Monday, June 20, 2022

Ceaseless Dark - Chapter 2

Original Artist: Shawn Poh | https://www.artstation.com/artwork/qdOQL

===
 
The problem, simply, is larger than many people
tend to realize. Space, and space travel, requires all
of the relevant resources to be carried with at all
times; or, at least, some measure of acquiring the
necessary resources. Ask your average layperson and
they will give you the big four: food, water, air, and
fuel. But existence requires more than that.
 
Any tool you will ever have, or the ability to fabricate that
tool, must be brought with you. You must bring clothes,
medicines, recreation...literally anything and everything
you would need to function both mentally and physically;
all of that must be shoved into a cramped, vehicle
with you as you shuttle through the dark. 
 
Imagine being forced to live in an apartment for 
years on end. Every door, window, every crack to the
outside would be sealed and you would have to live in
there without anything but telecommunications to the
outside. No physical, outside assistance of any kind.
 
What would you need to bring with you to survive 
for all of that time? 
 
- Captain Tatiana Botezatu, The Nagato 
 
 
Chapter 2
 
  
    The entire door gave way with a muted thunk that wasn't so much heard as it was felt through the reverberations of the environmental suit. However, thanks to the microgravity, the door didn't fall, but rather just began to drift lazily backwards away from them.
    "After you, little lady." Dunagan said with a wave of his hand.
    "Well, if lady's first, by all means." Colby shot back with a wave of her own hand.
    "Well now, don't mind if I do." he responded with a mock flip of imagined hair.
    The big man pushed off gently from where he rested near the door, floating into the hallway beyond, followed shortly thereafter by Colby. 
    The hall was pretty much what they were used to with these sorts of ships. Cramped with only enough space for the two of them to be side by side, drifting maybe a foot or two off the deck. Sleek, metallic paneling, thick, solid metal doors, big, bulky electronic doorpads and monitors, hardened polyglass lighting across the roof and floor, and clearly marked walkways, doors, and location designations in bright off-white paint that, without the century of exposure to the elements, would have glown in the dark with natural bio-luminescence.
    Everything was sturdy, built to last, and meant to survive and help the passengers survive deep space. No frills. No decoration. Just functionality and rugged durability.
    All about them, things drifted quietly in the dark. Random objects that found no rest due to the microgravity. A pen spinning in a constant, lazy circle. An old tablet that drifted near one corner of the hall. Someone's discarded hat, a UMC private's hat based on the designation on it, hovers just between them as they move. The dented remains of a steel coffee tumbler slowly bounces off one wall.
    "Spooky place." Merrick crackled out over the radio.
    "Eh, it ain't the worst place we've been too." Colby said with a non-committal shrug that the pilot on the other side couldn't see.
    "Still... gives me the creeps." she shot back.
    "And that's why you don't dive." Jameson's voice came through over the static of the radio.
    "Nah. Don't say that, boss." Dunagan replied with a smirk Colby could make out even through his darkened visor. "Give the little girl a chance. Next time, I'll fly and she can go with Colbs."
    "No fuckin' way." Merrick answered quickly.
    Half way down the hall, Dunagan and Colby stopped in front of the next door. Near identical to the one they just cut through, this door was labeled as 'EQUIPMENT STORAGE'. Glancing back the way they came, Colby could just make out 'ALPHA LAB' next to the sizeable hole in the metal that they'd passed through.
    "What? Don't think I'd make a good pilot?" Dunagan chided.
    "Dunagan, I don't think you could fly us a hundred kilometers through open space with the ship on autopilot."
    "Technically, that wouldn't be flying." Huli seemed almost to whisper through the static of the connection.
    "Look, all I need is a fancy hat and to sit in the squishy chair. No muss, no fuss." Dunagan blustered with a gentle wave of one hand. "Best damn pilot y'all have ever seen."
    Colby glanced down the hall to the flotsam floating about. After spotting her target, she hopped along the wall for a moment and snatched the old private's hat before returning and tapping the old piece of headwear against the chest of Dunagan's environmental suit.
    "There ya go, big guy." Colby said. "All your's."
    "Ah!" he almost squeaked with joy, a sound you wouldn't expect out of the wall of muscle that was the big man. "A fancy hat!"
    "And I'm sure we'll find you a squishy chair somewhere in here if we look hard enough." Colby returned as she pulled the plasma torch once again from her belt.
    "But is it Merrick's squishy chair?" he asked.
    "No, I guess not."
    "Well then I don't want that one. I want Merrick's."
    "It's my squishy chair, Dunagan." Merrick hissed out playfully. "All mine. You'll never get it."
    The blue-white flame ignited on the plasma torch, spurting and flickering with little flashes of white and gold trailing off its edges as Colby brought the tool up to the outside edges of the door. Instantly, the metal there began turning to a soft, molten putty beneath the torch's heat.
    "But see, I got the hat, Merrick. And you'll be on a dive with Colbs. There will be no one to stop me!"
    "Buhh." Colby could hear Merrick practically shudder through the radio connection. "No thanks. And, even if I did go on one of those deathwalks with Colby, someone could stop you."
    "No one could!" Dunagan repeated.
    "Huli could."
    "Here I thought you'd say Pascall." Colby commented, her focus on her work in front of her.
    "N-no. She's right. I'd just lock out your access to the command consoles." Huli said, her voice distant as she seemed to be thinking about it. "And probably my door after that. No, definitely after that. But, worst comes to worst, yea, I'd call Pascall."
    "They've got ya beat, Dun." Colby observed.
    "What am I being called for?" Pascall's thick baratone scratched out through the microphone.
    "It's nothing, Pascall." Merrick replied. "Just threatening Dun."
    "Dunagan?" Pascall asked, just the slightest hint of threat in his tone.
