Untitled: Episode 2 Part 3

Hey, it's time for the finale of Episode 2. It's long, but worth it. Hold on to your butts!
--

Солнце светит, но не греет.

Garrett squinted into the distance. Storm clouds were gathering in the east. A cold wind was blowing from the north.  The rebels were being pushed back in the south.  Since the air cavalry had arrived and the Retale planetary defense had been mobilized the counterinsurgency was proceeding smoothly. The few DSC on the planet when the uprising began were initially overwhelmed (as, Garrett remembered, had happened to him two weeks ago) and pushed back all the way to the Caroe Islands, the border between North and South. Then the Retalan planetary defense was scrambled and the rebels had been in retreat ever since. Garrett, as the highest ranking officer, was the head of all military operations on Retale. Today, he led a troop of mixed DSC and Retalan troops, heading eastwards.

He stood at the height of a hill, staring out at a vast, empty landscape. The countryside was hills and valleys all the way down to the eastern ocean. He lowered the binocs and looked over his shoulder at the mountains he and his troops had spent the previous day climbing. Turning back around, he set his hands on his hips and took in a deep breath. The wind whipped around his scarf, but his uniform kept him warm. His sword clattered against his pant leg. He started down the hill, back towards the village.

Garrett and his portion of the RPD alongside his DSC soldiers had been on a blitz for the past week, but nearly 300 hours of nonstop advances would tire out even the hardest marines. Today, they rested. They had set up camp in and around a small South Retalan village. The village itself was a beauty, a picturesque little item built around a river. Farm plots dotted the surrounding countryside. In South Retale, this was one of the two types of settlements you found. The other half was densely populated industrial sectors filled with sprawling factories. Garrett preferred the rural kind, but it was soon to be an endangered species.

The DSC had set up a few of its tents inside the village, but the majority were back west of it. Mostly a tactical move, so that they could fortify the town to defend themselves in case the enemy counterattacked. Of course, the residents would not be pleased, but then again this town had pledged loyalty to the DSC when Garrett’s company had pushed the South Retalan rebels out.

RPD strolled eastwards through the village as Garrett strolled west. Few civilians walked the narrow, cobblestone streets. On his way back to the DSC encampment, Garrett ran a mental check – Keyhearth and Beybluff and Leminster and Alswold (where he was now), and the next town on the list was Caulfield, South Retale.

--

Caulfield, South Retale. A helicopter passed overhead.

Jay started out of sleep, awoken by the sound of two explosions, seemingly just outside of his accommodation. Throwing on a ragged tee and some grey cargo pants he exited his tent to the sight of two DSC helicopters speeding a couple of meters above his head. Looking further up, he witnessed something quite peculiar.

Two of the three DSC ships, a frigate and a Battlecruiser, that had been in Retale’s orbit for the past two weeks were warping out of the system, their drives tearing into the fourth dimension and sucking them into it. He was brought back down to earth as something behind him exploded.

“Confederacy’s a-comin’!” Jay heard Grey-hair yell from somewhere.

Quickly he broke into a sprint, heading at full speed towards his Space Wasp, parked just behind another larger ship. He was relieved to see it in one piece.

More DSC helicopters flew by, these ones bearing the insignia of the Retalan planetary defense. Jay traced their origin to the west, from the town of Caulfield. The trailer park was east, “behind” the town. In the month he had been here much had changed, most notably the South Retalan rebels that had moved into the park some six days ago. They had demanded a tithe from every resident of the park for their “protection” by the new Free State of South Retale. Jay had paid them his last R$50. Now they would have to follow through on their promise. If the DSC won the town Jay and everyone in the trailer park would be arrested and their possessions confiscated. Jay had no intention of staying.

He popped on his goggles and was about to enter his ship when a burst of gunfire broke out and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He twisted and first saw the three rebel soldiers, then, further back over Caulfield, DSC marines fast roping down from a hovering helicopter. The rebels had their faces up to their eyes covered with scarves portraying the new South Retalan flag – a solid green background, with the flag of the DSC split in two in the center. They were wearing flak vests and pants looted from DSC soldiers, and each carried their own rifle.

“Hey.” Said the one with his hand on Jay’s shoulder.

“H-hey.” Jay muttered back. The two men shifted to block Jay from the back.

“Why aren’t you on the barricades? Caulfield’s under attack.” A helicopter hovered, a mechanical voice reading out instructions to get down onto the ground, hands on your head. Jay saw rebels running west through the trailer park to defend Caulfield.

“I’m not from here. I want to leave.”

“You’re in South Retale, it’s your duty to defend it.” The rebel in front let his hand off Jay’s shoulder as the two behind Jay clasped him firmly in theirs. The helicopter’s voice droned on. He could hear the shouts and gunfire as rebels clashed with DSC and RPD inside the town.

“I’m not from here. I have to leave.” Jay said, wriggling. “You should probably leave too.”

The rebel in front of Jay was about to say something when the helicopter hovering above them opened fire. The first burst of bullets hit one of the rebels holding Jay from behind.  Jay twisted away from the other rebel’s loosening grip.  Jay leapt at the rebel in front, the one who had grabbed him as he reached for something in his left pocket. Jay twisted once more, bringing an elbow around to his temple. The helicopter flew by overhead, spitting out fire as it flew. As he climbed into the Wasp, Jay saw Fat-man and Gold-glasses ducked for cover behind a pile of scrap metal.

