Welcome to Gaia! ::

[So this goes along with the world I posted in the "Story Concept" area. I haven't worked on this story in a fairly long time. I'm thinking I should take out the cut scenes, other than the beginning and just have the entire thing be her recollections after she initially starts talking. So, any comments, criticisms, or suggestions are, as always, welcomed and appreciated smile Currently this is still in rough and unedited form. And like I said, I haven't worked on this in nearly a year, so I'll probably make some major revisions when I have the time. I'm just looking for input currently smile ]

Summary: In a cold desolate world ruled by a theocracy, once woman searches for the truth. A new age is born and those formerly seen as weak and Other make a stand for themselves.
Chapter 1

Code Seventy-Three in Sector F.

The disembodied female announcer repeated:

Code Seventy-Three: Sector F.

"Oof." A young man was tossed violently into a small room that measured no more than six feet by nine feet. He didn't dare look back to see who had thrown him in here. He knew.

Code Seventy-Three.

Out of sheer curiosity, he looked around to try and find the source of the voice, but could not find one. The walls and floor gleamed with a steely metallic sheen, and the man realized the floor’s coldness was threatening to freeze his fingers. He got up slowly, wondering if the smooth floor was as slick as it appeared to be; it wasn't.

Code Seventy-Three.

He continued to examine his surroundings: a small, metal-framed bed, bolted to the floor in one corner; a restroom area in the opposite corner; and a window about the size of his head, almost seven feet off the ground. He didn't even know how long he was to live like this.

Code Seventy-Three: Sector F.

"Where is that coming from?" He asked no one in particular. The voice sounded somewhat melodic: almost pleasant to listen to, but the tone was stressed, as if forced into calmness.

"It's implanted." He spun around quickly to see who had spoken to him, but saw nothing but the empty walls of his cell.

"What?" He questioned tentatively.

Subject 12076-X3 apprehended.

"There, all better?" He realized the voice was coming from the other side of his wall. Its owner, a female who didn’t attempt to hide her amusement with his confusion; she sounded young, possibly older than himself but not by much.

"What do you mean, 'It's implanted'?" He asked.

"I mean," she drawled, sounding somewhat exasperated, "that they tagged you when they did your physical. There are no intercoms; it's in your head."

"Well, what's a Code 73?"

"Escape. Infirmary, this time. It's really fairly stupid to try to escape - suicide, almost. Even if you make it out, there's no oxygen out there, and the temperature is always well below freezing. If you're carbon-based, you will die." She stated this all very matter-of-factly, without hesitation and with a confidence the young man could never imagine himself possessing.

"How do you know all of this? How long have you been here?" He crawled onto his stiff mattress in order to get closer to his neighbor‘s voice. He felt almost insane talking to himself in this room. He wasn't even sure he was talking to another person; if the announcer's voice was in his head, what else was in there? Maybe this was all in his head and he was still at home, sleeping, or in some kind of schizophrenic delusion. He wrestled with this possibility until the woman spoke again.

"This time? About two years, I think. It's hard to tell how much time has passed. You can typically judge by meals, but sometimes they skip one to throw you off." He thought about this for a moment. She had been here before. He had been under the impression that prisoners in the Lunar Center of Rehabilitation for Enemies of the Disciples did not leave until they were very old. She was most certainly not old.

"How long were you here before? How long are you here this time?” He paused his barrage of questions for a moment, “I'm Jonathon by the way." Jonathon couldn't remember his own sentence; he couldn't even remember his arrest. He was fairly certain he was innocent; he had never done anything wrong back home. There was no way he had done anything to land him on the Earth's moon.

"Faith. A month last time, I escaped fairly quickly. I'm in for a half now."

"But I thought you said escape was suicide? And what do you mean by a ‘half‘?" Faith was an interesting name for her, he thought. But it didn't seem to fit her demeanor.

