The gates of dawn, p.1
The Gates of Dawn, page 1
THE
GATES OF DAWN
R.E. PALMER
FrontRunner Publications
Copyright © 2017 R.E. Palmer
All rights reserved.
www.FrontRunnerBooks.com
1
It turns out you can’t touch the sky. I guess I really should have known it wasn’t possible. But I mustn’t be critical of my ignorant, younger self. In every picture I’d drawn in the nursery, I’d colored the top third in blue and left the page blank until the green line of the fields where I would be playing happily with Mother. I’d lived my whole life under a sky that had been solid: a dome, a protective layer we believed kept the horrors outside at bay. But of course, I’ve come to learn the real horror lay within.
Yet, despite the deathly cold and our dire situation, I’d stretched my heavy hand upwards, the moment I’d stepped on the surface of New Dawn. I couldn’t touch it, but it certainly touched me. But touch isn’t the right word. The howling wind had sought to rip the skin from my bones and I would have lost my hand in seconds had I not stuffed it back into my overall pocket. The sky is not soft – it’s harsh and ruthless, venting its anger at our small shelter standing in its way.
I nudge Rebekah. I don’t want to have to remind her, but my back is so numb with cold I fear it will shatter if we don’t change position. She grunts and rolls to face me. I catch her eye for a moment, but looks alone will not heat my back. I turn away, curl back into a ball, grateful to receive her precious warmth, as she wraps her arms around my shivering bones. We will repeat this process in twenty minutes time and continue to do so for the next four hours until we have no choice but to break apart to brave the cold to eat. Others moan and change their positions as we do what we can to stay alive on this hostile planet. If my face wasn’t frozen, I might manage a wry smile.
Mother was finally true to her word and delivered us to New Dawn – where she has left us alone to die.
The exhilaration we’d felt as we left the ship, anticipating our first sunrise quickly turned to despair. We’d eagerly waited in the landing shuttle for the snowstorm to stop so we could catch a glimpse of our new home; we longed so much for daylight, it hurt. We couldn’t wait for the moment we would feel the warmth of the two suns on our faces. But they’d refused to show their faces, leaving the storm to rage unchallenged, driving the hail into the window so hard we’d feared it would break. But when the lights of the lander dimmed, the doors had opened, and we had no choice but to take our chances outside.
I shuffle back a little against Rebekah’s body not wanting to leave a gap and lose heat.
The storm has blown relentlessly for twenty-one days since our arrival, although it could be twenty or even twenty-five – with no announcements and the constant night, it’s difficult to judge time. We have yet to see a sky of any color other than black streaked white by the blizzard. Rebekah has no warm sea where she could wade, and I have no tree to climb.
Nothing grows here. The few farm workers in our sorry group, say the hard ground beneath the snow, cannot be broken, making the seeds from the shuttle useless. If the ground doesn’t thaw before the supplies in the crates run out, we will starve. Already we eat less than half our daily ration, but as we grow weaker, our numbers dwindle. One worker from the laboratory has already succumbed to the cold, but as Jared noted, it does mean the food will last a day or two longer – but that only prolongs our suffering.
In the first few hours, while we still had hope, Rebekah pointed out that Mother must have sent us to one of the poles on the dark side of this world. She tried to explain that New Dawn appears to be tilted on its axis like Earth, so at times it faces away from the two suns during its orbit. But she couldn’t tell us the one thing we desperately need to know: how long before either of the suns rise. We have no idea because Mother hasn’t told us.
I flinch as another gust batters against the thin wall of our metal hut. I thank Spoons for building our strong shelter – without it we wouldn’t have survived the first day. Spoons is the name Reuben gave to our helper spider because it sounds like one scrapping the bottom of a bowl as it scuttles on the frozen ground. That was on the third day after we’d landed, and also the last time Reuben said anything amusing, or even anything at all.
We rarely speak in the long, cold waking hours, and we rarely move more than is necessary. I don’t know if it’s because we’re eating less, or if it’s the cold, or something about the air on New Dawn, but I feel heavy and my limbs struggle to carry out the simplest of tasks. To lift our heads from the ground is an effort, so we choose to stay huddled together to save energy and preserve our food a little while longer.