Inside the Space Wasp, Jay gunned the engines as fast as their failing turbines would allow them. Looking to the west, he saw nothing but columns of DSC moving through the streets of Caulfield, with helicopters and even a few tanks backing them up. He rotated himself to the east, the sun gleaming off the hull of the Wasp. As he turned to the cosmos, the space was clear, unobstructed by the now gone DSC ships. He knew that one frigate was still in orbit, but it was nowhere in sight. Jay took his chances. He flew off from Retale’s surface just as the first DSC troops poured into the trailer park.

---

The hum of the DSCS-GANYMEDE bathed Weston in warm vibrations as he moved through its halls. The cabin lights cast a blue glow, giving the hallways an almost ethereal ambiance. Weston, having served on the Ganymede for quite some time, had gotten used to it, but the new recruits often found themselves wandering aimlessly in circles around the serpentine passages. As he walked past a viewscreen he paused, looking over at the lazy movement of clouds above the oceans of Retale. The spring this year was an exceptionally nice one, with constant high pressure over the continents. South Retale was exceptionally nice this year, despite being an unending source of strife. Well, perhaps unending wasn’t the most accurate term. He’d heard that the DSC, supported by the Retalan planetary defense was to capture Stronach within the day. Of course, days here were long, so that still left plenty of time for bloodshed.

Besides the sluggishly rotating planet, the skies were empty. The light frigate DSCS-IO and Battlecruiser DSCS-LIVERPOOL had warped out of the system yesterday, responding to a Wheel attack on the planet of Andyal, just beside the DSC-aligned, but largely independent world of Kaisari. Weston briefly recalled hearing about another DSC Battlecruiser dispatched to Kaisari recently.

The briefing room was nearby, and was filling up as Weston arrived. It was a small room in the style of and amphitheatre, with five rows rising up as they went further back. At the center stood a podium, reserved for the ship’s Captain. Ganymede’s captain, a miserly fellow named Takewontson took the podium. Weston sat at the center of the third row.

The briefing was a plan of action for the Ganymede’s next few weeks. As soon as Stronach was taken, the Ganymede would move out to support (if necessary) the DSC at Andyal. The Battlecruiser DSCS-PRETORIA was engaged against Wheel of unknown designation at the time, and the DSCS-IO and DSCS-LIVERPOOL would arrive soon, as you all should know. The carrier DSCS-PORTUGAL should arrive soon to pick up the DSC troops on the planet, as Stronach has just been taken.

The briefing room broke out into a brief clap. A talkative second lieutenant, Samuel, with whom Weston often ate lunch, asked for some details. The captain explained that after the death of Brigadier General Sidlis in Keyhearth, Colonel Garrett Scott came in charge of the DSC and allied planetary defenses on Retale. He took Caulfield yesterday, then continued his blitzkrieg straight southwest to Stronach. His forces had taken it about an hour ago. More claps from the assembled masses. South Retale was now firmly under the control of the DSC and would be governed exclusively by it. North Retale would retain its autonomy under Governor Breton. Anyway, said the Captain, back on track. The Wheel has also stepped up border raids on other worlds on the Outer Rim of the DSC and has been moving into various independent worlds in between Wheel-controlled and DSC-controlled areas.

The briefing continued for another half hour. On his way out Samuel caught Weston in the hallway.

“Man, the way the captain talked about Colonel Scott makes him sound like a damn Superhero.” Weston didn’t really know of the Colonel or his exploits, so he just shrugged.

“You know he was leading the mission to catch that scavenger? The ‘search for the bunker-class fighter’?”

Now, Weston perked up. Samuel began to walk and Weston walked alongside him.

“No, I haven’t heard about that. What’s the deal?”

“Well, yeah, he knew the guy was on Retale, and- He stole a Wheel battery, by the way, that’s why they’re after him- Anyway, uh, he knew he was on Retale, and started a planet-wide search. Next thing you know, civil war breaks out and he’s called off to lead the troops. Now, a whole month later, he’s taking this town of Caulfield, right, that the captain mentioned? Then, vroom!” The second lieutenant made a take-off motion with his hand. “Bunker class fighter flies off right above him. He’s only got helicopters that are no good for space flight. And get this, the Liverpool? It was supposed to be watching the planet for that bunker class fighter. Too bad though, because it’s gone! You’d think this Scott guy would have organized this better, but he’s not really in control of anything.”

Weston was surprised, but concealed his emotions. This was the first he had heard about this. Weston had been told that the DSC presence on the planet was due to the civil unrest, not because of the search for a scavenger named Jay.

“Why didn’t we catch him, then, when he left the planet yesterday? Where’s he gone?” Weston asked.

“Shit, I dunno where he’s gone. Probably to another outer rim world, where neither the Wheel nor the DSC got much presence. Why didn’t we catch him? Hah hah, he’s a clever guy. We’re in geostationary orbit, we stay still relative to ourselves but we don’t stay in one spot over the planet. Like, weather satellites, they’re in geosynchronous orbit, which means they’re always over the same spot relative to the planet, so they always know the weather at that one place. Anyway, I don’t know if it was luck or whatever, but he took off at the time when we were smack dab over the other end of Retale. Took off in the opposite direction. But Scott’s been reassigned to the hunt, now that this whole rebellion business is over.”

