The exercise:
Write about something that is: unsteady.
A long overdue return to the Wastelands is in order (thanks Greg for the nudge in the comments a while back). I am feeling inspired at the moment, so hopefully the next installment will not have to wait so excessively long.
It was cold enough today that I had to wear pants instead of shorts to work. First time since... May?
I even was rained on for a little bit in the afternoon.
Only 14 days of work remain.
Fall has arrived.
Mine:
I study the items in Master Francis' supply closet by the light of a fluttering, unsteady candle. My left hand is shakier than I would like it to be, but I've regained enough strength to do what I require. I think.
The sack at my feet is already mostly full of the supplies that I need but I am still in need of weapons. I am not impressed by what I've found in the closet. I grab one of Master Francis' needles and test its weight. Running from my fingertips to my elbow, it is certainly intimidating. I'd rather not get close enough to make use of it, but better safe than sorry.
I drop it into the sack and frown at the remaining options. Maybe I should have started with the tool shed where -
"Sebastien!" The automaton's form nearly fills the doorway between the workshop and the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I remind myself that I am doing nothing wrong. Well, not especially wrong.
"Xavier." A few moments of whirs and clicks pass before he speaks again. "Are you intending on killing Master Francis in his sleep?"
"What?"
"Because I must inform you that I cannot allow that."
"No, of course not! Why would I do that? Why would you think that?"
"Then what are you doing with Master's things in the middle of the night? You should be asleep. You still need to recover from your injuries."
"I have recovered enough." Close enough, anyway. "I am going to find the North Ridge Brigands."
"And what do you plan to do once you find them?"
"Blow one of their ships from the sky." The candle is shaking badly now, so I set it down on a nearby workbench. "With as many of them aboard it as possible."
"Ah, you wish to avenge the deaths of your friends."
"I had no friends aboard my ship," I tell him and it is true. I respected Captain Miranda but we rarely spoke. The crew meant little to nothing to me. They were a means to an end, that was all. "This is about the principle of the thing. A man cannot be blasted out of the sky and then walk away without a proper response. That would be cowardice."
"I see." A lengthier pause this time, filled with grinding and clicks. I'm beginning to wonder if Sebastien has malfunctioned when he says, "I will go with you."
"What? You can't abandon Master Francis like that."
"I will reprogram Scout V42 so that it can perform my duties for our Master during my absence. I have done it before."
"Okay... but why would you want to help me?"
"The Brigands are not good people, Xavier. They have done harm to many innocent men and women... and automatons. I will not miss an opportunity to see them pay for their misdeeds. If you are able to get even with them in the process, all the better."
"Oh, I do not intend to get even, Sebastien," I say with a grim smile. "I intend to come out of this well ahead. Those bastards owe this pilot a ship."
3 comments:
It is very nice to be back in the Wastelands. And I take back what I said last time about there being longer gaps in "How the Best was won" :-P I really enjoyed remeeting these characters, and I think it's testament to your story-telling that I remembered them very quickly and recognised their mannerisms in no time. It was almost like they'd never been away.
Plus there are Master Francis's worrying needles... part of me is sure he's actually up to no good!
I was as surprised as the narrator that the robot is going to come along and help, but with the ending it seems like the robot has an adventurous streak so that could be good news! I look forward to seeing this continue, especially with explosions to come.
Unsteady
The Seraph's glow pulsed: the whole room seemed to lighten and darken rhythmically, until the Shedim shifted uncomfortably and said something in a langauge I don't understand. Probably Enochian, but it's not the only one these entities speak. Joachim tilted his head as though he'd not caught what they said either, which made Enochian a betting man's choice. The Seraph lessened the glow, though it still pulsed, and I could see what might have been the outline of wings above it's head. Huge things with feathers each as broad across as my forearm was thick; not flutter in the air like a humming-bird wings, but downdrafts that destroy villages wings.
"Ulrik is upset," said the Shedim, and it took a lot of self-control for me to say nothing. The Seraph -- an angel -- was called Ulrik? I would have expected that for the Shedim....
"It's a taken-name," said the Shedim, clearly reading my thoughts. "You have cultures on Earth that do the same thing: they adopt a name more suited to where they are when they move places. My colleague here liked the sound of it." It paused, looking slightly puzzled, and then said to Joachim, "Is this the species that moo or other one?"
"Can I go?" I asked before Joachim could answer. I was rather hoping that no-one was going to kill me, and getting out of there before any decision was taken in the other direction seemed like a good idea.
"Not yet," said Joachim. "I need to give you something to help ensure that everything happens at the right time. Sit here and talk to the guy who thinks you're a cow for a bit longer while I go and get it."
"Is it far?"
Joachim smiled. "Not exactly," he said. "It's a few hundred years away." There was a taste like raspberry sherbert fizzing on my tongue and the room went slightly pink, then slightly peach. Joachim wasn't there, and my brain was telling me, in a frightened, determined kind of way, that he'd never been there. I tried to ignore it; after all, it had got me into a bar where I lost my underwear and ended up wearing an angel's death-curse. And out of all of that, the underwear bothered me most. It had been expensive.
"The Metatron," said the Seraph, it's voice coming in waves from all sides as though it were the sea and I were drowning, "carries out a higher agenda. You will not be held culpable for assisting it."
"Well, duh," said the Shedim pulling a face that was completely out of place for a man his apparent age unless he was your grandfather. "The Metatron takes without asking, acts without consultation and generally swans around the place like Lady Muck at a Royal Garden Party."
The room went unsteady for a moment, which I understood to be another conversation held on a level I couldn't properly perceive, and then the unsteadiness grew. Like in an earthquake the floor began to tilt first one way then another, then things on shelves started falling off and I found myself taking staggering steps in different directions to try and stay upright. Things only calmed down when Joachim reappeared and I could taste raspberry sherbert again, though this time as though it were repeating on me after eating it. I burped.
"Settle down," said Joachim to the squabblers. "Here," he said to me, holding out a carriage clock. "You're going to need this."
Greg - thanks :)
Ah hah, and so it continues! I must thank you again for this, as I am very much enjoying this tale. I think the Shedim is a particularly fun character to watch being revealed, through dialogue and body language.
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