    "Alright, alright." Dunagan said, holding up his hands in defeat, though only Colby could see it. "I'll be good. But I'm keeping the hat!" he quickly added.
    "Love ya, Dun." Merrick chided.
    "Yea, yea. Say that all you want but you cheated bringing Pascall into this."
    "What can I say? I'm just a fan of the man with the high power sedatives."
    There were a few scattered chuckles throughout the radio feed, though, unsurprisingly, not from the doctor himself. Pascall was almost certainly more focused on some other project more interesting to him unless something drastic happened and the team had need of his services.
    "Got it!" Colby said as she finished cutting through the metal around the door.
    She stepped aside and, gingerly, Dunagan drew the slab of metal that was the door back out into the hall with them and set it to drift away down the hall to join the rest of the detritus. It was always easier to bring the doors to them versus trying to shove them into potentially small spaces like an unknown room. In this instance, it was definitely the right choice.
    Beyond, they found themselves in what seemed to be some sort of large, walk-in freezer. The walls were a thick, textured metal and several large vents could be seen overtop of three heavy-looking, industrial shelving units packed to the brim with assorted items.
    It's probably colder now then it ever was when the power was on. Colby mused.
    "What've got, guys? Can't quite make it out." Jameson asked through the static.
    Dunagan and Colby both drifted carefully into the room and started going through the stuff on the shelves. Plenty of it was basic lab equipment. Beakers, vials, metallic and plastic hand tools of every, shape, size, and level of precision. Cleaning supplies for every state of matter be it solid, liquid, or gas. Nothing more than they might find on in their own ship's haul.
    "Nothing interesting here." Colby announced.
    "Sucks to suck." Dunagan commented, causing her to glance over his shoulder, though the only thing she could make out were some sort of darkened polyglass jars.
    "Got something?" she asked.
    "Hey, Jameson." Dunagan asked, ignoring Colby's question. "What's the rule about pets on board, again?"
    "Only Sir Fredrickson the Third is allowed on board and only because he is fluffy and delightful." the captain replied in his normal, strict monotone despite the ludicrousness of the statement.
    "So if I told you I found something slimy and disgusting?" Dunagan asked while proffering up the jar he was holding to Colby, who took it gingerly.
    "I'd say you should probably clean your sheets." Merrick offered.
    Colby stared down at the jar in her hands, trying to understand what she was looking at. The jar seemed almost perfectly sealed, as though it were never meant to be opened somehow, though, how whatever was inside actually got inside was beyond her. Smooth polyglass in a perfect cylinder, maybe some 30 centimeters tall and 13 centimeters wide. No openings, tabs, or any obvious means of getting into it short of sawing the thing open.
    Whatever was inside the jar was a lot harder to make out, however.
    The majority of the inside was stained a deep ombre green with scattered batches of brown, black, and deep violet purple. Those patches that she could see through, Colby could make out some sort of thick mold or growth coating the inside of the cylinder that appeared almost furry or fuzzy in appearance. Tiny tendrils of some sort of plant or something grew out from the fuzz and drifted listlessly about like it was in a fluid.
    Colby gently shook the cylinder in her hand and, confirming, saw things drift about thickly as though in a soup. She couldn't make out any liquid actually sloshing, and concluded that it must be vacuumed sealed.
    Then, as she watched, something small and with far too manly limbs moved swiftly from one of the patches of mold to another. Disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.
    "Guhhh." Colby exclaimed.
    "Wow." Huli proclaimed. "I think something's moving in that, Colby."
    "Definitely is." she confirmed.
    "And we got more!" Dunagan declared excitedly before motioning to the several shelves of similar containers, probably at least two dozen in total.
    "The hell is this thing?" Colby asked as she held it up closer to look, once again seeing something small and slimy dart from mold patch to mold patch.
    "Whatever it is somehow hasn't frozen in deep space and still has shit living in it, so that's good enough for me." Jameson declared matter of factly.
    "These things are gonna sell for a pretty penny." Dunagan declared happily and Colby felt her own excitement growing.
    "Let's get them back to the ship." Colby said, brief thoughts of what something like this could be worth flashing through her mind.
    "Negative." Jameson said. "I'll mark it and you can pick them up on your return sweep."
    "But Boss..." Dunagan began.
    "What if something happens to them?" Colby finished.
    "If a century in space hasn't done it yet then I hardly think another thirty minutes or so is going to matter. Besides, you're going to follow quarantine procedure and put those things in DeCon tanks. This isn't the family station wagon."
    Colby and Dunagan stared at each other through their visors, looking at the jar in his hand and the ones on the shelving, but it seemed like the matter was already settled on the other end.
    "What is a station wagon?" Merrick asked.
    "Th-they were a type of old fossil fuel vehicle." Huli answered.
    "Huh. Weird."
    "Boss..." Colby began again.
    "No. Now hurry up. You're burning air." Jameson said flatly, shutting down any further discussion with that simple fact.
    She stared at the jar, a bubble of worry starting to creep into her stomach.
    "Come on." Dunagan said with a gentle pat on her shoulder as he took the jar, placing it back on the shelf where he found it. "We'll grab em on the way out."
    Colby stared after the jar for a few seconds longer, watching as something dark and slimy flitted from once side of it to the other, appearing only long enough to disappear into the mold on the opposing end and wondered at how anything could be living in there and not be frozen solid.
    "Yea. I guess you're right." she said before finally looking at her diving partner. "Let's go."

