Plasma Frequency Magazine: Issue 12 (5 page)

e-razored

By J.S. Watts

Warmth. The smell of fresh, damp soil. The raucous euphoria of this planet
's dawn chorus: joyous cries from the indigenous fauna in the branches overhead and the metallic sound of her survival canisters being violently overturned.

Grabbing the nearest heavy object, she rushes out of the perma-shelter to find a man crouched down and rummaging vigorously through her formerly well-stacked kit. He
's grubby and unshaven and dressed in the same grey, utilitarian one-piece she's wearing. She yells at him and he looks up, grinning. The grin is not reassuring.

"
It's my lucky day: life support cans, an erect and fully functioning shelter, and its rather luscious, brunette lady occupant. I like brunettes."

She takes a firmer grip on the universal wrench in her hand and says nothing.

"Aren't you going to say hi, babe? No? Do you have a name or is the planet-jump still screwing with your memory?"

She
's not going to admit to any weakness. Instead, she says, "They're my cans you're rifling. I get to ask the questions. What's
your
name, and what do you think you're doing?"

"
Well, I admit I'm still a bit hazy about the first, but as for the second..." He trails off as he glances from her to the canisters and back again. "I'm after some additional supplies, a ready-made shelter, and a nice bit of arse, not necessarily in that order." He grins again, standing up in a single motion and lunging at her.

Her response is swift and instinctive. He hasn
't even managed to touch her when her left boot kicks him hard in the balls. The sickly grin becomes a grimace as he doubles-up over his damaged assets. Then the universal wrench comes down on the back of his skull with a dull thud.

She wonders, without concern or remorse, if she has killed him, but he
's not dead, just badly stunned. She has him trussed up like a celebratory land-fall turkey before he regains any semblance of full consciousness.

When his eyes finally open, she is standing over him with the wrench firmly grasped in her hand once more.

"Let's try again, mister. Who are you, and why were you messing with my cans?"

It
's his turn to say nothing.

"
This wrench'll make a lot more mess of your ankle bones than it did of your thick head." She raises the wrench above his legs.

"
Okay, okay. Look, my memory's as shot as yours must be. The planet-jump's still fucking with my head. I can't remember my own name. The jump also fucked up my cans. I slept under an emergency tarp last night, so this morning I came looking for replacement kit. So sue me."

She raises the wrench again.

"Which planet are we on?"

"
Can't help you there. If I can't remember my own name, I sure as hell ain't gonna remember the moniker for this whoreson pile of shit."

She looks around. The planet is green and fresh and alive. It doesn
't look like a pile of shit to her. It looks like hope. Another black mark against the bound man by her feet. He already has a number of them.

"
So you got no name and this planet's got no name. What can you remember?"

For a minute he looks confused and angry.
"Nothing but the survive-and-settle instructions I must've got programmed into my head. They're blocking out everything else."

"
Not quite everything, apparently." She looks meaningfully at his crotch.

He shrugs.
"Nothing but a man's instinctive reaction to some available fresh pussy."

"
It's not available," she says, as she brings the wrench down on his right ankle. The bones crack loudly. His screams echo round the clearing and startled bird-type creatures flutter up from the trees.

"
Nothing but a woman's instinctive reaction to a rapist," she says and she knows inside herself that this is true: her reaction is in-built, automatic, what she does.

Now she has a problem, though. Her would-be rapist and thief has a badly smashed ankle. Does she let him crawl away on his one good leg and hope he doesn
't come back when she's sleeping? Does she shatter his other ankle and drag him out into the surrounding wilderness to die, or possibly survive, or does she just kill him outright and have done with it? Her gut says kill him, but she looks around at all the hopeful, fresh, greenness and her heart says she could do with a clean start, a new life without the stain of blood and guilt. Then she hears a noise in the bushes behind her.

Spinning, she is confronted by another man, older than the first by two or three decades, to look at him. There is white in his beard and hair and his one-piece coverall is faded and heavily patched. The bow and arrow in his hands, however, look recently made, well maintained and deadly.

"Put the wrench down, sister and I'll lower my bow."

"
And then?"

"
And then we'll talk about what you did to that feller to make him scream like a homeworld stuck pig and why you done it."

The notched arrow is still pointing at her. She lowers the wrench slowly
. He un-notches the arrow. She places the wrench on the ground. He places the arrow down on the ground in front of him.

In his turkey-trussings, her first uninvited guest is getting vocal.

"Help me, mister. You gotta help me. The fucking whore's busted my ankle bad and stole my kit. I was only trying to get back what's mine, but then the ho's gone and done this. It hurts bad, and I need drugs for it." He bumps himself along the ground towards the new comer.

"
Whoa there, brother. Stop where you are. I hear you, but the both of you's just fresh meat as far as I'm concerned, and I aim to hear both sides of the story before I do anything about anything. Sister, you wanna tell me what happened here?"

"
I planet-jumped yesterday. Came round in this clearing with my survival canisters beside me and the survive-and-settle instructions in my head screaming at me to get the basics set up before sun-fall. I do the business thoroughly and go to sleep, only to find this douchebag rifling my cans as soon as it's sunrise. He plans to treat me like flesh for the taking, and I show him what a woman can do to man-flesh, given half a chance. Simple as that. I wasn't the one making trouble."

Bow and arrow man looks at trussed-turkey guy.
"Want to change your story any, brother?"

