3000 TC
There are some things in this world and often the next that we should not concern ourselves with, for doing so only brings us trouble. But, I am getting ahead of myself here. Let me tell you a story.
Not too long ago, when the Ruins of Eh'zanko weren't ruins and people of all races came and went along this planet's surface, before the fall of the space station, Y'ugganth, constructed by the Amali peoples of Amalya IX, I was having a very ordinary humdrum kind of day. It began like any other kind, miserable and wet. The Sixth War ended a couple of years back and the world cried. Oh, did it cry. It hasn't stopped crying yet.
I awoke groggily, wishing the morning hadn't come. Like every day before it, this morning was bleak, dreary, and misting. You see, I worked at this little place a ways down the road from my house, not close but, not absurdly far. A place called Nesmith's Café. And, I didn't want to go. Rather, I wanted to roll back over and throw the blanket over my head, pretending the world didn't turn at all. Except, I couldn't. It did and old man Nesmith was waiting on me, as he always was. Probably still in his rocker on the front porch of his house that doubled as the café, which is where I left him the day before and just about every day.
I reached over and turned the knob on the side of my lamp. A sharp, brisk light filled my squinting eyes. I struggled to keep the blanket from making its way over my face and with a deep breath of reticence, I sat up in bed, swinging my legs over the side and onto the floor. I ambled over to the bathroom, trying to avoid the pile of clothes on the floor, to brush my teeth and wash my face, thinking I should also run a brush through my unmanageable mousy brown locks. I say ambled but, it was more like stumbled, since I managed to catch my foot in a shirt, because as much as I hated getting up in the wee hours of the morning so that someone else could start their day fresh, I hated doing laundry more.
When I finally reached the bathroom, nearly falling through the doorway, slamming into the door and the corner of the countertop, I glanced into the mirror. The me in the mirror glared back, saying, You fool, don't go. I couldn't help sympathizing with the thought. Except, I knew better.
"I have to, Mara." I said to myself out loud, forcing myself to accept what I was about to do, which meant getting ready for a day full of doldrums, among other things. As a matter of fact, I was actually trying to keep my gray eyes open and fighting the urge to climb back into my bed.
I splashed some water on my face from the jug, I kept near the basin, I called a sink. The man who built my house said something about there not being enough piping to connect a sink but, everywhere else in this rundown hovel managed to have some semblance of running water. Not truly fresh but, it was something. And, for another thing, you wouldn't die drinking it.
A little more awake, I made it to the kitchen somehow, catching my foot in the shirt again, and started the automatic coffee maker. I just wouldn't make it to work for my complimentary cup. I couldn't. Not with the sandman calling me. Besides, we would still have to brew it first.
I glanced at the clock. Five thirty-five. Well, I'll have to take it to go.
See? Nothing to write home about. But, that was only the beginning. Not that I had an inkling of what was to come next.
Like the morning, the day was quite uneventful, if you don't count arriving to work five minutes late and being reprimanded for it. I mean it was just five minutes. But, Mister Nesmith was particular about these things. Something about order among the chaos. At any rate, it passed in a monotony that could have been cut with a knife. The same customers visited and asked for their usual. No one new. Not one person, except for that one weird Sung'mallyan that slithered into the shop just before closing. I mean, he didn't even order anything.
Sung'mallyans were an ever stranger lot. They slid across the floor much like fish, leaving a slime trail, and had two stalks for eyes like snails. Instead of feet, they had fins and had nine fingers on each of their six hands. Let's not forget the blue skin underneath their hard snail shell. They were about as ugly as creatures came. And, I had seen quite a few. Nesmith's was famous in this part of the galaxy. That said, the Sung'mallyans were said to be the better-looking of the four sentient races of the planet Mallya. If that was the case, I never wanted to go there.
