The Starchild Page 4

  But I didn’t think I was going to have any real say in the matter. By my calculations, it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet and already twilight was beginning to fall on the horizon–blotting out the sun and what few clouds remained.

  But the rest was consumed as was my home and that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

  Just a setback. Nothing more. I strived to console myself in silence as I finally made my final approach to the southwest sector of the settlement.

  I began to breathe a bit more easily in response, but the storm’s winds were kicking me in the back–pushing my bike all over the place.

  It had become even harder still to hold on, even all of my white knuckled ferocity and girlish determination.

  But I couldn’t keep this vector for long. I had to reduce speed at some point before hitting the very first marker. Because after that, I would enter places which would be too narrow for me to maneuver and I didn’t want to cause an accident or even create a scene this far out from Calis’s workshop.

  Two minutes passed me by before I saw the first sign of my journey’s end in sight and braked a bit in response–shedding forward velocity as I went.

  The engines protested a bit, but that was because I had been running them hot the entire time in a desperate bid to get here untouched.

  I saw a few familiar touchstones along the way, some shops I used to haunt as a little girl when I came to town here with my father and Scratch Jones for a bit of business or sightseeing.

  Like all the other small towns, establishments and settlements scattered across the Barren Wastelands, the basic layout of Shark’s Bay was no different from the others which I had visited in times past over the years with first my father and then myself later on.

  The same stretch of abandoned buildings that were either reclaimed or partially reclaimed by the elements, the impressive array of shops which lined the center of town in simple colonnades–but protected by a sand-covered concrete barrier that stretched itself along most of the settlement’s outer twelve mile parameter.

  But even though there had been periods of time–during the settlement’s impressive three hundred year history–were reinforcing the wall was an absolute necessity in the lives of thousands of its residents…?

  A closer look would reveal the truth of the matter.

  The previously rusted beams which were used to shore up its structural integrity had been mostly eaten away by time and Mother Nature’s wrath–leaving almost nothing left to see for the passing visitor such as myself.

  Braking more in response, I managed to squeeze myself between the space of two buildings that used to be auto-frame shops from many years ago–largely abandoned now and left to the mercy of the yearly storms.

  Even with that feat of daring, I still somehow managed to scrape some paint off with a brief kiss from my port thruster assembly.

  My bike protested a bit in passing, but that only lasted for a few more seconds before I popped out into the town proper–from the north’s quad entry–and found myself looking at about three hundred feet of broken concrete and worn cobblestone which led to the settlement’s only water fountain at the center of town square.

  A monument to past attempts at regional tourism that never quite panned out for anyone who cared to remember.

  Shark’s Bay was what it was. And there was no point in trying to change that reality.

  Drifting past the fountain, I could see the well full of snow-covered sand which covered the base–along with the passing shield covering the top of welded steel and a section of blast armor sheeting as its center.

  By and large…? A poor choice for me personally–going by aesthetics.

  I could see the sharp gouges and dings, the scrapes, and the chipped metal fragments littering the ground around it.

  I started to think this was the work of children or bored bystanders because the whole thing looked absolutely pitiful. But even in its sorry state, it still was able to offer me some protection from the storm, from the elements–if only momentarily–but the second I left, I was reintroduced to the still building gale force winds, the nightmarish clouds of spinning sand devils and plenty of grit and dirt for me to suck on as a tasty mid-morning snack.

  I spit a couple of times in response, but I wasn’t going to get out of this one with my dignity intact. I definitely was going to be needing some water after this run into town. That was for sure.

  I wiped my face again to clean it of the sand particles which stuck to my exposed skin like glue, but I wasn’t having much luck, so I pressed on–hoping through blind hope that Calis would still be able to recognize me as his star pupil in training and student of history when I finally got to his place.

  But the trip down this now empty part of town left me feeling absolutely spooked. It normally was busy at this time of day, but the storm wasn’t playing favorites with anyone foolhardy enough to still be caught out in it.

  Like me for instance.

  So I rode alone down this final stretch of Shark’s Bay. But behind me, something horribly shrieked in the background–half a block back.

  I looked in time to see one of the abandoned buildings I passed by collapse like a deck of cards in the wind.

  Then the settlement’s unused sirens started up on their own–adding to the racket–while three more buildings collapsed from the brunt of the storm.

  Fuck! I swore silently in dismay. I may not even make it if this keeps up!

  But the ugly truth–for me–was that many of the settlement’s homeless population of 7,500 people used these places to call home for quite some time now.

  It was a sad state of affairs–even on a beleaguered world such as ours–that the specter of homelessness and poverty was still very much a thing in my time–as it had been in the distant past so many untold generations ago.

  And from what the old man told me over the past few years, there had been little progress in fixing the problem or even dealing with.

  Both here on the surface and up at the space complex of Stratos City.

