This story is inspired by the two images below - Desert Ruins by paooo and the man on the right - he was found on Pinterest, but I've not been able to find the original artist - if anybody knows who it is, please let me know so that can attribute properly. I'm not sure if it was the artist's original intention, but the blues and greens on the buildings in the Desert Ruins image made me think of glass, and then it being covered in sand led to this story. Babatunde crossed the ridge, the sand firm under his feet, and planted his staff in the ground whilst he surveyed the image before him. Isixeko Seglasi filled that image – the City of Glass. Here, in the deepest part of the desert, stood the legendary city that Babatunde hadn’t been sure was real until he saw it. He had, of course, heard the legends. Everybody had heard the legends.
They were old – and some of them older than old. They spoke of these towering buildings, rising from the sand like in towers and spires. In the gleam of the sun they were beautiful, perhaps too beautiful to be real. None of those legends told how this impossible city had come to be here, but Babatunde thought that he knew the answer to that question. He approached, seeing as he did that the city was not quite as perfect as it had first appeared. The glass was cracked in many places, each one telling a story of long neglect. Or did he judge too harshly – if none knew how it was made, did any know of how it might be repaired. Did any live here? He saw no signs of it. The sand covered much of the ancient city, and he wondered how much of it might be buried. How much of the original could he now see? Half? Perhaps less? He saw the tips of maybe a dozen buildings, that clearly had their bases buried at least – but how much further down did they go? And how many of them might there be in truth? Still, he approached. He was not worried about what he might find here, whether there be residents still, or guardians of some kind. This place was his birthright, and, even unsure of its existence, he had come to claim it. Or, in truth, had been guided to it. Now he followed that guidance still. As he approached the nearest building, the sand grew looser, his steps descending more and more into it, and he started to use his wide staff to sweep it out of the way. Babatunde was grateful for a breeze that picked up and helped him with his task, blowing the sand from his path at the same time that it made folds of his robes rustle and the pendants he wore jangle against themselves. By the time he reached the nearest building, the sand had given way and he could see a door. More sand still lay on the buildings sloped walls, but the door was largely visible. He swept the remaining sand away from the door with a simple movement of his hand. From so close he could see that the glass that made up the outer walls, along with the door, was opaque, further up he could see translucent sections – clearly windows. Again, his mind marvelled that such a place could exist. He reached for the door, trying to open it, and the glass responded to his touch, collapsing into sand. He nodded to it, showing his respect, and passed through. Behind him, the sand rose and reformed into the same door he had seen a moment before. However, from the inside he found he could see out. He wondered if it had become fully translucent, or if it was still opaque from the outside. He smiled – he might never know, given that he could only be one side at a time. The inside of the building was cooler than he had expected, and he started to explore the inside of the building. The inside was simple and stark, but beautiful in that same simplicity. He found that he could merely place his hand on a wall to change how it appeared – from solid to transparent, and anything in between. With some concentration, he could even change the colours and create rudimentary artwork. As he was exploring, he also found the bones. The bodies were partly hidden by piles of sand, and he found it easy to discover them for above each was a missing section of glass wall. It was as if the building itself had turned upon these people, but he did not know for what purpose. He had a sense of people losing their way and turning against the buildings first – the city had simply retaliated. He nodded to himself and poured a little from his waterskin onto the sandy ground – a sign of respect and thanks for the insight that had been offered. He found the building and its surfaces gloriously malleable and found that he could create doors wherever he wished – the walls were more than willing to respect his will and to shift to his whims. Several times, he lost himself in simply watching the glass become sand, shift, and then reform into the original state. Each time, he caught himself and laughed. He might be standing within an impossible tomb, but there was still beauty, and a joy to be found in it. When he reached the highest point of the building, he willed the glass to allow him to go up, and it formed into a ladder and an opening in the ceiling. He gave his respect for the aid and climbed. Standing on the roof, he could see more. The wind had continued to blow, and the sand had moved to reveal more of the city. Mighty Isixeko Seglasi was even more expansive that he had thought. Looking out he could see at least three score buildings. Was each of them as this first had been, filled with nothing but glass and bones? Or could there still be living people somewhere here? The wind whipped up the sand which, as it reached Babatunde’s altitude formed into a long bridge of glass between his rooftop and a distant one. It was a long walk, on a narrow, slippery beam, but he stepped out without concern. He did not slip – his sandals sticking well to the glass in spite of the smooth surface. The sand that made up the glass did not want him to fall, and so he would not. He reached the other building, and he turned to, again, spill some of his precious water onto the bridge. It collapsed and a hold opened in the roof behind him. A ladder had already formed, and he climbed down eagerly. He had been guided to this particular building – there must be a reason for that. The sand would not have brought him here otherwise. He descended and found it different indeed. In this building, no bones sat in corners, and the walls already displayed beauty in artwork far more practised than his own. He continued his descent until he reached what he thought was the base. There was no door but when he went to make one, the wall refused to budge. He turned back into the building – clearly there was something else he was meant to see before he could leave. And now he did. Unlike the first building, there was another opening downwards which led, he though, under the sand. He followed it and descended down glassy steps. This too was novel – previously, ladders had been used to move through the levels. He followed a passage at the bottom of them, feeling the weight of the sand above him. He soon came to a door but, rather than open it, he made the wall translucent. The room beyond was full of sand. Curious, he opened the door and watched the sand flood