Torthane
Resident schmuck.
- Joined
- Jun 1, 2007
- Messages
- 14
I wrote this a while back and wanted to know what you guys think of it. Comments on style, flow, characters, and plot would be most welcome. Thanks all, and I hope you enjoy it.
Spirit
There it was again, a distant blast that rattled the brochure plastered windows of the little coffee shop.
Spirit switched off her newspaper and looked around the usually peaceful shop. The other customers were sitting at tables near the windows or were sprawled out on couches. Most of them were still sitting down but the apprehension flowing over their faces was almost comically evident. For ten or fifteen seconds nothing stirred in the shop.
Spirit leaned back in her chair and said quietly, “Samantha, wake up.”
“What is it Spirit?” a calm female voice replied in her head; it was her Samantha device speaking. Spirit had only had Samantha for two months, but she already depended on her for schedule reminders, telecommunication, and weather and medical reports. But Samantha was more than a personal computer embedded in Spirit's head; she was a constant source of comfort, an ever listening ear happy to let Spirit pour out her troubles. It was something even her roommate and best friend, Jinny, couldn't handle.
“Samantha, are there any government reports on the gun batteries?”
“For the whole system, or just Seareach?” There was another earth shaking bang.
Spirit inadvertently started biting her fingernails. “Tell me about the batteries in Pillar, Seareach.”
“The Pillar City weapon batteries are active. Are you all right? Your heart rate is up, but I'm not recording much muscle activity.”
“I'm scared, Samantha. What if it's Nocs?” Spirit stared out of the window nearby.
“Stay calm, remember your training, and don't worry. Everything will turn out just fine,” the calm voice soothed.
Spirit wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on the large rectangle of glass and the scene in the streets on the other side. A freezing shudder ran down her spine as she gazed at the people standing in the street. Their faces were turned to the sky and countless hands were stretched upwards to block the harsh blaze of sun mirrors. Hundreds of people, united in that strangest of salutes, squinted up at the heavens.
She stood up and walked over to the window and tried to look worried or unsettled. She stopped at the window and jumped back with an undignified squeak. There was a woman's face in the glass. She stared at Spirit with wide green eyes in an expression of great fear. Her young face was well sculpted from her sharp chin to her high cheek bones. The only features that detracted from her simple beauty were her slightly large nose and a curious little black blemish under her right eye that peeked out from behind a loose lock of black hair. With a sheepish little laugh Spirit realized that she was looking at her own reflection in the glass. The little spot on her cheek was a badge of pride, a billboard advertising that her skin was all natural and had never been touched by Gloride or any other beauty drug for that matter.
Spirit recalled why she had gone to the window in the first place and shifted her gaze upward.
No good.
She pressed her cheek against the window and looked further up, but still her vision was filled with the closely packed buildings lining the street outside. The concrete structures reached hundreds of feet into the air like the walls of a mighty gorge. The building shook violently as another cannon report reached her ears. This one was much closer.
She rushed for the exit and ran out into the broad street; the other customers of the coffee shop and even its employees ran out after her. She ran out into the middle of the intersection of WE-35 and NS-71 and tilted her head back. Like everyone around her she raised her hand to block the giant solar mirror that bounced sunlight down into the cement canyon where she stood. Through the grid of transport rails crisscrossing from building to building she could see the pale turquoise firmament swirling above her and the reason for the horrified skyward gaze that she now shared in.
Spirit
There it was again, a distant blast that rattled the brochure plastered windows of the little coffee shop.
Spirit switched off her newspaper and looked around the usually peaceful shop. The other customers were sitting at tables near the windows or were sprawled out on couches. Most of them were still sitting down but the apprehension flowing over their faces was almost comically evident. For ten or fifteen seconds nothing stirred in the shop.
Spirit leaned back in her chair and said quietly, “Samantha, wake up.”
“What is it Spirit?” a calm female voice replied in her head; it was her Samantha device speaking. Spirit had only had Samantha for two months, but she already depended on her for schedule reminders, telecommunication, and weather and medical reports. But Samantha was more than a personal computer embedded in Spirit's head; she was a constant source of comfort, an ever listening ear happy to let Spirit pour out her troubles. It was something even her roommate and best friend, Jinny, couldn't handle.
