Earth's Children
Summary: The parents of Harper tell their tale of life and love in Post-Commonwealth Earth.
Author: Luna Sealeaf
Rating: PG
First Episode
"Life is a journey, and love is what makes that journey worthwhile,"
-Unknown
When I first learned that our Nietzschean overlords were sending me, as well as several hundred other Irish natives, to some far away land, I was terrified.
It all began one night when guards stormed into the small house surrounded by gentle hills that I shared with my parents, sister Orla, and older brother Liam.
I remember waking up to my mother's scream, which was quickly cut off. No sooner had I opened my eyes then a strong hand grabbed me by the neck and threw me to the floor.
"Evan!" I heard Orla scream behind me before she too was dragged from the bed. With utter confusion I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. My mother lay on the floor either unconscious –or dead. My father had tried to fight off the Nietzscheans and his lifeless eyes stared up at me as I huddled with Orla on the rough wooden floor. Before I could register what the scene meant, Liam was thrown from the trapdoor leading to the attic where he slept. Two more Nietzscheans –three were already surrounding me and Orla- climbed down the ladder following him. Things had happened so fast that I believe I was in shock.
Too my relief Liam quickly got to his feet, though he was then shoved to the floor next to me.
"Liam, what's happening?" Orla asked our older brother. Her words were stopped short by a hard cuff to her head from a guard standing next to her. Hearing her cry out, seeing blood trickle down her neck, I was about to lunge myself at the Uber in a fury and only Liam's sudden and firm grip on my shoulders kept me from ripping out the heart of that Nietzschean.
Probably it saved my life as well.
"Is this all of them?" one of them asked. I was too busy making sure Orla wasn't badly hurt to care about what they were saying.
"Looks like it. Come on, let's load them up." and then my hands were torn away from my beloved twin sister; my arms pulled behind me as I was jerked to my feet. Next I was half-dragged, half-carried outside. In front of our home was one of those large, metal transport vehicles the Ubers use to carry supplies in. The back door was swung open and first me, then Orla, and then Liam were practically thrown into the cargo hold. As it was already filled with other people the closest I could get to my remaining family was a solid grip on Liam's hand, Orla holding onto his other one.
There were no windows of course, only a few cracks that let in air, and total darkness broken by the sounds of people crying and talking softly. Terrified, and filled with a deep hatred for the Nietzscheans, I sat there, pressed on all sides by strangers, as the vehicle moved swiftly on the road.
Never again would I, my sister, or my brother ever see our homeland again. We would never see our parents; our aunts and uncles, cousins, or friends, for the rest of our lives. We were ripped from our familiar world and thrown into the brutal unknown.
I had just turned eighteen.
How long we were stuck in that crowded supply transport, I don't know. After a few hours my muscles began to cramp painfully. I was hot and thirsty; I felt badly for anyone there who was claustrophobic. The only thing worse than the physical discomfort was the looming terror of not knowing where we were going or why we had been taken from our homes in the first place. It was obvious that we weren't simply going to be killed. Nietzscheans didn't go to this much trouble merely to kill a bunch of kludges.
Unless we were to be used as blood sport for their amusement.
These thoughts and equally dark ones ran through my head as I shook with fear and rage. And then, finally, we came to a stop. Murmurs grew as nothing happened. Liam squeezed my hand for comfort and I was both grateful for it and resentful that he felt me such a child as to need his reassurance.
Suddenly the door was thrown open causing several people who had been pressed up against it to nearly fall off. Six or seven Nietzscheans –I couldn't see very well- carrying large guns and wearing red and black uniforms came into view.
"Everyone, get out!" one of them barked at us. Two lines had been formed on either side of the doorway so we couldn't try and escape. Not that many of us could have; blinking from the bright sunlight and trying to move our cramped limbs made it difficult to even walk. Lack of food and water had also left many feeling weak, including me.
Liam and Orla were moved ahead of me as we began to slowly file out. I became panicked as I was pushed towards the back by the swarm of people moving forwards and I lost sight of my siblings' bright golden hair, the one thing we all had in common.
My struggle to get out quickly succeeded and I breathed a sigh of thankfulness when I caught sight of Liam's broad shoulders. Other than the Nietzscheans of course, as well as the occasional Magog attack, the bane of my existence was that my sister and I were a full head shorter than Liam and our father, inheriting our mother's height instead. Despite my size, or perhaps because of it, I had always had a fierce temper. My parents must have seen this as soon as I was born, for my name, "Evan" apparently meant 'young warrior'.
