by Nathan Lunn
“I can do that for you. It’s not cheap.”
Kye sighed, and dug into his pocket, muttering as he did, “It never is. You got any mellowers? Just want a few added on.”
Alfie held up a finger, eyes glazing once more. “That’ll be for eight credit chips. You good to pay now?” Kye nodded, dropping the chips to the table as the left soldier moved forward and placed the drugs onto his side. He rapped his knuckles down, spiked additions chipping holes into the wood as Kye stood and swiped the drugs, slipping them into his pocket with his free hand. Alfie stood to meet him, slipping a sideways glance to the left soldier who had knocked; his right hand stuck out for a handshake as his left moved to his pocket. Kye tensed up, grabbing his hand as tight as he did his weapon, looking Alfie in the eye. A shot rang out and the soldier to his left dropped to the floor, spraying the inside of the tent a darker shade of red. Kye reeled back, pulling his weapon to his front as Alfie gripped his hand stronger and spoke, loudly and calming.
“That’s alright, friend of Elroy, weapon down. Save the cybernetics too.”
Kye stopped himself, noticing who had been shot, and wrenched his hand back, moving away from Alfie slowly as the soldier on his left dropped a handkerchief into his outstretched hand. Kye stayed quiet as Alfie wiped the side of his suit down, and dropped his own handpistol to the table. “You may leave.” The red handkerchief was stuffed into his top pocket, along with the eight stained credit chips. “Thank you for your business.” Kye turned without another word, and walked outside.
Kye took a sip from his third shot of the evening, knocking back the lukewarm liquid with a scowl and a slam of his hand on the table. He had already ordered and finished a beer, finding it had helped to calm down his shakes and ease his arm’s reactions, but the notification that had popped up on his commlink had forced his hand, forking over the money for another shot and beer. He flicked his credit chip to the bar and read it again, before downing both the drinks and walking away. A tap on his temple removed the message:
“Kye. It’s Eddie. Douglass has found another one.”
19
The Waxwing Tribes lived nomadic lives, never choosing to settle their allegiance in one area or with one single faction. As such, they kept themselves out of the war, directing most of their efforts towards trading and pacifist ideals. They toured the world on their floating caravans, taking up a space nearly two miles wide, and three miles long, loaded on top and inside with all the necessary amenities they would need to live: biofarm reserves, pre-printed housing blocks, shuttle services both within and off the carrier. A small community of those non-settlers had broken off from the constraints of the ground to remain in the air as they lived, refraining from touching down anywhere, with some of the more radical even committing to body modifications to represent this fact, small nubs of wings and feathers sprouting from their backs in a proud display of their useless aviary ability. None of the body modifications really served a purpose other than cosmetic enhancement, and those of the Waxwing Tribes were no different. Various nuances in their colour provided confirmation of their families, and the longer the feathers were grown, the more respect the individual was held in. Following the height of the war, and the devastation of the asiatic landmass, many had disregarded their governments and normal ways of life, bringing together their own societies – these were raised across the globe in various Waxwing Carriers – each person who joined making the independent decision to unite with their fellow nomads.
The Carriers were built in a few years each, with a unique design depending on where they had lifted off from (some were cruder and more industrial, while others were sleeker and more streamlined). All were propelled into the air using the same mechanism as the hovercars, scaled up until they could sustain the immense weight of the Carrier. This resulted in a high pitched whine that was only heard once you were close enough to the engine, and a long slow whistle whenever you were up on what constituted as the deck. The wind was unmanageable, but the issue of ill-fated weather was remedied by the fixed altitude of the Carrier, remaining above the clouds at all possible moments. This consistent sunshine, mixed with the lack of a strong source of oxygen, had led to a pigeonhole of minute evolutionary changes.
