Ladies and gentlemen, I've finished my first piece of interactive fiction! It's a sequel to an earlier story of mine, Last Days of Marconis. You can enjoy it right here. It was the last thing I made in 2012- I wanted to have it ready for the first day of 2013. Here's a table of contents in case you're feeling lost:
Last Days of Marconis
Last Days of Marconis: Part 2
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Necessary Revolution
Chapter 4
Enjoy! Now, in order to enjoy my piece of interactive fiction, you'll have to download it. It's tiny- you just need to save it and open it up. It'll run in just about any web browser- I'd host it somewhere, but frankly, I'm not sure where... Have fun!
Showing posts with label paxcatia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paxcatia. Show all posts
Monday, December 31, 2012
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Paxcatia: Chapter 4
Sorry it took so long to get chapter four out- enjoy!
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Necessary Revolution
Chapter 4
by Jourdan Cameron
"We've been trained for this very situation, I hope you're all ready." The squad of the Paxcatian Peace Force all nodded in agreement with their chief. The Force was ready to maintain order down at the dock, which was currently in a state of turmoil. Protesters flooded the area as a lone cargo ship glided silently above the heaving crowd, the floating machine blissfully unaware of the chaos below.
Aboard the ship, however, was an uninvited crew composed of stowaways. Their intent was espionage- they needed to understand what kind of people attacked them, and they soon realized that their assignment had suddenly become much, much easier.
"This is quite the convenience, we can slip out totally unnoticed!" Katie glared harshly at Jonathan- she was still upset at him over the small fiasco he caused. Swiftly averting her eyes to the rest of her group, she proceeded to warn them.
"Just because the crowd's completely and utterly occupied doesn't mean that a team of foreigners will be automagically accepted. For all we know, this riot could turn ugly as soon as we set foot on the ground. The best thing we can do is to sneak into the crowd and try to blend in." She suddenly looked back at Jonathan. "Without a fiasco." Sheepishly, he nodded as the vessel made a final descent.
"I think there's a-" Jonathan's fearful statement on the nature of the crowd was quick cut short- a real pity, because it could've saved everybody a fair amount of trouble. His insight into the teeming mass of humanity bordered on uncanny- but that's another story.
"…Does everybody have their civilian garb at the ready? If you're planning on getting by unnoticed, you'd best be well dressed.
Within mere moments, the ship's stowaway crew became a group of ordinary, uninteresting Paxcatian citizens. Maxwell- who much preferred to be referred to as simply "Max" bore a Dumb Lummox t-shirt. Katie smirked, amused; nobody would've ever heard the sweet sounds of the quintet that no longer existed.
Before she allowed herself to be carried away by memories, Katie dove back into managing her little invading force.
"I've got a good feeling about this" piped one spy.
Jonathan made a strange, disdainful puffing noise. "Yeah, we're running right into the land overflowing with milk and honey- didn't it nearly kill me? I think you're looking at this the wrong way. These people could destroy us if we're found out, they may as well be giants. It's not like we're going to get anywhere by-"
Another harsh glare from Katie was encouragement enough to shut Jonathan up for a few precious moments. Katie addressed the rebels once more.
"Just for the record" she said "I'd like everybody to pay some attention to Caleb's enthusiasm. If something happens to me, he's running this operation. Understood?"
In the femtosecond between Katie's having spoken and the minds of her cremates having processed the meaning of her words did a silent storm of doubts, confusion and worries as to the reliability of their leader flood the minds of every Marconi spy.
The storms continued brewing as the ship touched the ground, and at the entrance to the ship, angry fists began to pound.
"Do any of you here know the story behind Paxactia's economy? Anybody? Come on, this is elementary, surely somebody cares to- excuse me. Just… Just act like I'm not here. Work on it." Mr. Xianet was pretty preoccupied. The Paxcatian professor needed his pupils to pretend as if he weren't present. David's class sighed collectively- Mr. Xianet's methods always tended towards a certain hands-off approach that seemed more bent towards his continued convenience in opposition to his students actually learning anything. He was constantly distracted by his own pursuits, or rather, it seems, the Creative Thought class that he was supposed to be teach was a mere distraction from his pursuits. David stared into the center of the circle of the youth- these types of classes always were taught in circles for some reason, and they tended to have quite the interactive dialogue- everybody contributed something to the discussion. With Xianet, that was never the case.
After a few minutes, the class was dismissed, and the students made their ways back to their respective homes. All except for David. David, on that day, took the train to Julie's neighborhood. Upon his arrival, he found everything the way he remembered it last. The sidewalks that seemed so perfectly new, bearing nary a crack in spite of their age and the perfectly aligned houses that seemed to stretch on forever into the horizon, like an endless jaw of multicolored teeth. "The one where the sun shines" David spoke by rote. "That house-"
"Is mine." David whirled around to see Julie just behind him, smiling nostalgically.
"You know, the first time I tried to find your house, I walked around the block three times- nay- four times in search of the house the sun shone upon."
Julie shrugged. "Not my fault it was overcast. Besides, I imagine you'd have gotten over it after a good ten years?"
With a sigh, the two made their way to a beige little house. Julie's father was an artist- just the same as David's. It was through their craft that they found each other and had become the best of friends, though this is a long, old story best saved for another time.
"Dave, isn't it interesting how our fathers are both artists who wound up meeting and becoming the best of friends?"
"Somewhat, I guess. Isn't that really a long story best saved for another time?"
Julie shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess so. My dad tells it all the time."
The two entered Julie's house, which was just as unexciting on the outside as on the inside.
Like a swarm of vicious insects, a thousand angry people set their sights on the ship's main unloading bay, which opened like a massive jaw unto the pummeling masses below. The cargo ship was so blissfully unaware of it's plight as in poured the fire, the hammers, the destruction… Within moments, the contents of the ship were completely wrecked, and not too long after, the ship was no longer skyworthy- never again would it sail among the clouds.
Moments before the madness, a stealthy group of shadows slipped silently outwards, smoothly blending into and escaping from the enraged mass.
The small group had convened in a clean and unusually well-lit alley, somehow having managed to escape the attention of the already overworked police forces that were attempting to restore order as best they could.
Katie stared out at the insanity. "What are they so upset over? Seriously, it's not like they have any real problems."
"I can't say that I care to know" shrugged Jonathan. "So long as it doesn't involve us."
"We're spying this place out, I think it definitely deserves our attention" piped Peak. "I bet it probably involves whatever was in those crates…"
"Well, I guess now's probably a good time for a confession" said Jonathan. "I think I might actually be omniscient."
There were a few stifled laughs in the tiny crowd. Even Katie had to try, and try hard to avoid busting out laughing. "What exactly do you mean?" She put on her harshest, coldest, staunchest voice and it was barely enough to restrain her mirth.
"Can you explain the nature of your… Ability?"
Jonathan shrugged nonchalantly. "I know what's behind walls and stuff."
This was Katie's breaking point. She bust out laughing, a quite likely was responsible for bursting eardrums within her radius.
"Alright then" she said after gaining some control over herself. Leading Jonathan out of the alley and into the street that was curiously devoid of vehicles, she made a request of Jonathan. "Stare at that building in front of you. The red one that looks like it's made of old-fashioned materials, what do you see?"
"Well" said Jonathan squinting "I see… I see points of light, like stars, they're moving around. Some are just still, though."
Katie sighed inwardly. "What are they?"
"Well, there seems to be one coming out of the front door… Wait, it's stopping and turning around and… Now it's coming out."
And right on cue, Mr. Xianet exited the school.
Through the atmosphere, a pair of machines discussed, in their own tongue, the situation and how to handle it.
"It's simple- we kill the escapee. Black Ace, what's the problem? Whatever slave was responsible for the early activation is now running wild in Paxcatia. Why not-"
"Because of Trust, Baron, that's why not."
"…Your line of reasoning seems vaguely human, it almost seems feeling." Of course, Ace was merely a complex computer system and was, to its own knowledge, unencumbered by something quite as human as emotion. Pride, greed, joy, love… None were present.
"My current directive is to ensure the happiness of the Paxcatian people. They must continue to trust, and knowledge of a breach in any capacity could jeopardize that."
"What else do you know about the stowaways?"
"Their numbers are limited, though they seem to possess specialized knowledge. These aren't escaped slaves, they're something else. I've never seen any of them until now."
"Very well. On another note, I lost four slaves from the factory, and I suspect they had with them the foreign body, as it's no longer anywhere in the factory… I only managed to kill two of the escapees. I have a party of stoats patrolling the forest, we'll know of their wherabouts soon."
Mr. Sere woke up. Nothing seemed to make much sense- it's as his world had been drowned, wrung out, left in a dark, damp place to mildew and finally exposed to the brilliance of the sun. He let out a weak groan- after opening his eyes, he was blinded and suddenly jolted about as the pair of escaped slaves carrying him through the woods rejoiced upon the realization that he'd finally regained consciousness.
Gently, the pair lowered Mr. Sere to the ground as he began using his eyes again and tried speaking.
"Wha- whe- who-" he gasped, making a few vaguely intelligible noises that could be construed as the beginnings of questions.
"My name is Marcia, Marcia Aveherb. My brother and I have been carrying you away from the factory."
The other escapee nodded at Mr. Sere. "My name's Will," he sighed, "Will Aveherb."
"You shouldn't worry about speaking yet, sir. It'll be awhile before the gas wears off."
"What gas?"
"We'll explain that later. Right now, we need to find shelter before night." Cautiously, Mr. Sere stood up- his burly legs were a bit unstable still, and a small flurry of dead leaves sprung up behind him as the siblings rushed up to support him, he gently waved them off.
"Don't worry, I need to get used to my legs again" he said weakly. "Just keep your eyes open for shelter. My name is Casey Sere, by the way" he said.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Sere" said Marcia. Her brother remained conspicuously silent.
"Where are your parents?" Casey asked in an attempt to break the metaphorical ice. "Are they still trapped at the factory?" Marcia stared down at the ground; it was her turn to be silent as Will spoke up.
"They died carrying you. The factory killed them."
