Avalon, English Republic

Date 200 years AE (After Evacuation)

Introduction

Suspended, stagnant and cold, high above the earth, yet still overshadowed by the orbital ring, a droplet formed. It was mostly water, some acid, a little soot, a hint of radioactivity. It vibrated as if shivering, jostled, bumped into other particles, and gently grew. Its weight tugged at it slowly, moving it imperceptibly lower. As it descended it gathered mass and speed eventually breaking away from the greater body and making its slow, winding way towards the earth. Had it been able to see the ground below as a human might, it would have seen dark rolling hills surrounding a valley, filled with the beige muted, decomposing relics of its decadent past. The columns and capitols, rotted thin and eaten by the weather; now turned to smooth toothy stalactites, losing their battle to convince the world that they ever really supported the building as their ancient predecessors had. Their now blank faces belying their age and the truth of their purpose.

The droplet, twisting, turning, stretching, being in the same moment both broken and whole, the wind lapping at its surface stretching its delicate skin, persuading it to split, gather, collect and reform. Ending as something completely different from that which had coalesced in the mother cloud, each and every particle exchanged for another as it grew closer to the ground. On its journey it had become something much more interesting, darker, malignant even. No longer was it rain, not the kind that you might collect, that gives life, nurtures, is rejoiced. Subtly poisonous, a grey, rainbow scummed, caustic jewel. Its path towards the ground truncated at the last by the walkway’s dull mildewed sheet of Diaglass. The impact sending off a shower of fine grey droplets that burst upwards before finally merging into rivulets that ran out and onto the roads to be swallowed up, passing through first the new, and subsequent ancient drainage system. Finally, to be poured into the dead embrace of the swift flowing river Avon that bisected the elderly city.

It had always been a place to recuperate, heal, gamble, “take in the waters”, and so it had remained in spite of the evacuation. Over the centuries the city had retained its smaller size, more so now; a diminished population, expensive yet surplus housing and lack of employment had seen to that. It continued to attract tourists, who still came for the architecture, the history, and the thriving Dermis industry to which it attributed its current level of wealth and opulence.

Following the Great Evacuation, those who remained on Earth were drawn to its cities out of necessity. This sparse population, a remnant of the community that was before, congregated in the centres of these cities. Laws were more readily enforced in the densely populated areas, in contrast to the wilder territories away from the cities and major transit routes. Communities did exist in these areas, but after the evacuation, the differences, and distinctions between them grew, as did their isolation.

There were those who chose, for whatever reason to stay separate, recoiling from the pre-evacuation ideas of what a society was or should be. These groups were grudgingly allowed to make their own way in the world, they existed on the margins: the suburbs, farms, the insignificant and apparently abandoned villages. These people became known as “Seccists” and were equally feared and revered for their singular ideas and sense of purpose. They were isolated, and fiercely guarded their communities. Contact with the Sec was rare as they would seldom trade with the outside world. Traders would instead try, sometimes over generations to forge links with these communities, in order to a acquire arcane goods and services that had largely been lost to the depths of space and the passage of time.

In the decades that had followed the discovery of the second planet, the rush to leave and make a fresh start had proven overwhelming. A global sense of purpose emerged as space travel became a reality, along with stasis and the development of Dermis. The evacuation itself had a profound and unprecedented effect on the majority of the Earth’s peoples. Caution was thrown to the wind, the last vestiges of the earth’s dwindling ecology were collected, stored, and abandoned with the countless other extinctions, awaiting a resurgence that was unlikely to ever arrive. A slumbering time capsule, buried in a tomb deep under the polar ice and rock.

The Earth’s crust was systematically reduced to its base elements, packaged, and hoisted into space. So much was taken that the effect on the planet’s gravity was measurable. Due to the loss of plant life, the ecosystem became sluggish, the seas and great forests no longer capable of sustaining life. Our great innovators built the planet an iron lung, a network of air makers, to allow the earth to limp on. Mercifully, these were built to last and have been fiercely and lovingly maintained by the air towns that grew up around them. Soaking up the benefits of the cleaner air, these also became the major cities, trading posts and fortresses of the post evacuation world.