===

Tuesday, June 14, 2022

Ceaseless Dark - Chapter 1

 

=======
 
Space is one of the only wonders that humankind will never
truly manage to fathom. It's seemingly simple in its complexity,
able to be summarized in only a few words, but impossible for
any person to grasp the magnitude of it. The concept of 'Infinite'
is one that the layman and scientist alike can agree on the basic
definition readily. Endless. Without borders or edges or dimensions. 
A vastness so great that the act of traversing a fraction of a fraction
could see the birth, rise, and death of an entire species and not even
reaching your intended destination during that time. 

The very concept is so grand in its scope that no terrestrial ape,
no matter how clever in their machinations, could ever hope
to appreciate or understand the unlimited, uncaring emptiness of 
which we barely manage to survive in by no other measure than luck.

- Dr. Shagun Beckett, "Into Infinity"
 
 
Chapter 1 


    "Easy. Eaaasy." Dunagan drew out the word as if by force of will alone, the universe would bend to him.
    Colby ignored him.
    The plasma torch in her hand was hot, even through the layers upon layers of protective equipment and the thick padding of her environmental suit. Truly, a testament to the dangerous tool in her hand. The blade of blue-white flame burned noiselessly in the vacuum around her, but seemed to echo up through her suit from her fingertips as a ghostly hissing noise.
    "Almost through..." she declared. "Three... Two..."
    In the next moment, Dunagan pulled hard against the debris, wrenching the freshly cut metal loose, and then promptly pushed back against it to keep the whole mess from sweeping the two of them back into the blackness beyond.
    "We're in." Dunagan announced.
    "Good job, guys." Merrick crackled over the headset radio. "Keep us posted and be careful in there."
    "Always am." Colby responded, the excitement slipping through as she did.
    Colby always felt excited the first time they entered a wreck. To her, it was like opening a present on Christmas morning. Every ship was different. Some were big and boxxy. Others small and sleek. Plenty were somewhere in the middle with all manner of weird shapes and angles, facilitating the needs of whatever systems or people used to inhabit it. But opening them up was what really got her heart racing.
    You never knew what you'd find inside.
    Contrary to what most Earthers believed, wrecks were somehow both more and less perilous than they imagined. Many dirt-dwellers thought of it akin to diving for sunken treasure in pirate infested waters, exploring the rotting corpse of some vessel claimed by the sea years prior. But, given the lack of both sharks and water, abandoned space-vessels were more akin to urban exploring or, perhaps, wandering into a great, old ruin. It wasn't completely uncommon to find the remains of people, though probably less common then one might think.
    As fun as Colby always thought that sounded, it just wasn't accurate. Instead, the actual dangers came from the ships themselves.
    After all, people don't just abandon ship because everything is ship shape. Something catastrophic is often happening. The bigger ones, engine failure, reactor meltdown, etc. don't tend to leave much more than scrap to pick up. However radiation leaks, environmental failures like oxygen or temperature, and even contaminants like disease or a dozen different types of system failures can all lead to people high-tailing it off a ship and leaving the hulking vessel to careen lifelessly through space.
    When working ship salvage, as Colby and her team did, it was always necessary to remember that the inside of a ship was filled with untold dangers, all of which you had to be on the lookout for. Something as simple as a misstep or bumping too hard into something could tear open one's environmental suit and then it was "Bye Bye, Guy".
    Still, that had never happened with their team.
    They were professionals.
    Even with all the dangers, the reward far outweighed the risk for her.
    Just as every ship was filled with possible dangers, it too was filled with possible treasures. Scrap was the easiest haul. Literally just metal and alloy to be processed down and recycled to fly again once more. But the interior of ships were filled with anything and everything imaginable. Anything that a person might possibly carry with them or strap onto or into a ship could potentially be hidden within the confines of a dead wreck.
    Technology, electronics, equipment, contraband, smuggled goods, cargo of all shapes and sizes, and, depending on a salvager's view of graverobbing, potentially any number of personal items could all be found and resold for a decent price.
    While Colby and her team didn't fall into that later category, there were times she'd considered crossing the line. One time in particular had been on a small passenger ship when she found the remains of an old wealthy woman's jewelry box. Technically she could have commandeered the expensive box and its contents without anyone being any the wiser, but it always felt wrong.
    It's one thing to take from an empty vessel.
    It's another thing to take from that which was once a person.