And the name served me well as I pushed past people in order to reach my family. Clutching Orla's hand tightly as soon as I had gotten close enough, she turned and gave me a brave smile, but she couldn't keep the fear from her pretty green eyes.
I didn't have time to try and offer her comfort; stopping me in my tracks was a sight I had never before seen in my life: the ocean.
It was a shade darker than the color of my eyes, and larger than I thought it possible for anything to be. The water stretched for as far as my eyes could make out. I was so stunned at the spectacle that I barely felt the gun shoved against my back or heard the gruff 'Move along!' that followed it. But Orla quickly pulled me forward. It was then that I noticed the huge barge, no, ship, that was anchored in the water. A wooden plank was attached to the large metal beast. My stomach churned with fear and a bizarre sense of excitement as we began climbing up the ramp.
Again we were grouped into close quarters, somewhere under the hull, I believe, but not before we saw that hundreds of others were already 'stored' on the ship. The silence was heavy with tension among our crowd. The one question in everyone's eyes matched my own.
Where were we going?
Much later, after the ship had started to move (or I assumed since the sound of engines could be heard) Liam, Orla, and I had found a corner to lie down in. Rations had been passed among us; water jugs to be shared and chunks of bread. The generosity of our captors didn't surprise me.
I was lying on my side, back against the wall; Orla and Liam had fallen asleep, Orla clutching my hands, when I learned, by accident, where we were being taken.
Seeing as how we were the last load of humans, our quarters must have been next to a room for Nietzscheans (no doubt they had much better furnishings). I was starting to fall asleep when I heard loud voices on the other side of the wall begin to talk. Careful not to wake Orla, I edged closer to the wall, trying to hear better.
"So how long then, until we reach Boston?" a deep voice asked. Excited, I tried to recall where Boston was. Although my mother and father had taught us a lot, geography had never been my strongpoint. Still, I was pretty sure it was somewhere in America.
"A couple of hours at most." Came the answer. A different voice asked,
"Why do they need all these kludges? I thought Boston was one of the best established refugee camps." Then there was harsh laughter, before the deep voiced Nietzschean said,
"That just shows how pathetic your genes are Warren, if they don't even talk about the situation in front of you!" there were some angry words that I couldn't make out before one of them said in a loud voice,
"After the Magog attack two summers ago, there's been a famine, and a few uprisings." Someone spit audibly and cut in,
"The ungrateful little kludges!" to my furious, though not surprised, anger there were loud words said in agreement before the one explaining could continue.
"Anyway, the Lords are short on workers over there, hence the rabble we dragged from that backwater area. No one'll miss them, there's only a few minor Lords over there." The talk continued, but I didn't listen. I felt my teeth grind in anger at they're words: "No one'll miss them," What of our mother –assuming she still lived- what of our neighbors, friends I had known all my life and would likely never see again. I suddenly felt stronger as I realized that the Ubers were wrong; we would be missed, and most importantly, we would not be forgotten.
Then, despite all of my confusing thoughts, I slowly fell into a dreamless sleep. It felt like only a few minutes later when I woke to Orla's soft whisper.
"Wake up Evan! We're...here" I could hear the hesitation in the last word, as she wasn't sure where 'here' was.
"Boston...?" I muttered, sitting up. Orla gave me a confused look and I started to explain when the door was unlocked and slid open. Two Nietzscheans, with guns, as usual, gave sharp orders to get us moving. Feeling very much like chattel, I shuffled through the door along with everyone else.
We were lead to another long ramp leading to shore and told to disembark. For the most part things went smoothly and relatively quickly, until several people started jumping off the plank into the water in an effort to escape. They were shot by the numerous guards on the ship as well as the guards waiting for us on the ground.
Bitterly I wondered if that wasn't a better fate than the one awaiting us. Liam caught my eye and seemed to know my thoughts from the scowl on my face, for he gave a slight shake of his head. Glaring back at him defiantly, neither of us noticed the girl in front of him slip off the wooden platform, giving a sharp cry. Before I had time to react Liam had turned and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her up from the edge and helping her to continue walking down. Obviously shaken by her near death experience, the red haired young woman clung to my brother, even after we reached land.
