A Pook Is Born

by Heather Wood

  “Bet you can’t do this, either.” He leapt over the side of the building, escaping as Finch heaved himself out of the pool, once again fighting the pull of the planet.

  There was a beep. HQ was asking for his coordinates… again.

  Finch lay on his back, dripping, looking into the blue sky. It was pale blue- much lighter than the electric color of Rae's hair. He shook his head. Why did he just think that?

  A plane was flying across the clouds, trailing a banner: “#hashtag.”

  “Why have these people never been conquered?,” he murmured, staggering to his feet.

  Then he roundhouse kicked a sun chair to make himself feel better.

  5.

  Ember stood at attention. She had never actually been in the Command Hall before, but it was cavernous and impressive. She fought the nervous energy that tried to force her feet into her familiar “thinking fidget”- three circles, meticulously and slowly trod- while she awaited her reprimand. Her eyes scanned the cold opalescent walls, gathered (some would say smuggled) from the Lunar Blanc Faction’s asteroid mines, softly glowing, and the floor-to-ceiling window overlook. The stars beyond glowed serenely down at her. The effect was soothing, almost meditative… almost.

  How she wished to be here under better circumstances!

  Pacing before her, High Commander Lunalet of the Lunar Noir Faction cut an impressive figure.

  Her hair was impossibly white, a type of platinum that almost seemed to glow from roots to ends. The face, which might have been beautiful, was made creased and sharp by ambition and paranoia. Her habit of clearing her throat imperiously before she spoke was well known, and the more intrepid of her soldiers was known to always employ it in drunken impressions of her. Her age was completely unascertainable, owing to extensive measures she’d taken in the name the vanity to preserve her youth. She claimed that she was ‘timeless’, a proclamation that she believed protected her from ever being removed from her post.

  Her stature was not great, but her posture was so impossibly perfect, and her frame so sleek, she seemed to be a living matrical axis. However, neither of them were thinking of spinal alignment at this moment. The mission had been disastrous; the Pook lost….

  “THE POOK LOST!?”

  The High Commander spat these last words at Ember, who clenched her fists in fear and anger at her sides. She was not used to failure- or reprimand.

  She strained to keep her voice steady. “It appears his protections were compromised. His fierceness left him. Which also left me open to attack. He seemed almost- domesticated.”

  At these words, Lunalet spun around, her supple stance wavered before returning to its perfect line, and in one step, she was nose to nose with Ember, who inexplicably felt her face flush.

  “Domesticated!? Do I need to remind you, Captain, that we have spent three decades of genetic engineering and breeding to produce our Pooktonian army, an unparalleled legion of the most dangerous, most merciless, most single-purposed creatures in the galaxy, of which Pook Premier- your pook- is the most powerful? He is not a pet. He is a killing machine, and I fail to understand how you dare to stand before me and claim that in the space of one short and UNSUCCESSFUL mission he was- DOMESTICATED!!!”

  Ember stiffened.

  “I find it hard to explain, myself, ma’am, but…”

  Lunalet snarled.

  “I don’t find it hard to explain at all. You left a pook behind. Your cowardice caused you to flee the planet, leaving a soldier abandoned. Your wild story only serves to deepen your shame. Guards!”

  Two hulking figures in long white robes stepped forward. These were Lunalet’s personal guards, men who had no families, no homes, and no dreams other than to serve (and service) their mistress. Ember tensed, She knew that these guards had and would kill for Lunalet without question, just as she knew that appealing to them was useless. She scanned the room for escape...But the High Commander left nothing to chance. Windows in this part of the building were at least 20 feet from the floor, and the only door was behind the dull masses of muscle approaching her. There were no curtains or extraneous furniture pieces to offer even temporary cover, and she may as well have hoped to melt through the cracks in the stone floor as dart between the hulks to the outer hall. In a word, she was screwed.

  “Throw Captain Ember into the stockade.”

  Ember gasped. “But Ma’am-“

  The men picked up Ember as if she were a doll, her feet dangled over the floor.

  “High Commander…I ask you for forbearance!”