Here, in this river worn gem of a city the people breathe bad air and dodge poison rain, the privileged few are reliant on what seems to be mankind’s salvation, but the price of salvation is high and life here is cheap.

Chapter 1: Dal

The corridor leading to the staff exit seemed to stretch away from Dal as he pressed on quietly through the waiting room, past the front desk at which Tansie sat. She looked nothing like the plain girl Tamsin from the “meet and greet” earlier in the year.

The faithfully restored cornicing in the Georgian style, and the picture rail complete with reproduction Gainsborough gave the surgery a sense of history, made it solid and real. The high-end look encouraged trust, confidence and assured the clients as to the exclusivity of the treatments. The lucky few who set themselves apart from the majority through the Dermis treatment. The majority whose skin remained exposed and damaged by the constant radiation bombardment, were “Skins”. The closest that a Skin would get to the feeling of a Dermis would be in a high-risk occupation. These might require thick dermal overalls and suits, that would provide an acceptable level of protection to the wearer and a slower death. A world away from the work done in the surgery.

Dal opened the door and emerged onto the wet street, glancing at the sky he noticed the ring, clearly visible through the gaps in the purple and blue rain clouds. The precision of the ring as it stretched from horizon to horizon never seemed commonplace; the way it reflected the light and shimmered both day and night. In the city, the long, glass covered walkways echoed the ring's shape and overbearing presence, supplying the irony and completing the sad scene. Much of the earth’s atmosphere had been compromised in the ring's creation and the subsequent evacuation, leading to the necessity of walkways and canopies as protection from solar and stellar radiation. Dal rubbed the smooth patch on his forearm at the thought of the damage he had seen done by the radiation. As he did so, ever so briefly the sun broke through the clouds, colour crept back in with the change in the light, reflecting the entire street in shallow oily puddles. A wave of sadness and longing to step outside and feel the warmth washed over him. He shook himself as if to break the spell of the primal urge, sighed, looked at his wet, worn shoes, then focussed on the journey home.

It wasn't that the people in the city were unfriendly, quite the opposite, but the whole place left Dal cold. He held a deep suspicion that the friendliness was somehow plastic and insincere. He had tried to rationalise these thoughts time after time. He had struggled to read emotions from childhood. There had always been a delay in his ability to understand faces. He knew what the emotions looked like and had no problem expressing himself, but when it came to other peoples' there was a pause. Just long enough for an expression to change, or for it to appear as if he was staring. Dal liked to imagine that his mind was performing a kind of analysis, searching for the closest match, mapping the result always too slowly to the now changing face in front of him.

It was through this deep necessity to look that Dal had discovered his gift for detail; looking deeply and recognising the minute qualities that distinguished one similar item from another. This had led him into the sciences as a child, he enjoyed lab work; inspecting slides, differentiating one growth pattern from another. At college his talents were recognised by Dr Newman, an up-and-coming Dermal Specialist, who taught in the evenings and worked for Lendl and Co. during the day. She had involved Dal in her research and subsequently persuaded the company to apprentice him to her.

Dermal science was not by any means new, it was a science which had been lost both through the Evacuation and in the destruction of London and other key cities shortly afterwards.