Most of the Waxwing Tribes’ societal choices revolved around trade – they thrived off the changing tides of incoming and outgoing goods. At the far south of each Carrier – without fail of nationality or design – sat the Commerce Port, a hive of ever-moving hovercars and self-driven cargo shipments. The Waxwing Carriers were not only regarded for their trade, but also as the centre of travel: many who arrived stayed for only a short while, as an across-planet stopover, before heading back out on their way. This made it ideal as a quick push off for many individual travellers, as well as the living area for those who chose to stay – the nomad’s dream.
Alexis Croft was a known frequenter of this popular service. From a young age, he had been impatient, irritated by the idea of staying in the same place. His parents’ extensive wealth had allowed him to indulge in these irritations, travelling to far flung areas of the world in search of the thing that could just make him feel complacent, using the various worldwide Waxwing Carriers as a common push off point. These searches had brought him nothing but wasted money and squandered opportunities, as well as a child of his own, whom he brought along with him when she grew old enough. Unfortunately, a child was not all he brought back from his trip, finding out whilst in the wild areas of the post-Asian landmass that he had a proclivity for hunting. Specifically, he liked the idea of hunting fellow man for sport, a common practice in the wastelands as a means of eradicating irradiated scavengers who passed over into the civilized lands without permit. Following his visit here, he grew fond of the idea, enjoying the rush and catharsis he gained from his many victories over the weaker men and women – expanding the idea to the western territories in his own little haven, a private island off the coast of the Kiribati Landspace. Three times a year, the MidMeri Waxwing Tribe’s Carrier would float close to this island, and three times a year, Alexis Croft would travel to it, spend a few hours messing around, before pushing off to the island and hunting on his own private reserve. This was where the group had found themselves, joining in with the regular pilgrimage.
***
Kye stepped out of the PubliCab with the rest of the group, ducking under a flying drone that whizzed close enough to his ear to feel it. He shook his head, and did a quick survey of the area around him, noting the leaving car behind him as the last of the group jumped out. Soon enough, the car slipped into the crowd of flying vehicles, blending with the colours until it was left nearly invisible. A track of incoming and outgoing vehicles dropped off various patrons to the ground floor of the Commerce Port, the steady stream providing no time for any delay to occur. Far to the left, sliding inbetween some bright yellow industrial pylons, were a medley of distinctively designed freight-haulers, large self-driven vehicles choking out smoke and steam as they deposited their cargo to the runway below. It was a living tapestry, all of the belts, drones and robots moving in perfect synergy together to maintain the fast paced deliveries at their highest efficiency. Ducking under another whizz, Kye decided this was not a place for flesh and organs to wait around in, and waved the group over to join the entry queue. He spoke, a little louder than usual to get over the whistle of the wind, a little slurred as a result of his many drinks just a few hours earlier.
“What a cool breeze!” A shit-eating grin spread across his face, as he looked back at the unhappy and shivering group members, glaring in his direction. They had not been drinking, and were in completely different spirits. He turned back as the queue moved forward, ignoring their stares and focusing on his standing. Passing by the metal doorway without issue (they had been cleared for landing and that was security enough) they made their way down the pathway, until they reached a suitable area to stop. They all dipped behind a wall to provide some blocking from the wind; each taking a moment to brea
the in some of the diluted air. Their thick coats and winter-wear helped them to fit right into the oncoming crowd, and having moved only a few metres from the entryway, they had not yet met any of the Waxwing Tribe.
“God damn. No one said it was gonna be so cold!” Danny spoke, rubbing his hands together in unison with the rest of the group.
“We did actually, you just weren’t in the room.” Kye spoke, smirking as he leaned back. Danny glared at him through squinted vision – his eyes had been fixed but they were still a little weak. Eddie shook his head, and grabbed his arm, the Amaterasu Goggles bouncing a little around his neck – he had attached a strap to take it with him.
Douglass sighed, and took over speaking, reiterating what they had already heard in the workshop and on the PubliCab ride up. “So, Alexis is only around here for a few hours more. We have to spread out and find him before he heads down to Zobel’s Island, otherwise our opportunity has been missed. Stick nearby and use the commlink. And, Kye?” Kye moved his head up in a ridiculously over-the-top fashion, the weak oxygen stream influencing his body even more than the drink originally had. “Can you go with Julie and find a portable oxygen supply?”