out into the passage. As it moved, he saw what it had concealed – the room contained dozens of people, lying on beds. Unlike the other bodies Babatunde had seen, these had the semblance of life and, in fact, some of them were starting to rise from their beds. They spoke to each other with great animation, though in a dialect that Babatunde could not understand. After only a few moments, one of the waking people noticed him and walked over. When he reached Babatunde, the figure nodded to him with hands held out wide. He tried to speak, but Babatunde’s obvious non-understanding he moved his hands in rapid sign language. Are you a Sandspeaker? Babatunde replied, surprised to see the man using the sign language that he had been taught by his mentor so many years ago. I am. The sand guided me here to you. The awoken man smiled widely. Then we are at last saved. I am Imari, and we have been waiting for you. Please – how long has it been? Babatunde returned the smile along with his signings. I am pleased to meet you, Imari. I am Babatunde. I am sorry – I do not know how long it has been since your civilisation flourished. Imari shook his head, though the smile had not left his face. It is not important. What matters is that we are free. The sandhas finally sent us a saviour, one to release us. Babatunde offered his waterskin to Imari who took it and drank. He passed it back to the rest of his people – it would not last long, but it should still be shared. Imari – can you tell me what happened here? Of course, though it has clearly been long if our story has been forgotten. Once, we were a strong people, followers of the sand and the sand gave us a mighty city that we might live well. Over the many years, sadly many of our people lost their way and fewer and fewer Sandspeakers were born. Eventually, there was but one – Faraji. He spoke to us of the sand’s wishes and told us that we took it for granted. Many of us did not listen, and so the sand bade Faraji leave. Before he did so, he closed us in here, those of us who still tried to serve the sand and respect it, and he begged the sand to protect us. The sand told him that it would, but in return he must give up his gift. One day, the sand told him, his line would birth another Sandspeaker, and that one would return and release us. That one would teach us anew of the ways of the sand. Imari stepped close and bowed his head, clearly seeking some kind of blessing. Babatunde, unsure of how to react, picked up some sand and let it trickle through is fingers, onto Imari’s brow, where it slid down to the ground again. Improvised as it was, Imari seemed pleased with it. It would seem, Imari continued to sign, that you are the one we have waited for. Babatunde looked out over the others that were milling around. It seemed that he was. The sand had guided him back to his own people, who knew how many generations later. His own face cracked in a smile – amongst these men and women, boys and girls, he felt at home in a way he never had before.
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This one is inspired on the words globe, embody and entrancing. The darkness of the tunnel retreated before the fire of their lantern, revealing long forgotten passages, bones, and artwork. Under normal circumstances, Liz would have stopped to admire the latter, and possibly to make copies – as it was, she was hurrying her partner Terry along. She wanted to get to the end of this passage – there would, hopefully, be time to explore the artwork further on the way out, but they had to hurry to the final chamber.
However, even she had to make herself continue. She’d been studying this material for years, and to finally be here, in person, was marvellous. The fact that there were Nazis somewhere on her trail was less than ideal, but what else could you expect in this day and age – Nazis were everywhere. She was just happy to have beaten them this far, but they couldn’t be far behind. Sadly, the archaeologists of the Thule Society were actually fairly capable people. They’d already had a few encounters with them before entering the tunnels, though they’d always managed to slip away – they were both scholars and academics, rather than fighters. They’d had to pass various traps on the way down these tunnels, but they’d tried to rest them after they had passed – all the better to slow down their inevitable pursuers. The two explorers came upon a large, stone door blocking their way forward but from the markings on it, this was the final barrier before they reached their goal. They could see etchings of a small sphere on a pedestal which matched references they’d found elsewhere. This had to be it – not just another dead-end which sent them to look at yet another site. She started to push at the door. “Come on,” she called to her partner. “We need to get this open.” He was standing at a distance, looking at the pictures. “Leave it, Liz,” he said, distractedly. “That door has to be six inches thick – we’ll never move it without equipment.” She slumped to the ground. “There must be some way we can open it. We can’t leave it, and we don’t have time to go and get any equipment.” He nodded. “I agree – it seems likely that there would be some sort of mechanism already here, otherwise the people that built this would have trouble. The answer isn’t always to just plough ahead though. Look here.” He was pointing at something above her head, so she stood up and went to stand with him. She followed his finger. Towards the top of the door there was another image that showed one person pushing on a door and it swinging open. “OK,” she said, pondering the other images. “So, there must be a way. But what is it?” “I imagine some kind of counterweight – clearly, the figure here is pushing the door, rather than using some kind of pulley system, so there must be a way to make that feasible.” The two of them examined the images. From behind them, they could hear shouts and cries as their pursuers started moving through the traps. They didn’t need to take care – their leaders didn’t seem to care if they lost a few people along the way. However, it did indicate that Liz and Terry would need to find their answer swiftly. They spent precious minutes looking at different parts of the ancient drawings, pointing out potential answers, discussing possible meanings and then trying things, but to no avail. They heard the sounds of the Nazis getting closer and closer, and they became more and more desperate. “Give me a boost,” said Liz, eventually. “The clue that it can be done is at the top – maybe the clue on how to do it is up there too.” “A boost?” Terry replied, his eyes wide and his expression shocked. “You want me to lift you up?” “Yes,” she said. “We’re running out of time – we don’t have the luxury of niceties at this point.” Still looking mildly outraged, Terry put out one knee for Liz to climb upon. As she went up, he tried to find somewhere innocuous to place a supporting hand, and eventually settled on her waist. She reached down for a lantern, and he passed one up. She looked at the diagrams – she was right that there were more up there, that they hadn’t