As we stood in the crowd waiting for whatever was going to happen next, Liam turned to the girl and asked kindly,
"What's your name, love?" Orla laid a gentle hand on her arm, and the girl's dark, tear-filled eyes took the three of us in.
"Lughna," she said softly. I was more interested in what the Ubers had planned for us, but I heard Liam ask,
"Where's your family Lughna?"
"They're all dead." She sounded slightly hysterical and I spared her another glance. Seeing how scared she was, I tried to give a comforting smile, but she turned and buried herself in Liam's arms.
"Well then, ye'll just stay with us Lughna and we'll take care of you." He gently lifted her chin with one hand and smiled. Feeling anxious and short-tempered, not to mention having to go to the bathroom like hell, I snapped in reply,
"If we can even take care of ourselves, that is!"
"Evan, be quiet!" Orla hissed, her hand digging into my arm. Not looking at her, I pretended to scan the crowd and didn't say anything else. My bad manners were quickly forgotten as the crowd started moving again. I felt a little more reassured after learning what I had last night, and I passed the information onto the others.
The march to Boston was long, slow, and extremely boring. We were given only one break, during which more rations were passed out and I had the chance to relieve myself.
By the time we reached the 'refugee' camp it was night. My feet felt more or less like blocks of stone. I wondered why they had made us walk when it would have been so much easier, for them as well as us, to use another cargo transporter. Later it occurred to me that this way we were much too tired to even thinking of fighting back or disobeying their orders.
Our people, escorted by many Nietzschean guards, walked through the streets of middling Nietzschean homes: those belonging to low-ranking warriors and even lesser soldiers.
Ireland had been a bit more remote compared to Britain and America, and while we had had our own share of Nietzscheans, we had never lived surrounded by them either. A few miles later, we stopped in front of large stone walls. A gate leading into it was heavily guarded, but opened as we trudged inside. The line was painstakingly slow and, much to our surprise, we were allowed to sit and rest our feet, so long as we didn't slow the line when it moved.
The moon was high overhead by the time we reached the gate and we learned why the line was moving so slowly. Every single person had to be registered. Several Nietzscheans sat at blinking devices, typing on them as the person answered questions, then ripping off a piece of stiff paper from the device, and handing it to them. Liam went first; they asked for his full name.
"Liam Colin Harper." They collected a few hairs for DNA records while asking other questions. Recording his thumbprint, handing him the piece of paper, they then moved him forward. I was next, then Orla. Lughna was behind us and gave her name as Lughna Rylee Harper. Probably Liam had told her to use our last name, which I found vaguely amusing, as well as a little annoying. It also occurred to me that neither I nor Orla had middle names. Probably as twins, our parents had been a bit too overwhelmed to think of fitting middle names.
As we passed through the gate I noticed that no other Nietzscheans awaited us on the other side. The four of us walked until we were far away from the crowd. Making sure we were all here, Liam glanced down at his card and frowned. Having barely noticed the paper shoved into my hands, I looked at it as well.
Evan Harper
Age: 18 years Sex: Male
Height: 5'6" Hair: Yellow
Eyes: Blue Work Station: Factory N-15B (Requested)
Property of Drago-Kazov Pride
With a cry of rage I crumpled the paper and threw it to the ground.
"I am no one's property!" I yelled loudly, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists until I felt my nails cut into my palm. Orla was looking at me compassionately, Lughna just stared, and Liam calmly bent down, picked up the paper, and smoothed it between his hands.
"Of course you're not, little brother." The words were so calm and matter-of-fact that I relaxed almost involuntarily as Liam continued.
"None of us are. But you'll want to keep this paper. If you don't show up for work they'll come looking for you, no doubt. And I don't think that it would be a pleasant visit." He handed the paper to me and I nodded, calm once again. Looking back over the paper I scowled.
"My hair is not yellow! It's gold!"
The others, even Lughna, laughed as I swore at those 'color blind bastards'.
That night was one of the longest in my memory. There we were, surrounded by dilapidated buildings and filthy streets, and not a clue as to what we should do.
Other newcomers also began milling around, many filing into empty buildings. At last the four of us claimed a room and fell asleep on the floor. I thought my journey was finally over, but I was wrong.