Weston was troubled. He moved back through the Ganymede’s halls, second lieutenant Samuel sharing with him his thoughts on the weather, the arrest of magistrate Atter, and the looming war between the DSC and the Wheel. Weston smiled and was silent, his thoughts swirling around inside his head.

Untitled: Episode 2 Part 2

Read yesterday's post in case you forgot something. Hopefully I haven't fucked up the continuity.
---

                The right, honourable magistrate Paulus Atter watched with glee as the chaos unfolded on the other side of his third floor office window. From his perch in the South Retale parliament building, he could see with amazing clarity how Stronach, the regional capital of South Retale, exploded into fire and flames. He observed as throngs of protestors swarmed the lines of the DSC military police, as they threw rocks and Molotov cocktails, and as more and more policemen were called onto the scene. He knew, from reports he had gotten, that similar such protests had started up all around the continent, all against DSC authority in South Retale. It had started as a dispute over the Caroe Islands, but would certainly end in open insurgency against the Deep Space Confederacy.  

He turned away from the window, his hands in each other behind his back. He exited his finely crafted magistrate’s office and moved towards the stairwell through the hallways of the deserted parliament building. He hadn’t called any sessions since the protests started. As he drew further away from the window, the noise of screaming men and woman, the pifs and pafs of rubber bullets and the sharp cracks of glass breaking grew more and more dull. But then, as he came back to the window of some minister’s second floor office, the noise returned. A man carrying a burning DSC flag behind him was running at full speed from a group of riot police, who eventually caught up to and tackled him. Those officers were soon surrounded by other protestors, who in turn were set upon by even more policemen. He saw armoured trucks pulling up around the edges of the civilian mob, and troops carrying actual rifles exiting. The crowd pulled back. Paulus stood silent.

He did not know who had fired the first shot, or how many on each side had been killed. But, at the end of this bloody day, only two weeks after the first reports of disturbances on the Caroe islands, the South Retale insurgents had pushed out the DSC from Stronach. The first city, on a DSC planet, free from DSC regulations in a hell of a long time, as far as Paulus knew. Now, he stood on a pedestal, and gathered before him were the hopes for the new free state of South Retale, in the forms of thousands of armed citizens.

“My people!” He shouted, to a cheering crowd. “You have been treated as second class for too long! The DSC is corrupt and traitorous, seeking to break the backs of those unlucky few stranded on the outskirts of their dictatorial empire! They wish to use Retale as a planet of the slaves, to fund their unjust wars and further conquest of a galaxy that they have no right to own!”

The crowd was delirious. Shots were fired into the air from looted weapons.

“And our brothers to the north, instead of joining us in rightful combat, heeled to their corrupt masters, wishing to willingly continue in their slavery! They are blind, and, like the rest, they must be made to see the truth!”

                Paulus’ arms were raised, his chest heaving. He squinted in the bright sunlight, the sky all blue, and no clouds. The innumerable people of Stronach cheered at his every word. He felt reinvigorated, a new man. Deep down, he had always resented the Confederacy, but he had never actually expected this to be happening. Some would call him a madman, he thought. Others, a visionary.     

---

                “Henry, you’re small blind. Jay, big blind.” The fat man grunted as he dealt each member at the table two cards. Jay dropped in his twenty Retale dollars. The light of the lamp in the middle of the table flickered, the wind blowing the flame this way and that. It was a warm, spring night, and pitch black besides. The other players at the table checked their cards and placed their bets. As the flop was turned, the grey haired man to Jay’s right spoke up.

                “Y’all hear about them rebels in Stronach?” Jay raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

                “Rebels? The hell are you talking about?” Said the dark skinned man across from Jay.

                “Them ones in Stronach, that’s who I’m talkin’ about.”  Reiterated Grey-hair. “They kicked out them DSC boys there just yes’urday. Saw ‘t on th’ news.”

                “Shit man, you serious? I wanted to get over there tomorrow and pick up some stuff.”

                “Not a chance of that.” Said the man with gold rimmed glasses. Jay’s eyes darted every which way as he kept track of the conversation. “The DSC has the place locked up tighter than a nun on a Sunday.”

                “Damn. Partner’s gonna be pissed.” Dark-skin cursed beneath his breath.

                Jay was staying at a “trailer park” just outside of the small town of Caulfield, South Retale. Trailer parks were illegal on Retale under DSC edict, as they allowed for illicit gatherings of civilian spacecraft.  As of some five-odd years ago, civilians on Retale were forced to land their ships at spaceports. Jay opted for the illegal but more discreet option.

                “DSC’s going crazy around the whole planet. Got one or two frigates floatin’ round here.” Grey-hair said.

                “Two, and a Battlecruiser.” Said Gold-glasses. “They got the place fully surrounded. No one’s getting out of here.” Jay winced at the words. No one saw behind his red-tinted goggles.

                “Damn!” Dark-skin cursed again. “I have another partner on New Pallas who’s expecting me next week.”