Around the same time, a small party in Paxcatia sat down outside a quiet restaurant. The scratched wooden chairs they rested on seemed out of place, almost as much as the group of spies did. Katy, for the first time, was well-fed and somewhat nervous. The Paxcatian economy is a simple system of complex ideas, but the primary concept behind it is the idea that happiness is of greatest importance- a piece of art that makes people happy will earn an artist more merit than an artist whose work was insipid and unoriginal.
Katy was nervous- for the first time, she'd be paying out merit with an identity that was cobbled together for her by her friends back in Marconis. It had been injected by some miracle into Black Ace, and would work just fine- but there were still a thousand things that could go horribly, horribly wrong, and right know about a hundred of those things were swirling through Katie's mind.
Yet, somehow, none of them came true as she tapped out a few words on the translucent data-collection sheet handed to her by the waiter, stood up and lead her party down the well-lit streets to the nearest train station, and after a brief ride in the pods, they exited, staring silently up at the stars. The small group of strangers in a strange land were quiet for a good few moments. A few let out sighs of relief and homesickness- none of them had ever been quite this far away from home- none except for Gabriel, but his story is one for another day. Peak dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans- in spite of his tall, thin build they still seemed too tight- and pulled out a small black rectangle that glowed to life in the palm of his hand. With a few barely noticeable finger movements, the device had an objective. It glowed a bright green in one corner, pointing the group down the street towards their new home.
Elsewhere, a pair of Paxcatian youth were about to bid one another farewell.
"I've been worried about my dad lately. People aren't reacting to his art as they once did."
"I'm pretty sure it's just a weird trend" replied David. "Besides, isn't there that one guy who's always just blown away- like, completely and utterly amazed by your dad's work?"
Julie shrugged. "I guess you're right. It's just that there's not much of a demand for photorealistic oil paintings. As of late, everything's so abstract."
The two stared down the street at a small group people heading into the house next to Julie's.
"Huh" said Julie. "That house has been empty for a couple years now. Looks like somebody's moved in and I didn't even say hello."
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Necessary Revolution
Chapter 4
by Jourdan Cameron
"We've been trained for this very situation, I hope you're all ready." The squad of the Paxcatian Peace Force all nodded in agreement with their chief. The Force was ready to maintain order down at the dock, which was currently in a state of turmoil. Protesters flooded the area as a lone cargo ship glided silently above the heaving crowd, the floating machine blissfully unaware of the chaos below.
Aboard the ship, however, was an uninvited crew composed of stowaways. Their intent was espionage- they needed to understand what kind of people attacked them, and they soon realized that their assignment had suddenly become much, much easier.
"This is quite the convenience, we can slip out totally unnoticed!" Katie glared harshly at Jonathan- she was still upset at him over the small fiasco he caused. Swiftly averting her eyes to the rest of her group, she proceeded to warn them.
"Just because the crowd's completely and utterly occupied doesn't mean that a team of foreigners will be automagically accepted. For all we know, this riot could turn ugly as soon as we set foot on the ground. The best thing we can do is to sneak into the crowd and try to blend in." She suddenly looked back at Jonathan. "Without a fiasco." Sheepishly, he nodded as the vessel made a final descent.
"I think there's a-" Jonathan's fearful statement on the nature of the crowd was quick cut short- a real pity, because it could've saved everybody a fair amount of trouble. His insight into the teeming mass of humanity bordered on uncanny- but that's another story.
"…Does everybody have their civilian garb at the ready? If you're planning on getting by unnoticed, you'd best be well dressed.
Within mere moments, the ship's stowaway crew became a group of ordinary, uninteresting Paxcatian citizens. Maxwell- who much preferred to be referred to as simply "Max" bore a Dumb Lummox t-shirt. Katie smirked, amused; nobody would've ever heard the sweet sounds of the quintet that no longer existed.
Before she allowed herself to be carried away by memories, Katie dove back into managing her little invading force.
"I've got a good feeling about this" piped one spy.
Jonathan made a strange, disdainful puffing noise. "Yeah, we're running right into the land overflowing with milk and honey- didn't it nearly kill me? I think you're looking at this the wrong way. These people could destroy us if we're found out, they may as well be giants. It's not like we're going to get anywhere by-"
Another harsh glare from Katie was encouragement enough to shut Jonathan up for a few precious moments. Katie addressed the rebels once more.
"Just for the record" she said "I'd like everybody to pay some attention to Caleb's enthusiasm. If something happens to me, he's running this operation. Understood?"
In the femtosecond between Katie's having spoken and the minds of her cremates having processed the meaning of her words did a silent storm of doubts, confusion and worries as to the reliability of their leader flood the minds of every Marconi spy.
The storms continued brewing as the ship touched the ground, and at the entrance to the ship, angry fists began to pound.
"Do any of you here know the story behind Paxactia's economy? Anybody? Come on, this is elementary, surely somebody cares to- excuse me. Just… Just act like I'm not here. Work on it." Mr. Xianet was pretty preoccupied. The Paxcatian professor needed his pupils to pretend as if he weren't present. David's class sighed collectively- Mr. Xianet's methods always tended towards a certain hands-off approach that seemed more bent towards his continued convenience in opposition to his students actually learning anything. He was constantly distracted by his own pursuits, or rather, it seems, the Creative Thought class that he was supposed to be teach was a mere distraction from his pursuits. David stared into the center of the circle of the youth- these types of classes always were taught in circles for some reason, and they tended to have quite the interactive dialogue- everybody contributed something to the discussion. With Xianet, that was never the case.
After a few minutes, the class was dismissed, and the students made their ways back to their respective homes. All except for David. David, on that day, took the train to Julie's neighborhood. Upon his arrival, he found everything the way he remembered it last. The sidewalks that seemed so perfectly new, bearing nary a crack in spite of their age and the perfectly aligned houses that seemed to stretch on forever into the horizon, like an endless jaw of multicolored teeth. "The one where the sun shines" David spoke by rote. "That house-"
"Is mine." David whirled around to see Julie just behind him, smiling nostalgically.
"You know, the first time I tried to find your house, I walked around the block three times- nay- four times in search of the house the sun shone upon."
Julie shrugged. "Not my fault it was overcast. Besides, I imagine you'd have gotten over it after a good ten years?"
With a sigh, the two made their way to a beige little house. Julie's father was an artist- just the same as David's. It was through their craft that they found each other and had become the best of friends, though this is a long, old story best saved for another time.
"Dave, isn't it interesting how our fathers are both artists who wound up meeting and becoming the best of friends?"
"Somewhat, I guess. Isn't that really a long story best saved for another time?"
Julie shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess so. My dad tells it all the time."
The two entered Julie's house, which was just as unexciting on the outside as on the inside.
Like a swarm of vicious insects, a thousand angry people set their sights on the ship's main unloading bay, which opened like a massive jaw unto the pummeling masses below. The cargo ship was so blissfully unaware of it's plight as in poured the fire, the hammers, the destruction… Within moments, the contents of the ship were completely wrecked, and not too long after, the ship was no longer skyworthy- never again would it sail among the clouds.
Moments before the madness, a stealthy group of shadows slipped silently outwards, smoothly blending into and escaping from the enraged mass.
The small group had convened in a clean and unusually well-lit alley, somehow having managed to escape the attention of the already overworked police forces that were attempting to restore order as best they could.
Katie stared out at the insanity. "What are they so upset over? Seriously, it's not like they have any real problems."
"I can't say that I care to know" shrugged Jonathan. "So long as it doesn't involve us."
"We're spying this place out, I think it definitely deserves our attention" piped Peak. "I bet it probably involves whatever was in those crates…"
"Well, I guess now's probably a good time for a confession" said Jonathan. "I think I might actually be omniscient."
There were a few stifled laughs in the tiny crowd. Even Katie had to try, and try hard to avoid busting out laughing. "What exactly do you mean?" She put on her harshest, coldest, staunchest voice and it was barely enough to restrain her mirth.
"Can you explain the nature of your… Ability?"
Jonathan shrugged nonchalantly. "I know what's behind walls and stuff."
This was Katie's breaking point. She bust out laughing, a quite likely was responsible for bursting eardrums within her radius.
"Alright then" she said after gaining some control over herself. Leading Jonathan out of the alley and into the street that was curiously devoid of vehicles, she made a request of Jonathan. "Stare at that building in front of you. The red one that looks like it's made of old-fashioned materials, what do you see?"
"Well" said Jonathan squinting "I see… I see points of light, like stars, they're moving around. Some are just still, though."
Katie sighed inwardly. "What are they?"
"Well, there seems to be one coming out of the front door… Wait, it's stopping and turning around and… Now it's coming out."
And right on cue, Mr. Xianet exited the school.
Through the atmosphere, a pair of machines discussed, in their own tongue, the situation and how to handle it.
"It's simple- we kill the escapee. Black Ace, what's the problem? Whatever slave was responsible for the early activation is now running wild in Paxcatia. Why not-"
"Because of Trust, Baron, that's why not."
"…Your line of reasoning seems vaguely human, it almost seems feeling." Of course, Ace was merely a complex computer system and was, to its own knowledge, unencumbered by something quite as human as emotion. Pride, greed, joy, love… None were present.
"My current directive is to ensure the happiness of the Paxcatian people. They must continue to trust, and knowledge of a breach in any capacity could jeopardize that."
"What else do you know about the stowaways?"
"Their numbers are limited, though they seem to possess specialized knowledge. These aren't escaped slaves, they're something else. I've never seen any of them until now."
"Very well. On another note, I lost four slaves from the factory, and I suspect they had with them the foreign body, as it's no longer anywhere in the factory… I only managed to kill two of the escapees. I have a party of stoats patrolling the forest, we'll know of their wherabouts soon."
Mr. Sere woke up. Nothing seemed to make much sense- it's as his world had been drowned, wrung out, left in a dark, damp place to mildew and finally exposed to the brilliance of the sun. He let out a weak groan- after opening his eyes, he was blinded and suddenly jolted about as the pair of escaped slaves carrying him through the woods rejoiced upon the realization that he'd finally regained consciousness.
Gently, the pair lowered Mr. Sere to the ground as he began using his eyes again and tried speaking.
"Wha- whe- who-" he gasped, making a few vaguely intelligible noises that could be construed as the beginnings of questions.
