by Troy Dukart
At first, I thought I was in the wrong area because I saw a small little engine, maybe 8ft wide by 10ft long by 4ft tall. This has to be something they want to attach to the main.
Usually ship engines are voluminous and carried din, but not so for this one. The sound-proofing was expertly done. I noticed something in-front of the engine that stood out. A standing black obelisk standing in front of the engine popped up a holographic screen. Bluish in tint, the schematic read power levels, energy spent, heat and one that read, “Prototype Shield 009.” I strolled around without tinkering with anything until I heard footsteps coming down the steps, which made me turn my head quickly to see Rousseau leaning up against the wall with a bottle in his hand.
“You trying to kill us?” Rousseau joked, he had a slight slur in his voice.
“You'd be dead already if I was,” I ribbed back, Rousseau chuckled.
I looked back down at the panel and closed the holographic screen by touching a small “X” button on the top right. Rousseau sat down on the staircase and continued to lean against the wall as he drank. There were black lines underneath his eyes. He looked awful.
“Strafe,” he said after a swig of drink, “Why do you fight? What do Americans fight, err, believe in?”
“You mean why do I fight now, or just in general?” I asked.
“Ah, you know, ah, in general,” Rousseau slurred.
“Well, it depends on each person. Not everyone is the same in my country. I guess we all believe in chasing our dreams and living life, anything else is up to the individual,” I assessed.
Rousseau looked confused, “So, there is no King there, and the people govern themselves? How have you all not torn each other apart?”
“It's not perfect but we get to decide for ourselves who runs our country. To me there is a sense of choice that very few other places get to enjoy. One person cannot control everything, even our President has their limits,” I explained.
“So, the President is your leader but not for life?” he concluded.
“Yes, there is a two-term limit. One of my favorite Presidents said that, 'It's better to leave with your head held high and on good terms than overstay your welcome.' ” I said as I gazed at the engine.
“Cacophony,” Rousseau remarked before another drink, “But, brilliant all the same. Maybe one day…”
Rousseau leaned back against the staircase and looked up at the light, his eyes drooping. He dropped the bottle and it rolled along the floor. It seemed he was going through a hard time; I'd never seen him this drunk.
“I bet you didn't think that was the ship engine, huh mate?” he mumbled with his eyes closed.
“No, no I didn't. It seemed too small. That's some incredible engineering,” I crossed my arms as I looked back at it.
“I, I, helped design it,” Rousseau mumbled.
“Do you want me to help you to your room Rousseau?” I held my hand out to him.
His eyebrows crinkled and a sour look came over his face like he saw something disgusting, “That's not, my name,” he stuttered as he rolled to his left side, “My name is Aeileo, the queer Prince, the shame of his nation.”
“I don't think so. I think you're very brave for facing your uncle the way you did,” I noted.
“Yeah, bullshit! They think I'm a freak and cast me out like I'm, I'm, rubbish,” Rousseau mumbled.
“I see you differently. You are Rousseau, freedom-fighter for your people. There is no shame in who you are, and one day, when you return to your people, they will see you so too,” I told him.
“This is what it must feel to be mixed-blood, to be torn about who you are. God, I can't even begin to imagine,” Rousseau said arrogantly.
“I don't appreciate that,” I divulged.
Rousseau rose up with his eyes looking at me curiously, “I never told you, but I am mixed blood. I'm half Native American and twenty five percent Irish and German. They are all different ethnicities from across my world. All of whom have had many struggles.”
“I heard about these people from you earlier. They sounded like savages; you look nothing like one,” Rousseau stated half awake.
“I feel all these people's spirit run through my body, and with it I hold all their pride and their shame. I am who I am, I don't feel 'torn.' As for savages, that certainly fits more of your family. At least mine didn't try to kill me,” I reckoned.
I began to walk past him up the stairs; he really pissed me off. Drink or not, it is not right to say that to someone, ever. Before I got to the door, he grabbed my ankle and I turned around. Rousseau sat there whimpering; I could see a bracelet in his hand.
