T9, Caphill Revival Chambers.
Before I go to sleep, I try to connect with Abby, but this forsaken program has its own stubbornness engraved deep in itself. The pink night lights bounce off the glass walls of the chamber, and paint the sand in its color. In the sky, there are several drones and pods scurrying across the horizons - some of them casting holograms of They.
Like any other revival chamber at the extreme left is a sleeping capsule—it is not exactly a capsule but a confined space of digital displays which adjusts accordingly to help the soldiers with the stress. All of its artificiality never works on me for some reason. I still have nightmares about the blood that I spill every day.
Absently, I pace leisurely towards the sleeping capsule. The four walls of my chamber light up as soon as I step beside my bed. A pillow and a quilt emerge from the duvet. The displays of the walls trigger happy dreams. Mostly, like a movie, you choose the plot. The transparent glass walls now become dense with lights of several colours adjusting.
There is even a different episode of nightmare, which is mandatory for every alternate visit in the revival chambers. The last time the happy dream didn't really prove to be efficient, I still had nightmares. But it's better than sleeping on the poorly set up bunks on the battlegrounds. My next weeks would probably be more of a nightmare.
While the bed is warm and really soft, it also has lumps in it for relaxation of muscles. One of the weirdest, yet really calm thing is sleeping naked on the bed. It induces a slow rhythmic vibration, as if someone is patting me, easing my body against all the tightness. It is like sleeping in the arms of a lover - if only I knew how it really feels to be in the warmth of other human's arms.
I climb out of my suit with an absolute ease; I press a button and the suit releases me, which is a silver latex–like thing that we all have, but insides of it are woollen. Once, I affectionately run my hand through my neck, stroking gently and tracing it along the outline to my collarbone and around the neck again.
Then, limply, I plop on the bed and let it consume me wholly. I don't choose the nightmare for today, I would like to stay surprised, if it is. I am practically in a nightmare.
The pillow tenderly unfurls my hair and spreads it across the bed. A sweet piano piece plays and a projection of earth's night sky surrounds me, while I lay immobile, letting the unnatural consume me inch by inch. I see constellations that I once tracked with my dad when he'd take me out for camping. I remember the warmth of the rattling campfire on my cheek.
I have no fear of the expected nightmare in my eyes. All I have is a hope for tomorrow, or an utter disappointment. And I sleep, letting my body release all the pain, but bearing an ache in my heart, which deepens with every passing day I spend here all by myself. The longing for love expands, and as it does, it spreads yards of emptiness in me.
My lids bring the darkness against my eyes. Nightmare begins, nothing unlikely.
Sleep.
Sleep.
I chant until I block out all the projections and sounds, going numb in my bed, falling into a pit of hellfire, flinging my arms wildly and letting out a loud scream in my head.
The numbness explodes into a cacophony of explosion and ripping sound of bullets. Now I know I am in my nightmare. Unchanging, even in my sleep, I remind myself of that.
Dust clouds my eyes. I have a helmet and yet the dust fogged my vision. I hear voices of other sisters screaming and bowling. The voices ring in my ears, but they are far away. Around me, the sandstorms are rising. I hear the bashing of pods against the winds, the rotor blades of assault drones whip barbarically above. I can hear my sound of my own breaths. My mouth is drying up as dry as a paper.
"Flair…," a voice shouts at me in my ear, "… what do you think you are doing, eh?"
I turn around to look for the hostility. I see just clouds of thick dusts and beams of blue lasers cutting through them, probably coming to get me. Making sudden anxious movements throws me into something.
"Get out of the way, Flair, now." The voice says, exasperated and worrying.
I lift my legs to move, but my feet are ankle deep in mud. I feel like the ground is sucking me in, so I look down and, from a thin veil of dust clouds, I see I am stuck in quicksand. The realisation brings horror to me. These quicksands are everywhere on the other side of the war. Few of them natural and others the Wrongers set some of them up itself.