"My name is Marcia, Marcia Aveherb. My brother and I have been carrying you away from the factory."
The other escapee nodded at Mr. Sere. "My name's Will," he sighed, "Will Aveherb."
"You shouldn't worry about speaking yet, sir. It'll be awhile before the gas wears off."
"What gas?"
"We'll explain that later. Right now, we need to find shelter before night." Cautiously, Mr. Sere stood up- his burly legs were a bit unstable still, and a small flurry of dead leaves sprung up behind him as the siblings rushed up to support him, he gently waved them off.
"Don't worry, I need to get used to my legs again" he said weakly. "Just keep your eyes open for shelter. My name is Casey Sere, by the way" he said.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Sere" said Marcia. Her brother remained conspicuously silent.
"Where are your parents?" Casey asked in an attempt to break the metaphorical ice. "Are they still trapped at the factory?" Marcia stared down at the ground; it was her turn to be silent as Will spoke up.
"They died carrying you. The factory killed them."
Around the same time, a small party in Paxcatia sat down outside a quiet restaurant. The scratched wooden chairs they rested on seemed out of place, almost as much as the group of spies did. Katy, for the first time, was well-fed and somewhat nervous. The Paxcatian economy is a simple system of complex ideas, but the primary concept behind it is the idea that happiness is of greatest importance- a piece of art that makes people happy will earn an artist more merit than an artist whose work was insipid and unoriginal.
Katy was nervous- for the first time, she'd be paying out merit with an identity that was cobbled together for her by her friends back in Marconis. It had been injected by some miracle into Black Ace, and would work just fine- but there were still a thousand things that could go horribly, horribly wrong, and right know about a hundred of those things were swirling through Katie's mind.
Yet, somehow, none of them came true as she tapped out a few words on the translucent data-collection sheet handed to her by the waiter, stood up and lead her party down the well-lit streets to the nearest train station, and after a brief ride in the pods, they exited, staring silently up at the stars. The small group of strangers in a strange land were quiet for a good few moments. A few let out sighs of relief and homesickness- none of them had ever been quite this far away from home- none except for Gabriel, but his story is one for another day. Peak dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans- in spite of his tall, thin build they still seemed too tight- and pulled out a small black rectangle that glowed to life in the palm of his hand. With a few barely noticeable finger movements, the device had an objective. It glowed a bright green in one corner, pointing the group down the street towards their new home.
Elsewhere, a pair of Paxcatian youth were about to bid one another farewell.
"I've been worried about my dad lately. People aren't reacting to his art as they once did."
"I'm pretty sure it's just a weird trend" replied David. "Besides, isn't there that one guy who's always just blown away- like, completely and utterly amazed by your dad's work?"
Julie shrugged. "I guess you're right. It's just that there's not much of a demand for photorealistic oil paintings. As of late, everything's so abstract."
The two stared down the street at a small group people heading into the house next to Julie's.
"Huh" said Julie. "That house has been empty for a couple years now. Looks like somebody's moved in and I didn't even say hello."
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Necessary Revolution
Chapter four of Paxcatia is complete (at long last!) and will be here soon. Meanwhile, enjoy this story that's between chapters three and four- I suspect you'll enjoy it.
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Necessary Revolution
by Jourdan Cameron
"Throughout human history, there's been a simple pattern: revolution, upheaval, rebirth, and a gradual decline into darkness, decay, and eventually revolution once more. Our world is slipping into the brightest darkness it has yet seen- the time has come for revolution yet again." I sighed inwardly- after a couple hours of preaching to a crowd of assorted power-hungry, warmongering fools- them, along with men who could be so easily assured of their worth- these and many others like them were gathered about me in an abandoned agricultural field- my audience finally seemed to be broken down by my argument. I decided it was time to show them the way. "People of Paxcatia, you've been trapped in the darkness far too long! This period of peace, tranquility, weakness and folly- it's given us no progress. We re-package the old and sell it off as the new, as innovation as we sink deeper into the mire of our own creation. For our nation to advance, we must topple it temporarily."
"But where do we start?" My words had finally purchased their hearts.
"Well, that's an excellent question." To be honest, I hadn't been thinking of the best way to start a revolution- does anybody, really? I fumbled about for a good response to this unusually quick-witted man...
"Much like a heart attack, we must attack this nation at its arteries- we strike their primary source of power first, their-"
"Trade routes!" Somebody else in the audience shouted, and I sighed, relieved- it was much better than my initial idea. Striking children wouldn't have made me particularly popular among the populace.
"That's right" I said, "Their trade routes. Seeing as our Paxcatian economy seems to be fueled by merit, the best thing we can do is stop incoming products- the people will have nothing worth working for. Now, any recommendations as to where we strike first?"
My name is Benjamin Rice, and this is my revolution. You received this file after passing an ancient agricultural structure- or at least the ruins of a barn that was built long, long ago. Perhaps by some miracle, the technology of today that so inundates the people of Paxcatia with a constant inflow of data will still be in use into the future long enough for the short-range transmitter relaying this message to bring it to you. I don't know what kind of people will one day read this, if any, but I do know that I will be vilified to no end. Maybe that's what's going to happen to me in the end- I'll be remembered by history merely as a destructive, deluded dimwit. Whatever the case is, consider this: Do you struggle for anything at all? Do you feel as if you have something to lose if you don't work hard right now? At the same time, do you feel like you have so much more to gain if you are to simply keep going- if you keep pushing a little harder? If not, I deserve to be a villain, for I have failed.
At this point, the crowd became much more willing to listen, and stirred by thought of action they paid close attention to my next few words.
"Paxcatia and her people have become soft, uninteresting, without character... They're so completely wrapped up in their own mundane affairs that they haven't come to the realization that their leader is a giant digital nanny with a thousand eyes and no heart. Black Ace knows only directives, not compassion, not ambition and yet somehow… in spite of knowing everything, it feels nothing. How can we, the people sit by idly as the shadow of the great foot inactivity, of stagnation and of filthy decay hangs heavy above our heads?"
"We can't!" came a woman's voice.
"Indeed" I shouted from atop my crate, nearly falling to the dusty floor after leaping with fervor, "and we shan't sit idly by- we'll trigger the revolution this nation so desperately needs. Now, perhaps we may get organized?"
Within minutes, it was unanimously decided. We'd strike the transport coming in tomorrow.
"I remember hearing about what's coming in tomorrow- it's a transport full of a new type of computer" said a tall, thin man with dark hair and skin.
"Yes, it taps into a user's nervous system, gathering data, processing it and feeding it to the user. The Neo-Tiddlu party- bless their existence- had fought against the existence of this technology for years. Now, it's coming straight for the homes and the hearts of Paxcatians."
"It looks like we picked a good time to strike" piped a person.
For a couple hours, we mostly talked among ourselves before we went our separate ways, to our homes and families. I stayed behind, writing this document.
Am I mad, sitting here in the shell of an old barn, hoping that one day my words, my thoughts will be known? Perhaps I'm insane to simply contemplate the idea that I could change the world by driving people to smash things like maddened animals, but perhaps not.
Perhaps I'm simply giving too much merit to my doubts.
Whatever the case, our assault tomorrow must be swift- I already suspect Black Ace has a clue as to what's about to happen- it's only a matter of time before the Paxcatian Peace Force is prompted to launch an investigation. What happens between right now and the dawn may decide the fate of the revolution and whatever future the Paxcatian people are to have.
This barn is an unusually cozy place for an abandoned building. As far as I can discern, it was built about a century and a half ago- Paxcatia had been at peace for a solid decade and growth in every sector of the market was rapid. for the people were eager to see the fruits of their labor. The new system built on merit was in full force, and somehow a good word was enough to secure a man good things- this barn was built solidly, with good wood and good words. A man had found a technique for growing trees that would produce unusually strong wood- but he had not the means to farm these trees en masse. Yet, through the merit system, enough people recognized his techniques as valuable, and the people united to gather the resources he needed, and with his guidance, his vision (and the visions of so many others) became reality. Thus, today, I can sit in a structure built lifetimes ago, penning words that may be picked read a lifetime later.
Of course, things slowly changed. The necessities came easier- there was no real need to fight, no need to struggle, no need to innovate as Paxcatia's government began to give more and more, and the people had reason to give less and less.
I merely want to see the growth, the innovation, the unbridled and bold creativity of those days when a man's good word was enough for good things- but a man's great word was enough for great things. So many of the Paxcatian people enjoy easy luxuries by feeding the parasites- far too many people are given far too much merit for stifling what could be growth and innovation.
History, I'm sure, will not remember me in a positive light. I probably will do ruthless, regrettable things, but may I never be remembered for giving handouts to the lazy. All I want is a world that's guaranteed not to slow to a syrupy, saturated stop.
You may wonder why I'd take such a violent, destructive route to revolution- wouldn't it merely be another in a long list of bloody conflicts and citizen uprisings? Indeed, it would be. Why not simply go to the government? Paxcatia's government is open to all seeking to accomplish grand scale goals- an overhaul isn't beyond the pervasive reach of party leaders. I ask you to look through history. You'll notice that nothing worth doing is ever done without a cost. The cost of a revolution is property, security, safety and lives. I believe it's a cost worth covering.
The revolution will buy us freedom through the greatest slavery man has ever known: necessity. Necessity that propels invention, creativity, innovation. If it is necessary to work in order to exist, then the people will choose to either work hard or cease to exist- this is what the revolution will bring.
It is necessary.
----
I'm extremely proud of my sister- she's been drawing a new picture every single day for the past few months in order to help our quadriplegic aunt. If you'd like to order a commission (you can get a really awesome custom cartoon avatar for your Facebook/Twitter account), check out her blog right over here.
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Necessary Revolution
by Jourdan Cameron
"Throughout human history, there's been a simple pattern: revolution, upheaval, rebirth, and a gradual decline into darkness, decay, and eventually revolution once more. Our world is slipping into the brightest darkness it has yet seen- the time has come for revolution yet again." I sighed inwardly- after a couple hours of preaching to a crowd of assorted power-hungry, warmongering fools- them, along with men who could be so easily assured of their worth- these and many others like them were gathered about me in an abandoned agricultural field- my audience finally seemed to be broken down by my argument. I decided it was time to show them the way. "People of Paxcatia, you've been trapped in the darkness far too long! This period of peace, tranquility, weakness and folly- it's given us no progress. We re-package the old and sell it off as the new, as innovation as we sink deeper into the mire of our own creation. For our nation to advance, we must topple it temporarily."
