~ The Blue Orchid and Other Tales ~

by

James Scott DeLane

I don’t remember much from pre-war, but I do remember the rain. I remember water dripping from the sky and splashing on my face and the fun I had catching drops with my tongue. There was a green garden with colorful flowers and buzzing insects. I remember my father cutting the lawn and my mother tending her roses.

“Watch out for the black and yellow ones, they will sting you,” my mother warned. I remember dark clouds gathering in the sky. “Take care of your sisters,” my father told me. “A storm is coming.”

He was right; a terrible storm was coming and none of us were ready. They arrived in small scout ships at first. They promised to share their technology and reveal the wisdom of their accident race. The Drikes they called themselves. Physically, they were not much different from us; not quite as strong and not very tall. Our shortsighted politicians viewed these aliens as the solution to all the worlds’ problems. The Drikes promised renewable energy, an end to hunger, and we foolishly believed them. Because they were advanced technologically, we assumed they were advanced spiritually. We never questioned their motives. A few voices tried to warn us, but they were labeled paranoid and ignored. No one could refuse the golden egg.

One day the big Drike ships arrived and the hoax was revealed. They came to our world in search of worker bees. They enslaved us as we had so often done to each other. They herded people like cattle and shipped them to their medical labs. A simple procedure removed part of the human brain and produced an obedient drone. The Drikes were relentless and without mercy. They treated us with the same disdain we treated lower species. I was a lucky one. An army truck saved me and my sisters when our city was abandoned.

No one knows how many billions of people the Drikes converted into automatons. I still remember the fantastic size of their ships; they blocked out the sun. They annihilated us from orbit with their plasma weapons. I give our solider boys credit for fighting when all seemed lost. The Drikes had us outgunned and their technology was superior, but our brave guys never gave up. They fought for every inch of this planet. So many of those boys were cut down by an enemy they never saw. Countless others were deformed by hideous Drike diseases. Our guys died and bled long enough for a nineteen year old whiz kid to create the shield. After we had the shield, we had time.

The shielded cities were dirty at first. Most of us didn’t care because we were happy to be alive. In the early days, we all shared what little we had. It didn’t take long for people to revert to their old habits. Like every other city in every other time, the rich and poor separated. The wealthy did what they always do; they controlled the police; the government, and they chased away anything they found unpleasant. After the war turned our way, life improved for those on the top, but life became harder for those on the bottom.

The energy shield covered a large area of what was the pre-war city. Many of the old streets and buildings were left in disrepair and became home to sick soldiers, drug dealers, and flesh peddlers. The neglected sections of the city were known as bottom-street. Merchants, bankers, and profiteers made their homes in the new and rebuilt sections. The reclaimed areas of New Rio were called top-street. The cops were gods on bottom-street. They could throw anyone outside the shield anytime they wanted. “Pay to stay” was their motto. “Two legged rats” we called them. We all paid; one way or another.

During the war, I did things I’m not proud of. I took a dying solider boys’ jacket so my little sister Jessica wouldn’t freeze. I slit the throat of a wounded Drike and gave his food to Annie. I accepted money for sex and I let the police have their way with me. I did whatever it took to protect my sisters. I didn’t care what happened to me, but I swore Annie and Jessica were going to have a better life. It took ten long years, but I crawled my way off bottom-street. I owned the Blue Orchid and the building it was in. I wasn’t in the best of top-street, but I was off the bottom. My sisters lived in the building, but I took an apartment in a new high-rise built on the divide. From one row of my windows I could see the snow covered mountains and the bay, out another side I could see the green park in the center of top-street, and out the rear window I had a clear view of the bottom and all those who still lived there.

I know it rains in the world because I see the clouds, but it never rains in New Rio. The transparent shield lets nothing through. The energy field protects us from free roaming killer robots, airborne toxins, and a rogue Drike Ghost Ship our army couldn’t find. Beneath the city, twelve nuclear reactors operated twenty-four hours a day. They fed constant energy to a central grid which powered the shield and drove filtrations systems which constantly disinfected and circulated the air. There were no buzzing insects or animals in New Rio, not even pets. Because it never rained and the temperature under the shield was constant, I left my windows open. I always imagined the air would be cleaner when I made it off bottom-street, but the city still smells the same.

Thursdays I went to the club early. I had to be at the Blue Orchid by ten to make my weekly contribution to the police. I could have refused, but if I went to the council, there would soon be a customer who complained about something that never happened and the two-legged rats would shut us down. Jessica referred to these payments as a cost of doing business; Annie said it wasn’t fair. All I knew was things would never change.