The next day we compared cards and were surprised, as well as pleased, to see that we were all stationed at the same factory. Not knowing what else to do, we returned to the gate entrance where Liam humbly asked one of the guards for help in finding out where we should go. Liam has always been good at not offending people. The guard gave him one disgusted look before grabbing the paper out of his hands, looking over it, and then thrusting it back at him, nearly scraping Liam's arm off with his bone blades.
"You're not permanent camp residents. There's a transport to the factory's village. It'll be here in an hour." Thanking him profusely, and giving me a glare that wiped the sneer on my face for the Ubers off, we walked away quickly.
While we waited for the transport, Liam and Lughna talked while Orla and I went to try and find something to eat. Unfortunately we had no luck.
Roughly an hour later a transport vehicle, smaller than the one we'd been forced onto in Ireland, appeared. Some type of sound system must have been rigged throughout the human ghetto, because we could hear orders given for people 'stationed at factories N-10A through N-25D report to the front gate'.
As some of the first people there we were able to settle inside the vehicle relatively comfortably, and it wasn't as crowded as our previous trip had been.
A few hours later we were 'unloaded' in front of more walls, this time made of wood, and another guarded gate. The area was different thought; apart from a few large buildings in the distance, there was only empty land. At the sight of green, or at least yellow, fields of grass and a thin forest behind us, many in the crowd burst into tears. This land was so different from our beloved country, and I felt a fierce longing for the lush green hills I'd grown up in.
This line moved faster than last nights'; it was shorter and all we had to do was show our papers to the guards.
And thus I took my first steps into my new home, not knowing that it was here I would meet the great love of my life.
Author's Note: For those of you who have read the 'Life of a Kludge' volumes, this is in no way connected to them. After watching Season Two I realized how many mistakes I'd made in Harper's life story, and got a little depressed. As I was pondering what to do, it occurred to me that his parents might have had a great love story, and that maybe it should be told. So here is the first part, told through the eyes of his father, as I imagine him to have been like. The next 'episode' will be from his mother's point of view, each episode afterwards alternating. Thanks for reading, and I beg you to let me know what you think! Thanks,
Luna Sealeaf
Summary: The parents of Harper tell their tale of life and love in Post-Commonwealth Earth.
Author: Luna Sealeaf
Rating: PG
First Episode
"Life is a journey, and love is what makes that journey worthwhile,"
-Unknown
When I first learned that our Nietzschean overlords were sending me, as well as several hundred other Irish natives, to some far away land, I was terrified.
It all began one night when guards stormed into the small house surrounded by gentle hills that I shared with my parents, sister Orla, and older brother Liam.
I remember waking up to my mother's scream, which was quickly cut off. No sooner had I opened my eyes then a strong hand grabbed me by the neck and threw me to the floor.
"Evan!" I heard Orla scream behind me before she too was dragged from the bed. With utter confusion I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. My mother lay on the floor either unconscious –or dead. My father had tried to fight off the Nietzscheans and his lifeless eyes stared up at me as I huddled with Orla on the rough wooden floor. Before I could register what the scene meant, Liam was thrown from the trapdoor leading to the attic where he slept. Two more Nietzscheans –three were already surrounding me and Orla- climbed down the ladder following him. Things had happened so fast that I believe I was in shock.
Too my relief Liam quickly got to his feet, though he was then shoved to the floor next to me.
"Liam, what's happening?" Orla asked our older brother. Her words were stopped short by a hard cuff to her head from a guard standing next to her. Hearing her cry out, seeing blood trickle down her neck, I was about to lunge myself at the Uber in a fury and only Liam's sudden and firm grip on my shoulders kept me from ripping out the heart of that Nietzschean.
Probably it saved my life as well.
"Is this all of them?" one of them asked. I was too busy making sure Orla wasn't badly hurt to care about what they were saying.
"Looks like it. Come on, let's load them up." and then my hands were torn away from my beloved twin sister; my arms pulled behind me as I was jerked to my feet. Next I was half-dragged, half-carried outside. In front of our home was one of those large, metal transport vehicles the Ubers use to carry supplies in. The back door was swung open and first me, then Orla, and then Liam were practically thrown into the cargo hold. As it was already filled with other people the closest I could get to my remaining family was a solid grip on Liam's hand, Orla holding onto his other one.
