Crimson Dawn

The seat of the World Union government was located here in Delaraan. But the district's power was divided between two megacorporations: FutureDynamics and Roemer Pharmaceuticals. Roemer was a chemical conglomerate with a monopoly on the pharmaceutical and agricultural industries. Lex had no idea that there were other major corporations besides Thandros Technology. To him, TC had always been the one and only company, the world government—his world. But now he read that several megacorporations had established a foothold on Cetos V, all fighting for control of the city of billions. Among them, however, Thandros Technology Corporation was the largest. It controlled three districts within the megacity, as well as several colonies in the outer sectors. The corporation’s influence spanned the entire planet, and with territorial rights over the moons of Kronos and Chiron, its power extended far beyond, all the way to the edges of the Tau Ceti system.

Lex logged out of the infonet on his PDA, let his arm drop, and glanced across the broad, brightly lit walkway to the other side of the street. There stood the high-rise where his apartment was located. He didn’t know how many floors the building had, but his room was supposed to be pretty far up—on the 39th floor, according to the description, so high he couldn’t even see that far. Above him, the illuminated tracks of a maglev train stretched across the sky. Beyond that, billboards flashed on the walls of skyscrapers, casting light onto the mist rising from the streets below and gathering like rain clouds in the urban canyons.

On his second day in Vega Prime, he walked into a clothing store for young people. An Asian sales clerk, about his age, asked if he was headed to a steampunk festival with that old pair of welding goggles around his neck.

"To where?"

The clerk kept smiling and showed him various SmartWears—intelligent clothing equipped with microchips that not only made life easier for the wearer but could also save their life. The jacket the young man was holding up had built-in pulse and breathing monitors, which would instantly notify emergency services of an accident and send them the wearer’s location without any delay. The asian sales guy listed a ton of other benefits that came with this new technology, but in the end, Lex just bought a simple, lightly padded faux leather jacket for 75 credits, which was on sale and had caught his eye from a distance.

At the entrance of a supermarket, he walked through a product scanner shaped like a wide doorway. On the other side, he was faced with a dizzying array of unfamiliar items, so he paused for a moment to get his bearings. But it didn’t help—the flood of bright brands overwhelmed his senses, so he decided to just walk down each aisle and see what caught his eye and what he could afford.

In one overcrowded section, he picked up a seed mix for genetically modified vegetables called Solarfix, made by SnackBite Inc. It promised to grow a harvest-ready garden of various veggies within three days. As he looked around, he noticed how many people were crowding around this long shelf—it seemed like the trend in Vega Prime was to grow your own food with genetically modified produce, instead of going for the cheaper organic products, which people saw as way less healthy. But he didn’t end up buying any of that. Instead, he filled his basket with canned goods, vacuum-sealed ready meals, a few protein bars, a toothbrush, and a razor.

He had just stepped out of a lift that had taken him two floors up along the exterior of the complex. The Nexus Bar wasn’t too busy at the moment. Light from a neon sign outside filtered through the few windows, casting a glow on the quiet faces of the patrons, who drank alone and smoked in silence. Posters of actors and musicians lined the metal walls, none of whom the boy recognized in the slightest. He didn’t even know what movies were supposed to be.

He took a seat on one of the empty stools at the bar, set his shopping bag down on the floor, and eyed the liquor shelf. The selection of hard alcohol was as overwhelming as the product range at the supermarket. He had no idea what to order, and there wasn’t a drinks menu in sight. The well-dressed bartender, sporting face tattoos and ears stacked with rings, stood up from a table full of guests, walked around the bar and asked the boy what he’d like.

"Something that packs a punch," Lex said.

"Oh really? I think what you need first is a solid base—you’re looking a bit too skinny for my liking." The bartender pulled out a bowl of peanuts from under the bar and set it in front of the boy. Lex grabbed a handful.

"Now, let’s hear your age."

"Old enough to drink."

"Yeah, I’d like to see that. You look a bit young for the strong stuff." He pointed his sharp chin at the ID scanner in front of Lex.

"What’s that?"

"That thing checks if you’re telling the truth."

Lex stared at it, chewing for a while. "And?" he asked.

The bartender gave him a sideways glance. "You gotta hold up your ID chip to it, kid. It can’t read minds."

