Son of Sedonia

29

Welcome


THROUGH HIS PORTHOLE window, Jogun watched the flashlights, torch-flames, and lanterns of Pit workers gather like a swarm of fireflies on the barren plain. Most had probably been on their way back home for the day when they saw the landing fleet of Themis ships and came running. Even exhausted from sixteen hours of work, a payday this big would be hard for any Cutter to pass up. More waste to be cut, carted away, and sold off to the City Seedmaster, maybe buying an extra day’s rice. Seeing them made his chest flutter.

Six years in lunar gravity meant one thing. Atrophy. His limbs were in agony, filling with acid moments after the fleet broke atmo. It was like being under twenty tons of water and on fire at the same time. And now he would be expected to be...what? A hero? A prophet? A savior? He did his best to lay still in the sticky, sweaty upholstery of his cabin seat, trying desperately to enjoy what might be the last peaceful moment left to him. ‘All you ever tried to do was keep me in the f*cking dark!’

He felt the titanic feet of the landing gear flex beneath him and the whole cabin sagged to a full stop. Cheering erupted in the compartments behind him. He and the other old-timers looked around at one another in their forward compartment. Most exchanged tearful nods or held hands with the interlacing of feeble fingers. But the weight. Jogun could feel it in the others as much as himself. Heavier than the gravity dragging down on their bodies, the weight of a long forgotten home suddenly there again...and feeling foreign. Totally alien. He wished he was happier.

Jogun flinched as the compartment door popped then hissed open. Cheering, singing T99s flowed in. Two by two, they lifted each of the old-timers and bore them to the exit ramp. Rusaam and Kolpa were the last two in. They approached with the care of Rasalla River priests, stopping beside Jogun in his private front seat.

“Hey y’all,” said Jogun, “How was your flight?” A brittle smile creased the lines of his sunken cheeks. The two of them exchanged confused looks, each of them searching for just the right thing to say to the almighty ‘Healer.’ Jogun sighed. Nodded. Russam unhooked him from his harness, like a parent does a child, then raised the arm rest. Jogun took a deep breath as the two of them scooped under his legs and supported his back. He winced.

“You okay, Brother? If we’re hurtin’ you, let us know,” said Rusaam.

“I’m fine, but...just call me Jo.”

Rusaam nodded, though Jogun noted the man’s wounded silence. Jogun took a deep breath into his heavy, aching chest.

“Slow and easy, y’all. Let’s go.”

The sounds of the celebration outside wafted up the exit ramp as they walked down. Laughing, crying, shouting, and singing filled the warm, dust-laden sweat of the sunset air. The long forgotten smells of Rasalla filled Jogun’s nostrils, squeezing his throat with the threat of tears.

Ten young T99s in Themis jumpsuits flanked the center path of the ramp, holding fluorescent lanterns to light the way. They had been waiting for the last passenger. As Jogun appeared in the arms of his attendants, the hush spread like a wave in front of him. He fought down the seizing panic, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. Astonished whispers surrounded him as he felt Rusaam and Kolpa step off the angled platform onto the flat desert ground. More voices than he could count. Against every urge to keep them shut, he opened his eyes.

In the fading violet bath of the setting sun, thousands of silent faces watched him. Rusaam and Kolpa stopped.

“Stand me up,” Jogun heard himself say. His caretakers obeyed with delicate care, lowering him to touch first his right foot, then his left. The coarse shipyard soil ground into the soles of his work boots under his gathering weight. Legs trembling, he willed himself to stand. The electricity of the moment coursed from his fingertips to his toes and to his ears. His head felt light, as though it would carry him away. The lights across the Pits trembled at first in the gathering twilight, then seemed to rise into streaks of charged color.

Cold with sweat and shaking, he reached up to shield his eyes. The streaks bled together into a blinding aurora. The last shape he saw was the ocean of people holding their hands up in unison. Jumping. Dancing. Everything went white and Jogun swooned. He felt the dull impact of the earth beneath him before everything just stopped.