  Unable to do anything or even help, I turned my back on the horrific scene and continued on–passing a two story building devoid of human activity as well. Pretty much this is how the story was going to play itself out until I found Calis’s workshop.

  But I still could remember a time when this exact building used to host a few parties here and there for any lucky residents who wanted something pass to the time with fellow revelers during the televised pre-heats at Hurricane Flats.

  That brought back some good memories in itself and I could almost picture this place coming to life when there wasn’t a massive storm system bearing down on the region with unrelenting fury: The boarded up windows, the weather worn door now sitting off its rusted hinges and creaking in time with the wind; the three porch balconies above my head–stacked like shipping crates (one on top of another) with just enough ceiling clearance for all involved.

  Sadly, the buildings here took on the appearance of everything else in town–or those abandoned auto-frame shops I passed by earlier–always in sorry shape and being eaten slowly away to oblivion.

  However, good fortune would play a small role in my next newfound discovery: A building up the street was still occupied.

  Shorter than its doomed cousins, this one only had a few floors and one half of a full balcony. But I could see an open window–complete with curtains–and a bright light shining through it on the top floor.

  “Okay. Not so deserted after all. At least not here.” I consoled myself at that point, while getting rid of that lonely feeling presently eating away at both my heart and soul.

  But to be honest, I really hated being out here before a major storm event was about to hit. I liked things better when there were people and the place wasn’t like a ghost town in retrospect.

  The cold reality is that surface dwellers like me and my family were always nomadic. We never stayed in one place for long–always on the move.

  Alway
s on the move.

  But those that choose to remain in place, or remain behind, were the hardiest bunch humanity had to offer. The true pioneers in the human spirit of excitement and adventure!

  And while some of these buildings lining the one side of the street on my left–fewer still on the right–offered some form of protection from the relentless pounding and fury of the storms, it was not often seen as a permanent residence.

  Though from my past memories and what Calis told me, some did try anyways.

  Without warning, a strong gust of wind grabbed both me and the bike and threw me sideways a great deal–forcing me on the offensive and into a new game of tug of war.

  I spent the next few minutes of what precious time was still left to me to correcting the problem, but my bike was having none of the storm’s shit–even though the sound of a strained engine and the lit up display panel in front of me told me otherwise.

  Fighting back–so to right my course and stop my sideways momentum from being slammed into the side of another closed down shop–I kept rallying for the cause, but it was pretty much futile. For every move from me, there was a countermove by the storm and it kept pushing back in response.

  I almost lost control at the last possible second.

  But somehow, I managed to keep myself from becoming a human stain on someone’s unfortunate doorstep–even as the machine’s automatic safeties kicked in finally and shut the whole thing down.

  And that had an even more detrimental effect on the laws of physics. And me.

  The sudden loss of inertia and null gravity allowed the storm’s winds to pick me up in that split second and toss both me and my bike a solid thirty yards–straight up into the air.

  Highly motivated by the prospect of death, I quickly overrode the safety system which had shut my bike down cold and yanked on a handle that was directly under my seat.

  From a rear compartment, a white chute billowed out and snapped into being–yanking me back and forth violently while holding my machine aloft.

  I held on for dear life even as I rode out the storm’s fury for another thirty yards on top of that and found myself thinking the worst of my experience in the process.

  But I was going to come down on something–that much I could see. And after about eighteen seconds of controlled flight, I found out where I was going to end up landing and I hit the emergency thrusters to level my ride out so that I wouldn’t end up falling sideways when the chute was finally cut.

  Even still, I managed to slam myself solidly into the back wall of someone’s residence and buckling it a bit with the rear end of my hover bike.

  “Sorry!” I called out in apology. Then immediately thought that investing in a helmet would be a good reason right now to keep on living.

  I kept apologizing over and over in spurts even as I pulled myself free of my predicament and continued on towards my target destination for now–hoping the storm didn’t provide me any future opportunities for a game of Throw The Ball on my behalf.

  ~5~

  Things here in the old quarter of the settlement was no better elsewhere either. The storm’s fury appeared worse here than it did originally coming into Shark’s Bay forty minutes ago. I was getting repeatedly lashed by the winds as I pulled up along side a small caldera of auto-frame shops clustered in and around Calis’s workshop.

  The old man really did have a thing for both theatrics and advertising–as his business was the biggest in the area and couldn’t be missed for miles on the outside.

  But most of that was lost to the storm’s fury–as I slowly made my way up the street towards the workshop–while keeping an eye on the incandescent light bulb that still managed to shine to me like a warm beacon in the night–now that it was night!–and came to a complete stop just off to the side to his closed door.

  But I wouldn’t have the time to marvel at the storm’s presence or anything else because getting inside was top priority.

  Lucky me, the old man gave me a key to his business after dad’s imprisonment–which I used now after grabbing my pack and walking up to the front of his workshop.

  Unlocking the door, I stepped inside for the first time since the beginning of the month and took a look around.

