A Business Trip to Natchez

By Christopher Davis

Day 0

Tomorrow I will arrive on the Old World. I am not looking forward to it. I should perhaps be excited to step foot on an alien planet for the first time, yet already I am loathing the thought of social interaction after three weeks in transit from Mars. I still had to work, of course  —insurance paperwork is never-ending— but the speeds make it impossible to attend halo calls or even receive text comms in real time. So, I had peace and quiet. I had time to read and exercise. I had my days to myself. Tomorrow, that ends.

With any luck I can recover the crashed ship quickly and be on my way. Though I have little hope that the locals will be accommodating. News of the Old World is measured and filtered, but what details I’ve managed to glean from the NET describe a people devoid of structure and ambition. My ex-wife would say they’ve “gone native,” and I would say she was mixing her metaphors.

Day 1

I was hailed from orbit — after being told the local spaceport is under construction — boarded, and immediately detained. Now I am planet-side in what I can only describe as the most beautiful prison I’ve ever seen. I am surrounded by lush flora on all sides, kept company by hundreds of butterflies with wings of blue and gold, as thin as paper, and a tiny pond I discovered to be the home of several turtles. The walls are solid glass, or a similar substance, and it is unbearably bright and hot— 25 degrees Celsius according to the thermometer on the wall. They let me keep my tablet, but the NET is inaccessible from here, so I’ve nothing to do except write down my experiences.

My God the air does taste good, though. How do they do that? We often add fragrance to the air at home to overcome the tang of steel and dust, but this is different, better. Anyway, I’ve been here for a couple hours now. “Put him in the Greenhouse,” my captor’s apparent superior had told him. I wonder if all their prisons are color-coded? We just name ours after presidents.

Day 1, cont.

A few hours after arriving I received an explanation of my circumstances. I was led to an office within the prison to meet with the warden. There were no other prisoners, as far as I could tell, so my guess is that this one is limited to off-worlders. I have been here less than a day and I can already see why they get so few visitors.

The warden —for who else could he be— referred to himself as Chief Chuka. He is a tall, hard-looking man with dark skin and long black hair. Were we on better terms I might have asked about the local tanning parlor, but his gruff expression made it clear this was no social call. He explained that the crashed ship, my charge, had caused great harm to their city, and that I owed a debt that must be paid before I could return home. I asked for the sum and promised to sort it out with my employer, Bank of Olympia, at which point he informed me that my money is no good here. Instead, I must work off the debt.

Surely my life is over, a prisoner on a backwater world destined for hard labor and an early grave. I must find a way to escape or gain access to the NET. My work begins tomorrow, and I will watch for every opportunity. Once I get word out of my capture, the full weight of Martian might will bear down on these thugs.

Day 2

I cannot begin to explain the strangeness of this day. I was roused from my cot before daybreak by the sound of approaching rotor blades, and when I pulled away the netting —a shield from the butterflies, who have become quite fond of me— sure enough a small helicopter had landed in the prison lawn. It was unlike any I’d seen at home: translucent, quiet, small, and seemingly light as a feather. The pilot that hopped out appeared no older than fifteen, and a girlish copy of the warden.

I was led to the craft and handed a small device to place in my ear: comms I realized. The girl introduced herself as Nina, and she assured me she was in fact sixteen, and could answer any questions I had along the way. I began at once to rattle off about my circumstances as the helicopter alighted once more. I had no intention of trying to overpower the girl and I certainly couldn’t fly the craft, but perhaps I could uncover some details that might aid in my escape.

She only shrugged and said, “You’d have to ask my dad about all that. I meant more like questions about the town, or the work you’ll be doing.”

“There is a town near the prison? Is that safe?” On Mars we of course keep our prisoners far from the light of civilization. Underground or in orbit when we can manage it.

“What prison?” she asked, banking hard to my side as we crested the tree line.