  Lunalet’s eyelids hooded languidly. She raised her hand, and the men stopped.

  Her voice was deceptively soft. “Ask?”

  Ember gritted her teeth, breath huffing.

  “I beg your forbearance. Please. I can make this right.”

  “How?” Lunalet’s eyes were pure steel.

  “Give me five days. Allow me to return to Earth, capture the mark, and secure the Pook. I will not fail a second time.”

  Lunalet sashayed to Ember, tilting the smaller woman's chin up with a single, perfectly groomed fingertip. Ember met the High Commander’s shockingly cold eyes.

  “No, you will not. Because I have already sent in a better man than you to clean up the mess. Major Knuffin descended yesterday.”

  “Knuffin!? He’s inexperienced, he’s soft, he’s-“

  “Your cousin, and he is competent, unlike you.” Lunalet finished disdainfully. She nodded to the guards, who unceremoniously plopped their small burden on the shimmering floor. They stood close, fencing Ember in.

  She tried not to flinch as Lunalet leaned in and stroked a blue gem that graced Ember’s collar.

  “You are hereby demoted,” The High Commander purred as she ripped the gem off, dropping it behind her.

  Ember heard the ting of the jewel as it hit the cold, hard floor.

  “Take her away,” Lunalet commanded with a lazy wave of her hand, already looking back at her holo-com, which buzzed with incoming signals.

  The guards seized Ember by her tiny armpits.

  “But commander! I’m an honorable soldier! I do not fail!” Ember shouted.

  “One more word, and I’ll send you to the ice mines instead of the stockade,” Lunalet threw over her shoulder.

  Ember’s face grew red, then pale, as she was dragged out in silence.

  6.

  Gno lay sprawled out on his temporary bed, his long limbs sticking off the end and his long, bare chest and muscled arms tangled in the sheets. With his gravity aura off, he felt heavy. It felt good to lie perfectly still, feeling the blood slow in his veins as his heart worked against the strong pull of the Blue Planet.

  He closed his eyes as a cool breeze from an open window trailed over him. There was so much atmosphere on this planet that there were breezes, and storms, and rain. This was a dry climate zone, but Gno could still feel the kiss of moisture in the air as it caressed his lips. Earth was so different from the Moon.

  But it wasn’t healthy to stay on Earth’s surface for too long.

  He trailed his hand to his other wrist, reactivating his aura, to simple gravity mode, which saved energy compared to combat mode. There was a whisper of blue that traced his skin before it disappeared. Gno swung his body to a sitting position. He stretched before moving to a small table by the window.

  Gno had taken a room overlooking another pool.

  Earthers did like their pools, particularly out here in this desert climate.

  The Luna Noir Faction had their shit together; with the swipe of a little plastic square that said “Mastercard,” Gno had his hotel room, complete with HBO (which he had heard amazing things about), a soft bed, and a fifth-story view of the pool below. Gno watched as servers brought alcoholic refreshments to Earthers who were calmly damaging their skin.

  These people misused their resources terribly. For a moment, he felt a pang of bitterness when he thought of his own home’s life slipping away as it grew more and more devoid of the elemen
ts required to survive. True, his people were technologically advanced, but no matter how hard they tried, no matter how advanced their thought, they couldn’t make something out of nothing. Their population was shrinking. Their resources were dwindling. Something needed to be done. Something needed to change.

  But despite the solemnity of his mission, Gno had to admit he felt a certain sense of adventure- of freedom.

  He connected to the Earther’s Net with his new laptop. Apparently access came “free” with the room. He hit the keys with the crude symbols on them and got used to reading again.

  Before checking in, he had gone to the glass-covered vendor with the fruit as its symbol and purchased a brand new machine. It was clunky compared to the Moon’s technology, but serviceable.

  An unopened body piercing kit lay on the bed. The combination of needles, forceps, corks and swabs made the kit look like a tool for focused torture, rather than body decoration.

  That was probably the appeal? Breaking one’s skin was a test of one’s bravery.