  Then smacked myself when I realized I could not even see!

  “Jeez, old man…” I berated softly, hunting around in the darkness for the place’s on switch. “Do you ever stop to think of leaving a fucking light on for me to come home to?”

  Using a palm light of my own, I found the breaker panel next to the standing tool chest and flipped the lever upwards into the contact position–thinking that would complete the connection and turn on the overhead lights.

  But instead, I heard a loud clicking noise of something turning itself on somewhere deep in the shop. But I still had no light to see with. My ears picked up the distinct hum of something pulsating in the background–maybe in one of the four large work bays–but I had no way of telling for sure.

  I sighed in complete exasperation. “Okay…no lights.” I muttered mostly to myself in passing–trying to think of some other way to do this.

  But the now lit breaker panel couldn’t tell me anything more–other than the fact that it was now feeding power to something important.

  But what? I openly wondered.

  Then I shook my head and groaned with bland irritation in my heart.

  “How the fuck should I know?” I complained then, before turning back and heading for the entrance of the first work bay. But I could not see very well on the account of piss poor lighting.

  My hand light wasn’t very powerful to begin with and I had to start things off nice and slow.

  “This is just beautiful. Just perfect.” I continued to gripe off and on, while looking around to the best of my ability. “Just what I always wanted for my birthday.” Thanks old man. You certainly know how to make me feel both warm and welcome!

  But this part of the cavernous workshop–with its traditionally high ceiling–didn’t give me anything in the way of answers. Nor did the clean surfaces of my mentor and teacher’s worktables and tool benches.

  I did see some hulking metal fragments that had been put off to the side for future use, but they couldn’t tell me anything useful either.

  “Calis…I swear to everything that’s holy: When I see you, I’m going to kill you.” I seethed with genuine frustration.

  Going over to the comm panel next to one of the larger fragments, I started playing with the settings on the active display panel, but nothing was happening.

  No joy.

  “Okay. So that doesn’t work. What’s next on today’s agenda, girlfriend?” I asked myself at that point–thinking that I had run into a serious dead end with my fruitless searching.

  I went over to Bay One and Two, but I didn’t see anything promising there either. Even the access pit to the Viper X-1’s own hanger bay had been closed off by two armored partitions.

  In response, the workshop shook, boomed, and then groaned under the weight of the storm’s assault, but that reality left me with little hope of finding out where the old man was at presently.

  “This can’t be good.” I revealed with soft worry in my voice. I went over to the access pit, kneeled down where the plate cover would be located at and popped it open.

  Various display schematics flowed across the screen in green relief for a second before the repeating message ‘SAFETY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED DUE TO UNSPECIFIED CLASS 1A WEATHER EVENT’ greeted my eyes.

  Easily translated, it meant the underground bay systems had been powered down for the duration. And that meant, it had to have been done in the last day or so–judging by the time stamp at the bottom of the screen and the operation manager’s code as well.

  Calis carried one and so did I. (Mine was 98507-Z.)

  Closing the plate, I got back up, thinking that there weren’t too many places my teacher and mentor could be hiding out–even in a storm like this.

  Walking towards the rea
r exit, I headed down a large hallway where an open bathroom greeted me on demand. But a check inside didn’t find any evidence that Calis had even been here in the last eight to twelve hours.

  I then checked on the four utility closets, but each of them remained locked by a simple three-digit key code only.

  I poked around with one of them, but the olive drab access pads didn’t reveal anything of my intended quarry either.

  Leaning up against the closet door, I sighed.

  “You’re making this hard on me, do you even know that old man?” I berated softly–never believing for once in my life that he could pull a successful ghost trick on me in broad daylight.

  Then the sound of something dinging sharply nearby grabbed my attention and for a second, I thought I had found who I was looking for.

  It made a perfect kind of sense, right? The only place he could really be?

  “Please let him be there.” I prayed to the gods of good karma above me and sprinted to his last known location in the way back.

  His sleeping alcove.

  But when I got there, all I found waiting for me was a bubbling pot of hot coffee sitting on the small countertop next to the full queen sized bed.

  At the head of it was a small shelf with a few old photos of me, my dad, and Scratch Jones from about twelve years ago. Then another of me dressed in my pressure suit with Calis standing next to my Viper X-1.

  I think I was holding that year’s winning trophy as well. But I could not be sure from where I stood. I was too far away.

  Above that? An old grandfather’s clock ticking away. The time spelled out around 11:34 AM–which meant that I had wasted a pretty good chunk of my time doing a fruitless goose chase.

  “You certainly know how to pick a winner, old man.” I told the stained coffee cup next to the coffee pot. It still had some leftover–and probably cold–coffee in it.

  But I certainly wasn’t in the mood to taste one of Calis’s newest concoctions.

  Where are you? I thought irritably. How can you possibly up and vanish on me like this? Especially with all the shit that’s going on outside right now?