Another Day in Paradise

The ride on the Mongoose of that late, sunny afternoon in the tundra-like plains was a welcomed getaway from all the seriousness Chris had been experiencing as a newcomer to Traxus IX, all the repugnant facts and stories he was hearing—and even the harsh landscape that seemed to harbor the abundance of atrocities therein with a twisted sort of fitting hospitality. In fact, everyone's spirits were enlightened by the sheer pleasure of the Mongoose ride alone. Justin customarily drove while Chris rode pillion, his youthful forearm muscles holding on to the ATV with vigor. Pete, Bill, and Ken were dragged along for the ride on their skis, holding onto the ropes tight as they skimmed along the talc-fine sugar sand, swaying—right to left, left to right—dodging rocks and divots and traversing up and over the stumpy moguls. And the sun was still out, just barely, looking them head-on as it sank to sleep at the afore-summoning horizon. The perfect end to a perfect day.

Chris didn't know that Justin and the rest had been waiting for a day such as this for a great deal of months. Such luck that Chris arrived just in time for this rare and wondrous occasion. Such luck indeed. But he was still nevertheless coping with the prospect of this place, this barren world of villainy, being his new home. The rarity of this day that he could not yet truly appreciate was doing nothing to alleviate his still-aching pain. Anything he ever wished to do in life…he would never leave here. He would never know another world ever again. Stuck in a rut that wouldn't see an end, ever deepening and ever widening.

Purgatory.

Chris still couldn't wrap his finger around how he landed himself here. Was he naïve?

He ventured to Traxus Nine on a whim, to the one place known to hire anyone looking for work. He desparately needed to support himself with some time to go until he could enlist in the Corps. He took a gamble on someone else's word. When a stowaway on a cargo vessel, he overheard guards chatting about Traxus IX—how prosperous the company had become because of the booming industry on this one planet. How right they were. And how foolish too. Just like Chris.

But he knew the rest of the world outside of City 17 was a worse fate to be had still. He counted his blessings. Blind luck that he wound up at this exact location. He was grateful that he wound up in relatively good hands, however stern they may be. It wasn't so bad. Justin gave tough love, Chris realized now. Tough love that he may have in fact received if he had avoided this place long enough to enlist in the Marine Corps. Maybe Justin was still a Marine at heart, more so than he denied. But it was wise to not dwell on Justin's own state of affairs. Better to let it go before curiosity got the better of Chris and he started asking more questions that would only land him in trouble, like recently. Something in Justin's past was a thorn in his side, and he didn't like revisiting those memories—obviously. Was that why he doped himself up all the time?

To forget?

Chris wondered.

He couldn't tell though, couldn't get past that dragon skin of Justin's. He wasn't a talker, wasn't an emotional person. He had no use for feelings or remorse, except only to describe the horrific events that had transpired in Traxus IX's short but brutal history. And it seemed as though Justin rather admired the planet's unique plight, like he let go of hope so long ago that he was all the more cynical for it. It was all probably the result of him living a structured life and then coming to Traxus IX for some unknown reason, living it out in destitution for the last decade. It would have been a system shock, a total meltdown on everything someone would know. Life, liberty, everything...stripped away. And more than likely, that wasn't the only thing eating at him. People, no matter who they are, usually don't have one problem that defines their struggle in a portion of their life. It's a combination of probelems, a volatile mix that stirs and erodes the person from the inside out. The drug use was no doubt adding to the deterioration of Justin's psyche as well. Chris wanted to know more of Justin, to understand him, to befriend him. Justin wasn't making it easy.

But perhaps Chris didn't have to look outward too much to discern Justin's plight. Perhaps he could merely look inward—towards himself—and postulate any person's struggle. For one, Chris was an orphan. A foster child living in and out of homes and families. He knew what it was to suffer, not to be loved, and be powerless to change it. There were a couple of stand-in parents who mistreated him throughout his younger years, and Chris never had any set of people to call true family, sometimes even friends. He had gone it alone pretty much his whole life, scrapping here and getting by there. Like anyone with a strong survival instinct, he excelled at his techniques. He improved his outcome little by little. He faked his identity more times than he could remember to land decent jobs or a halfway decent education. He was always under the radar, off the grid, convinced that he was alone in the universe. But in order to stay alive and get what he needed, he had to develop a keen understanding of what he was never given: social aptitude.

Through reflection and cogitation, Chris grew a meticulous insight into people and their problems.

It was uncanny.

He never really held real relationships with people. If he did, they were short-lived. He was always on the go, never stagnant. Yet, he knew people and knew their desires—no matter how big or small. He could nail a person like…that. In the mere time it took a person to snap a finger, he could take one look at someone and figure out their life story, their outlook on life, their personality, their virtues and vices, their ambitions—if any.