                “Was thinkin’, though,” Chimed in Grey-hair, “Ain’t two weeks a bit short t’ get enough guys for in-sur-gen-cy? Whachu think, Jay?”

                Jay shrugged.

                “You lived here all your life?” Gold-glasses asked Grey-hair.

               

                “Sure have. Well, I done a lot of travelin’ and I ain’t lived in this trailer park, but South Retale, born n’ raised.”

                “Then you should know the days here are fifty-fives hours long. Back where I’m from, days are twenty hours. Two weeks mean different things here and there.”

                “I ain’t stupid, I know that. When I say two weeks, I know two weeks.”

               

                “Are you guys gonna play or what?” Barked Fat-man. The other men muttered their various agreements. He turned to Jay, and Jay nodded.

---

                DSC Colonel Garrett Scott received a message, delivered to him by an exhausted DSC soldier from the third floor. General Tybalt upstairs had been killed by a South Retale sniper and you, sir, are the new ranking officer. Also, “upstairs” is no longer safe and everyone from there is here on the second floor. Yes sir, thank you sir.

               

                Garrett had been ducked beneath the window of the police station at the time. He was on his way to Stronach to respond to a minor civil disobedience issue. He was travelling through the lowland town of Armstrong, South Retale, halfway to his destination, when he received word the capital had been overtaken by insurgents. They stopped in town, awaiting further orders, and were attacked. New orders had not arrived for the last two hours.

                Garrett crawled on all fours away from the front face of the police station. Three soldiers were ducked in front of the other three windows, waiting for the latest bout of machine-gun fire to end. There were ten other soldiers on this floor, all except two at other windows. The two were at the station’s armoury, looking for weapons.

                On the third floor there were another ten men, all arranged at windows. There were nine, now, with the Lieutenant dead, and they were all down in the stairwell to the second floor.

                Down on the first floor there were twelve men batting down the hatches, for a full platoon of 36 DSC soldiers. Garrett’s men were veterans, taken straight from the inner rim of the Confederacy. He had no information on how many were outside, but they had surrounded them in the police station and had a machine-gun set up at the front. His men on the second floor had managed to stay hidden until the gun stopped firing, and were now firing back. Garrett crawled into the armoury.

                The two soldiers there, a woman and a man were digging through a weapons closet. There were fifteen or so pistols on the floor and three or four rifles or shotguns. All firearms these days were misnomers, as they didn’t use “fire” at all: just like the MAC cannons in space, they shot magnetically accelerated projectiles, so that they could be used anywhere, even in space or on planets with volatile atmospheres.

                “Hey.” Garrett said. The two turned around. The woman was private Torr and the man private Valkyn. Their features except for their eyes were hidden behind their uniforms and helmets.

               

                “Colonel Scott.” Garrett pointed out. “I’m your new CO. What’s in there?”

               

                Garrett pointed to a barred, metal weapons closet.

                “No idea.” Said private Torr. “It’s locked up tight, though, so it must be good.”

                “Alright.” Garrett said. Something exploded outside. “Open it up. I’ll be back.”

                Back down on his hands and knees, Garrett crawled back over to the window. The machine gun had not started up again. In fact, all was quiet as Garrett peeked out.

               

                A shot out grocery store stared back at him, a car burning in front of it. The store’s windows had been shot out. He couldn’t see anyone or anything except smoking holes all around the bullet ridden main street.  Both ways down, the main street was deserted. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. It was a bright afternoon, without a cloud in the sky. No one else had been shot, so the Sniper must have been behind the police station. Far away, Garrett heard the whir of helicopter blades.

An Untitled RECAP

And so it rises from the grave. I think I owe you a big, big summary, since this commercial break was about three months long. Part 2 will prolly come sometime tomorrow, 'cause it's like 10:00 where I am now.

PREVIOUSLY, ON UNTITLED
Jay, a scavenger operating outside the boundaries of the law, scavenges a dead ship belonging to the Wheel faction, a faction directly in opposition to the Deep Space Confederacy, the controllers of the majority of deep space. The Wheel under Admiral Landover show up and fire upon Jay's "Space Wasp", knowing he has stolen a piece of their highly secretive technology. The DSC under Stefan Sonett appear shortly after, and, thinking the Wheel are attacking them, fire back. A battle ensues that the DSC loses, even though Sonett manages to destroy Landover's battlecruiser, the EXPULSION. In the confusion, Jay manages to escape the system to the (relative) safety of Retale, the nearest planet.

There, Jay meets up with Weston Kerchow, a corporal in the DSC and Jay's friend since childhood. He shares with Jay what he knows about what happened at Carnegia, the planet around which Jay found the Wheel ship. Meanwhile, there is unrest in South Retale as the magistrate, Paulus Atter, seeks soveirgnty and independence from the DSC controlled north. Jay leaves North Retale for South just as DSC Colonel Garrett Scott arrives in his pursuit.

ALSO, PERHAPS A CHARACTER AND LOCATION REF. SHEET WOULD BE USEFUL

ORGANIZATIONS
DSC: Deep Space Confederacy. Confederation of hundreds of planets in deep space. Loosely bound and headed by a president. Strong regular army and navy supported by irregular auxillary forces from each of its planets.