"But where do we start?" My words had finally purchased their hearts.
"Well, that's an excellent question." To be honest, I hadn't been thinking of the best way to start a revolution- does anybody, really? I fumbled about for a good response to this unusually quick-witted man...
"Much like a heart attack, we must attack this nation at its arteries- we strike their primary source of power first, their-"
"Trade routes!" Somebody else in the audience shouted, and I sighed, relieved- it was much better than my initial idea. Striking children wouldn't have made me particularly popular among the populace.
"That's right" I said, "Their trade routes. Seeing as our Paxcatian economy seems to be fueled by merit, the best thing we can do is stop incoming products- the people will have nothing worth working for. Now, any recommendations as to where we strike first?"
My name is Benjamin Rice, and this is my revolution. You received this file after passing an ancient agricultural structure- or at least the ruins of a barn that was built long, long ago. Perhaps by some miracle, the technology of today that so inundates the people of Paxcatia with a constant inflow of data will still be in use into the future long enough for the short-range transmitter relaying this message to bring it to you. I don't know what kind of people will one day read this, if any, but I do know that I will be vilified to no end. Maybe that's what's going to happen to me in the end- I'll be remembered by history merely as a destructive, deluded dimwit. Whatever the case is, consider this: Do you struggle for anything at all? Do you feel as if you have something to lose if you don't work hard right now? At the same time, do you feel like you have so much more to gain if you are to simply keep going- if you keep pushing a little harder? If not, I deserve to be a villain, for I have failed.
At this point, the crowd became much more willing to listen, and stirred by thought of action they paid close attention to my next few words.
"Paxcatia and her people have become soft, uninteresting, without character... They're so completely wrapped up in their own mundane affairs that they haven't come to the realization that their leader is a giant digital nanny with a thousand eyes and no heart. Black Ace knows only directives, not compassion, not ambition and yet somehow… in spite of knowing everything, it feels nothing. How can we, the people sit by idly as the shadow of the great foot inactivity, of stagnation and of filthy decay hangs heavy above our heads?"
"We can't!" came a woman's voice.
"Indeed" I shouted from atop my crate, nearly falling to the dusty floor after leaping with fervor, "and we shan't sit idly by- we'll trigger the revolution this nation so desperately needs. Now, perhaps we may get organized?"
Within minutes, it was unanimously decided. We'd strike the transport coming in tomorrow.
"I remember hearing about what's coming in tomorrow- it's a transport full of a new type of computer" said a tall, thin man with dark hair and skin.
"Yes, it taps into a user's nervous system, gathering data, processing it and feeding it to the user. The Neo-Tiddlu party- bless their existence- had fought against the existence of this technology for years. Now, it's coming straight for the homes and the hearts of Paxcatians."
"It looks like we picked a good time to strike" piped a person.
For a couple hours, we mostly talked among ourselves before we went our separate ways, to our homes and families. I stayed behind, writing this document.
Am I mad, sitting here in the shell of an old barn, hoping that one day my words, my thoughts will be known? Perhaps I'm insane to simply contemplate the idea that I could change the world by driving people to smash things like maddened animals, but perhaps not.
Perhaps I'm simply giving too much merit to my doubts.
Whatever the case, our assault tomorrow must be swift- I already suspect Black Ace has a clue as to what's about to happen- it's only a matter of time before the Paxcatian Peace Force is prompted to launch an investigation. What happens between right now and the dawn may decide the fate of the revolution and whatever future the Paxcatian people are to have.
This barn is an unusually cozy place for an abandoned building. As far as I can discern, it was built about a century and a half ago- Paxcatia had been at peace for a solid decade and growth in every sector of the market was rapid. for the people were eager to see the fruits of their labor. The new system built on merit was in full force, and somehow a good word was enough to secure a man good things- this barn was built solidly, with good wood and good words. A man had found a technique for growing trees that would produce unusually strong wood- but he had not the means to farm these trees en masse. Yet, through the merit system, enough people recognized his techniques as valuable, and the people united to gather the resources he needed, and with his guidance, his vision (and the visions of so many others) became reality. Thus, today, I can sit in a structure built lifetimes ago, penning words that may be picked read a lifetime later.
Of course, things slowly changed. The necessities came easier- there was no real need to fight, no need to struggle, no need to innovate as Paxcatia's government began to give more and more, and the people had reason to give less and less.
I merely want to see the growth, the innovation, the unbridled and bold creativity of those days when a man's good word was enough for good things- but a man's great word was enough for great things. So many of the Paxcatian people enjoy easy luxuries by feeding the parasites- far too many people are given far too much merit for stifling what could be growth and innovation.
History, I'm sure, will not remember me in a positive light. I probably will do ruthless, regrettable things, but may I never be remembered for giving handouts to the lazy. All I want is a world that's guaranteed not to slow to a syrupy, saturated stop.
You may wonder why I'd take such a violent, destructive route to revolution- wouldn't it merely be another in a long list of bloody conflicts and citizen uprisings? Indeed, it would be. Why not simply go to the government? Paxcatia's government is open to all seeking to accomplish grand scale goals- an overhaul isn't beyond the pervasive reach of party leaders. I ask you to look through history. You'll notice that nothing worth doing is ever done without a cost. The cost of a revolution is property, security, safety and lives. I believe it's a cost worth covering.
The revolution will buy us freedom through the greatest slavery man has ever known: necessity. Necessity that propels invention, creativity, innovation. If it is necessary to work in order to exist, then the people will choose to either work hard or cease to exist- this is what the revolution will bring.
It is necessary.
----
I'm extremely proud of my sister- she's been drawing a new picture every single day for the past few months in order to help our quadriplegic aunt. If you'd like to order a commission (you can get a really awesome custom cartoon avatar for your Facebook/Twitter account), check out her blog right over here.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Paxcatia: Chapter 3
Well, can you believe it's been a year of me writing Paxcatia and I'm only on chapter 3? I should speed things up a little...
Here's a table of contents to make things easier:
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Paxcatia
Chapter 3
Paxcatia
by Jourdan Cameron
Chapter 3
"Right here is where we part ways, Ms. Powton."
"What? Aren't you coming with us?"
"Nope, I've got a different assignment- observe and record working conditions in the factory. Now go on, and be careful. If there's danger-"
Katy laughed a bit at his last statement, and Casey rolled his eyes. "Yes, there's always danger" he continued.
"I know what you mean" replied Katy. She hid her disheartenment well- she'd miss Casey on the mission; he'd been an uncle to her.
"Well good, because if anything happens to you, your old man will murder me. Do we really want murder, Katy?"
"Only if completely necessary."
Even under cover of darkness, Casey's grin was visible. The team was currently waiting atop a roof for a transport ship that could be heard somewhere in the distance. As it approached the simple, circular docking station, its massive, cylindrical base opened, and like a remora sucking to shark skin, the ship attached itself to the docking station. Casey approached the massive tube, which was twice as tall as he was, and walked around it, urging the rest of the team come forward, and quickly. There was an opening on the other side, just large enough to fit a person through. Katy stared down at the crate that seemed to be moving upwards, almost imperceptibly, through the tube. Some invisible force brought it upwards, and Katy climbed quietly onto it.
"Don't forget to-"
"Right, almost forgot." Glancing momentarily at her hands, she clapped them together. Her gloves began glowing, the soft white light illuminating the shaft around her. It was a simple, gray place, boring and steely. A couple other rebels hurriedly made their way onto the surface of the hard, black crate, and soon, the small squad was in the ship's cargo hold. It was somewhat cramped, since it was never built to carry people. Still, as the invisible force carried the crates all the way to the end of the gigantic room, it organized the crates so that there'd be alleys just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The massive, black crates were quite wide but not all that tall, so the massive hold of the ship remained traversable.
This was the beginning of a long, boring trip over an ocean.
“Hey, do they have bathrooms on this thing?” Katy sighed- she wasn’t quite sure why Jonathan was part of this mission to begin with- he’d be nothing but trouble, as he’d always been.
“No, Jonathan, this ship was not built to transport humans.”
"Well are there any holes or something?"
"You mean the airlock, Johnny?" Mr. Peak seemed serious. He always seemed so serious, so sullen, so mysterious to the most of the other rebels that they got so caught up in trying to unravel the enigma behind his eyes, those two windows into the soul that everybody looked up into and managed to get lost. Perhaps that's why almost nobody knew his first name, and thus referred to him as Mr. Peak?
"Uh, I think I'll just hold it until we-"
"Don't you have to go so badly though? You're better off just opening the airlock and-" Johnny's face had quickly become a reddened mask of horror and embarrassment- was Peak serious or joking or seriously joking? He may have even been jokingly serious, for all Johnny could discern.
"Don't worry Mr. Peak, I think I'll be alright until we get there" said the stocky blonde spy.
"Alright" replied Mr. Peak, who began walking back towards the other end of the dim cargo hold, presumably to learn more about its contents.
"That's one scary dude."
Katy sighed. She suspected that this would be the longest ride, most monotonous ride of her life. She walked away from Johnny and the other rebels- something about Mr. Peak had piqued her interest.
"You have arrived at your destination. Thank you for riding with us!" David sighed- he sort of wished the ride could've been longer. It was nice and quiet inside the car. Stepping off the train, he found himself staring up at the massive red building. He remembered, vaguely, how it had been modeled after schoolhouses of old, complete with an odd pointed roof and windows framed with white, with odd bars running through them. As he entered the building, however, it was clear that this place was neither ancient nor outdated.
In fact, it felt very new. Unlike most of the cold, white, sterile institutions of learning, this one was different. David stared up at the ceiling of the great sunlit foyer- the walls were decorated with grand paintings, memories of a time long forgotten...
David decided to stop reminiscing and get about to finding his class. He pulled out his little device, the Unleash, and stared down at the luminous little red arrow that now floated a few centimeters above his palm.
