Fear of this metal monstrosity.
Privately, I wondered who in their right mind would even bring such a thing here, and for what specific purpose.
Then it hit me; causing me to smile broadly despite herself.
“Probably needs trash bags.” I joked wryly.
Backing away, I continued towards my overall destination. Once I got there, climbing its massive inlaid steps proved to be a bit of a hike.
No one said that this would easy, leaving myself to silently question Calis’s logic in leaving out the most important aspect of this planned trip of mine: the stairs.
Cut out of stone and polished smooth, each step grew longer and the ascent steeper, until I found myself perched closely on the edge, leaning against a protective safety barrier.
Looking down, I felt a moment of panic as I saw just how high up I was!
Must be at least 300 feet! I thought to myself, then turned around and spied the spacious entrance way, only a few precious feet away.
Darting towards it in a hurry, the double-doors slid open upon me approach, allowing myself an unobstructed view of a vast ground-floor lobby. Only when I finally did stop, did I find myself in a completely different world–one that was richly decorated in plush red carpeting, beige and gold-colored walls, portraits, charts, and varied diagrams along with the checkered black and white floor tiling. I craned my neck for a better view of the nicely scoped ceiling with a majestic center piece skylight; natural light pouring through for the time being.
“Wow.” I murmured with heartfelt awe.
There was no definable reception desk that I could see, or anything in a similar fashion that normally would greet me any other time.
But there was a baby grand staircase with its own moving escalator in front of her, inviting newly arrived visitors to explore the terminal’s upper levels.
On each side of the staircase stood clearly marked restrooms. But at the moment the lines in front of them weren’t emergency-related, but rather a conglomerate of people–each person waiting patiently for their turn at a sky tube car.
Everyone here appeared to be in good spirits. No agitation, kids playing amongst the crowded lines in varied levels of excitement here and there…
I felt the tension go inside me an relaxed a bit since leaving Shark’s Bay, my brother, and everyone else.
Without warning, I was jarred from the side. Not the kind of bumping motion that was usually gentle and forgiving, but more forceful and intrusive push that really got my blood going.
“Hey!” I cried out with serious indignation, staggering around a bit before finding her center of balance. “Watch where you are going, buster!”
Another push from the same direction, this time setting me off.
I reached for my personal weapon–an HT-909 Brasner blaster–pulled it partially free of its holster, and–
“Don’t.” A stern voice from behind warned her.
Relenting, I pushed my weapon back into place, snapping the clasp back into place. Turning, I found myself staring into the freckled face of a Praetorial Guardsman–the sand-colored scheme of his multiplexed armor showing deep scratches and abrasive scuffs. Tuffs of dark brown hair peeked out from underneath his armored helm. His hazel-colored eyes reflected the seriousness of the situation along with the taunt expression on his face, partially obscured by the plain evidence of a five o’clock shadow.
I scowled at him, my underlying hatred of the Praetorial Guard clearly evident.
If it wasn’t for my father…I mulled silently, waiting for this stupid… turtlehead to make his move.
He did.
“State your business here, surface dweller.”
None of your damned concern asshole! I wanted to spit right back into his face, but I knew that kind of impulsiveness was a foolish gesture–as I cast a brief glance forward (over the man’s shoulder)–seeing another cluster of six Praetorial Guardsmen nearby, each sharing the same color scheme as this one, heavily armed, but with a single, important difference from the guard she was presently dealing with: They were all bored.
I guess these men aren’t thrilled with their current duty assignments, so I suppose any little bit of stirred up trouble is a welcome diversion compared to the tediousness each of them faces. I calmly digested then, before I got prodded again in the arm by the tip of the man’s snub-nosed pulse rifle.
“Well? Are you going to stand there stupidly all day and waste my time, or are you going to answer my question?” The guard rudely demanded of me.
My attention shifted back automatically, taking in his obtrusive attitude and returning it with a much cooler look this time around.
“No. I’m just here on business.” I told him.
The guard studied me intently, latent suspicion clouding his better judgment.
“What kind?”
“Educational. I guess.” Was my cryptic response.
“ID?”
I let out an exasperated sigh, pulling something free from my left hip pouch and handed it out to him.
“Here. You wanna frisk me to while you‘re at it too?” I retorted sarcastically–turning around at that point.
The man snatched my ID from the my hand and read what was printed on the ingrained plastic surface.
“Isis McGowan?” He muttered out loud in surprise.
“Yes.”
“You were the pilot of the Viper X-1 which won last year’s Desert Storm, is that correct?”
I nodded slowly. “Barely.” She said distractedly, but volunteering nothing else on the subject matter as I was pressed for time.
The guard handed back me back my ID.
“Very well. You may continue unhindered. But remember: You will be monitored until you leave.”
I’ll bet. I shot back in silent irritation.
Stepping back, the guard allowed her to go on my way. I walked past the other gaggle of guards, giving them all a neutral look.