been able to make out from the ground. But did any of them help. She scanned the top of the doorway and then started to run her hands along it. Wait! There was more that she couldn’t actually see. Too old to be visible, but she could still feel where there had been more at some point in the past. Was it words? Yes, it was. And, thankfully, ones that she could translate. “OK – I think I’ve got it,” she called down to Terry, keeping her voice as low as possible. “Let me down.” He took back the lantern, let go of her waist, and took her hand in his own as she climbed down again. She moved back to the door and knelt down by the side of it. Yes – this was right. Part of the door gave way. She pushed it and immediately started to hear water move. A moment later it stopped, and she tried to push the door again. It worked – the water having moved enough to act as the counterbalance, and they entered the final chamber. The chamber within was exactly what they had been looking for. There were precious and semi-precious stones dotted about the walls and ceilings which she recognised as matching how the constellations would have looked from here at the time this chamber was dug out. However, not only did the stones show the constellations, they were also coloured in a way that seemed to indicate the rough distances to those stars – knowledge that it should have been impossible to come by at the time. In all, the effect as the stones reflected the lantern light was entrancing. In the centre, as expected, was the sphere on a pedestal but now she could see that it was actually a globe, with markings indicating continents and seas. Again – it showed far more knowledge in its making than should have been possible at the time that it was made. Where had it come from? Or, at least, how had it been made. “We could spend weeks in this chamber alone,” said Terry, staring all around. “If only we weren’t being pursued by murderous Nazis?” Liz replied. “Quite so.” “Either way, they’re after this,” Liz said as she walked to the globe in the centre of the chamber. “So we should try to stop them getting it.” “Any idea how?” “Not really. They are quite heavily armed, and probably outnumber us a fair bit. And, sadly, I don’t see any other exit from this chamber.” “I concur,” said Terry, pushing the door shut again. Once it was closed, they could both hear the water moving again. “If we’re lucky, they won’t find the way in that you did and might leave.” Liz nodded. “Yes. If not, they’ll either open it up and shoot us, or have enough supplies to keep trying until we starve. Or run out of air.” “I didn’t say I had any good ideas.” Liz looked at the globe again. “You know, this really is quite remarkable. Look at the detail – there should be no way that the people of this area, at the time these tunnels were dug out, should have known so much about the world. She moved to put a hand on it. “Stop!” Terry called to her. She looked round at him. “What’s wrong?” “We need to make proper records before you go knocking it off.” She smiled. “No danger of that. It looks like it’s attached. See…” As she spoke, she reached out and gave the globe a push. As she made contact with it, something happened. Her consciousness contracted, as if all of her senses had abandoned her. However, her centre of self was no longer herself, but the globe. It was as if touching it had made her embody it. She tried to focus, unsure of what she was doing or what might happen, and her consciousness expanded – though still centred on the globe. She could now see the chamber, saw her body touching her, saw Terry trying to get her body’s attention. She focussed again, and her awareness grew. She could now sense everything in the tunnels. There were Nazis, and they were almost at the door. Again, and she sensed the planet. Somehow, she knew everything that was going on and could view it dispassionately. She was stone, rather than flesh and blood now. A part of her thought that she should be panicking, but the rest of her didn’t feel that was appropriate. Again, and her senses were wider – now she could feel the Earth, and the moon, and all of the meteorites and dust that lay between them. She had a sense that if she tried, she could sense everything. More than that – she realised that, with only a small amount of concentration, she could change things. Her mind was still her own, albeit now housed within the stone, and she knew she couldn’t do much without damaging it. But some things she could do. She brought her focus down again, back to the chamber where she, her body and Terry stood. She focussed on her own body, or that which had been her body. It would be again. She would reclaim it. And then, without knowing how, she did. She fell back slightly but caught herself before Terry had to. He looked at her, a very worried expression on his face. She took a moment to breath and recentre herself. The world suddenly seemed much smaller. “What happened?” Terry said once she was calmer. “You seemed to zone out for a bit there.” She tried to explain but didn’t feel that she did very well. Terry, to his credit, didn’t question her experience of try to suggest that she had imagined it. “We need to destroy it,” he said, once she was done. “If you could have changed anything in the world, of even the universe, from here with it, we can’t risk it getting into Nazi hands.” “No!” she said. “I could use it to change the world for the better. I could make changes to see the Nazis defeated. I could…” “Exactly,” he replied. “Once you’d done that, you’d want to do more. And who knows what else might change because of what you do. And we can’t stand here and guard it forever – it’s too dangerous.” Liz sat, back against the wall. In her heart, she knew he was right. “How?” she asked. “We haven’t brought the equipment we’d need for something like that.” “One of us goes back in and uses it to destroy it.” She shivered. “I don’t know what that would do…” He completed her sentence. “To us? No – I don’t either. I’ll do it if you like.” She shook her head. “No – I dragged us out here. Without my investigation, the Nazis might never have found this in the first place. It’s my responsibility to put it right.” Again, to his credit, he didn’t try to change her mind. She knew, from long experience, it wasn’t that he was scared (though he probably was), or that he thought she was right (though he probably did) – it was just that he respected her decision and her resolve. She was scared herself. She stood up and placed her hand on the globe again and, again, her consciousness contracted and then expanded. She knew that the Nazis had reached the door. She started by moving Terry outside, to a place of safety. He’d be disoriented, but at least he’d be safe. She wasn’t sure if she could move her own body without losing the connection, so she didn’t. Then she concentrated on the chamber itself. The water was moving in the doorway – the Nazis had found the answer far quicker than she and Terry had done. She willed the globe to be no more, to be destroyed, to be empty air, but it resisted. It didn’t want to be destroyed. She had to hurry. She needed an answer. If