Fobos: Survival, page 1
Fobos: Survival
Copyright © 2025 Wade Forshaw
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication—reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise), or stored in a retrieval system—without the prior consent of the publisher is an infringement of copyright law. In the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying of the material, a licence must be obtained from Access Copyright before proceeding.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously.
Wade Forshaw prohibits the use of Fobos: Survival in connection with the development of any software program, including, without limitation, training a machine learning or generative artificial intelligence (AI) system.
Copyediting: Brock Peters, Galley Creative Co.
Cover and interior design: Sarah Peters, Galley Creative Co.
Cover art by Joseph Loseliani
ISBN 978-1-0696049-0-3
Thanks to my friends and family for their help and support in writing this book—especially my wife. Without her, I would have quit writing this damn book many times over. And, of course, to my always supportive Mom.
BO-08
Choice
BO-08 stood still as he watched the bird peck at the food he’d laid out on the concrete windowsill. He avoided the small beam of light that pierced the darkness as he inched quietly forward. The light cut through the middle of the room, shining on the wet concrete floor. The bird was small enough to fit through the bars that lined the window. Small enough to fit in the child’s two hands, if the bird would only let him hold it. He liked the bird; it was different, like him. Lopsided wings, one leg bigger than the other. The bird was different on the outside, but BO-08 felt different on the inside. He always had to fight it down—the rage. The bird helped him forget.
He watched the bird finish the food and look back at him, tilting its head with curiosity. “You’re welcome,” BO-08 said, forcing a smile. He took a small step closer. “I want to touch you.” He reached out his hand, but the bird hopped back, then side to side like it was doing a little dance. His world was brighter when he focused on the bird.
Keys jangled behind him against the large steel door. The bird jumped through the bars. BO-08’s smile disappeared as quickly as the bird. “Okay. Bye.”
The lock disengaged and the door swung open. The dimly lit hallway cast a shadow of a man who loomed over BO-08. His dirty lab coat flapped as he walked through the door.
He tightened his ponytail and sneered, “Window time is up, Vessel.” The scraggly hairs of his thin beard wiggled when he spoke.
BO-08 stood in fear, staring. Ponytail offered no kindness. He stepped toward BO-08 and roughly grabbed him by the arm. “Now!” He yanked BO-08 out of the room. Pain shot through his shoulder, but he was used to it.
He was almost eight years old, or so he was told. He’d lived here as long as he could remember. All the adults called him Vessel, except for his favorite. BO-08 struggled to stay on his feet as he was dragged along by Ponytail. This was not the first time he’d been pulled roughly.
Dim fluorescent lights lined the ceilings; most were burnt out or flickering. Doors lined the cold concrete halls, each one numbered: BO-01, BO-02… His door was at the end, BO-08. Cries, screams, and whispers echoed as he passed each door; his door was silent.
Ponytail pulled out his ring of keys—the sound as he sifted through to find the right one made BO-08 anxious—unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
“When is Doc-Ma coming?” BO-08 asked, staring blankly into the dark room.
“The doctor will come see you soon. She has a new test for you, Vessel.”
BO-08 stood at the door and looked in. A solitary bulb hung in the center of the room; it crackled and twitched as the frayed cord sparked. The cold tile floors, with a single drain in the center, offered no warmth.
Ponytail pushed him across the threshold, slamming the door. He cringed at the sound of the door locking behind him.
The five other boys he shared a room with were the closest thing he had to a family. They all wore the same clothes: a ragged shirt and pants with a single pocket.
The boy in the corner, staring at the wall, was Mouse. He often sat like that, looking at the corner. Mouse was the smallest of the boys and was usually crying. One boy was standing behind the door, Red. He was always angry. Sunny and Bug were whispering to each other by the bed, and the last boy was Beak. He was curled up in the corner with a worried look, watching BO-08 enter the room.
Red shoved BO-08 from behind, toward the bed. “You should have pulled those scraggly hairs out of his chin.”
BO-08 turned to face Red. “He’s trying to help.”
Red pushed him again, making him stumble back onto the bed. “You shouldn’t let him handle you like that. Next time he comes in here, you should kill him.”
Images of smashing Ponytail’s head into the floor flashed through his mind. He could almost feel the warmth of the blood on his hands. His heart raced, but he swallowed it down. “No,” BO-08 said, shying away from his thoughts. “He’s friends with Doc-Ma.” He hated Ponytail, but he didn’t want to upset Doc-Ma.
“Leave him alone, Red.” Sunny and Bug hopped onto the bed beside the boy. Red turned and walked away into the darkness to punch the wall.
“Did you see the bird?” Bug asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
BO-08 nodded, smiling.
“Do you think it would like bugs if I find some crawling in the tiles again?” Bug asked, leaning forward with a growing smile.
“Where do you think it goes when it flies away?” Sunny interrupted. “We’re going to fly away someday, too. You’ll see.”
“She’s bringing you another test,” Red shouted from the other side of the room. “It’s going to hurt more than the last one. You’ll see.”
“No!” Mouse whimpered from the corner of the room. “I hate the screaming.” He covered his ears. “Don’t scream.”
