“Get going?” Cynthia asked.
“Yes,” the woman replied.
She turned on her heel, then looked back at Cynthia.
“Coming?”
“I’m coming,” Cynthia said.
It was beyond strange, meeting at a place like this.
“By the way,” the woman said over her shoulder, “I’m Maria Capello, who’re you?”
“Alex,” Cynthia replied.
“Well then, Alex, nice meeting you here, am I right?” Maria laughed and began to run towards City Hall.
“You too!” Cynthia followed suit.
It took them about five minutes to arrive at the pristine steps of City Hall. Swarms of people entered and exited the building. Some wore the fashionable clothes of Florentine, others looked like travelers. Although this building was quite the spectacle, most passersby ignored the myriad of people pouring from it. Cynthia felt a tug on her wrist and realized Maria was leading her towards the steps. Why, though? Cynthia could handle that herself.
She sighed as they rushed into the building.
Inside the auditorium it was chaotic, a catastrophe even. Recruits wandered aimlessly. The red drapes of the stage that she had seen from the brochure were gone; they too were replaced for the recruitment facility. Countless odors filled the room with a type of vague coffee-like smell. The once pristine floors were muddy and scuffed. Some years ago, this place used to be accessible to only the finest of royalty, but the military administered it now.
“Come this way,” Maria beckoned. “The officers are over there.”
They pushed through the crowd, weaving in and out of the hopefuls waiting to be accepted. People started avoiding them, not wanting to be the next knocked aside.
“It’s all right,” Cynthia tried to tell her. “We don’t need to hurry—”
“I know!” Maria replied.
“But then why don’t we—”
“Because—”
Maria threw up her hands as the crowd began mobbing the tables.
“Huh…?” Maria’s eyes were wide. “How uncivilized can these people be?” she shook her head. “It’s not like we’re in an expo or anything—”
A sea of people surged toward them and flowed past.
Then she saw him.
The one she’d left behind. Abandoned, to accomplish her dream, her goal.
“Simon!” she called.
It couldn’t be. It was impossible—why would he be here, of all places? Perhaps she was mistaken., but by then it was too late.
The black-haired man turned before Cynthia could decide what to do.
Indeed, he looked like Simon from the back. He had Simon’s blackish-blue hair, but the similarities stopped there. Sea-blue eyes contrasted with his oddly pale complexion. Dressed in a baby blue collared shirt and with dark dress pants, one could believe that he was heading to a formal engagement rather than about to enlist in the army. Or rather, that’s how it looked. His eyes lit up briefly at the sight of Cynthia, but were quickly overshadowed by misgiving. They turned icy cold. Then he almost strolled towards her.
“Yes?” he asked briskly. “What do you want?”
“I am truly sorry,” Cynthia replied, “I thought you were someone else.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged and walked away.
“Alex?”
“Hm?” Cynthia turned to see Maria waving at her, grinning like a fool.
“What’s wrong?” Cynthia asked her.
“They’re starting!” Maria announced and half-dragged her to the growing lines.
Today was the day to shine.
As time ticked on, the room’s atmosphere eased and people began to shrug off their anxiousness and chatter with each other. Cynthia could almost agree with them; after all, only two more people to go. Maria was in front of her, so there was nothing to fear. No more waiting and no more worrying.
Tick, tock.
Electronic buzzers called the recruits forward.
Cynthia steeled herself—only one more to go.
Tick tock.
Sweat began to bead on her skin. She tried to wipe it away, but it wouldn’t disappear. Why was she worrying now? There was no chance that they would find out. Even if they had, what could they do to her? Cynthia shook her head. She felt dizzy, as if she were spinning. No. She knew what they were capable of; there was nothing to fear.
Nothing to fear at all.
The buzz, and Cynthia stepped forward.
Now was the time.
“Your name, birthdate, and—” the officer at the desk handed her an electronic pad and stylus, “sign this and bring it back when you’re done.”
Cynthia nodded and put her eye to a microscopic camera.
“My name is Alexandria Wood and my birthdate is January 8th, 2437,” she recited.
The man nodded and began typing the new information into his desk. He was dressed in the army’s standard. It was quite the rarity to see qualified military here, on the more cosmopolitan worlds. A coalition was planning new strategies for the war effort against a growing threat, although some speculated that this new threat was only backwater rebels.
It had been many years since Cynthia had spoken her name. Her given name, anyhow. Simon had been the first person to call Cynthia by her middle name. He had complained when they were children, “Alexandria’s too long! Even Alex is too…” he had struggled to find the words at the age of four. Cynthia had started howling with laughter at his scrunched-up face. Finally he announced, “I have it! How about your other name, Cynthia!” He grinned triumphantly.
His father sighed and explained middle names to him: they could be adapted into nicknames, but not replace the first name. Cynthia had imitated the “deep words” every step of the way. Simon had sourly pouted his way out of the garden and off towards the orchard.
The name hadn’t stuck until four years later, when Simon began annoying her with it.
“How about now?” he asked.
Cynthia shook her head and swung her legs from the branch, scattering summer leaves.