And to make things worse, if that’s possible, Spoons has disappeared. It had removed our lost comrade, her face frozen in a ghastly grin, and taken her outside. That was eight or nine days ago and it has yet to return. Jared suggested it may have gone for help, but when pressed, he couldn’t think where Spoons would possibly find aid in this icy wasteland.
I’m pleased Reuben and Amos are part of the group, but Abraham had begged Mother to let him stay, hoping he might yet see Abigail. Mother warned him his new duty, while still contributing to the cause, would not be pleasant if he turned down his place on our so-called expedition. But his heart had already made the decision for his head and I hope for Abraham’s sake, he’s not in The Trench.
I thrust my hands deeper in my overalls but it makes little difference.
Mother had, of course, lied. There was no mission as such for me to lead – how could there be? She wanted us out of the way so she could begin a new regime free of those who could expose her lies.
We’d left The Square, our ears ringing with the cheers from the deceived workers, and were led straight to the elevator. We stood huddled in silence and watched the spider disappear with dread as the doors slid shut. Rebekah took my hand and squeezed hard, but no one dared to speak in case Mother was listening. But instead of going up, my stomach turned over as the floor dropped. Eyes flashed around the group. Down? Were we being sent to The Trench after all?
I counted four lights, skim across the panel before we came to a stop and the doors parted. Our initial relief at the clean air rushing in to greet us, didn’t last. The doors had opened onto a small cell, barely bigger than the one I’d been given in Re-Education. But we were not the only occupants. Eight workers, four from the farm, and four from the labs sat slumped against the wall. The speaker on the ceiling welcomed us to the Waiting Room, but if we’d known how long we would have to wait, we would have turned and taken our chances in The Trench.
There was to be no special training in preparation for going outside, unless you count learning how to cope on little food, no work and sleeping on a hard floor. When asked, the eight workers could not recall how long they’d been held.
Yet, as bleak as things looked, I still clung on to the hope of fighting back. We were alive. I had Rebekah by my side, and we’d planned to find Isaac and Rachel, and then escape. Isaac would be a great leader for our rebellion. He’d taken our team to the top of the performance tables, but it was his support and friendship that I’d missed since Mother sent him to Paradise, or wherever she judges to be a fitting reward for years of hard work.
Rebekah taps my shoulder. Twenty minutes, already? I groan and shift my numb limbs to roll over. We have no means to tell the time and rely on Rebekah who claims to have a foolproof method of keeping track of the hours and minutes while we’re awake, but even she has lost track of the days.
She wriggles and nestles her body into my stomach and groin, but the pleasure I’d once felt by her closeness, has long gone. Now it’s a necessity, an act to stay alive, and I selfishly wait for the moment when we’ll change back. And if I have got my sums right, it will be only three hours and forty minutes until our next meal of a single frozen, green cube and a trickle of melted snow.
I force my mind away from my body – anywhere but here is better. Those early days in the Waiting Room now seem a lifetime ago. We didn’t know what we were waiting for, or the reason. Without the screens, we didn’t see Mother’s face, and since we first entered, the speaker had remained silent. A spider came to bring a little food and water. It may have been Spoons but it’s difficult to tell because they all look the same.
After no contact with Mother, I decided it would be safe to speak without punishment. I told them what I’d learned. I spoke of the other ships: Aurora, Bear and Challenger and that our ship, Discovery, was the fourth ship to depart the war-ravaged Earth. After us came Endeavour and Fury, plus others whose names I could not recall. All were named, as Rebekah informed us, after the seafaring ships of the explorers of old. She’d scoffed when I speculated the other ships had been destroyed by Outsiders, but regardless of the cause, the rest of the fleet had, in all likelihood, been lost. Of the sixteen in total, Mother said fourteen were confirmed destroyed, and transmissions from Pandora, the last to leave, had ceased. Of course, Mother had claimed it was down to her leadership that had kept us safe, but we cling to the hope Pandora still follows and will arrive at New Dawn someday soon to rescue us from Mother.