All he needed to do was look inside to really figure people out. There was no mystery, no otherworldly quality to people that was unfathomable. Nothing that couldn't be cracked other than their dreams. Everyone shouldered the same set of burdens. Everyone was fraught with similar grief at some point in life.

He thought back to the days of grade school, of teachings in psychology and humanities and Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.

Chris could probably nail down a person's toil in life, being the people person that he came to be. He could look sky-deep into a person's eyes, grasp their fire, and figure out everything there was to know he was so perceptive. But more, he had empirical research to back up his assumptions about anyone. Go by this model, this hierarchy, and Chris could discover what it really was that people were hankering for.

At the very base of human requirement was the physiological kind: air, food, water, the elements of absolute necessity.

Next, were safety needs: shelter, clothing, sense of security over one's surroundings.

Higher up in the pyramid was compassion and a sense of belonging. This included friends and lovers.

Just below the apex was the desire for self esteem: a sense of purpose in society, dignity and maybe a stipend of recognition.

And at the very top was the epitome of sentient existence: self-actualization. Confidence to pursue goals and dreams, the will to achieve, and of course, freedom.

So where did Justin and his friends fit into this grand scheme of things?

Chris picked apart the model piece by piece. Their physical requirements were obviously satisfied. They were alive and breathing. Maybe it wasn't the best food Chris had ever had at City 17's chow hall, but it had the vital nutrients and it didn't taste too stale.

Did they have adequate safety here? Traxus IX wasn't exactly safe, that was certain. But at least Justin and the others lived in relative safety, far from the dangers encountered by living anywhere else in this cold, bleak rock of a planet. It was funny, Chris thought, that at any other place, safety needs included job security, a retirement plan, and supplemental insurance. This place had none. But maybe here you needed none. You certainly weren't getting it; THI would never offer any…and why would they? Not as long as the felonious masses held partial rule over the planet and there were secrets to be kept. It just wouldn't happen.

Did Justin or anyone else feel compassion towards another? Or a sense of belonging? Probably not. Justin didn't have a lover here, but he did have friends. That is, if they all considered one another as true friends. Chris figured they weren't the average set of buddies. They were cruel and disrespectful towards one another, only relenting their callous mannerisms when life was at stake. Other than that, it seemed like a genuine mindfuck they played in day after day. Justin certainly treated Chris like human excrement so far. He was possessive and untrusting. He was also the most insensitive of the bunch short of Pete, stopping his belittlement only after Chris came to tears. What kind of a friend does that? he thought.

No. Their friendship seemed more like mutual benefit to Chris. They shared a commeraderie among one another only because they themselves gained from it, not because they cared for one another. They were all living but a fraction of a real existence. By any rights, none of them were truly alive. It was a wonder anyone here could go on with even the will to be.

But were they really so bad? Over enough time, people start to become a product of the environment they live in after all. And this was a brave new world Chris had entered.

Traxus IX. You had to be sharp and tough, always on your guard, always willing to fight—for your life if necessary. You had to be cruel and cunning even if it meant betraying your own humanity. And you couldn't ever go it alone out here. You had to team up from time to time, gain strategic advantage over those that might seek hostility toward you.

Traxus IX had a way of banding people together, whether in friendship or foeship.

Chris already knew the answer to whether or not any of them held any true self esteem:

No.

They had no reputation to be concerned with here. None of them sought recognition; there was no one to impress.

And dignity? You were robbed of it the moment you set foot on Traxus IX. You were stripped of your safety, your love, and your precious dreams.

Now…did Justin or any one of his friends have any confidence or the will to pursue any sort of dream? Was there anything to dream of?

Possibly. Maybe of another life on another world, but dreams were utterly useless here. Hope…was utterly useless here. There was no leaving, in which the final question begged to be answered:

Did they have freedom?

That remained to be seen.

For now, Chris put his ruminations to the side and wondered just how much more twisted one's existence here could possibly be. The lonely, yet beautiful day was certainly the shroud over a desolate existence on a bleak and tainted world. But it was their epigrammatic slice of heaven, if only for a day. Their treasured and elusive sun was quickly waning. Now, they chased it down as it fell behind the smog-choked horizon, currently City 17's skyline. This would be the last of bright days for a long time. The future held darkness—

—In more ways any of them could ever imagine.