"Well, it is for most people. I'm not most people. There are ways to engineer your own oxygen, but most people here don't know how or don't think about it. It's just one of those things, I guess: you get consumed with escape and never think about once you're actually out. I mean, where are you going to go once you‘re out there? There really aren't any hiding places. You've got to have a getaway, but even that is tricky. There aren't any visitors or phone calls or anything up here. No contact. I think I'm the only person that ever successfully escaped, but a lot of good that did me right?" She chuckled softly at her own misfortune. On Faith’s side of the wall, she wondered what this man was doing here. He sounded young, far too naïve, and hopelessly confused about his surroundings. He had a story; she wanted to hear it. Unfortunately for Faith, she had a hunch that Jonathon would only want to hear her’s.

He sat in silence, and thought about what she had said for a long time. He hadn't realized how long until he looked over to the door and saw that both his lunch and his dinner had already been dropped off. It must have been at least a few hours since either he or Faith had said anything.

"Faith?"

"Mmhmm?"

"You never did tell me what a half is." He felt strange as he asked, as if he should have already known the answer.

"Half. Half-life sentence. Jeez, kid, you really don't know anything about this place. What did you do that was heinous enough to land you in Block X?"

"I… I don't know. I really don't remember anything. I don't think I did anything. What's Block X? Is that really bad?"

"Extreme Deactivists.” Her smile was almost audible. "It's a stupid title, mostly propaganda, for anyone who makes an executable threat against the government. Not just the crazies that talk about it under their breath or with their buddies over drinks, the real trouble-makers; the ones that start coups and attempt take-overs. They're called 'deactivists', because ‘activist’ sounded too positive, I guess. They want to make us out to be demons who kidnap their off-spring and drink their souls or some non-sense."

Jonathon felt the color drain from his face. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to be terribly sick. The stench of whatever food had been left for him hours ago was now invading his senses and making him terribly nauseous. She spoke of the matter as if she found amusement in it; after all, this was nothing to her but a way of life. But, Jonathon had always obeyed the rules, never stepped out of line. He had no reason to be here. There was some kind of mistake, there had to be, he wasn't a... a... troublemaker. He was nothing of the sort. His palms began to sweat despite the chill in the air and the room began to swim in front of his eyes. He shut them tightly, hoping that the room would still itself. Maybe he would reopen them and be back in his cozy apartment in the city. Maybe this was all just a terrible delusion, a figment of his imagination.

“You okay, kid?” Faith's voice jerked Jonathon back into the reality of his cold prison. He said nothing. He no longer wanted to speak to this woman, she was very likely just a bad seed and fraternizing with her would not make his plea to the authorities any more believable.

“Everyone's first day is rough, you'll get used to it. Get some sleep.” He could hear her moving about in the next cell, but he no longer cared about this crazy woman or what she was doing. The harsh white overhead light outshone any chance of Jonathon getting any sleep. He thought for sure that they would turn all the lights off for the night, but they never did. The dull hum of the electrical currents eventually lulled him into a fitful sleep.

He woke to the sound of his stomach growling. Jonathon had no idea how long he had slept, nor did he have any recollection of his dreams. But he did know that he finally had to accept this new reality, having woken right back in this steely hell. He glanced over to the featureless metal door. There was a cut-out at the bottom which he took to be the orifice that his food came through, judging by the numerous plates surrounding it; the hole reminded him of a doggy door for a very short, box-shaped dog. There were now three plates of shapeless gray material in his cell. He couldn't think of any other word to describe their contents other than “gloop“. It reminded him distinctly of slightly solidified gelatin: somewhat wiggly, but also liquid in its own way. It was fascinating to look at, but revolting to think about - especially when the thoughts were of having to consume the substance.

“Is this stuff even edible?” He muttered out loud, completely forgetting about his neighbor.

“Of course it is. It's pure nutrients; no flavor whatsoever. The texture is pretty weird, though,” she answered faithfully.

