THE CRIMSON SANDS- JIMMY

Jimmy

Jimmy was running. The damp smell of rotting tree-bark and grass spelled death. They were hunting him down like a wild animal. Out of breath, he still could not help a smile. Jimmy had never seen a wild animal in his life.
The dim electric lights were reflected hundreds of feet above him in the Dome of Baddhaka. He was in the gardens now, right below the Citadel. Vegetation was grown here, protected by the multilayered glass from the magnetic storms and the poisons in the atmosphere.

It was but the tip of the iceberg. More than nine tenths of Baddhaka lay buried under the red soil, where fifteen thousand people struggled to make a living in this harsh wasteland of a planet. Access to the Dome gardens was a restricted luxury. Jimmy was trespassing.

He crossed a cobbled lane and hid behind a plastic arbour. He caught a whiff of roses in the stale air. Then there was the faint noise of footsteps. They were coming for him.
The huge cylinder of the Citadel used to be a com tower for a peaceful space agency. Over the course of the last decade it had been turned into the Chairman’s base of operations. Jimmy approached the tower’s reflection pool and drank quietly from the water.
Water was a thing of true importance in Badhhaka, along with weapons and the colour of your skin. Whites never set foot in Little Mexico. Blacks got the beating of a lifetime round the Dome or the outer quarters. They often found some unfortunate bastard depressurized outside a gate just for winding up in the wrong neighborhood. After the illusion of control over the colonies had completely disappeared ten years ago, this city had turned into a racist cesspool of crime, poverty and contempt where people were respected only for the number of kills they held to their name.
Jimmy was black. The whites never lay hand on him, though. He had the protection of their Chairman himself- Jimmy had been helping him fuel his drug network with humanitarian aid from the nearby city of Agrayaman. The Mexicas of Little Mexico did not bother him either because he provided them with medicine. The blacks mostly respected Jimmy because he stood up for them. He was keeping a desperate balance over the abyss and he knew the writing was on the wall. Finally, this morning, a deal went South and turned Jimmy into a persona non grata in the whole colony.

Colonies. More like huge prison camps, really. The whole purpose of humans coming to this piece of rock was fabricated over a simple and absurd concept those greedy CEO’s had managed to put together. If at any point in history there were a scientific breakthrough- let’s say a cold fusion engine- that could transport a huge chunk from the Asteroid Belt to Earth orbit where it could be safely developed, a corporation would want to own the first outpost close enough to the Belt to explore, chart and beat the competition. Of course, Mars was the obvious pick. It was a “We-don’t-know-if-we’d-ever-use-this-but-we’d-like-to-be-there- first-just-to-expand-our-options” type of concept. The world had come to see corporations commissioning governments in stead of the other way round. India had the best bid.
While everyone else was racing to harvest the Moon’s lush energy and water potential, India made it to Mars with three hundred men and women aboard four ships. They built the Dome of Agrayaman and went on to expand into the other outposts- Venya Parvata and Baddhaka. For a while nobody cared. Two scientists- an Englishman and a Sikh- discovered something extraordinary on one of their probe drills. There was no life on Mars. But there had been.
Tiny micro organisms had thrived in the rigid atmosphere for millions of years and then- just like that- gone extinct. Buried under the ever-shifting Martian soil and sand and transformed by pressure and time their remains had formed enormous and appetizing deposits of the purest petrol. Alien petrol.
Of course the presence of oil fifty-five million kilometres from the nearest gas station had no immediate impact on interplanetary space travel and commerce. But the discovery showed the Martian colonies had the potential to grow in confident self- sufficiency, to produce what they need solely by harvesting their own resources. All they needed was people and people were what Earth had in excess.