They were all smiling brightly as Justin drove up the final ramp into the main complex of City 17. Behind them, the deepening dark of the city's tunnel beckoned, and the mighty Eastern spire towered above all else on the other side, a patient and watchful sentry presiding over the lands. Bill, Pete, and Ken carefully used the edges of their skis against the concrete ground. No longer fine sugar sand and clay, they had to watch their equipment and make sure the blades still maintained an edge, and they didn't have the necessary sharpening tools just yet—Justin was working on that. He'd steal a set of them just like he stole the skis from an old outbound pallet. Another poor set of vacationers would not receive their equipment as they ventured towards the mountains of another world. Boo-fucking-hoo, Justin thought.

They reached the main factory and Justin coasted to a stop outside the bay doors so the others could remove their skis and overboots. They did so and Chris dismounted the aft section of the Mongoose, stretching his legs as well as his tensed forearms. Hopefully sometime soon his muscles would adjust to the constant strain he was putting them through. He'd have some beefy limbs, that was for sure. He'd probably need them too, he just realized.

"Could you teach me martial arts?" Chris suddenly asked Justin.

As though reading Chris' mind, "Sure, in a while."

Chris beamed back at Justin with excitement and trotted over to the main doors. Justin merely ignored the boy's zeal as he prepared to drive the ATV into the factory, secure it, and begin his shift.

They all walked a few paces after Justin's lead and entered the white, sterile light of the factory floor. The bay doors procedurally closed behind them with a resonant shudder. Their shift had just begun.

Chris, Bill, Pete, and Ken were milling around Justin as he chained up his Mongoose to the facility's grounding busbar. "Hey," Pete said, pointing over to a conveyor belt in the distance. "Isn't that that one girl…Layla?"

"Yeah," Ken said, "it is. I think she's staring at us."

"Not us." Bill said, his deep voice soothing the very air around them. "At Justin."

Reid felt the eyes around him, a pressure on his skin as he perked his head up and looked over in the general direction everyone else was a moment earlier. He found her, her eyes locked onto his. She was smiling ever so slightly.

"I think she likes you, buddy." Pete said. "God damn, she is so hot! Why don't you go over there and grab her ass? She wants it, man. Give it to her."

"Shut the fuck up." Justin snapped. "You know nothing of women."

"I know one thing." Pete smirked. "I was married to one."

"And?"

"Actually, two things. I was married to one, and she was a rotten bitch."

"Yeah, well I actually care about this one. You don't just grab the ass of someone you care about. There's more to it than that."

"Justin Reid cares?" Pete chuckled. "I will believe that when Hell itself has frozen over."

"Look around you," Justin replied, "it already has."

Pete waved a dismissive hand and squinted into the distance. "But seriously, what is she doing here? Native-born? Figures, she's practically a girl. Look at her. She's so young. Innocent, even. Maybe Chris ought to grab 'er ass." Pete glanced down at the boy and winked. "Grab it, dude."

Chris didn't respond, only observed the connection between this girl and Justin.

As everyone left to go clock in, Bill stayed behind just a moment and leaned over to Chris. "You see, Chris, even in winter a flower can bloom."

Everyone was eventually clocked in. They all took their places at various conveyor belts, some of which brought up scraps of jagged metal, pieces that would eventually be fused together in a molten vat at another complex below ground. Other troughs brought up minerals and ores from mines far below, where other workers and autonomous equipment labored in the deep far from the city. A different conveyor belt, a different duty. Chris stood next to Ken at one belt, separating the heavier materials from the lighter so that technicians further on in the city could use them to engineer whatever it was they wanted for the good of the company. He looked on to the end of the factory where the conveyor belt drove right into the far wall, disappearing down into the depths of 'who knows where'. This place was so vast and odd, the grandeur of it eluding Chris until now. There was no telling just how immense and intricate the network of facilities truly was, and he had a hunch that he'd never be allowed to work in all areas for his time here, but merely confined to a small portion of the greater machine. There were mines, shafts, conveyors that stretched for miles, underground passageways, and huge cities with corporate offices overshadowing them from above.

At another conveyor, Justin stood slightly hunched over, inspecting metal fragments under a 200X magnification scope cupped to his right eye with internal ultraviolet backlighting—magnaflux inspections, only administered by the more seasoned and higher-tenured of workers. A 'high-trust' duty in the shop, seeing as how they themselves verified the very makeup and integrity of THI's shipping containers. Along with the laborious and sometimes monotonous inspection they did, they received 'special' compensation. Better food, better this and that, and whatever they fancied. Drugs, alcohol, a guard looking the other way at exactly the right moment—it was how they stayed afloat. Trustees had their niche here.

"Hey, Justin." Chris said, approaching. "What can I do?"

