Empty stomach, empty heart

It was noon on Wednesday, which meant Feeding Time in the public square. We were huddled around the massive stone fountain, two angels with hands gripped tightly. Voices were murmur of hunger, desperation, uncertainty.

“Line up, present Mark, state birth zone. You know the drill.” A uniformed soldier shouted out to the peasants, his voice amplified through throat augment.

After genetic amplification, the soldiers were like gods compared to us. A punch from a modified man was like a 12 gauge slug to a natural born. And yet they still carried guns, sleek Black Death rays that fired 10,000 rounds a minute, not that you could take that many. These grim reapers were who we relied upon for 800 guaranteed calories of processed protein and carb slop, food waste ground up for the lowest caste.

I was Tier C, a welder by trade. My father was gifted a right arm augment by his boss, a reward for his hard work, consistency. The augmented enjoyed greater privilege compared to the Natural Borns.

We lined up alphabetically, Tier As were few and far between out here. They usually could find work with the government, holding brain augments that made a brain closer to supercomputer. But still, the war spared no one, and a genius had a stomach to fill, skin to clothe.

“Present Mark!”

I held up my left hand and the soldier scanned it quickly, a beep and a green light assured legitimacy.

“Tier C, Augment descendant, take bowl, go.”

The point of the caste system was to provide the best food to the best workers. The quality nutrients rose to the top of the vat, so the further down in caste, the worse your food quality became. Z tier drug addicts and media fiends were basically eating hot water and bread crumbs. Why should the gutter slime get quality food? The logic was sound in a sad way.

I walked with my hotslop over to where my friends sat, huddled around a burning barrel.

“Simon, I think I’m getting a hint of lobster today, whatcha think?”

I smiled and shook my head. “I was thinking crab you dickhead. Crab bisque, with cow butter.”

He laughed, “Maybe human butter this time, tastes a bit like your mother’s last night!”

I shoved him into the wall.

“Hey hey careful man, this is my last ration for the week.”

“You waste your credits on porn and video games, man.”

“I need my fix, bro. Food comes second, I come first.”

I laughed. Jack the clown, degenerate, best friend.

Dave was across from us, silent, watching, listening. That was his role, and he performed well.

“Present mark!”

We ate mostly in silence, cracking jokes, planning the day ahead.

“Counterfeit mark! Remove perpetrator from area!”

There was a shout and a thud as an old man was hit in the stomach, dropping to the snow covered ground. Something gold flashed from his hand, falling a few feet away. The soldiers picked him up like a dead animal, dragging him away from the feeding zone. They tossed him easily into a nearby gutter, cars passing by with muddy snow.

“Fucking augment super dogs,” Jack spat into the flames. “Doing that to a starving old man. Piss on them.” He spat again.

“He dropped something,” I said. “Hold my bowl.”

I jogged into the feeding area, pretending to look for somebody in the crowd. I moved into the center and crouched down to pick up the gold necklace.

A soldier grabbed my wrist, strong as a vice, and pulled me to my feet.

“Back for seconds, C tier?” He snarled, leering with white grey eyes.

“No sir,” I grunted, trying to free my hand. “I dropped something in the snow.”

He smiled, his teeth were perfect, unnatural. An angel of death, a demon.

“Well go on then, take it and go.”

He released his grip and I rubbed my wrist, sore like I slammed it in a door. I bent down again and picked up the necklace, a gold locket shaped like a heart. I opened the clasp, it was a picture, a man and....

The air left my lungs as I fell backwards. My back hit the snow with painful force, and the world went dark as I fought for breath.

“Greedy fucking peasants,” the soldier laughed. “Next time you bend down, give me a good suck you fucking waster.”

His squadmates laughed with him, robots, cold and lifeless.

Jack and David ran over to help me, bringing me back to the fire.

“What the fuck were you thinking man?” Jack was panting, shaking me by the jacket. “If he hit you full force you’d be dead.”

I managed to get to my feet, rubbing my gut with cold hands.

“I don’t know,” my voice was weak, “It was bad enough that old guy can’t eat. But to lose something he probably loved too, fuck man.”

David stared, eyes wide with thought. “That’s an Old World mark,” he said, pointing to the gold necklace.

Jack and I gave him a puzzled look.

“What is that exactly?” I held up the necklace. “They used to use golden hearts for ID?”

David shook his head. “No bonehead, look at the back. The black tag with the white letter.”

I flipped it, and there it was, a black circle with a bold white “1”.

“This guy was a 1 in the Old world?” I said. “What does that translate to now?”

David smiled, knowing. “That old bum was royalty.”

Jack shook his head, putting a hand to his chin. “Fuck me, they threw a king in the god damn gutter.”

He grinned. “The geezer might have some gold or jewels for us if we give it back.”

I fingered the gold heart nervously.