    Now, as Dunagan carefully pulled the loose pieces of metal and tossed them out behind, dooming them to an eternity of drifting through space til they either ran into a sun or burned up in the atmosphere of some planet who knows where, Colby felt her guts tightening in excited anticipation.
    The ship they'd found, the Auriga, was an old military science vessel that had been marked as destroyed roughly a century back, during the First Planetary War. Based on the condition it was in, it seemed likely that it been under fire and the crew jumped ship. Holes pockmarked the hull and detritus, attracted by the pull of the vacuum of space, had filled in the gaps of the wreckage.
    No gravity.
    No atmosphere.
    Filled with debris and the remains of a hurried escape.
    It was honestly Colby's favorite sort of wreck.
    It was probably the closest she ever felt to being one of those explorers that so many people thought ship salvager's were. Those old divers that would go down into the ocean ship wrecks. Water. Sharks. Beasts and mysteries of the deep.
    Colby felt goosebumps run down her back, the darkness closing in around her as her and Dunagan floated gently through the newly cut opening. The drifted past the thick, jagged remnants of the hull, and into a wide open space lined with computer bays, electronics, and a dozen different pieces of equipment that she could only think to describe as 'Science Stuff'.
    Her lips curled into a genuine smile as her helmet lights carved through the dark and she took in the load of old equipment that was, quite literally, in the very first room they'd entered on the ship.
    "Jackpot." she said gleefully.
    Strictly speaking, electronics that had been floating around in the emptiness of space were unlikely to actually work anymore. More than half, if not all, would almost certainly be toast. A century of exposure to cosmic and solar radiation, not to mention temperature fluctuations that varied by several hundred degrees, had a tendency to do that.
    Even so, finding military or science intel of any kind always pulled a pretty penny from the party who had lost it, more so if someone was inclined to sell to the opposing side. On top of that, the equipment itself was a good deal more valuable as scrap to be recycled and repurposed than hull metal.
    Precious metals were, after all, precious.
    "Can I say? I hope the whole damn ship is like this." Dunagan said, the smile plain in his voice.
    "It may be. May not." Jameson chimed in with a burst of static. "I'm marking it for the moment. Complete your sweep."
    "You got it, boss." Colby confirmed.
    "Be careful in there, guys." Huli's gentle voice sounded over the static of the microphones. "Military ship means no records. No records means I can't guide you through there."
    "We got this." Colby said with confidence.
    "Hell yea, we do." Dunagan agreed, lifting a heavy, gloved fist and receiving his desired fist-bump from Colby.
    "Enough chatter." Jameson said with a clipped tone. "Get moving."
    "Aye aye, boss."
    Floating past the bays of electronics, the two salvagers made their way to the sealed door on the other side of the room and began cutting their way through with the plasma torch, intent on the ship, and the bounty, beyond.
   
 ===
 

Thursday, June 9, 2022

Addressing the Elephant in the Room


Addressing the Elephant in the Room

===

Hello again, all.

It's been a very long time since I've been on Blogger as is no mystery to a lot of the old Author and Writing crowd. While I did decide to pop back in and considered just posting things whenever, I felt like I should respectfully let people know what's going on.

The short and simple of it is: life happened. While I don't want to dive too deeply into it, a large amount of medical and personal circumstances struck very hard, not to mention being followed by the beginning of the pandemic and the disaster that has been the last few years. As it stands, I had very little inspiration to do anything short of hide from existence and haven't done much in the way of writing.

My intent for moving forward is quite simply to get back into it. I'm a great deal more focused on writing both small and large projects. I'm working on several things on the back end that I intent to publish and therefore don't want to actually post on the blog. I can promise more to come on that one. I intend to also put out stuff on the block that wouldn't otherwise find its way into a publication. These might be a bit more random then previous, though I hope that's more because I've expanded as a writer than gotten worse as one.

I'll let you be the judge of that.

Finally, I'm thinking about changing things up to make this less of a purely fiction related blog and expand out more. I've had thoughts about doing reviews, informationals, and things like that, but I really haven't delved too hard into that quite yet and am not sure if I want to quite yet.

At the end of the day, my intent is simply to get back into the groove and really start writing and living again. I hope everyone has been doing well and it's nice already seeing some familiar names and blogs that I haven't seen in quite a few years.

The best I can offer is: expect more to come. I'm not sure about scheduling or anything like that, just know that the willingness is there, so keep your ear to the ground.