"Guys, come look at this!" Maxwell Robinson had made a discovery aboard the dim cargo hold. He buried an arm in the crate and retrieved a white box of similar composition to the black crate. Robinson lay a hand atop the small container as it slowly seemed to dissolve into the air. The small white box glowed gently as Robinson pulled out what appeared to be a pill no larger than a tooth.
"Welcome to the final frontier" spoke a disembodied voice. The pill pulsed with white light as the words the voice spoke floated in the air, a few inches above Robinson's hand. "We have experienced so much in our lifetimes" the deep, vaguely feminine voice continued. "Is there anything we haven't explored?"
Katy bristled. She had a vague clue as to just where this single-sided conversation was headed.
"Our minds are the last frontier. Are you ready to re-percieve reality? Escape with me..." The voice trailed off as the little white pill abruptly stopped glowing. The word "me" seemed to fade away into white smoke as though this invitation was the last time the pill would dare beckon you forth into whatever world would be created deep within your head.
"Quite the siren's call" sighed Robinson as he dropped the pill back into the little box. Slowly, it re-materialized a cover and grew dark once more.
"What do you think it does?" Mr. Peak was standing a few feet away- nobody had noticed his form in the dim light of the cargo hold.
"I'm not quite sure" replied Robinson as he shoved the box into one of his jacket pockets. "Something tells me we shouldn't-" The same strange voice was speaking up again. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the cargo hold. Robinson gasped- and Katy dashed to the other side of the ship, towards the voice.
She arrived in time to watch Jonathan swallow the pill, surrounded by a few other rebels who watched with wide eyes and eagerly clenched fists.
Jonathan collapsed, his limp form laying still at the base of the big, black crate he was sitting on.
"David, you're late. Ah well, it's your first time here, isn't it?" A wrinkled gray old woman sat behind a large, brown desk. Disregarding the urge to restrain himself, David touched the striated surface- it was real wood. The woman behind the desk sighed. "Why does everybody do that?" David, startled from his trance, decided to sit down. He stared out at the classroom- there were five other youth staring back at him. Well, they weren't staring at him so much as through him. Their attention was focused quite closely on the actor standing inches away from David's doe-eyed wonder.
David walked right on through the educational illusion into his chair- it was comfortable, and from what he'd heard, the least accurate part of the whole experience.
"Begin" the old woman said, as the actor began moving. The man's face was covered in makeup- his face was pure red, his nose black.
"Now" the woman said "Who can tell me about how the art of postmodern street performance began anew?"
One of David's classmates at the far end of the room piped up. "Wasn't it after the anti-fantasy movements?"
The teacher nodded, the bun in her hair seemingly bouncing in agreement.
"Now, what other movements co-incided with the anti-fantasy movement? Julie, perhaps you can explain how the March towards Militarism set the ball rolling?"
Unlike the first student to speak, this one stared down at her fingers, nervously fidgeting. David sighed, and began. "The March towards Militarism marked a period of animosity towards any art that wasn't firmly rooted in the very reality that was driving the early Paxcatian Empire forward..." David's voice trailed off as he stared back towards Julie.
"The emperor thus decided that it was the people's imagination that spurred the growth of new weapons, and thus he decided to halt the March before the arts were wiped out altogether."
Julie's ears stuck out as bright red against her black hair- she was never a big fan of public speaking. Even though she was acquainted with everybody in the room, she just didn't feel comfortable in such a formal setting. After speaking, she stared down at her desk's blank surface. The teacher sighed quietly- she'd been trying to help the girl get over her fear, albeit with little success.
"An early activation?"
"That's correct, Ace, and it come from the transport ship mere minutes ago." Black Ace and Red Baron were communicating again, this time over the matter of an unusually early product activation.
"Can you get a visual?"
"No, the activator is still unconscious."
"I'll have the transport intercepted once it reaches the ground."
Near instantly, the command went out to Paxcatia's Defense Squad in the city of Nauda- an attack may be inbound on a transport ship. They were to be ready to defend their homeland with any means necessary.
"Have the slaves been behaving? There may have been an escapee."
"I haven't overlooked the possibility, which is why I ran a thourough scan of the facility a few minutes ago. One foreign body was detected and destroyed."
"Keep me informed of any further developments."
An ocean away, a group of slaves stood huddled around the body of a man they didn't know. One of them wept gently. With foolhardy hope, she put a finger to his neck, and gasped dramatically- "He's still got a heartbeat" she shouted. The man's bluish skin slowly regained color as one of the other slaves began breathing life into him anew.
In the corner of the garishly bright room sulked a weathered old man. "It's pointless" he sighed.
"What? How could you say that, this man's going to live!" The old man sighed again.
"When Red Baron finds him during the next sweep, he's going to get another does of the gas. He won't survive a second round."
A hush descended upon the small group- somehow, this man had gotten himself into the factory, and the slaves had no idea how to get him out.
Back in the transport ship, another group was huddled around a body. This body, though, had managed to sit up and whine about being crowded.
"Do you feel different?" "Why did you take it?" "Did you see anything?"
Jonathan stared dumbly into the the curious, concerned faces. One seemed kind of angry- he averted his gaze swfitly.
"I don't feel much different" he replied with a shrug. "Could you guys give me some room? I can hardly breathe with you guys pressing in so close."
"Jonathan, we're almost at the drop point." The angry face spoke to him. "Jonathan do you recognize me? It's Katy. You need to snap out of it!"
"I'm with you, don't worry" he replied quickly. Katy breathed a sigh of relief- annoying as he could be, he was like a younger brother to her. Katy could hardly believe it had been a mere couple of years since she'd joined the rebels with her father.
"Johnny, get ready to jump. And please, don't do anything that stupid again."
Jonathan stared back at her and nodded.
He wasn't looking at her. He was looking through the crate behind her. He could see its contents and he wasn't sure why, though he suspected it had something to do with the pill he swallowed.
Here's a table of contents to make things easier:
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Paxcatia
Chapter 3
Paxcatia
by Jourdan Cameron
Chapter 3
"Right here is where we part ways, Ms. Powton."
"What? Aren't you coming with us?"
"Nope, I've got a different assignment- observe and record working conditions in the factory. Now go on, and be careful. If there's danger-"
Katy laughed a bit at his last statement, and Casey rolled his eyes. "Yes, there's always danger" he continued.
"I know what you mean" replied Katy. She hid her disheartenment well- she'd miss Casey on the mission; he'd been an uncle to her.
"Well good, because if anything happens to you, your old man will murder me. Do we really want murder, Katy?"
"Only if completely necessary."
Even under cover of darkness, Casey's grin was visible. The team was currently waiting atop a roof for a transport ship that could be heard somewhere in the distance. As it approached the simple, circular docking station, its massive, cylindrical base opened, and like a remora sucking to shark skin, the ship attached itself to the docking station. Casey approached the massive tube, which was twice as tall as he was, and walked around it, urging the rest of the team come forward, and quickly. There was an opening on the other side, just large enough to fit a person through. Katy stared down at the crate that seemed to be moving upwards, almost imperceptibly, through the tube. Some invisible force brought it upwards, and Katy climbed quietly onto it.
"Don't forget to-"
"Right, almost forgot." Glancing momentarily at her hands, she clapped them together. Her gloves began glowing, the soft white light illuminating the shaft around her. It was a simple, gray place, boring and steely. A couple other rebels hurriedly made their way onto the surface of the hard, black crate, and soon, the small squad was in the ship's cargo hold. It was somewhat cramped, since it was never built to carry people. Still, as the invisible force carried the crates all the way to the end of the gigantic room, it organized the crates so that there'd be alleys just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The massive, black crates were quite wide but not all that tall, so the massive hold of the ship remained traversable.
This was the beginning of a long, boring trip over an ocean.
“Hey, do they have bathrooms on this thing?” Katy sighed- she wasn’t quite sure why Jonathan was part of this mission to begin with- he’d be nothing but trouble, as he’d always been.
“No, Jonathan, this ship was not built to transport humans.”
"Well are there any holes or something?"
"You mean the airlock, Johnny?" Mr. Peak seemed serious. He always seemed so serious, so sullen, so mysterious to the most of the other rebels that they got so caught up in trying to unravel the enigma behind his eyes, those two windows into the soul that everybody looked up into and managed to get lost. Perhaps that's why almost nobody knew his first name, and thus referred to him as Mr. Peak?
"Uh, I think I'll just hold it until we-"
"Don't you have to go so badly though? You're better off just opening the airlock and-" Johnny's face had quickly become a reddened mask of horror and embarrassment- was Peak serious or joking or seriously joking? He may have even been jokingly serious, for all Johnny could discern.
"Don't worry Mr. Peak, I think I'll be alright until we get there" said the stocky blonde spy.
"Alright" replied Mr. Peak, who began walking back towards the other end of the dim cargo hold, presumably to learn more about its contents.
"That's one scary dude."
Katy sighed. She suspected that this would be the longest ride, most monotonous ride of her life. She walked away from Johnny and the other rebels- something about Mr. Peak had piqued her interest.
"You have arrived at your destination. Thank you for riding with us!" David sighed- he sort of wished the ride could've been longer. It was nice and quiet inside the car. Stepping off the train, he found himself staring up at the massive red building. He remembered, vaguely, how it had been modeled after schoolhouses of old, complete with an odd pointed roof and windows framed with white, with odd bars running through them. As he entered the building, however, it was clear that this place was neither ancient nor outdated.
In fact, it felt very new. Unlike most of the cold, white, sterile institutions of learning, this one was different. David stared up at the ceiling of the great sunlit foyer- the walls were decorated with grand paintings, memories of a time long forgotten...
David decided to stop reminiscing and get about to finding his class. He pulled out his little device, the Unleash, and stared down at the luminous little red arrow that now floated a few centimeters above his palm.
"Guys, come look at this!" Maxwell Robinson had made a discovery aboard the dim cargo hold. He buried an arm in the crate and retrieved a white box of similar composition to the black crate. Robinson lay a hand atop the small container as it slowly seemed to dissolve into the air. The small white box glowed gently as Robinson pulled out what appeared to be a pill no larger than a tooth.