“Samantha, are there any government reports on the gun batteries?”
“For the whole system, or just Seareach?” There was another earth shaking bang.
Spirit inadvertently started biting her fingernails. “Tell me about the batteries in Pillar, Seareach.”
“The Pillar City weapon batteries are active. Are you all right? Your heart rate is up, but I'm not recording much muscle activity.”
“I'm scared, Samantha. What if it's Nocs?” Spirit stared out of the window nearby.
“Stay calm, remember your training, and don't worry. Everything will turn out just fine,” the calm voice soothed.
Spirit wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on the large rectangle of glass and the scene in the streets on the other side. A freezing shudder ran down her spine as she gazed at the people standing in the street. Their faces were turned to the sky and countless hands were stretched upwards to block the harsh blaze of sun mirrors. Hundreds of people, united in that strangest of salutes, squinted up at the heavens.
She stood up and walked over to the window and tried to look worried or unsettled. She stopped at the window and jumped back with an undignified squeak. There was a woman's face in the glass. She stared at Spirit with wide green eyes in an expression of great fear. Her young face was well sculpted from her sharp chin to her high cheek bones. The only features that detracted from her simple beauty were her slightly large nose and a curious little black blemish under her right eye that peeked out from behind a loose lock of black hair. With a sheepish little laugh Spirit realized that she was looking at her own reflection in the glass. The little spot on her cheek was a badge of pride, a billboard advertising that her skin was all natural and had never been touched by Gloride or any other beauty drug for that matter.
Spirit recalled why she had gone to the window in the first place and shifted her gaze upward.
No good.
She pressed her cheek against the window and looked further up, but still her vision was filled with the closely packed buildings lining the street outside. The concrete structures reached hundreds of feet into the air like the walls of a mighty gorge. The building shook violently as another cannon report reached her ears. This one was much closer.
She rushed for the exit and ran out into the broad street; the other customers of the coffee shop and even its employees ran out after her. She ran out into the middle of the intersection of WE-35 and NS-71 and tilted her head back. Like everyone around her she raised her hand to block the giant solar mirror that bounced sunlight down into the cement canyon where she stood. Through the grid of transport rails crisscrossing from building to building she could see the pale turquoise firmament swirling above her and the reason for the horrified skyward gaze that she now shared in.
****
That morning had started like most of Spirit's mornings did with the irritating whine of her alarm clock going off. She had tried having Samantha wake her, but the result had somehow been highly disconcerting. Spirit had finally given up the idea after Jinny's constant complaining that the first thing she always heard in the morning were Spirit's piercing shrieks rebounding off the walls of their apartment.
After the alarm's auditory assault was switched off by Spirit's blindly groping arm, she lay in bed for another fifteen minutes as she listened to Jinny singing in the shower to the newest Red Thimble chart topper or thrashing with the driving beats of a 3-2-1-Scream album. Then the music and the water stopped and Jinny went back to her room wrapped in towel, but still playing air-guitar. Spirit got out of bed with a groan and stumbled for the wash-and-waste-room, jokingly known as the double-double-U-room or even occasionally the quadruple-U-room.
Spirit stepped into the dripping shower chamber and switched the audio player over to Amanda Brissen as the steaming water flowed over what she considered her embarrassingly white skin. The naturally dark skinned Jinny even sometimes jokingly called her 'The Albino', but Spirit preferred to be pale skinned rather than pump tanning drugs into her system, and she didn't have the time to take frequent trips to the solar chambers where she could get real sunlight. Spirit let her muscles relax as Amanda's ethereal vocals soared through the steam-laden air.
By the time Spirit was finished with her shower and was fully dressed, Jinny was already munching an energy bar while she ran over the simulated beaches of the Saint Yarren coastline in the DRD, or digital reality dome. Spirit sat down for her breakfast as she watched the news projected on the kitchen wall-screen. She switched over to combat correspondence and got the latest information on the Nocuous War. She had friends serving in the navy and every time the ship losses came up she rapidly scanned over the screen dreading to find FAR-221, “The Harpy”, on the list of starships that had been destroyed.