The vista that opened up to me was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Green, blue, silver, and purple stretched and threaded, looped and spun for as far as I could see. Nina did her best to describe it to me. To one side lay a great river, called the Mississippi, and to the other an untamed expanse of wild forest, called the Jungles of Jackson. And in the center, a great city grew —was still growing— called Natchez.

The buildings sprung up as if from the earth, and indeed they had brought the earth and its bounty with them. Each wall was draped in vines and flowers; wisteria, bougainvillea, honeysuckle, and more. Nina named them for me. Each roof was a garden so alive with color that my cell seemed drab by comparison. Everything felt so organic, so connected, that it was difficult to tell where one building ended and another began. Walkways and bridges crisscrossed throughout, their surfaces all shimmering with the same strange bend of light, the tell-tale sign of solar cells.

The sky was impossibly clear, except for the traffic I belatedly realized buzzed around us. Unmanned drones, passenger choppers like ours, construction bots, and the occasional single-person air bike flitted along their own invisible pathways.

A grand spire in the distance caught my eye, the tallest building by far, festooned with great, gleaming petals that wrapped around like a full bud ready to blossom. Surely this was some great seat of power, or the home of their elite and wealthy. Nina noticed my stare and said with noticeable pride, “That’s my school!”

I gawked at her. “It must be very expensive.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a private school, yes?” It would explain her obvious aptitude, though I couldn’t imagine how her family afforded it.

“What’s a private school?”

I tried to explain, but Nina only screwed her face up at me, and said simply, “Everyone goes there.”

Our route brought us to the far edge of the city, and as we neared the pristine river I dared another question, ready to once again look foolish.

“Why don’t you use the water for power?”

“We did, at first,” she said. She explained that the water helped provide electricity in the early days of the city: they restored long abandoned dams and deployed wave turbines in between. But once the solar network was up and running, there was no need. The water was given back to its inhabitants, the old dams were dismantled. Mars would kill for the electro-output from such a mighty river, but here on the Old World it was just a steppingstone.

I began to realize that the stories of Earth we learned back home were likely myths, or worse.

Day 2, cont.

Nina had taken the scenic route, I realized, showing off her city to the newcomer. By the time we reached our destination I was famished, wondering if I’d have to wait until the workday was through before I was given a meal. But Nina walked me to a large tent where a group of men and women were gathered around tables digging into a cornucopia of breakfast foods. She joined me, and I kept expecting her to flash an ID, or explain our presence. But no one stopped us to ensure we were allowed to eat, and no one charged us after our plates were laden with fruits, yogurt, granola, and fresh bread.

Nina led me to a group of a dozen men. Most of them were as dark as Nina, and a few were white like me, though none as pale. The man at the end stood and hugged Nina, towering over both of us, then he extended a large, calloused hand for me to shake. He asked my name, and when I answered the whole table repeated it with a generous roar.

“I am Omo,” he said, expanding his arms over his crew, “and these are the Kudzu Killers!”

The table erupted in cheers and hoots, and I wondered if I’d been thrown in with a group of local criminals for their own day of prison labor. But each man was friendlier than the last, and as we filled our bellies I was soon laughing and yelling along with them. They were a strange crowd, for sure, but strangeness was quickly becoming my norm.

After breakfast Nina said farewell, promising to return when my shift was over. Omo led us along a hilly trail until we reached a great expanse of a fast-growing, semi-woody vine they called kudzu, and the men’s faces all took on looks of grim determination. Omo stood before them, stern and proud, like a general leading his men to war.

“Today we stand on the front lines of battle. We are outnumbered, and our enemy has had centuries to prepare. But we will win the fight against invasive species, and native plant life will once again flourish on these besieged hills.”

The man next to me, the oldest of this motley crew, let out a stifled laugh. Omo was on him a moment later, their faces an inch apart.

“Do you think this is funny ? Should we change our name to the Kudzu Comedians?”

“No sir, Mr. Omo, sir.” He was barely keeping it together, on the verge of a giggle fit as he tried to continue their performance. “But we are mere men. What hope do we have against the scourge of the Mississippi?”

