Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop Read online

  On Sondranos, stripped of both title and life, I became Leon Bishop.

  I should have toured the great Spire, nearly catatonic from wonder and amazement; or maybe I could have danced in the rain trickling down the causeway.

  Instead, I smell ash searing the wind, the heat-burn scent of sheared Aurichrome and pavement. And a hundred years from now you’ll find diamonds of blood belonging to a nearly extinct species littering the soil, blood which I helped and found cause to spill.

  Sondranos:

  The Narrative of Leon Bishop

  a novel by

  Patrick J Stephens

  JULY 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events

  and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration by Peridot Media

  Cover design by Peridot Media,

  Book design and production by Patrick J Stephens

  Editing by Lianna Palkovick

  This book is released under a Creative Commons license.

  This book or any portion thereof may be reproduced and used in any

  manner whatsoever provided proper attribution to the author is given.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing July 2014

  Any concerns, permission, or compliance issues may be sent to:

  [email protected]

  for J

  Chapter One:

  The Rationalization of Running

  Sprint when you have to, but never stop.

  If you want to avoid all aspects of the life you’ve left behind, then the finish line’ll be wherever you can get to the fastest without seeing where you started. As for me, I put sixteen colony worlds, forty-nine billion kilometres, and a couple hundred inhospitable wastelands between me and Earth before blowing the whistle and ending the great race to the end.

  My last act on Earth was setting up a passport account with Sondranos United.

  From the aerobridge, I paused, looking at the holographic prompt from SU on my mobile:

  Would you like to proceed?

  I hung my finger over the icon to cancel the allocation. Five thousand in international currency would be enough, but that dense of a transaction required identity theft tracking. Meaning I’d effectively nix the ‘hide’ out of ‘run and hide.’

  From the bridge, fuel pumps disconnected from my shuttle like eels slithering back into transport compartments, dripping petro-fuel in little anti-freeze coloured pools. Two men in flame retardant uniforms inspected the exterior hull and a third gave a thumbs-up to someone out of sight – likely the pilots – who were obscured from my vision by the steel causeway meant to connect me to the shuttle that would soon dock with the Korsikov, a star-liner bound for the borderlands.

  When I’d bought the transit pass, I’d scanned for the destinations that occurred only once in the travel list. ‘Sondranos’ via the Korsikov was the earliest, cheapest flight. It was also the last one for weeks. Had I found a cheap flight to the new Ilosan regiment, or one of the Jameson Realty company liners, I would have taken one of them. Anywhere but the Munich colonies – they had at least half a dozen shuttles coming to and fro at any given time, meaning easy retrieval if Daniel decided to call the authorities. Since we’d gone on stellar flights before, the purchase wouldn’t be a red flag.

  Back to the prompt.

  Would you like to proceed?

  Rule one of running: don’t allow yourself to be dependent on what you’ve left behind.

  Glasgow Trust and Sundry allowed transfer of a thousand credits a day if I wanted to remain inconspicuous; sending such a sum to the very distant Sondranos United would have gained even more attention. I’d already taken all the necessary steps, and it was just SU that needed confirmation.

  Rule two: work with what you’ve got.

  With the trace, a record would exist.

  The police would take a while to comb through it, and they would hold on to the information for a short while before releasing it to Daniel. It was a delay, but the message would get there. I flicked aside the prompt, affirming the transfer, and dropped five grand into the account, letting that serve as a goodbye letter and hoped my assumptions on time were correct.

  As I made my way down the aerobridge, I tossed the mobile into the nearest bin. I remember hearing a truck engine rumble to life, then getting drowned out by the growl of the shuttle spooling to life.

  I should have been thinking actively of Daniel, not treating him as a condition.

  We’d been together for five years. He deserved to know why I’d left, but when my thoughts drifted towards calling him and addressing our disintegrating relationship, the idea vanished, replaced with the memories of the last time I’d seen him and the last question we’d left on: how many times had I failed him?

  Not just him. What about:

  Julien,

  Roland,

  Karan,

  and a whole host of people I’d never been man enough to love?

  But in that is the answer. The greatest not-so-secret mankind has ever known.

  Why do we run?

  Because we live in a world where it’s always an option.

  Your family doesn’t approve of your fiancé?

  Elope.

  You can’t stand living with your parents anymore, but there’s always a job on a cruise ship and status as an illegal immigrant to help you out.

  In South America, Edgar Wallace Industries is always looking for a few unskilled, under-the-table migrant workers.

  International Aeronautics was founded on the American Dream; even more so once they moved shop to Minsk. All it takes is the awareness of a few outlets and you can be gone.

  But why did I run?

  Well, Sondranos was another colony, another planet, another time and another place.

  It wasn’t home.

  Two weeks later, Sondranos soil crunched beneath my shoes. Since only eight of us were leaving the Korsikov, only the primary shuttle needed to be used. You’d be surprised how eight people can smell like a hundred when compressed, recycled air and a few first-time fliers are involved.