Wheel: A splinter faction, but still powerful. Controls about half as many planets as the DSC. Technology is quite advanced for the time, and usually disintegrates into minute, unidentifiable particles when cut off from a power source, making it nearly impossible to retrieve.

LIVING PEOPLE:
Jay: "Protagonist". Scavenger and part outlaw. Stole a piece of Wheel technology. Pilots a bunker class fighter he calls the "Space Wasp"

Admiral Landover: An admiral of the Wheel Fleet. His ship, the EXPULSION, was destroyed in battle.

Captain Stefan Sonett: The captain of the DSCS-PRETORIA, a battlecruiser. He destroys Landover's EXPULSION during the action at Carnegia.

Corporal Weston Kerchow: DSC soldier and one of Jay's oldest friends. Leaks him info from time to time.

Colonel Garett Scott: DSC officer. In charge of the search for Jay, even though he doesn't know it's Jay he's looking for, just a bunker class fighter.

DEAD PEOPLE:
Alexi Perrobs: EXPULSION's comms. officer. Was killed when EXPULSION was destroyed by DSCS-PRETORIA

LOCATIONS:
Carnegia: Asteroid-belted planet. The Wheel battleship DELIVERANCE was stranded here. Site of "The Action at Carnegia", first hostilities between Wheel and DSC.

Retale: Temperate Planet. Divvied up into North and South. North is governed by DSC approved Chadwick Breton, South is managed by visionary magistrate Paulus Atter. See map.

And so

We crawl out of our holes, facing the true coming of winter, but looking forward to the slow expansion of the day.

Also, school is done for the year. Yippee!

Daniel Tovbis exits the nation

Hey guys.
As per Tovbis family custom, we're getting the fuck out of dodge this winter, and we're off to the Canary Islands!

The Island we're going to be staying on is Tenerife, a beautiful tourist Island-y place. One of my dad's old rich Russian friend owns a few villas and he's invited all of his (and my dad's) Ukrainian schoolchums over for a family get-together. Also, he has a daughter whom my mom hates. Damn.

That's all I've really got to say this year. Haven't researched this trip as well as I have earlier ones, but I'm sure it'll turn out okay.

Daniel Tovbis reaches for Harvard

I'm working hard on this application the same way I worked hard preparing for the IB entrance exam - which is to say, not at all.
Then again, considering my mediocre grades and singular, lonely teacher recommendation, I made it in here and I'm doing okay, so maybe Harvard ain't that much of a reach after all.
Hah.
Hah hah hah.
Hah.
They should really have an entrance exam for Harvard.

Things to do this weekend

I'll cross them off as I finish them
1. Gatsby essay
2. OUAC (Waterloo Ac Sci, McMaster Health Sci, UofT Life Sci)
3. CommonApp

The slow degeneration of the nation

...into the inhospitable confines of winter.
Although I vocally let everyone know that winter is my least favourite season, the truth is I have a love hate relationship with it. I hate winter when it's 8:00 am and I'm walking to the bus stop: It's pitch black and howling wind outside. It's terrible. Same goes for when I'm coming home at 4:30 and you'd think it's the 30 days of night north of the arctic circle. And keep in mind I have to walk home a kilometer every day.

I hate being cold, it is one of the worst feelings for me. That's why you might notice me already all bundled up in winter coats and hats built for -20 when it's 6 degrees outside. I enjoy being toasty.

I like winter when I wake up, and it's full bright, no clouds, the sun is shining, and there's puffy snow laying all over the neighbourhood. It's cool, but not windy, and you don't even really have to wear your puffy-ass jacket even if it is -20 outside. I love to ski or skate in this weather. I've gotten pretty good at it. However, days like this come once in a blue moon, so the equilibrium of my love <--> hate relationship lies far to the right, ba-dum tish.

So yeah, that's Tovbis' soapbox for the time being. I've been doing okay, I think.

What I've learned

So from being involved in this tiny spot of drama, I realize that it is indeed better to remain as George Orwell did - an impassioned observer. At least around the BSS area, and at least for the next little while. It's not so fun (in fact, it's horrible) when you realize how much of a dick you can be when you're so used to examining the dickishness of others.

Winterization Pt. 2

We've got a new title! Woo hoo.
It'll probably stick around until it's warm again.

Check yourself

If a man does not step back every so often, even in the heat of the moment, and reflect upon his actions, he is doomed, therefore, to embody that which he hates the most, and thus cause his own destruction.
Sucks, doesn't it?

Winterization

I spent about an hour and a half on this, with Sarah's help, when I could have been (probably) doing more important stuff. "Wasting Time" truly lives up to its name, and now has a new winter-y look.

I'm tired, too

But I'm just gonna deal with it.

Daniel Tovbis is awake.

So I've written and submitted a short story for the CBC Literary Awards Scholarship. Give it a read.
-----

Awake.

            A knocking at the door.

Stefan awoke, but did not stir.

Another set of knocks.

Groggily, sluggishly, he sat up in his bed, his muscles stiff and his body aching. He examined his surroundings. The room was dark and unlit: the light was off and the blinds were drawn across the sole window to his right, betraying nothing of the outdoors. He was in his striped pyjamas, his slippers at the foot of his bed. The television stood in the corner, and its remote lay on the night-table beside the bed. Stefan took the remote and turned on the TV. Static greeted him, the white noise filling the room. Shutting it off, he wondered what day it was. He got up off his bed and slipped into his slippers. He walked over to the window and pulled open the blinds.

