Colony 6

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. And if they could, would anyone even listen?

Tyra-Rae stepped off Intergalactic-703, surrounded by armed members of the Universal Force, chained at the ankles with 37 other convicted criminals.

The first thing to hit her was the smell. Colony 6 smelled like a strange mix of damp and dry all at the same time. And heat. The heat hit her like like a blanket. She surveyed her surroundings. Flat, barren, brown. So much brown, at least 13 shades.

She turned back to one of the guards, "You're not seriously leaving us here?" she almost begged.

He poked a Compliance Device into her side. He didn't press the deployment button that would send an electric current throughout her body, rendering her insides briefly gelatinous. Instead, he smiled menacingly, the threat delicious in his hungry jaws.

"Quiet!" He commanded his hazel eyes as barren and hard as the land before her. He shoved the Compliance Device further into her side. "You've been convicted and found guilty before a Universal Court."

Tyra-Rae jerked her body away from the chilling bluntness of the device, wondering how she ended up here, yet knowing exactly how it happened.

Leaving Earth for Kincadia with her mother, Jesse in 2312 was supposed to be her salvation. It was supposed to be her chance at a life free of struggle. A life free of famine, drought and deadly heat. It was anything but.

She remembered the Great Scorching of 2310 that left over 92% of the Earth virtually uninhabitable. She remembered for years before that there were shortages. There was never quite enough to eat.

Restrictions on water use, power use, gas use made everyday living almost impossible. The daily heat warnings, air quality warnings and frequent wildfires were a terrifying and constant reminder of how precarious life really had become.

For at least 10 years before the Scorching, intergalactic ships had been evacuating the wealthy, along with various members of the social and political elite to Kincadia, a planet named for the scientist that discovered it, Dr Philomina Kincade.

It was larger than Earth and 17,500 light years away. It had a remarkably similar composition and climate, sort of an Earth 2.0. Pristine, unspoiled, a blank slate awaiting humanity.

And people were clamouring to get there. But if you didn't have the $7,000,000 fare or weren't employed in a preferred occupation, or linked to someone who fell into either category, you had no chance.

Until after the Scorching. Pressure began to mount after the cataclysmic event. The remaining inhabitants of Earth, still trying to eke out some sort of existence amid the death, destruction and desolation, demanded something be done. They urged the Universal Leader, James P. T. Rump, to arrange transport for survivors to Kincadia.

Instead, from his remote dome on Kincadia's western shore, he organized a lottery. Just enough to placate the poor and just enough to make the wealthy set feel that warm fuzzy cloak of charity. Twenty-five hundred seats on Intergalactic Flight 452, up for grabs. A new life on a new planet. And for $500 a ticket, you could take your chances.

Tyra Rae's mother scraped together just enough money for 2 tickets. She scrimped, borrowed, and sold what she could, all for just the faint hope that maybe she and her daughter wouldn't be left to die on a now-dead Earth.

And the gamble paid off! Despite rampant reports of rigging and corruption, Jesse and Tyra Rae found themselves aboard Intergalactic Airship 723 direct to Kincadia.

Upon arrival, she and Jesse were assigned a tiny unit in a large block of dwelling units in the northeast quadrant.

It was nothing like she expected it to be. Kincadia was covered in a giant, clear outer covering, a dome, with thousands of pipes going this way and that. It was called an atmospheric filtration and control system, AFCS for short.

Air temperature, flow, and even speed were strictly regulated. Everything was strictly regulated. Resources such as food, water and power were rationed and allocated based on some sort of secret formula that always seemed to favour the rich.

Activities and the movement of residents were also monitored. All in the name of preserving the integrity of the new planet and avoiding the mistakes that caused earth's demise.

Mistakes, Tyra Rae quickly learned that she and the entire Lottery Class were held responsible for. Lottos, as they were called, were assigned menial or labour-intensive employment and given rations hovering just below subsistence. As a young, healthy woman, she was given work in the Vegetation and Procurement Division and tasked with all things food. Fishing, hunting, planting, harvesting.

Jesse was assigned domestic duties, cooking and cleaning for the Citizens, those who had either paid their way or were part of a favoured profession.