“What could have happened to this king or prince or whatever to lead him down here with the lowlifes?” I asked, holding up the necklace. “He could have stolen this for all we know.”

Dave was scratching his chin in thought, eying the necklace then looking off into the distance.

“Only one way to know for sure,” he said, pointing. “We go talk to the guy.”

He was still where the soldiers left him, laying on his side in the dirty, snowy gutter. His hair hung damp over his face, covering matted grey beard patched with white.

“Old man,” I said, crouching down. “We have something for you.”

His eyes were open but he stared blankly ahead, like he was seeing something we couldn’t.

“Old man,” I repeated. “We-“

“I heard you, boy,” he growled, his eyes still unmoving. “Hand it over then.”

Jack stood with folded arms.

“Hey geezer,” he said. “How can we be sure this is even yours?”

The old man let out a wheezing laugh, trailing into a fit of wet coughing.

“Open it, boy. Tell me what you see.”

I hesitated, then opened the golden heart. Dave and Jack peered over my shoulders with curious eyes. It was a picture, a young laughing man with his arm around a woman. They were dressed in formal attire, the man heavily decorated with medals.

“I was handsome then,” the old man rasped, still coughing between words. “Not so old and brittle.”

He reached into his jacket pocket with a shaking hand, and produced a small black and white medal with gold stripes. He held it up to me and I took it.

“That was for saving a few hundred civilians in the battle of Dengoth 2040. I took down an Emperior bomber headed right for a survivor camp.”

I held the medal next to the picture, and sure enough, there it was on the laughing man’s chest. Dave had his mouth covered with his hand, brow furrowed. He took the medal from my hand and examined it, turning it over to the back.

“Rank 1s didn’t have to serve in the military in Old World,” he said. “Why the hell did you?”

The old man finally looked up at us, and a flash of light flickered in what was just empty and white.

“Because my pompous asshole father could kiss my well-cleaned ass, that’s why.” He let out another wheezing laugh.

“They wanted me in the senate,” he went on. “Pushing pens with the hologram jockeys, deciding what the ants do in the street.” He snorted. “Fuck all that. I wanted to hold a rifle, watch a man die at my feet. That’s living, young man.”

We stared in silence. This man was a war hero, failed aristocrat. Now he couldn’t get a bowl of hot waste to fill his old gut for a few hours.

“Do you regret it?” I finally asked him.

He smiled, but his face went serious.

“Not for a second,” he said. “Not for one god damn second.”

Jack still had his arms folded. “But why the hell was your mark deemed counterfeit back there? Every veteran of the Emperior war got a lifetime of meal credits.”

He frowned. “Some of the heads in high places didn’t take kindly to the disrespect of my family name. I don’t know for sure, but somebody went and blacklisted my mark for good. Now I can’t get a hot meal or a handjob with this damn tattoo.”

We stood in silence again.

“Who was the woman?” I asked.

The old man smiled. “Help me up, boys, and I’ll show you.”

We got him under each arm and raised him to shaking legs.

“It’s a bit of a hike, but the scenery is lovely this time of year.”

He pointed to the edge of town, where the buildings started to show more age than the center.

“It’s out there.”

We walked in silence through empty streets, the silence of snow and winter surrounding us. There was a path through ancient trees surrounded by rusted old world technology.

“Jesus Christ old man,” Jack said, grunting as the geezer leaned on him heavily. “Does she live in this fucking junkyard?”

“Kiss my ass, boy,” the geezer said. “I could still snap your neck with these old hands.”

Dave and I let out a laugh, Jack turning red.

“Where does this lead exactly?” I asked.

“It’s just up this hill, son,” he said, looking with the far away stare from before.

We came to a rusted iron gate, and it became clear where the woman lived. She had a room beneath the ground. The man let out a cough and fell to one knee, wheezing with labored breath.

“Careful old timer,” Jack said, falling beside him.

“That punch from the augment dog broke me up inside,” he said, his voice strained. “I might not make the trip back to town.”

“Come on, sir,” I said, trying to get him back up. “Don’t talk like that. We’ll see your wife and get you back to a shelter.”

The old man smiled weakly.

“Her arms were my only shelter in this world, boy,” he said. “I ain’t had shelter for 20 years.”

We led him to a small broken headstone in the middle of the cemetery. It was overgrown with mangled weeds and thorns, but the words still read clearly:

Melissa Endive, my only light in a world of black. I’ll be back shortly my love.

The old man collapsed at the gravestone, blood spilling from his open mouth. Dave crouched beside him and let out a gasp. He held up the man’s left hand, the marked hand, and shook his head.

“You fudged your mark, old man.” He said. “There’s a line right through the authentication badge.”

The old man half wheezed, half laughed.

“I’ve had enough of this place, son,” he said. “It’s time to go home.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You knew they would kill you,” I said. “Suicide by augment dog.”

He smiled as he lay against the snow, and finally the spark left his wide staring eyes.