Once Rebekah had confirmed my story, the initial disbelief gave way to the pain of accepting the harsh reality. Regardless, I felt a weight had been lifted from my aching shoulders as I’d revealed the truth. But as our anxiety rose in our forced isolation, and our bodies grew weak on the meagre rations, many cried out for Mother in those dark hours.
Rebekah refused to speak of her time in Mother’s laboratory. J ared had attempted to explain, but the color quickly drained from his face, and his jaw clamped shut before he could get more than half a dozen words out. The few he spoke triggered another one of Rebekah’s episodes. Her eyes had rolled up to the ceiling as she’d collapsed, shaking into my arms. I’d turned away and held her tight to shield her from prying eyes, but her muttered words carried in the silence and sent an icy chill into our hearts. I tried to push the horror from my mind – of what she spoke must have come from her confused state as they surely couldn’t be true. Jared shook his head, but I couldn’t tell if it was in disagreement or denial. I found myself wanting to believe Mother when she’d said Rebekah has a defect that puts strange thoughts into her head, resulting in stranger words coming out of her mouth.
Later as Rebekah slept, Jared told me Mother’s experiments continue but could say no more as he too shuddered and clamped his jaw. I knew something had to be wrong when she’d embraced me in The Square – her clammy flesh had reeked of the stench that seeps through the plugs and drains.
I’d watched Jared for the first few days of waiting. He seemed genuine when he’d apologized for his behavior as a prefect, but his eyes rest too readily on Rebekah when he thinks I’m not watching.
I shiver as Rebekah murmurs in her uneasy sleep. I clutch onto her cold hand and hope I can help to heal the memories of her time in Mother’s Lab.
I don’t know how many days we’d spent in the Waiting Room. We ate when the spider came, we slept when tired, and after a few days we barely spoke. We lay with our backs to the wall and stared at the ceiling, avoiding catching the eye of another. I’d tried to ease the tension by retelling the story from my book, but the words that had once been so easy to recall, left me. It soon became an effort to think of anything other than the next meal… and the dread of needing the toilet. But when I say toilet, I mean only the floor area set aside for this purpose. The spider cleared it, but only occasionally and long after it had passed being unbearable.
It must be time to switch. I tap Rebekah’s shoulder but she mumbles and shakes her head. I tighten my grip and pull her closer, but it’s my back that needs protection. I try to remember a time when I hadn’t been numb with cold. I imagine I’m in my soft bed on Cloud One with the thick cover wrapped around my body, but it only makes things worse and I can’t stop my teeth chattering.
At last, Rebekah turns. I roll away before I catch her eye, grateful to receive what little heat she can provide. But my thin overalls and scant flesh, offer no resistance against the hard floor sucking the warmth from my bones.
After what could have been four weeks in the Waiting Room, I was ready to accept defeat and return to the old ways, in exchange for just one night in my dormitory bunk. Our numbers decreased as the spider removed those too sick or too tired to eat. I began to accept my death; I’d even welcomed it. Then, just as I’d made the decision not to take my next ration and let myself drift off to a never-ending sleep, Mother spoke.
As odd as it sounds, I had been pleased to hear her voice. It made me long for the simple days of working in the factory and naively accepting Mother’s ways. Yet she’d been right about one thing – we do need a purpose in life, a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
I had railed against Mother about her treatment of Moses and how we craved something more. We need to create, to explore, to discover new things, to share… and to love. I realized our time in the Waiting Room had served a purpose, her purpose. Mother had successfully drained all thoughts of hope from our minds. We’d become hollow shells like those on Rebekah’s dream shore. Empty, ready to be filled by anything Mother offered – no matter how bleak.
Mother announced our time in the cell had been a test of strength. She claimed it was a critical factor in human existence, and thanks to the survival of the fittest, our race had become strong and resilient to face the challenges of living on a harsh and unforgiving world. The spider has weeded out the weak and weary as they would not have survived outside The Ark, whereas those who remained had demonstrated their suitability for the challenge ahead.
