Crimson Dawn

Dock B11 was made of brittle wooden planks, stretching about fifty meters from the shallow shore into the river. At the end of the pier, an old cutter swayed back and forth in the current. Two local deckhands were just untying the ropes from the bollards when the boy came running up. He made it just in time, hurrying across the rickety gangway. On the bow of the old cutter, the scraped-off rebel flag was still faintly visible, painted over with the three letters of the corporation that had seized control of Segosa.

At the rear of the ship, the captain stood in an open wheelhouse. One hand gripped the wheel, the other a bottle with clear liquid sloshing inside. Lex could hear the captain singing, an old sailor's song about sinking ships. He was clearly drunk, but it was the kind of drunk where there was no laughter left. His voice was rough and deep. When he noticed the boy, he fell silent. He wore the same rags as the two deckhands, but from his build, his features, and his accent, it was clear he was from another continent. He stepped out from behind the wheel, shielded his eyes from the evening sun with a cupped hand, and squinted at the boy.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," he began, "or did Sally forget her lunch bag?"

The boy said nothing.

The captain clicked his tongue. "Sally Brown thinks she's gonna get a royal feast here. Well, I've got bad news for her: On this goddamn tub, there's not even a galley where you can boil an egg." The old captain laughed, showing dark brown teeth and gaps in his smile.

"How long will the trip take?" the boy asked.

In a low, even darker tone, the captain replied, "Six days, if we're lucky. Really lucky. And by that, I mean if those DFLL savages don't attack us this time, if we don’t fall into an ambush by the locals, or if we don’t end up with an engine failure or some other technical issue with this godforsaken boat. Or if the cursed bilge doesn’t flood in the next storm and we sink. So, if you believe in miracles, Sally Brown, we might make it in six days."

The boy looked at the river. Then at the captain. "I don’t believe in miracles," he said, and walked over to his group, lounging in the sun near the bow.

******

"I know you," the redhead in the group said.

The boy nodded. "I asked you for a smoke at the station in Vega Prime, and you reluctantly gave me one."

"I gave it to you gladly."

"Didn’t look like it." Lex glanced around. It was the same group from the station platform.

"Ron," the redhead said, extending his hand.

Lex looked him in the eyes, but didn’t move.

After a while, the redhead withdrew his hand.

"Where’re you from?" he asked.

"You wouldn’t believe me."

"Why won’t you shake my hand?"

"It’s nothing personal," Lex said. "I just don’t want to lose another friend."

******

A few hours into their journey on the water, the boy asked one of the local sailors what had happened to Segosa. The man explained, in broken and simple words, that five years ago, TC had marched into the city and taken everything by force. Now, the corporation was trying to impress the people with its technology, making promises of a bright future filled with prosperity and progress. But it was all a lie, the sailor said, and most people here knew it. The problem was that the ones who needed to know—the people of Vega Prime—were still in the dark. Only they had the power to make a difference.

The boy drank from a dented water bottle they’d given him; you had to drink a lot in this heat, the sailor had said, and sure enough, he was already dried out from all the sweating. His pants and shirt were soaked through, like he’d taken a swim in them, as if the air in Luvanda was draining all the water from his body.

Behind him, he heard someone retching. A boy from the group, apparently a good friend of Ron’s, was bent over the railing, vomiting. It was either the heat or seasickness. Despite heading downstream, the cutter rocked back and forth endlessly.

******

At night, the current grew stronger. The wild churning of the river drowned out the soft winds whispering through the jungle, and the boy could follow the breeze rustling through the shimmering leaves of the trees. The rainforests closed in around them, and Lex lifted his gaze to the sky. Towering, forest-covered mountains rose on either side. A drop of water fell on his forehead. The thick cloud cover above was heavy, rolling slowly eastward. He saw flashes of lightning flicker aimlessly behind the massive clouds. A distant crackling and pattering grew into a blurred drumming sound until he found himself in the middle of a tropical downpour, sitting on a boat bound for nowhere.

The storm churned the river, flooding the bow. A black tree stump slammed against the hull, shaking the deck. In the lightning flashes, the boy saw the forests along the western shore flicker into view from the darkness, shaking and shuddering. The wind tore across the river, but it didn’t bring any cool relief.