Her friends' boat did not show up on the casualty report, and Spirit switched over to combat footage feeds with a sigh of relief. She selected 'Victories' from the drop down list and scrolled down to an entry she had viewed at least a dozen times. She usually couldn't stand to watch the combat feeds, but this particular recording seemed to hold her captive. It was like her addiction to caffeine. She believed she could turn away from it at a moment's notice but never actually did.
The recording rolled and she fast-forwarded through the brutal ship-to-ship fighting raging on the screen and resumed normal play of the video after the vicious gunfire stopped and the blood spattered rooms of the Nocuous Frigate were quiet. The feed was coming from the helmet-cam of a young NCI who narrated the footage.
“NCI Perinson, CAS-753. I've got a Nocker still kicking over here.” His voice was unsteady with adrenalin as he slowly walked towards a wounded Noc soldier. His combat boots crunched down on spent shells littering the metal floor with each step towards the convulsing Nocuos curled up on the ground ahead of him.
The naval infantryman stopped a little ways away and continued his narrative, “Looks like she got nailed two or three times in the gut. As you can see, real mess. Dusters make way bigger holes than repeaters.” Even though all Nocuos were clad entirely in jet black armor, the NCI could tell that this one was female from the pitiful moans coming from her streamlined helmet's mouthpiece. Something about the Noc armor always made Spirit involuntarily shudder, almost as if it were designed to look like death. The sleek lines on the arm plates, the obsidian quality of the whole suit, and above all else the emotionless face of the helmet with its chilling stare, the notorious devil's fencing mask.
The NCI continued his shaken commentary as Spirit watched the screen intently, “I'm going to take her helmet off.” He stepped closer with a fluidity of movement that was all but a trademark of naval personnel and starfarers in general.
He knelt down next to the Nocuos and fumbled around with her helmet muttering to himself, “Never seen one of you before....Come on. How do you get this thing off?”
There was a click and a hiss and the NCI detached the helmet. His voice was a breath starved whisper as he looked down, “Oh, God. Dear, dear, God.” Staring up at him was a human woman. She had no hair and no pigment in her face either. Her skin was white, her lips were white, but her eyes, oh mercy her eyes, they were black. Solid black like an animal's. Around the woman's neck was a tight metal band, laced with wires that borrowed into her skin like electronic insects. The cruel necklaces had come to be called 'harvest bands' and were confirmed to be a mind control device of sorts.
Spirit stopped the recording and swallowed. They would never harvest her; she would kill herself first if it came to that.
After the alarm's auditory assault was switched off by Spirit's blindly groping arm, she lay in bed for another fifteen minutes as she listened to Jinny singing in the shower to the newest Red Thimble chart topper or thrashing with the driving beats of a 3-2-1-Scream album. Then the music and the water stopped and Jinny went back to her room wrapped in towel, but still playing air-guitar. Spirit got out of bed with a groan and stumbled for the wash-and-waste-room, jokingly known as the double-double-U-room or even occasionally the quadruple-U-room.
Spirit stepped into the dripping shower chamber and switched the audio player over to Amanda Brissen as the steaming water flowed over what she considered her embarrassingly white skin. The naturally dark skinned Jinny even sometimes jokingly called her 'The Albino', but Spirit preferred to be pale skinned rather than pump tanning drugs into her system, and she didn't have the time to take frequent trips to the solar chambers where she could get real sunlight. Spirit let her muscles relax as Amanda's ethereal vocals soared through the steam-laden air.
By the time Spirit was finished with her shower and was fully dressed, Jinny was already munching an energy bar while she ran over the simulated beaches of the Saint Yarren coastline in the DRD, or digital reality dome. Spirit sat down for her breakfast as she watched the news projected on the kitchen wall-screen. She switched over to combat correspondence and got the latest information on the Nocuous War. She had friends serving in the navy and every time the ship losses came up she rapidly scanned over the screen dreading to find FAR-221, “The Harpy”, on the list of starships that had been destroyed.