“Not all of my family were savages,” he said as he looked up at me. I noticed the Royal Guard symbol on the necklace.
“Was that?” I paused.
“Yes, this is Argenta's seal. She gave it to me before she went into a coma a few hours ago. She will be okay. It's for good luck,” he said.
“I'm sorry to hear her condition. It seems she was always loyal to you,” I nodded.
“She is my cousin,” Rousseau smiled.
“Another secret you kept from us?” I scolded.
“What's worse is that Senti bastard shot her like a coward. I wouldn't be surprised if Marcio takes that guy's head for almost killing his sister,” Rousseau explained as he wiped some blood off of the seal.
Argenta was Marcio's sister!? No matter what happened, we needed to stay vigilant.
“Put the drink down, it makes you sloppy,” I recommended.
After a light touch on his shoulder, I walked out. Upon return to her room, both Brutus and Roya were deep asleep. I climbed into bed with them. Looking into the night sky, I found solace. It was nice to have Brutus with me on this journey. Even so, after what Rousseau said to me, it took me a while to go to sleep. I hope he knew how inconsiderate his comments we.
Chapter 3
Strafe
I was visited in my dreams that night, but I had guests. Never before in my life had I woke up every morning and wondering if I was still in a dream. I could recall them so vividly, when back home in California they fleeted so quickly.
A sweet breeze brushed through my hair, as I was swinging in a hammock. I remembered opening my eyes and looking up to a ceiling; I was back in my room in New Santa Barbara. It was completely bare; all my possessions were gone.
The grey tint of the clouds caught my eye, so I walked over to my rounded window. New Santa Barbara wasn't cloudy often, so whenever it was it was like a shock to the system. I put my arms across the bottom of the frame like I always did, but what I saw looked nothing like the town I knew. Buildings were in shambles, the roads broken and jagged, and our city flag ripped as it waved in the wind. It looked like a ghost town. There weren't even any waves on the beach.
I walked into my mother's room to find the same deal; nothing but the walls and carpet left. The paint was starting to peel off; it felt very unnatural. I turned, walked through the hallway and down our staircase with caution.
All of our furniture was vacated except for a small chair my mother had kept; she said my father had made it for me. She didn't care for it much herself, but knew one day I might come to appreciate it. I walked over and knelt down to examine it and saw a small engraving on the back, which read,
“Strafe, Be Daring,
-Love, Dad”
Rubbing my fingers across brought back memories of when I was young. He made this when I was around two years old. After sitting there reminiscing for a while, I saw something in my peripheral vision, it was our front door and it had opened by itself. The grass in the lawn was dead and crinkled.
With the exception of the tumbleweeds blowing in the wind, the city seemed frozen in time. Some of the Mag-Cars on the streets had been dismantled and had shown signs of rust. What happened here? It's like a nuke went off.
There was a chair that looked exactly like mine sitting next to the front door. As I walked closer, I noticed there were small cracks and knick
s all over it. On the back there was a similar engraving, but most of it was scratched out.
“MXXXX, bE CAriNg,
(NO) LOVE, —”
It was quite disturbing. The bold letters were etched deep into the chair and looked quite aggressive. I hadn't remembered much from my early childhood, but I thought this might have been my brother's. This time when I rubbed my fingers across the engraving, a small pinch from a splinter made me flinch, but then there was a flash. A macabre-looking figure in a black cloak stood in the street. I couldn't see their face. My reflexes kicked in and I sprung to my feet.
“Barzakh!?” I asked. The figure stood tacit in an eerie poise, “Who are you and what do you want with me!?”
The figure raised its hand and motioned for me to follow. At first, I hesitated, but began to walk behind them cautiously as they led me down the neighborhood. Another figure, dressed in all yellow walked toward me. There was a scarf covering their face but the wind blew it away to reveal Roya.