Dermis had promised to be the salvation of the remaining peoples on earth, it was hoped that the effects of radiation, over-exploitation of resources and poisoned atmosphere would be negated through the development of the second skin. Generations ago the promise of health, property, longevity and comfort had been enough to persuade the remaining billion or so people to stay on earth and build a new planet from what remained. Advances in dermal technology had allowed humans to exist virtually anywhere on the planet. Dermals were developed that could nourish, cleanse, and protect the body. Humans could adapt their appearance, and tailor a skin to its environment. ExDremis had developed the technology and closely guarded their creation, controlling the market, their skins, individually coded to individuals' DNA which bonded with the host to create a Meta-organ. The applications of the technology seemed limitless, with its creators supplying the basic product free of charge. This became commonly known as a “Spray” and took one month to reach full functionality. Almost overnight the world changed, common health problems disappeared, and the diagnosis and treatment of diseases became relatively easy via the Dermis. Humans became more resilient, in turn longevity increased leading to the population boom of the late twenty first century. Of course, ExDremis countered the surge in population through free contraception as the new standard in later Sprays. This “option” could be only removed through governmental approval and a visit to an ExDremis reprogramming facility.

People were happy, the population stabilised, war on an international scale and hunger became a thing of the past, humanity began to look outward into space with a new confidence.

Looking once again at the ring before moving ahead, Dal continued on his way back to his apartment. He thought ahead to the meal he would prepare on his return. He had bought in flour and some real butter at great expense. He planned to include a small crust of pastry in his supper. The last time he had eaten pastry was at the company banquet earlier in the year, he had enjoyed the small Vol-au-vent with the creamy Mushroom filling and had craved both the taste and texture ever since. He passed a group of people standing in a huddle, talking, and laughing with each other. He noticed that they were all young “Skins” and were already showing the effects of radiation on their bodies; patches of freckles, joining up across the tops of their cheek bones, ears and noses. There was a certain attractiveness about the damage patterns at a younger age, it made the people appear ruddy and healthy as he imagined farmers might have looked in the twentieth century. This was however a passing phase. The freckles would in time turn slowly and almost imperceptibly to blisters, moles, lesions and eventually cancers. Maybe the shortened life spans of the poor made them embrace life in a different way, take themselves less seriously. Seeing them was a bitter reminder of the inequality of the situation and to his surprise, he caught himself feeling jealous. That couldn't be right though, he would never be one of them. He would eventually be promoted by the company and receive a Dermis of his own, a thin protective layer, nothing fancy. More of a way of the company protecting its investment than a caring gesture. Of course, the receptionists were immediately given Neck-Up spray jobs, with corrective implants to ensure that the company presented the correct face to the public. In return, the company would be allowed to fit a sub dermal tracking device, ensuring that the employee would complete the minimum five-year contract. The dermis was also equipped with a nano clock that could withdraw nutrients from the dermis and needed to be updated at the surgery to prevent this from happening. Receptionists tended to be extremely polite, single, and highly motivated toward the completion of their contract. They viewed the job as an investment, knowing that at the end of the contract they could opt to either upgrade their dermis and sign a new contract or have the kill switch deactivated and leave the company with their beauty intact. Some left soon after and settled into higher powered positions, a few maybe as partners to the wealthy, some became models, entered society, or worked for the broadcasting networks. The image of the flawless news reader was very powerful and attractive. Jobs in the surgeries and clinics were highly sought after. Those chosen tended to be impressive even before the Neck-Up, they were highly educated, usually tall, personable, and organised. The receptionists were almost a class of their own, with their own social circles and hang outs. Importantly they were seen as rare objects by men and women, unobtainable, perfect. Dal knew that even though he might one day become comfortably wealthy, he would never reach the sort of status to socialise with that kind of woman. He wondered if he might like to, toyed with the idea for a while and then decided that it seemed like a lot of work.