Her friends' boat did not show up on the casualty report, and Spirit switched over to combat footage feeds with a sigh of relief. She selected 'Victories' from the drop down list and scrolled down to an entry she had viewed at least a dozen times. She usually couldn't stand to watch the combat feeds, but this particular recording seemed to hold her captive. It was like her addiction to caffeine. She believed she could turn away from it at a moment's notice but never actually did.
The recording rolled and she fast-forwarded through the brutal ship-to-ship fighting raging on the screen and resumed normal play of the video after the vicious gunfire stopped and the blood spattered rooms of the Nocuous Frigate were quiet. The feed was coming from the helmet-cam of a young NCI who narrated the footage.
“NCI Perinson, CAS-753. I've got a Nocker still kicking over here.” His voice was unsteady with adrenalin as he slowly walked towards a wounded Noc soldier. His combat boots crunched down on spent shells littering the metal floor with each step towards the convulsing Nocuos curled up on the ground ahead of him.
The naval infantryman stopped a little ways away and continued his narrative, “Looks like she got nailed two or three times in the gut. As you can see, real mess. Dusters make way bigger holes than repeaters.” Even though all Nocuos were clad entirely in jet black armor, the NCI could tell that this one was female from the pitiful moans coming from her streamlined helmet's mouthpiece. Something about the Noc armor always made Spirit involuntarily shudder, almost as if it were designed to look like death. The sleek lines on the arm plates, the obsidian quality of the whole suit, and above all else the emotionless face of the helmet with its chilling stare, the notorious devil's fencing mask.
The NCI continued his shaken commentary as Spirit watched the screen intently, “I'm going to take her helmet off.” He stepped closer with a fluidity of movement that was all but a trademark of naval personnel and starfarers in general.
He knelt down next to the Nocuos and fumbled around with her helmet muttering to himself, “Never seen one of you before....Come on. How do you get this thing off?”
There was a click and a hiss and the NCI detached the helmet. His voice was a breath starved whisper as he looked down, “Oh, God. Dear, dear, God.” Staring up at him was a human woman. She had no hair and no pigment in her face either. Her skin was white, her lips were white, but her eyes, oh mercy her eyes, they were black. Solid black like an animal's. Around the woman's neck was a tight metal band, laced with wires that borrowed into her skin like electronic insects. The cruel necklaces had come to be called 'harvest bands' and were confirmed to be a mind control device of sorts.
Spirit stopped the recording and swallowed. They would never harvest her; she would kill herself first if it came to that.
****
Up in the sky Spirit could see bright flashes of light. Nocuos landers tore through the atmosphere, their black hulls glowing red hot from the heat of reentry. As she stared up she heard herself repeating over and over again, “No, no, no, no.”
Then there was a terrible roar and the ground seemed to move out from under Spirit's feet. Her vision was blurred as she picked herself up off the pavement, and warm blood was trickling out of her ears. A gun battery had gone off not two blocks away, and she couldn't hear anything but Samantha's perpetually calm voice in her head.
“Spirit, you need to see a regenerative physician. Your ears are badly damaged.”
Spirit didn't respond, but rather turned her eyes back upward again. A brief moment passed and then high up in the sky thousands of explosions went off simultaneously, lighting up the sky in a lethal display of fireworks that tore many of the rapidly descending landers to shreds in showers of burning metal.
The battery had not stopped all of the Nocuos ships, though, and with each passing second the black craft plummeted closer and closer to the city below. Spirit's mind screamed for her to run as Samantha reminded her to see a doctor once again. But it was too late to escape. The landers crashed through the transport rails and came to rest on the road below with bone shaking impact and clouds of dust and debris. When the clouds cleared they sat there like giant mechanical centipedes, their many engines still vomiting flames into the street.
Now Spirit ran, faster than she ever thought she could move, sprinting towards the coffee shop. She flew through the door and slammed against the shop counter to stop herself, not even noticing the bruise on her hip the sudden deceleration had given her. She scrambled over the counter and sat there panting uncontrollably, but hidden from the street.
When her labored breathing finally slowed she could dimly hear muffled explosions from outside and the dull thud of gunfire in her broken ears. She cautiously peered over the counter top, but couldn't see what was happening outside the shop. Though her emergency training and common sense protested, she crept towards the window and looked out at the horror outside.