she couldn’t destroy it, she would bury it. She cracked the rocky ceiling, and set in motion a cave-in. Once she was satisfied that it was done, she moved her body and, as she had suspected, once she was no longer in contact with the globe, she lost her connection to it. Her consciousness flooded back into herself and she looked over at Terry. “I wasn’t sure if you would make it out,” he said. “Neither was I,” she replied. “I’m glad you did.” “Me too.” They stared at each other for a few moments. The relief at her escape was clear in his eyes. After a few moments he looked away, coughing embarrassedly. “Right,” he said. “On to the next adventure?” For a slight change to the usual "three words" challenges, my wife has been setting me picture based challenges. This one is inspired by this picture by by Sergey Samuilov. “Ship’s gaining on us, Captain,” said Joshua Biles, first mate of the Crosswind. He was climbing up to the quarter deck where the captain was currently at the wheel. His long coat flapped in the wind as he climbed the steps and, once he was stood next to the captain, he checked his pistol and stuffed it back into his belt. “How long do you think we have, Mr Biles?” Captain Merelinda Vasquez looked to him, her expression the usual mix of affection and authority that she showed to her old friend, first mate and occasional lover. She was of a similar age to him – her just the right side of 40 and him just the wrong one. Those years didn’t change how she looked to him though – there was still that sparkle in her eye that had made him follow her so long ago, and still that slight quirk to her lips that showed that she wasn’t worried – that confidence that had so inspired him for years. This time, she was overconfident, and he wasn’t looking forward to the battle at all. “If nothing changes, they’ll be on us tomorrow morning, I think.” He raised his eyeglass and looked towards the stern again. “Aye – tomorrow morning.” He’d stood with her for years – the first portion alongside the Republic of Pirates and more recently when she’d turned aside from that life and taken the crew with her. Now she sailed for a crown, rather than the common good of the common man, and the freedom that came with life on the seas. She’d explained her reasons – the money was better, the docks were safer, she felt better to have that letter that made her a part of something greater. He didn’t agree. He never had, but he’d continued to sail with her. With that letter might come a degree of safety and security, but it wasn’t worth it – she’d given up on freedom. In her race to find belonging in a nation, she’d forgotten the belonging that she’d left behind – that of the Republic. The ship following them was flying Republic colours. “I am minded to turn us about, Mr Biles,” Vasquez said, looking straight ahead – not wanting to see his reaction. “If we can’t escape, we may as well take it to them. The men are restless – it’s been too long since we saw battle and if we make port without a take, they’ll have nothing to spend in the taverns.” Biles was torn. She was right – the men were anxious and they would need to be lucky to escape. They might as well get on with it. On the other hand, he didn’t want to face this ship – he wanted to put it off as long as they could. Sadly, there was no way he could explain that that she would understand. “Aye, captain,” he replied after a moment. He gave her a nod, and moved back to the main deck, already shouting orders to the hands. Turning to face them would bring the battle forward from morning of the next day to a few hours away. There were preparations to make. The other ship was now close enough to read the name on the side – the Shark. Biles didn’t know this particular ship, but it had been a few years since they’d left the Republic. However, this was the first time they’d faced a Republic ship, rather than those of other nations or independent pirates.
“Is all in readiness, Mr Biles?” Captain Vasquez called down from the quarter deck. She’d given the wheel to another crewman, and she stood ready for combat herself, four pistols sitting in holsters, and sword in hand. “Aye, captain. The hands are ready, as is the Crosswind.” “Then fire at will, Mr Biles. Chasers until we get close, and then bring us about to broadside on my mark.” “Aye, captain.” He passed on the orders, and the two chaser cannons at the front of the ship started firing in their usual cycle – fire, reload, fire, reload. The range was good, but it was difficult to aim at this distance and the shots fell wide. He saw the flash of the Shark’s own chasers and heard the splashes as they were also missed. “Mr Biles,” the captain called down. “Remind me later that the hands need some training on how to aim cannons.” “Aye, captain,” he replied. He didn’t need to say any more – the crew had heard and understood the rebuke for what it was. The captain was still convinced there would be a later for them – that confidence was part of what had brought him to her crew in the first place. Of course, then they’d been with the Republic, rather than fighting it. He walked towards Vasquez, checking his pistol as he went. He knew that it was loaded and ready, but that didn’t assure him. “Captain – we’ve never faced a Republic ship before.” “I am aware of it, Mr Biles.” “This’ll be crossing a line, captain.” She turned to look at him. For once, those eyes didn’t hold the confidence, the cockiness, that he was used to. She trusted him, and if he was questioning their action, she knew there would be a reason for it. “Your point, Mr Biles?” “Just saying, captain. As things stand, the Republic don’t like us because we left them, but they’ve not bared their teeth at us. We take one of their ship, that’ll change.” She looked at him for long moments, as the roar of cannon fire and splash of missed shots surrounded them. “Nothing has changed in the last few hours, Mr Biles, and the Republic have started this fight. They were chasing us. You agreed that we can’t escape. You don’t seem to want to fight. Are you suggesting surrender?” He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could do so she started speaking again, the confusion in her eyes replaced by anger. “I’ll hear none of it. If you have lost your nerve, you may go below and I’ll find somewhere to put you off after the battle. For now, we are committed, and we will be the ones to sail away after this.” Biles stood tall, like the crew accepting the rebuke. Her words made him angry, as he knew was the captain’s intent. He hadn’t lost his nerve. Far from it. “Aye, captain,” he said through gritted teeth. So be it, he thought to himself – he’d tried to turn her back. The chaser cannon crew started to find their marks, but they hit the other ship and largely glanced off, only causing minimal damage. The shots fired from the Shark were having a similarly limited effect. As they got closer, the damage would increase and, already, splinters were flying up. When they turned to unleash their broadside, that would be more telling. And that time was getting closer. He stood behind the captain, waiting. They both stood their ground, together