"Welcome to the final frontier" spoke a disembodied voice. The pill pulsed with white light as the words the voice spoke floated in the air, a few inches above Robinson's hand. "We have experienced so much in our lifetimes" the deep, vaguely feminine voice continued. "Is there anything we haven't explored?"
Katy bristled. She had a vague clue as to just where this single-sided conversation was headed.
"Our minds are the last frontier. Are you ready to re-percieve reality? Escape with me..." The voice trailed off as the little white pill abruptly stopped glowing. The word "me" seemed to fade away into white smoke as though this invitation was the last time the pill would dare beckon you forth into whatever world would be created deep within your head.
"Quite the siren's call" sighed Robinson as he dropped the pill back into the little box. Slowly, it re-materialized a cover and grew dark once more.
"What do you think it does?" Mr. Peak was standing a few feet away- nobody had noticed his form in the dim light of the cargo hold.
"I'm not quite sure" replied Robinson as he shoved the box into one of his jacket pockets. "Something tells me we shouldn't-" The same strange voice was speaking up again. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the cargo hold. Robinson gasped- and Katy dashed to the other side of the ship, towards the voice.
She arrived in time to watch Jonathan swallow the pill, surrounded by a few other rebels who watched with wide eyes and eagerly clenched fists.
Jonathan collapsed, his limp form laying still at the base of the big, black crate he was sitting on.
"David, you're late. Ah well, it's your first time here, isn't it?" A wrinkled gray old woman sat behind a large, brown desk. Disregarding the urge to restrain himself, David touched the striated surface- it was real wood. The woman behind the desk sighed. "Why does everybody do that?" David, startled from his trance, decided to sit down. He stared out at the classroom- there were five other youth staring back at him. Well, they weren't staring at him so much as through him. Their attention was focused quite closely on the actor standing inches away from David's doe-eyed wonder.
David walked right on through the educational illusion into his chair- it was comfortable, and from what he'd heard, the least accurate part of the whole experience.
"Begin" the old woman said, as the actor began moving. The man's face was covered in makeup- his face was pure red, his nose black.
"Now" the woman said "Who can tell me about how the art of postmodern street performance began anew?"
One of David's classmates at the far end of the room piped up. "Wasn't it after the anti-fantasy movements?"
The teacher nodded, the bun in her hair seemingly bouncing in agreement.
"Now, what other movements co-incided with the anti-fantasy movement? Julie, perhaps you can explain how the March towards Militarism set the ball rolling?"
Unlike the first student to speak, this one stared down at her fingers, nervously fidgeting. David sighed, and began. "The March towards Militarism marked a period of animosity towards any art that wasn't firmly rooted in the very reality that was driving the early Paxcatian Empire forward..." David's voice trailed off as he stared back towards Julie.
"The emperor thus decided that it was the people's imagination that spurred the growth of new weapons, and thus he decided to halt the March before the arts were wiped out altogether."
Julie's ears stuck out as bright red against her black hair- she was never a big fan of public speaking. Even though she was acquainted with everybody in the room, she just didn't feel comfortable in such a formal setting. After speaking, she stared down at her desk's blank surface. The teacher sighed quietly- she'd been trying to help the girl get over her fear, albeit with little success.
"An early activation?"
"That's correct, Ace, and it come from the transport ship mere minutes ago." Black Ace and Red Baron were communicating again, this time over the matter of an unusually early product activation.
"Can you get a visual?"
"No, the activator is still unconscious."
"I'll have the transport intercepted once it reaches the ground."
Near instantly, the command went out to Paxcatia's Defense Squad in the city of Nauda- an attack may be inbound on a transport ship. They were to be ready to defend their homeland with any means necessary.
"Have the slaves been behaving? There may have been an escapee."
"I haven't overlooked the possibility, which is why I ran a thourough scan of the facility a few minutes ago. One foreign body was detected and destroyed."
"Keep me informed of any further developments."
An ocean away, a group of slaves stood huddled around the body of a man they didn't know. One of them wept gently. With foolhardy hope, she put a finger to his neck, and gasped dramatically- "He's still got a heartbeat" she shouted. The man's bluish skin slowly regained color as one of the other slaves began breathing life into him anew.
In the corner of the garishly bright room sulked a weathered old man. "It's pointless" he sighed.
"What? How could you say that, this man's going to live!" The old man sighed again.
"When Red Baron finds him during the next sweep, he's going to get another does of the gas. He won't survive a second round."
A hush descended upon the small group- somehow, this man had gotten himself into the factory, and the slaves had no idea how to get him out.
Back in the transport ship, another group was huddled around a body. This body, though, had managed to sit up and whine about being crowded.
"Do you feel different?" "Why did you take it?" "Did you see anything?"
Jonathan stared dumbly into the the curious, concerned faces. One seemed kind of angry- he averted his gaze swfitly.
"I don't feel much different" he replied with a shrug. "Could you guys give me some room? I can hardly breathe with you guys pressing in so close."
"Jonathan, we're almost at the drop point." The angry face spoke to him. "Jonathan do you recognize me? It's Katy. You need to snap out of it!"
"I'm with you, don't worry" he replied quickly. Katy breathed a sigh of relief- annoying as he could be, he was like a younger brother to her. Katy could hardly believe it had been a mere couple of years since she'd joined the rebels with her father.
"Johnny, get ready to jump. And please, don't do anything that stupid again."
Jonathan stared back at her and nodded.
He wasn't looking at her. He was looking through the crate behind her. He could see its contents and he wasn't sure why, though he suspected it had something to do with the pill he swallowed.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
What's worse?
Entry 1
Journal of Maxwell Robinsion
"S-s-so tell me what's worse, being held at gunpoint or having a bullet in the cerebellum?'
"Killing me proves difficult, doesn't it?"
"K-killing you will be the easy part."
I've discovered a few fascinating things during my relatively brief existence. Fear, I've discovered is a wonderful motivator.
"You realize that if I'm dead, we can't be friends?"
"You... Y-you haven't answered my question yet!"
"Well I suppose it depends, really. How likely am I to be shot?"
For a moment, her gaze faltered; it was all I needed. Deftly, I pulled the gun straight from her hands and discharged it into the treetops.
Something else I realized is that Jo, my best friend since childhood, has the somewhat normal tendency to stutter whenever she's afraid of something. Right now, it seems to be losing me.
"You said you wouldn't leave me" she said softly. "Why'd you go away, Max? You lef- you left me for days!"
"Jo, I went away for fifteen minutes to find firewood."
Maybe you'll want to know more about me. Well, honestly, there isn't much to tell. I was born in Markonis, spent a few years between nannies. When I was of age, I got shipped off to boarding school. I suppose you could say I've had an average childhood thus far. Average seeing as my father was the leader of our country. Pretty normal, knowing he wanted nothing to do with me. I guess I'm just like all the others, homeless now after the invasion. The boarding school was burned to the ground by the Paxcatian drones, and I barely escaped with my life. My possessions, any trace of my old life, that's gone now.
I guess Jo lost more. She lost her sanity.
For a while, we wandered. We dodged the drones and avoided becoming slaves, and eventually, we found a small camp. We found friends, allies, people who'd avoided becoming slaves.
I found a purpose.
"A-are you mad with me?"
I dropped the pistol into the dead leaves below. I hugged her, holding her quaking form close. She'd grown awfully skinny. Her dark brown skin seemed to swallow the setting sun's orange glow.
"Jo? Where did you get the gun?"
"I found it."
"Just where exactly did you find it?"
"Isn't it r-really obvious?"
"No, you're not making it so."
"It was underneath Mr. Sere's pillow.
"What were you doing there?"
"I'm not sure. myself."
I sighed.
"Can I have it back now?"
"You have to give it back to Casey, Jo."
"I know."
I picked up the gun and handed it back to her, albeit slowly. It was an old fashioned weapon, a rather elegant weapon that looked out of place with our utilitarian, makeshift lasers, our electrical weapons, so unpolished. It was nearly a pretty thing to look at, with its silvery, simple surfaces. It almost seemed ornate, the ax of a wealthy executioner.
"I'll give it back, Max. I promise."
I nodded as we made our way back to the camp.
"So why did you take me out here, anyway?" She'd recommended we take a walk; she usually only does this when there's something she needs to tell me.
"Because Mr. Sere has a message for you" she said.
"Oh? What is it?"
"That you'll be going on a very, very special mission."
"And?"
Jo stopped suddenly. Her mood, upbeat, cheerful moments ago, suddenly seemed to collapse to the forest floor.
"It's a long trip, far away. You might not return."
"How far?"
"Paxcatia."
"And I take it that he-"
"He didn't invite me."
"Then I'm not going."
"I think we both know why I'm not going with you."
"And that's exactly why I'm staying here with you."
"Max, I'm afraid for you but... But I've been thinking. It's selfish of me to keep you here. Markonis- the real Markonis- needs you. I'm afraid for everybody."
We trod towards the camp in silence for a while. There really wasn't much more to be added.
As I've said before, fear is one of the, if not the best motivator of all. It was enough to make Jo walk into camp, and enough to make her approach Mr. Sere.
It was enough to make her point the pistol at Mr. Sere, to make her offer him one last choice.
"Take me away from here. Far away from Max, far away from it all, take me back home" she yelled.
This was the last I heard from her. I came running to find her, only to discover her limp in Mr. Sere's arms.
"She fainted" he explained quickly. I trusted that she had. Mr. Sere slung her over his shoulder and carried her away, into the brig. I caught a glimpse of a smile on her face. Our brig, our improvised prison, is essentially a big, plastic box on the end of our convoy. We've never had to use it before.
Later that night, Mr. Sere took me aside. He explained to me everything I knew: Jo wasn't stable, and for the sake of our ultimate goal, he thought it'd be best if I went away for awhile.
I cried a little after that conversation. We both understood what Jo did. She was afraid, not for herself but for everyone around us and she knew just what I could do, what I needed to do. She understood. She just needed to get me away, and she found out how to do it.
She's the best friend I've ever had.
I'm about to go off to Paxcatia now, as you may surmise, and I've said goodbye to Jo for what may be the last time. She kept telling me not to worry, she kept begging me not to be scared for her. She promised that we'd be together again, soon. I think she was right, and I suppose she's in good hands, but I don't think I'll ever stop fearing for her. I guess it's because we're almost siblings, and I can't stand the thought of being away from her for so long...