I gasp. "No." I jerk my feet, but the sand wouldn't stop swallowing me. "No, no, no." I cry. I feel the hot tears burning on my cheek, and all of my energy draining through them.
I feel a burn against my feet, my boots slowly dissolving into the mud like flesh melting into a pool of acid. Paranoia crawls over me. I know I wanted to die, but I don't want it to be this way, rather just want it to end. I would resent it if I wake up into a tank still flinching from the hot burns.
I throw my assault rifle on the ground, unwillingly. My body is not in my control anymore.
I call out desperately, "somebody, help me." My voice trembles. Quivers drives me into insanity.
"Flair, do not move." A voice answers, a familiar voice, "… stay calm, remember your training."
What did the training say about Caphill quicksand? I try to remember. I dig deep inside my mind as deep as it permits me to.
Think Joanne. Think.
I try to hold myself still and fix my feet in the rippling ground.
Gathering all which is left of me apart from fear–that is surprisingly very little. I close my eyes.
Fall back.
I remember. Drawing a few deep breaths, I fall back, shifting my weight. I keep shifting it back and forth and I feel the grip loosening up.
I smile. "Oh god." I utter with relief.
I pull myself up using my weight while I shoot myself up trying to jump. The quicksand spits my legs out, and I light on my face.
"Flair, did you get it out?" The voice asked.
I chuckle softly. "Yes, yes, I am coming to the extraction." I say with all the content I could muster on these grounds, in this desperate moment.
"Good, you have to be quick. The Wrongers knew about the invasion."
I grab my gun; and I run. I can't see anything, but I know I have to head north. My fingers desperately skim through the screen flashing above my cuff to navigate the directions.
Up ahead, the cloud of dust is less dense. I can see that. It brings me consolation for my tears. The bullets come at me from behind, threatening to trap me in their territory. I am afraid I still don't want to end up here. They will not kill me until they sever my link to the server. If they kill me without breaking the connection, I'll revive back and be safe.
I dodge almost every bullet. I don't stop. The Tamers will enslave me if they catch me. If the Wrongers catch me, they will torture me until I spill all the information about Us, and either of the case Us will abandon me and erase everything from the server. If the authorities erase my memories, I will have nothing left to cling to. No more eighties of earth, and no more seeing my mom playing with me and my brother in the bathtub.
I have to run for the sake of my memories, which I have kept in my heart for so long. Lunging through the thick desert sand, I leap on my back to dodge an unprecedented hissing ray dedicated to devour me. I shoot aimlessly in the clouds of dust. Burly silhouettes charge at me, cleaving through the dust. The sand is absolutely ineffective in slowing them down.
My guts crawl up to my throat. I swallow them back. The figures approach me. This is the time I contact my commanding officer.
Breathing wheezily, I speak into the intercom. "Flair coming in." Intercom buzzes.
I repeat, louder this time. "Flair coming in. Anybody?" panic is gripping me.
All I get is a single response of the frequency whistling with amusement.
I hear other angry human voices around me. The silhouettes are closer now, hardly a few feet away.
I hoist my rifle straight and lay flat on my stomach in the sand, taking defence. I can't fight against a dozen of enemy and take them single-handed - but I can't scamper like a hare either.
A soldier first approaches. Holding my breath, I fix my position motionlessly. I wait for her–the soldier–of course it's her, to pace into the range of my evaporator. This weapon is not something I am fond of using, but desperate situations demands desperate actions. I have no pleasure in watching the person turn into smoke, but this is my best shot.
My heart beats slower as I wait patiently and motionlessly. Come on, I whisper softly in my head.
She is in the range. I see an opening for my attack.
Without delaying in one slink movement, I swing my hand towards the strap wrapped around my waist and pluck out the evaporator. I wildly launch it near the feet of the soldier and, to my surprise, she daunts it. I stare wide in horror as I clamp my hands around the rifle. Hoisting myself up on my feet, I assault a shower of bullets on the enemy.