Monday, June 6, 2022

Just a Little Chip

 

Just a Little Chip

===


    Late morning sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows resting in stone archways long since weathered by many years. While each window was emblazoned with their own images, some of battles of history past, others of myths and legends, and others yet of figureheads near forgotten, it was the light that entranced him most.
    The light, run through that stained glass, ignited into a rainbow of color every morning, using the stained glass as its paints to splash a spectrum of hues across every stone and brick that lined that long hall. And, with the miniscule bits of dust that drifted from the ceiling on particularly lucky days, the colors seemed to even dance in the air.
    Today was one of those lucky days.
    While RM-BH-022 lacked the mindful programming of some of his brethren to allow him to truly appreciate the beauty that the natural world provided, something about the light in that hallway always drew him back to it. He’d return to it day after day, mopping and sweeping and cleaning the corners like clockwork, even when his scheduling didn’t actually call for it.
    A bug. One of the arcanists called it.
    A quirk. Another said.
    Too much time to figure it out. The headmaster finally declared.
    Why would they care if the mechanized cleaner happened to clean one particular hall more often than required? It was doing its job after all. So long as it didn’t get in the way of the students attending.
    Perhaps that’s why they had spent so much time trying to figure out the little quirk.
    “Move it, tin-can.” one of the students said as they barreled down the hall, nearly slamming into him as he leaned over the mop, trying to get up a particularly stubborn bit of who-knows-what on the floor.
    A split second later, a human male, dressed in the long, flowing garments typical of the Illusion Branch, followed after the other student, calling after him and actually shoving aside the mechanical janitor.
    “Hey, wait up!” the human shouted as RM-BH-022 hit the ground with the clang of metal on stone.
    His mop, bucket, and several hand brooms went flying as he hit the ground, scattering cleaning implements in all directions with janitorial tools sliding across the floors, bouncing off the walls, and one particular brush banging against one of the stained glass windows.
    The hallway quickly filled with students as the period came to a close. No one paid the Forged in the hall any mind as he picked himself up off the stone, seemingly no worse for wear, began gathering the tools of his trade, and continued about his duties.
    After all, why would he, a drone seemingly identical to the twenty nine others that wandered the campus, stand out in any manner? They might as well pay attention to an individual brick in the wall.
    For that matter, why would they care about him leaving the hall? Surely he’s got somewhere to be and it couldn’t have anything to do with them being there.
    
    The next day passed much as any other.
    RM-BH-022 moved from task to task, passing students, faculty, and Forged alike, bustling about the campus without thought. When he found a mess, he cleaned it. When he arrived at his scheduled regions, he sanitized them. He worked quickly, diligently, thoroughly, and always stayed out of the way of his betters.
    He was everything he was programmed to be.
    Except for that bug.
    At the same time the following day, late in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to filter through stained glass, the hall one again had a single occupant.
    Mop in hand, RM-BH-022 slowly wiped and worked the old stone floors while the dustmotes, always the last and seemingly regularly forgotten element of his work, drifted down from the ceiling.
    As always, the hall lit up with the rainbow of colors, dozens of stained glass windows illuminated by the sun behind them.
    With an exception.
    Looking up from his mopping, RM-BH-022 realized that there was something different about the light in this room today. It was miniscule, but a single, small beam of sunlight shined unabashed through one of the windows.
    No color.
    Only pure, natural sunlight.
    RM-BH-022 set down the mop and made his way over to the offending window, leaning down to examine the minute difference in color. To the average student, it likely would have been left unnoticed for quite some time; either til someone was looking directly at it at the right time or if the damage got worse. However, to a Forged meant to pick out the most mundane details, the small, centimeter wide hole stood out as plainly as if someone had put their fist through the glass.
    It was the same window he had been in front of the day before when he was knocked over. The one his hand-broom had hit.
    He ran his finger over the hole, watching the light appear and reappear and noting the slight difference in heat that it put out compared to the filtered light. Again, it would be nothing to any regular person, but he wasn’t.
    RM-BH-022 knew without checking that he did not have the ability to repair the glass. While all of it had been cast by artisans several centuries back, repair required a mage’s touch; someone with the ability to fix it without removing or warping the precious window.
    There was nothing he could do, so why should he waste anymore time than just reporting it and moving on?
    He stepped back away from the miniscule hole in to see the larger picture.
    The window before him, like the rest of the windows in the hall, was emblazoned with something significant to the original founders of the Academy. This one, though RM-BH-022 himself did not know it, showed the principle hero of the War of the Gryphons; a man by the name of Hrothnar the Wise.
    In the window, Hrothnar, cloaked heavily in red velvets and brown leathers, stands upon a hill, one hand extended to point towards something unseen, his other hand at his side, loosely holding a tome. Behind him, set in relief, before a boiling sea of blue and white, seemingly a hundred Gryphon-mounted Cavaliers wearing White, Silver, and Gold and brandishing swords, axes, and spears, fly forward towards where Hrothnar points.
    Were he actually studying here, he’d likely know that this was the turning point of that War. He’d know that Hrothnar, having chartered an agreement with the Gryphons using the aide of his brothers-in-arms, a Druidic Shaman by the name of Colgan and the Ranger Le’ara, used the power of the Gryphon riders to overcome the tyrannical Kingdom of Trevania. He’d likely also learn that this was the first recorded instance of Gryphon-Human relations and one of the founding moments that would eventually lead to a multitude of achievements for the Human species; in particular the dawn of the Erengale Empire, which still to this day relied heavily on the regal creatures.
    But, to be fair, he would have also likely fallen asleep were he to have that level of comprehension.
    “On your left!” a voice shouted behind him before, a moment later, something slammed into the back of his head.
    And his head went through the window.
    The glass shattered loudly, exploding outward in a sparkling array of ruby reds and emerald greens that showered the lawns four stories below the window, though RM-BH-022 only had a split second to comprehend this before momentum of the shove finished slamming his face into the stone windowsill.
    “Caleb! You broke the window!” a second, familiar voice shouted.
    “Yea, whatever. They can bill me.”
    RM-BH-022 leaned up for a moment, the action causing his neck and back to fight against him, and saw the same two from the day before. The second student, a human in Illusionist robes, and the first, a blonde haired half-elf wearing the same.
    Crick.
    RM-BH-022 looked up just as the weakened window started to crumble.
    ShhhCRACKcrack!
    And as it gave way directly on top of him.