There were no windows of course, only a few cracks that let in air, and total darkness broken by the sounds of people crying and talking softly. Terrified, and filled with a deep hatred for the Nietzscheans, I sat there, pressed on all sides by strangers, as the vehicle moved swiftly on the road.
Never again would I, my sister, or my brother ever see our homeland again. We would never see our parents; our aunts and uncles, cousins, or friends, for the rest of our lives. We were ripped from our familiar world and thrown into the brutal unknown.
I had just turned eighteen.
How long we were stuck in that crowded supply transport, I don't know. After a few hours my muscles began to cramp painfully. I was hot and thirsty; I felt badly for anyone there who was claustrophobic. The only thing worse than the physical discomfort was the looming terror of not knowing where we were going or why we had been taken from our homes in the first place. It was obvious that we weren't simply going to be killed. Nietzscheans didn't go to this much trouble merely to kill a bunch of kludges.
Unless we were to be used as blood sport for their amusement.
These thoughts and equally dark ones ran through my head as I shook with fear and rage. And then, finally, we came to a stop. Murmurs grew as nothing happened. Liam squeezed my hand for comfort and I was both grateful for it and resentful that he felt me such a child as to need his reassurance.
Suddenly the door was thrown open causing several people who had been pressed up against it to nearly fall off. Six or seven Nietzscheans –I couldn't see very well- carrying large guns and wearing red and black uniforms came into view.
"Everyone, get out!" one of them barked at us. Two lines had been formed on either side of the doorway so we couldn't try and escape. Not that many of us could have; blinking from the bright sunlight and trying to move our cramped limbs made it difficult to even walk. Lack of food and water had also left many feeling weak, including me.
Liam and Orla were moved ahead of me as we began to slowly file out. I became panicked as I was pushed towards the back by the swarm of people moving forwards and I lost sight of my siblings' bright golden hair, the one thing we all had in common.
My struggle to get out quickly succeeded and I breathed a sigh of thankfulness when I caught sight of Liam's broad shoulders. Other than the Nietzscheans of course, as well as the occasional Magog attack, the bane of my existence was that my sister and I were a full head shorter than Liam and our father, inheriting our mother's height instead. Despite my size, or perhaps because of it, I had always had a fierce temper. My parents must have seen this as soon as I was born, for my name, "Evan" apparently meant 'young warrior'.
And the name served me well as I pushed past people in order to reach my family. Clutching Orla's hand tightly as soon as I had gotten close enough, she turned and gave me a brave smile, but she couldn't keep the fear from her pretty green eyes.
I didn't have time to try and offer her comfort; stopping me in my tracks was a sight I had never before seen in my life: the ocean.
It was a shade darker than the color of my eyes, and larger than I thought it possible for anything to be. The water stretched for as far as my eyes could make out. I was so stunned at the spectacle that I barely felt the gun shoved against my back or heard the gruff 'Move along!' that followed it. But Orla quickly pulled me forward. It was then that I noticed the huge barge, no, ship, that was anchored in the water. A wooden plank was attached to the large metal beast. My stomach churned with fear and a bizarre sense of excitement as we began climbing up the ramp.
Again we were grouped into close quarters, somewhere under the hull, I believe, but not before we saw that hundreds of others were already 'stored' on the ship. The silence was heavy with tension among our crowd. The one question in everyone's eyes matched my own.
Where were we going?
Much later, after the ship had started to move (or I assumed since the sound of engines could be heard) Liam, Orla, and I had found a corner to lie down in. Rations had been passed among us; water jugs to be shared and chunks of bread. The generosity of our captors didn't surprise me.
I was lying on my side, back against the wall; Orla and Liam had fallen asleep, Orla clutching my hands, when I learned, by accident, where we were being taken.
Seeing as how we were the last load of humans, our quarters must have been next to a room for Nietzscheans (no doubt they had much better furnishings). I was starting to fall asleep when I heard loud voices on the other side of the wall begin to talk. Careful not to wake Orla, I edged closer to the wall, trying to hear better.
"So how long then, until we reach Boston?" a deep voice asked. Excited, I tried to recall where Boston was. Although my mother and father had taught us a lot, geography had never been my strongpoint. Still, I was pretty sure it was somewhere in America.