A blue translucent shield rattles and blocks my shots. The woman raises her fist and balls it, gesturing her soldiers to a halt.
She knocks me to the ground. I feel warm moist streaming down my nose. She grabs me at the back of my head and lifts me up. Her eyes scowl at me from top to bottom. "She is a low rank." She announces. Her voice is pouring out in a smirk. I can't see her face behind the helmet, but I know it when somebody smirk.
One of her companions speaks. "Larisska, we have orders. We need to take her back."
Larisska scrutinises me once again. "But she is a weakling. I highly doubt she could be of any significance, Kruna." She says, dangling me from her grip like a newborn pup.
The infuriating fumes of agitation fogs across the display of my helmet. "Why don't you fight me one on one and I'll show you." I cough the blood.
Larisska laughs softly. "Oh, poor baby bird." She tosses me away into the sand again.
I clamber across the ground, attempting to get on my feet. Leaning against my elbow, I compel to push myself up somehow, discarding all the pain inside me. The fragments of gravels threaten to leave bruises and burns against my knees and elbow. I hate my fragility in the vulnerable moments like this. Like a toddler, I get up and scramble back on my feet. The tremors running down my legs challenge me to stability, insinuating at my lack of courage.
I rub my hand against my neck and ease the tension absorbed in it. Stretching my muscle and abandoning my fears, I stand still. "Come at me with all you have got, sergeant Larisska Teth." I return the smirk.
I see Larisska clenching her fist and her posture turning rigid.
Larisska charged at me, like a rogue wave defying the borders of the oceans. She grabbed her mask and ripped it off her face.
Impossible. How could she survive in this sand? I stare astonishingly.
It is not about the oxygen; it is about the dust. The planet is always bustling with sandstorms and it is almost impossible to breathe clearly.
In an instant blinding flash, she strode past me without me noticing. I feel as if some weight has lifted off me. I instinctively reach at my waist just to realise that my strap is gone.
She used my astonishment to her advantage.
I turn around and see the straps dangle from her grip, similar as I did a few moments ago.
I squint my eyes and shake off the vagueness out of my sight. She plucks out one netter from my strap and drops it. Malicious smile stretching widely on her face accentuates her beyond comparison. I notice her death stare when she is close enough. She is not aiming her inimical gaze at me. It's passing right through me as if I am a ghost. She launches the netters right at her own companions.
My mouth trembles slightly, and I search for the words to utter. "W – what are you doing?" I say weakly, but gladly.
She simply responds with a crooked smile. She pulls out her pistol and aims at me. "Now, listen girl," she says. I stand straight, alarmed against my will. The netters exploded behind me and trapped the soldiers like insects in the cobweb.
"I am going to shoot you and activate your intercom back again. You will have a few moments before you die." She pauses and flicks something on her cuff. "Now, call for help." She said with finality.
She drags the extended netters' wire and pulls the unconscious flock of her teammates close to me. "Here, take this." She hands me the grip and walks away. Her boots spread out to be a hoverboard, and she levitates deftly on the sand.
I speak into my intercom, flabbergasted and weak. "Flair coming in…" I wait for a response.
The static noise ceases. "Joanne Flair, mention your batch number." The robotic voice says.
"205 from the third platoon. I request for an immediate evacuation. There are captives in my possession. I repeat, I have captives under my custody."
"Your location is close to the extraction point. We directed an aircraft towards you right away." The voice from another side says.
I take a good look at Larisska's face. She is smiling, glinting with satisfaction. Her hazel eyes, so warm and calm, as if she has nobody to answer to about what she has done.
"I hope to never see you again." She says and I see a series of bullets coming at me.
My body sinks into the ground, and I lock her face in my eyes.
She saved me. Is she a friend or an enemy? I thought I would ponder this in my revival, but it wiped the chunk of memory.