Refugess in the Walls

“You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories.”—Anon

Little children ran around the dugout cavern filled with reinforced machinery and air vents, laughing without fear that their voices would echo into the caverns below. They were far and safe from the P.M.s’ watching eyes. Jafarr grinned at the little boys, rubbing the head of the one that hid behind a set of chairs that were set in front of their empty makeshift computer screens and hairline radio transmitters.

“Hey, Kem,” he said, passing by. “Is your dad here?”

The little boy nodded and pointed down the corridor to a smaller room. He dashed away, laughing as his friend spotted him. Jafarr shook his head and continued on his way. Passing boxes of machinery they were using to build weapons then cots that lay about the floor for the evacuees, Jafarr walked with a little more care, as several were sleeping and some were pretending to sleep while hiding tears. He pretended not to notice, going on his way.

 For them it was too late. Just like with him, it was hide in the cleared spaces between city levels or get thrown into ISIC for unspeakable torture. Jafarr had been living in the tunnels for a half a Parthan a year now. He had not gone back to his undercity neighborhood since his father was killed. He could not afford to see his school friends except for Alzdar who was right in the thick of the rebellion. Alzdar was the lucky one. The People’s Military had not pegged him as a rebellion member yet.

Squeezing past the unloaded weaponry, he walked to a back room they had made for private work. Pushing open the door, Jafarr noticed two figures in the dark room that he knew well—one a middle aged man, the other a young woman near Jafarr’s age. Jafarr pulled the door closed then crept in closer to peer at the screen that both individuals were staring at. The man was holding up a thin synthetic paper like screen that had glowing pinpricks of light forming a diagram while the young woman was massaging his shoulders and neck to comfort him. She smiled when Jafarr entered the room, gesturing for him to come closer with her head. Jafarr smiled back, still analyzing the screen though he scooted just a bit closer.

“There are over five million Arrassians in the undercity,” the man said aloud. “Did you know that, Jafarr?”

“I had an idea, sir,” he said.

The man cut him off. “An idea is not the same as knowing, my boy. Five million. And there are around three million in the middlecity—good honest citizens.”

“Yes, sir,” Jafarr said, waiting for his point.

The man returned to stare at the screen. “Of the uppercity, I bet, not one citizen is honest.”

Jafarr shook his head. “I’ll take that bet, Ka’rren.”

The man laughed, turning around to look at him in the dim light. “So would your father.” He stood up and gave the girl a pat. “But where did that lead him?”

Frowning, Jafarr shook his head again as he took a step back. “The uppercity doesn’t just consist of High Class and P.M.s.”

“Yes, my boy, yes. I’ve heard your preaching before. There are Labor Class men and good Guard and Servant Class citizens. You sound like your father more each day.”  Ka’rren said. The man handed the glowing diagram over to Jafarr. “What do you make of this?”

Jafarr viewed the screen making out the words etched in the light sensitive paper. “Looks like a hit map. Where did you dig it up?”

“But whose hit map, Jafarr?” Ka’rren asked, ignoring the question and poking the screen.

Jafarr gazed at the screen again then held it up to the small desk light. The marks vanished with the light. He held it again, this time turning towards the dark. The words lit up. Jafarr nodded. “This looks like a metro map. It’s on glow paper made for the dark tunnels.”

But as Jafarr analyzed the drawing, he squinted at the writing.

“It’s in Ancient though.” He started to read some of the words. “Ta’ren’z man’ne zarr wacheth’narr…. People’s homes are located—”

“That word is Tarrn, Jafarr, not Ta’ren,” the old man corrected.

Jafarr glared back at him. “It says Ta’ren. The mark is distinctly not a mark for Orr. It is an Er.”

The man looked over his shoulder. “Look again. Scratch it if you have to.”

Jafarr did and found that the word

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 02.03.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7888-1

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