Julie rolled her eyes and let out a small sound of disgust, drawing an exaggerated pout from Kye and small snickers from the Albart brothers.
“Really, Douglass? That’s not what I meant when I said–” Julie complained, cut off by a mildly irritated Douglass.
“Look, can we all just follow my orders please? I don’t understand how you can find this so difficult!”
Shocked by his unusual outburst, the group nodded. He wheezed, coughing powerfully into a handkerchief before taking another moment to breathe in sharp. “Not a fan of this thinned air either, Danny.” Julie, shot a sideways look at Kye, pulling him by his arm as Eddie did the same to Danny. Douglass, left on his own, shuffled his way down the path to merge into the consistent stream of tourists.
Stumbling along behind her, Kye admired Julie’s figure. Whenever she had a certain type of irritation, she affected this personality that Kye was drawn to, and his dual-pronged inebriation only served to muddle his senses up some more. She was dragging him along by the crook of his elbow, so he managed to trip over his own feet on multiple occasions. Eventually, after shouting back a few times, she grew tired of this persistent drag, and pulled him sharply to the right, pushing him up against a weak and thin wall that belonged to one of the pre-printed housing blocks. He yelped, wincing at the fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Will you please get a grip?” Julie shouted, eyes blazing into Kye’s. He smiled again, pulling his lips together into a pout. His eyebrow raised, and Julie pushed him away, more exasperated now than she was irritated. “You’re so drunk.”
Kye slurred as she walked down the street, following her at a slower pace like an obedient puppy. “I’m fine! The wind is all jumbly.”
Julie ignored him and continued marching down the street, leaning into each doorway to try and find the supplies they were looking for.
“Julesie, wait!” Kye sped up as she moved through to a busier pathway, trying his best to keep up – before long she had found the storefront she was looking for, and, casting one look back to ensure Kye had seen where she had entered, she went in. Taking a final gulping breath, Kye jumped in behind her.
The base-features of the building’s interior were plain, each chair and table layout was standard manufacturing for the pre-printed blocks. Kye immediately spotted the tiny variations, however – the small changes that lay uncomfortably clear upon the surface of the plastic; obvious attempts made over the years to provide a unique voice to this person's shop design. Ornaments like a thick fake wool shag-rug, a delicate and beautifully painted vase filled with wilting plastic-orchid flowers, and paper-printed paintings lay dotted around the walls and furniture. The storefront windows let the bright sunlight stream in, conveniently placed to get the highest possible strength of natural light at all times. A single man stood in the shop behind the ridged plastic counter, frozen still in exaggerated earnest – a lit sign indicated the fire exit door that was closed behind him. Julie had entered to the front of the shop, where the tables stood with the available merchandise displayed proudly – heaps of different sized oxygen supplies, air filtration and sun-screening goggles were easy to pick out. Behind the counter was a sealed off area, closed from the rest of the shop by a red velvet curtain – dubbed the ‘Fitting Room’ by the sign to its left. Shuffling shadows underneath the curtain let Kye know there were others in the shop – they were just busy being fitted for something. He moved in to stand by Julie, who was now busy fiddling with the straps on an oxygen supply she had picked up from the pile. Kye bent over to give them a closer inspection – the tank (which was currently empty) was held up on the body by a series of straps, and connected by a long thick tubing to the input area, a plastic green cuff that was able to be resized to fit the individual’s arm exactly. The inside of the cuff held a smaller piece of tubing, of which a needle was sticking out from – providing the best and most direct input of richer oxygen into the body. Kye poked the cuff Julie was holding, yelping as the needle jabbed into his skin; pulling his finger back, he sucked the iron-tasting blood from his wound, and gave a sheepish look to the man still standing behind the counter. The man did not reciprocate any humour, and Kye turned back to Julie, showing her the growing bright red spot on his finger tip, murmuring about the pain it caused.