That night, on the Luvanda River, he truly understood just how far he was from the girl. The number thirty thousand miles suddenly became a tangible distance. Though he was still on Cetos V, it felt like he was in a different world altogether, and he wondered how he could ever make it back to Vega Prime, back to where the girl was—because wherever she was, he felt with both his heart and mind, that was home. And he longed for home terribly.

******

The boy who had been sick, whom the crew had initially thought was suffering from seasickness, had actually contracted a common tropical disease. By the next day, he had developed a high fever. He slept through the entire day and into the next night, waking only when they tried to force some water down his throat, before slipping back into unconsciousness. It was clear to everyone that he needed medical attention and had to be taken off the boat as soon as possible. But there were no stops planned—those were TC’s orders. So, they cared for him as best they could and continued their journey.

When the boy died on the fifth day of the trip, they threw his body overboard, and the current carried him in the same direction the ship was heading. As they watched his body drift away, rolling with the river's waves, it felt as if they would see him again. As if they would soon come face to face with death once more—only this time, in an even more terrible form.

******

The river journey lasted a total of nine days. Then, they docked at a nameless village deep in the jungle, under the control of TC. There, they buried the bodies of two more boys who had fallen ill during the voyage. From the village, they continued in an off-road vehicle, three days through the endless jungle, six hundred miles of dense, shadowy thicket. Eventually, they reached the mining colony of Aalgongonok.

The thirteen young men, all exhausted and emaciated, lined up in a field camp to report to the commanding general, a man named Whorlow. The first thing they heard when they entered the command tent was his booming voice.

"These settlers are scum. They reject civilization, but we will bring it to them. That is our promise to this primitive corner of the world, our vow to the civilized realm. Because when prosperity reaches this place, Vega Prime will finally be free from terror."

General Whorlow, dressed in a highly decorated uniform, marched down the length of the tent, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the ragtag bunch of rookies. Then he said, "You’ve all been sent here by TC. That can only mean one thing: you’re a thorn in the company’s side. Either you screwed up, or they figure you’re going to cross Miss Thandros sooner or later. This isn’t some cushy job. This is the real world, raw, ugly, and standing right in front of you. You’re here to do your part to improve the world. Aalgongonok gives you the chance to prove your loyalty to the Thandros Corporation."

Lex raised his hand, like he used to in school. Annoyed by the interruption, General Whorlow bared his teeth but nodded at him.

"Sir, I still haven’t been told how long I’m supposed to stay here. Can you tell me when I’ll be able to go back?"

The general, his hands clasped behind his back the entire time, took a step closer to Lex, not overtly trying to be threatening, yet managing to be just that. He was bald, broad-shouldered, and stood about two meters tall, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. His skin was as dark as the night sky over the most remote stretch of Luvanda. His eyes scanned the group.

"Who else here, like the boy, hasn’t been told how long they’re expected to work?"

The newcomers didn’t move. Only the redhead, Ron, raised his right hand as if making a pledge. General Whorlow pressed his broad lips together. "If no one’s given you a deadline," he began, "then that means you’re here indefinitely. And that usually means you’re not going to make it back to Vega Prime alive. You two, especially, need to prove your loyalty to the corporation, and first and foremost, you need to earn my trust. Because if anyone’s going to put in a good word for you with the higher-ups, it’s me. But let me be honest with you. Death wears many faces in the jungle. In the thicket, it’s a carnivore. On the savanna, it’s a swarm of hungry vultures. And it’s coming, make no mistake. It usually comes much sooner than you think. Even for the rest of you with four-year contracts or longer, the chances are slim you’ll ever see anything other than the jungle again. I’ve been here for eleven years, and I’ve only seen a handful of men make it out. This is about commitment. You’re doing this because you want to help the corporation, not because you’re trying to atone for some mistake or just complete a job to get back home. Got it?"