  The Lunar Noir Faction had similar traditions for their warriors, though it had more to do with burning a design into the skin, rather than piercing it. The Sector didn’t use a brand; they used a similar device to the Blue Haired Woman’s tattoo machine. The lines were precise and delicate, but burned into the surface of the skin. It was very painful, but the effect was beautiful.

  Gno had his own delicate pattern, which he had built upon since his graduation from the Academy. It ran from his left shoulder and down his arm. He usually kept it covered with his gravity suit.

  Since he had personal experience with body decoration, it couldn’t be toooo hard to pierce skin, could it?

  Leaning his long body over to slouch in front of his new screen (slouching is a universal bane to the existence of vaguely-intelligent creatures), he watched videos on how to pierce human skin.

  He frowned.

  He watched a professional pierce a belly button: not so bad.

  He watched a drunk guy pierce his nose; Gno resolved never to pierce anything while drunk.

  Then the Net meandered him over to “piercing infections.” Gno blanched. He was glad no other soldier was here to tease him for his reaction or interfere with his education.

  This was not going to be easy.

  ◆◆◆

  Several blocks away, out of breath as he worked against gravity, Finch slapped his hand against the trunk of a palm tree.

  “Luminat Terra,” he uttered quietly. A violet light flashed beneath his touch. Hidden in an alley behind him, a section of cement slid open, revealing a descending staircase. Finch disappeared down the stairs, as the cement square slid back into place. He went below ground. Finch felt a cool tingle rush over his body as he was auto-scanned.

  “Welcome Captain Florentine.”

  There was a burst of light as his combat suit powered up. The force field here at the Lunar Blanc Faction base would power the suit until it recharged fully.

  “Lumina,” Finch commanded, and an overhead light switched on, revealing a small, but elaborately outfitted room.

  On one side, various screens and touch pads covered the wall, while on the opposite side, IKEA-sleek furniture created a modern yet utilitarian living space. The whole apartment was what one would imagine the inside of Steve Jobs brain must have looked like.

  An impeccably made up single bed beckoned to him; Finch glanced at it longingly, but turned instead to the area closest to him, a small kitchenette. He opened the brushed steel refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of a murky navy-blue substance. Draining the bottle, he stalked to the small bathroom alcove where he splashed water on his face until he calmed down.

  Gno Knuffin had bested him…could have destroyed him altogether. This was unacceptable. Especially since Finch was aware of Knuffin’s ‘unconventional’ military history.

  “A common criminal. A thug who should be imprisoned!” Finch slammed his fist down on the countertop of the sink and yelled this accusation into the mirror.

  The ETFB AI chirped: “Is everything alright, Captain Florentine?”

  “Situation normal,” Finch grunted.

  It was widely known throughout the intel networks that this upstart, Gno Knuffin, had been apprehended only a year before as he was thieving aura packs and weapons from the Lunar Noir Faction’s armory. At his trial, their HC, the eccentric Lunalet, had been impressed that a civilian was able to breach their security. She had him brought to her Steampunk-chic chambers (which her soldiers sneeringly called ‘Dracula’s Coffin,’ after seeing a contraband Earther film), where she ‘interrogated’ him for half the night. By morning, he was pardoned and emerged the newly appointed Major Knuffin.

  However, he didn’t seem to boast in this victory. He performed his service with efficiency, but never passion. He seemed always distracted, always working out an equation in his mind with different integers than what made up his daily orders. For these reasons, his code name amongst the warriors was “Con”: con artist, should-be convict, and conundrum.

  With uncharacteristic petulance, Finch threw himself down on the bed. He resolved to give himself just a few hours repose, then review and regroup.

  As he was drifting off, the screen opposite his face suddenly sprang to life.

  “Finchy? You ok? I heard you had a run-in with Con.”

  A rough, bemused face peered at him. “You sleeping?”

  Finch sighed.

  “Not yet, Ansler. I just got back. And yes- Knuffin is here.”

  His comrade laughed uproariously.