The Sung'mallyan came up to the marble counter as if he were admiring the stucco and bark-colored walls, without ordering anything, he, or at least, I think it was a he, I couldn't tell through all the wrinkles, said to me, "Something is coming for you. Something from beyond the void is echoing into the wind your name, Mara." I don't know how he knew my name but, he did. It wasn't like my name was on my apron. Mister Nesmith didn't want to waste money on something so trivial. "I would not venture home if I were you. For if you decide that is the path you take, it will be waiting. Talanys the Watery has spoken." Then, the Sung'mallyan turned to leave. His skin was deep blue, almost purple. His shell, though mostly brown and iridescent green, had a big yellow star on the back.
Oh, go ahead and scare me, then leave, making the poor oak feel the pain of your slime. I said to myself. Then, I remembered something he said, Talanys? I never heard of this Talanys character and I didn't believe the Sung'mallyan. But, I stopped him nonetheless. "What is your name, Sung'mallyan?" I asked, hoping I would have something to tell the police when I filed a harassment suit.
"Ghath'Raejadd, the voice of Talanys." He answered and slithered off as if he had never come, save for the slime.
There was that name again. I felt as though I should know something about it. But, I couldn't even remember what I learned in that one-room schoolhouse. So much time had passed since then.
I knew a little about Sung'mallyans to know that Ghath was his family name, a surname that probably went back generations as the proud Sung'mallyans are often boasting, remarking about how among their whole planet, their nobles tend to keep their positions for lengths of time that humans would often view as eternity. I had also heard somewhere that Sung'mallyans were seers. Though, I never believed such rumors.
Yet, Raejadd's words etched into me. It was enough to instill fear. But, I forced the feeling back.
At that moment, Mister Nesmith came out from the back counting room, eyeing Raejadd, he asked, "What was that about, Mara?"
I just shook my head. I didn't know what to tell him. He shrugged and checked one of the machines behind the counter. If it wasn't a customer complaining about his coffee, Mister Nesmith cared very little about what someone else had to say.
He was a man of great discipline, if it were only for coffee. He liked to make sure the machines were steamed after each close. It was probably the reason that Nesmith's had gained such popularity. That and because this area had very little radioactivity in its drinking water.
"Nesmith Gaito," a voice called from one of the restrooms, only a voice. The term gaito was equivalent to boss in Borda. Mister Nesmith was very particular about who he hired, too. He refused to hire Sung'mallyans. I mean, who would want to slip on slime? But, almost any other race was fine. He had two Amali, one Borda, and one Terran. All women.
The Borda were four-foot, three-fingered, and blue. The quills on their head reminded me of the ones that hung from the Amali's faces and the Borda had the strangest mannerisms, like blinking every time they said something as if it hurt to talk and blending in with their surroundings like chameleons when nervous. Not that, their twitchy protruding eyes didn't also remind me of chameleons. "Nesmith Gaito," the voice repeated, slowly followed by the shift of the background into a miniature blue imp; Smurfette with a mop, "the restrooms are clean."
"Oh, good." Mister Nesmith responded without even turning to face the Borda. "Zazan, the floors are next." He continued to check the pots, ignoring the poor Borda, who now had slime to clean. I didn't envy her. As she was about to bring the same mop she'd used on the bathroom floors to the oak, he commented, "Don't use that mop. The other one is in the wash closet, remember?" He hadn't even looked at her once.
Jeremiah Harcourt Nesmith, the owner of Nesmith's was getting old. His hair was going gray, even though he looked that way for as long as I've known him and despite running a coffee house, his blue eyes always seemed quite grey and sunken almost as if he were half-awake. He also had the habit of looking like he was ignoring everyone else. I learned to deal with that because, as I found out, he wasn't, most times.
I liked Zazan, even if she was a little reserved. Although, not having many female friends probably had something to do with it. Zazan was a little shyer than most Borda, mind that Borda are very shy, and that made her kind of cute.
I learned that she had seventy-five children, as Borda tended to have litters. Of course, birth control was not something the Borda practiced, but then neither did Catholics. I won't go on about the religious faiths of the Catholic Order, the surviving sect of the Holy Roman and Orthodox branches of the apostolic faith; but, their similarities to the Borda were almost too uncanny. I don't know how Zazan fed her children on the salary that Mister Nesmith paid her. It seems, somehow, she managed.