“Strafe, do not be afraid. He wants to tell you something,” she assured.
“Tell me what? How do you know?” I asked her.
A white and orange ball of light appeared in front of us. It morphed into a wolf and I could see it was Brutus.
“Other Guardians come to us this way when they need help. We will assist you,” Brutus finished as he nodded toward the figure.
We took a right at the corner and went straight for a few blocks. As we were walking, it kept the same equal distance away from me. If I slowed down, it would too. When I sped up, it did so as well.
When we made it to the playground, the figure walked immediately toward the sandbox. It stood on the opposite side and put its hand out and motioned me to stop. It pointed to the sand.
With a flick of its wrist, the sand began to shift and take the form of script. At first, I couldn't read it but after looking for a second or two, I was able to decipher the message. It was written in the same ancient script that I saw in the cave I found my sword. In the sand it read, “Do not speak loudly, for he is close. Maybe you can be the one to end my suffering.”
With a nod, I agreed, and the figure flicked its wrist again to leave a message, “When you come to Zindaqe, I will be waiting, but so will he. Do not underestimate him.”
“You…You're the same one from the island and Brave-Ball field?” I acknowledged, “How do I help you?”
The figure grabbed its head and fell to one knee, but flicked its wrist again to leave another message, “Can't… stay… long… or he will find me…. Find you… So… sorry. So cold…Go… to… Crotona after Zindaqe… grab my heart…from them.”
“Who are you? Tell me!” I responded.
This time the figure fell to its hands and knees and silently grieved in pain. After a few seconds, it jerked its head around but got up slowly, just standing there, twitching its head. Something deep inside of me told me to run as fast as I could but Roya grabbed my arm and shook her head.
I walked around the perimeter of the sandbox and made my way closer, this time the figure didn't move away. With caution, I approached but I noticed that its body language got more tense-looking. I brought my hand towards it. My fingertips had just touched the brim of the hood when it leaped toward me, and the face I saw is still etched into my memories.
They had giant red eyes, along with yellow razor teeth. It lashed at my face trying to bite, but Brutus tackled it away, grabbed me and jumped into the sandbox. We sank all the way through to escape.
Chapter 4
Strafe
Screaming in fright and gasping for air when I woke, I found myself hanging upside down, tangled in wires and metal.
“Strafe, it's alright. We're not in the dream anymore,” Brutus informed me.
“Yeah, I'm just hanging upside down scared shitless!” I grumbled.
“Well man-up! We got bigger things to worry about,” Brutus barked.
After I pulled myself off, I feel to the dusty ground. All I could hear was blood rushing and pounding in my head. I noticed my hands shaking uncontrollably.
There was a fire near me, I could feel the flame. I rolled to my back and rubbed my eyes, trying to get my bearings. Brutus came over to help me up. As he sat me up against a wall, I noticed half of Roya's room had been lodged into the cracked desert ground, the other half ablaze. Roya herself was nowhere to be seen.
In the distance lied a canyon wall with a dark purple and black xenolithic tower protruding into the sky. It was curved on the top with two spikes protruding skyward, but otherwise was plain. Pieces of the Bullrose lay scattered all over the place, as if the ship had been completely blown apart. Brutus was scarred. I rubbed his head to help calm him down. He rubbed his head against mine.
“Were we shot down?” I asked him.
“All I remember was a loud bang and waking up next to you. We're lucky to be alive. I can't smell the others nearby,” Brutus put his nose in the air and shook his head.
Still pounding, I put my palm to my forehead and massaged it for a bit. My clothes were covered in dirt, and I noticed I was bleeding from a cut on my temple. As I got up, my balance was thrown off and I stumbled across the ground before falling back down.
“Damnit,” I groaned.
“Lay down, you're still disoriented,” Brutus instructed.
There were no clouds in the sky. I pushed up off my hands to survey the damage, and it was catastrophic. The fuselage, wings, engine and everything else was blown apart.