“At least Mom will comfort you after,” Beak said. “She never pays any attention to us—only to you.”
Keys jingled outside the metal door. The boys scattered and stood against the walls as the door opened. BO-08 stayed on the bed. A woman calmly ducked through the door carrying a small metal case. Her short, curly brown hair bounced as she walked in.
“Hello, BO-08. How are you today? Did you enjoy your window time?” She brushed a few strands of hair from BO-08’s face.
BO-08 smiled and nodded.
“I’m the reason you get window time. Did you know that?”
Again, BO-08 smiled and nodded.
“What do you say?” She placed the metal case on the bed beside him. The sound of the two latches opening made BO-08’s stomach drop.
“Thank you, Doc-Ma.” He forcefully swallowed a dry lump and reached out to touch her lab coat, but quickly pulled his hand back.
She opened the case, exposing four vials with gray liquid and a long needle. “Do you know what this is?”
BO-08 nodded begrudgingly.
“We have a new test for you.” She turned and smiled at him. “I know you didn’t like that last test, did you?”
BO-08 frowned and shook his head.
“Remember I came and helped you?”
“Yes.”
“If you take this new test, I’ll be here with you the whole time. Would you like that?”
BO-08 pulled his arms close to his chest. His fingers ran over his scars, thickened from years of testing. Arms, legs, back, and chest were all scarred and callused from injections.
He closed his eyes. He could feel the pricks of hundreds of needles piercing his skin. He wanted to scream “no!” and throw his arms around Doc-Ma, crying. His heart was pounding; his fists were clenched.
He opened his eyes and scanned the room for a way out, for an excuse, anything. The other boys were spread out facing the wall, trying to be invisible. He looked up and saw Doc-Ma staring, waiting for him to respond. She was smiling with dead eyes. He didn’t want to disappoint her. She was his favorite—the only one that treated him like more than a vessel—but his fear was too much.
BO-08 shook his head no.
She looked over her shoulder and out the door, but nobody was there. “The other doctors will be here to help soon. Please, B? Will you be a big boy and take the test for Doc-Ma?” She stroked his hair. “I promise we can read your books again after it’s done.”
BO-08 bit his lip until it bled. Finally, he nodded.
“You’re so brave,” she whispered. “I’m proud of you. The others don’t understand. But I see it. You’re the strongest. You’re going to pass the tests.” Doc-Ma removed the long needle and attached the vial with the gray liquid. “Open wide for me, B.”
BO-08 opened his mouth and lifted his tongue. Doc-Ma reached around, roughly grabbed a chunk of hair, and held it firmly, tilting his head back. He tasted the cold metal and felt the familiar pinch of the needle piercing the meat under his tongue, the tension of fluid being pumped into him. He grabbed her coat and clenched his fists.
Doc-Ma pulled back with the empty vial, placing the needle down. She peeled his little hands off her coat, straightening the fabric. He could trace the liquid as it traveled through his body, lighting his veins on fire.
“It hurts. He looked up at Doc-Ma. “It hurts me.”
Doc-Ma turned, walked to the door, and yelled down the hall, “Hurry up! What’s taking so long?”
“It hurts.” BO-08 felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “I feel sick, but I’m going to try to hold it in for you, Doc-Ma.” He lay down on the bed and started to shiver.
“GET THOSE STRAPS!” Doc-Ma yelled down the hall. “Idiots. Must I do everything myself?” She disappeared out the door.
“Ma? You promised you wouldn’t leave.” BO-08’s body constricted. He started dry heaving. “Mom?” He retched so hard that he fell off the bed, landing heavily on the tile floor. He felt so cold. He just wanted to be held.
Doc-Ma came running around the door, lengths of rope in her hands. Two men in lab coats trailed behind her: Ponytail and a short man with an overbite and eyes that were too far apart. They picked up BO-08 and threw him onto the bed, then pulled the bed away from the wall and into the center of the room. As his body began to convulse and contort, they quickly strung the rope overtop of him and began tying him to the bed.
BO-08’s lips turned blue. Between bouts of retching, he chattered, “M…m…ma?”
“I’m right here,” Doc-Ma replied softly. She looked at the other two men. “Why weren’t you behind me? We knew he’d react like this. If he’s damaged from that fall, it’s your heads!”
“Relax; he’s fine,” Ponytail said calmly, smacking BO-08’s face a few times. “He looks delirious, and he’s burning up.”
“No shit. Get the hose.”
Doc-Ma motioned with her head, and the two men in lab coats left the room. BO-08 felt the coarse rope burning against his body as he shook. As soon as the door was shut, she stroked his head and leaned in. “It’s okay, B. It won’t be long now. We’ll cool you off.”
Doc-Ma quickly pulled back from BO-08 as the door swung open again. The shorter man had returned with a hose; water trickled from the end. The sound was a painful static in his ears. Doc-Ma stepped back toward the door.
“N…n…no, p…p…please. Mom.” His body was convulsing too hard to form the words. He could hear the other children crying against the walls.
