“Not anymore! Wait a while before you come out to empty my stock!” Tamin yelled back.
He flipped the cart over and dumped its contents near the machine. Then, he began sorting. Metals to the right, electronics to the left, and anything else (like paint) to the center. It was rough work, dragging that cart for hours on end, but it was useful.
Soon, very soon, it would begin.
The day passed, and the next morning began with a bang. Simon awoke with a start and rushed outside to find someone standing before the machine. He sprinted towards the shadow but it slipped away before he could catch it. He surveyed the yard.
Thankfully, nothing was missing.
The sun was about to rise. He couldn’t go back to sleep, so he turned towards the machine. He walked over to the piles and began to work.
There would be many sleepless nights to come.
Soon, the mech’s head was attached to its shoulders with an armful of wires that connected the torso and joints to the reactor. The head was a conical shape, silver with a sky-blue visor. The torso was nearly as tall as the shop, jet-black with white streaks sprayed across it. Not exactly the color he wanted, but it would have to do.
Lastly, the legs were welded and connected with new wires. Soon, they would move.
As Simon stepped back to look at his creation, he marveled at the fact it even stayed upright with the mishmash of parts that held it together. The only drawback he saw was that if the machine fell, it wouldn’t be able to stand again. It would be stuck there, the pilot helpless.
He pushed the thought away.
When it was near midday, the only things that Simon still needed, he thought he could manage to find. Only a few miles away were relics from the past: ships, laser guns, things that would salvage easily.
So, he raced off from the store onto another journey.
The ground was soft under his feet when he arrived at the shipyard. Forgotten speeders lay broken just over a hill. Here, the skies were grayer, as if signaling this place’s atrocious past. Unmarked graves circled the base of the hill like a wall. What could have happened here?
Simon slid down the hill and ran toward the nearest ship.
These ships were light and nimble for ground combat. They could hover next to the pilot for a quick escape. Attached to the center was a core reactor that powered it.
Simon grinned and ran towards the craft. He deftly pulled at the dented metal surrounding the small reactor, and it shifted slightly. He bent more metal away to reveal a cube with a dimly fluctuating, circular impression in the center. He tied a rope around it and struggled to pull the reactor out. Finally, it came out of the ship with a crash, and tumbled to the ground. Simon attempted to lift it, and finally succeeded.
He was sweating when got back to the yard. But he finally dropped the reactor in front of the machine. Simon too crashed to the ground in exhaustion. Evening was upon them, the sun crawling back below the horizon.
Soon the winds would come again.
He tied down all of his equipment and turned towards the newly constructed machine.
“See you later,” he told it, and hurried indoors to stay warm.
Inside, everything felt different somehow. The glowing of the battery lamp and heat of the stove made him feel safe, although his room seemed as though a different person once lived there.
Simon laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.
Darkness enveloped him. His body, heart, and even his soul felt heavy. There was a knock on his door, and his eyes flickered open to see two children. They were smiling and cheerfully asking him questions. The girl kept pointing to the apple orchard near his home, and the boy nodded furiously.
Simon’s eyes felt heavy. Why wasn’t he sleeping now? All he had to do was wave them off, nothing more, nothing less. Why couldn’t he? They wouldn’t be in any danger. They were just picking some apples. Simon’s mind was in a daze, so he lifted his hand and slowly, dreamily, waved them goodbye.
By the time he forced himself from his daydream, it was too late.
“Wait!” he cried after the fleeing figures. “Don’t leave!” he tried to chase after them, to warn them, but to no avail.
They disappeared along with the light.
Simon sat up in bed, sweat pouring down his back. His eyes were wide with fear, and his hand was raised towards the ceiling. He slid back down on his bed.
It was that dream again.
He tried to calm down.
“Just a nightmare,” he told himself. “It was just a nightmare, don’t worry.”
He scanned his surroundings. His head spun. His whole body shook. Simon tried to stand, but his legs were frozen in place. Was he overtaken with fright from that day in Arcadia? He struggled to stand, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t. Not after the dream. He knew it.
He looked out his window towards the machine. It was almost finished. But if he couldn’t even stand, what were his accomplishments worth? With that rather annoying pep talk wrapped up, he quickly pulled on his clothes and ran outside towards the monstrous mech.
By dawn, Simon was utterly drained. The core reactor was installed in the base of the head, and a cockpit was added in front of the reactor for maximum output. The only drawback to this was the pilot’s overall health, but that would have to wait. Both the torso and legs were repainted a more… uniform gray-blue color. Arms and legs were also remodeled to a shape that was more humanoid.
Now he faced a fundamental question.
Who would pilot?
Simon had pondered this many times before, but now that he had actually finished it, this was an issue. Could he to test it out himself? That was an option. Or could he find a more suitable candidate? He weighed the odds, and he came to a conclusion.
He would pilot.
“You sure everything’s set?” Tamin called to Simon.
“I’m positive they are,” Simon reassured the older man as he reached the canopy.
“Sure they are,” Tamin muttered under his breath.