There was no wind on the citadel roof. The weather simulator had broken down months ago and there was no one who still remembered how to fix it. Now the days were hot and wet but come nightfall cold took over with devastating winds that howled through the corridors and bridges of the whole city. There were no more bums loitering around the Dome- they were all found stiff dead with icicles hanging from their noses. Jimmy remembered seeing one of them- his eyes had popped like frozen eggshells with the first rays of morning.
He could see the whole park from here. Neatly designed shrubs formed the silhouettes of four elephants round the corners. Red cobbles formed a sign in an unknown script in the alleyways. Jimmy knew it was Sanskrit for “Life has no end.” Jimmy knew the reflection pool in the middle symbolized a great tortoise that was said to have borne the homeworld upon its massive shell. The founders of this settlement had an image of a bright future on this planet. Things seldom work out the way we want them to.

Millions of immigrants crowded the space agencies of old Earth. Even the newly formed Mexica Confederacy had a launch site established in Yucatan. As they flooded the cities of Mars the Hispanics dug out their own neighbourhoods and named them New Mexico even though there were people among them from anywhere between Arizona and Venezuela.
The American government bought off all the shares of the space-faring Indians- a decision that drained too much of their financial resources and ultimately led to the secession of the South West. It later joined the ranks of the Mexica Confederacy after a bloody and relentless Civil War. The world saw the abrupt end of Mumbai’s program of scientific interest, a vision of wisdom and peace for the human race. The Indians on Mars and their supporters called themselves “the Harapan” and fled deep under their own cities, driven down alongside their drills into the least desirable realm of eternal darkness and the noxious smell of alien oil. If anyone was inconsiderate enough to venture into their dwelling- space they did not return to tell of their journey.

The pinnacle of the glass Dome was but a few feet over his head now. There was a small metal ladder leading to an invisible hatch. Jimmy knew for a fact there was a set of fifteen well-preserved External Habitat Suits beyond that hatch. His plan was to slip one on and take his chances outside, in the hope of reaching the docks on the cliff-side five miles out. If his oxygen supply was enough he would be able to stowaway on a freighter to Venya Parvata.
He was halfway up the ladder when he noticed the black man with the gun. His hair was trimmed short and a line over his left temple was shaved clean- the recognition mark of his gang. Silver earrings adorned his ears.

“Hello, Jimmy.”, said the armed man.
Jimmy froze for a second and then he said with a dry mouth:
“How’s it hangin’, Leroy?”
“That’s not my name anymore, man. You know that.”
“Oh, yeah, my bad. You’re Abdul Said now, aren’t you? Tell me, Abdul- are you really going to shoot me?”
Abdul stepped ever closer:
“You betrayed us, Jimmy. You sold us out!”
“Your boss is the actual traitor here.”
“Do not speak of Mustafa Ali this way! He did so much for our community.”
“Of course. He gave a few youngsters like you selected readings of the Koran and handed you weapons.”
“We had to protect ourselves.”
“Don’t you see? Nobody gives a shit about you! Or me... We’re all dogs set against one another, set to kill each other, till there’s nobody left. Mustafa Ali and the Chairman are using this race thing to their own ends and the Mexicas are no different. It’s all about energy and oxygen supply, man. You know how much oxygen is required to support a living human being every day?”
“No. How much?”
“A lot more than a dead one.”
Jimmy went for the glass hatch above him; Abdul stepped forward and cocked his pistol:
“Don’t even think about it.”
Jimmy only laughed and climbed up the ladder. The pistol went off and his right kneecap exploded in a cloud of bone and blood. Shrieking, Jimmy fell back down to the rooftop in a puddle of blood.
“God damn it!” he screamed and tears of pain glistened in his eyes. “They brainwashed you good.”
Abdul crouched over him:
“Why did you betray us, Jimmy? The Chairman gave you that morphine for us. We were going to give you many batteries for it, freshly charged. You had to go on and just give it for free to the Mexicas.
“They had kids, damn it. Sick kids, Abdul!”
“There are sick black kids as well, man. Besides, what use is the morphine to them? They’re all dead anyway.”
“But they were dying in great pain.”
“Well, since it’s so honourable to save a dead man his suffering…” said Abdul and pressed the barrel of his weapon against Jimmy’s forehead.” Goodbye, old friend.”

