, so to speak, had a distinct advantage. It was way far from anything, even City 17. It had taken the group more than three hours to get there with an average speed of 45 kph. Even if an aggressor had the fuel to travel this far, did they have the will? The supplies?
Furthermore, there were no outcroppings nearby like Justin's location. His igloo had a ledge sprouting up due west, obscuring the plains. Solomon didn't, just wide open space.
And…why harass a man like Solomon?
Everyone knew he was cool. He harbored no malice for anyone, much like Bill. Plus, he could give expert advice on what people here loved to do in their permanent pastime: get high.
Which was precisely why Justin ventured here.
They were within knocking distance. Justin rapped on the thick, steel door twice. A dense echo reverberated far into the first chamber and perhaps deeper in as well. He banged on it once more, this time with a metal fuel canister for added noise. Justin looked at everyone: they looked okay. He looked out from the group—to the plains surrounding them. Nothing—at least as far as he could see in the dust-ridden dusk.
He knocked once more, not liking the position he was in—wide out in the open—vulnerable.
A clacking sound reverberated through just the door in front. Then another. The sound told something of strength, of steel on steel. Deadbolts.
The door slowly opened with an awful grinding noise. And there, from behind the partition, appeared an elderly man with dark skin, dreadlocked hair, and a clever grin. The eyes, though…were something rich and strange. They told of vast knowledge and understanding and content. But the lines of his face told something else: of suffering, endurance and pain. Deep lines of emotional combat. Every detail of the man's appearance was striking, different, and somehow, otherworldly. Everyone waited for him to say something.
"To what d'wI owe d'pleasure of dis fine comp'nee?" he asked in a thick, ancient accent long forgotten.
"Solomon." Justin greeted with a smile. "Are we too late to discuss some business with you?"
"I tink not, mey friend. Why do-wun't you step eenside?"
"Cool. Thanks for seeing us so late." Justin turned to everyone else. "Solomon's igloo…chain the 'Goose up to it, grab as much shit as you can off it, and get inside."
Everyone complied. They trekked back to the new igloo, and soon everyone entered a new realm.