Another boy raised his hand, but the general cut him off with a dismissive gesture. "This isn’t Q&A. This is storytime, so listen up—there might be something that’ll save your sorry hides one day." He paused for effect, walked over to a small kitchenette, grabbed the pot from the coffee machine, and poured himself a cup into a tin mug. "We guard the diamond mines and make sure those damn settlers in the hardwood forests do their jobs instead of just lazing around, like they’d prefer. Our little squad is responsible for an area half the size of Vega Prime, and it’s always under siege. Forget everything you’ve heard about Crimson Dawn and their splinter group, the DFLL. The jungle is their territory. This is their home, and they’re strong here. There’s a lot of them, more than you could imagine. Their weapons may not be as high-tech as ours, but they can still kill. We see it every day. Controlling the resources is our top priority. That’s our mission. Aalgongonok and the surrounding forests are incredibly valuable to the DFLL because one of their main supply routes runs through this area. We have to be ready for a fight at any moment—day or night, the rebels could strike."

Whorlow’s dark eyes swept over the group as he sipped from his steaming coffee mug. "Which of you has combat experience? Who here has served in the military? Or are you all a bunch of draft dodgers?"

Silence fell over the group. Hesitantly, about two-thirds of the newcomers raised their hands. The general set his mug down with a thud. The sound made the boys instinctively stand to attention.

"Ah, I see. Well, that’s more than last time," he said. "To be honest, that was a trick question. If I’d told you why I asked, none of you would’ve raised your hands. Well, now it’s too late. You’ll be guarding one of our mines, five miles from here. They always need more hands there. Report to tent eight on the eastern side of the camp, and you’ll get some nice combat gear and all the other instructions."

The boys stood there, hands still in the air. Slowly, they lowered them, exchanging uncertain and, in some cases, frightened looks.

"Dismissed," the general barked.

As the group with combat experience shuffled out of the tent, he turned to the rest, including Lex. "You’re the lucky ones—at least, if you value staying alive. Your chances of survival, at least for today and tomorrow, are five times higher than the boys heading to the diamond mines. I’m sending you into the forests. Each of you will get a weapon. You’ll be shown how it works, it won’t take long. You don’t need military training to shoot at lazy dogs."

******

The group consisted of four young men, including Lex and Ron. They sat facing each other on the dirty bench of a four-wheel-drive vehicle, gripping rusty handrails as they bumped along muddy jungle roads, sweat dripping down their faces. The heat in this part of the world was even more suffocating than in Segosa. A sudden downpour began. After about an hour, they reached a checkpoint, nothing more than a wooden shack, a barrier, and a three-man patrol. Beyond that, the road ended, and a narrow path led into the dense undergrowth.

The squad continued on foot. The branches of the towering trees intertwined above, their crowns forming a thick canopy. Only a few raindrops managed to reach the forest floor, overgrown with ferns and glowing spore plants. The rustling of leaves, high above, was accompanied by the eerie whistling of the wind.

The walk stretched into a day-long march, with several short breaks. After seven hours of trekking through the underbrush, the path opened up into a lighter part of the jungle. In the milky twilight, they passed through a banana grove, where thin trunks were surrounded by a swirling mist from the tropical rain. Settlers worked the fields under the watchful eyes of their overseers. The group leader found his way through the palm-like plants, where barefoot men and women, dressed in rags, climbed up the trees, hacking at the banana bunches with machetes.

Somewhere, Lex heard a piercing scream, quickly swept away by the wind and rain. The leader didn’t even flinch. The others glanced around for a moment, trying to find the source, but all they saw was the white mist surrounding them. They turned back and followed the leader, who kept his rifle ready at all times.

After they left the grove behind, they entered the hardwood forests. There, the leader parted ways with the group, leaving another man to divide the four boys into pairs. He gave Lex and Ron a shared route they had to cover in two days. He handed out compasses, provisions, water, a machete, and several batons, Lex’s being nothing more than a rusty metal pipe.

Everywhere they looked, there were only trees. A labyrinth of thin, bare, towering trunks, topped with a sprawling canopy that blocked out the overcast sky. Barely three hundred meters from the makeshift camp, Ron and Lex came across a strong, tanned settler and an old man, who was taking a break from chopping down a tree. The old man tried to get up quickly when he saw the two guards approaching, but he couldn’t. Too exhausted, he stayed on the ground. The young settler shouted something at the old man in their language, trying to force him to stand, knowing that if he didn’t, there’d be a beating or worse.

"What do we do?" Ron asked, looking at Lex, who was walking beside him.

"We don’t do anything," Lex replied.

They continued on their way in silence.