“Could you pass me the wrench?” he asked.
“Sure.” She pried open the rusty toolbox, digging through the contents, scattering them across the floor before finally picking up the wrench. She turned it over thoughtfully and then plopped it over the side. A little yelp came when she heard it clang to the floor.
“Watch it!” Daniel yelled at her, picking up the wrench carefully, glancing up as he scurried back to cover. She could hear him mumbling afterwards.
The “mechanic” smiled as she quietly returned to work.
By the time she reached the circuitry, she was questioning whether to drop another tool. It was like a constant buzz in her ear, or a backseat driver. She could feel him judging her progress, and she called down, “Don’t you have any other work to do?”
He shook his head. “No, and besides, this puppy here is more important.”
Puppy…? Seriously?
She clenched her fists, releasing them when she felt the cool steel of a screwdriver in her hand. She could handle this. Only one more adjustment and…
Success!
Cynthia peered down, seeing Daniel’s eyes widen in shock.
Her expression changed. “What’s wrong?”
He pointed upwards.
The cables were snapping.
One.
“Don’t panic… don’t panic! I’ll get help!” he yelled, racing off to the main cluster.
Don’t panic? Why would she?
Two.
She unhooked her harness and swung over onto the mech’s shoulder. It was cool, just like the screwdriver.
Three.
The second cable snapped, and the contraption went crashing down. It hit with a deafening noise akin to cymbals clashing together, its sound ringing throughout the hangar.
No one even looked up.
How often did this happen, exactly?
Cynthia looked around, feeling the steel beneath her. On the surface, it was brand new, not a speck on it. Underneath, was a jumble of old, moldy wires and supports. When she crawled to the visor, only a murky reflection was visible. The old girl seemed not to have been used in quite some time.
The rim caught her eye. Inspecting it wasn’t difficult at all. What was difficult was reading the worn-out letters nearly hidden by the cockpit’s seal:
Genesis.
“Gene… sis.” She read the inscription once more, rubbing at her eyes. Was this Simon’s creation he had told her about? She gazed at the visor, and wondered: how did it get here? That was the question.
“Hey!” Daniel waved from below.
She sighed. How long would the cleanup take? Hopefully she wouldn’t be responsible, not this time, anyway. After all, she still had to make quite the impression. Perhaps she already had.
She started to climb down.
Daniel greeted her with open arms. “I’m fine, I’m fine!” she protested, pushing him off.
Cynthia turned and saw his senior next to him. “How many times have I told you?” The older man was scolding his subordinate now. “You do not tie the cables that way!” He eyed Cynthia, turning to her and saying, “My apologies, Miss—”
“Wood.”
“Ah. Wood.” He pondered this for a moment, and recognition brought him wheeling on Daniel again. This time he used exaggerated hand signals, pointing at her.
“I should have you burned at the stake! Can’t you figure anything out?” He gestured at her. “This isn’t a mechanic, you fool! This is a pilot—know the difference!” Daniel looked at her, wide-eyed.
With that, he ran Daniel off.
He sighed, sticking out his hand. “My sincerest apologizes. I’m Cartwright. Matthew Cartwright.”
Cynthia shook it. He stepped away, tipping his cap. “Well, Ms. Wood. Nice job out there, I’ll say.”
She nodded.
“Where did that Ranger come from?” She pointed to Genesis.
“Oh. Outer Systems, I think.”
Outer… Systems? Is that what the Alliance called them now?
Some others were calling him over. “My thanks, Miss. Good day!”
“Bye…” Cynthia waved to him.
And with that, he was gone.
Genesis… here it says the Alliance “acquired” it, but still… Simon wouldn’t have sold it, right? She waved her hand along the desk, bringing up the archives. No, he would never do that.
So, what had happened? What….
Finding nothing, she waved downwards, ending her search. She pushed back and stretched, looking up at the ceiling. Simon… just what did you get yourself into?
She was about to stand when there was a knock on her door.