The temperature was lower at street level. The doctors believed the cooler air slowed the spread of any Drike microbes that might beat the quarantine and slip into the city. I usually wore a pair of black pants, a red shirt, lace up boots, and my fake leather jacket. That particular Thursday I put a white scarf around my neck. Teddy, the building doorman, always greeted me with a generous smile. His right leg was replaced by prosthesis and his left eye was milk white, but Teddy didn’t let those war wounds bother him.

“Hello, Ms. Kleist,” he greeted me with enthusiasm. “Another beautiful day in paradise.”

“Hello, Teddy,” I replied. “How are you?”

“Every day is a great day,” he answered and drew in a deep breath. “The air is fresh, the future bright, and nary a Drike in sight.”

He leaned close and winked. “You know I’m single. If your sister Jessica needs a date, you just let me know. I get goose bumps when I think about it.”

“Sure thing,” I replied and walked onto the street. He was making a good natured joke about my baby sister and I took his words in the harmless way he meant them.

The morning sunlight gleamed through the shield unobstructed. The deep blue sky was clear. The Blue Orchid was two kilometers from my apartment, so I walked. I could have taken the tram which ran on metal tracks in the center of the boulevard. Gas engines were not allowed in the city, so there were no cars. Every top-street had a red painted tram. The drivers wore old fashioned train conductor hats. They didn’t really drive; the trams were controlled by computer. The drivers were on the trams to greet people with a friendly smile and help them on and off. The rail lines ended before they reached bottom-street.

The Blue Orchid was at the corner of Seventh and Third Avenue. Our building was pre-war so we had the entire structure gutted and repaired. I walked along Fifth Avenue, past the shops and cafes. The street bustled with commerce and the air smelled of fresh bakery products and other foods. A mannequin in a store window drew my eye. The doll displayed a brown coat that seemed to be real leather. The alert merchant noticed me peering through his window. He opened the door and stepped outside. I knew by the manner of his walk that both his legs were replacements.

“Nice jacket isn’t it?” he politely asked. “You could try it on.”

“No,” I said and shook my head. “A real leather jacket must cost a fortune.”

“That jacket isn’t real,” he added with a shake of his head, “but it certainly appears real. Touch it, I’ll bet you can’t tell the difference. Put an authentic cowhide jacket next to this one and I bet you a silver coin you could never tell which one is real.”

“No thanks,” I answered. ”A real jacket would be nice, but I don’t need another fake.”

“But it is real,” he replied. “It’s just not made of cowhide. Besides, you’ll never find a real leather jacket these days. They don’t make those anymore. Why don’t you try the jacket on? It goes so well with your chestnut eyes. For you, I’ll make you a special deal.”

“No thanks,” I replied and moved on. Saving my money was an old habit that was hard to break. While I strolled I noticed the young faces. All smiling and cheerful, like there was no shield and there never had been a war. Not just any war, but a horrible death struggle we came within an inch of losing. Human beings have a remarkable ability to survive and put the past behind them. The next generation wouldn’t even care about the war. My walk took me past Knights College, just as classes were starting. All the girls wore knee-length green skirts, white stockings, and pleated shirts. All the young men wore dark blue, junior military uniforms with shiny brass buttons. Most of the girls walked arm and arm with a young man. One particularly beautiful girl stood apart from the others. Her straight blonde hair hung to the middle of her back. She held two books in her arms and anxiously surveyed the street. A young man dashed toward her from the tram and they embraced in a tight hug. For a brief moment, the young girl and I shared a glance. She smiled and held her young man. Her eyes told me her thoughts. I have a man who loves me.

Our shared glance only lasted a second, but I felt her happiness. I never went to college and I was never held by a smiling young man. When I was her age, I trolled bottom-street and took money from anyone for anything. I was with many men, but none cared for me. To survive, I buried my feelings and became cold to the world. I created two huge imaginary warriors with giant battle axes. They guarded my heart and stopped anyone or anything from hurting me.

The painters were finishing when I arrived at the Blue Orchid. My sisters were outside inspecting the work. Annie’s fondness for sweets showed in her waistline. She had red hair and a face full of freckles. My baby sister Jessica was completely different. She was as tall as me with perfect skin and natural, sandy blonde hair. She wore a simple black dress that she made more elegant than it really was. She had a feminine grace to her movements. She never applied a speck of makeup because she didn’t need to. Her eyebrows were darker than her hair, her cheeks were always rosy, and her lips were full red. She looked like a pre-war movie star, or at least I thought so. Jessica was our artist. She designed all the dresses and marketing ads. Annie ran the business and made sure our customers paid.