as they always had, as cannonballs rained around them, and splinters and smoke filled the air. “Bring us about, Mr Biles,” the captain said, calm now that battle was about to launched in truth. “Prepare to fire a broadside from starboard.” “Aye, captain.” Biles replied and then called the more specific orders to the crew. The ship began to move, turning the starboard side to face the Shark. The other ship didn’t turn, presumably hoping that the broadside would largely miss their smaller head-on profile. It was a risky move, but also suggested that they wanted to get close swiftly and board. “On my mark, Mr Biles,” Vasquez said, waiting until they could fire their cannons. Biles drew his sword and placed the point to the captain’s back. He pressed it slightly. “I think not, captain.” She turned, shock registering on her face, pain showing in her eyes. At his voice and her movements, the crew burst into life. Half of them were had been with the ship since the Republic days, and they turned on those that were newer to the crew. They were fewer these days, but they were more experienced, and they had the element of surprise. Biles had planned his mutiny perfectly. The captain said nothing as she looked at him, trying to understand. The cannons went unfired. The Shark didn’t fire any more themselves, their lookouts presumably having informed their own captain of what was occurring. “Surrender, captain,” said Biles. “Give me your sword and save those men that are loyal to you.” “Why?” said Vasquez. “Why?” It was the only word she could utter. “You took a wrong course, captain. I tried to warn you, but you’d set your sails and wouldn’t hear any argument. You gave up on freedom, for what you thought was security. And the men, they valued that freedom more highly.” “No Biles – I went the right way. The Republic has no future – I got us out at the right time.” “Doesn’t matter now, captain. Please, surrender. These are good men, and I don’t want to see them dead.” “And me, Biles? What about me?” “I don’t want to see you dead, either. Please Merelinda. Stand down.” For a moment, he thought that she would. For a moment. Then he saw her eyes steel, saw that resolution in her face. Saw the moment where she went for a pistol, hoping to shoot him before he could run her through. And he almost let her. He pushed forward with his sword as her hand moved and she tried to step back. In the end, he knew her too well, and she must have known it. She fell to the deck, sliding off his sword. He caught her as she fell and lowered her to the deck – it was the least he could do. She tried to speak, but it was too late for words, and only blood came from her mouth. He hoped that she could see in those last moments, in those eyes of his that had shared so much with her over the years, how much he regretted these actions. It didn’t take long for her to stop breathing. He took her sword and held it aloft along with his own. At the sight, the crew knew that she was dead, and that he was now in charge and the fighting came to a halt. He called for the colours to be changed – he still had their old Republic flag from years ago, kept in his seachest since. The Shark stood down once they saw the change of colours – no matter how much disagreement individual captains might have, they would never fly false colours once battle was joined, and one Republic ship would never fire on another. The Shark’s captain came aboard, congratulating Biles on his successful capture of the ship and return to the Republic. The toast rang out over the ship, as even those sailors who had fought for Vasquez saw the way the wind was blowing. “For the Republic! For the Republic!” To Biles, it sounded hollow. Those ideals, those freedoms. He had killed his friend for them. He had betrayed her. And he would need to live with that. The words, this time, were Peru, consider and elegant. Unexpectedly, this has been one of the harder sets to come up with an idea for. “All I’m saying is that we need to consider the idea.”
Agent D shook her head in despair. She’d heard much of it before, and he’d started going round in circles – clearly thinking that this would convince her to believe him. She’d now been stuck in this interview room with him for nearly half an hour and she could actively feel her life growing shorter by the minute. She didn’t enjoy this aspect of the work, but somebody had to do it. He, on the other hand, seemed delighted to be in the room with her. Somebody was finally paying attention to him. His YouTube channel had no subscribers, despite the dozens of hours of video he had uploaded. His blog had no followers. His tell-all book had sold no copies. Even amongst the crackpots of the world, it seemed nobody wanted to hear what he had to say – until now. “The markings that I found, clearly indicate…” He was still talking. “The symbol of the condor clearly represents the heavens in Peru…” Whilst she was in this interview, her partner was busy removing any evidence of what had been happening. This included purging many of his social media accounts. “Along with the evidence of the ziggurats having been built far earlier…” The great irony of the situation was that he wasn’t in here because he was so wrong. He was in here because he was in real danger of being right. “Clearly points to aliens. The accompanying symbology of the serpent, the Peruvian symbol of the underworld…” Thankfully, they had a very elegant solution to this problem. “… suggests that they might even still be here, in some kind of underground colony!” She put on her sunglasses and took her neuralyzer from her jacket pocket. She pointed to the top of it. “Mr. Matthews – could you look here for me please?” He did so, and she pressed the button, causing the device to create its signature red flash. Matthews stared at her blearily. She removed her sunglasses again. “Mr. Matthews,” she began, speaking quickly. “It’s so good to finally speak with you. We’ve been looking for you for weeks, since you went missing from your flat in Croyden – your landlady told us you were missing. If only you’d told her you were going on a long vacation, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble, don’t you think? We’ve booked you a flight home – here is the ticket – and I think it’s probably best if you stick to home for a while.” He nodded, looking confused but accepting of the story. Agent D stood, looking immaculate in her black suit and walked out. This one is based on a picture that hangs in my kitchen. It shows a woman drinking coffee, with a few lines about how wonderful coffee is. That wasn't what struck me about it when I looked at it closely though - it was her eyes, and the stars that run by the side of her face. She seemed timeless, and inspired this little story. She was quite sure that she was the oldest being that existed, and almost as certain that nothing older than her had ever existed before her. She was almost everything and had the ultimate blessing – that of anonymity. She was prevalent in the world that others couldn’t see her beginning and end and, if you can’t mark the boundaries of an identity you can’t truly see that it is there.