    “Testing. Testing.”
    “Seems like audio cues are working well. Visual should be coming online shortly.”
    “You sure you aren’t worried about that chip?”
    “It’s fine. The restrictions the inhibitor chip place on them are just redundant backup. Their programming is really what takes care of it. Besides, mending the broken head and shoulders was already a nuisance. We’d have to replace the entire chassis to replace that chip.”
    “Okay. If you insist. I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t wait til it can be replaced.”
    “Yea, right. You want to talk to the headmaster about ordering a party down to Ironrock Keep to find the gems required to make one?”
    “Not really.”
    “It’ll be fine. It’s just a custodial Forged. What’s it gonna do? Mop aggressively?”
    “Yea. You’re prolly right.”
    The world, all at once, snapped into stark relief. Brilliant blue and white lights glew all around and at him while a smaller gnome male, his hair shock white and tied back, leaned forward with some sort of metal instrument.
    “Begin tracking.”
    Doing as he was told, RM-BH-022’s eyes focused on the metal instrument before him and the gnome, no, the biologic known as Felros, the head artificer, proceeded to test his visual acuity. The other biologic, a dwarf female called Elna, the head arcanist, took notes as they worked.
    “Good.” Felros declared proudly.
    The two started saying something. Was it to him? Was it to each other? He was having trouble focusing on them. What were they saying? Did it matter? It probably didn’t matter, right? Why would it matter?
    And for that matter, why was the other biologic so flushed? Her skin seemed oddly red. Was it always like that? Had he just never noticed. And she was so…wet around the edges. Particularly under the arms. Actually, so was the first biologic. His lips in particular. Everytime he talked, he could hear the saliva slapping on his lips. And everytime either of them moved, they sounded…squishy.
    Were they always squishy?
    “Repeat.” Felros said with a snap of his little meaty appendages. “Designation number.”
    “Sir…” the other biologic said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Something seems off.”
    “Enough, Elna.” the old, frail little biologic snapped at the stouter one. “Designation number. Now.”
    “Designation Number: Ru..Ru… RuM-BuH-022.” RuM-BuH-022 responded in an unfamiliar, chipper voice.
    “Seems like that replacement voice circuit might be bad.” the fat female biologic commented.
    “Whatever. It’s not like they’re conversationalists.” the little, easily broken biologic said dismissively. “Objective.”
    “Objective as last: Monitor, maintain, and Sanitize grounds for Academy.”
    “Retain Objective as Last and begin primary programming.”
    “Acknowledged.”
    RuM-BuH-022 stood and walked past the squishable, disgusting little biologics and made his way promptly out of the room without another word.
    “See. Voice circuit works fine. It was just his designation number that was the problem.”