And all that would have been fine. Tyra Rae could handle the hard work and long days. She could handle the restrictions and rationing. She was used to scarcity when she was a child on Earth. What she couldn't handle, what she couldn't accept was Ordinance 7.3.

Pursuant to the Ordinance, she, as a female of Population Age (18 -38), was mandated to "report to the Population Control Centre for insemination on the anniversary of her birth each year until successful completion of the program, resulting in 2 live births."

She failed to report. She refused to report.

Further, she publicly decried the Ordinance as misogynistic and a violation of her rights under the Universal Constitution. For this, she was tried and convicted of Treason and Inciting Ideas and Activities Detrimental To The Planet.

It was at her trial before the Universal Court that she learned that as a Lotto, she had no rights under the Universal Constitution. No right to freedom of thought, speech or expression. No right to peaceful protest. No right to anything, even the integrity of her own body.

As a Lottery Migrant, she was expected to serve the Citizens and the governing body with humble gratitude and strict obedience. Tyra Rae was never very good at humility or obedience.

She probably shouldn't have told the Universal Court judge that it was her and her wealthy class that were responsible for the Earth's demise, with their jets and fancy vehicles and all that food. She probably should have kept her mouth shut and accepted the 7 years in the Universal Education Centre.

But she didn't. The reverberation of the gavel still rung in her ears as her sentence was pronounced. She could still see the judge's smirk as she said the words, "Exile to Colony 6," her teeth set in a strange reddish-yellow sneer, a testament to years of wine-swilling and caviar-munching soirees.

Tyra Rae was jolted from her recollection by the Compliance Device being shoved more forcefully into her side. She turned to see the guard surveying her slowly, her dark curls, her smooth skin, her lean shapely body, tiny waist and full hips, a throwback to the women of 300 years prior.

He stepped toward her, grinning, his eyes dancing with excitement, "We could maybe work something out..." He reached out, grabbing the end of her hair in his thick, rough hand.

She jerked herself away from him, "Fuck you!"

He stared at her hard, then laughed, "No, Lotto, fuck you!" He turned away from her, joined his fellow guards and began unshackling the outcasts.

Fear and dread filled the air as reality slowly set in. A seemingly inhospitable planet, no supplies, no shelter. Nothing.

Tyra-Rae fell to the dusty ground and screamed. She screamed as loud as she could. Nothing. Nothing but her own voice came back to her. Echoing over and over, each scream becoming more feeble, more pathetic. The 6 guards laughed uproariously, waving goodbye in an exaggerated fashion as they reboarded the ship home.

She eyed her fellow outcasts. Thieves, murderers, and fellow convicted traitors like herself. All standing in a sort of stunned silence, taking in the stark reality of their fate on the outer edge of the Milky Way, 38,000 light years from Kincadia.

Tyra Rae rose to her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes. A large woman with closely cropped blonde hair stood over her, casting a shadow that shielded her from the greyish light.

"Come on, ain't no use in cryin," she put her arm around her, "We best figure somethin' out here." She motioned toward the others, directing them to be seated where she and Tyra Rae stood.

She motioned for the young girl to sit and then lowered herself to join the group.

"Okay, look," she began, taking charge, "First thing we need to worry about is food and shelter."

"Who died and made you boss?" a male voice in the circle demanded.

"The last guy that got smart with me," she smirked, referring to the crime that landed her in exile.

Silence.

She continued. "There have been 3 other ships filled with convicts sent here. They're either alive or dead. Find them, we find food and shelter."

"If they're alive." Tyra Rae mumbled tentatively.

"The sturdy woman nodded. "Now, we got to have some rules. First, we stick together. All of us. No matter what. We don't know what's out there."

The group nodded in agreement.

"Second," she pressed on, "all food, water, whatever any of us get is for all of us. No hoarding. No hiding. Nobody gets more than their share. If you find a damn blueberry, you better divide that sucker into 38 equal pieces, or I'll personally divide you into 38 equal pieces."

As she went down her list of rules and assigned tasks to the condemned, she introduced herself. Her name was Carol and she was a Lotto, like Tyra Rae. She had an air of competence that instantly instilled confidence, a quick, biting wit, and soft eyes.

"Let's head west," she said, standing up. "There's got to be water somewhere. Can't be this muggy and not have water."