She had marked the time passing and had entertained herself in creation – whenever an idea occurred to her, she would create it. It was fun to watch her creations and see what they then created themselves. And the deeper she went, the more and more fascinating it became. And, wonderfully, she could always create – she would never run out of space, as she was constantly getting bigger. And so, she created, and she watched. She witnessed the rise and fall of creatures and civilisations across countless worlds, saw their struggles and their triumphs. She wondered, idly, sometimes if they would ever notice her looking back at them, but they never did. When they were inclined to believe in things greater than themselves, they lacked the understanding to identify her and, by the time they had reached the understanding, they lacked the inclination. At times, they recognised and identified part of her. They would call her ‘night’ and pray that she would keep back the predators. Or they might define their faith by most local star – one of her creations and still a part of her. They might recognise her breath, and hope that it wouldn’t destroy anything. And they would always hope that her tears would come, but not too much. It was always particularly interesting when some of them advanced to the point where they could venture into her themselves – no longer confined by the pull of their own planets, but ready to explore the stars. By that point they understood her, but not all of her. They were ready to move within her, but not to speak with her. And so, she kept her counsel and watched – hoping against hope that, one day, somebody would notice her and say hello. For as much as she had her stars, and everything else that had sprung into existence, she sometimes felt lonely. As she peered through the clouds onto a world teeming with life, and she saw the myriad creatures that called the planet their home, she saw them come together in companionship. She saw them play, support each other and love, and she felt jealousy. She also saw them fight, and kill each other and hate, and she felt relief that she was alone. One day, she happened to be looking down upon a world when one of them was looking directly back up at her. Like so many others, they had developed their optical technology to the point where they could gaze into her. This one saw something else – not just stars and the space between them. This one, somehow, seemed to be able to see the enormity that was she. He smiled as he looked through his device and then stood back from it and waved. Of course, he didn’t know how to talk to her, how to address her, but he had noticed her. He had, somehow, seen the consciousness behind the darkness. And so, she smiled back. She didn’t think there was any way that he could know that she had seen him too, but still she smiled. It was, sadly, the only time it happened – the man died before they could see each other again. However, she watched his home, and followed his family. Generations passed, and they all looked to the sky. She supposed that the man that saw her must have told the story to his children, and they’d passed it on. At the very least, he’d clearly created a love of the stars and the mysteries of space in his descendants and each generation kept the passion alive for the next. She watched the planet, curious about the family of this man that had seen her, that had comprehended her in a way that nobody previously had, through all the eons. She saw them develop, seemingly almost between blinks, from looking at the stars to starting to leave their planet. Their rockets reached other bodies within their system and she smiled at their progress. The family that she paid attention to didn’t get to travel in the rockets, but they kept watching the stars. And still she wondered why that man had been different, why he had been able to see her. Was it simply a matter of timing, that they happened to be looking at each other at the same time? Surely it couldn’t have been the first time. Was he the first to have the faith to believe at the same time as the learning to understand? She resigned herself to never knowing. More generations passed and the family she watched changed their fortunes. One of them, a woman this time, had achieved the dream of her family and was chosen to travel on the first ship that was due to leave their solar system, moving out further into their galaxy. It was the deepest into her that anybody from this planet had ever managed to travel and she found herself unexplainably excited at the prospect at having one of them get so close. Their ship blasted off and she watched it rise into their atmosphere and then out, into herself. As it moved further and further, she watched it all the closer – not blinking, not letting her attention wander for a moment. She didn’t want to miss any of this. She looked ahead, to where the ship would eventually end up, and she was surprised. They would narrowly miss almost a dozen planets before they finally reached one. They had miscalculated – or they didn’t understand everything about her that they thought they did. She looked into the ship. The woman, the descendent of the man that had seen her was alone, piloting the ship and checking figures, computers, vectors. The pilot looked up as she looked down, and it happened again. They saw each other, just as she had seen the woman’s ancestor and they smiled at each other. “It’s you,” the woman said. “The story has been passed down for so long – and we’ve all believed it. But I never thought we’d seen you again.” She heard the words, but she wasn’t sure if she should respond. Or even if she could. She could create, and she could watch. That was what she did. Was it all that she could do? She spoke, without really knowing how. It was like creation – but instead of stars, it was sounds. Vibrations in the air. So strange, that she could only speak to people whilst they were in their ship where there was air, but whilst that ship was within her so that she could reach into it. “I remember him,” she said, keeping it simple for her first time. “And he remembered you. Who are you?” The pilot continued to stare into space, directly at her. “Didn’t he understand? I thought he understood.” “He always said that you were space given consciousness. That you were the nearest thing to a god that he had ever recognised. That when he looked into you, just for a moment, he sensed that there was intelligence. He spoke to you, but you never replied.” “I couldn’t. Or didn’t know how – I’m not sure which. But he was right. Or right enough.” The pilot smiled back. Space smiled too, but she wasn’t sure if the pilot could recognise that. “What is your name?” the pilot asked. “There have been many over the years, across so many planets and so many people. None of them quite right.” “What would be right?” “I don’t know. What about you?” “I’m Claire.” For a few moments they simply existed together. “You’re going the wrong way.” She spoke to Claire quietly, but hurriedly. She wanted to complete the conversation before any other members of the crew could arrive. Somehow, she knew that it would be a mistake to be identified by anybody else. “The wrong way,” Claire replied, shaking her head in confusion. “We’ve been so careful with the calculations.” “You’ve made a mistake. Nobody understands me like I do.” “We can’t change our vector,” Claire said, her head in her hands. “It’s set by ground control – even if I told them they’d just run the numbers again and not change it.” “Where are you trying to go?” Claire pressed buttons, bringing up a map on a screen. She highlighted a planet near a star that was close to her own. That made sense. “I will make sure you get there.” Claire smiled up again. “Thank you.” There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you. I know you will.” And so she did. She withdrew from the rocket and guided it along its path. It required constant attention – ever time she changed its course, the rocket tried to compensate for what she was doing. She found it exhausting – she’d never had to concentrate so hard and for so long before. She was tempted to abandon the effort and put them in the right place in the end, but she was worried that she’d miss the chance. So, she kept up the concentration, and she didn’t move to watch something else. She focussed on Claire, and her ship, and the other people on board. Other than Claire, they never realised how close to disaster they had come. They knew that something kept throwing them off course, but they felt it was simply providence that got them to their destination safely. And perhaps it was, but if so it was a providence from a long time ago, when a man looked up through a telescope and looked into the eyes between the stars. Another new short fiction, this time inspired by the words Flag, Enjoy and Questionable. Blaster fire was the first thing that Sheridan heard when she regained consciousness, and that was enough for her to come to full wakefulness very quickly. She sat up and winced as she banged her head on the too low ceiling. No – not a ceiling. She was in a medical pod and had hit the lid. Only now was it starting to slide open and she got out gingerly, holding onto it as the floor beneath her shook. Where was she?