"Hey, do you remember that game we used to play?" she asked me shortly before my leaving from within her plastic prison.
"Which?"
"The one with the rich grandmother, she died and left clues to her fortune."
I smiled a little; that scenario was pretty much the product of our upbringing here in Markonis.
"Yes, I remember, her name was Evelyn."
"You do remember" Jo beamed.
"Remember how we tried to organize a-"
Mr. Sere cut me off. It was time to go. Right now, I'm sitting on a fallen log with my comrades. We're about to sneak across an ocean, and quite frankly I have no idea when I'll be able to write again. If there's one thing I do know for certain, however, it's that I'm going to see Jo again, and secretly, I'm proud of her. She made a dangerous, foolish decision.
It was the right one.
----
Alright, I finished another short story in Markonis, sort of a prequel to the next chapter (still a WIP!).
This story was actually a very clever analogy for something. I don't like to refer to my own work so haughtily, but today I'll make an exception. Will people understand what else this story means? Here's hoping.
Journal of Maxwell Robinsion
"S-s-so tell me what's worse, being held at gunpoint or having a bullet in the cerebellum?'
"Killing me proves difficult, doesn't it?"
"K-killing you will be the easy part."
I've discovered a few fascinating things during my relatively brief existence. Fear, I've discovered is a wonderful motivator.
"You realize that if I'm dead, we can't be friends?"
"You... Y-you haven't answered my question yet!"
"Well I suppose it depends, really. How likely am I to be shot?"
For a moment, her gaze faltered; it was all I needed. Deftly, I pulled the gun straight from her hands and discharged it into the treetops.
Something else I realized is that Jo, my best friend since childhood, has the somewhat normal tendency to stutter whenever she's afraid of something. Right now, it seems to be losing me.
"You said you wouldn't leave me" she said softly. "Why'd you go away, Max? You lef- you left me for days!"
"Jo, I went away for fifteen minutes to find firewood."
Maybe you'll want to know more about me. Well, honestly, there isn't much to tell. I was born in Markonis, spent a few years between nannies. When I was of age, I got shipped off to boarding school. I suppose you could say I've had an average childhood thus far. Average seeing as my father was the leader of our country. Pretty normal, knowing he wanted nothing to do with me. I guess I'm just like all the others, homeless now after the invasion. The boarding school was burned to the ground by the Paxcatian drones, and I barely escaped with my life. My possessions, any trace of my old life, that's gone now.
I guess Jo lost more. She lost her sanity.
For a while, we wandered. We dodged the drones and avoided becoming slaves, and eventually, we found a small camp. We found friends, allies, people who'd avoided becoming slaves.
I found a purpose.
"A-are you mad with me?"
I dropped the pistol into the dead leaves below. I hugged her, holding her quaking form close. She'd grown awfully skinny. Her dark brown skin seemed to swallow the setting sun's orange glow.
"Jo? Where did you get the gun?"
"I found it."
"Just where exactly did you find it?"
"Isn't it r-really obvious?"
"No, you're not making it so."
"It was underneath Mr. Sere's pillow.
"What were you doing there?"
"I'm not sure. myself."
I sighed.
"Can I have it back now?"
"You have to give it back to Casey, Jo."
"I know."
I picked up the gun and handed it back to her, albeit slowly. It was an old fashioned weapon, a rather elegant weapon that looked out of place with our utilitarian, makeshift lasers, our electrical weapons, so unpolished. It was nearly a pretty thing to look at, with its silvery, simple surfaces. It almost seemed ornate, the ax of a wealthy executioner.
"I'll give it back, Max. I promise."
I nodded as we made our way back to the camp.
"So why did you take me out here, anyway?" She'd recommended we take a walk; she usually only does this when there's something she needs to tell me.
"Because Mr. Sere has a message for you" she said.
"Oh? What is it?"
"That you'll be going on a very, very special mission."
"And?"
Jo stopped suddenly. Her mood, upbeat, cheerful moments ago, suddenly seemed to collapse to the forest floor.
"It's a long trip, far away. You might not return."
"How far?"
"Paxcatia."
"And I take it that he-"
"He didn't invite me."
"Then I'm not going."
"I think we both know why I'm not going with you."
"And that's exactly why I'm staying here with you."
"Max, I'm afraid for you but... But I've been thinking. It's selfish of me to keep you here. Markonis- the real Markonis- needs you. I'm afraid for everybody."
We trod towards the camp in silence for a while. There really wasn't much more to be added.
As I've said before, fear is one of the, if not the best motivator of all. It was enough to make Jo walk into camp, and enough to make her approach Mr. Sere.
It was enough to make her point the pistol at Mr. Sere, to make her offer him one last choice.
"Take me away from here. Far away from Max, far away from it all, take me back home" she yelled.
This was the last I heard from her. I came running to find her, only to discover her limp in Mr. Sere's arms.
"She fainted" he explained quickly. I trusted that she had. Mr. Sere slung her over his shoulder and carried her away, into the brig. I caught a glimpse of a smile on her face. Our brig, our improvised prison, is essentially a big, plastic box on the end of our convoy. We've never had to use it before.
Later that night, Mr. Sere took me aside. He explained to me everything I knew: Jo wasn't stable, and for the sake of our ultimate goal, he thought it'd be best if I went away for awhile.
I cried a little after that conversation. We both understood what Jo did. She was afraid, not for herself but for everyone around us and she knew just what I could do, what I needed to do. She understood. She just needed to get me away, and she found out how to do it.
She's the best friend I've ever had.
I'm about to go off to Paxcatia now, as you may surmise, and I've said goodbye to Jo for what may be the last time. She kept telling me not to worry, she kept begging me not to be scared for her. She promised that we'd be together again, soon. I think she was right, and I suppose she's in good hands, but I don't think I'll ever stop fearing for her. I guess it's because we're almost siblings, and I can't stand the thought of being away from her for so long...
"Hey, do you remember that game we used to play?" she asked me shortly before my leaving from within her plastic prison.
"Which?"
"The one with the rich grandmother, she died and left clues to her fortune."
I smiled a little; that scenario was pretty much the product of our upbringing here in Markonis.
"Yes, I remember, her name was Evelyn."
"You do remember" Jo beamed.
"Remember how we tried to organize a-"
Mr. Sere cut me off. It was time to go. Right now, I'm sitting on a fallen log with my comrades. We're about to sneak across an ocean, and quite frankly I have no idea when I'll be able to write again. If there's one thing I do know for certain, however, it's that I'm going to see Jo again, and secretly, I'm proud of her. She made a dangerous, foolish decision.
It was the right one.
----
Alright, I finished another short story in Markonis, sort of a prequel to the next chapter (still a WIP!).
This story was actually a very clever analogy for something. I don't like to refer to my own work so haughtily, but today I'll make an exception. Will people understand what else this story means? Here's hoping.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Last Days of Marconis
Last Days of Marconis
by Jourdan Cameron
I've been running for a long time now; I woke up bolting from the flaming wreck of a barn that no longer exists. My name is Katharine, and my world is ending.
My entire, fifteen year life I've lived in Marconis. Our family, the Powton family, had been among the wealthiest in all of Marconis. We have seen the poverty, we have seen the pain, and we have seen the corruption. In short, we have seen far too much.
“Katy” my father calls, panting. “Katy, we're getting close to the bunker.”
My dad and I stop running for a moment; we can see the gray concrete of the bomb shelter just on the horizon. With a crunch, he collapses flat on his back into the leaf litter below. I lean on a tree, grateful to be alive. These forests have slowed the advance of our soldiers- or, at least, the machines that were once our soldiers, fighting for us. The government has turned them loose on us “rebels”. In a grand abuse of power, they chose to attack the people who saw their flaws. They decided to demonstrate the extent of their power by destroying my family's house.
“Here we go” my father said after rummaging through his backpack. He'd found a flare gun. We dashed towards the facility.
“Stand back” he commanded once we'd come within about twenty feet. Reaching into his cargo pants, he pulled out the flare gun and fired it at the massive steel door.
My father and I were fortunate. We had gone out to a Dumb Lummox concert the night we lost our home. We returned just in time to watch our mansion go up in flames.
The flare hit the door with a metallic “clang” that could be heard for miles around. I plugged my ears as the dying rocket screamed and hissed, vomiting flame and smoke.
It left sooty black marks on the dull red door.
“I think that should get their attention.”
“It sure got mine” I muttered.
We heard a groaning noise as the door slowly opened.
“Hello!” my father called out. The door stopped.
“Friend or foe?” a voice called back from behind the door.
“Who wants to know?”
“Vinny, is that you?” The door began opening more rapidly. It was several inches thick, enough to withstand quite a bit of punishment. It hadn't even been dented by the flare.
In the doorway, we could see a dark passage that seemed to stretch on into eternity. As we came closer, we could see a light at its far end.
“Come on in!” said the man, from the doorway. He was a burly man with short brown hair. He looked oddly familiar to me, but I couldn't quite put a finger on why...
“Little Katie” the man began “you're all grown up now!”
“Casey, she probably doesn't remember you.”
“Oh right, of course! Katie, I'm Casey, Casey Seer, we were neighbors a decade ago! Boy, times sure have changed, eh Vinny?”
“Aye” said my father, walking towards the bunker. Compared to Mr. Seer, my father's muscular arms seemed miniature. Don't get me wrong, my dad's pretty strong, but Mr. Seer is just huge!
My dad leaned on the door frame. “So what have you been up to all these years?”
“Well, I was working with the poorer families in Marconis; I gave them sound financial advice, they gave me their love. Trouble is, no good deed goes unpunished. I was arrested for 'unauthorized education'. I was sharing a cell with a member of the Avansguar party, and he told me that other members of the party would chip in, help me make bail, and bring me to freedom!”
The Avansguar party is- was- a short lived political party. They went against the grain, and the General Party didn't exactly care for them; little by little, their members either died in bizarre accidents or simply disappeared.
“So are you just going to stand out there?” Casey beckons us inside.