I’d struggled to my feet as she decreed, as survivors of her trial, we would have the honor of walking on the surface of New Dawn. We would be given provisions to survive, enough until we could become self-sufficient. However, one thing she made very clear, we would never be allowed to return. She reasoned it would be dangerous in case we became infected by Outsiders. Rebekah had shaken her head, but still I couldn’t find it in myself to dismiss this part of Mother’s story.
As we’d readied ourselves to leave, Abraham had made his plea. He stood before the open door and implored Mother to give him another duty. I could see he couldn’t face the possibility of never seeing Abigail again. To our surprise, she relented and allowed him to stay. As for the rest of us, Mother wasted no time ejecting us from our childhood home.
Ten entered the elevator that took us down to the landing craft. We’d squeezed into the tiny craft behind Spoons who’d attached its abdomen to a panel we assumed were the controls. As weak as we were, seeing the ship in its entirety as our shuttle broke free from the rim of the wheel, couldn’t fail to impress and shock. From the observation deck, Rebekah and I had seen only a fraction of the immense body of the ship. It stretched out in both directions, disappearing into shadow but not before what I guessed to be the vast engines came in to view. A cluster of thick tubes circling the end of the spindle had brought us far from our ancestral home… but to what? I’d pressed hard against my restraints to squint at the second wheel. Unlike ours, it didn’t move – it looked dead, abandoned by Mother. The broken screen half-way up one of its spokes was still plain to see, but I could see no other sign of Outsider activity.
The shuttle had drifted silently away until the gigantic ship could be covered simply by raising my thumb in front of my eyes. Everything we’d ever known became a tiny speck, merging with the nameless stars behind until it was gone. Gone for good. Never to be seen again. A new life lay ahead, but I think we’d all felt the loss of our first home – no matter how unbearable it had become.
Rebekah flicks my ear. Time to turn? Again? I grunt, tightening into a small ball. But she jabs my ribs and I reluctantly roll over. I want to ask if she’s counting the minutes correctly – my time in the warm place seems to pass so much quicker than her turn. I decide against questioning her authority and pull her close. If I complain, she might insist we join the others in their larger groups to get more time in the middle, but the thought of another wrapping their arms around her, especially Jared, is too much to bear. He still watches her when he thinks I’m asleep. However, I accept it won’t be long before we have no choice but to huddle together in one group.
In seconds, my back tightens against the cold air. I shut my eyes and I’m back in my padded seat in the shuttle. The straps held us firm and I’d felt my body grow heavy until I couldn’t stretch out my hand to find Rebekah’s. And how I’d wished I could have held it. As we neared New Dawn, my heart pounded against the restraints binding me to my seat. The blue planet that had looked homely and welcoming from the Observation Deck, now loomed large and threatening, blotting out the red light from the greater sun. Some had sobbed, begging out loud for Mother to turn our craft around and take us back. I’d held my breath, staring wide-eyed at our new home, wondering if we could survive outside and alone.
The shuttle grew hotter as New Dawn filled the sky. But the smooth ride suddenly turned to one of terror as Spoons appeared to struggle to maintain control. I’d screamed in agony as the craft lurched and shook, scared my bones would be pounded to dust before I got the chance to set foot on the surface. Lights danced at the edge of my vision, my head grew light then heavy, forced down onto my chest against the straps until I could barely breathe.
We were going to die after all. Mother had expelled us from the ship to kill us here in space. My last thoughts were of Rebekah. I’d cried out her name, yelling I loved her not knowing if she could hear my words above the agonizing wail of the engines. Then all had gone black… and silent.
I jump. My leg has twitched, kneeing Rebekah in the back of her thigh. She grumbles. I think about apologizing for waking her, but it’s too much effort. Sleep brings the only respite from this cold, cruel world. Yet my dreams are not of forests, or the sea, or of high, snow-covered peaks. I’m ashamed to admit, I dream of Mother. I see her watching over us as we battle the elements to survive without her help. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t have to. Her expression says all I need to know; her eyes look down knowingly upon our failure.