“Come in!” she yelled.
The boy.
“I’ve come to take you to Mr. Rayleigh,” he said. “Y-you did want to meet him, right?”
Cynthia nodded.
“Then, follow me.” They walked out together.
The child stopped in front of a wooden door not far from the hangar. He knocked once and stepped aside.
“Come in.” A muffled voice.
Cynthia exhaled and stepped inside, the door closing behind her.
Inside, it was almost like a foyer. Two couches and a coffee table were set in the center, an intricately designed carpet spread out close to the walls. Paintings covered three of the four wooden walls, and near the back there was a desk, its chair spun away from them. All that was missing was a fireplace, although the room was already lit quite nicely.
The chair spun around, revealing the commander of the base, Mitchell Rayleigh. His pose as an “evil mastermind” was quite astonishing, as if prepared just for this specific moment.
She wasn’t impressed in the slightest.
“Yes, Rayleigh?” Cynthia asked, leaning on the door. When he said nothing, she walked to him. “You sent the boy for me?”
“Ah, yes. You mean Jonathan, I presume?” Rayleigh said. “Yes, well, what with you being busy and all—”
She stopped in front of the desk, glaring at him. “You knew I was here?” she asked angrily. Rayleigh sat there, silent.
“Of course I did.” He folded his hands and gestured to the chair in front of him. “Why don’t you sit?”
Reluctantly, she sat down in the cushioned seat. It was extravagant, just like the rest of the room. “What do you want?”
“Me?” He passed her several papers. “Just some cooperation, as you would say.” He pointed at a map. “Quadrant 15, A-Class star. The planet we’re looking for is here.” He pointed to a spot nearest to Chione next to the Rosette Nebula. The image zoomed and magnified, unveiling a surprisingly green planet with a rocky mass orbiting parallel to its poles. “Vesta. It’s the Crow’s last known location.” Rayleigh smiled. “Let’s hope that they’re still there.”
Cynthia looked to him. “Still there?”
“Don’t you read the papers?”
She stared at him.
Rayleigh turned off the projection. “Better catch up then. Dismissed.” Cynthia saluted before collecting the remaining files. When she was about to leave, she heard him.
“And Alex, good luck.”
She nodded, clutching the papers eagerly.
Finally.
Chapter XIV
Offer
Snow. It fell from the sky in waves, blanketing the planet. Lights lit early at this time of year, giving the snow a yellowish tinge. On the outskirts of the sleepy town, the destruction of the battle was scattered like marbles. However, the townspeople rarely crossed through the area, so it went mostly unnoticed.
Soon, the scars would disappear.
A tree without leaves was worthless. It was neither beautiful, nor grand. A chunk of wood.
The snow piled around the abandoned wood, as if seeking a home. The branches crashed into the pile, leaving impressions deep in the snow. The falling limbs landed on a stone hidden from sight. After some time, the weight became too much for the slab.
It cracked.
The memento burie
d beneath it was crushed by the oncoming force. Shattered and splintered into pieces. Soil yielded from the pressure. The grave became a tomb.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Footsteps.
He pulled a flower from his pocket, and twirled it longingly in his hand. He shook his head and put it back. He couldn’t do it. Even after all this time.
He carefully dug away the bank of snow, revealing the cracked headstone. He was surprised; what could have caused the crack? He looked up and saw the missing branches.
His attention was forcibly pulled away from them. The ground was collapsing under his weight.
Simon quickly stood up, backing away from the tree. He shivered in the wind.
So now you’re gone, as well.
He fell to his knees in the snow. Tears streamed down his cheeks and froze. Even after all this time, I still can’t protect anyone.
If only for a moment, reality came to a standstill. The snow froze midair, gales stopped, and he continued to cry, for he didn’t notice the disturbance.
“Stop crying already!” someone yelled.
He looked up, streaks of frost lining his cheeks, eyes reddened. Above him, a transparent apparition. Pink bow, blue dress. Flowing blonde hair. Spots of red in her eyes.
