Cold Hell - 3. Chapter 3

An excerpt from Danni Aamodt’s memoir entitled, Holes in the Earth (leaked)

I am not the first Danni Aamodt, but the fifth. I live within the shadow of the first four; it hovers over my head like a blackened cloud, forever reminding me that I am the end of the line - and a disappointment to those who have come before me.

It started with Danni Aamodt Sr, the original founder of Aamodt Corp. He started out as an inventor, a man who came from nothing. Though I do not want to bore you with my entire family’s history I think it’s important to at least give you a small summary, to remind you that my bloodline was not always royal. Danni Aamodt came from a single-parent single-child home, raised by his mother, Sylvia Lindvisk; the story goes she worked as a waitress at a diner in Stockholm for many years.

Raised in the politically-frightening times of the early 21st century, Danni Aamodt Sr. was considered a genius, a prodigy if you will, with a knack for science. It was with a top-notch education and a series of fortunate circumstances and partnerships he founded Aamodt Corp. I’m sure in the beginning he started out as a humble man who wanted nothing more than to make “the world a better place” - as is the company’s basic motto - but as most men who find power are prone to do, he lost sight of the humble life he’d lived before. He got married and had a child, a boy who shared his exact same name.

The company truly started out with the world’s best interest in mind, beginning with medical and environmental science. In the year 2024, Danni Aamodt found the cure for AIDs, a decade later the cure for cancer. These accomplishments propelled him ever higher, catching the eyes of the government, spreading the corporation’s influence throughout the world. He was considered a philanthropist, a god.

Unfortunately he could not fix the world. By the time he rose to prominence the world was in permanent decline without any hope of it being reversed. With this in mind Aamodt Sr began grooming Danni Aamodt Jr. to take over the company when he died. As it was, Danni the II had inherited his father’s intelligence - he too was a prodigy. Together they began working on humanity’s next major project: finding a potentially habitable planet where humanity could live.

An expedition to Mars funded by the Aamodt Corporation proved fruitless. While the planet had water, technology was not yet advanced enough to make it habitable.

In the beginning decades of the twenty-second century it was Danni Aamodt III who found the answer, or at least part of one, in the Janif Galaxy, over 25,000 light years away. By early twenty-first century standards the idea of traveling so far into space, outside of our own solar system, would have boggled everyone's mind.

Aamodt Corp developed a way around, making space travel faster, better. With the help of advanced ships and cryogenics we were able to finally leave our solar system. In the middle of the 22nd century, we finally discovered another planet that was habitable: Redemption5S77.

While the planet was a viable candidate for colonization it was not ideal. While it had enough carbon and oxygen to make the air breathable there was no vegetation; it was all mountains and glaciers.

Though this was certainly a setback, it also provided hope for the people of Earth. We had discovered another planet with an honest to God breathable atmosphere; this could only mean there were others out there.

For Planet Redemption there was another solution at hand: a prison. Over the past few centuries the world had seen an uprise in crime. With the looming threat of overpopulation and environmental disasters, the government could no longer afford the death penalty. And so the worst criminals you could imagine - murderers, rapists, and terrorists - were shipped to the planet in exile, along with any offspring they might have, for they too were undesirable.

...

Like a prince born into a royal family, I was privileged. I didn’t experience the financial strife the lower class experienced. Like my father and his father before him, all the way back to Danni Aamodt Sr., we received the best education money could buy. I went to an academy where children exceeded the pace and education of a standard school. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I understood the significance of this.

In my experience there were two kinds of people: those who practically exalted me because of my namesake and class, and those who hated me for the same reasons. I remember being mugged in an alleyway in downtown Stockholm, not just because of the quality of clothes I wore but because of who I was.

Who my father was.

I remember the day well, as if it happened yesterday. It was the beginning of December, the week before the students of the academy were to go home for the holidays. I was sixteen. Usually I took the shuttle home - Mother always insisted since I refused to be picked up and dropped off by one of Father’s fancy company cars - but on the day of the mugging I decided to be adventurous and walk home.

I remember feeling happy at the prospect. There was a thrill to being disobedient. My whole life I’d followed the rules, trying to meet the expectations laid out before me. Did I not deserve this small pleasure?

I was at the outer edge of downtown Doc City when I realized I was being followed by two men. I could feel their eyes on my back like bloodthirsty dogs, never straying. They walked with a casual gait; to anyone else they probably looked harmless. But I couldn't stop their thoughts from seeping into my head. They knew who I was, somehow they recognized me. They knew I was Danni Aamodt. I knew what they planned to do: corner me, steal my money, and clothes.

Rape me and kill me.

I could see one taking me from the front and another from behind.

