Chapter 9: Dreams of the Past

(the following chapters are after the incident at Dana Bahn)

Riki peered through the stairway railings from the third-floor landing as an imposingly tall man with long flowing black hair spoke with the administrator, a balding, fat man that enjoyed fondling those under his charge and beating the ones who resisted. Thus far, he had never gotten his hands on Riki, who had been wise enough, even at the tender age of ten, to never be alone with the pervert.

The tall man was an Onyx of Tanagura, Riki had seen him come here several times, and Onyx was title that had been bestowed on him by Jupiter, the great ruler of Amoi. Even slum mongrels were taught properly about the hierarchy, along with a limited, highly propagated version of Amoi’s history.

Below him, money changed hands between the Onyx and the pervert administrator, then they moved further down the hall to a classroom door on the left. The administrator stepped into the classroom, and a few minutes later a small crowd of six-year-olds stepped forward, all pale and mostly blond, although there were a few with brown hair. None of them had black hair or dark skin like Riki, but then he was considered an anomaly here. Riki the Dark they called him, and he hated that name.

Most boys wound up in Guardian after their birth females got pregnant and chose to remain in comfort with their owner, rather than saddled with a bunch of unwanted pups. Male mongrels were raised in the orphanage until they were fifteen, whereupon they were tossed out and forced to live on the unforgiving streets of Ceres. Boys were nothing on Amoi, just extra baggage, so if a female could open her legs for profit or status and easily get pregnant, then toss the unwanted boy into the Slum system. A female, however, was more highly regarded and was usually kept, at least until they were eight or nine, and then they could be auctioned or sold to the highest bidder. Most people wanted a female because they could breed or looked nice on their arm; there was a profit to be had with females, but the males were considered useless.

Riki had no origin, no idea where he came from, his earliest memories were this Godforsaken place, and the unkind hands of people prodding him, or sticking things into him. He never knew the bitch who bred him, or the male doner that knocked her up. It was possible he had siblings, but family connections was not something most mongrels thought about. He was simply an orphan, without a proper name, place or identity.

Turning his attention back to the scene at hand, he watched as the children followed the Onyx to the front doors, which were released by security. Soon they had all disappeared, and the administrator returned to his office. Two minutes later, a teacher escorted a young boy, about Riki’s age, into the office and opened the door.

“Bastard,” Riki muttered as he watched the boy step inside the office and the teacher walk away. “Can’t even wait until noon to get your dick wet? Fucker.” He sighed, sat back against the wall and pulled out the pocket knife he had stolen from a shop in Midas some time ago. He had to be in this hell-hole for three more years.

There were only three ways to get out of Guardian, being kicked out at fifteen, being picked up as a worker or apprentice or by some socialite in Midas, or in a body bag. There was a fourth way, it was where most of those pretty, blond kids went. They would be inducted into the Furniture program for Elites. Yeh, no way they’d pick a darkie like him for that; and no way he wanted to be bowing and scrapping to some Elite either. Probably had to wash their arse or something after they shit. If they shit. Who the fuck knew what Elites did.

The only other way out of Guardian was one few even considered, and that was to run. The administration didn’t really care if a kid ran away, they knew that the kid’s chances on the streets of Ceres were slim to none, and they could always use the vacant bed. Slim chance or not, Riki made up his mind not to stay here a day longer than his thirteenth birthday; not that he knew when his birthday was, he simply used the calendar year to decide. He wasn’t even sure if he was ten, to be honest, but the teachers claimed he was, so he had to take them at their word.

Oh well, three more years of sleeping with one eye open, fighting for every scrap of food and clothing one could get here. They were served regular meals, if you could call the small packets of instant noodles and substitute meat food, but then they were sent on their way to eat. They were never allowed to stay in the small cafeteria; and so of course the older boys would try and steal your food the minute you were away from the staff.

Riki had learned quickly, after several beatings and going days without food, how to avoid that. He would quickly rip open the packet as soon as he got it and gobble it down as he slowly made his way out of the cafeteria. He didn’t bother to try and heat it in the machines in the hall, he’d just eat it cold and uncooked, but he didn’t care, food was food, and it was better than going to bed on an empty stomach.