Simon looked back at him and gave a thumbs-up. The canopy slid open and he hopped inside. It closed behind him. A dark magenta flickered in front of him, casting the room in a reddish glow. Unlike any previous generation, this one combined both psychic and autopilot controls together, creating a new “sense of self” for the pilot. On one hand, the pilot controlled the machine, and on the other, automated systems manned the mech if the pilot was unconscious.
The communications glowed green, and he heard static.
“Are you all right in there?” a crackling voice asked.
“It’s all ready,” Simon replied. He settled himself in the pilot’s chair and reached out towards the magenta glow. A steering mechanism came forward and he gripped it tightly. Sensors sprung out from the sides and attached themselves to his skin, sending waves of nausea-inducing pain coursing through his body. Simon tried to rise, but restraints held him firmly in the seat. His eyes glowed red for only a moment before returning to their usual violet, and his mind synced with the machine.
“What can you see?” a voice rang inside his head.
“What do you mean?” Simon saw everything now, inside or out. He could see Tamin, as well as the cockpit. Information appeared his mind, telling him his position, power levels, life support, and many more. His head continued to spin; if this didn’t stop soon, he might pass out.
“All right then, try walking or something. I’ve removed the restraints, so don’t let me stop you now!” Tamin laughed.
Simon smiled and tried to lift one leg in front of the other. A weight pressed down on his legs inside of the cockpit, but slowly, painfully, the leg lifted, and it moved forward. He could hear cries of joy from the old man, and he grinned. The information from the mech continued to flow through his mind.
Then the machine began to tip. He could hear shouting. Simon tried to reach out and grab something to brace himself, but couldn’t. The controls were too enmeshed with his nervous system now. He could not back out
.
Why didn’t he think about something like this happening sooner?
It should have worked perfectly. He shouldn’t need an emergency ejection, or a way to rapidly disengage from the controls. What would he do now? He tried to grasp his head to stop the nausea, but it didn’t work. Spots of darkness enveloped his vision.
Soon he would be back there, in that world. A place he would rather leave. A void.
Simon blinked, and the twilight destroyed him.
Chapter IX
Training
A light breeze brushed her face as she approached her new home, nearly invisible in the dark. In the scattered light from streetlights, her pale features marked her as a ghost, a whimsical spirit. She tightened her grip on the knapsack and walked up to the entrance.
“Hello?” she called.
No answer.
One knock, two knocks.
Still nothing.
She breathed a sigh, and prepared to bang on the door, but suddenly it swung open, leaving her half-blinded as light from inside poured out. Cynthia shielded her eyes until they readjusted.
“Hello?” a voice mocked. “That’s the best you can think of?”
“Um… yes?” she replied.
The blindness finally retreated, and her friend came into view.
“Nice to see you here,” she said and dropped her bag into Maria’s hands.
“What do I need this for?” Maria whined as Cynthia looked around the lobby, taking it in all of the sights it had to offer.
“Gifts,” she replied.
“Gifts…?” Maria asked, and opened up the bag to reveal its contents. Her eyes widened, and she looked at her Cynthia with suspicion.
“Where did you get these?” Maria held up a bouquet of flowers. She’d expected to find some oddity, but flowers? Was this girl trying to become a florist or something?
“I picked them,” Cynthia replied, and she leaned on the nearest wall.
“All right…” Maria said cautiously.
Cynthia leaned over and snatched the flowers from her hands. Maria feigned shock, and Cynthia laughed.
“I’ll be taking these back!” she teased.
Maria pouted.
So different from home.
“It’s raining again,” a voice behind her muttered. “That happens all too often.”
Cynthia turned and smiled. “Really? I never would have guessed.”
“You really are a pain, aren’t you?”
“You could say that.”
Cynthia turned away and resumed looking around. The bright lights were dimming now. The furniture cast elongated shadows on the walls. There were several hallways on both sides of the room. An electric fireplace illuminated a small area with reddish-orange tinge. One wall was entirely windows.
“So,” she asked, “Where’s my room?” She strolled along the floor and glanced around the corners of the halls.
“This way,” Maria replied, catching her by the arm.
“Hey!” Cynthia cried.
“You wouldn’t have followed me otherwise,” she said.
Cynthia nodded. Maria led her down a hallway to the first door on the left.
Maria released her arm and dug around in her pockets. She pulled out a small, silver disk that resembled a coin. She waved it at the door, and a green light flashed. She smiled and waved Cynthia inside.
White. That single color described the room. It could be called a winter wonderland, if it had any snow. A bed in each corner, and between them, a side-table with a lamp on it. The space itself was flooded with a clear light, so she wondered why the lamp was there at all. Perhaps for decoration?
To the right of the beds was another door that led into a small bathroom. It had one shower, two sinks and a mirror, along with the same monotonous tiled floor and walls. All white. The bathroom seemed to be lit by itself as well.