Nocuos soldiers were running everywhere shooting at the flying security bots that served as the humans' first responders to Nocuos attacks. Despite it all she laughed to herself. She could see civilians scurrying about, shedding any black clothing they were wearing. The security bots tracked friend from foe by the fact that all Nocuos armor was pitch black. Naturally, the human government had discouraged black clothing for safety reasons, but some of the younger people tried to show they were rebellious souls by wearing that very color.
Spirit was wondering if the bots would shoot at her because of her black hair when there was a blinding flash, a staggering impact to her stomach, and she was surprised to see the window in front of her shattered and sprayed with crimson. And then she felt a horrible ripping feeling, as if someone were slowly tearing her stomach open with both hands.
She stumbled back to the counter and clutched at the bleeding hole. She closed her eyes tight and when she opened them again she was on her knees and a Nocuos was staring down at her with his devil's fencing mask. He held a steaming Duster rifle in his right hand and a harvest band was gripped tightly in his left. As Spirit's eyelids closed she could see her face, white and pale with those black eyes staring blindly ahead.
The Nocuos clamped the band around her neck and Spirit left the human race.
Then there was a terrible roar and the ground seemed to move out from under Spirit's feet. Her vision was blurred as she picked herself up off the pavement, and warm blood was trickling out of her ears. A gun battery had gone off not two blocks away, and she couldn't hear anything but Samantha's perpetually calm voice in her head.
“Spirit, you need to see a regenerative physician. Your ears are badly damaged.”
Spirit didn't respond, but rather turned her eyes back upward again. A brief moment passed and then high up in the sky thousands of explosions went off simultaneously, lighting up the sky in a lethal display of fireworks that tore many of the rapidly descending landers to shreds in showers of burning metal.
The battery had not stopped all of the Nocuos ships, though, and with each passing second the black craft plummeted closer and closer to the city below. Spirit's mind screamed for her to run as Samantha reminded her to see a doctor once again. But it was too late to escape. The landers crashed through the transport rails and came to rest on the road below with bone shaking impact and clouds of dust and debris. When the clouds cleared they sat there like giant mechanical centipedes, their many engines still vomiting flames into the street.
Now Spirit ran, faster than she ever thought she could move, sprinting towards the coffee shop. She flew through the door and slammed against the shop counter to stop herself, not even noticing the bruise on her hip the sudden deceleration had given her. She scrambled over the counter and sat there panting uncontrollably, but hidden from the street.
When her labored breathing finally slowed she could dimly hear muffled explosions from outside and the dull thud of gunfire in her broken ears. She cautiously peered over the counter top, but couldn't see what was happening outside the shop. Though her emergency training and common sense protested, she crept towards the window and looked out at the horror outside.
Nocuos soldiers were running everywhere shooting at the flying security bots that served as the humans' first responders to Nocuos attacks. Despite it all she laughed to herself. She could see civilians scurrying about, shedding any black clothing they were wearing. The security bots tracked friend from foe by the fact that all Nocuos armor was pitch black. Naturally, the human government had discouraged black clothing for safety reasons, but some of the younger people tried to show they were rebellious souls by wearing that very color.
Spirit was wondering if the bots would shoot at her because of her black hair when there was a blinding flash, a staggering impact to her stomach, and she was surprised to see the window in front of her shattered and sprayed with crimson. And then she felt a horrible ripping feeling, as if someone were slowly tearing her stomach open with both hands.
She stumbled back to the counter and clutched at the bleeding hole. She closed her eyes tight and when she opened them again she was on her knees and a Nocuos was staring down at her with his devil's fencing mask. He held a steaming Duster rifle in his right hand and a harvest band was gripped tightly in his left. As Spirit's eyelids closed she could see her face, white and pale with those black eyes staring blindly ahead.
The Nocuos clamped the band around her neck and Spirit left the human race.
I'm joking, sorry. But she fails to recognise her own reflection -- perhaps she's dyed her hair! The moral of this tale: Never, ever cheat by describing your characters' features when looking into a mirror; a little ingenuity and you could show us what she looks like without resorting to that old method.