The knocking returned, now louder.

            A snow storm raged, obscuring everything outside. If he listened closely, he could hear the winds, constant companions to the storm. He was cold. His blanket, thick and woollen, had provided him some comfortable respite but now that he was up and about it was a different story. He shuffled over to his closet and took out his woollen bathrobe. He had to get to the kitchen.

            Stumbling out of his bedroom, he came into the main room of the apartment. It was likewise dark, the blowing of the wind always in the background. The room was simple, the green walls adorned with one or two paintings, a nice rug covering the floor. Wasting no time, Stefan stumbled on through to the kitchen. Hanging above the small pine table was a calendar, with the dates crossed out to-

            October 29^th. Stefan stared at the date, then glanced out the kitchen into the main room. All he could see through his apartment’s main window was an immensity of blowing snow. How could it be October the 29^th?  October 29^th was – of course. He slapped himself for his stupidity. October 29^th was the day he, and everyone else, fell asleep. Obviously he could not update his calendar if he was asleep. And then he understood that he shouldn’t be awake.

Four sharp knocks.

            Stefan, noticing the insistent knocking for the first time, jerked towards the door to his apartment. Someone was standing on the other side of the door. Someone else was awake when they should not be. But who? On the surface of a planet that was now covered by an immeasurably vast blanket of ice and snow, who would be awake? Why was he awake? Stefan stared at the door, frozen like the world outside of his apartment. It would stay frozen until spring came and the storm left, but now it was inhospitable. He and every single human on the planet should be asleep. But he and one other soul were not.

            To be awake when eight billion others were asleep! And this was only the humans. Was a single body other than him and the stranger outside his apartment walking today? Now that he thought about it, it was possible. Although he had never been awake from October to March for the past fifteen years, he was awake now, and so, he reasoned, there could in fact be more than two awake on this day.

A set of four knocks.

            His attention was drawn back to the knocking: Back to the question of the identity of the person behind the inch or so of wood of Stefan’s apartment door. Stefan sat down on the single leather couch that adorned his main room. Questions, like so many buzzing bees, racketed through the inside of his head. Was this night-time (or was it day-time? With the storm, you could never really tell) visitor a friend of Stefan’s? Awoken by some mysterious means had he come to visit? To be honest, Stefan hadn’t many friends, and the ones that he had did not live in the building. It would be suicide to venture outside at this time of year as the cataclysmic storm raged. Not a friend, then.

            It would have to be someone who lived in his building. But what had awakened them? Had they, somewhere, stashed away one of the old programmable alarm clocks? Owning such devices was a severe felony, especially during the winter. Although he was not certain, Stefan thought that even being awake in the winter months was violating some obscure law. But perhaps that was only in the totalitarian countries. But then again, if one knew that all others were asleep, one could move about in the winter months with no fear whatsoever, as nobody else would know. So that was a possibility.

            The final option was a government agent. A police officer or such like coming in to see if anyone was violating the laws that may or may not exist. But during the storm, all communications were useless and it was impossible to travel out of doors. Stefan’s apartment was small – barely fifteen floors, and as far as he knew no policemen or women lived in it, and besides, they could have no contact with the station. Unless it was all some grand conspiracy by a global shadow government to be able to conduct nefarious experiments while humanity slumbered. But those theories were mostly likened to crackpots and revolutionaries, whom were mostly frowned upon in modern society. But the nagging thought was always in people’s heads.

            Four knocks.

            Once again Stefan looked at the door. All the previous questions at once expunged themselves from his mind leaving only one: should he or should he not open the door? He could just ignore the knocking, slip back under his comfortable covers, and sleep for however much time was left until March. The knocking would stop eventually and he’d be peaceful and happy in his warm bed. This option seemed all the more attractive as Stefan realized it was quite cold in his main room, even in his woollen robe and slippers. He got up off the couch.

            Bang Bang Bang Bang.

            Surprised at the sudden insistence of the knocking, Stefan’s eyes were fixed on the door. Beside himself, he began to move towards it. Opening that door would open up a new world, and would answer so many questions, all the while opening new ones. If he opened the door, he would be a new man.

            Bang Bang Bang Bang

            But again, it seemed to him that opening the door would break some basic law of nature, as both he and his visitor were awake at a time when so many others were asleep.

            Bang Bang Bang Bang

            Stefan stumbled and fell to his knees, knocking over a table. The vase standing on top of it toppled and shattered with a great and sudden noise. Weakly, he lifted his head towards the door and noticed the doorknob slowly turning.

            The door to Stefan’s eighth floor apartment blew open with the force of a gale, winds blowing at insane speeds and with great cacophony. A flurry of snow followed and Stefan gripped the rug to hold on. The pieces of the vase were sent flying across the room. Struggling against the assault of the winds, Stefan looked up at the doorway.

            A man stood in the doorway, clad in a thick parka and winter boots. All around him shone a brilliant light through which particles of snow danced, as if he was an angel come to bring salvation. The visitor was looking straight above Stefan such that his face was hidden by the edge of his hood. Stefan stared upwards in fear and admiration.