Jonathon started slightly at her voice, shuddering at both the memories of what he had learned about her previously and the thought of having to eat the gray substance that lay before him. Almost in response to his thoughts, his stomach dutifully growled again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but he was sure it had been a very long time ago. Tentatively, he extended a slender hand toward the plate and managed to grasp a small bit of the slippery matter. Showing extreme caution he shoved it into his mouth and successfully forced himself to swallow. He was revolted by the sensation of it wriggling all the way to his stomach.

“That's awful,” he sputtered, hurrying to the sink to attempt to rid himself of the sensation.

“You asked if it was edible, not delicious or pleasant,” Faith chided calmly, “You'll get used to it.”

“No I won't!” Jonathon retorted angrily. “I'm not supposed to be here! There was a mistake! I never did anything wr--” his tirade was cut short by the melodic, disembodied voice of the day before.

In eternal agony will you be,
Writhing, begging, screaming,
He will not listen to your desperate plea;
You never sought the redeeming.

Atone! Repent! Acknowledge your misdeeds,
Follow the way of the Light
Obey the scripture, submit to the creeds;
In his great wisdom he will extinguish your plight.

Jon found himself on the numbing floor with a puddle of tears around his nose. He couldn't remember how he had gotten on the floor or why he was sobbing; he felt as if he had just undergone the most horrific experience of his life. He was now certain that he was doomed for all eternity; there was no hope.

“Jonathon? Come back to me kid.” Faith's voice rang out like an angelic choir saving him from certain damnation. “It's all right; you’ll probably want to lay down for a bit. That's pretty heavy stuff for a newbie.”

Jonathon didn't have the strength to ask her what she meant by that, but he somehow found the will to obey her by crawling onto his unyielding mattress. He closed his eyes, still trying to fight back tears.

“Faith?” he croaked in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me how you got here.”

“Alright, but just a little for now.” Her voice had softened a great deal since the announcer’s reading of the scripture, “I was always a very curious little girl...”

Chapter 2

Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed the third afternoon hour. The Sun’s light was already growing dim, becoming trapped in the thick layer of polluted haze that covered the Earth. Uniform gray giants lined the streets, their aluminum exoskeletons keeping out the harshest of the Ultraviolet rays that now penetrated the atmosphere without resistance. The majority of the buildings lacked windows, only the oldest and most worn buildings would have windows or wooden doors; these older buildings typically housed Atheists. Atheists didn’t receive the financial benefits of a true pious Disciple, nor did they receive the health care or education of the Disciples. They were widely considered to be uneducated and mentally ill. Most everyone was a firm Disciple; it was ingrained from a very young age that to live by God’s way was the only way to truly live.

It was one of the wooden doors of an Atheist’s building that first attracted the young red-head. She had never really paid attention to the building that had eyes or the beautiful color of the entranceways. Today was the first time she walked home alone; her older siblings had both begun their reproductive seminars this week and she felt a freedom that she had never experienced before. Her tiny hand reached for the door, stroking it gently she marveled at the warmth it possessed. Her hand slowly made a curious path toward a small white button to the side of the door. She knew she shouldn’t. Her parents would be expecting her home directly after school. A few buildings down she saw a group of Disciples heading into the Hall of Obedience for afternoon worship. Maybe her parents were among them. They typically waited until everyone was home and went to evening adoration; however, tonight would be a different schedule with her siblings being out until very late. Perhaps they would forget about her.

With a brazenness that surprised the seven year-old, she pressed the button. She didn’t know what would happen, she just assumed it would be something that she would get into trouble for. She started to back away from the door slowly, terrified by her own actions, when the door opened.

A squat round woman of probably more years than her mother stood at the door. She wore a plain yellow dress with green flowers that went just past her knee and a blue striped apron trimmed with moth-eaten lace. They shared an expression of mixed awe and confusion. Faith had never seen such brightly colored clothing in her life and was equally shocked that the woman looked rather kind. She had always been warned that Atheists were monsters that didn’t adhere to the scriptures. The Atheist woman was just as surprised to see Faith at her doorstep: a Disciple child, clad in the standard grey jumpsuit with a plain black sash around her waist to indicate she was not yet old enough for her reproductive seminars. The woman eyed her carefully, wondering if she was being spied on, she saw a tuft of bright red hair peeking out from beneath the girl’s protective head gear; she couldn’t suppress the smile that crept onto her lips now.

