Section2:
“Why… why did you…” Rich mumbled, gulping to himself. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to ask why he had been chosen over others. It seemed to him a sign of weakness to question why he was good enough to be told. As a self-conscious man his entire life, Rich didn’t dare humiliate himself in front of one of the few people he made steady communication with.
Jean seemed to understand where his muttering was going. He smiled and brushed his hand across his close cropped hair. “Rich,” he said calmly, “you’re stupid, that’s why, and I know you don’t have anyone to tell.” His face flashed a quick grimace, as if he felt slightly sorry for the insult he had just dealt. “I just need to see how people react, and frankly, it blows off steam, telling somebody whose reaction isn’t of big importance.”
“I…” Rich’s mind sloshed inside his head, unable to process this development and unable to decide what his reaction should be.
All his life people had hurt him because of what he was. It started as a child, when he was just five years old, Rich remembered, it started with his father. I didn’t do anything wrong, he thought. It was his common defense, his idea that none of this was his fault, it was his disease. And it was, as far as he could tell, the fault of his problems, for the most part, but deep inside, the thought burned that maybe he could have done differently. As much as he tried to stay away from the thoughts, his memory would not leave him alone. Old thoughts and dreams, emotions and desires clawed at his soul, they would not slip back into the dark this time.
He was flashed back to his homeworld, Damacus, in the year 2318. He was five, and the Second Great Plague was rampant among most planets in the South Brindus Sector. His sister had been taken early by the plague, and so his family was very protective and paranoid of any symptoms by family members. His father and uncles kept their spirits clean, and laid prayers for the disease to find other souls to feed on. Like many of the wealthy class on Damacus, his family practiced Animism devoutly, regarding connection with the natural spirits as the only way to live the proper and healthy life. When his sister died by infection, Rich and the rest of his family were subjected to daily protective rituals in which the members took the natural herb to free their minds, and then had their legs bound and bodies greased in order to communicate with the great Spirit.
Rich never particularly enjoyed the prayers and rituals as a child, the regulated prayers made him anxious, and his young mind couldn’t comprehend the ceremonies or their purposes. He would often dread the large prayers, but he went along, knowing that his parents wished him to do so, and that it was the right thing to do. After six weeks of bound prayer however, often cut or starved to further detach him from the material world, Rich couldn’t take it any more. He told himself he wasn’t disrespecting the spirits, just taking a break. He didn’t enter the prayer hall for an important, long, individual ceremony; it was boring and useless, and nobody would ever know if he skipped it, as long as he was careful.
Two days later, he was sick.
He had been in the middle of a grand dinner when the illness struck. The family was celebrating the feast of Werdun as they always did on that date. Relatives from all over the planet had gathered at their manor, dancing, eating and enjoying general festivities. Being as he was shy and timid, even at that age, Rich had resigned himself to moving quickly back and forth between the food and the lounge, in order to minimize his time in one place. Fortunately for him, as it had turned out, this meant he spent a lot of time walking back and forth in areas populated by a multitude of people. He was just starting to make another round to the kitchens to pick up some salimo: cured pippo meat rapped in local seaweed and salted, when all of a sudden, his knees seemed to lose their strength, he wobbled for a second, and collapsed to the ground, hard, and passed out.
He awakened, instantly it had seemed to him, but not for two days as he learned later, in a room in the nearby ward. And there was his mother, weeping softly, and his father, with such a look of anger and fear he had never seen before. Both their emotions startled him, his family didn’t believe in crying or showing weakness, but it was his father who scared him the most, he was so different.
At this moment, with the knowledge of what came next, Rich shuddered, trying, desperately, to remove himself from this past. But the monsters still came for him. As if a small saving grace, his memory was still blackened in the worst moments, if he had to live with all the specifics, he probably would have died by now, but the general happenings, he knew, and that was bad enough.
His father found out that he had skipped the ceremony. How, he wasn’t sure, but he suspected that he had ended up telling his father himself. Rich didn’t dare stand up to his father, that man could get any knowledge he wanted, and young Rich was particularly vulnerable to his power. When his father learned of what he had done, there wasn’t anything anyone, Rich, his mother, or anybody he knew could do to stop the punishment he received. Here, thankfully his memory really was blank, but he knew he hadn’t been able to walk for weeks, and every time he smiled he started crying, crying desperately, and had tried to kill himself multiple times.
The rest after that seemed hardly important in comparison. His father had cast him out, out of their house and off of the world. He was sent away with no money to his name, and as a final disgrace, his father had had him tested by the government, entering his mental conditions into public records for eternity. After spacelaunch he wandered, city to city, and planet to planet when he could, stealing, and working in whatever lowest wage businesses would accept a man like him.