Jogun’s eyes fluttered open and awareness flickered on to the sensation of violent, shaking movement. The dull orange sky of dusk hung above, or rather in front of him. The tops of slum buildings passed to his left and his right. I’m on my back. His hand drifted to his face to touch something warm and wet. Red smeared fingers. My fingers...my blood... The stabbing pain above and behind his ears mounted in a single, sharp pulse. He winced as it subsided. Then it came again.

More sensation switched on throughout his body. He lay on something hard. A wood cart. He spread his livening fingers over the rough planks. The roaring noise in his ears became the familiar rhythm of wheels on a packed dirt road. He lifted his head and peered through the dissipating fog.

The familiar shapes of Rusaam and Kolpa loomed ahead. They had their backs to him, pulling the cart handles as they ran at a fever pitch. Jogun tried to speak, but the sound came out as a cut-off croak.

“Brothe—Jo! Can you hear me?!” Rusaam glanced back with wide, angled eyes. Jogun gnashed his teeth for another knife surge in his skull. Nodded. His head fell back onto the wood with a thud and his eyes clenched shut. After a never-ending instant, the pain melted away again. He spoke.

“W-where?” was all he could get out.

“Don’t worry, Jo, we takin’ you to the Temple. Gonna see Doc Utu,” said Kolpa. The name was warm in Jogun’s ears. He felt a teardrop stream down his cheek, then drifted back to blackness.

Jogun awoke again as the cart stopped underneath him. The sudden stillness, after the constant rhythm of movement, vibrated in his bones and slackened muscles. Night now... The far-away dotted stream of headlights crawled across the dim clouds above him. To his left and right, gas torches flickered playfully along the Temple walls. The headache still pressed deep into his head, but was somehow less important here. Footsteps coming this way...fast. He lifted his head and saw the blurry forms of Rusaam and Kolpa. They came into focus as a third joined them. Utu.

The relief of seeing this man slipped away before Jogun was ready to let it go. The laugh-creased, rich brown face of the family friend turned into a look of shock and deep sadness.

“Hi, Doc,” Jogun rasped.

“Jo...” said Utu. The man who always had a word and a smile for any situation was speechless. Jogun looked down at himself, remembering his busted body.

“You uh...” Jogun coughed a dry breath, “I don’t guess I could get some water, could I?” The flanking jab of the question staggered Utu. His wrinkles accepted the familiar, squinting smile like the embrace of an old friend. He laughed. The sound washed over Jogun and spilled throughout the Temple alley.

“Of course, my friend, of course!” Utu shouted, scrambling to grab a hold of the hollow gourd canteen that hung from his shoulder. He rushed to Jogun’s side and set the mouth of the canteen to Jogun’s lips. Tipped up slowly. The cool, earthy liquid flowed down Jogun’s dry throat and landed cold in his gut. He raised his trembling hands to take the canteen as though it were a holy relic. Drank deeply. Utu withdrew it at the proper moment, then started prodding. The Doc felt Jogun’s forehead with a palm, then the back of the hand. Took Jogun’s wrist in his fingertips and waited, counting seconds on a wristwatch. Utu spoke as he worked.

“Where have you been?” he asked, gently lifting Jogun’s leg at the knee. Jogun gritted his teeth as the throbbing in his muscles seemed to squeeze tight to the bone.

“Get ready, my friend. It’s a long story,” said Jogun. He felt Utu suddenly stop the examination. The pulse of distant voices caught in the air. Three shouts then a pause. Three shouts then a pause. As it got louder, the sounds came into focus.

“RA-SA-LLA! RA-SA-LLA! RA-SA-LLA!” they chanted in unison. Soon, the tromp of hundreds of feet underscored the chanting. They rounded the corner. T99s, house-wives, old men, old women, children. The beating heart of the Slums filled the temple, then stopped at the sight of Jogun and Utu. All lowered their heads.

“Of that,” Utu said, “I have no doubt.”