No Shelter for the Complacent
By J. L. Young This war of attrition has to end. This land used to be bountiful and vast. I dug in. Bombed out buildings have become my homes. Lamb’s quarters wildly grown in the sidewalk cracks was the meal of the day. I wear whatever clothing I had on my back the day the bombs fell and the earth shook. No known reason for the war. I grow tired of breathing concrete dust and fiberglass. My makeshift mask has proven to be useless. When the world has gone silent, I walk slowly past the rubble of once beautiful buildings with the hope I’d hear someone calling for help from within the rubble. So far, nary a voice has caught my ear, yet I will continue to be vigilant. A stand near one of the razed buildings is where I perused the shelves. One such periodical caught my eye. I took it to my shelter. It was a building on the verge of collapse. I figured it wouldn’t likely be a target a second time. Inside, I settled into a found sleeping bag for some rest. As I read, a magazine report about a race car piqued my interest and my thoughts beckoned back to a time where happiness wasn’t just a memory. The lugging of the engines with massive camshafts approached the stage lines. The illumination of the tree lights as the cars launched in a roar that drowned out the crowd. I awoke to a subtle shift in the building and scrambled out of my bag, threw all my belongings into it, vacated, made my way across the street to a bricked in park and climbed over the short wall, and caught my breath. When I peaked over the wall, I saw a tank had veered off the street and grazed the building. It wasn’t long until the remaining sections of the building collapsed. The tank had trundled clear of the rubble and the commander sat atop the turret with binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area. He looked down into the turret hole and moved his mouth. The turret turned ever so slowly until the main gun was aimed toward me. I took flight as a barrage of machine gun fire erupted. Refuge was sought behind a bank. There, I caught my breath. It wasn’t long until I heard the tank’s engine approaching. I had to move and keep moving. My heart pounded painfully in my chest. The desire to vomit grew. The commander must have an infrared device at his disposal as it tracked me at every turn. I found myself in an alley. The walls too high to climb. I turned to find the tank filling the gap between the buildings, its turret aimed at me. I dropped to my knees and closed my eyes. The sound of boots on the asphalt inspired my eyelids to spring open. The commander, not a man, stepped closer. She brandished a pistol. I looked into her blue-gray eyes as she aimed across the iron sites. My heart calmed, but slightly. “Will you permit me a question?” “You may ask,” She replied in English and without any particular accent. “Why have you attacked us?” “The oligarchs have usurped power in your country. Your democracy has crumbled as this city has crumbled around you. On your watch, your country has waged war with all the world. Your complacency is your undoing. Only the children are innocent.” “You’re,” I paused to prolong my life even for a few seconds. I closed my eyes, “you’re right and for that I cannot atone for those you have lost. I ask for no mercy for there is none to give. Do what you must.” She squeezed the trigger.
0 Comments
The next ada, Tholml and Emmi departed Ararandaari and ported to a moonmoon devoid of atmosphere. A vast array of ships. Most seemed intact while some clearly had been cannibalized for parts. As they approached, Emmi took to the suit room and readied herself for deplaning. It wasn’t long until Tholml landed the ship and met her there.
“Looks like a boneyard,” Emmi breathed while looking out the side port as Tholml maneuvered the ship close to the moonmoon. “Do you remember what we discussed? These beings can be a duplicitous lot.” Tholml asked. “We got them on Earth, too. We call them used car dealers.” “What’s a car?” “Wheeled ground conveyance.” “Wheels, strange. Must take a fortune to maintain the paths,” Tholml said as he rested the ship on its omnetic cushion. “Indeed.” They stepped down from the ship and moved toward a small structure built into a mountain. The outer door had a sign written in Spiral Common, ‘Welcome.’ They stepped into the airlock and it cycled. The inner doors unlocked and parted. A bell dinged. A being stepped from a connecting room with a pastry in its mouth. “Greetings,” they mumbled through the dry food. “The name’s Gwyta.” She looked for her customers’ names. Despite being on some remote satellite of a satellite, the office looked like it would belong on some used car lot in any downtown on Earth. Emmi didn’t feel comfortable taking her helmet off. “Hello. I’m Emmi.” “Tholml.” The Ichaali added. “I’m looking for the Inilis you have on the network.” “Inilis? We got that. First ship?” the saleswoman asked in a friendly manner. “Yes, and no.” The saleswoman disregarded the request. “What piqued your interest in that ship?” “It’s nimble, well-armed, armored, and port capable.” “All of our ships have had their weapons removed. Now, if the New Consortium ever lifts the ban, I’d be the first one to sell you a ship so equipped. You have to go through a licensed station to install them.” She leaned over toward Emmi and Tholml. Her gaze fell as though she were in thought. “I know what you want!” After the saleswoman donned her suit, she said, “Right this way.” The woman unplugged a rover. Emmi looked at Tholml, tapped on one of the six wheels, and chuckled before climbing into the vehicle. Gwyta settled into a seat and tapped the panel, closing the hatch. The well-worn trails divided tracts filled with inventory. A few minutes passed, they arrived at a machine with the appearance of a school bus. Emmi glanced at her wrist computer. “This isn’t the Inilis.” “The Inilis, it’s a war relic, worn and… no, I know what you want.” “So do I, and it’s not here. Take us back to his ship.” “I don’t feel the Inilis is suited for….” Emmi’s voice took a calm, emphatic tone. “Take us back and you only lose a customer and it wouldn’t affect your business. If you don’t, I’m sure sector authorities would have something to say about keeping sentients against their will. How would that affect your business?” Gwyta glanced at Tholml. His expression punctuated Emmi’s assertion. Emmi and Tholml boarded their ship, leaving the saleswoman standing by the rover. They left the moonmoon and ported. They exited the wormhole. The sensors lit up and presented thousands of ships in a cuboid configuration. A hail beckoned. Tholml opened the channel. A flamboyant voice flooded the cabin. “Welcome to Stewgar’s Star Hopper Emporium, where you get the best deal. We guarantee it. I’m Ashandrin Halafaph. How can I assist you?” “Ashandrin, we’re here to see the Getatay Stonjebraer.” Emmi chuckled as she remembered the translation of the ship’s designation, ‘Pocket Chicken.’ “Yes, Yes, the Getatay Stonjebraer. Nice choice. I’ll pull it from the lot and have it transferred to the presentation lounge. You can rest your ship on pad 42. I will be at the airlock to escort you there.” According to Emmi’s eyes up display, a Sciurid met them as promised. As they moved along the corridor, the lights moved with them as though the Sciurid carried with it a candle. A power-saving measure. The Sciurid reached a hatch at the end of the corridor. Emmi thought to herself, ‘A Sciurid looks like a large groundhog. He’s so cute!’ Ashandrin removed what appeared like a stick of butter from his vest and greased a set of rails before manually opening the heavy hatch. Inside, three ships waited to be inspected. A table and a set of comfortable chairs awaited them. “I selected two other ships of a similar type to your selection. Please inspect them for as long as you desire. If you have questions, feel free to ask.” |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
May 2024
Categories |