"A couple of hours at most." Came the answer. A different voice asked,
"Why do they need all these kludges? I thought Boston was one of the best established refugee camps." Then there was harsh laughter, before the deep voiced Nietzschean said,
"That just shows how pathetic your genes are Warren, if they don't even talk about the situation in front of you!" there were some angry words that I couldn't make out before one of them said in a loud voice,
"After the Magog attack two summers ago, there's been a famine, and a few uprisings." Someone spit audibly and cut in,
"The ungrateful little kludges!" to my furious, though not surprised, anger there were loud words said in agreement before the one explaining could continue.
"Anyway, the Lords are short on workers over there, hence the rabble we dragged from that backwater area. No one'll miss them, there's only a few minor Lords over there." The talk continued, but I didn't listen. I felt my teeth grind in anger at they're words: "No one'll miss them," What of our mother –assuming she still lived- what of our neighbors, friends I had known all my life and would likely never see again. I suddenly felt stronger as I realized that the Ubers were wrong; we would be missed, and most importantly, we would not be forgotten.
Then, despite all of my confusing thoughts, I slowly fell into a dreamless sleep. It felt like only a few minutes later when I woke to Orla's soft whisper.
"Wake up Evan! We're...here" I could hear the hesitation in the last word, as she wasn't sure where 'here' was.
"Boston...?" I muttered, sitting up. Orla gave me a confused look and I started to explain when the door was unlocked and slid open. Two Nietzscheans, with guns, as usual, gave sharp orders to get us moving. Feeling very much like chattel, I shuffled through the door along with everyone else.
We were lead to another long ramp leading to shore and told to disembark. For the most part things went smoothly and relatively quickly, until several people started jumping off the plank into the water in an effort to escape. They were shot by the numerous guards on the ship as well as the guards waiting for us on the ground.
Bitterly I wondered if that wasn't a better fate than the one awaiting us. Liam caught my eye and seemed to know my thoughts from the scowl on my face, for he gave a slight shake of his head. Glaring back at him defiantly, neither of us noticed the girl in front of him slip off the wooden platform, giving a sharp cry. Before I had time to react Liam had turned and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her up from the edge and helping her to continue walking down. Obviously shaken by her near death experience, the red haired young woman clung to my brother, even after we reached land.
As we stood in the crowd waiting for whatever was going to happen next, Liam turned to the girl and asked kindly,
"What's your name, love?" Orla laid a gentle hand on her arm, and the girl's dark, tear-filled eyes took the three of us in.
"Lughna," she said softly. I was more interested in what the Ubers had planned for us, but I heard Liam ask,
"Where's your family Lughna?"
"They're all dead." She sounded slightly hysterical and I spared her another glance. Seeing how scared she was, I tried to give a comforting smile, but she turned and buried herself in Liam's arms.
"Well then, ye'll just stay with us Lughna and we'll take care of you." He gently lifted her chin with one hand and smiled. Feeling anxious and short-tempered, not to mention having to go to the bathroom like hell, I snapped in reply,
"If we can even take care of ourselves, that is!"
"Evan, be quiet!" Orla hissed, her hand digging into my arm. Not looking at her, I pretended to scan the crowd and didn't say anything else. My bad manners were quickly forgotten as the crowd started moving again. I felt a little more reassured after learning what I had last night, and I passed the information onto the others.
The march to Boston was long, slow, and extremely boring. We were given only one break, during which more rations were passed out and I had the chance to relieve myself.
By the time we reached the 'refugee' camp it was night. My feet felt more or less like blocks of stone. I wondered why they had made us walk when it would have been so much easier, for them as well as us, to use another cargo transporter. Later it occurred to me that this way we were much too tired to even thinking of fighting back or disobeying their orders.
Our people, escorted by many Nietzschean guards, walked through the streets of middling Nietzschean homes: those belonging to low-ranking warriors and even lesser soldiers.
Ireland had been a bit more remote compared to Britain and America, and while we had had our own share of Nietzscheans, we had never lived surrounded by them either. A few miles later, we stopped in front of large stone walls. A gate leading into it was heavily guarded, but opened as we trudged inside. The line was painstakingly slow and, much to our surprise, we were allowed to sit and rest our feet, so long as we didn't slow the line when it moved.