The smile almost frightened Faith, her eyes grew wide and she took another step backward. She knew she should just go home, forget about whatever she had seen here and never come back. Her internal argument was interrupted.

“Well are you coming inside or not dear? You don’t want to be out after dark, it’s not safe for such a little girl,” the woman spoke softly, in a soothing tone that Faith found much nicer than her mother’s shrill voice. The young girl nodded silently and slipped inside, the door closed soon after and the foreign sound of tumblers sliding into place in the ancient locks drew Faith’s attention.

“What’s that?” She asked timidly, pointing at the deadbolt, not daring to look the older woman in the eye.

“It’s a lock, sweetie, it keeps all the bad people out. I’m Mrs. Pangbirne, you can call me Patty if you like,” she smiled sweetly once again, still utterly confused by this child in her household. She knew Mr. Pangbirne wouldn’t be too happy about the child, but what was she supposed to have done, toss the child out? Maybe she was hungry, or lost, or cold. She was far too young to be out on her own that was for certain.

“Are you hungry dear? Please, take off your hat and shoes indoors. My boys are upstairs, Conner is about your age.” Mrs. Pangbirne continued prattling on, without ever noticing Faith’s fascination with practically everything in her household. Finally, Mrs. Pangbirne realized that Faith was paying her no attention, “I’m sorry dear, I don’t think I caught your name?”

The young girl was unsure of whether she should tell the woman her name, wasn’t that dangerous? She thought she remembered her mother telling her that there were no strangers among Disciples, but what about the Atheists? Throwing caution to the wind she answered, “Faith,” she still was somewhat uncertain, “Faith Bannevyn.”

“Well, Faith, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen, I’m going to have to get started on supper for Mr. Pangbirne and the boys. Have you ever cooked before?”

Faith shook her head solemnly. She had no idea what a kitchen was either; all of her family’s meals were delivered to them, three times a day, every day.

“Well there’s nothing to it, I’ll show you all you need to know.” The older woman smiled warmly and ushered Faith off to the kitchen after once again instructing her to remove her shoes and hat.

It was around half-past four when Faith heard another person enter the Pangbirne residence.

“Patty! I’m home, love.” A deep masculine voice rang through the home. It wasn’t long before the kitchen was rattling with the sound of stampeding elephants as the Pangbirne children rushed to greet their father.

Faith was currently tucked away in a corner of the kitchen where she could neither see out nor be seen; Mrs. Pangbirne instructed her to stay put and continue rolling out biscuit dough as she had been shown earlier.

Faith couldn’t hear the conversation between the Pangbirne adults; she heard the sound of the boys going back up the stairs with protest and then the hushed voices of the adults, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“You did what?” Mr. Pangbirne roared, “Have you lost your mind Patty!”

Mrs. Pangbirne shushed her husband, not wanting to attract the curiosity of the boys or alarm their young guest. “Now now dear, you know what it’s like out there for a Disciple after dark…” Mrs. Pangbirne continued talking but her voice had lowered beyond the point of being discernible to Faith.

Faith suddenly realized that she had been so busy eavesdropping that she neglected her biscuit duties and hastily cut out a dozen or so as she had been taught. She felt out of place in this house; she was without her shoes, covered in flour, and surrounded by beautiful colors that she never knew existed.