Simon looked at her in awe.
“How—”
“Shhh.” Amelia held her finger to her lips. She flickered in the falling snowflakes. A white glow shimmered around her. The ghost floated a few inches above the snow. She walked towards him.
“Listen,” she told him. “I’ll be all right.”
He nodded, trying to stand. The tears had dried now, but the emptiness still remained. He tried to reach out, catching nothing but air.
Amelia shook her head.
“I can’t come back, you know.”
“Of course I—”
“And yet here you are, sobbing! Because of me, and of your own misery!” she snapped.
He looked at her and said, “I’m sorry that you had to die, but I tried…” He paused, shaking with fear. “I tried my best!”
Amelia smiled joylessly.
“Yes, you did. And look where it’s gotten you,” she replied to his confession.
Simon was despondent.
He looked upwards, towards the dreary sky. “I am… truly… sorry…” he whispered.
Amelia nodded and embraced him.
He looked at her, surprised. He could feel her warmth, just as if she were actually there, alive.
“Does that mean you’ll… forgive me?” he asked her.
“I already have. You’re talking to the wrong person.”
Simon’s eyes suddenly felt heavy. He slumped forward, wrapped in the warmth that Amelia emitted.
He slept soundly for the first time in years.
When he awoke, Simon found himself huddled at the base of the broken tree. His breath fogged in the frigid air. He stood and stretched his numb body. His attention was caught by the headstone, or rather, lack thereof. His eyes frantically scanned the landscape. No stone. He looked at the tree.
It had revived. Not one blemish. All of the branches were reattached, and the ground surrounding it was clear of snow. Only on further inspection did he find a single flower planted at the base.
Forget-me-not, huh?
He smiled at the light blue flower. Then laughed. Too obvious, Miss. Way too obvious.
Simon stopped. Was that not a dream, then? He studied the flower again before reality returned, whisking him away.
He gritted his teeth as another wind picked up. Flurries of snow charged at him, and he picked up his speed towards home.
Soundless. Quiet. Voiceless. Empty. Devoid of life. That’s how the streets seemed. The whirling noises of the wind swept through them. Lamps lit because of the overcast. Windows were boarded up. Lights poured from outside.
Life.
No wonder, Simon thought. It’s winter. They must think I’m crazy.
People watched him through the cracks, peering at him with skeptical eyes. Why was this foreigner even still here? Simon had to laugh at it all. All right then, I’ll forgive myself on one condition: let me see her again.
He moved, starting a quicker pace, to the point of running. If he could just work it out, then….
Halfway to the shop, he faltered, slipping on the ice. He scampered back up from the road, walking gingerly now.
Walking up the steps, Simon found the door frozen shut by ice. He felt about wildly in his pocket and brought out a multi-purpose mechanism. He spoke into its microphone, and it transformed into a shovel. He drew it high and brought it down onto the door with immense force. The wooden entrance quivered under the pressure, and the ice shattered and fell onto the doormat. He spoke into the machine again and it reverted back into its original form. Putting it away, Simon walked up and brushed away the broken ice.
He turned the doorknob and hurried inside, door slamming shut behind him. He shrugged off his coat and dropped it on the couch before grabbing a cup of coffee. The steam from the scalding liquid clouded the windowpanes, making it nearly impossible to see. Sleet pounded the shop, sounding like a battering ram.
Simon drank a sip of his coffee, nearly choking on it. He dropped it onto the table. The mug tipped over on its side, spilling the precious sustenance that he so desperately desired. He jumped from his seat and ran to wipe up the coffee.
Settled back on his chair and fresh coffee in hand, Simon pondered his decisions. The strengthening winds slammed the sides of his home. Outside, a raging storm was passing, while inside, thoughts swirled angrily in his mind.
