Tevun-Krus #100

22 - Utopia Colony - @katerauner - Utopian

Utopia Colony

A Utopian story by katerauner

Despite the Do Not Climb sign, Jake clambered onto the catwalk railing, stretched one arm out to balance against the central Spoke, and touched the sky.

One of the sky-bots was close by. A thick disk, it was as blue as the ceiling and too small to be seen from the floor. It crept along a line of bulbs, glowing pinpricks of light. There were millions of lights in the ceiling. The bot flattened itself against one dark bulb, and when it crawled away, the light glowed again.

Jake hopped down because staring at the bot made him dizzy, not because of the Do Not Climb sign. No one would notice his violation. No one ever joined Jake on the catwalk except, occasionally, his mother. His throat tightened with grief. She had died too soon, too young. It was no comfort to be told that was the price they paid for life in the asteroid belt, that cosmic radiation sometimes led to premature death.

Being loud was rude in town, but with his mother on the catwalk, they once laughed till they cried. He didn't climb the Spoke to laugh anymore, but to contemplate his world. From this height, the toroid shape of the colony was obvious. Facing spinward, the ground curved up to a distant bulkhead, painted blue like the sky, where shoulder-high stacks released reconditioned air. Each of the colony's segments had its own life support system for redundant safety, so his lessons taught. That was a good thing, because the people in Jake's segment had built a utopia that must be protected. Others had not.

Strips of trees laced the ground, surrounding level croplands and meadows, until three forested terraces crept up the hull on either side. His eyes followed the line of rail tracks along the segment's spine to the anti-spin bulkhead where more stacks inhaled air to recycle.

Straight below, Jake gazed through the grate of the catwalk deck to roofs of the town clustered at the base of the Spoke.

He circled the Spoke one more time, pausing at the single closed door. There was a lift inside, or so his lessons taught. A small light was centered above the door. As always, it glowed red. He pushed a button at the side but, also as always, nothing happened.

Jake started down the staircase that spiraled around the Spoke. Halfway down, still above the treetops with his loose tunic flapping in the perpetual breeze, his comm pad beeped.

A text from his father. I'm going to the cabin.

Jake looked in the direction of their cabin and small potato field, but it was lost in the trees. He tapped out an answer to his father's unspoken question. I'm taking a walk.

There was no need to elaborate since he walked most days. He could cover the length of the segment in half an hour, bulkhead to bulkhead.

A symbol blinked as his father typed a reply. I gave up my room in town, but you should keep yours. I want to live alone now.

There it was. Jake wasn't surprised, but his knees folded to drop him on the step as he reread the message. His father was deeply private and, without his mother as a bridge, they barely connected.

Jake sat until his butt ached from the textured metal tread.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jake crossed the town's plaza. People in shades of beige and gray passed him, eyes down as always. His mother had been dead long enough that he met no fleeting expressions of sympathy. He entered a beige concrete building that held individual rooms. Inside his own small space, empty potato sacks lay on the little round table. His father had deposited the last harvest they'd made together in the town warehouse.