Upon reflection of his past again, he felt the old urge, the primal beating inside of him, he was not worthy, not worthy to humanity, he should end his life to make room for someone with potential…
“Rich…” The voice seemed to drift into his thoughts from far, far away. It barely permeated the memories, but it was something, and he latched onto it, desperately using the stimulus to pull him out. “Hey Rich, wake up now.”
With a start and a flash, the present day appeared in front of him, in all its color and sound. Jean Beau-Pocxea was still standing there, staring at him intently, seemingly studying him.
“I…” Rich Tabochi slowly tried to clear his head of what he had just experienced. “Sorry, I just was thinking… of the past.” He hardly wanted to admit any more of his weaknesses than showed to someone who, while cruel, still talked to him, and even rarely showed him if not kindness, than at least not respite. Not all the time anyways, and that was a step up from most people.
“That’s all right,” Jean said, smiling in savage sort of way. “You were probably trying to understand the technology I mentioned. For someone with… like you…I understand. It must be hard.” And with a sweep of his hand, not even acknowledgement of the harsh words he had said, Jean continued “I must be off, I hope your few plants can survive all your weeds.” He turned, in a 180-sweep, and walked off, heading towards a small building five hundred feet away: his personal launch room for short range flights.
Rich however, stood his ground, his legs swaying slightly beneath his body. Jean had not often treated him with respect, or anything close to it, but that exchange was as cruel as anything he had ever said to him. The insinuations about his conditions, his intelligence, and the insult to his garden, they stung him deeply. To most other people an insult to one’s planets would not likely have elicited such feelings, but they were all Rich had, being as he lacked any true friendships. He’s just in a poor mood because of what happened to him. Rich thought of Sire Beau-Pocxea. He must be full of confusion; nothing like this has ever happened, to anybody, communication lines failing. But than a stronger, deeper impulse filled him up. That still doesn’t give him the right to treat me like this, Rich thought to himself, I may be different, but this time I’m standing up for myself. Filled with the horror and confusion from his memories, the sting of Jean’s cruel words, and filled with a new determination to defend himself for once, Rich marched to the launch room.
It was a quick walk, the five hundred feet passed in a second, and before he knew it, Rich was at the door, raising his hand to knock. No, he thought to himself. He is always treated with such respect. Let’s see how he reacts when he is confronted without it. Rich forgoed the knocker, moving his hand deftly to handle, and shoving open the door.
What he saw shocked him more than anything else today had done. People had never been kind to Rich, but animals always were, and consequentially he cared deeply for all of them. To his great horror then, was the sight of Jean Beau-Pocxea, standing in the room, with his booted foot on top of what appeared to be a large orange-brown spider, grinding its body into the cement.
“Rich!” Jean shouted, seemingly as surprised and angry as Rich was.
“What! What are you doing?” Rich screamed, taking a step forwards.
“Rich stop!” Jean said firmly, and despite himself, Rich did freeze in place. “You don’t know what this thing is. I never told you why the communications broke down,” he panted, “I didn’t figure you would be able to understand. But what if I told you it was because of these things?” He ranted wildly. “These little… bastards… are responsible for all of our problems in the south! Surely even a shit like you have heard of some of those! And they don’t all look like this either,” he continued, “most are bigger, even more brutal. But we think they’re all related. Nobody’s ever seen anything like this before, not anywhere! But they, these demons, they’re the unholy cause of all of our problems. I had one brought with me, so I could watch it, try to learn from it, but I’m just so sick. Sick of these little devils, and all they do. So I’m killing it myself, right now!” And he brought his boot down, much harder this time, and with a sickening crunch, the beast’s head exploded, splattering the floor with green pus.
The sight of that brutal killing hit Rich hardest of all, driving him short of breath. He was outraged, that this man would deal such a senseless killing to an animal, and after all he’d said and done to Rich, after all this talk of demons, and now this. It was too much for Rich to handle. Blood rushed his brain, filling him with a single emotion. Anger. And with that emotion, a single thought: Kill.
He screamed, a shattering piercing call that caused Jean to visibly flinch, and rushed the older man, wrapping his hands around Jean’s neck. The ensuing struggle seemed to pass in a moment that also took eternity, but when all was done, Jean lay on the ground, his last breath having previously escaped his lungs, and Rich was standing over him, panting heavily.
At the sight of the dead man, and the realization of what he had just done, Rich dropped to the ground, his knees banging against the floor. He slipped onto a sit, and sat there, staring at the wall in shock. Than slowly, without even realizing his actions, he grasped Jean Beau-Pocxea’s hand in his, and stroked it, softly and tenderly.
And started to cry.