At first the bigger boys still beat on him, for not having a share to contribute, but after awhile they stopped. He always fought back, always, and it didn’t matter if it made them hurt him worse, he would not just lie down and take it. He had nothing of his own except his anger and his pride and he would never give those up. He wasn’t a dummy like some of these slouches because he’d paid attention during the meager education classes; learned his letters and alphabet, and the few words they allowed him to learn. The less educated you were, the easier it was to keep you locked in the slums, but Riki wouldn’t stay here forever. He’d taught himself to read and to write, through his favorite vocation; stealing books.

He’d steal any kind of book or magazine he could. A lot of files were online, but he’d sneak into the administrator’s office and hack the idiot’s computer for reading material. He had a good memory, and he’d learned to read fast, to avoid being caught. Then there was ol’ Gregmond, who, for a quick blowjob, would give him paper bound books to read up in a corner of his shop; where no one could see him. He never got to take the books home, because that would be money out of Gregmond’s pocket, but he got to read them at least. He never stole from Gregmond, because that would be shooting himself in the foot, but he would steal from other places when he had the chance.

After being beaten, tossed around, starved, tormented and abused before he was seven, Riki had suffered through and learned the ways to avoid such situations; and when they couldn’t be avoided, he fought. Once he was free of this place, no one he would fight, and he would choose how he would be treated by others. No one would ever tell him what to do again. No one would ever touch him without his permission or take from him what belonged to him.

There were a lot of ways to beat the system of constant neglect and abuse if you bothered to pay attention, and that was one thing he was very good at. The people here made you feel filthy and useless, because you had to rely on their services and good will to survive. Riki had promised himself that once he was out of here, he would never rely on anyone, he would never owe anyone ever again.

He learned the rules of Guardian early on. Steal what you like, but never get caught or you are severely punished. Never be alone with any adult, if it at all possible, and if you were, especially if it was the administrator; stick your fingers down your throat and vomit so they believed you were too sick to play with. Never believe what anyone tells you, no one here was your friend and no one ever had anything nice to show you in the bathroom or the closet or an empty classroom; it was always just a ploy to get you alone so the older kids could torment and abuse you.

The number one rule, of course, was to watch everyone and learn from them, because you could never underestimate the power of information. Most took this rule to a higher level, ratting out other boys to earn specific privileges; to the extent that they would even make up things just to get a little more food or video time; or blackmail kids to force them to do things they didn’t want to do.

Riki wasn’t a rat, he never even gave up the kids that beat on him regularly or stole from him in the beginning. He wasn’t here to make enemies, but nor was he here to make friends. Extorting him was useless, because he would simply take the punishment rather than owe anyone. He was perfectly fine on his own. He didn’t need anyone, not now, not ever

Riki’s eyes drifted open but he couldn’t see anything. Oh God! Was he blind? Not this! Anything but this. He could handle anything if he could see it coming. Help me! Someone please, help me! I can’t see! I can’t see! Iason! Cal! Anyone, please! Oh God! Oh God! I can’t see!

Suddenly, a calm settled over him and he drifted off again.

“Hey, you’re a pretty one.”

“Leave me alone!” a small, brown-haired boy cried as he tried to pull away from the larger youth who had gotten hold of him. “Let me go!”

Someone kicked the boy in the back, and he fell forward in the dirt.

Riki sipped the beer he had stolen from a store and watched as the three teenagers surrounded a kid that had wandered into the park area. He’d seen the boy around a few times before, and he really was pretty. Long, dark hair the color of rich leather fell in a cascade around his pale, face, wild and untamed. Round, defiant eyes that were neither blue nor green, but a soft mixture of both, that always seemed to be searching for something.

The pretty boys were always the fodder for the older crowd, that’s why Riki made sure that no one ever thought of him as pretty. He’d had to suffer through being fondled when he was a youngster, or forced to suck off a filthy pervert to get something he really wanted, but the first asshole to successfully take him, had also been the last one to do so. Because of that, he’d already had quite the reputation, even at the tender age of thirteen.

There weren’t many people in the park this late in the evening, most knew to avoid it due to situations just like these, so it was the kid’s own fault that he was being attacked. He’d learn, Riki thought, one way or the other, everyone eventually learned from their mistakes.

The boy cried out as his shirt was ripped from his body, clothing was precious in the slums, not everyone could afford replacements and Riki felt a tinge of sympathy for that more than the fact that the kid was about to be gang-banged by men twice his age.

“Fuck you!” the boy cried as he was held down. “Let me go! Let me go, you bastards!”