Omo placed his mighty hand on the man’s shoulder, and I realized belatedly that this was all an act for my benefit. “Fear not, my brother. For we have brought a power of unfathomable destruction to lay waste to our great enemy.”

On cue, a huge cargo drone appeared over the hill, landing on the flat ground just in front of us. I tried to guess at what technological marvel was inside, as the men huddled around in pretend fascination. Omo waved me over, and I joined him next to the container.

“Our newest recruit will have the honor. Release the deadly weapon of the Kudzu Killers, if you dare.”

I admit that the performance had gotten to me, and after the wonders I’d seen already that day, I was more than a little anxious to see how they planned to decimate untold acres of wild, overgrown vines. But I obeyed and pressed the release button by the cargo door.

A dozen goats, one to a man, bleated impatiently as they charged into the kudzu field, each more desperate than the last to sink their teeth into the near infinite food source. The grin on Omo’s face was infectious, and a moment later we were all smiling, greeting the goats, and giving them ridiculous war-time nicknames.

My goat was copper-colored with budding horns and a penchant for nipping my fingers. I called him Bloodfang.

Day 3

So far, I had learned nothing that would help me escape, and in fact had forgotten to even try. But today was a harsh reminder. I was not returned to the care of the Kudzu Killers, but rather found myself underneath the burgeoning city of Natchez, helping to restore the old sewage lines.

I would rather not speak in detail about this day. It was awful in every way imaginable, and I longed for the day to end.

Oddly enough, it was over by lunch. Barely four hours and the shift was completed, not just for me but everyone on duty. I asked a woman, Sade, who had spent the morning scrubbing and chatting alongside me, why the day was cut so short.

“The harder the work, the shorter the day,” she said with a shrug.

I told her I supposed that made some sense. If working in sewage was the only job you could get, at least you’d have more free time. She looked at me with the odd expression I’d seen on Nina’s face several times now, and I knew I’d said something peculiar. So, I decided to double-down, and ask the rude question.

“Why do you work here?”

“The same as everyone else. It was my turn.” I helped her step out of her coveralls.

“What does that mean?”

“No one wants to work the sewers, and staying down here long can make you sick. We all take turns. Today it was my turn, and in a few months, it’ll be my turn again.”

I stood astonished as she returned the favor, pulling the leg of my coveralls free of my boot.

“Besides,” she continued, “the bots will be able to take over soon. Then I’ll only have to come down once a year.”

As we left the changing area, I finally remembered my greater aim.

“Sade, where could I access the NET?”

“Just use your tablet.” I decided to avoid the subject of my status as a Martian criminal.

“I’ve lost mine. Are there any public access points?”

“Of course, all over the place. Plus, the libraries, I think the closest one is in the building above us. But just get a new tablet.” She pointed across the street, “You can get one over there.”

“I’m low on money,” I said with false dejection.

Her quizzical look returned. “Then get a free one.”

A few minutes later I left the store with a tablet and a pocket solar charger, standing dumbly on the corner waiting to be tackled by a police officer, or shot outright. When I was sure they weren’t coming —in fact I hadn’t seen any in the city so far— I stuffed the tablet under my shirt and headed to the nearby roof where Nina was set to pick me up.

Day 4

Which brings me to my final discovery. There are no police, there are no prisons. I am not at the Greenhouse, but rather a greenhouse, a building meant for the care and growth of plants. Perhaps if the Bank of Olympia thought the residents of our city deserved gardens, I might have known the difference sooner.
So, why, then, am I a captive? I can think of only one reason. To keep this utopia secret from the leeches of Mars. My home planet is in constant desperation for resources, and here I am surrounded by untold abundance. The people here must recognize the bounty under their stewardship and believe that I am a threat to their survival. My “labor”, if you can even call it that, was likely just a way to ease their conscience, so that I would empathize with my executioner when the ax fell.

I can admit with no shame, their plan worked. If I am to be a sacrifice for the safety of Natchez, I can hardly blame them.