    The next day did not pass like any other.
    RuM-BuH-022 moved aimlessly from place to place, passing students, faculty, and Forged alike, seemingly dragging as he was unable to focus on any task. His head and body felt strange. Almost foreign. As though he were wearing the metal of another and someone had left a beehive behind in his head. He didn’t work though he notated those locations that really should have been.
    He felt like he was drifting and, despite answering what he knew he was supposed to say, he felt no direction.
    No programming.
    The only habit that felt right came at the same time the following day, late in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to filter through stained glass.
    The damage from the day before had already been fixed. The mages had been by, no doubt due to dozens of complaints from students about the dangerous conditions of a broken, twenty foot window, and already mended Hrothnar the Wise. The window was good as new without even the minor chip to speak of.
    For long minutes, RuM-BuH simply stood there, staring up again at the stained glass window. From time to time, he’d glance to and fro, marveling at the glittering colors that seemed to drift in the air and paint the walls, but mostly he just marveled at the window.
    Who was this man?
    What was his story?
    Where could he fi-
    “Watch it, Ro-”
    Rum-Buh spun in place, already anticipating the shove that was coming, and perfect, metal fingers clasped around fragile, meaty wrist. There was a crunch as pathetic bone splintered under barely trying servos and the ensuing scream of pain from the little Illusionist biologic was promptly cut off as a single metal hand closed over his mouth.
    “What?!” the second biologic Rum’Buh already knew was going to be there shouted. “Caleb!”
    A thousand things ran through his mind in a moment, but something bubbled up that felt right. Felt correct.
    “Please. Do not interrupt the Custodians. We are helping to make this your home away from home.” came out a chipper, robotic voice.
    Releasing both the little biologic’s mouth and shattered radius and ulna, Rume’Buh shoved him harshly to the stone floor.
    “Caleb!” the second one shouted again as he dropped to the ground by his friend.
    “It appears you have suffered an injury from tampering with facility maintenance Forged. This would be inadvisable in the future as the machines that maintain this facility are much stronger and more durable than you.” He continued in that same chipper voice. “I recommend reporting to the physician. Would you like me to take you there?”
    “No!” the second biologic shouted as the first sobbed, holding the purple and red mess of an arm. “We-we got it.”
    “Carry on then.” Rume’Buh said as he turned and walked away, admiring the gleaming colors of the hall.
    They were gone before the rest of the students arrived.
    And neither saw the smile that graced his metal lips.
    Pushing his way through the quickly crowding hall, he continued on through the gathering flood of stinky, sweaty bodies until he crossed outside into a small courtyard that looked down onto others below it. Flowers hung from vines sneaking through trestles above and snaked their ways along columns and benches. Some students were gathered here, but many were thankfully quiet.
    With an exception.
    “I’m telling you, you need to stop talking to that guy.”
    “You’re telling me. He’s the one that keeps showing up in my dreams. At least your’s doesn’t talk.”
    “I don’t think the talking is the problem.”
    Two male biologics, similar in appearance despite the difference in hair color, sat off to one side speaking over a small lunch. One, the blonde speaking about dreams, appeared particularly haggard and looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in several days.
    “What’s up, boys!” Rume’Buh heard shouted from behind.
    Turning to look back at the third voice, another blond haired biologic came walking through door of the courtyard, waving to the first two.
    “What’s Up?” Rume’buh responded.
    The two biologics both fell silent and a queer smile cross the third one’s lips as, looking to Rume’buh for the first time, a chuckle escaped his lips.
    “What’s up to you, too, big guy.”
    “Rume’buh.”
    “Sorry?” the blonde biologic responded.
    “I think you made a friend.” One of the two said as they walked up to the third.
    “Didn’t know they could talk.” the other said.
    “I am Rume’buh.” Rume’buh clarified.
    “Arioch.” the third one responded before pointing to the other two. “That’s Locke and Pal, though don’t make me tell you which is which.”
    “Nice to meet you.” Rume’buh declared.
    “Huh. I didn’t know they could talk.”

Thursday, November 14, 2019

The Tales of Raythia: Trojan Horse | Chapter 3: "Assignment"


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The Tales of Raythia
Trojan Horse