Amelia had told him her wishes, but what of his? Did he not have a say? Was his life becoming just as worthless as the scrap that he regularly found in the junkyard? Simon looked down at his coffee. It swirled in the cup, his reflection following the flow.
The steam dissipated, and the fog disappeared.
Simon eagerly drank from the mug.
The sea of sleet subsided, finally. Simon set the cup aside and waited.
For what, he did not know. For the blizzard to end? For the tears to dry? His anguish to expire? He stared at the bottom of that chasm, searching halfheartedly for the answers.
How could he have known about Genesis? About Arcadia? He couldn’t have. He didn’t know at the time. He….
Whistling. A pastime. A low, solemn tune. Sad, but meaningful. It was the precipice, the turning point of his life.
Would he have followed?
Simon nodded to himself.
Not then. He just needed a reason. Now… now he had one.
Cynthia had a home now. What was he waiting for? All he had to do was find her, and then… and then….
Simon racked his brain and granted himself a smile.
He hadn’t thought that far ahead, had he?
The coffee was gone now; replaced by a hologram. Images and videos from the battle flooded his mind. The roaring flames, and the crackle of static. Lost connections and the enemy: the Alliance. Their Rangers materialized out of thin air— a camouflage unit? Amelia’s fighting spurred him forward to watch her movements. For her first battle, her technique wasn’t bad.
An ear-piercing scream, and the hologram darkened.
Simon pushed the screen away, tears dripping onto the table.
What had he done?
After composing himself, Simon brought up the schematics for Genesis. Everything was in order, except for a miniscule detail: the code.
Simon brushed away the plans and began studying the code. Some parts were missing from the data. An instruction here, a name there. He scanned through it again and again. Had he erased these details? Or had someone else? When he was building his mech, nothing had seemed out of place. Was this after its completion, or….
The shadow! The one who broke in during the night!
No, the machine wasn’t even finished then. How could the code have been replaced?
Back to the drawing board, then.
Engin
eering. Was that all he was good at? To ease his pain, was working his only answer? It kept him alive, but… did he have anything else?
All these questions, and he couldn’t even answer them! It drove him insane.
The winds died down, leaving only the humming of machines in its wake. Simon stored the holoscreen in his desk, and watched the events unfolding outside. The townspeople were shuffling out of their homes with icepicks and shovels. Soon, they would clear the wind-blown snow and ice. But of course, he would stay here, watching them. What reason did he have for helping them? They knew their activity better than he did, even after all these years.
Although, there was one incident soon after his arrival. Another blizzard, like this. He was utterly miserable during the storm, and when it ended, rushed out to clear the debris from the streets. But when everyone else joined, it was entirely useless; the townspeople concluded their task while he was still stranded in the snow.
Reminiscing about old times… better be careful about that, he made a mental note.
Time, a fickle thing. Weaving in and out of life.
Simon chuckled. He was looking too deep again, wasn’t he?
A knock.
Simon glanced at the door. A visitor? Directly after the cleanup? He cautiously opened it.
“Do you need something?” Simon asked. The woman seemed to be a foreigner. Waist-length, braided bluish-black hair. Respectable mining uniform, though frayed at the edges, and bright yellow eyes. This newcomer frightened him more than she should have.
She walked past, trespassing into his home. If it wasn’t for the glare she gave him, he would have objected. He watched as the woman sat down opposite his seat.
“Sit,” she ordered him.
Simon nearly flinched, but he obeyed, sitting back down in his chair.
“Miss—”
“You’re the engineer they’re talking about? Hah!” she laughed. “You? Do you how long it took me to track you to here?” she ranted. “Eight months! Eight! That’s how long it’s taken me to track you down after that little incident of yours!” The woman sighed, adding, “You’re a sneaky one, aren’t you? Hiding out on this chunk of rock.” Simon listened intently.
His eyes widened slightly at the mention of anyone else knowing of what had happened to Genesis, but externally, he didn’t seem too impressed. “And you are…?”
Hope in Paradise Page 12
