Lost Helix

3: The System They started after four in morning in a maintenance closet one floor above the shuttle level, where they squeezed into the space between the walls. The space provided paths for plumbing and wiring. It also provided room for the mandibles of recycling drones that reached in to pluck out old modules that would be melted back into ore. DJ could barely move or breathe in those tight, filthy spaces, but he needed to press on if he wanted to find his dad. Ahead of him, Paul's thick body moved with ease. These walls, along with everything in Paul's life, offered training for his planned escape from Stone River. So, DJ watched and learned as Paul contorted his body to get past wire brackets, air ducts, module junctions, and other inner-wall infrastructure. They reached a section of sheet metal flooring that had already been ripped up during past incursions. Paul squished through first, down into a crawlspace jammed with wires. DJ followed. On their bellies, they dragged themselves forward. Far below their crawlspace, a system of rope lines, and security checkpoints led into the shuttle bays. By five o'clock, they reached the structural seam that marked their entry into Shuttle Bay SX40. Off to the side, a grate lay across the wires, no longer blocking the path. They continued until Paul found the right ceiling panel, one with no screws holding it into place. He pulled it up, and they dropped onto a catwalk that hung from the ceiling of the cavernous module. Shuttle Bay SX40 was the largest module in the station. All other sections, even the other shuttle bays, were made of smaller modules bolted together. This shuttle bay remained one giant room, a leftover from an earlier iteration of the station. At the bay’s entrance sat a security hut, like a little building within a big building. Down the long, grey corridor behind the hut, dozens of shuttles sat in their massive airlocks, locked in for security. Some airlocks sat empty; their shuttles signed out, decommissioned, or missing. DJ and Paul descended a twisted cluster of wires to a space behind the guard's hut. DJ popped a wall panel off the back of it and hooked his watch directly into the guard’s computers. In an instant, his watch filled the air with schedules, manifests, and requests. As he sifted through Saturday’s data, the bay’s big doors opened, releasing a rumble that shook DJ's bones. A massive, track-wheeled flatbed inched inside. The machine’s flashing yellow lights fragmented off the walls, and an ear-splitting beep emitted an unnecessary warning. On its flatbed sat a forty-five-foot shuttle, with white shipping tape clinging to its wings. Paul shoved DJ deeper into the corner. “Wait until you see this. They’re bringing in a new shuttle. It doesn’t happen often.” A new shuttle to replace my dad’s missing shuttle, DJ thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the thought from his head. He needed to focus on finding his dad, not losing him. The black and yellow flatbed crawled down the corridor, heading for a vacant bay a few doors down from the security office, which meant that the driver would likely notice DJ and Paul in a minute. They needed to get the hell out of there. DJ downloaded all of the data from Saturday and nudged Paul. “Let’s go.” Paul nudged back. “Wait, I love it when they do this. It never looks like it’s going to fit.” “We’re going to get caught.” Paul winked and said, “Never got caught before.” An epiphany smacked DJ in the back of the head. “Even with all the security, you’re planning to steal a shuttle to get out of here, aren’t you?” Paul shook his head. “They have a wide security net. You’d never make it past the next space station.” After a few more nudges from DJ, Paul led them back up the cables and into the wire duct. From above, Paul used a seam in the ceiling to peer down at the machine unloading its shuttle, and DJ dug through the files. By the time the shuttle edged all the way in, the bay came alive with commuters. Work had to get done, even on Sundays. “Nothing,” DJ huffed. “We did all that and I got nothing.” “What do you mean nothing?” Paul said, not once taking his eyes off the massive shuttle mover as it tried to exit the bay without crushing any commuters. “BMS IX is all it told me.” Paul looked up from the seam. “Really? No check points? No duty destination? Let me see that.” He examined the hovering spreadsheet that barely fit inside the crawlspace with them. “You see this one? This guy is going to BMS VI. His check in is at Security Buoy C17-H42, and his final destination is The Merry Rocker at B18-K29, where he’ll be doing dust eradication. This is the kind of stuff I got my hands on before I gave up on this