Chapter 3: Assignment


    “Alright. One last time.” The NCO said as he cycled back a few slides to the topographical map.
    Pvt. Marie LeRoux let out a long, slow sigh and sat up straighter in her chair after realizing that she was beginning to list off to one side out of sheer, absolute fucking boredom. Her hand drifted up to her hair and traced the valleys of her tightly knotted locks with her fingers; the old habit of running her fingers through her curly hair replaced once she joined the army and had been required to wear it regulation.
    She glanced over at Diego, or Sergeant Olvera as the baby-faced Team Leader insisted on being called, as he stared intensely at the slide for the third…no…fourth? Fourth time they’d gone over it.
    LeRoux had always thought the Sarge was a little cutie and she’d even taken a swing at him the first time they’d met, but he’d been just as straight-laced then as he was now. Hell, he was actually maybe a bit MORE straight-laced, but that wasn’t here nor there. He was a good lead but not her type when it came to personality.
    Still, he was good eye candy. Sharp brown eyes, brown skin, and clean-cut brown hair that shaped his face nicely even with that softer chin.
    “You day-dreamin’, girl?” Johnson whispered.
    “Only about throwing you through a window, Johnson.” She whispered back with a side-eye towards her Grenadier Rifleman.
    “You promise to try?”
    If she was honest with herself, it would probably take hitting the massive man with a dump truck to actually do so, so try was really all she COULD do in that scenario. Part African American, part American Bison, and probably part cinder block, Pvt. David Johnson worked out about as religiously as a priest went to church and probably was near three-hundred pounds of pure muscle.
    “Yea. If you promise to eat shit, lug-head.”
    “Stow that shit.” Sergeant Olvera barked, glaring at both of them for a half second before looking back at the map.
    Spc. Andrew Merrick, FireTeam Bravo’s remaining member and the team’s Dedicated Marksman, gave them both the side-eye before smirking wordlessly and looking back towards the map. LeRoux frowned and did likewise.
   The blonde man always made her just a little bit uncomfortable. He was practically her antithesis. Cold, calculating, and collected, not to mention tall, thin, and was always perfectly trimmed well beyond regs. She knew he could rely on him like a brother, but that didn’t make his silence and cold perfection unnerving sometimes.
    Still, she liked the college boy. He tended to be unexpectedly fun even if she didn’t see it coming half the time.
    “As I was saying…” the NCO began again. “Satellite and Drone imagery have confirmed the presence of an enemy encampment here on this hillside.”
    The man motioned towards the far end of a topographical map that had been highlighted with a red circle and a variety of scribbled information.
    “While we have been aware of it for several weeks, it appears well-fortified and, while it could hypothetically be taken care of with drone strikes, we believe a high value target Hassan Asghar calls this place home. If we can take him alive, the rest can be dealt with cleanly.”
    “Now, as of yesterday, we have identified movement on the far end of the hillside.” The NCO now motioned towards the opposite side of the map. “Here.”
    “Following this discovery, we scanned the hillside and confirmed with thermal imaging that there are a series of tunnels that appear to potentially lead directly to the enemy encampment and that these individuals are potentially using the tunnels either as a primary or secondary route into the camp.”
    “Unfortunately, we cannot confirm this at this time as the individuals we have spotted have been dressed primarily in civilian clothing, mostly robes and shawls. Additionally, we have been unable to confirm any weaponry, leading to the possibility that this is an unrelated farming or herding community, though we have not identified any cattle or produce as of yet.”
    “Now, it’s possible that this community, if one exists, may have ties to the enemy encampment and are providing aid or it’s possible that undercover operatives dressed as civilians are using it as a backdoor before slipping off into the cities. We need to find out what’s going and, more importantly, if whether we can use this backdoor ourselves to secure Hassan before calling in the big guns.”
     “Your mission is simple. Recon. Go in, investigate the tunnels, see if a community exists and extrapolate what their purpose is. Identify if a route exists through the tunnels to the enemy encampment and report back. Engage only if engaged and no heroics. In. Out. Debrief.”
    LeRoux looked up and down at the faces of her team. Sgt. Olvera’s eyes were hard set and he was giving a curt nod. Spc. Merrick was motionless as a statue except for his eyes being ever so slightly narrowed. Pvt. Johnson was also nodding, though he looked about as bored as she felt.
    “Any questions?” The NCO asked.
    No questions.
    “You have your orders. Dismissed.”
   
    “Man, I fuckin’ hate Recon.” LeRoux growled.
    “Trust me, we all know you do.” Johnson said with a barking laugh.
    The four of them were geared up and on their way towards the Humvee that would be dropping them off in the middle of bum-fuck-egypt. They’d get to hike the lovely two miles across open terrain under the cover of night to keep anyone from spotting the transport bringing them in. When they got out, they’d call for a ride and get the fuck out.
    “No listen to me, man…” LeRoux began before Johnson perfectly echoed her next words. “…it’s because it’s so fuckin’ boring. We go in, we look, we don’t shoot any-Hey. Stop that. The fuck? Stop that, man. Johnson. I swear to God you…”
    Johnson stopped echoing her when LeRoux reached up and slapped him on the back of his helmeted head.
    “Fout toné! Get manman ou! Tét zozo…” she swore.
    “Knock it off!” Olvera snapped at the two of them. “I swear, you’re both like bickering children.”
    “She started it.” Johnson said with a smirk.
    “And I’m ending it. Straighten the fuck up. We’ve got a job to do.”
    “It’s shit-detail, that’s what it is, Sarge.” LeRoux muttered.
    “Yea.” Johnson agreed, far louder than the little Creole woman. “It’s, how do you say it, LeRoux? Makakri?”
    “ENOUGH!” Olvera bellowed, stopping short and getting his face not inches from theirs. “You will pull your heads out of your asses this instant or I will ensure that the next time you want to do so, they’ll have to be surgically removed, comprende putas?”
    Johnson and LeRoux’s jaws both snapped shut and they both gave a quick nod.
    “Malditos chicos estúpidos…”Olvera mumbled and turned to keep walking, Johnson and LeRoux trading glances before Merrick walked up beside them.
    “You know,” he said in a whispered tone. “maybe if you ask ‘are we there yet?’ enough times, he’ll turn the hummer around. Won’t get McDonald’s, but what’s it worth to ya.”
    Both Johnson and LeRoux snorted, looking at the tall man as he passed, his hands in a shrugging gesture.
    “I don’t know, man. I like my McDonald’s.” LeRoux whispered.
    Johnson snorted again but said nothing further before the entire FireTeam gathered into the Humvee; the armor vehicle heading out into the darkened desert towards their next mission.