Crimson Dawn

In front of a ten-meter-high gate, two guards searched through his backpack. Inside, they found only a thermos filled with cold water, two protein bars and his mother's picture book. The guards waved him through.

The space beyond was vast, brightly lit and built of glass and steel, spanning several hundred square meters. It was packed with busy corporate employees and grimy prisoners, all hoping to escape their misery here. The line for registration stretched all the way to the entrance. The boy passed by it, dodging a cleaning bot and climbed the glass steps to an elevated platform where a three-person news crew from Vega Prime was checking their equipment.

He paused at the top step, staring at these foreign citizens, who almost seemed like a different species of human altogether. The reporter had perfectly styled hair, gleaming white teeth, and an airy grace as though she were used to floating in the low gravity of Vega Prime.

For a moment, he continued to study her made-up face; he'd never seen anything so beautiful. It seemed almost unnatural. After a while, he circled around the group, keeping a wide distance and stepped up to the large panoramic window. Surrounded by towering buildings and rotating wind turbines, the spaceport lay directly in his view. Flags bearing the company logo flapped high on poles at every corner of the square. Ground vehicles drove back and forth, unloading cargo from the belly of the LEVIATHAN. Mostly fuel tanks, oil, medical supplies, and new personnel disembarked. Meanwhile, in the opposite direction, the vehicles loaded raw and precious metals, gemstones, platinum, everything valuable that the prisoners had scraped off the moon's crust over the past four years, all bound for Cetos V.

About thirty spaceship mechanics and technicians were inspecting the freighter’s port side. They worked both on the ground and on cranes suspended in the air. Guards with assault rifles slung over their shoulders patrolled the area, stopping at assigned positions. All the people and vehicles below were just tiny dots in the landscape compared to the enormous size of the LEVIATHAN.

"Excuse me?"

Lex suddenly noticed a circle of condensation on the window, exactly where his face had been. He turned toward the sound of a woman's voice. It was the news reporter from Vega Prime.

"What’s your name?"

His heart pounded wildly with excitement.

"Lex Marrow," he said.

"Alright, Lex. Stay right here for a moment."

"I can’t. I need to sign up for the Selection Program."

"I said stay right here."

Someone from the news team pointed a sunshade directly at him, blinding him for a second. "A little to the right," said the cameraman, looking through the viewfinder. The reporter placed her perfectly manicured fingers around his dirty shoulders, pulling him somewhat reluctantly closer.

"Right there. Don’t move, kid."

Lex glanced over at the cameraman.

"Ready, Gin?"

"Always."

"But—" the boy started.

"Alright. Camera’s rolling in three, two, one..."

"Greetings and prosperity, citizens of Vega Prime. My name is Ginger North, and welcome to First News, live. It's Thursday, and we’re here at the Administration Complex on Limbo Two, where the colony’s Selection Program is taking place. It's a first for us, as we’re here on one of the moons to get a direct look at life here. And if I take a look around, dear viewers, I don’t see any misery, contrary to what the despicable Crimson Dawn would have you believe. I see young, energetic faces and well-trained men and women, full of hope and hard work.

With these impressions, we reveal the truth, dear viewers, and it’s nothing like the picture the terrorists try to paint. Standing beside me is a young moon resident named Rex Sparrow, and with his help, we’ll debunk the arguments Crimson Dawn uses to justify their atrocities—especially the recent attack on the Ataris Spaceport last week. Let’s begin: Rex, what’s life like here on the moon?"

He stared stiffly into the black camera lens. His heart pounded even harder at the thought that everyone in Vega Prime was watching him right now. For the first time in his life, he felt the discomfort of stage fright. It was like a black hole swallowing his thoughts.

"I…"

The microphone Ginger North was holding under his nose might as well have been a fully charged plasma rifle—it put him under the same pressure to give the answer the corporation wanted.

"Isn’t it beautiful here?" Ginger North pressed him.

"Without somethin' to compare it to, it’s hard to say what it’s like here," he replied. "Maybe ask me again when I’m in Vega Prime."

"Cut," the cameraman said. "You know what you’re supposed to say."

"I thought this was live," the boy said.

"We just tell people that because live sounds more exciting. But if we filmed live, we'd get garbage like what you just said."

"I’m not doing this," the boy replied. "I need to go sign up for the test."

"Oh, you’re doing this," the beautiful reporter suddenly snapped.

"So, let's start over. And this time, with the right answers. Oh, and by the way, Ginger, his name’s Marrow, not Sparrow. We’re journalists, after all. Gotta get all the facts straight."

******

Late that evening, Lex returned to the bartender's apartment. Milky daylight filtered through the corner window. The heating was either off or broken. His sleeping spot was a thin cloth blanket next to the kitchenette, but he didn’t mind. His thoughts were consumed by the Selection Program. He mentally replayed every question. What’s a hybrid engine? Define mechanical work. What are the primary factors affecting engine performance? It had gone surprisingly well—better than he’d hoped. Lying on his back, he adjusted his sagging backpack beneath his head as a pillow. He shivered in the cold, staring up at the metal ceiling, his eyes drifting between exposed cables and dripping pipes hidden in shadows.

Tomorrow, the winner will be announced.

It’ll be me.

I know it.

And the day after, I’ll be gone from here forever.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and in his dreams, he found himself aboard the LEVIATHAN with Tayus and Mori.

Just before dawn, six uniformed men stormed into the apartment. One aimed a rifle at Lex and barked something he didn’t quite catch—still half asleep and confused. The lights were on now, harsh and blinding.

"Get up," one of the men ordered.

"What’s going on?" Lex asked groggily.

The guard raised his rifle. "I said get up."

Still disoriented, Lex slowly rose to his feet.

"Turn around."

The corporate logo gleamed on the chest plates of the guards. Lex turned, still half-dazed—but now it was sinking in. The arrival of these men wasn’t a good sign. One of them cuffed his wrists and jabbed the barrel of his rifle into Lex’s back, pushing him toward his boots, gesturing for him to put them on.

"What did I even do?" he shouted.

"You know exactly what you did."

"It’s not my fault that idiot drove into the Radiation Zones!" Lex yelled.

"You’ll be brought before a judge," one of the guards said coldly. "You’re being charged with collaborating with the FLD resistance. Unless you can prove otherwise, the penalty is death."