route out of here. Your dad’s file has none of this. The guard shouldn’t have let him sign out a shuttle. Did the company mess with the data?” DJ poked around some more, and then said, “If they did, they did it thoroughly. All the data lines up as though this is how someone entered it four days ago.” Paul gave DJ a sideways look. “Dude, what kind of work does your dad do?” “He fixes databases and stuff. Nothing special, everything boring.” “Well, for some reason, a guard let your dad on that shuttle with this half-assed manifest and no flight plan. Not even Ulsterman could get off the station with that and he’s like the guard’s boss. I saw him get denied once because he didn’t have the right buoy listed. It was funny. ‘I’m the Information Security Officer! Roar, roar, roar!’ But the guard was like, ‘No.’ Your dad shouldn’t have gotten a shuttle with this.” “What the hell?” DJ looked between his dad’s manifest and some of the others. What did his dad do for a living? “Want to climb down for another go?” Paul asked. DJ thought about it. “No, this is a dead-end. We need the company's personnel files. We’ll have to get down to the corporate center for that. I’m guessing you know how to get me there, too?” “Well, duh.” Paul laughed. “I’ll take you tonight when no one’s down there except the cleaning crew. But right now, let’s get some breakfast.” *** After eating, DJ left Paul with the rest of the unclaimed teens and took the elevator back to residential level nine. Despite the weird dead-end of the shuttle logs, DJ felt better. Perhaps it was denial, but he found himself imagining his dad limping his shuttle up to a security buoy. The older ones had stasis pods on them. His dad could be in one at this moment. DJ smiled at the thought of opening a pod, waking his dad, and saying something stupid like, “Gee, I came looking for Sleeping Beauty, but all I found was Grumpy.” That would be a good day. The elevator doors opened to a cart full of electronics. The person behind the cart pushed his way on, not caring that DJ tried to get off. As soon as he could escape into the corridor, he headed for his apartment, but stopped. His door stood ajar again. This time, they weren’t auditing. They were dismantling. And somewhere in there, Agent Coreman would be supervising. DJ blasted past the guards standing outside. “What in the name of reason is going on in here?” Every panel had been ripped off the wall and scattered across the floor. A crowd of Coreman’s technicians extracted electronics, taking anything containing a memory. They even belted the refrigerator to a dolly. “Sorry, DJ,” Coreman said with synthesized sympathy, “we found some inconsistencies in your dad’s files. The company ordered us to—” “Why are you taking my refrigerator? Hey! That’s my school datapad!” DJ threw his hands wide. “And what the hell? The freakin’ walls!” “Sorry, DJ, I have specific orders.” “You’ve destroyed my apartment! Where am I supposed to live?” Coreman looked away. DJ’s face burned. “I’m seventeen. You can’t put me in the system.” Coreman repeated, “Very specific orders.” Eighteen was the actual emancipation age, but seventeen was a grey area. To avoid going into the system, DJ needed somewhere else to go. He could ask Mrs. Schumer, or he could join Paul. Neither choice felt good. DJ dropped onto the couch’s armrest. His head spinning, DJ watched his life go rumbling out the door. The next cart held Ms. October, flickering as she projected through the cart’s metal weave. Even his Rigozy rode away, and DJ could only sit there. But he thought of something he could save. When no one looked his way, he slipped off his watch and hid it under the belt line of his pants. The horrible parade continued. Everything DJ had ever owned went out the door. He could feel his tears gathering, eager to roll down his face. As DJ sat there, trying not to cry, someone placed his stringless guitar on his lap. DJ looked up to find Hochstein standing next to him. He and Coreman stared each other down. Coreman flexed his jaw and repeated, “I have orders.” Hochstein stepped forward, putting himself between Coreman and DJ. “I read those orders,” he said. “They don’t say anything about DJ’s Rigozy. Isn’t this bad enough for the kid?” DJ gripped his guitar tight and grumbled, “I’m not a kid, and I shouldn’t have to go into the system.” Hochstein’s face tightened. “You’re putting him in the system?” Coreman let out a long, slow sigh. “Fine.” Coreman waved to one of his techs. “You there, audit the kid’s toy and give it back.” DJ held tight to his guitar’s strap as the technician hooked a thin wire to it and ran a file audit. The tech’s report to Coreman consisted of a shrug. Nothing in there that