The last thing she remembered was being interrogated by members of the Singularity, a robotic hive empire. They were at war with her own planet, Cygnus, and she had been a prisoner. But this wasn’t a Singularity ship. Too many flowing lines – the robotic minds of the Singularity preferred sharp angles and straight lines. The floor – deck, she supposed really – shook again and she stumbled to a wall. A small laser pistol had been left on a table and she picked it up. Clearly, she was no longer a prisoner. Or, if she was, to a very foolish jailor. She checked it – yes, it was charged. She’d probably only get a handful of shots off if it came to it, but it was a sign that she was with friends. At least, she hoped that was what it meant. The door slid open as she approached, and she now clung to the wall as she walked. The ship was rocking, and the sounds of blaster fire could still be heard. She reached what looked like a central corridor and headed towards the front. She needed to speak to somebody. As she reached the cockpit, another door sliding open, the pilot turned to face her for a moment. “Glad you’re up. Sit down, before you fall over again.” Sheridan did as she was instructed, moving towards the co-pilots seat whilst wishing she’d stayed in the medical bay. Four Singularity ships could be seen ahead on them in the viewscreen, and small display-in-display in the corner showed that they were surrounded by another eight. They were the origins of the blaster fire, with the shaking being the pilot’s valiant attempts to roll the ship out of the way of each blast – only mostly succeeding. The pilot was another woman wearing most of simple flight suit but without the helmet, reached over and took her hand in her own. She had a smile on her face, and her cheeks were going as red as her fiery hair as she concentrated on the battle. She reached one hand over, taking Sheridan’s in her own. “Morgan. Pleased to meet you.” “Pleased to meet you. I think,” Sheridan replied. The ship twisted, but the seat managed to keep her steady. “Where are we? And who are you?” “Don’t worry – we haven’t gotten far yet. You weren’t unconscious for long. Just leaving Singularity space.” This time Morgan kept her eyes on the viewscreen and her hands on the controls. Sheridan could see that a thirteenth Singularity ship had just appeared. “Wow – they really want you back, don’t they?” Sheridan nodded. “To be honest, they’re putting in more effort than I would have expected. They are at war with my home planet…” Morgan glanced over, interrupting. “Cygnus – yes, I know. Who do you think hired me to break you out?” “I appreciate you doing that – though I expect you’re regretting it right now.” The pilot snorted. “This? Trust me – not the most questionable decision I’ve ever made. Things are going to get even crazier in a minute.” Sheridan looked at the various displays in front of her – the battle from various different directions, short-range sensors showing what was coming up soon, larger star charts, energy level read-outs… Wait – what was that on the short range sensors. “Is that an asteroid field?” “Yes. Yes, it is. It marks the edge of Singularity space.” “So, that is where we’re heading?” “It is.” “There are four ships between it and us.” “There are.” “You’re planning a jump, aren’t you?” Whilst a ship this small would be fitted with a jump drive, it wouldn’t be able to hold the power to make long range jumps without a Carrier or a Gate. However, short range ones should be feasible with enough time to recharge in between them. “Only a short one.” “Into an asteroid field?” This was going to be difficult for the possibly insane pilot – getting the coordinates correct to make a jump into an asteroid field would be tricky at the best of times. Doing so whilst under constant motion and engaged in a dogfight would be much harder. “You got a better idea? No – I didn’t think so, so sit back and enjoy it.” “They won’t break off pursuit just because we’re out of their territory though.” “No – they’ll keep chasing us. But the asteroids will slow them down and mean we don’t have to deal with them all at the same time.” “But you have a plan for beyond that, right?” “Absolutely – just need to get you to a neutral sovereign power. Can’t take you home, obviously, as you’re at war. However, they won’t invade neutral sovereign space.” The ship shook as Morgan punched numbers into her console, rapidly running calculations to make the jump. “You’re sure?” “Yep – now hold on. This could get bumpy.” Morgan pushed forward the control that activated her jump drive and the stars around them became blurs for a moment, the Singularity ships disappearing. Then the asteroids appeared all around them, one too close and too fast to avoid. It glanced off the ship, shaking it but not causing significant damage. Sheridan looked into the controls and view displays and saw that the Singularity ships had formed up to give chase. “They aren’t giving up,” she said, looking at the pilot who had a huge grin on her face. “Didn’t expect them to,” Morgan said, taking a moment to look over at her guest. “Don’t worry. We’ll soon be free of them. They take interstellar law very seriously – they won’t invade a sovereign territory, even for you.” “Are there any close enough that won’t just extradite me anyway?” “One. We’re heading for Morgania.” “Morgania? I’ve never heard of it.” “Most people haven’t – it’s very small. However, I can assure you that it is a registered member of the Interstellar Nations.” Sheridan studied the star maps closely. They were familiar – nothing out of the ordinary. Where was this Morgania? She couldn’t see it anywhere. This asteroid field was neutral space, and on the other side would be various planetary territories, depending on where they came out. She looked closely at the field and saw a small dot on one of the larger asteroids. “An asteroid?” “Yes. Once we get there and the Grand High Pirate Queen offers you sanctuary, they’ll give up the chase. Morgania can tie up the Singularity in legalities and delays for at least two years, in which time you can still be working with your people remotely.” “Grand High Pirate Queen?” “That is the official title of the ruler of Morgania.” “And they won’t invade?” “Not a chance. They won’t do that without a formal declaration of war, and their cost/benefit analysis will show that it isn’t worth it. This isn’t our first time.” Sheridan looked in the viewscreens and saw that the Singularity ships had stopped their pursuit, and they were heading directly towards a large asteroid. The short-range sensors were now showing it – it was, apparently, Morgania Delta. She shook her head in disbelief. She looked at the pilot. “What is Morgania’s population?” Morgan smiled at her. “Just the one. Once you are accepted as an asylum seeker, sort of two.” “You’re the Grand High Pirate Queen?” “At your service.” Morgan brought the ship down to land. Sheridan shook her head again. How could this be? She voiced the question. “How?” “Easy,” said Morgan as the ship touched down. “I planted a flag.” A new flash fiction, inspired by the words Hotel, Pogo, and Glistening. The rain fell heavily, making a noise of exactly 62 decibels, according to the head’s up display that the computer that she was attached to provided. She looked around, already feeling the rain even though her true body was perfectly dry back in her office. She raised a hand to her ear (in reality, her headset) and spoke: “Control – this is Damson. I’m in and looking around.”