Trying to make up for her earlier laziness, Faith decided to be extra helpful by putting the biscuits into the oven for Mrs. Pangbirne. She had seen the older woman put other things in the oven and she made it look very simple; she just had to open the door and slide the pan onto the metal rack. Faith hopped off of the stool she was sitting on and wrestled with the large pan that held the rounds of dough. Carefully she opened the oven door, she was extremely surprised to be greeted with such a blast of warm air. She didn’t know where the warmth was coming from; she couldn’t see a fire in the metal box, it didn’t make sense. She tried to ignore her nagging curiosity and slid the pan onto one of the racks. She tried to close the door but realized it wouldn’t shut. Somewhat perplexed, the young girl decided she needed to rearrange the pans so that they would all fit. Faith reached for one of the pans containing some sort of vegetables to turn it, she immediately knew it was a mistake: she withdrew her hand quickly and yelled out at the searing pain now engulfing her fingers. They felt like they were on fire.

The adults both hurried into the kitchen to see what had happened; Mrs. Pangbirne knew automatically what had happened. “Oh no! Come here dear let me have a look.” The older woman frantically ushered Faith to the sink where she could run her tiny fingers under cold water. “Frank, go get the burn salve.” Her husband looked hesitant, but Mrs. Pangbirne glared at him so that he knew he didn’t have a choice and shouldn’t argue.

Silent tears escaped Faith’s eyes, she had never been in more pain in her life and she had always been taught that there was no reason for crying but she was seriously starting to doubt that. “I’m sorry…” She sniffled, hoping that Mrs. Pangbirne wasn’t angry with her, “ I was just trying to… to put them in the oven for you,” her voice cracked as she tried to speak.

“Now, now, there’s no use getting upset over it, sweetie. These things happen.” Mrs. Pangbirne was examining the blistered fingers when her husband returned with a small brown jar filled with a putrid smelling jelly-like substance. Faith made a face at the offensive odor, but Mrs. Pangbirne ignored it and slathered the substance on the girl’s fingers. “There, you’ll be good as new in no time.”

Chapter 3

"That night," Faith continued, "I went home with bandaged fingers, but I had a new found respect for the Atheist way of life. Their home was warm. Not like the oven or a fire-box, but there was a kind of compassion I had never witnessed my parents, or any other Disciple for that matter, show anyone but God. Twice a week, my siblings went to their reproductive seminars and I went to the Pangbirnes'."

Jonathon had listened intently, without making any comments, but now he felt he was allowed to ask her questions. "Didn't you know it was wrong to be with those people? If you had been caught... your parents, your siblings, everyone would have been shunned. Did the Atheists ever hurt you or corrupt you?" From a very early age, all Disciple children were told stories, there were morals, fables, and standard fairy tales, but always, the hero was a Disciple, and the villain an Atheist. Children were taught to fear them and stay far away from them because they did horrible, unspeakable things to well-behaved Disciple children. It was beyond incomprehensible to Jonathon that Faith visited this household often and came away unscathed.

Faith let out a heavy sigh. "Why is it wrong Jonathon? They're normal people, they have jobs and families, they live on the same planet as we do, yet we're raised to believe they aren't even human. No, I quickly began to question everything I had been taught. I knew that, after having met the Pangbirnes, Atheists aren't monsters or criminals any more than Disciples. It took me a couple of years to finally figure out the subliminal messages in school and worship. I knew it was wrong." She paused for a few minutes, as the implanted chip's voice reverberated yet another attempted escape.

She thought about what she knew about her neighbor so far. He seemed to believe he was innocent, but he didn't know what he had been convicted of. He seemed to be severely affected by the scripture, a reaction only someone who had truly repented or was actually a Disciple would have. He also seemed to be fairly conflicted; he was interested in her own account of things, yet everything he had been taught his entire life wanted to refute her. Faith finally came to the conclusion that he was either a very good actor, or someone really had made a mistake in bringing him up there. For all her cynicism and skepticism, she believed that he didn't belong here.

Eventually, the silence left when the announcer had finished was broken. "So, I still don't understand why you're here? Is it because you were friends with those Atheists?" Jonathon had a characteristically Disciplan contempt in his voice as he spoke the last word.

Faith held on to the silence for just a moment more, taking a deep breath before responding. Any sudden spike in anger would set off the scripture. "No. I am here for other reasons. But for now, we should both get some rest."