didn’t belong. Positioned between DJ and Coreman, Hochstein patted DJ’s shoulder. “How about I take you down to Family Services? You don’t need to sit in the middle of all this.” DJ nodded. During the ride down, Hochstein didn’t speak, and DJ didn’t care. The hope that DJ had for finding his dad felt lightyears away. His chest resembled an asteroid mined hollow, a cavernous nothing. Reaching the edge of the bureaucratic sinkhole that was Family Services, Hochstein lingered, trying to find something to say. Finally, he wished DJ good luck and shrank away. The rest of DJ’s Sunday became a paperwork relay race with DJ as the baton. He shuffled from one metal chair to another while each bureaucrat took a shot at confiscating his Rigozy and watch computer. DJ fended them off with the fact that he could legally walk out of there. At the end of the day, no one had called his bluff and he got to keep them. Throughout it all, Paul kept sending nonsensical typed messages. “Don’t worry about anything. You’re already taken care of.” “The boys can’t wait for your real in-processing on Monday.” “Oh, and enjoy sitting while you can!” DJ tried to get an explanation of the sitting comment, but all he got back was, “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” The day dragged on until the last bureaucrat left DJ in a white room lined with disposable beds made of sheet metal. A bundle of disposable bedding was rolled up on each one. Alone with his watch, his guitar, and the silence, DJ kept waiting for someone to pop in and say, “Don’t leave” or “The bathroom is down the hall.” But nothing. At nine that night, the lights dimmed, leaving enough glow to maneuver by. DJ unrolled a paper-thin mattress and lay down under a paper-thin blanket. Unable to sleep, Paul’s question crept back into his mind. Dude, what kind of work does your dad do? *** At seven in the morning, the lights burned into DJ’s eyes. A guy in white scrubs called for “everyone” to get up, although DJ was the only one there. He then herded DJ out of the room. In a rote avalanche of action, the orderly pushed DJ through a medical obstacle course. It started with stripping him of everything. DJ refused, so three large orderlies came in to move things along. Two of them yanked DJ’s shirt over his head, and the other snatched his Rigozy and sent it down a chute. “Hey, was that a garbage chute?!” No one answered him. Wherever that chute went, his guitar was already there. DJ saved his watch by flailing his arm until the orderlies gave up. After stripping him, they handed him a hospital gown of inadequate proportions. Gripping it shut, DJ drifted from the shower, to the decontamination box, to the retina scan, and to the shot line, where he came to understand why Paul kept making cracks about his future ability to sit. They didn’t care if DJ already had his shots or not, he got them again. At the end, they shoved a pile of previously worn jumpsuits across a counter to him. On top sat boxers, socks, and a pair of grow-shoes. DJ glowered at the drab face hiding behind the wire mesh. “I have clothes, and I certainly have shoes. I am not wearing those things.” “Company policy,” the unenthused employee mumbled. “We burned your clothes…health requirements.” DJ slammed his fists on the counter. “You burned my clothes!” The employee sighed. “Your clothes were burned by order of Black Mountain Mining. I did not burn them. I just hand you this stuff. Take it or walk around in your paper gown for the rest of your life. I don’t care.” DJ gripped the counter. His knuckles bulged and burned red like little volcanoes. Through clenched teeth, he growled, “You burned my Rigozy?” “Guitar? Was that yours?” The employee ducked below the counter and came back up with his Rigozy. “They can’t burn these because of the toxic junk they make them out of. Thing’s been cluttering up my counter all day.” The employee shoved it through the gap below the wire mesh. “Get it out of here.” DJ snatched his guitar off the counter and turned it on. The holographic strings appeared above the concave level in the wide, double-curved body. He strummed the light beams, and a heavy metal sound emanated from within. DJ released a long breath. It wasn’t damaged. After considering the paper gown option, he scooped up his hand-me-down jumpsuits and the speckled purple blobs pretending to be shoes. He took them over to the bench along the wall and got dressed. When DJ finished, everything he wore transformed him from someone’s son into nobody’s anything. *** At long last, they released DJ into the wilds of the Unclaimed Youths Ward. School had recently let out, and the corridor before him teamed with kids coming home, going back out, or