But turmoil reigned inside me nonetheless.
Personally, I wouldn’t mind kicking their armored butts. I lightly fantasized. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t get me very far.
And it was the honest truth.
Reaching the staircase a short time later, I stepped onto the moving escalator, allowing it to carry me upwards. In the meantime, the my thoughts drifted back to a time when we were all one big, happy family not so long ago.
Stupid turtleheads! I fondly recalled screaming in the living room, after my father had been shown me a picture of a transit terminal and then being asked what all those Praetorial Guardsmen clustered were called.
My heart ached over the soulful sound my father’s hearty laugh made, filling my home with warmth and humor.
Of course, the nickname had been given by children of my generation who lived on the surface, gauging by how the guards looked to them from their point of view, hunched over at times while bent down low to the ground, much like a sleek silver backed turtle–even though none of them had seen the real thing.
I stepped off the escalator precisely when it was about to deposit me onto the next level, right where I needed to be.
This time, I faced a large corridor, wide enough to accommodate several lines of people with room enough to spare on both sides.
More than enough leg room to mill about, considering the lengthy waits people from the surface faced.
Looking down, I found more of the same, plush red carpeting and beige color schemes on the walls. But I also noticed that in some areas, intricate murals were in play, moving on their own accord, each pre-programmed with various scenery or some other relevant item of historical interest.
Holographic imaging interfaces? I wondered, amazed by what I was personally seeing. That was something we didn’t even have back at home. Not even my brother–but I was interrupted when some kind of gigantically smooth-black and white skinned creature with a sizeable tail and large flippers arced through one display–plying its way through a holographic representation of what appeared
to be a large body of water.
I just stood there and watched–completely dumbfounded. In the next second, this magnificent creature pierced the surface and used all its muscles to propel itself through the air, before coming down hard–sending up a mind-blowing spray of holographic water in my general direction. The sound of its impact adding to the noise of the water shook me to my bones, as I was left deeply awed by what I had just witnessed.
The humpback whale disappeared, leaving behind a trail of disturbed sunlight and bubbles. Seconds later, a mournful cry erupted from the display.
Then it seamlessly restarted again a minute later.
~16~
Two hours later.
I heard a sharp chime overhead and realized that it was the signal that a sky tube terminal was available for the next person in line.
But unfortunately for me, I was in the middle of the line and not in the front like I was supposed to be.
And that feeling left me feeling horribly claustrophobic–since I was being squeezed together by one person in the front and one in the back.
I looked around in a moment of frank desperation, trying to find a way out of this stressful situation, before setting my sights on a bench half obscured by another line.
Believing it to be empty, I decided to chance it and stepped out of line–threading my way through the loosely packed crowd of waiting bystanders–all in a blind bid for a bit of freedom and some much needed personal space.
There would be plenty of opportunities for me to catch the next sky tube car, but in the meantime, I needed to escape this horrible confinement situation I was presently in.
But as I finally excused myself through the last batch of people, dismay set in almost immediately as I discovered that the bench was already occupied!
A waiting family sat there, idly by like myself, with the man leaned back on the bench, dead to world, mouth open, a soft snore emanating from his mouth. The woman looked on, her focus drifting back and forth at will, while the young boy nestled across her lap slept soundly, a light brown blanket thrown over him for the sake of comfort and security if nothing else.
But my sudden and unexpected presence disturbed the woman–as she shifted her attention towards me for a brief moment.
Despite the unintended intrusion, I acknowledged the woman with a quiet nod and passed by them silently–all the while thinking that a bench would be the perfect spot to catch a nap the very next time I needed one.
When I got to a branching corridor, I found that I was on the wrong floor. I was supposed to go to Terminal 130 (according to my pass card slip), and I was at Terminal 127.
Did these things go by number or…? I logically divulged to myself. Seeing no other way, I decided that the only way to find out was to go do a bit of exploring.
Studying the wall diagrams a bit, I then realized I was heading in the wrong direction–seeing that I wanted to try for the third floor first.
Turning around, I went back the way I came–this time turning left instead of right (like I had before when I came up), walked down another never ending corridor filled with less than the usual amount of people. Empty benches were present (a godsend) on each side as were the clear-paned windows for anyone to look out of if they wanted.
Another staircase escalator greeted me, silently beckoning me to the next floor, and quite possibly my final target destination.
This time, I bolted up as fast as I could, hoping against hope that there would be a smaller crowd of people.
From what Calis had instructed me on sky tube terminal operations, every trip up to Stratos City took an astonishing six short minutes to complete; powered by a varied gravitational field.
Passenger safety was not a major concern–as each car was designed to operate in the hard vacuum of space after reaching a specific altitude, having its own self-contained life support system.
After reaching the top of the stairs, I found to my overall astonishment that this corridor was surprisingly devoid of people; giving me a clear shot to the sky tube terminal itself!