The hallway feels cramped; I suspect it's either the bulk of Casey or the fact that the walls are several feet thick. Either way, I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic when we at last reach the huge gray room at the end of the room. It is full of rebels. At one end of the room was a table surrounded by a small crowd of excited observers. At the other end, there was a cluster of stoves, old fashioned ones all occupied by ragtag chefs.
In the middle of the room, a miniaturized fusion reactor, a bulky, grey canister with a single control panel in front.
"Well" said Casey "back to guard duty, please, make yourselves at home."
"I'm going to go see what everybody's gawking at over there" my dad said, pointing to the table.
"Alright" I replied.
I'm feeling a bit disoriented. Wandering through the crowd, I feel like a sardine in a school of unfamiliar faces. I never felt more disconnected when, out of the blue, a familiar voice crawls over my shoulder and into my ear.
"Lost?"
I spun around to meet the face of a familiar friend.
“Danvid!” I nearly jumped for joy; Danvid had been a loyal friend for most of my life. Something about seeing him here was shocking.
“I- I thought-”
“You thought that I was dead?” I nod, choking back tears. There had been a “mysterious” fire at his home several weeks ago, one with “no apparent cause”. By the time the firefighters arrived, the building had been nearly burned to the ground. When I first heard the news, I ran to his home. There was just a smoldering pile of wood where the apartment building once was. I fell to my knees, overcome with grief. I wept, at both the massive loss of life, and for the loss of a friend.
“In case you haven't already guessed, the fire was intentional” he told me. “I suspect you know who did it. Some rebels ran in and saved our family moments before the building collapsed.” He gazed into the crowd. “We owe them our lives.”
“How has your family been?”
“Mostly alright, 'cept for my father. He felt responsible for all the other people lost.”
Danvid's father had been active working with a few charitable others in managing an orphanage. The Government didn't exactly disallow it; they did, however, 'discourage' it. They held the belief that “weak citizens”, such as the orphans, would be the downfall of the nation.
“Tell him...” I'm a little overcome with emotion and start fumbling for my own words. “Really, um, tell him that he did... the right thing.”
“Absolutely. I'm just relieved to see you here!” His muscular tan arms encircle me in a hug.
“Hey, can you tell me where the bathroom is?
He leads me to a hallway at the end of the room. It's full of doors.
“Just knock on one” he tells me.
Knocking on the first, I hear no reply, and it is empty.
“Thanks” I say, shutting the door behind me. I stare for a while at my face in a mirror. I'm a mess. My dirty blonde hair is, well, dirty, and there's a layer of grime on my face. Running such a distance through dense forest is not easy, and it was an especially stressful experience, to say the least, constantly being on the lookout for the flying drones that would try to pepper us with bullets. When those ran out, they'd switch to using the blades on their undersides; the drones were essentially flying boxes with rotors, guns, and occasionally other goodies.
Taking care of business, I leave the bathroom.
“Katie! Check this out!” It's my dad, he has something attached to his wrists; upon closer examination, I realize that they're weapons from one of the drones, but something seems strange about them.
“This place is awesome, they have so many scientists! They're making stuff out of drones after we beat them! Look at this, electric weapons!”
“Whoa! How do you fire them?”
“I just think about it.”
“What?”
“Yeah, one of them developed this system. I just have to imagine myself firing, and zap, it happens!”
The black twin cylinders were extremely simple in their external design; they looked like hollow, black plastic cylinders strapped to my father's arms. I hoped they would work.
For a moment, we don't say anything. I look up into his dark brown eyes, and we share a single, simple idea; this is the place for us.
An alarm breaks out over the usual din; followed by Casey's voice.
“Attention! This is not a drill, sensors indicate that we are surrounded, we have incoming ground troops and busters, battlestations!”
“Busters? We better move!”
The “busters” were massive machines, typically used for grand scale demolition. If you needed a stadium gone, these were the machines you wanted. We don't want them anywhere near our bunker.
“Follow me to your post” said a short, muscular man. We ran after him to a hall that led to a set of stairs. When we reached the top, we realized that we were standing atop a massive dome; it was the top of the bunker. Gingerly stepping down its slope, I looked down over the short wall and could see the massive tanklike bulk of the busters in the dying rays of the afternoon sun.
My dad walked next to me, staring down at the busters.
“They're huge.”I nodded in agreement.
“They're also powerless against my secret weapon.”
Leaning perilously over the short barrier, he aimed his arms straight down towards the shadowy busters and shut his eyes. A pure white light emerged from his arms, it seemed, as he activated his electrical weapons. He illuminated the entire landscape for a few sweet seconds, sending up birds from their trees and revealing the forms of the busters; massive, legged machines, wielding a belly full of mechanically operated hammers, truly menacing, and truly dead, now.
He looked up at me and smiled. He then fell over the barrier.
With a horrified gasp, I shuffle my feet, as if in a trance, and cautiously glance over the edge. My fathers still body is lying still on the forest floor.
I let out a shriek in pure horror at the sight; mine screams of grief soon mix with a higher pitched mechanical noise.
The busters still work.
Everybody is panicking; there's a sudden rush towards the edge and, somehow, I go from facing the edge to falling off of it. I'm falling down the side of the building, sliding perilously towards my doom as I grapple the rough concrete for something to hold on to. Fortunately, there's some sort of pole directly in my path. Most regrettably, it's directly in my path, and as my foot glances off of it, my ankle twists painfully in the wrong direction. This, however, seems to slow my fall just enough for me to grab on to the pole. I'm about ten feet from the ground. I'm concerned that if those ground troops I heard about earlier don't see me, they'll hear my heart nearly rattling itself loose from its case.
Have you ever had an idea that seemed brilliant at the time? I know it's an old cliché, but it always seems to hold true. It seems that these brilliant ideas have a strange habit of coming into existence at all the wrong times.
In an unexpected moment of genius, however, I had a different kind of moment. Pulling myself up, I crouch on the dull metal pole and leap towards the buster.
From atop of the colossus, I can see my father lying in the dead leaves and slide down one of the massive metal legs towards him. I instinctively reach for his neck with two fingers outstretched. He still has a pulse. Going through his pockets, I suddenly realize that he doesn't have his flare gun. I drag him across the ground all the way to the door, staring up at the mechanical monster standing dumbly before us. My father groans before slipping out of consciousness again. In my desperation, I bang my fists on the door. I collapse to the ground. I just realized that the situation is hopeless. Everybody's on the roof, trying to figure out how to beat the buster before it manages to get back up. Besides, they can't hear me knocking on a door that's about a foot thick.
The buster's massive limbs begin to stir as the elongated row of hammers on its underside begin swaying back and forth. It rears up on four legs like a massive destructive millipede. Holding my limp father close, I shut my eyes and I hear a few titanic footsteps looming ever closer.
Squeezing my eyes and my arms tighter, I hear what sounds like the rumble of amplified thunder. The end has begun.
Then, there's a massive boom and I feel a gust of wind fly by me.
“So this is how it feels to die” I thought to myself. “It feels so peaceful.”
I opened my eyes and realized that I wasn't dead. The flaming carcass of the massive machine was lying in front of me. I had been spared. But by what?
I could hear cheers from the roof, followed by a few explosions. We were winning, and we were doing it with help.
I looked up and saw rotors of a drone spinning high above me. I was lying in its shadow, and it hung the air as the men cheered. This drone was different, somehow. It looked like an old fashioned helicopter.
“Greetings” it loudly proclaimed through an unseen speaker. “This is unit 5K1LL4R3 declaring you now the property of the glorious nation of-”
It's arrogant dissertation was cut off as a beam of orange ran through its center. It fell on top of the buster.
I felt an odd vibration behind me and realized that the door I was leaning against was now opening. Pulling my father up onto my back, I prepare to enter as the door swings open.
Casey's face is ashen and covered in sweat. He grabs my father as I run into the hallway. Looking back, I can see one of the ground troops in the darkness. Their form is vaguely human, except that they're much, much harder to kill.
Slamming the door, Casey begins running back inside. I try to run, but nearly fall flat on my face as my ankle gives out.
I limp back into the mostly empty room, wondering what's going to happen next. There's a bed next to the door; Casey puts my father onto it and calls out for a doctor. I can't remember much except for the weight of his hand on my shoulder as he turned around to go back to his job.
My dad's thick black hair covers his eyes, his skin is pale as the moon. I paced awhile through the halls until the doctors summoned me; he'd be fine. It seemed that his weapons suffered some sort of backfire. They weren't entirely finished, after all.
Vaguely, I remember him holding my hand, telling me that everything would be alright. He told me to keep fighting.
So I ran back to the roof to the battle. Our men were fighting the ground troops, or at least, were finishing off the ground troops using weapons they gleaned from the wrecks of destroyed war machines and various other pieces of hacked equipment.
I watched as they fired a few last shots in the direction of the last troop. By morning, we'd scavenge their mechanical corpses for parts.
“Where do you think that drone came from?” asked one man to another.
“I haven't a clue! The ground troops cut it off.”
“I know” said Casey, coming up the stairs to the roof. “It was from another country, I recognized its flag. Friends, we have a situation on our hands. Please report downstairs for further details.”
As the rebels casually trotted towards the stairs, Casey singled me out of the crowd.
“You did a brave thing.” he said, beaming with pride.
“I don't really think so” I simply replied. I don't believe that I did, after all, I did fall by accident.
“But you saved your father!”
“One man! And we nearly lost the base!”
“But we didn't. And because of your actions, we didn't lose a single soldier.”
I just give the man a hug and head downstairs. It's already getting late. Tomorrow will be another day.
“Ladies and gentlemen” Casey announces over the speaker system “I have good news. The government of Marconis has been defeated.” A deafening roar goes up from the crowd as people begin weeping, laughing, and jumping for joy.
“There is a second announcement” he says solemnly.
“Those who have overthrown the government are not our friends. They are extremely hostile, and our new enemy is the country of-” Casey's voice is drowned out by an explosion. As many of our men assemble for battle, I run back to my father, how is still in a half conscious state.
He's lying on a strange old bed with wheels, the kind I see in hospitals. Underneath it are his electrical weapons. I grab them both and join the crowd heading outside.
--------
Well that was fun to write! I put this piece together for my local library's writing contest; it received second place.
Enjoy!
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