I tried not to concern myself with either Raejadd or Zazan. I had things that needed finishing before I could leave, just like everyone else. I mean, the displays had to be packed back into the fridge and the rolls discarded. And, while watching Zazan pout over mopping up Sung'mallyan ooze was entertaining, Mister Nesmith didn't like keeping bread more than a day. But, he didn't throw them away either. He donated them to the local pantry via his own personal package tube.
Package tubes were a curious kind of technology. Not many people had them and it didn't replace the post office. But, it could send packages to any other place that had one, provided there was a connection. Although, its name was a misnomer. It was more like a transporter pad and unlike most of the technology after the Sixth War, it remained functional. How it worked was a mystery, the kind not able to be solved because the ones who knew were all dead. Except, for Mister Nesmith.
But, there I go getting off on tangents, again.
At any rate, the closing of the café for the day always seemed to take forever. No amount of coffee could wake me now. And, no amount of speed could make it move faster. Not that I did speed. But, when it was finally time to leave, I was glad for it.
I said my goodbyes to Mister Nesmith and watched as he waved at me with the back of his hand, not bothering to turn and face me as most people would. "Lock up would you, Mara." He asked, or more commanded, again without turning to face me.
"Sure, Mister Nesmith." I answered, taking the keys from my pocket. "Come on, Zazan. I don't like to keep the craft running." I turned to leave only to find Zazan appear on the porch. That blending-in thing could give Mister Nesmith heart failure one of these days. But, I wasn't one to tell someone what they should do. At least, not yet. I didn't bother reacting to Zazan's sudden appearance; it had gone quite stale since she made a habit of doing it all the time. What I did do was walk right past her and say, "Come on, Zazan. The daylight doesn't wait for creepers."
Zazan made this sound that the Borda considered laughing; but, it sounded more like rocks grinding together under the weight of the depths of the Pacific Ocean. It grated at your ears. After a moment, she realized I was already by the craft and she ran to catch up. That's what she gets for playing tricks.
I took off my apron and climbed into the craft, strapping myself in. Crafts were like the cars from yesteryear I learned about in my primers; except, they didn't run on fuel. They had a battery that was self-charging and would last about a hundred years. Nearly too long for most human lives.
I had to press the button next to the steering mechanism to start the machine. It recognized fingerprints, and I was very lucky that I could use it at all since I accidentally found it in what I thought was a junkyard, a place called Hazma's. But, it could have been a closed dealership. There was no one there anyway. And, at the time, I was just trying to keep warm from the fallout after the Sixth War. I had only been fifteen then. Anyway, I'll tell you about the Sixth War in more detail later.
The engine roared to life after a slight whir as the battery primed the capacitors. All at once, the craft rose off the ground a bit, hovering in place. Tires had been obsolete after 1175 when the rubber used could no longer contend with the cars' mechanics and speed.
As we puttered along the road toward Zazan's home, she began to talk about what her husband, Kazmel was doing. "Mara Kesho, Kazmel just got promoted to chief engineer at the plant."
First thing first, a kesho, as Zazan was fond of calling me, is an endearment close to sister. The Borda women usually call their sister wives that. Not that she saw me as one of her husband's wives. Secondly, the plant Kazmel worked at provided power for our little town. If you could call what we lived in a town. It was smaller than a hamlet and this plant Kazmel worked at was somewhere on the outskirts of town.
This hamlet, called a town, I lived in was built after the Sixth War, which was probably the reason why everything I passed looked so dilapidated. It was already underway into its second mayoral term and I say that meaning it's had two mayors already. The first mayor, a man named Forrest DeWalt, named this village Atlanta's Rest since it overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. It stood on a level spot in the Appalachians, where the ocean could be seen clearly. Picking this spot is what got DeWalt elected; though, he proved to be very unpopular and served only one term. The current mayor, Benny Goodyear, wore many hats and still managed to be very popular with the citizens. He even garnered compliments from DeWalt. But, I bet Zazan knew nothing about it. Of course, the Borda tended to move somewhere and give no thought to the natives.
"And, Luzan just learned her first word. In Borda, of course." She'd gotten further down the topic of family while I wasn't listening and I really wasn't in the mood to hear about all seventy-five of her children and six husbands.