Whilst she shoved him away, the curtain opened up, and a child walked over to the oxygen supplies, dumping their unused one onto the pile and taking another from one of the smaller sizes. She looked up and smiled at Kye, before moving back to the curtained area and closing it once more. Julie (who was preoccupied with intently focusing on the best sized supply for Kye’s arm) had not seen him; Kye had frozen up as soon as the child had smiled at him, and was now insistently tapping on Julie’s shoulder in a failed attempt to get her attention. Eventually her temper snapped, and she turned again, breaking the silence that sat in the room with a loud shout, “What, Kye? Jesus…”
Kye, white as a sheet, stopped grinding his teeth and leaned in to whisper into her ear. The stench of booze was a little too overpowering, but he didn’t have to say much, so she was able to wait for him to finish before leaning back and taking a deep breath.
“That was her!”
Julie rolled her eyes, and went back to her inspection, uninterested in Kye’s joking. He persisted further, grabbing the mask from her arm and throwing it to the pile. She snapped again, shouting louder once more, “Kye, sober up! I mean, for fuck’s sake, who are you talking about?”
He hissed at her, dropping his voice as the man behind the counter left his post and walked over to them. “The Croft girl! They’re here…”
“Is everything okay, Miss? This man isn’t bothering you, is he?”
Julie put on a smile, answering the man, “No no, we are good here, thank you. Just looking to try some of the Oxygen Supplies on.”
The man tutted, as Kye moved behind him to sneak a look at his back, managing to come off as completely conspicuous. Remaining polite to Julie, he explained, “Ah, of course. I am afraid the fitting room is full at the moment, as you can see, but I will personally fit you for a supply when it becomes open.”
“Who’s in the fitting room?” Kye blurted out, without warning. The man spun around and Julie smiled urgently, correcting him and shooting a look at Kye in an attempt to get him away from the man’s back and keep him quiet.
“It’s for my associate here actually. He’s a little light-headed, clearly not favouring the conditions.” The man turned back as Kye moved to Julie’s side – understanding the private message – eyes narrowed and irritation twitching into the corner of his smile.
“I apologise, he is just an impatient soul.” She rubbed Kye’s back as the man walked back to behind his counter, then wheeled him to the windows to talk a little more privately.
“Are you serious?
Kye!” She hissed at him, drawing his attention back from the various antics going on outside the shop. “Is she actually here? Ellie?”
Kye’s face contorted, and he responded, tapping at his temple to start a commlink connection as he did so. “No, no, no, no, no. Not that one, the other girl. Alexises-es daughter.” He was starting to stumble over his words, and a crackle of responses piping into his ear brought him more confusion.
“Hang on, what?”
“Has he found him?”
“Julie, what’s going on?”
Julie shushed them all as a shrill scream sounded from the curtained room. Kye spun around, stumbling over his feet backwards as the child rushed out once more, voice raised far beyond what was necessary.
“He stabbed me!” Tears started to spill down her face, as the disgruntled and panicked employee followed from behind. His right hand was splayed wide in a defensive spread, his left was clenched around a snapped plastic cuff and subsequent tank – alarmed, he turned behind to the fitting room and quickly spoke, voice cracking.
“Sir, I can assure you this is normal procedure! We do not intend to hurt your daughter–” Alexis Croft strode out between the curtains, chest heaving as his voice blared through the small shop.
“This is absolutely outrageous! I came to you all for help, and you thought not to warn my daughter she was going to be in pain!”
The man behind the counter scurried into position next to his colleague, equally worried and defensive, as Julie stopped breathing next to Kye, whispering a single word, “Shit.”
The girl continued wailing, as Alexis moved forward, grabbing the oxygen supply from the startled employee and throwing it to the ground. Its cracked corpse stuttered as electrical energy leaked out of the holes, before it finally died and fell silent.