  “Can you believe it? Con actually on a mission, pitted against YOU! He must have a dick made of gold, man…”

  Ansler was odious. He had discovered 1970’s Earther culture roughly 5 years prior and had never looked back. His vulgar Burt Reynolds mustache always seemed to be carrying remnants of his lunch, and the clothing he donned on his R&R leave was nothing short of outlandish. Any kind of small animal could infiltrate his ‘costume’ by simply slipping in through one of his absurd bell-bottomed pants legs!

  Finch cleared his throat disapprovingly. Ansler’s further fascination with Earther dialects caused him to use their crude slang whenever possible.

  “I can’t really talk right now; I have strategy to devise. Terribly busy. Good to see you, Ansler, goodbye.”

  Before his jolly brother in arms could say more, Finch pressed the ‘power down’ button on the wall, cutting the power to everything. The room went black.

  “Con, I look forward to destroying you.” Finch closed his eyes as a coma-like state took him.

  7.

  “Maybe you can hire them both,” suggested Comet, who had been sighing over the two burly visitors all day. Rae was slowly cleaning up after her latest client: a bassist who brought a six pack of beer and bucket of hot wings with him wherever he went. She’d used nearly all of her yellow ink on his hairy calf, begrudgingly endowing him with a flaming Gryphon...drinking a Bud Light.

  Rae chewed on a honey-baked-alarm-sauced wing as she worked.

  “One for me. One for you,” Comet continued. She sat at the cash register, adjusting her eyeliner to an eye-popping purple. She worked with her usual acrobatic skill, sitting with her legs crossed on the stool, holding a compact mirror in one hand, while working magic with makeup in the other.

  The sun was going down. This was the time when Comet felt the most energized.

  “We can swap every now and then,” Comet added checking Rae for her reaction. When the tall woman didn’t answer, Comet snapped, “Listen, I’m not against the strong, silent type, but you are getting cliché right now.”

  Rae looked up. Her blue hair hung in her face, and she blew the bangs ruefully out of her eyes. Dammit. I need to re-dye this mop, she thought. For once, she looked vulnerable.

  She gave Comet the ghost of a smile. "Sorry, doll. I'm just tired. But you can't be serious; I can barely afford to hire the one. Remember, the piercer idea was supposed to be an experiment. If it doesn
't work out, I don't want to pay unemployment for TWO dudes."

  She turned back to her table and began her sanitizing process. Rae felt like she was moving slower than usual; she felt so tired. Maybe the last client's five-hour session was to blame.

  Comet pouted.

  "I know, I know. It's just so rare that anything looking that good comes rolling across my path...at least one that isn't wearing stilettos."

  She absently reached behind the counter and stroked the Pook's head; he was snoozing on a shelf behind her shapely leg.

  "We should get this little one home. He's just played out."

  "It's not a baby,” Rae sneered, “It’s a...furry.. thing-a-ma-bob. But you go on ahead. I have some things to do downtown tonight."

  Comet looked at her mischievously.

  "Things that require protection? Or at least disinfectant?"

  A balled-up paper towel was hurled across the room at a giggling Comet who ducked and stuck out her tongue.

  "No! I have business type stuff to do. I have to pick up some supplies...And blue dye- Have you seen my roots?" Rae lifted her locks in disgust.

  "Well, you have fun with that. I think me and Pookie are gonna get us a pizza and watch some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills reruns. That Brandi girl just gets us going!"

  With a wave of her well-manicured hand, Comet scooped up the still-drowsing Pook, who cuddled against her, and tiptoed to the door. She blew a kiss to Rae, then put a finger to her lips as she crept out.

  Rae grimaced.

  "Yes, we certainly can't wake the little Prince, now can we?” she muttered.

  After snapping off the lights and locking the door behind her, Rae made her way slowly to the train station. Looking up at the night sky, she sighed and felt the strange longing that she'd always struggled to understand.

  She was not going to buy supplies.

  Instead, she headed to the observatory. It was the one place she only went to alone. It was late. Griffith Park was closed for the evening, so Rae parked her Vega as usual and scaled the fence, hiking her way up. As she reached the top of the hill, she felt her senses awaken and her heart thud in her chest.