Not only because I had no family. All my family died during the Fifth War or the Sixth War. No, not only because of that. I wasn't so petty. No, it was because I've been up for way too long and I knew I would have to do the same thing the next morning.
But, I nodded and pretended I was paying close, very close mind you, attention. I had yet to meet this family of Zazan's and we worked together for the last seven full moons. "Mara Kesho, you're going to pass my house." She pointed out the window to a squat little squalidly rundown place with boarded windows and rusted awnings. What windows weren't boarded up were cracked. It was no better than the place I lived in. Hell, we were lucky for running water.
I drew the straw for taking Zazan home, not that I minded, but because Kazmel didn't like her walking home at the end of her shift, considering that it was getting dark about the time Mister Nesmith liked to close shop. Kazmel was the more cautious one of her husbands. Even more, Mister Nesmith didn't like anyone to walk home alone. This side of town seemed so much shoddier than the rest of our humble dwelling and this place really was humble.
There were things that went bump in the night and not all of them were friendly. In fact, most of them were not. It didn't help my wandering imagination conjured up shadows as I had been driving. I kept feeling this lingering notion that something was watching me. I kept shrugging it off.
As I drove away from Zazan's shanty, towards my house, or what I could call my house, I watched as the little Smurfette ran to her tired husband and jumped into his arms. He looked so much like Papa Smurf, down to his long white beard.
I saw the state of this town and pondered the wish of leaving. It was too sad. While I wondered, my place came up on me fast.
I pulled into the driveway, one I dug myself, and turned off the craft. As I unbuckled, I realized that Zazan left her purse in my craft. That thing weighed a ton like it was filled with rocks. I ignored it. I wasn't going back. I could bring it to her in the morning. But, there was no way I was going back tonight; it was too cold out.
I quickly got out of the craft. It was more frigid than I thought it would be. Nights seemed colder these days. I rushed up to the porch. I had to get out of this frosty air. I fumbled with the keys barely getting it steady enough to put into the lock. The minute my hand touched the doorknob, I felt a wave of unrelenting fear. Something about what Raejadd said earlier irked me fiercely. I pushed it deep into the recesses of my mind. I didn't want to focus on it. I took a deep breath and turned the knob. There was a faint fizzing sound. It kept getting louder and louder. This is all I need. I whined to myself. Not having seen too many vidcubes as a child, I didn't think they could mimic life, but even I knew what was about to happen.
Glass, wood, and steel surrounded me. One shard zoomed past me grazing my face. A knife cut my brain in two. I could feel the blood on my cheek slowly trickling down. Sound waves reverberated around my head as though I was under a hundred miles of water. I opened my eyes. I felt like I was hit by a creeper.
My keys were still in the door. The door. The door still stood. How in the hell it did bewildered me. It was an act of fate or something. The doorknob was crushed in my hand.
One of my legs rested on the dashboard. The other on the steering mechanism. Zazan's purse rested just under my lumbar. The stupid purse was even lumpy like a sack of rocks. I was once more in my craft, just not in the way I wanted to be. I tried to look around me. My house was in shards all around me, almost equidistant and in pieces big enough to have impaled me, as though I was the epicenter of where they rest. My craft was totaled. There were scorch marks all over my driveway and all that remained of my house was the foundation. The boiler came to rest behind me. Well, I guess Zazan's purse would have to wait a bit longer.
My eyelids felt heavy. I felt the icy cold fingers of death on my wrist and the echo of the sandman in my ears. I struggled to stay awake. My eyes just didn't want to stay open. Everything started to blur. And then, blackness.
"Mara! What happened here?" A voice called out from the void. "Mara!" It called again. "Wake up."
I turned my head to where I thought the voice was coming from and opened my eyes. I had no idea how long I was out. I only knew the light flooding my eyes, reshaping my world into form.
Someone stood over me, worry in his blue eyes. His nose was crooked from the time he broke it about ten or eleven years ago. When he realized I was alive, relief washed over his face. "Thank heaven. For a second there I thought we were going to have to bury you in The Yard." Then, there was this shock that emerged almost as quickly as the relief.