A moment later, the scanner beeped loudly and flashed red. The bartender glanced at the display.

"You’re only eighteen, kid."

"Yeah. Isn’t that old enough?"

"You don’t get the really good stuff until you’re twenty-one. Guess I’ll pour you a beer. That’ll get you drunk, too, if you drink enough of it." He switched on a small holoprojector that stood right next to the boy on the bar.

"You know, a proper pilsner takes seven minutes to pour. Did you know that?"

"What kinda pill?"

The bartender looked at him curiously. "Well," he said, "as long as it’s just the drunks feeding their addictions, I’ve still got time to do things right. Later, though, it’s all about the credits."

For a while, Lex watched the smooth movements of the holographic dancer. Then, turning his gaze away from the miniature stage, he observed the bartender pouring the so-called beer and said, "Looks just like the stuff we used to drink back home."

"Yeah, beer’s popular all over the world." The bartender chuckled. He wore an expensive-looking black shirt, and his belly hung a little over the sink. He examined the full glass in the light as if checking his work, finally deciding it was good enough. Then he slid the mug over to Lex.

"So, where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking, kid? Judging by your wild manners, I’d say the deepest jungles of Luvanda, but with that pale face of yours, more likely the dark side of the moon."

Lex didn’t respond, instead taking a test sip of the drink. He grimaced in disappointment. "Tastes exactly like minor's piss."

The bartender picked up a wine glass from the drying rack, polished it with a cloth, and eyed him. "You’re probably from one of the neighboring sectors. Morgoh or Kul’aan. The news says more refugees from there will be headed our way soon because the civil war the government started is getting bloodier and bloodier." He shook his head as he placed the wine glass in the cabinet. "Not a place I’d want to be born in," he said. "And definitely not a place I’d want to live. No offense, kid." He grabbed a damp cloth and wiped down the bar. The boy lifted his mug so he could wipe underneath.

"Who’s the government fighting anyway?" Lex asked.

"Well, kid, that would’ve been easier to answer if you’d asked what they’re fighting for instead of who they’re fighting against. Because the ‘what’ never changes: more power, more credits."

Lex ran his thumb thoughtfully over the condensation on his mug. "So, the World Union is fighting against Crimson Dawn," he said after a moment.

"Well, you could put it that way. But since the entire government military is basically TC’s private army, I’d say—it’s really TC fighting against Crimson Dawn. Oh, and by the way, around here, the rebels are called terrorists. If you start calling them anything better, you could land yourself in a heap of trouble—even if those so-called terrorists are fighting for freedom and against the corporations like TC that ... oppress people. No one around here wants to hear that."

The boy heard the elevator doors open behind him and glanced over his shoulder. New guests entered. Beautiful women in short dresses, accompanied by well-groomed men with gleaming white teeth and unnaturally stiff hairstyles that looked like they could withstand the Vortex storms on the prison moon.

He turned back to the bartender. "And what do you think of TC?"

The bartender kept his eyes on the new crowd and said, "The world is what it is, kid. Here in V-Prime, we owe the corporation our prosperity—if you can call it that, on my salary. At least we don’t go hungry, and we’ve got enough free time to drink ourselves silly every weekend, just to forget about our own problems for a few nights a month. Personally, I’m just glad I’ve got a job at all. Back in the day, androids would’ve been running this bar. But since the war ended, all that’s left are household bots or sex robots, simulated intelligence, barely smarter than a fly. Not that most people even notice. Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me at all."

Lex didn’t even know where to start with his questions. "There used to be androids?"

"There probably still are, somewhere," said the bartender. But officially, artificial intelligences are banned. Did you know the first android was created underground? It was made by some crazy scientist, a young genius who belonged to a ruthless syndicate on Old Earth, directly tied to Thandros Corp. back in the day. At least, that’s how the story goes."

The boy thought about it. The world suddenly felt even stranger to him.

"And people went to war with androids?" he asked.

"People, kid, have always been at war with everything. Now, excuse me—the credits are calling."

He stayed on the barstool the whole evening, smoking and ordering another round of that awful minor's piss every hour, while the people around him laughed and had fun. More often than emptying his mug, though, he kept checking his inbox on his PDA. The girl still hadn’t written back. He stared gloomily at his glass, took the last sip, and said, "I’ll have another."