Some of the crew members were lying motionless. Brutus helped me on his back and we made it over to one member of the crew, Smitty. When I checked his pulse, there was nothing but cold to the touch.
He was gone.
There was a groaning in the distance, and we cautiously made our way toward the din.
We found a familiar face, but my heart sank.
It was Tom Flint, but he had been impaled through the right side of his chest by some scrap. He was sitting in the cockpit chair he had been assigned to. I got to my feet and stumbled my way over to him. Brutus whined when he saw him. “Flint! You're alive!” I cheered.
“Arghhh, that's right me boy,” he replied before coughing up some blood.
“Shit, I'm gonna get you out of there!” I said.
The scrap protruded about two feet out of his chest, with a few nasty jagged edges at the end. Deciding it would be too risky to pull it out of him, I snapped off most of it with my strength and broke it free from the ship.
I remembered that wounds like this actually worsen if the puncture object is removed. I pulled out my water bottle from my belt, washed the wound, and gave him a drink. Afterward he laid his back against the hull of the ship.
“Listen 'ere Strafe… There be a medical bay 'round here. Just take me there, and I'll do the rest,” Flint whispered, trying not to disturb his wound.
Brutus said he found the medical bay Tom was talking about. When I put his arm over my shoulder, Tom groaned but did a good job walking. Brutus led the way but kept low.
We had to avoid the fire and electricity that was sparking from some scrap but made it just fine. We walked into the room and I laid him on the table. After he was situated, he punched in some commands into a small computer next to a bed, then a robotic arm descended from the ceiling and began to scan his body. It had a variety of tools attached to it and looked functional.
Commander Vero was on a table as well. She was held down with medical restraints. One of the machines was spinning fibers of muscle over her wound to close it. I imagined it would be the same for Flint.
“Damn, it's a miracle this thing is intact!” I looked all around the room in disbelief.
“Arg, we made sure 'twould be, just in case. Leave me be, ye not want to see what happens next. When I'm patched up, I'll take care of this mess, ye just go find those bastards…that shot down…me…ship,” Flint said before he went unconscious.
There wasn't anyone else I could see lying around, so I decided we should to head t
oward the xenolithic structure. Looking at it gave me an eerie feeling, like it was from a different world. It definitely looked Senti, but what was it doing in Zindaqe? Roya's fears of a possible incursion might have been forgone. I closed my eyes and tried to find the others but could only see Brutus' aura in front of me.
When we got closer, there were a few soldiers patrolling a cylindrical door against the canyon wall. Periodically they would enter and exit; it looked like they were sending patrols out to find survivors. Their armor was definitely Senti, but what surprised me was what was accompanying them. Standing over nine feet tall, were massive Slates. Two Slates stood next to a group of soldiers in front of an officer. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but after a while he waved his hand toward the scattered scrap and both the Slates and the soldiers made their way out.
“What the hell!? Why are the Slates following a human's command?” I noted.
“The more they control the Guardian Keys, the more power they will possess over them,” Brutus informed me.
“Really? How'd you know that?” I asked.
“I read a file from the Bullrose database on it before I came to sleep with you and Roya,” he told me.
“Wow, so you can read too now? Well, that's probably another reason they're after them,” I shrugged.
Rousseau told me that Slates had always been peaceful creatures and looked out for the people of Eternia. They would even save humans and other animals from peril, but after this war had started, they had completely changed. My guess was they were protected the Guardian Keys, and would follow those who controlled them.
“Damn, if even one of those things sees us, its game over,” I patted Brutus on the back.
I noticed that one of the Senti soldiers had wondered away from the group to a body lying in the wreckage. I kept to the shadows as I observed what he was doing. They walked over to the body and knelt down to one knee and hung their head, and then put their hand on the fallen person's body. It seemed as if the soldier was mourning. Hmm, if I take their armor, maybe I could slip inside.