“I can’t,” she tried to explain. “What would the village think if you, of all people, I might add, started calling me that?”
Simon stared at her blankly.
“There’d be a riot, of course!” she continued. What was with him today? He was more irritating than usual.
“So, why can’t it just stay between us?” Simon had begun to climb the tree now, grabbing branches one by one.
“All right.” She was exasperated.
Simon cheered when he finally reached Cynthia. She smiled at him and ruffled his hair and then tried to push him off the tree. Simon held on tightly and nearly broke the limb. She laughed.
It was a good memory.
“Miss?” the officer brought her out of the dream.
“Ms. Wood?” he repeated.
“Yes?” she spoke almost groggily.
“You can leave now.” He gestured towards the red exit sign to the right.
“Oh, yes, I’ll leave now.” Cynthia walked back and the buzzer shrilled once more.
“So,” Maria teasingly elbowed her. “How was it?”
“Thrilling, I guess,” Cynthia replied.
The crowd was thinning now, allowing almost enough room for them to pass. All they needed was—
“Excuse me!” a voice yelled beside her. In the next moment, she was nearly on the floor. She looked up to see who had almost run her over and she couldn’t believe it.
It was that lookalike again.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and ran towards the entrance doors.
“What’s wrong with him?” Maria asked as she steadied Cynthia.
He raced towards the door, shoving past countless people. The doors were electronically locked, so he couldn’t escape, but the sight was unnerving. No guards surrounded him, oddly enough, but Cynthia soon got her answer.
She caught a glimpse of blonde hair streaking past h
er, and, almost instinctively, tackled him. He hit the floor, and struggled to stand. She pinned him down and held fast. When he squirmed around she saw his face.
It was him after all.
For a moment, Cynthia questioned herself. Who was she thinking about? She didn’t know this man, did she? The memories of that day were a blur to her.
A voice.
Her eyes widened, and she struggled harder with him.
He tried to speak. She focused on the strangled sounds. Then she released her grip. He pushed her away from him and stood.
Cynthia looked up to find that she was now the captive. She was slipping up.
“Hands up and on your knees,” a voice ordered.
Cynthia didn’t respond. She just sat there.
“Now,” he insisted.
She slowly raised her hands and got on her knees. The lookalike had been taken into custody, and there were several guards near the door now. Her wrists and hands were bound tightly with laser-circuited magnetic restraints that cut into her skin. The guard reached down to pull Cynthia up, who was as emotionless as a doll.
“Not going to talk, eh?” he said.
Cynthia glared at him.
Her guard passed her off to another. “Take her to an interrogation room, if you would.” He gestured at the other prisoner. “Put him into one of the conference centers for now, I’ll deal with him later.” Then he walked off to announce the situation to the crowd.
The guards pulled the lookalike up and led them towards the far corner of the auditorium. From there they entered a hallway with a number of doors.
Cynthia was shoved, and as she tumbled to the floor, the door slammed behind her. She surveyed her surroundings and laughed: the entire room and everything in it was white. She pulled up the closest chair and sat.
Time passed slowly, and her irritation grew. She barely glanced up when the door clicked and her captor entered. He acknowledged her with a brief nod and brought up a chair to sit in. His eyes glanced at the left wall before setting themselves on her.
“You have caused quite a stir, Ms. Wood,” he said.
“Sure I have,” Cynthia replied sarcastically. “Why do you think I tackled you?” She sighed and continued, “Look, you’ve got me here for some reason. Why am I here?”
He rested his chin on his hands and stared into her emerald eyes.
“Great question.” He straightened up and tossed some reports on the table.
“You have quite the record, Ms. Wood,” he observed as he picked up the first sheet. “Unauthorized entry on several inner planets.” His voice was stern.
“What’s that have to do with me?” she asked.
He started to answer, but she held up a shackled hand and interrupted, “And I already enlisted, so—”
He nodded and continued.
“So,” he said, “I can’t let you become a Ranger pilot, then?”
Cynthia stared blankly at him.
“What?” she squeaked.
“I am offering you a position. You took me down very quickly.”
“You don’t even know me,” Cynthia countered. “Besides, isn’t this a big risk? What if I turn on you during battle? Which I could, if you didn’t already know.”
He shrugged. “You have your reasons, and I have my own.”
Cynthia sat back and considered the new offer. What was his game? Did he actually see potential in her, or was it all a ruse, and the second she was out that door, an arrest warrant was waiting for her. She weighed the odds by an imaginary flip of coin, and she stood.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Rayleigh. Mitchell Rayleigh. I’m charged with a base on Chione.”
“You probably know my name already, but I think we can work together. I accept your proposition.”
They shook hands.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“I certainly hope so, Ms. Wood,” he said. “I hope so.”
Chapter VIII
Genesis
The unbridled wind ruffled the short, golden grasses growing around the workshop. Simon fired up the blowtorch and pulled the welding mask down. Just a few more modifications and this night’s work would be finished.
Fire licked at his gloved hands, and he jumped back, dropping the blowtorch. Sparks ignited the grass. The flames took hold, leaping from clump to clump.