The bartender poured a quick one, meant for another customer, and slid it over to the boy.

"Let me guess. This is about a girl, isn’t it?"

"What is?"

"That funeral look you’ve got on your face."

The boy dropped his sad gaze into the beer glass. "How’d you know that?"

"You pick it up in this job. I’m better at reading faces than any poker player, and I can tell you, you’re not exactly hard to read."

New customers sat down at the bar, taking the last empty stools: two women in tight dresses with glowing accents on the straps and neckline. To match their outfits, their high heels were decorated with delicate LED roses. The bartender sized up the women, who could’ve been sisters with their platinum blonde hair, and with practiced charm asked how they’d been in the days he’d missed them, adding whether they’d like the usual. While he mixed their pink, shimmering cocktails, he whistled to snap the boy back to attention.

"How long’s this girl kept you waiting?"

"Just met her yesterday."

"Well then, that’s not too long. Maybe she’s waiting for you to make the first move."

"What?"

"Maybe she wants you to take the initiative and call her. Some girls still like a guy who steps up…"

"I’d do it," the boy said, "but she wouldn’t give me her number. So I gave her mine and told her she had to message me."

"Well, that’s a pain."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Keep your chin up, kid. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

The boy looked at the bartender. After a moment, he thought he understood what the man meant. "But none like her," he said.

"Ah, kid, we always think that, until the next one comes along and breaks our heart."

"Do you think she was just pretending to like me?"

"Well, to be honest, that thought did cross my mind just now."

"You think she’ll write me back?"

"Well, kid, if you ask me, the odds are fifty-fifty: either she does, or she doesn’t."

After another hour in the Nexus Bar, he paid without leaving a tip, because that was just how he was used to doing it. He slid off the stool, grabbed his shopping bag, and was about to leave when the bartender stopped him. He set a shot glass on the counter, reached for a bottle from the shelf behind him and filled it. The liquid in the glass glowed blue, like the summer sky over Vega Prime.

"This is one of the strongest drinks we sell," he said. "It’s called Triple Blue Sunrise, because if you drink three of them, you’ll still be buzzed by the next sunrise. Perfect for forgetting the girl of your dreams."

The boy lifted the shot, sniffed it and downed it in one gulp. He winced, his face turning red, and gasped. "Oh crap. What’s in that?"

"Well, mainly synth-alcohol. That stuff’s three times stronger than regular alcohol. To help it go down, there’s a pinch of Asperklar-X—a sweetener that’s a million times sweeter than sugar, probably as sweet as that girl who’s got your head spinning. And there’s a mix of painkillers in there too. You’ll need those, ‘cause that stuff’ll burn holes in your stomach."

The boy paused for a moment, then set the sticky glass back on the counter.

"Thanks for the drink, anyway."

The night in Vega Prime was still young, and he had no idea where to go, so he just wandered aimlessly—across glass bridges that led him to other skyscraper platforms. The drop beneath the bridges was hundreds of meters deep, and the ground of LowerCity shimmered gold from the streetlights. The glow reached up to the night owls high above. Some of the figures he passed had shadowed faces, as hollow as skulls, and the boy didn’t need a mirror to know that his face belonged to them too.

From the last bridge, he reached an entertainment hub 600 meters above ground. It was a circular platform made of dark steel with no guardrail around the edge. In the center, holograms flickered, advertising various shops and clubs. Some of the symbols meant nothing to him, while others told him everything. He wandered around the platform, which took about fifteen minutes. When he got back to the bridge that had brought him there, he headed toward one of the wide, hangar-like doorways, descended the dark stairs, and hoped to find the answer to why he wasn’t just going back to his apartment.

The tunnel-like passageway, a floor below the platform, was bathed in dim red light. To his right was a glass wall, offering a panoramic view of the glowing city. Three smoking prostitutes leaned against the tilted windows. Their half-naked backs reflected on the glass. One of them wore a see-through plastic skirt with a neon-pink trim. Under a transparent plastic jacket, her plastic breasts were on full display. The women’s heads lifted from their conversation, mouths slightly parted, as the boy walked past. Their made-up eyes followed him. They thought they were as irresistible as siren songs, but what pulled him along in his aimless wandering wasn’t lust—it was something deeper that could satisfy his heart. And because it wasn’t within reach, he kept wandering, searching through the night.