Gestation Read online

  Project Chrysalis

  Book One

  Gestation

  John Gold

  Translated by Jared Firth

  Copyright © 2017 Litworld Ltd. (http://litworld.com)

  All rights reserved.

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  Contents:

  Contents:

  Part One

  Sword and Shield

  Part Two

  Prelude to War

  Book Recommendations:

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Part One

  Sword and Shield

  What could a twelve-year-old child understand about life? Family and the colony leadership are there to pick you up when you fall; they give you food when you’re hungry and they offer you an education. What does a twelve-year-old child living in an orphanage understand about life? It’s a struggle. You have to fight for your place in the sun, and you have to take out your enemies, no matter whether you’re a boy or a girl. Nobody will ever help you out of the goodness of their heart. That’s all they know, even if it hasn’t yet formed into a worldview or hashed itself out into a clear set of beliefs.

  Eliza Donovan, psychologist at the Psychological Development Center for Children, sat in her office thinking about what to do with the children who found themselves in an orphanage at that age. She was in the middle of an internship focused on her specialty, correcting the behavior of problematic orphans, and was looking at a permanent position with her own project when she finished.

  There are ways of guiding and molding the worldview children have, but only if you get to them before they turn twelve. From then on, the only way specialists can help is if the child recognizes their problems and seeks out psychiatric help.

  Eliza, as an inveterate optimist, and an open and cheerful kind of person, was very different from her colleagues. Her sunny disposition made her a joy for anyone to talk to, and her youth and beauty only made things easier for her. In the harsh space age, with colonies ploughing the expanses of the universe, men saw in her an angel from the ancient myths.

  Weighing on her mind was a group of kids from an orphanage in the sixth circle. Well, not exactly a group. They were loners, children who hadn’t acclimated in other orphanages, and who were constantly in open or secret conflict with their peers. Eliza worried that failing to find their place in the community would turn their need for communication, belonging, and recognition ugly: sociopathy, manic disorders, bad company. On the other hand, guiding them onto the straight and narrow would leave them specialists, scientists, and even the misanthropes of new modernity. They were used to depending on no one but themselves, the rest of the world divided into enemies and irrelevants. “Friend” was a meaningless word replaced in their vocabulary by “partner.” But turning loners into potential specialists was a task for a psychologist who could apply both direct and indirect methods to correct their behavior.

  Eliza had an interesting case on her hands. Anji Ganet was a twelve-year-old boy who’d already seen three psychiatrists and two psychopathologists. To a man, they’d pronounced him in good health, knowingly refusing to talk with either peers or doctors. There were no behavioral patterns deviating from the norm, though nobody knew how he spent his free time. He took down everything that could have been used to track him in the free zone.

  Over the previous thirty years, the government had employed a drastic and somewhat harsh solution to the orphan problem. Children older than six were all given a full-immersion game capsule that doubled as their bed. Before that age, they used contact lenses or nanobots in their eyeballs. The devices in both cases dropped them into a virtual reality that gradually taught them how to use the infonet. At twelve, with the permission of their caregiver, they were given their own higher-level gaming account. Permission was no longer needed once they turned fourteen, and mature content was unlocked when they turned eighteen. Throughout the spectrum, children selected a race and name, after which they were placed in an in-game family, often with brothers and sisters. Everyone else in their families were NPCs. It was a humane solution—the children needed the love and care of parents, and the government couldn’t give that to them directly, so it offered access to a world that could. Orphanage life meant eight hours asleep, twelve hours free time, and four hours required schooling.

  Project Chrysalis, a Lunar government program, was scheduled to start that month. The UN and a committee of independent experts had titled it the project of the century.

  Lunar was an independent nation formed sixty years prior on the dark side of the moon. It was unaffiliated with any of the coalitions or alliances; its borders were closed, and it was only sparsely populated.

  Back then, sixty years before, Armadillo Industries had declared its independence, taking up just part of the moon’s surface area. Three short wars followed in quick succession, along with seven other attempts to take Lunar by force but nobody could defeat the dwarf nation. Even nuclear and bacterial weapons proved unequal to the task, and not a single person in Lunar died throughout the entire turbulent period. In fact, it was a fully autonomous and robotized defense system that held the enemy ships at bay and repelled their marines as if they were nothing more than a group of naughty children. Lunar was heaven for scientists, and it even began limiting its invitations to the cream of the crop. Technical advancement was the order of the day, with the rest of the nations left in the dust.

  The previous year, Lunar announced Project Chrysalis. Six months later, the entire gaming community received free access to the project for one day. It was a culture shock. The game was atraditional—it was a fantasy RPG set in the Middle Ages, but it was the realism that left players stunned. The laws of physics, the sensations, the magic, the skills, the professions, everything made you feel like you’d just found yourself in another world.