simply hanging around. This Ward held all the unclaimed boys in Black Mountain controlled space—ages eight to eighteen. DJ had visited many times before, but he’d never dared to make eye contact with anyone other than Paul. Now DJ had an armful of coveralls and a bed assignment. But he wasn’t going to it. He stared off into nowhere. He didn’t belong here. He was seventeen. He wasn’t an orphan. He had an apartment. But his dad was missing, and his apartment was destroyed. DJ didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong anywhere. “Holy singularity!” Paul called as he plowed down the crowded corridor. “They let you keep your Rigozy? They must have some real humanitarians down there these days.” DJ’s gaze lowered to the floor. “Too toxic to burn it. Freakin’ jack-knobs would’ve, too.” Paul snarled. “Damn right, the knobs!” Paul clapped a hand on DJ’s back. “Well, let me show you our room. I got us all set up. Kicked my old roomie out and everything.” DJ lifted his head. “I’m rooming with you?” “Yup-a-roonie, roomie! I’m the ZeroBall hero. Stuff happens for me.” As he led DJ to his new home, Paul introduced him around as if DJ hadn’t been here a thousand times before. Each boy stopped to shake his hand. Even black-haired Barry greeted him with a smile, adding, “I expect you to jump in with the band. Be ready.” “What?” DJ said, but Barry had already vanished into the crowd. Paul shrugged. “It’s your own fault for learning an instrument. Guess you’ll have to work on that stage fright, buddy.” Paul finished parading DJ through his new brothers and opened the door to his abode. As DJ dropped his jumpsuits in a drawer and made up his bunk, the welcome procession continued. Brother after brother swung by to offer greetings and condolences. They no longer saw DJ as an outsider, and that felt good and bad at the same time. *** DJ’s day ended in a small dark room in the bunk above Paul, staring at a ceiling half a meter from his nose. Did all this really happen? Did he lose his dad and his apartment and everything else? “You doing all right up there?” Paul said. “It doesn’t feel real,” DJ mumbled. “Don’t worry. By breakfast, it’ll be too real. If you thought dinner was bad—” “Do you think my dad is dead?” Silence lumbered into the room. DJ waited, trying not to guess at what Paul would say. Paul eventually answered, “You don’t believe he’s dead.” “I asked if you do.” “I think…” Paul paused. When he spoke again, it wasn’t Paul’s voice. It was more serious than DJ’s Paul could ever be. “I think that death is far too casual out here. I don’t think it’s like this everywhere. If it is, then that’s all the more reason to go live on a farm far away from other people. Humans are freakin’ crazy, killing each other for any reason or no reason at all, or because their ego is too big for anyone to tell them that they’re too drunk to be flying a shuttle.” Paul stopped. DJ didn’t speak. They’d almost had this conversation a couple of times before. The “what happened to your parents?” conversation. Paul always stopped, and DJ never pushed him. So, DJ waited, letting his friend tell him…or not. Paul took a slow breath and said, “I was six. My parents worked nights and I stayed with an old lady. One morning, the company men came to put me in the system. Twenty of us went in that day. Most of them were thirteen or fourteen. “Half of us were crying. I was crying. But one kid was too angry to cry. He looked as if he wanted to punch the universe in the face. He told us that he was there when it happened. Some drunk i***t flew a shuttle right into a restaurant. The whole catering line, my parents’ line…” Paul shuddered, rustling his sheets. “…sucked out into space.” DJ shuddered, too. He couldn’t think of a worse way to go. The possibility of that being what happened to his dad entered his thoughts, but DJ pushed it out. His dad was alive. He couldn’t stop believing it or he’d never find him. “We heard later,” Paul continued, “that the guy was a high-level jackass. Bastard got to go back to a real colony on a planet. It wasn’t even on the news, as if all those people dying wasn’t news.” DJ listened as Paul wiped his face on his blankets and popped his neck. “Sorry. You got your own problems. At least we can do something about your problems.” Paul jumped out of his bunk and looked DJ dead in the eye. Seeing Paul’s face red and wet, DJ clenched his jaw against the various expressions trying to pile onto his own face. He wasn't sure if it worked. “Forget me, man. Let’s find your dad. And after we find him, all three of us are getting out of here. You down with that?” “Hell, yeah,” DJ declared, and he meant it. All three of them were getting the hell out of Stone River.