            The man’s head turned downwards as time seemed to freeze. The fluffs of snow hung lamely in the glow of the doorway. The sound of the wind died and Stefan’s heartbeat slowed. He laid on the ground and waited. The visitor faced him. A dazzling light emanated from under his hood. He extended his arm to Stefan. Stefan shut his eyes, and opened them.

            The apartment was spotless and silent, the door firmly closed. The broken pieces of the vase lay beside Stefan where they had fallen before. Stefan allowed his breathing to slow down and collected himself. He stood up and walked into his bedroom. Dropping his slippers and robe, he crawled underneath his blanket and buried himself under it.

            Stefan slept.

           

Breathing

Breathing inside a gas mask is not as comfortable or as easy as it looks.

I wish I could write stuff about the meaning of life and love

But it would all be pseudo-"deep" bullshit, so I won't.

I make poost

Untitled: Episode 2 Part 1

Sup fellas, and welcome to an untitled science fiction story: Episode 3, Part I. Enjoy!
--
PREVIOUSLY:
Jay, a scavenger operating outside the boundaries of the law, scavenges a dead ship belonging to the Wheel faction, a faction directly in opposition to the Deep Space Confederacy, the controllers of the majority of deep space. The Wheel under Admiral Landover show up and fire upon Jay's space wasp, knowing he has stolen a piece of their highly secretive technology. The DSC under Stefan Sonett appear shortly after, and, thinking the Wheel are attacking them, fire back. A battle ensues that the DSC loses, even though Sonett manages to destroy Landover's battlecruiser, the EXPULSION. In the confusion, Jay manages to escape the system to (relative) safety.
--
Episode 3: Tensions Part I

Retale – the closest inhabited planet to Carnegia. A quick glance at the map and one will see that Retale is nearly 90% water, and has only three main continents. While the planet is officially a part of the Deep Space Confederacy, a sprawling entity such as the DSC could not possibly govern every world directly from the office of the President, and so Retale is administered by the planetary governor Chadwick Breton, whose offices are based in the lakeside city of Gibson. South Retale is, de jure, also governed by Breton, but de facto the southern continent lies under the control of magistrate Paulas Atter. The third continent is in the icy north, and controlled directly by the DSC, housing mostly research facilities.

Retale is a temperate planet, averaging 22°C year round. Its atmosphere is composed of mostly argon and oxygen, with trace amounts of other gases. Days on Retale are long ; nearly fifty five hours, but the residents make do with mid-day naps. The year on the planet is 160 days long, with an extra day added every 8 years to make up for the slight inaccuracies that accumulate over time. The majority of the planet’s ten billion people live in the densely populated north, but a strong number do man the many farms and factories found to the south of the planet.

It was in a small Gibson tavern that Jay sat, sharing a drink with a friend on a cool spring day.

“After the arrival of VALKYRIE and HESPERIDES, action continued for approx 16. Minutes” Read DSC Marine Weston Kerchow. “PRETORIA scored one MAC hit on EXPULSION, after which intercepted communications reported EXPULSION calling for backup. PRETORIA did likewise, requesting capital ship DSCS-JUPITER. PRETORIA managed to avoid MAC attack from EXPULSION, which struck the HESPERIDES in upper rear missile bay.”

Jay listened with interest as Weston read the after action report. He appreciated Weston a great deal. As a DSC Corporal, Weston risked a lot by copying these after action reports and sending them over to Jay. As someone who did not always operate within the boundaries of the law, knowing what the DSC was up to was extremely valuable to Jay.

“HESPERIDES combusted half an hour following the hit, but most crew had evacuated by that time. Three Wheel Battlecruisers of unknown designation arrived shortly following explosion. Fire broke out in PRETORIA gun bay six after hit by wheel bomber, but was put out quickly. Capital ship DSCS-JUPITER warped in at 0.600 hours standard time, forty minutes after call had been made. At that time PRETORIA hit EXPULSION again, ripping through diagonal from hangar bay to upper AA cannon bay. Follow up hits from VALKYRIE separated EXPULSION into two halves, bringing it out of action.”

Jay was still nervous, however. He had noticed plenty of DSC peacekeepers on the streets of Gibson as he was making his way to the tavern. He had heard whispers of unrest brewing between the north and the south over the governance of chains of islands in between the two continents. The north claimed that, technically, all of the south was under their jurisdiction while the south argued that they should have sole authority over the archipelago. All of this didn’t bother Jay much, as he tended to shy away from politics.

“JUPITER fired upon remaining Battlecruisers, but shots were infective. The cruisers seemed to retreat without reason, but became clear when Wheel Dreadnought FISSION warped in above JUPITER, PRETORIA, and VALKYRIE. VALKYRIE fell back to safer firing distance as PRETORIA and JUPITER repositioned. FISSION scored missile hits on PRETORIA bringing all upper MAC guns out of service. At this time, DSCS – OTTAWA arrived after distress call from HESPERIDES. Unfortunately, direct beam strike followed by MAC hit from FISSION brought OTTAWA out of action nearly immediately after arrival. Very few survivors. JUPITER, PRETORIA, and VALKYRIE warped out of the system at 0.730, standard time.”