  I stepped off the transport and stretched my arms. We’d landed on a large patch of concrete three or four minutes from the terminal. The receiving building was only two stories high and sat like a rectangle fallen into the soil, partially concealed by a build-up of dirt on the west end. Pavement surrounded it like a moat and the outdoor baggage claim – shaded only by a green awning that spanned a space the size of a classroom – started to hum. Two attendants piled bags onto a conveyor belt that wound indoors to be scanned and back out to the transfer haul.

  The rest of the passengers made their way towards baggage claim in a crowd of shuffling feet and body odour. I staggered when a man who’d smelled of gin and limes the entire trip pushed past me at the door and skittered down the stairwell. He perked up the minute he hit the ground. Whatever he’d been dwelling on inside the cabin fled his features, widened up his eyes, and out of the shuttle walked a businessman who’d insisted the world should bend at his feet. I didn’t much like him for that.

  I had to squint past the sunlight and incredibly cerulean sky, but I didn’t have to scan far to catch sight of the city. From my spot, I couldn’t imagine Sondranos as the bustling city I’d heard of. We might as well have landed in a desert with the city as a mirage. The spires were so distant that they looked like needles trying to draw blood from the blue skin stretching ac
ross the crater’s edge. Aurichrome frameworks belonging to the tallest skyscrapers glistened under the sun while smaller hubs sat like bricks in their shadows.

  It would take two stops on the city’s metro system to get there, and then I’d find out just how hard it was to create a new life.

  I’d glossed through a few magazines on the state of Sondranos’ economy on the flight down. While Earth hadn’t changed much technologically since the inception of star travel, it made up for stagnation by expanding – leading to Sondranos. The mother planet, with around two million cities, evolved into over fifty planets with their own cities and colonies. Because of the expansion, Sondranos wasn’t considered a tourist destination and never had been; however, it still had plenty to offer by way of medical and job opportunities. Planets on the Borderlands – which is to say, the ones that took over two weeks by flight from Earth – had made a name through opportunities.

  On every brochure, pamphlet, and docket, Sondranos-proper was a cascade of numbers: population, businesses, buildings, factories. Yet, none of them would be tangible until I set foot inside the perimeter.

  The only thing I knew for certain – thanks to a short informational docket handed out on the Korsikov - was that the most of Sondranos was located within the only habitable crater on the planet’s face. It hulked like grotesque prison walls, a deep red near the horizon and a softer clay brown near where the sun had dried the soil. Nobody could survive outside the crater. That was the first time I felt like an idiot for running. I’d fled in the hopes of avoiding my life’s collapse and found myself in a self-imposed prison.

  Instead of moving forward, I walked back up the steps into the transport and leaned my head in through the cabin. The pilots were busy shutting down the engine systems and recycling the oxygen tanks on the back of the shuttle.

  “Excuse me.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. “Where’s the nearest gift shop”

  The co-pilot turned to me after flipping a small red switch on the rear console. The GPS screen flickered off - first a holographic 3-D map floating above the main console, then nothing. He was a tall man whose moustache reminded me of the pompous men on Victorian book covers. “Depends on what you’re looking for. Shirts? Pants? Trousers? Postcards?”

  “Anything, everything.”

  “Did you bring cash or card?”

  “Few bucks,” I said, remembering that my passport account wouldn’t be ready until I walked into Sondranos United and handed them three forms of identification.

  “Try the Abbey. It’s a church, but they have a gift shop. Take all forms of cash.” The co-pilot stood and leaned out the door, pointing to a peeking sliver of a church hiding behind the terminal. “Just head towards the baggage claim. Turn left once you reach the exit and follow the path. Ask for Davion, he’s the Father there – he sometimes cuts guys like you some slack, sets up a tab for the ones who need it.”

  “Guys like me?”

  “Yeah.” He tugged on his shirt and grimaced. It was the kind of look that reminded me how tattered and poor I must have looked after such a long and impromptu flight.

  I returned the smile and thanked the co-pilot for his help. I started out again.

  Within a few minutes of casual wandering, I’d rounded the baggage claim and started following the co-pilot’s instructions. The terminal was empty save for the few who’d come in on the same flight I’d taken. They waited in front of the carousel. Nobody could collect their bags until they’d gone through scans, but every now and then a neon coloured bag would come back around. One of the travellers would walk up to collect it like he or she’d won a contest.

  As I passed by, I imagined Daniel. He was standing beside me grinning and pointing at the carousel saying: ‘Congratulations, you’ve won your stuff!’

  Psychological manifestation or not, it was still pretty creepy.

  Immediately past the terminal, the Abbey sprouted from a large patch of Montana grass that nipped at the edges of the stonework. My first thought was that it didn’t belong next to such an unfeeling, stark building as the terminal. It resembled a church I’d once seen in Dorset. Four thick buttresses introduced the façade; a doorway bearing two thick oak coloured doors told me to be careful of how close I came in that non-threatening way that gothic architecture achieves.