  Eliza was right to be worried. That day, the final week of beta testing was set to begin, and Anji Ganet, her ward, had received an invitation. He’d turned twelve the day before, which meant that he was entitled by law to a new game capsule. He would be taken to the block that housed his new home. He would meet his family.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I am just a normal kid from the orphanage, and just like everyone else, I realized from a young age that you have to fight for your spot in the world. If you want a normal life, you have to stand up for yourself. But soon, I can start playing! It’s an old tradition: to make sure the kids aren’t traumatized, we all get one game and one family. And the invitation I got is a great opportunity—Project Chrysalis is promising, and soon there will be tons of players. Those of us who get started during the beta test will have an advantage over the new players.

  The kids in all the games sell information, everybody knows that. They can’t level-up, though they can travel the world. Adult players can’t touch us without some serious penalties, after all. Your age is the same in the virtual world until you turn eighteen out here—then, you can decide how you want to look. Even if you’re a goblin child, your body will still grow slowly to reflect your actual age. You get a baby pacifier icon next to your name, too, to make sure nobody takes you for an adult.

  My stretches are done and I’m ready to run if the balance of power in the upcoming battle for my place under the sun turns against me. Always control the situation. That’s my rule. The abuse you get teaches you one simple truth: hit whoever tries to stick you under their foot. Hit them until they l
eave you alone. Three older kids are on their way to my capsule. The oldest one looks to be about fifteen, a redhead with blue eyes who looks like he’s in charge.

  “Hey, look, it’s the new kid.”

  “Pissed yourself yet, tiny?”

  “He’s mute—why even ask? Let’s just clean his mug and tell him what’s up. If he rocks the boat, we’ll be back. He won’t say anything.”

  I despise you for your weakness and stupidity. That’s what I would say, but talking isn’t a good move. Mutes don’t attract attention, they’re harder to use in the kid gangs, and they can make plenty of money.

  I put a finger to my ear and then point up at the ceiling, letting them know that the adults are out there ready to turn on the sound system they use to suppress the kind of thing they’re looking to get started.

  “Don’t worry about that, tiny. We have our people up there, and they’ll give us three minutes.”

  “Listen up, tiny. You owe us ten credits a week, and it’s up to you how you come up with them. Sell your body for all we care—that’s popular down at the lower levels. But if you turn us down, you’ll start feeling the pain, and feeling it all the time.”

  He was only too happy to say that last bit. Okay, so that’s who’s most dangerous. There are plenty of kids like him in all the orphanages, and talking with them is pointless. I give him, the one in the center, a kick to the balls. My next kick is aimed at the knee of the one on the right. A quick duck, and I’m off running down the corridor.

  “Gek, get him! Kill the bastard! That little… Kicking in the balls isn’t fair! I’m going to beat you to a pulp! You’ll never make it out of the lower levels!”

  And three on one is fair?

  Two hallways later, I jump into a third and grab a durasteel beam. It’s a light, long-lasting metal that doesn’t do that much damage.

  When Gek flashes by, I bring the beam down on his neck before starting to kick away at him. The other kid shows up. Seeing his friend lying on the ground screaming, he steps away down the corridor and calls the third member of their posse over. The situation isn’t great—I’m kicking someone three years older than me, and he’s prostrate on the ground.

  Just before the two of them jump me, the siren kicks in. We all fall to the floor, hands over our ears. Damn sound system!

  Everything else plays out the way it always does. A chat with Vaalsie, the supervisor, a gray-templed character with an ugly personality. The tall, thin old man knows what’s going on in the orphanage, but he skirts the letter of the law and does nothing. Even if that makes things worse for him. The collectors give him a share of the “harvest,” and he gives them cover when they need it.

  After we watch the recording, which shows me attacking the three older kids first, Vaalsie gives me the standard punishment: four extra hours of schooling. The three collectors get two each.

  “You’re dead, tiny! We’ll have you pissing blood,” their leader says, covering his crotch reflexively.

  A radiant smile is my only answer. A long time ago, I figured out that the unknown is scarier than a durasteel pipe. They’re hard to get into the orphanage, though, of course, I’m always happy to get my hands on a new one if I have to.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Schooling is easy, so that was fine. Just like the last time, I could’ve passed the exams ahead of time and forgotten about the lessons, leaving me with extra free time to spend however I want. Those are the rules here in the orphanage. When you don’t have anything to do or anyone to do it with, studying is easy.

  I just ate and slept, so I’m not tired. The fight was predictable, but now I have more important things on my plate. I walk over to my locker and take off everything that gives away the fact that I belong to the orphanage, hiding my city clothes on the outside. Then, I take off my virtual reality contact lenses. Nobody can find me now unless I want them to. The emergency tracker only kicks in when there’s a mortal threat or the owner activates it.

  A year ago, I found a way into an area the kids aren’t supposed to be in. The space port is a separate sector that not even all adults are permitted to visit. Nobody inside is checked, it’s just really hard to get in. First, I stole some goods and sold them on the lower levels, but when the dock workers caught me, they surprised me by not reporting me to security. Sure, I got why they didn’t, though things took a turn I didn’t like in the least. They asked me to work off the losses I’d caused them.