The beauty was unlike anything Simon had ever seen on Shadow.
Mesmerized by the inferno, it took him a moment to realize his masterpiece was in jeopardy. It could be charred, damaged beyond repair, or, his least favorite out of the unspeakable choices, melted.
He snapped out of his reverie just as the fire reached the frame. The joints were soon glowing white-hot. A fire needed oxygen, so all he had to do was find a source of water, right?
He started filling pails. It was tiresome work, but after thirty minutes or so, the fire was sputtering out. Simon slumped to the base of his masterpiece, and was silent.
But he was getting ahead of himself, wasn’t he?
Now, as he looked back at the windowsill, the flower was in full bloom under the moonlight. Cynthia! He couldn’t believe it; how could she have found it? It had been many weeks since he last saw her.
Simon yawned and stood. He reached for his tools to start on repairs.
“What happened here?” a surprisingly deep voice asked.
Simon briefly looked up, then sighed.
It was him again.
“Why are you here?” Simon asked.
“Why are you here?” the man mocked.
He produced a teapot of sorts, and a sweet aroma wafted past Simon.
“Is that…?”
“You want some?” he offered.
Simon nodded.
“Well, stop playing around with that thing and come get some!” he barked.
“Almost… done…” Simon puffed.
The screw was almost too tight, but it would fit. Hopefully. The joints would need refitting as well. He grabbed the screwdriver from the kit and loosed the screw.
“Are you coming or not?” the voice exclaimed.
“Got it!” Simon announced.
“Finally!” the man added grumpily.
“Thank you, Mr. Tamin.”
“No need to thank me, kid,” Tamin replied. He ruffled Simon’s hair and handed him some tea. “I just did my daily good deed, is all.”
Simon sipped his tea.
The two men sat in silence for a time.
John Tamin had been in charge of the junkyard for several years now, and when a kid from off-world appeared in need of living quarters, he gave that kid the most dilapidated building there, for free. But it wasn’t long before the kid had spruced up the hovel.
“What’s your name?” he’d asked.
“I told you before, Mr. Tamin. It’s William. William Black,” Simon replied.
“Ah, sorry. It slipped my mind.” Tamin rubbed his neck and stepped inside to inspect the place. It was spotless and in good repair. He looked at Simon in surprise; if the kid could clean this place, what else could he do?
“All right,” he announced. “It’s officially yours now, kid.”
Simon’s eyes were joyous, and he reached out to shake Tamin’s hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Tamin.”
“No… trouble,” Tamin replied.
Apparently, the kid’s charm had rubbed off on him, somehow.
Simon wandered back to assess the robot’s frame.
“So,” Tamin asked, “what’s your plan here?”
“I’ll create a new generation, of course,” Simon replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, where are you going to find the parts to build this…” he struggled to find the correct wording, “new generation?”
“Spare parts, mostly.”
He sat on a foot, prodding the burned joints.
Tamin started to retort about the “spare parts,” but Simon cut him off.
“Don’t worry,” he
smiled. “I’m almost finished with it anyway.”
Tamin waved the reassurance away and turned to leave.
“Don’t blame me if you blow up or somethin’!” he yelled over his shoulder as he left.
The crisp gusts of air swept through the yard, cooling the hot drink that he held in his hand. It was cold enough to snow if not for the planet’s unique atmosphere. By its appearance, Shadow looked terrestrial, but the seasons never changed. Just minute temperature fluxes caused by Shadow’s rotation.
Shadow was discovered only a century ago. Terraforming the hellish planet started immediately. Today, it was one of the most obscure and forgotten planets in the galaxy. A perfect hideout for criminals and recluses alike.
Then, he was somewhere in the median range of the populace.
The night froze.
Temperatures plummeted. His breath was frosty in the wintry air. He corrected himself. Not minute changes, considerable changes.
Eventually dawn would arrive, chasing away the sub-zero winds.
The first specks of dawn soon revealed a charred wasteland. When he woke up and saw the devastation, he groaned and covered his face with his hands.
Simon rose and began to assess the damage. What was he going to do?
He was relieved. It had survived the fire largely intact, though he still had plenty to work on. The legs were melted, and the torso was charred. Yes, there was still plenty to do.
He began with the melted joints, disconnecting them and releasing them from the body. The legs fell to the ground with a thud. He loaded them onto a wagon and carted them to the edge of the yard.
Now he needed to replace them.
Finding them wouldn’t be hard, all he needed was to go the junkyard where he’d found them in the first place. The problem was finding the correct parts to fit the new legs on the mech. If he couldn’t find them, it was over.
Simon collected his cart and headed to the junkyard.
Over the next few days, the junkyard gained quite the customer. Each morning, Simon brought over the cart and filled it with anything he deemed useful to his project. Slowly, his yard filled with metals, paint, and any junk one could imagine. But on the fourth day, Tamin announced, “You can’t come here for a week! You’re scarin’ away the customers!”
“But I am a customer!” Simon countered as he dragged his wagon towards the yard.
Hope in Paradise Page 6