Jimmy desperately clang on to that last word:

“That’s right! I am your friend. That’s why they sent you to find me and you did. We grew up together, man- back on the leaper that got us to this God- forsaken piece of rock.”
The Muslim paused; then he tucked his pistol away with a sigh and shook his head:
“We are still friends. But my name is Abdul now. Do not speak. I must think of a way to hide you.”


Jimmy was only ten when he got on the leaper ship and was well into his puberty when he arrived in Mars orbit. By that time he and Leroy were already best friends. They often spoke of all those infants born on board who had to stay behind because their spine and their muscles could never survive the descent. There must have been hundreds of them. Sky Children, they called them. Jimmy thought about those children a lot while he was growing up and sought out their shiny stations in the night sky aided by the telescopes at the Observatory while it was still operational. His mother used to work there. She was the last of the scientists.
“I buried her two years ago, right?” said One-eye Rodriguez and took another photo. “I remember well.”
Jimmy shook his head. One-eye was the most notorious, stinking sewer-rat of a lowlife in the whole city. He used to be a rover driver until a rushed decompression cost him his eye. He was now the one to haul full body bags out of the city, right up to the docks and throw them off the cliff and into the black abyss. In some kind of tribute to the tombstones back on Earth he stapled Polaroids to the vinyl.
“Not that anyone is going to recognize them in the darkness.” he would say and his thin lips would stretch into an ugly smile. “But it soothes the soul, hermanito.”
Jimmy was assigning all his slush fund credits to a girl from Agrayaman he used to date. There was not much else to put in order so he cleaned his email inbox and closed all his accounts. He hated leaving unfinished business.
“It’s time”, said Abdul.
Jimmy knew there was no point in begging. The Baddhaka Muslims cared too much about honor and justice as twisted as it might be. They were absolutely loyal to their leaders.

Rodriguez giggled.

“Get out!”- hissed Abdul. Jimmy helped himself up with a crutch. The caretaker of Baddhaka went out and closed the hatch behind him.

Abdul made sure One-eye had gone and lowered his pistol with a smile:
“Finally! I thought he’d never leave us.”
Jimmy made an effort to open his sticky lips:
“What?”
“Believe it or not, I got some Harapan fellas owe me big. They promised to take you in until this whole thing blows over. I bet you’d be as blind as a mole by the time you get out but at least you’d be alive.”
“What?”
“You have my word. I’ll try to get you access to some transport as soon as I can. But right now we must go.”
Jimmy could not conceal his lack of trust. Abdul shrugged, pulled out his pistol and released the magazine. The bullets clacked on the floor one by one.
“I’m truly sorry about the knee. They would not have let me take you out of the Dome gardens any other way.”
They laughed a nervous laugh for quite some time. Jimmy embraced his friend and went for an open hatch. As he limped down with the help of his crutch Jimmy smiled over his shoulder:
“Honestly, Abdul, you had me fooled there…”
Abdul took aim and squeezed the trigger. The single bullet left in the chamber went through the back of Jimmy’s head. The breathless body fell to the ground with a gooey sound.
Abdul stood there expressionless.

“Let me axe you something, vato” said Rodriguez as he was unfolding a vinyl bag with a shoulder against the door. “You have no friends down there with them vaqueros, do ya?”
“I have no friends. Not anymore.”
“Least he went happy. Some consider that mercy.”
One-eye giggled, took a machete from his belt and chopped off what used to be Jimmy’s hand at the wrist. He took the gold watch and wiped off the blood with a piece of cloth.
“What in hell are you doing?” cried out Abdul.
“What? Sorry, did you want it?”
The Muslim just shook his head. He kneeled and tore off a thin leather band from Jimmy’s neck. There was a wooden cross hanging on it, protected by a glass locket.
“That’s a nice trophy. Wood. Way more valuable than gold.”
Abdul failed to answer. He put the crucifix away and phoned in to report the job done.
He returned to his room in the slums. Through the miniature window he could see the hexes of the docks, as if set ablaze by the bronze rays of the setting sun. Beyond them lay and endless crimson desert.
He sat on the bed for a few moments and out of a sudden rushed out to the revolting bathroom.
He threw up for a long time, and then he wept and he prayed.
He longed for a shower but he could not afford the water.