The man pointed the hose at BO-08 just as the water started flowing. The freezing water touched his skin, transforming pain into rage. He struggled with all his might to escape the ropes that bound him. He bit his tongue and felt warm blood pool in his mouth; he bitterly swallowed it down.
He yelled and screamed and struggled until he passed out. Doc-Ma’s voice softly echoed through his head: “You’re so brave, B. That’s a good boy.”
Flynn
Fobos
Flynn sat at the top of the tower enduring the final days of the purifying “Bathe in Light,” all in preparation for the Ascension tomorrow. The hunger pangs from the weeklong fast used to bother him. Now, they were nothing more than a mild grumble in the back of his mind.
Surviving on sunlight and water for seven days before the Ascension was among his many responsibilities as the High Priest of Fobos. This was thought to bring the Priest closer to Anium the Immortal, to the Sun, and to the plants blessed with surviving the Event.
Spending time up in the tower was Flynn’s favorite part of being a Priest. He normally found great peace and clarity there. However, this time, he’d found himself haunted by the last conversation he’d had with his sister, Cabri.
“If you want to live in Fobos, you have to follow the rules!” Flynn shouted at Cabri in frustration.
“Maybe I don’t want to live here anymore. I’d rather live in the Ruined City, making my own choices out there. After everything, they suggested I marry Ziyah?! To ‘heal the rift’ I caused?”
“Maybe you should just consider—”
“If you don’t understand why I can’t, then you’re no different.”
“Cabri, what you did…it was a betrayal to all of Fobos. There will need to be repentance.”
“You used to have my back. I thought, out of everyone in our family, you would understand. People in Fobos want change. Not everyone can ignore the suffering here. We need more than just prayer. With the Algaetox infections… anyone not high-born is receiving used and broken Ascension upgrades, and medical supplies are being withheld…” She sighed. “Of course Mom and Dad want to stop change; they benefit from the status quo every day.” Flynn could see her holding back tears. “Fuck Mom and Dad for not standing with me…fuck Ziyah and Anium.” Cabri turned to leave the room but paused at the door and, with a wavering voice, she said, “And fuck you too.”
He’d spent the week praying about that conversation. Fobos has been worse lately. Was Cabri so wrong to want change? Maybe forming a council might have been the right thing to do if she’d done it more openly.
His eyes were unfocused. He was lost in thought, listening to the low hum of the child-sized crystal floating in light in the tower’s center. He shook his head and looked beyond the tower to take in the view, one last time.
There was no better view in Fobos. Every morning, after his meditation, he’d watched the Sun rise over the Ruined City, far off in the east. As part of his priesthood, he was not permitted to leave Fobos—this was the only way he could take in the outside world.
The city of Fobos seemed so peaceful and quiet from above. If you ignored the venting pipes and access lids sticking out of the ground, the old wooden sheds and lush green crops filling the interior would have you believe it was just farmland; a few laborers worked to harvest the fall’s crops in time for winter.
Anyone living in Fobos would tell you the city’s heart was underground: a series of steel tunnels spread through Fobos like the roots of a tree. On quiet mornings, Flynn would walk through the fields. He always felt like the tunnels were muffled, damp, and slightly claustrophobic.
To the east, past tall, steel-plated gates, stood the forest, as deadly as it was beautiful. Further still, the old Ruined City peeked through the tree canopy, a ghost of its former self; many buildings had collapsed or been weathered away by the wind. Most of the buildings left standing were simple lattice supports for the vines and plants competing for sunlight.
The Ruined City was considered a deadly place where much of the best scavenging could be done. A tribe of Leapers hopped in and out of the treetops as they traveled, like a dolphin pod jumping from the water. Of course, Flynn had never seen a real dolphin, but he was lucky enough to have read about them in the books brought back to Fobos—one of the luxuries afforded to a member of a high-born family. Leapers were what they called a specific type of mutant who could jump extreme heights and distances with ease.
To the west of Fobos, vast mountains partially blocked the view of a river that ran south, opening into a large, algae-covered lake. Luckily, Fobos had Doc Para; she’d figured out a way to use the algae as a form of energy to power machines, which largely contributed to Fobos’s success. Algae energy now powered everything in Fobos, flowing through vein-like tubing, providing a green bioluminescent glow.
That morning, Flynn knelt to light the candles and say his final prayers. He ignored a knock at the door while he took his time finishing a prayer.
The door to the tower swung open, and a fellow Priest stumbled in, out of breath. Flynn recognized him immediately.
“Light be with you, Nelious! It is nice to see you, friend. You are early. Is there something wrong with the Ascension preparations?”
Nelious smiled. “Light be with you, Flynn. Nothing is wrong, but I was told Doc Para requires the tower at once.”
Flynn was instantly annoyed. Collecting himself, he took a deep breath, then said calmly, “The Bathe in Light should never be disturbed. Doc Para does not have the authority to interrupt these preparations. Especially with such a big Ascension tomorrow!”
“This order comes straight from Ziyah…er…Anium.” He stumbled over his words.
“I see.” After a short pause, Flynn continued, “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s get our things and be on our way. Please”—he pointed—“those candles.”