Weston looked up from the AAR, dropping the pamphlet on the desk. His neat cut brown hair and well trimmed chin stood out in sharp contrast with Jay’s shaggy forehead length hair and short boxed beard. While Weston was dressed in standard off duty clothes (neatly iron and freshly cleaned jeans and t-shirt), Jay was wearing ages old faded jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt that looked quite worse for the wear. These two men were old friends from before either of them took up their current professions.

“That’s that, Jay.” Weston said. “That’s the shit you caused.”

“I didn’t cause anything, man.” Jay replied. “I just came in there and scavenged a dead ship.”

“Yeah, a dead Wheel ship, you dumbass! Don’t you know you don’t mess with those guys? Whatever you took from there, they’re going to want back, and what’s worse, the Confederates are going to want it even more!”

Jay was about to reply when a voice from further in the tavern shushed them.

“Shut it up over there!” It yelled. “Some shit’s going down on the TV!”

Jay and Weston looked over at the viewscreen. A live feed, proclaiming itself to be from the border with South Retale, showed civilian mobs smashing themselves against rows of DSC police. A bar underneath the video read “The Caroe islands – whose are they?” Strangely enough, Jay watched the scene with interest. He could see rows upon rows of the DSC, along with fluttering DSC flags and hovering DSC helicopters. Jay was nervous. Weston’s words rang in his head. There were plenty of DSC on this planet, and they sure as hell would be interested in the battery. To tell the truth, Retale had seen its fair share of unrest in the past and had never gotten such a strong response from the DSC. He wondered if they were looking for a tall white male piloting a bunker-class fighter.

“I’m getting out of here.” He said to Weston, standing up abruptly. Weston raised his eyebrows.

“Hey, I know you’re feeling a bit nervous, but this is space, here.” He said. “They probably won’t send the assassins after you for a few months, at least. Besides, you just got here, and we like, never see each other.”

“No,  Weston, I gotta go.” Jay said. “At least I have to get out of Gibson. Have you seen the amount of DSC around here? It’s crazy. We can meet up later on another part of the planet. ‘Till when are you on leave?”

“I’ve got another month.” Weston shrugged. Although disappointed in Jay’s sudden departure, Weston had come to accept the outlaw lifestyle of his schoolfriend. Different strokes for different folks.

“Alright, I’ll give you a call.” Jay strapped on his goggles and walked out the door, leaving Weston with two half drunk bottles of beer, an after action report, and an empty bowl of peanuts. A few seconds later, a colonel of the Deep Space Confederacy walked through the door of the 17^th Street bar and tavern.

---

DSC Colonel Garrett Scott eyed every single man and woman sitting in the tavern. The two DSC marines behind him flanked him closely, hugging their rifles carefully. Eyeing the patrons once more, he let his hands fall – his left one by his holster, and his right one by his sword grip.

“Does anyone here pilot a bunker-class fighter?” He spoke out, his voice booming in the small space. No one spoke.

He blinked and nodded.

“Alright.” He said, sitting down at an empty table. His guards moved to stand in front of him. “Everybody get out your licenses. We don’t have all day.”

A short while later the inspection had been concluded, and even though he had not found any pilots of bunker-class fighters, he did find one patron without any sort of papers at all who was promptly sent away to the local constabulary. His business thusly concluded, he and his escorts left the 17^th Street bar and tavern. As the one responsible for finding the mysterious scavenger at Carnegia, he was not a stupid man. He knew that a bunker class fighter traveling at 300,000 km/s could only go so far before needing to refuel, and Retale was the only planet close enough with the appropriate facilities. He had immediately ordered a mobilization of DSC military in the area, with the unrest between North and South proving to be a good excuse to subject all civilian traffic entering and leaving the planet to rigorous searching. Even so, scraping an entire planet to find one man was not an easy task, and he had hundreds of teams just like his looking through piles of papers and tons of locations to find the pilot of one bunker-class fighter. And this was only in the north.

Either way, his next stop was the Gibson civilian spaceport, one of the few civilian spaceports on Retale. If the scavenger was on the planet, he would have to have landed there.

---

Jay’s apartment was more reminiscent of a student’s dorm room than an adult’s place of living. Clothing covered the floor and the dishes had not been washed in at least a week. Jay, understandably, did not spend much time here, as his work often required him to sleep in the Space Wasp for a good couple of days. Walking into the kitchen, he sat down, studying the piece of Wheel tech on his table. What he had was extremely valuable, and Jay knew it. Most Wheel technology – their rifles, their tools, and the most sensitive parts of their battleships usually disintegrated into fine powder after being taken away from their users. But with no power source to disintegrate it, the battery he had was fully intact and presumably still functional. Everyone : smugglers, Wheel, even the DSC would pay him good money to take it off his hands. But it was infinitely more likely that they’d kill him for it instead. In a city like Gibson, Jay knew he wasn’t safe. The Space Wasp, stored in a friendly farmer’s shed a hundred kilometres away could not keep hidden forever.

In a flash, Jay knew what he had to do. Gathering up his things and stuffing the battery into a backpack, he made his way out of his apartment and found a taxi. The DSC would definitely have the planet surrounded by now, so he’d have to go somewhere too sensitive for them to bring an army now. Jay would have to go south.