The rain had begun falling again, the images in the puddles blurred as the illusion of a reflected world disappeared in the ripples and splashes. The drizzling misty rain had combined with a low cloud to create a thickening mist which reduced the visibility to about four meters. Figures passed Dal along the walkways; the pale golden sandstone that bore the city's name combined with the low level daylight LEDs that lit the city casting a warming sepia glow. Faces, often hooded caught the light as people made their way about the city, approaching Dal suddenly like warm wraiths out of the mist and then vanishing just as quickly. Dal always tried to avoid making eye contact as they passed him, not really knowing whether to smile, nod or acknowledge the other person. Also, there was the possibility that one of the faces might belong to one of the older citizens, those who had already been disfigured and scarred by the radiation. They always came as a shock owing to them rarely venturing out during the day. Their faces didn't match up with Dal's internal catalogue, they were too different, too shocking. Some had lost skin across the whole centre of their face. Others had lost eyes due to repeated cataract operations and tumours. The result of cheap surgeries designed to prolong life by maybe a few years, performed in back street clinics by unqualified generational surgeons. These used well proven but basic techniques that had been passed down. That kind of service was unregulated, and also quite legal because serious infection had become a thing of the past. The worlds' bacteria had themselves been intentionally infected, re-engineered to become harmless to humans. Dal wondered if living with such deformity along with the poverty was really worth the effort. Another figure emerged from the mist travelling faster than the rest. He sped up in order to get between Dal and an upright support. As the stranger dodged to avoid the post, Dal caught sight of its arm, something wet and dark, then felt its contact as he barged through the opening. 'Careful', Dal said as his body was forced sideways, he turned, shrugged, thought nothing of it and continued on his way.

Dal reached his building and walked up the stairs that bridged the gap between the upper and lower apartments to his shared front door. He turned the key whilst pulling the old door slightly and the lock clicked open. The warm glow from the landing greeted him. The apartment had the same high ceilings as those of the surgery, but the décor was much more dilapidated. It had once been a fine Georgian town house and had five storeys, later in its life amongst other things it had been student accommodation, then a dentists and now private apartments. The maintenance of the building was jointly paid for by the owners, but times being as they were this was very basic. The roof didn’t leak, and the plumbing worked fine, but the plaster work and flooring of the landings and stairways was a low priority and gave the place a shabby chic look. If you could say anything about the building it would be that it had retained its character. Dal climbed the stairs to his apartment on the first floor, found his key again and opened the door. He walked into the dark apartment fumbling with his gloves whilst trying to take off his coat. In doing this he felt a prickling sensation in his forearm. This was odd, as feelings from those particular parts of his body were unusual due to the Dermis patches. He managed to take his coat off and entered his room. The room was dark and cold but smelled like home. Turning the light on he felt the sensation in his arm again. Removing his gloves and rolling his sleeve up he saw what looked like a small scratch on the Dermis. Around the scratch, the area seemed to be slightly raised and reddened. Also, the patch felt itchy. For the first time.

Chapter 2: Brin

Brin considered (not for the first time) that he had not made the journey to the city alone. A creeping suspicion that he was being followed had haunted him all the way from the colony. Being initiated into the order had been a lifetime's work, a labour of love with lies as its foundation and revenge at its heart.

Brin's parents had been young when they had joined the colony. As first-generation Sec folk they were not entitled to the benefits he had himself enjoyed. He had seen his parents age in front of him while the elders of the group senior to his parents by over seventy years held their youth. Men and women stood by and watched as his parents became more infirm, the radiation slowly killing them. They weathered this lack of attention stoically and saw it as a sacrifice that they were both prepared to make for their son. This was the sacrifice that all first-generation settlers in the Alpha colony had to make, a long initiation which ended in death. They were deeply and sincerely mourned; this process gave way to Brin's own pre-initiation ceremony a week after his father's death. His father had clung onto life for five years after his mother was taken by the radiation. Brin was forced to wait and watch powerlessly as others in the colony received treatments that would have certainly saved both his parents, potentially even extending their lives by fifty years or more. The reverence with which the colony treated this initiation of sacrifice was the closest thing that Brin had seen to religion in his lifetime. Following his parents' deaths, they were buried in the garden of the house that they had made their own and were worshipped there at their family shrine as saviours. Each family had made their own sacrifices to the colony as a rite of passage, a way of paying your dues and demonstrating their commitment to the colony and the keeping of its secrets.

Following his fathers' death Brin had been inducted fully into the community and received his sacramental skin. Words were read, oaths were taken, then the long and sacred process began.

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