From the first time the door opened, Cynthia was filled with wonder. A room, at least for now. And she had a roommate! “Thank you!” she cried. She hadn’t felt this happy in so long…
Cynthia went to the bed on the left. She set her knapsack on the bed and sat down. She turned her head to the side and found another curiosity.
Desks.
Two desks folded into the walls, compact enough as to conserve space.
She felt a pang of guilt.
How was he doing? she wondered. Was he still working on that machine?
Maybe she shouldn’t have left Simon. Maybe….
Cynthia shook her head.
Simon would be fine! Perhaps she was just homesick. Most likely every new trainee got homesick sooner or later. Being away from your loved ones was a lonely process, after all.
Her bed bounced when something heavy hit it.
“Come on!” Maria was whacking her with something.
“Wake up!” Whack.
Cynthia caught the pillow and flung it back at her. It hit Maria’s face, catching her off guard, and sent her flopping down onto the covers.
Cynthia laughed at the sight.
This wasn’t so bad after all.
Darkness, a void. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. An endless blackness that enveloped her.
She screamed.
Different now: chaos. She was fighting. A fight through the skies. Her communications had failed. Why were they attacking? She thought that these people would be allies. She dodged them now, but for how much longer? Could they hear her? Or were they just refusing to answer?
She shook her head. They were afraid.
Another blast. Something nearly hit her. More lasers streaked by, trying to make her fall. She increased her speed and shot up into the clouds for cover. Hopefully they wouldn’t follow her. Just a little more… and she was free.
The stars were bright this high up in the atmosphere. She looked down at the thick clouds. Would they follow her?
Alarms blared and she whipped her head around—they were right behind her. She raised her weapon and fired.
Blood streamed from a wound near her forehead. Sparks flew. Alarms muffled her cries for help. Would she survive?
Where was he?
Her vision blurred as flames rose up in the interior of the cockpit.
She fell back into the void.
A light. Blurry motion caught her eye. Where was she now? Was she dead? An apparition? A hand reached out for her, and she drew back further into the cockpit.
No, she wouldn’t be caught now. Not ever.
“Don’t worry, it’s me!” the voice whispered. “Don’t worry!”
Don’t… worry? How could she not? But still, she took the hand.
And her eyes filled with tears.
It was him.
Cynthia lifted her head. The room she was in was dark. She looked at the other bed. Empty. How long had she slept? Voices came from down the hall. She swung her legs out and rose from the bed.
A dream? Or a memory?
Her mind was filled with half-forgotten memories.
She went to the door and opened it, flooding the room with yellow light. It dazzled her eyes for a moment, but they adjusted and she started down the hall. The voices were close enough to listen to when she reached the foyer.
“So, you’re here too?” Maria’s voice.
“Yeah, I’m here.” A different, but familiar voice.
Cynthia inched closer, and what she saw shocked her. She marched into the foyer and called out, “It’s you!”
He turned toward her, and he began to step away from the new arrival.
“You!” He sounded surprised. He took a step back, and tripped on the rug. He fell, then scrambled to the wall, for some reason afraid of her. She smiled and approached him. She offered a hand, but when he grabbed it, she dropped him. He hit the floor again, landing hard. He winced in pain and nearly yelled at her, but Maria pulled him up.
Cynthia laughed. This really was going to be fun.
“So, what’s your name?” Cynthia asked him.
“Why do I
have to tell you?” he snapped.
“Oh, just tell her.” Maria was already bored.
He shifted uncomfortably. They were near the fireplace now, the flames warming the area considerably. Outside, cooler weather had set in, but in here, it was hot.
To him, at least.
“George Hughes,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Cynthia put her hand to her ear.
“George Hughes!” he replied in a louder voice. Cynthia considered the name. “Hmmm…” She thought for a moment, and then pointed at him.
“Honey!” she announced.
“That’s a ridiculous name!” Maria protested.
“Honey?” George was puzzled.
“A perfect name!” Cynthia mused.
She stood up and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Honey!”
“You’re calling me that?” he whispered, horrified.
Cynthia nodded, and offered her hand to help him up, then dropped him on the floor. Again.
“Hey!” he yelled.
But she was gone.
The night sky had cleared to reveal the stars. She held up her hand and said, “Hope to see you again.”
But the clouds had hidden the stars once again.
Cynthia began to shiver. White sparkles drifted on the wind. She was lying on the steps, covered in snow. Her face pale, eyes a brilliant emerald in the monotone colors of the night.
It was just like that night—she was slipping away.
She pulled up her parka’s hood for warmth.
Lights whizzed by, giving her eyes a saffron sheen. She watched smudges of color passing. Was she awake? Cynthia shrugged off the snow and stood.
Still more cars, lighting the scenery behind her. Modern, coal-colored roads muddied and streaked with tire tracks, sidewalks dotted with puddles, towering giants just behind them, crammed together like sardines in a can.
A “modern” city.
The rambunctiousness ceased, once again bringing a sullen silence to the streets. The traffic died off and the clouds parted to reveal the stars a second time. A shaft of light appeared.
Cynthia turned and saw a shadow behind her.
Hope in Paradise Page 7