Justin peered up and set his monocular device down. He glanced around, but there wasn't anything readily in need of low-level service, nothing at the apprentice level. The factory was already so busy and in high-gear, no demand for odd-jobs at the moment. He then saw a working pile of metal plates stacked near his station, left there the previous day from another Trustee. They were heavily oxidized and in need of rust removal. "I could use some Phosphoric acid. Know where it's located?"

Chris looked around in a dilligent but futile gesture. "No idea."

"HAZMAT locker right over there." Justin pointed to a far corner near his parked vehicle. "Big yellow sumbitch over there. Open it, use the MSDS display to find what shelf it's on, and be sure to fully close that locker."

"Dangerous chemical, I gather."

"It's highly-corrosive to just about everything, especially human skin. Make sure that cap is on tight before you lug it over here. It's in large, heavy jugs."

"Heh, jugs."

Justin smirked. "Get going, kid."

Justin rolled out the day's production one piece at a time, in his own groove. Long and wide plates of high-value alloys rolled on by at a snails pace as he scoped them out. He felt eyes upon him, staring. He looked up to see who it was: Layla.

She was not too far off at another conveyor, further down the line. There she was, smiling again. What he wouldn't do to be with her, if even just to talk with her and come to know such a beautiful girl. Could she really like him then—after she got to know him? Justin wondered.

He had a lot about him he needed to change if he was to court a girl like her. She was so beautiful. Golden hair draped down to the nape of her curvaceous and graceful neck. The way her fragile shoulder bones wore her overgarment, and the bust of her breasts. He stopped looking.

"Why don't you just go talk to her?" Bill asked. "I'm sure she'd like that. Get to know her before someone else snags her."

"Maybe I will…one of these days."

"Don't let it become too many. She'll slip away."

Justin thought about that as he looked back at her. And she still had a steady eye on him. One of these days, he'd work up the courage to walk up to her, look her in the eye and ask her out. She obviously wanted that. Why else would she offer him the time of day? And a smile?

Something bad just happened.

Noticing the sparks flying between Justin and Layla, a familiar and unwanted face strode into Justin's view.

Jim Carsa.

Justin's nemesis slid up behind her with an ugly sneer directed squarely at him.

The low-life gangbanger sported his shaved head proudly. It was waxed and reflected the light of the bay, calling further attention to himself. Justin stared into his eyes: they were wide and awake with street smarts, but nothing else. He put his bastardly nose right up to Layla's golden, flowing hair and took a whiff, smiling sinfully, taking what wasn't his to take like a heedless criminal. She gave him the cold shoulder, walking away and averting her eyes from his. But he couldn't, wouldn't take her suggestion. He kept on pressing her, stalking her around the conveyors like a parasite.

She had enough at this point. She stopped, turned to face him with a look so irritated that she might just throw a slap.

He put his hands on her shoulders, groping.

Layla instinctively looked to Justin, a cry of help in her eyes.

That's when Justin about lost it. He pushed off the conveyor frame and made for Jim.

Pete and Bill held him back, though. It took all their strength at first, but Justin eventually calmed down as Jim backed away. He knew Layla could handle herself, but he thought he'd just throw in a little emphasis to the point trying to be made: get lost, you little prick.

She was obviously a survivor. She'd done it all her time here at City 17. Jim would take the hint, or Justin would have to make him take the hint. She didn't want him. Nobody around here preferred his company despite looking the other way any time he spread tensions into the city.

"I swear," Justin said, "one day me and that shit are gonna tango…and he's gonna be the one taking the fall."

It wasn't before Jim gave Justin one last look across the building that he finally left her alone, and exited through the far door.

"That just ruined my whole fuckin' day." Justin pummeled the palm of his hand with the other fist.

Bill and Pete finally loosened their grip on Justin.

Serenity was the temperament of Bill himself. The only thing he despised was heated confrontation. He was calm, cool and composed everywhere he went. He was the consoling and reassuring factor in the group's lives, his very disposition sometimes being enough to bring morale on the up-and-up, as well as his deep, resonant voice. Bill, the holy man, the anchor in their otherwise turbulent lives. Bill never had or never would have any enemies, a friend to anyone.

Pete was just very laid back and a the epitome of laziness. His malevolence, whenever envoked, was subdued and clever, seldom evident. He definitely spoke his mind and was no one's pawn. But for his part, it also meant he was incapable of caring for anyone else, maybe even his own self for that matter. Everyone had their past and their demons; Pete was no exception. "Forget about that dick." he said, immediately going back to work. "Just another day at the salt mines."

Justin took a breath, unclenched his jaw, and mellowed out for a moment before he regained focus on the day's business. He turned the UV light back on and renewed his inspections for the great THI. "…Another day in paradise."