The guy scrabbles nearer and whines,
"It's my kit. She stole it and busted my ankle. I'm the innocent victim, mister. I only want what's due me."

"
Okay, let's see, shall we?"

B
ow and arrow man walks briskly to the cans and starts to sort through them himself. She makes a growl of protest, but he silences her, and she surprises herself by accepting it, although she keeps her eyes on what he's doing. He produces an unopened canister labelled Med-Hy-F. Opening it, he pulls out women's sanitary protection and annual female contraception boosters.

"
I'd say these cans were sent down with a sister. What do you say?"

Trussed-turkey man starts squawking again, but the other man turns his back on him and walks towards her.

"Got a name yet, sister?"

"
I don't know. I can't remember."

"
Don't say that to no one else. Gives you away as very fresh meat. No newcon remembers their name when they first get here. Some remembers a few years later, but not many. I'd pick yourself a new name and start using it pronto. I call myself Woods. What shall I call you?"

She looks around the clearing for inspiration. The plants r
emind her of bushes on the homeworld. She is surprised she can remember this, but not her own name.

"
Laurel. You can call me Laurel, for now."

"
Nice to meet you, Laurel." He nods. "Looks like you got yourself well set up, already. Must have worked with a passion yesterday. Not all do."

She looks Woods up and down.
"What you after, Woods?"

"
Nothing. I heard Dick Brain back there screaming, and I came to investigate, is all. Call it neighbourly. I hunt round here, and mine's the nearest claim. Not that you can tell. Been here a few years. Always like to check out the newcons. See what we're getting. You'll do, I reckon. Not sold on him."

"
So what're newcons?"

"
You are. Dick Brain is. I was, once. All new arrivals are newcons: new convicts, see?"

"
Convicts?"

"
This is a penal colony, Sister Laurel. A prison planet, to be precise. Don't you remember nothing?"

"
Not really. Stupid things like garden plants at home and some images from when I was little—happy things, but then the happy stops, and the images get more messed up. Don't know why, but I think, maybe, there's stuff I'm glad I can't remember," she shudders. "Anyway, then it all goes blank. Nothing. Just the survive and settle imperatives going round and round inside my head. Why am I here? What did I do?"

"
Who knows? That's supposedly why they wipe your memories, e-razor them: a fresh start someplace, and no baggage to weigh you down. This is where the homeworld disposes of its serious offenders. They get shot of us without getting their hands dirty. The planet kills a good many of us and forcibly rehabilitates the rest."

Laurel
's thoughts are working hard now; testing out what Woods has said against what little she knows and, more importantly, what she feels deep down.

"
So, I'm a criminal? I did something real bad to warrant this?" She waves her right hand broadly to indicate the clearing, possibly the whole planet and maybe everything beyond. Woods catches her hand. She lets him. He turns it palm up.

"
There's your proof: your con number. They tattoo that on you when you start your sentence."

She studies the purple code etched across her palm: LoD574699F.

"LoD? I'm a lifer?"

"
You remember some things, then."

"
Not really. A bit. I know certain things. Like what LoD means."

She reaches out and grabs Woods
' hand. Etched across his palm: PR324181M.

"
You're political?"

"
Back in the day. Not so much now. Little call for it on a planet like this." He grins. She finds it surprisingly disarming.

Behind them, Dick Brain, as she now thinks of him, grunts. Then she hears movement. He
's up, Woods' arrow in his hands. He's used it to cut through some of his bindings, and now he lunges at Woods with it. Automatically, she produces from up her sleeve a small blade she didn't even know she had and sticks it in him. It slides in easily, straight between the ribs and up. It's an economic and deadly efficient move. She can see herself doing this before...to another man...men. They deserved it too.

Dick Brain gurgles and slumps down. The dilemma of what to do with him has been resolved. Woods retrieves his arrow. As he bends down she can
't see his face, but she reads the tension in his body.

"
He was going to kill you."

"
He was going to try. Wouldn't be the first. It was you I didn't see coming. You're quick with that blade. I didn't even know you were packing."

"
Neither did I."

"
Full of surprises, aren't we?"

There is a dense silence between them.

"Do you want help with the body?"

"
No, it's okay, thanks. I can handle things."

"
I'm sure you can, sister."

A fresh start. She
'd liked the idea, but already there is blood on her hands. She feels her past creeping up on her, even if she can't remember its name.

"
By the way, I shan't be mentioning this, unless you want me to. You might want me to, though. There's no harm in having a reputation down here. Keeps the dogs at bay, though the worst of the packs are over in the hills by Nomansland, too far away to be of bother. You've landed on the good side of the land mass."

"
Great. What else do I need to know about the planet?"

"
Its official name is Osiris IV, but folks here call it Mother. There's more than enough space for everyone on Mother, if you keep to this side of the land mass. Some people find it lonely, but it suits me. I'm naturally anti-social. On that note, steer clear of folks until you know what's what. For all this is the good side, Dick Brain there would have been in good company. Go with your gut. Memories can be e-razored, but deep instincts can't. So until you know, trust no one."

"
What about you?"

"
Not even me."

Woods is checking his bow and reclaimed arrow as he is speaking and, before she has the chance to ask how he knows things like the planet
's real name if he's been e-razored like everyone else, he steps back into the undergrowth and disappears into it. She goes to look for him, but he's gone.