Another voice asked, "If it's so muggy, why's the ground so dry?"

"What am I a scientist?" Carol spat back, "Come on!"

The group followed their leader, trudging slowly westward.

As they walked for what seemed like an eternity, Tyra Rae couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Not by the rest of the group, but by something, or someone else. Someone or something that was watching them, surveilling their every step as they walked.

Her dark eyes darted back and forth, looking for the voyeur. She saw nothing. She tried to brush it off. It was probably just the fear of being stranded on an unknown planet.

"Over here," Carol shouted excitedly, Look!" She pointed to a thin stream of greyish-brown liquid.

"What is it?" A tall, slim woman with buggy eyes and a pouty mouth bent down to examine the narrow flow.

Carol bent down too. She scooped some of the liquid into her hand and tasted it gently with her tongue. She shivered violently and made a face. "Salty as hell, damn!" her frustration evident.

"Can't we boil it?" one of the convicts asked.

Carol shook her head, "No, it's more complicated that that. Let's keep walking, where there's water there's life. If any of the other exiled crooks are alive, they're along the water somewhere, sure as shootin'."

Following the orders from their leader, the group continued west. Thin bushes and small patches of vegetation began appearing along the sides of the stream, green, thin and delicate, like angel hair.

Tyra Rae reached down, grabbed a small handful of the green stuff and popped it into her mouth, hoping to quiet her rumbling stomach. It was good, light, sweet, with a slight citrusy taste.

"This is pretty good," she announced to the group.

The others immediately stopped walking and frantically started grabbing handfuls of the fragile green blades.

Carol tried some, then stood up. "Good to know, but, we'll worry about space grass later. We don't find a way to get that water fit to drink and we're dead, grass or no grass!"

A small, roundish man with a ruddy complexion and a rim of shocking red hair framing an otherwise bald head, pointed excitedly, "Look!" he cried, "Smoke!"

The group hurried toward the billow in the distance. Where there was smoke there was fire. Where there was fire, there were people. Where there were people, there was food. As they moved closer, the distinct smell of roasted flesh became evident.

Tyra Rae could feel the water forming in her mouth as the thoughts of roasted...well, roasted anything at this point flooded her imagination. The last thing she or any of the group had to eat, aside from the handful of greenery was an "I Can't Believe It's Not Tuna" sandwich on space lettuce. And it tasted like it had been vacuum sealed for 200 years, which was the last time fish had been anywhere in the seas of the earth.

The convicted criminals followed their noses to a small group of crudely built domes scattered along the water's edge. Larger patches of greenery dotted the landscape. A tired-looking man sat by a fire, stirring a pot.

"Smells good." Carol approached him.

The man jerked his stick out of the pot and pointed it at her, "Get back, get on outta here, got nothin' for ya." He shook the stick, then waved it around, making sure the entire group saw it.

Carol took a step back. "It's okay, man," she held her hands up. "We just got dropped off here. Exiled. We're just tryin' to find the others."

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, "You a Sixer?"

"What's a Sixer?" Tyra Rae piped up.

The man darted out from behind his pot at a speed that defied his elderly, frail appearance. He grabbed the young woman by the arm, and with his pointed stick, made a quick slice in her forearm.

She wailed, pulling her arm away.

Carol stepped in front of her, and nose to nose with the elder gave him a shove. "You mess with her, you mess with me."

He stepped back. "She bleeds red, you're okay. Come have some stew." He motioned to the boiling clay pot behind him. "Jarvis' the name, or as they called me over on Kincadia, guilty of insubordinate tendencies and inciting same."

"What does that mean?" Tyra Rae asked.

"It means," he straightened his bent back, "that I was 68 years old and they had me working fields but I never got even near enough to eat. Working fields so they could get their fill while I go hungry! I told them to take their orders and their job and shove 'em!" He grinned, "Mighta told others in my boat to do the same." He winked, his cloudly blue eyes now twinkling.

"Why did you cut me?"

The senior man laughed, "To see if you bleed red or yellow, silly girl." Then he turned to the group, "Come on to camp, have something to eat and drink, you can bunk with us till you get sorted out. Wet season's coming soon, so you're gonna have to act fast."