Day 4, cont.

Today I cleaned panels at the second largest solar farm in the city. It was easy work, but still my least favorite job so far. I was alone and had no one to talk to. Something I never thought I would miss.

I need rest. Tomorrow I will see the warden— Chief Chuka. I will tell him that I have accepted my fate.

Day 5

Nina has not come for me today. I believe I will die soon. Before I do, a brief testament.

When my daughter became ill, I worked harder than I ever had before, so terrified I was of losing my job and what little access we had to the care she needed. The worse she got, the less I saw of her. I would wake in cold sweats from nightmares where I’d been laid off like so many others, finally able to come home only to have her die in my arms.

A great wedge was driven between my wife and me. She told me the money didn’t matter, I should be home with my daughter. I refused. I worked ever harder. And then my little girl, my sweet angel, died anyway. I divorced my wife soon after. She protested, of course, but it was the only way to keep the mountain of medical debt off her shoulders, and squarely on mine.

She would love it here. They both would. I do. Whatever comes next — heaven, or hell, or something else — I will miss this beautiful city.

Day 5, cont.

Nina finally arrived after dark. Flying over the city at night was a new wonder all its own, seeing the same shining towers and bustling thoroughfares lit in a warm orange glow was otherworldly. Looking up I could see that the lights did not pollute the sky, and the stars were visible by the thousands, by the hundreds of thousands. In a week of extraordinary sights, a starry sky was alien and awesome beyond imagination. I turned away so that Nina would not notice my tears.

We landed at the fully operational spaceport near my own craft. Another part of their deception, I supposed, to create the false need to hail me in orbit. My ship appeared intact, and I wondered if they simply meant to send me back to Mars unharmed. Between that and death, I hardly had a preference.

But there I met Chief Chuka once again, and he finally explained to me the strange circumstances that had led to my imprisonment.

An automated cargo craft belonging to Bank of Olympia had been struck by a micro-meteor in route from the Kuiper Belt to Mars. It drifted in space for some time, before it was finally caught in the pull of Earth, and crashed near Natchez. This much I knew. What I did not know was that the point of impact was Chuka’s botany lab, destroying five years of research material and killing his long-time assistant, who had returned to the lab late that night at Chuka’s request.

My captor was not a prison warden, but a distraught scientist mourning his friend and colleague.

He knew that someone would eventually come for the ship, and in his grief, he resolved to punish whomever they dared send. That someone was me.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said. “But then I met you, and suddenly it all became clear.”

And so, a plan of sorts formed. A life for a life. Only, not in the sense I had imagined. He didn’t want to abuse me, but to save me. He and Nina worked to show me an honest portrait of life in Natchez, in the hope that I might stay.

“I thought you were going to kill me,” I said.

Chuka blanched at this, “Dear God, why?” He was clearly appalled and embarrassed.

“To protect the city. If Mars found out about this place…”

“Mars knows all about us,” he said. “Most of Earth resembles Natchez now, and what we have, Mars doesn’t want.”

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“Freedom,” he answered. “We try contacting the citizens of Mars regularly, but the signal does not get through. Those in power want us to remain a boogeyman, or a fairytale.”

He told me I was free to go or stay as I chose. And then he left.

I entered my ship and sent a missive to my employer. The crash was unrecoverable, I wrote, and the case should be closed. The ship was en route moments later.

Day 6

I know I am the last person you want to see. But I hope you will consider my proposal. My ship will arrive at the Olympia spaceport in three weeks, and it will respond to your command. Fly it here before the bank repossesses it and join me in Natchez. I’m including the journal from my time here so far, in the hopes that it expresses even a fraction of the beauty and kindness that I have seen.

 In this wonderful city I find that I, too, am powered by the sun. And I know that if you come, you will agree I look good with a tan.

I report to the kudzu frontlines in an hour, Omo will not brook tardiness. Bloodfang hungers for glorious battle. And I know that they would both love to meet my wife.