Jonathon could hear her moving on the other side of the wall, he wasn't satisfied with that answer, but he knew there was no way he was going to get a different one right now. His eyelids slowly drooped, and he felt himself being washed away into another night of restless sleep.

Chapter 4

The days moved by in a blur. Faith had been right when she said that it was near impossible to keep track of time here. The only indicator Jonathon had was the phases of the Earth. He knew that it was approximately a month for it to cycle from full, to new, and back to full again. It was his only way of guessing how long he had been here. And catching a glimpse of the Earth wasn't easy. The only window in his room was about a foot above his head and the bed was bolted to the floor so there was nothing to stand on. He managed to devise a way to stand in his sink, hook his toes under the rim of it and grasp onto the small ledge of the window to be able to look out. Then there was the problem of the light; the harsh electrical lights inside glared violently against the darkness outside.

He could only chance a glance outside every few days. He had a feeling that somehow, the wardens knew what he was up to. He didn't understand why it was a problem though, he wasn't trying to escape or anything, he just wanted to know how long he had been in prison. Nevertheless, on three separate occasions, the cool voice of the announcer read the scripture as he was precariously suspended across his cell. The last occurrence he had thought he'd made it through without a hitch and was dismounting when it started; he had lost his balance, tumbled into the side of his bed and split his head open. There had been quite a bit of blood, but the guards refused to take him to the infirmary until he told them how it had happened, and Jonathon wouldn't tell them. He was sedated while they cleaned his cell, but they never did take him to have stitches put in. He didn't venture to try and check the passage of time again. He had to find a new method.

Jonathon estimated that it had been a month since he and Faith had talked. He had tried a few times to initiate conversation, but was always greeted with silence. He wasn't even sure she was still there.

The announcements of attempted escapes seemed like a regular occurrence. It was hard to imagine how anyone could even begin to try and flee. Jonathon's cell was gleaming aluminum, every surface was made of the finely polished, highly shined metal. The door to the cell had only the one small hole that provided a passageway for his meals, he couldn't fathom a way out. From what he had seen of the outside, the prison was encased in some kind of barrier that kept the artificial gravity and oxygen levels at a set amount.

His thoughts drifted back to what Faith had said about escape: it was suicide. Of course there was no breathable air outside of the hermetically sealed fortress of the prison. What were the escapists thinking?

He began to think of his home. He had always taken it for granted. He even missed his job as a counter. Most days he had found the process tedious. There was a fine balance in every town of how many Disciples that could be supported, sometimes people took vacations or came to visit relatives, they had to have the proper permits in order to show that they weren't running from the law or staying for an extended period. He was in charge of keeping the number at a manageable level. There wasn't much to it and he often got bored, but now, even the tedium of denying permits seemed to be exciting and fun.

It wasn't long before he had broken down completely into self-pity and homesickness. Surely his family was fighting to get him out of prison? They wouldn't let him rot here. No, his parents would surely present his case to the Elders. They would see that he was innocent. He would be back on his home planet any day now. He was convinced.

Weeks more passed without any change of routine. Jonathon began to question his own sanity. He was almost certain he had entirely imagined Faith and everything she had said to him. It didn't take long for him to begin to start babbling to himself; he would do anything to break the silence that seemed to swallow up his very soul.

It was a shock to his system, when one night (or day, one never could be sure), while forcing himself to consume his meal, Faith began to continue her story.

Aww, thank you so much biggrin I appreciate the feedback. Yes, I do have plans for her absence, though most of it will just be implied. Jon is soon going to figure out how they try to rehabilitate people in the prison. I have to work on more of the flashbacks. I think previously I was working on a more chronological story (like moving from her being seven to like eight in the next one or something) but I think to make the flashbacks relevant I'm going to have to skip more time than that. I think she'll be probably 14 or 15 in the next one.

Oh, right, I'm just thinking to myself. It helps me because I often forget what I was going to do next xP

Thanks again for the comments!