The Reality Exchange - Excerpt from Chapter 1

Orange sunlight beat down upon the road. Fine dust permeated the hot air and soldiers in full-body armour struggled to keep the sweat from their brows. The light reflected off the gleaming white spires, surveillance towers and antennae of Port Jova, which stood tall behind the concrete wall that had been smoothed by the dust in the seasonal winds.

Corporal Baren waved on the latest visitors. His well-worn face creased to a yawn as he watched them roll on through the gate, scraping the grit from the corners of his eyes but only managing to cause further irritation.

He blinked through the tears that welled up in defiance of the hardy, authoritative presence he had hoped to impose and caught sight of a line of pale, blurry shapes approaching along the road.

The dejected fusion of a sigh and a groan slipped out as he clocked the incoming trade convoy, then quickly checked that none of his fellow soldiers were in earshot. The exhaustion was getting to them all, but he had to be seen setting an example.

He stood up straight, wiped the moisture from his forehead and took a swig of his tepid water. It would take some time to register and approve a convoy of this size, but he would do it with a determination and stamina that would make the other Aralians proud.

‘Move up. I want to be done with this lot in five minutes.’

They began to dawdle along the side of the road, slumped over and barely managing to keep their rifles held in two hands.

The great cargo haulers were a curious blend of form and function, with cabins that curved back at the top and merged seamlessly into the long cargo container. Such industrial elegance, once white but now soiled and yellowed by the sandy winds, held aloft by six individually articulated sets of caterpillar tracks. One by one, the haulers rumbled to a stop with the foremost vehicle a dozen metres short of the gate. Baren inflated his chest and held his rifle across his body as he marched confidently towards the cabin and looked up at the driver.

‘Your business?’ he barked.

A thin smile nested itself in the driver’s black stubble. He swiped his fringe away from his eyes, leaned out of his window and looked back at the long line of cargo haulers behind him before turning back to Baren. He lowered his sunglasses to the end of his nose. ‘Trade, I would imagine.’

‘And what are you hauling?’

‘Only the finest in perfectly legitimate renewables, officer,’ he chirped with feigned enthusiasm. Baren fixed the driver with an unsmiling stare and watched the attempted levity deflate. ‘Plant matter, fertiliser, et cetera. All suitably boring, I can assure you.’

Baren drew out a small device; a glass tablet with a holographic display. The interface was nearly invisible out here, blending almost perfectly with the sunlight.

‘Thumbprint,’ Baren held the device up.

The driver pressed his thumb through one of the holograms and on to the glass. A chirping noise, barely audible over the sound of rumbling engines, confirmed an identification match.

Baren held the device close to his chest to shield it from the sunlight. Even so, he had to squint to read the display. As he squeezed his eyelids together, drowsiness from the heat swept over him.

He skimmed the driver’s file. Everything seemed to check out. ‘Move up to the gate.’ Baren stepped back and waved his hand in dismissal.

The driver pushed his sunglasses back up and made a toothy, almost cartoonish, smile as he edged his vehicle towards the barrier. Another soldier with a rifle across his chest held up a hand to signal him to come to a stop. Baren made his way towards the back of the convoy, taking a quick swig of tepid water.

It would take some time to sort through all the cargo, but once that was done the approval would be quick and simple.

Nearly halfway down the line, he glanced back towards the front. It took a couple of seconds too long for his weary mind to realise something was amiss.

He stopped abruptly and shielded his eyes from the sunlight. Why was the door on the lead transport open? Where were the guards?

Then, a distant call.

‘Officer!’

It came from about a hundred yards away from the hauler where the transport driver stood leaning against the starport wall. He raised a fist above his head. Was he holding something?

A flash. A thunderous boom. The cargo hauler at the gate erupted into flames. The shockwave rushed out, kicking up an expanding wall of dust that slammed into Baren, punching the breath from his body and hurling him from his feet.

There was darkness. Silence. Then Baren’s lungs forced a sharp intake of breath and everything felt all too real. The heat of the ground beneath him. A throbbing pain in his chest and back. A piercing tone in his head, interrupted by rapid cracks in the distance. Gunfire.

He forced his eyes to open. All he could make out in his stupor was a dark column of smoke rising into the sky.

The gunshots became less frequent. Amid the chaos, yells turned to cries, shouts turned to screams. Then, the sounds of conflict came to silence and all Baren could hear around him was a whistling breeze and the rhythmic crunch of dirt beneath boots.

His breaths rapid and irregular, his heart pounding loud and fast, Baren struggled to lift his head. The footsteps fell silent. Looming over him, dark against the white sky, was the silhouette of the driver.

He felt a firm grasp around his ankles, then felt the ground scraping against the armour on his back, but it stopped after only a few seconds, once he had been enveloped by the shade between two of the cargo haulers that remained intact.

He felt a tug at his thigh as the man squatted over him and pulled his handgun from its holster. Baren found his own weapon aimed at him, inches from his face.

The ringing in his ears was too loud for him to hear what the driver was saying. The man began calmly, but it wasn’t long before he was making wild gestures, waving the gun all over the place.

He was ranting. Something about fairness and justice. But Baren was in pain and too tired to listen. He let his head fall back and his eyes close.

‘Hey.’

Baren just hoped that somehow this would all go away.

‘... come on now, Aralian.’

This could still be a dream. It had to be.

‘... not listening? Alright.’

A bang. Searing pain in his left hand. Baren let out a scream, his eyes snapping open as his gut convulsed and he lurched upright only to meet the sole of a boot that slammed him back into the dirt.

He brought his hand up in front of his face. An enormous hole had been carved through it. His fingers hung off by the thin shreds of meat that remained.

He couldn’t stop crying out, clutching his hand to his chest.

He was aware of the ranting voice but all sense was drowned out by the pain. Occasional words slipped through … the war … Aralian Pioneers … Solar Conglomerate …

‘... don’t see the irony, do you?’ The man raised a blood-spattered eyebrow. ‘The one non-renewable resource … the most valuable …’

The butt of the pistol came down towards him. Baren tried to pull his hand away. He couldn’t move.

The pain exploded as shrieks were ripped from inside him.

‘I’m talking about you, dummy! The life of a person! Can’t grow that back, can you?’

The ever-louder shouts made no sense. Baren pressed his eyes tightly closed, clutching at the fire in his hand, sobbing for home.

Something cool pressed against the bridge of his nose. He looked to see his own pistol lined up between his eyes, and stared transfixed. In his peripheral vision he was aware of the man’s mouth moving. More words. He couldn’t listen, couldn’t hear, could only pull in another breath, his last, as the bullet left the gun.