This was why my mother didn’t want me walking the streets. It was too dangerous; there were too many sharks swimming about, out for blood. The simple pleasure of walking home suddenly seemed foolish, trivial to my safety.

The terror I felt was like electricity shooting through my entire body. I wanted to run but if I did, like dogs who get a whiff of fear, they would give chase. I could try and get help but no one would. We live in an age where everyone only helps themselves and don’t want to involve themselves in the problems of others.

I kept myself composed, my face stoic. I’m good at hiding my emotions. In my family and as an empath you have to. I kept my pace and expression measured though it was everything I could do to maintain an appearance of calm and ignorance, as if I didn’t know they were after me.

Coming up on my left was an alley, which cut through to the next street. If I hurried I could pass through it quickly and lose the muggers in the crowd. I heard a shout from behind me and looked over my shoulder to see the two men break into a run behind me, heading straight in my direction. Their clothes were ragged, their faces covered with streaks of dirt. There was a murderous intent in their eyes, an uncaring hate I couldn’t fathom. Even as I felt their hate invade me like a virus, seperate from my own fear, I couldn’t understand or examine why they hated me so strongly. I didn’t know them, hadn’t personally done anything to deserve their hate.

It didn’t stop them from coming after me.

To hell with composure!

I turned and sprinted down the alley. The men were not far behind me. One of them, the bigger one, had a switchblade in his hand.

“Come here, boy!” he shouted after me. “Give us a taste of that sweet, tight little ass!”

The confirmation of what they intended to do spurred me on. Within seconds I was on the next street, weaving in and out of the crowd. I gulped in the cold winter air, teeth clenched around a scream. Already my ribs were beginning to ache. A couple blocks later I realized I’d lost sight of them. I didn’t want them to catch up, so I walked quickly. I ducked into a coffee shop and called a cab. An hour later I was passing through the wrought iron gates of our family’s estate, a large mansion Danni Aamodt Senior had paid almost a billion dollars to build. Over the past century the house had grown bigger with a guest house and guard house added, and a helicopter pad for when Father’s fancy government friends came over for parties.

To my surprise I found Mother sitting at the long dining room table when I came in, eating what looked like chicken broth. Her hair, blonde like my own, had been combed, and she was dressed. For the past week she had hidden in her room with a migraine. It had been a year since she’d left the property. She complained it was because of headaches but I knew the truth.

It was from her I got my empathic and telepathic abilities. No matter how much I asked, she never said much on it, except that it ran on her side of the family. Like her, I wore gloves and long-sleeved shirts, even during the summer. Even at the age of sixteen I hated to be touched. If I touched an object, say a wall, I would see bits of its history. Images and voices would pass through my mind like a video, so fast and loud it felt like my head would explode. Were I to touch a person their thoughts and emotions would slice through my head like a serrated edge.

Over the past year she’d been unwell. When she left the house to go into the city she was overwhelmed with the emotions and thoughts of others; it had turned her into a recluse. It was the same for me but after years of watching her cope I’d learned to do the same. I didn’t really have a chance since I would inherit the responsibilities of Aamodt Corp when Father stepped down.

She looked up, and when she saw me standing there still shaking from the cold and the fear of what had happened in the city, her composure slipped. When looking at her I was always reminded how different I was from Father. I had the color of her hair, the shape of her forehead, her strong bone structure, her chin, and pale skin, and small build. My father on the other hand was dark haired and tall. Had I inherited anything from him other than a responsibility I didn’t want?

She must have picked up what had happened through what I was feeling because she got up and came over to me. Her eyes showed a depth of sympathy and love I was not used to seeing from my father. It seemed to take her forever to walk the length of the dining room. I could feel my lower lip trembling, the tears threatening to overtake me. I didn’t want to break down in front of her. To let her see me be weak and unsteady was the greatest shame even though I knew she’d never admonish me for it the way my father would have done. She knew who I was better than anyone - who I truly was.

She surprised me once again by hugging me, kissing my cheek. I felt an overwhelming rush of love and understanding from her, and a promise that no matter what, I would always be her son. I froze, unsure of how to react. Her touch and other physical acts of affection a mother might share with their child was rare. I think I could count the number of times she’d hugged me on one hand. We’d always made up for the lack of physical proximity in other ways: We could communicate without using words.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and released me.

“Now I know why you always want me to ride the shuttle.”

She nodded. “It’s for a good reason.”

“Why? They didn’t just want to hurt me out of sexual preference - but because they actually hated me.”

“Because of who you are,” she said softly. “Because of who your father is and who his father was. Not everyone is happy with our family exiling people to another planet to fend for themselves - no matter what their crimes are. Sit down, I’ll have someone bring you a bowl of soup.”