  I stopped at the doors. The framing looked like wood, but was hot to the touch.

  Smooth and glossy.

  Someone had taken Aurichrome minerals and mixed them with the steel, allowing it to be coloured like oak. I pulled open the doors and instantly felt the breath of cool, processed air rushing through the nave and past me.

  Cinnamon incense came next. A dozen pews on either side accompanied my walk down the centre of the Abbey. A small shop offering dozens of shirts and clothes marked by an emblem I didn’t recognize stood out, just like the co-pilot had said.

  “May I help you?”

  I jerked around, coming face to face with a priest.

  Black robes hung over his shoulders and masked the rest of his body. His eyes were wide and streaked with sleepless red. Wrinkles cracked the skin around his mouth and brow like firecrackers had exploded on his cheeks and left smudge refuse behind. His hair was grey and his skin was pale.

  “I’m looking for Davion,” I said. “I need something else to wear.”

  He looked me up and down; his smile turned to a frown as he glanced from my shoes to the Korsikov 2303-D shirt I’d been wearing for the last week.

  He winked. “I think we may be able to help you out.”

  Davion extended his hand. His touch was gentle, not the kind of touch I would have expected from a middle-aged man like him. Most like to express their strength and superiority through handshakes, but not him. He didn’t need to show off or impress. The tang of incense clouded away from him.

  A loud crash rebounded off the walls from the other side of the Abbey.

  Davion jerked away. The contents of the left transept had been occupied by a display of candles laid out like tombstones across a table. A woman had knocked over a stool that had been holding a stack of hymnals and whispered with every muscle in her body at a young man in a white vimpa. Her arms tensed, her fists were clenched, and she lunged forward in small gasps of movement. The boy’s eyes darted to Davion. The woman caught the movement and – suddenly - responsibility had passed.

  “You!” she yelled. The accusation was palpable.

  My first impression of Melanie came quick and shallow. As she trundled down a pew and towards us, she held weight around her waist much like a balloon balances a small amount of water. When she stopped in front of us, she was breathless. A small paunch of fat jutted out from beneath her shirt as she raised her hands and rested them on her head. Her chest heaved as she gulped at the air, fighting off hyperventilation. Her voice echoed with the same power of a sermon. High blood pressure must have run in her family if she’d been so winded.

  “Melanie, if you will please lower your voice, I’m sure we can discuss this in private.” Davion held hands up, palms out.

  “Every time you’ve mentioned the word private, it’s always ended up with me in a room talking to myself!”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Sounds like something a priest would say.” She closed her eyes and calmed herself. Davion let his hands falter and offered a placating smile.

  He was about to step in her direction when a rumble shook the Abbey.

  It would have been easy to have confused it for a burst of thunder.

  How passive. With such a simple phrase, I tell you how Sondranos ended:

  While Melanie and the priest had begun to squabble, as a handful of tourists boarded an underground metro bound for the city, and as a couple of transport pilots finished their flight shut-down, Sondranos came to a shattered halt.

  Easily confused for a burst of thunder.

  “What the fuck was that?” Melanie spoke as if she knew something I couldn’t. Davion acted in tune with the se
cret, cocking his head to the side and listening carefully. When the sound died away, Melanie’s expression had changed to one of absolute confusion. She looked around with the same look of fear that Davion wore. I almost joked that she’d angered God, but my curiosity kept me silent. “That can’t be…”

  “Quiet, Melanie,” Davion said.

  Another rumble shook the framework of the Abbey, causing dust to rain from the rafters and blanketing brown snowflakes on the rug. Davion’s eyes grew wide and locked onto Melanie’s.

  Before they could speak, the rumbling growl was replaced by a detonation that rattled the windows.

  The boy she’d been yelling at ran off to a room in the distance, calling for someone I would never get to know. All three of us moved quickly to the entrance. I reached the double doors first and pushed out; my eyes were drawn to the terminal. It seemed fine, still standing, and I nearly cursed myself for thinking of that option first. However, behind the terminal billowed a large cloud of black smoke. It climbed the air like it was trying to escape the fires that fuelled it. Something had destroyed the shuttle.

  Melanie emitted a short, sharp sound from beside me that drew my attention. She pushed away from my side and tiptoed in the direction of the city. Sondranos-proper, hulking in the distance like some great mirage, burned. Gone were the tall spires – the tallest one replaced by a cloud of smoke and dust. Some buildings still stood, but the shimmer of heat that made me think of the city as a mirage had been replaced with an orange glow that dwarfed the city in an auburn cloud licking at the sky.

  Three flies caught my eye, scattering in the distance. It took a moment for my stunned brain to realize they were private transports. Davion placed a hand on my shoulder as we watched a small blue beam come from beyond the darkest point in the sky. It centred on each transport and shot them down. The person shooting must not have even taken time to consider. The pods fell in meteorite-sized balls of flame. From flies to moths, I thought. My mind begged for fighter jets to scream into sight with defensive weapons locked.