  The first few months were tricky, though by now, I’m glad things turned out the way they did. The dock workers are the family I never got to have—strict, hard-working, fair. I’ve learned everything they’ve been willing to teach me, I’ve done every job they’ve asked me to do. All I wanted to do was pay off my debt, since it was an affront to the people I care about, and I just wanted it gone. When I told the dock workers how I felt, they gave me a word to describe that feeling: shame. Thankfully, that’s all in the past. We’ve been even for three months now. When I paid everything off, the dock workers helped me open an anonymous wallet, and now I get a little something for doing the jobs none of the genies want to do. That’s what the dock workers are called.

  “Remember, you always need to have an advantage when you’re fighting a stronger opponent. Always. Always control the situation.”

  “What if there are several of them?” Far from a rhetorical question for me.

  “Split them up, pit them against each other, make sure they can’t come after you at the same time. Create an advantage for yourself.”

  “But how?”

  “That’s your problem. If you really want to, you’ll find a solution. Remember, it’s always there, and there’s always more than one, no matter how cornered you feel.”

  Galboa’s an electric engineer for small space ships, and his advice is always top of the line. I have no intention of ever telling him that I consider him a kind of surrogate father. At least, he’s what the father of my dreams would look like. I don’t have a mother, but I do have a family, and my future is here. The dock hands are who I’ve always looked for.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “…”

  “Never give up. There’s always a way.”

  We’re talking the way we always do at work. Galboa is a communication electronics specialist, and he was the one who insisted that I pay them back for what I stole. His build is average, he’s swarthy, and he always has that damn prickly, black beard. With his work outfit and bunch of tools, he even looks like a terrorist from one of the old movies. He was from the orphanage, too, and he’s made it all the way to the third citizenship level. Three levels above mine!

  Sometimes, the older kids try to follow me, but I always know how to shake them. Nobody is ever going to find the way here, my way home.

  Galboa’s son Finx sometimes drops by to see how his dad’s doing, and we quickly became friends. He’s three years older than me. Fifteen! I’ve only ever felt like a kid around him, and he’s the only one I’ve ever played with. He knows how to fight without weapons, so that’s what we spend our time doing. He teaches me new strikes. I memorize them. We spar at half-strength. Finx instilled in me the habit of always doing my exercises every day, slowly building the intensity. For us, it’s fun; for Galboa, it’s a joy for the eyes. I’m not very emotional, but I’m great at sensing what other people are feeling. And Galboa is always happy when we’re playing down at the docks. Finx told me that I’m a good student, that I’m almost perfect. He has no idea, though.

  He fights to have fun; for me, it’s survival. Galboa probably gets it, though he’s never said anything. I have to fight back at the orphanage all the time. Whatever Finx teaches me, I’m always working on it. I’m not very talented, and I don’t have access to the infonet, but my memory is excellent.

  The day’s work began like it always does except, the somber brigadier came looking for me as soon as I got to the docks. I’ve never liked how serious he is. And as soon as I showed up, the workers all turned sour and fell silent.

/>   “Hi, Anji. Listen up.” His eyes fall. “Galboa was hit by a flame from the nozzle—the whole right side of his body is scorched, and they had to amputate his arm. He won’t be working here anymore. Now, there’s an inspection, so they’re examining everything and looking for something. You should make yourself scarce around here for a while.”

  My world collapses.

  How could god allow something so unfair to happen? Everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d ever had, everything I’d achieved, all of it was gone. Without bothering to listen to the rest of his speech, I change and head back through the ventilation tunnel. Strangely enough, I’m not crying. When I crawl out in our sector, local security grabs me immediately—they pulled all the tapes from the dock cameras. They haven’t found anything about me working with the dock hands, and I’m not about to say anything, but just the fact that I broke into a closed sector is already a crime. When the inspector stops spitting and trying to scare me, I look him evenly in the eye and say nothing. What do his threats mean to me?

  Vaalsie shows up. After a quick conversation with the inspector, he turns to me.

  “Half a year with no trips to the city. You’ll stay right here in the orphanage, and any attempt to leave will land you without access to the network until your time’s up.” The supervisor is dry, paying no attention to my indifference.

  “…”

  “Are you satisfied with the punishment?” Vaalsie asks the inspector.

  “Completely. It’ll be a lesson to him.”

  “Head into the orphanage,” the supervisor says, turning back to me.

  Back in the building, I lie down in my capsule and fall asleep. Sleep is the best medicine.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Eliza was reading Anji’s dossier. It turned out that the boy had been fighting off attacks from his peers on a continual basis. He never played, and he ignored the interest other children took in their games. Judging by the recordings, there were points when Anji talked superbly, more on the level of a sixteen-to eighteen-year-old than a twelve-year-old. The other kids were drawn to him. He didn’t push for leadership, but everybody else was only too ready to listen. Complex topics were broken down in a way the other kids could explain, he often used examples, and, in a word, he didn’t behave very childlike. For some reason, after switching groups, he stopped talking. That day, Eliza found out that he’d been heading over to the space port sector for a while. He hadn’t said anything, sticking to habit, and the supervisor didn’t ask him any questions. Eliza figured she needed to dig deeper into the material she’d collected before she could understand the taciturn child. That was the only way she could put together a plan for his social adaptation, and she ignored her cup of coffee as she read.