What? I said to myself. Am I bleeding out? No… no, I think I would feel that. I think. Would I?
He reached into the seat behind me and pulled out my apron. "Geez, Mara. If I knew you were going to put yourself on display, I would have brought you dinner first." He said, laying it over me.
"Nice to see you too, Benny. Now, help me out of here, please."
After a struggle and endeavor to rid the craft of my body, Benny led me to the ambulette awaiting me. Somehow, someone found a change of clothes for me in the heap of debris that was my home. Then, when I had changed and found myself at the edge of the ambulette, looking like a wet dog shivering in the cold wrapped in a swaddle blanket, Benny started on me with the ninth degree. Benny and I have known each other since before the Sixth War. He moved here first; but, it didn't change the fact that it was what it was.
"Do you know how this happened?" He asked. But, I just shook my head. "Do you know who could have done this?" I shook my head again. "How are you not hurt?" I shrugged. He suddenly looked more stern than before. Not that his look had been anything other than serious. "Mara, someone blew up your house and almost you in it. You have to have some idea." He tried to bargain with me.
I wanted to just shake my head denying him any kind of answer. I pulled the blanket around me tighter, both as a way to distance myself from Benny and to protect myself from the cold.
Benny Goodyear was the chief of the fire department, the chief of police, and the mayor of this little shithole. He always wore a beat-up brown fedora over his blonde hair, which was messy enough that the hat couldn't hide it. He only had patches for his beard, though, by the way, he left it there, you could say he was trying his damnedest to grow it. And, as he walked around to the front of me, I could see he wore something Humphrey Bogart would have worn in Casablanca. "You still didn't tell me what happened here, Mara."
"What does it look like, Benny? My house blew up." I said matter-of-factly. I didn't have the time nor the patience to deal with him today. Especially, because Raejadd had been right. Something was after me. Either that or I had bad, bad luck.
"Yes. We have established that. I'm guessing you didn't want that, huh?"
Sometimes, I just wanted to take Benny and drown him or worse. But, he wasn't about to change for me. No how. And no matter how dense, Benny had been there for me when I needed him most.
"Of course, not. What kind of person would blow up their own house?" I knew better than to wait for the kind of answer Benny would give. I never said I thought Benny was bright. "Besides," I added, "when I left for Nesmith's this morning, it was fine."
"Do you know anyone that would want to harm you?" He asked. He wasn't even taking notes or looking around the scene for clues. But, it seemed that he had other people for that. I know I'm no officer of the law, but isn't that kind of what they do?
"No. I can't say that I do." Suddenly, Raejadd came to mind. "There was this one Sung'mallyan that came into the shop just before we closed."
"You know what you're suggesting?" He leaned in close. He whispered what he said next. After all, there were too many people here, especially since the cleaning crew just arrived. "Those words are grounds for an interplanetary incident. If you even suggest that one of the visitors are to blame that will put a damper on their embassies. A great number of them died during the Sixth War, after all."
"That's not what I meant." I defended, standing up quite abruptly. When I realized everyone's eyes were on me, I sat down just as quickly and tried to hide behind the blanket even more. But, that nagging was once more at the back of my mind. "Raejadd came into the shop with a message for me." Talanys. It echoed. "He said something was after me." Talanys. So, I asked, "Do you know anyone named Talanys?"
"What?" Benny's eyes glazed over.
"I'm not crazy, Benny." I told him about Raejadd. I told him about what the Sung'mallyan said. Then, I added, "I wasn't sure how he knew about me, let alone that I shouldn't have come here. But, obviously, he wasn't lying."
"True."
I slapped my forehead. Benny was much slower on the upchuck than I remembered. Maybe, I had just wanted to ignore that about him. In a fallout, there aren't many people willing to risk their lives to save you from automatons. In those days, before everything quieted down, the automatons killed just as many as the war. You weren't guaranteed survival.
Benny laughed. Awkwardly, but a laugh nonetheless. Finally, after a moment, he decided to add. "Go see Silas Dartmouth."