Looking up, I read the number emblazoned on the stylized plaque itself:
130.
I advanced slowly towards the terminal’s main entrance with deeply laid suspicion–picking up my pace a little as I went.
If this is some tasteless joke, I thought with a poisonous scowl on my face, somebody is going to feel my wrath the hard way!
There just had to be some people here. There had to be!
But not a solitary soul to be seen, except for the lone Praetorial Guardsman manning his terminal station next to the main entrance way.
I stopped just twenty away from the guard station–feeling like I had indeed struck gold somewhere in a dry lake bed somewhere.
Okay, I reflected silently. I’ll bite…just this once.
When I got within earshot of the guard, I asked, “Where is everyone?”
The man jumped reflexively, caught off guard by my quiet approach–having been immersed in the tasks that he was doing.
Once the shock had worn off, the guard digested my question in his mind and then answered with a casual shrug.
“They haven’t arrived yet.” He said automatically, checking the monitor next to him. “It’s a bit past two anyway.”
I wore a face of despair, which briefly confused the guard in the process.
“What?” He asked straightforwardly.
“Does this mean that I can’t use this sky tube?” I stated mournfully, thinking of all the time I would be wasting, just waiting for one to become available to me.
The guard stared at me for a second. “What are you saying? Do you need to go up?”
“Yes.”
Checking something on his screen, the guard went down the list of names of those that had registered for use of this sky tube terminal at this time.
He didn‘t see any. Not one name.
“Oh! I am terribly sorry.” He apologized profusely. “No one has registered for any open time slots for this terminal at this time. Not unless they’re going to Transit Terminal #1788. And I’ve only got one registration for a 2:15 PM shunt.”
I fished out my pass card from my pack and slipped it over to the guard.
“So what are you waiting for?” I demanded somewhat selfishly, not caring at this point. I saw a prime opportunity and I was going to take advantage of it. And at this time, I found herself willing to do anything just to get topside.
Accepting what was proffered, the nameless guard slipped the pass card into the portable reader placed in front of him.
“Okay. But I guess I should warn you–it’s only fair–I’m actually waiting for someone by the name of–” he stopped talking for a second, as the reader display screen revealed the card’s owner/user information.
“I-Isis McGowan?” He stammered in surprise, before looking up and taking in my presence, making sure that he had the right person. “I’ll be damned,” he finished in frank amazement. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. The terminal’s been registered for use under your name.”
“What?!?” I exclaimed in astonishment, stunned by this unexpected discovery. “Since when? I’ve never registered for this!”
The guard did some further checking. “Student of Calis McGraff, right?”
“Yes…” I responded warily, certain that I had been set up for something or anything worse than my imagination could possibly up.
Nodding, the guard got up from behind his terminal and came around to me, explaining, “Calis registered you late last night, saying that he was going to send his star pupil up for a history lesson.” He lingered on just long enough for the reader to eject the card, before reaching over and snagging it; handing it back to me with a gentle smile.
“Good luck at Stratos City, Isis.” He said, then led me to the terminal itself, composed of a small chamber, a terminal, and of course the sky tube with a car inside it.
Tapping a flat-paneled button, the smooth hatch slid up–locking in
to place with a customary hissing noise.
Pointing towards the padded acceleration seat, he instructed me to get myself strapped in. Isis did what she was told, but found herself naturally facing the wrong way.
“Turn around,” the man demonstrated for me, “then strap yourself in.”
I did just that, removing my pack and stuffing it into the open cubicle next to the seat. Sitting down, the thing rose a bit into a standing position so that it reached both the ceiling and the floor at the same time, withdrawing slightly further inside the car capsule itself, then noiselessly stopped.
I saw the black mesh of a body sling which was connected to the chair in three ways: top, bottom, and of course, the middle.
Getting to work, I started attaching them all together with some assistance from the guard himself, as he made sure that the connections were secure.
Going back to the terminal, he did something on the small, waist-high console, causing the acceleration chair to gently mold itself around my body like a glove–snug, firm, fit.
And no chance of stray movement or risk of injury after the shunt process started.
Looking about myself, I mumbled to myself, “Great. Now I know what a sandwich bag feels like.”
The guard came back, checked my acceleration seat, then made some final checks, then closed the cubicle so that my pack wouldn’t fly out unexpectedly and hit me in the face during the abrupt acceleration.
I put on a brave face nonetheless, but the man could see the worried anxiousness on it as well.
He smiled one last time. “Don’t worry. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Do these cars ever get stuck in mid-transit?”
“Nope. Not once.” The guard said. “This sky tube system has been in operation for 50 centuries. Hasn’t failed once since I’ve been here.”
Curiosity lit up in my face. “How long has that been?”
Take aback by the innocence of my question, the guard didn’t bother to hesitate in answering me.
“Too long.” He replied, a hint of repressed sadness in his voice. Then he brightened. “But don’t worry. I’m used to it.”
The Starchild Page 13