The moon was high overhead by the time we reached the gate and we learned why the line was moving so slowly. Every single person had to be registered. Several Nietzscheans sat at blinking devices, typing on them as the person answered questions, then ripping off a piece of stiff paper from the device, and handing it to them. Liam went first; they asked for his full name.
"Liam Colin Harper." They collected a few hairs for DNA records while asking other questions. Recording his thumbprint, handing him the piece of paper, they then moved him forward. I was next, then Orla. Lughna was behind us and gave her name as Lughna Rylee Harper. Probably Liam had told her to use our last name, which I found vaguely amusing, as well as a little annoying. It also occurred to me that neither I nor Orla had middle names. Probably as twins, our parents had been a bit too overwhelmed to think of fitting middle names.
As we passed through the gate I noticed that no other Nietzscheans awaited us on the other side. The four of us walked until we were far away from the crowd. Making sure we were all here, Liam glanced down at his card and frowned. Having barely noticed the paper shoved into my hands, I looked at it as well.
Evan Harper
Age: 18 years Sex: Male
Height: 5'6" Hair: Yellow
Eyes: Blue Work Station: Factory N-15B (Requested)
Property of Drago-Kazov Pride
With a cry of rage I crumpled the paper and threw it to the ground.
"I am no one's property!" I yelled loudly, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists until I felt my nails cut into my palm. Orla was looking at me compassionately, Lughna just stared, and Liam calmly bent down, picked up the paper, and smoothed it between his hands.
"Of course you're not, little brother." The words were so calm and matter-of-fact that I relaxed almost involuntarily as Liam continued.
"None of us are. But you'll want to keep this paper. If you don't show up for work they'll come looking for you, no doubt. And I don't think that it would be a pleasant visit." He handed the paper to me and I nodded, calm once again. Looking back over the paper I scowled.
"My hair is not yellow! It's gold!"
The others, even Lughna, laughed as I swore at those 'color blind bastards'.
That night was one of the longest in my memory. There we were, surrounded by dilapidated buildings and filthy streets, and not a clue as to what we should do.
Other newcomers also began milling around, many filing into empty buildings. At last the four of us claimed a room and fell asleep on the floor. I thought my journey was finally over, but I was wrong.
The next day we compared cards and were surprised, as well as pleased, to see that we were all stationed at the same factory. Not knowing what else to do, we returned to the gate entrance where Liam humbly asked one of the guards for help in finding out where we should go. Liam has always been good at not offending people. The guard gave him one disgusted look before grabbing the paper out of his hands, looking over it, and then thrusting it back at him, nearly scraping Liam's arm off with his bone blades.
"You're not permanent camp residents. There's a transport to the factory's village. It'll be here in an hour." Thanking him profusely, and giving me a glare that wiped the sneer on my face for the Ubers off, we walked away quickly.
While we waited for the transport, Liam and Lughna talked while Orla and I went to try and find something to eat. Unfortunately we had no luck.
Roughly an hour later a transport vehicle, smaller than the one we'd been forced onto in Ireland, appeared. Some type of sound system must have been rigged throughout the human ghetto, because we could hear orders given for people 'stationed at factories N-10A through N-25D report to the front gate'.
As some of the first people there we were able to settle inside the vehicle relatively comfortably, and it wasn't as crowded as our previous trip had been.
A few hours later we were 'unloaded' in front of more walls, this time made of wood, and another guarded gate. The area was different thought; apart from a few large buildings in the distance, there was only empty land. At the sight of green, or at least yellow, fields of grass and a thin forest behind us, many in the crowd burst into tears. This land was so different from our beloved country, and I felt a fierce longing for the lush green hills I'd grown up in.
This line moved faster than last nights'; it was shorter and all we had to do was show our papers to the guards.
And thus I took my first steps into my new home, not knowing that it was here I would meet the great love of my life.
Author's Note: For those of you who have read the 'Life of a Kludge' volumes, this is in no way connected to them. After watching Season Two I realized how many mistakes I'd made in Harper's life story, and got a little depressed. As I was pondering what to do, it occurred to me that his parents might have had a great love story, and that maybe it should be told. So here is the first part, told through the eyes of his father, as I imagine him to have been like. The next 'episode' will be from his mother's point of view, each episode afterwards alternating. Thanks for reading, and I beg you to let me know what you think! Thanks,
Luna Sealeaf