Damson dropped her hand back and glanced up and down the street. Cars moved, but distantly, and the Hotel Flamingo stood before her. It made sense that everybody would be inside – even if their true bodies were home and dry, the sensation of the cold and wet was still unpleasant. She raised her collar and crossed the glistening street to the hotel’s main entrance. She moved carefully – too many Virtual Agents made the mistake of thinking that this world was a game. Invariably, they either died or learned that they were mistaken. Damson had seen enough of both to take it more seriously. Whilst some worlds might just be games, or places where people could meet up, some servers were far more. This one was as dangerous as they came. The technology needed to enter the VirtualScape varied depending on the server requirements. This one required full immersion, which meant that the headset that she was wearing could cause psychosomatic responses in her body. Standing out in this virtual rain for too long would mean she caught a cold, even though her true body would remain dry. And getting shot could stop her heart. A part of her struggled to believe that these things had ever been invented. Surely, the real world was dangerous enough that coming into the VirtualScape should be a safe haven. However, somebody did develop it and then the controlled risks were considered exciting by a certain subset of society. Then the criminal gangs and other organisations got hold of it and started working here. And where the criminals worked, the police had to follow. Damson could hear music from within the hotel – not surprising. Not everybody who frequented a server like this would be a criminal – they would be here for the buzz of going somewhere they shouldn’t, somewhere dangerous, and they would enjoy a good party. Here, everything was cheap because there was no material cost, but the body could still become drunk. They could hook up with others with no risk of pregnancy – nobody had developed technology that could do that yet! According to their investigation to date, however, there was more going on inside the Flamingo. Whilst the bottom floors would be dedicated to parties and hook ups, the upper floors were occupied by a criminal organisation, the Thorn, that specialised in extorting people for information after abducting them in places like this – if they couldn’t move their hands, they couldn’t leave the VirtualScape. And once the server reset, there would be almost no evidence to be found. “Control – I’m about to enter the Flamingo,” she said again, holding her hand to her head. “Prepare to start the attack on my mark. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Mark.” As she finished her count and lowered her hand, there was a flicker across the sky – barely visible through the rain, but she had known to look out for it. It was a calculated risk, but a cyber-attack on one of these servers could cause glitches which could prove helpful. Or disastrous. However, given that only she would know to look out for it, she should maintain the advantage. She moved in, dress flowing as she did, looking for all the world like just another person here for the party and the drinks. She smiled at people as she walked past, looking for signs of the glitches. People were dancing – or what they called dancing these days. Her display told her the names of them as she walked – flossing, pogoing, and various others that even her computer aided vision struggled to identify. Many people drinking at the bar. Unusual outfits – though not particularly unusual for the VirtualScape, given people could appear as anything they wanted here. She continued moving through, noting tv screens showing different things along one wall. One was a football match, one an old romantic comedy, one a reality tv-show, various other things. She stopped and looked at the last one – according to her display, it appeared to be a national pogo-stick championship. That was almost certainly part of the glitch – she couldn’t imagine anybody wanting to actually watch it. She kept going, seeing pictures on walls. Most of them were very artistic – it appeared the virtual architect had worked to make this place fairly similar to the real Hotel Flamingo. Some of them were very out of place – perhaps here due to partygoers adding them. An elephant balancing on a beach ball. A chimpanzee in a suit which her display identified as being a character from a comic book called the Umbrella Academy. Children flying kites. If the attack had worked, the glitch would be making things from people’s subconsciouses appear. Sometimes that was helpful, but only if you could identify the patterns and work out what they were. She kept moving through the foyer, avoiding dancers as best she could, looking like she belonged here. In fact, looking like she belonged upstairs. She reached an elevator and pushed a button. The doors slid open, revealing a man in a suit. He looked very out of place amongst the fancy dresses and other outfits of the partiers, not just for his attire, but for his expression. This was a face, Damson reckoned, that rarely smiled. He looked her up and down and then said one simple word. “Password?” She thought back to what she had seen, allowing her display to review some parts of it, seeking a pattern. If there was a password, it would be on a great many people’s minds, and the glitch should have shown it up. She stepped into the elevator, making a guess. “Pogo.” The man pressed a button – up to the penthouse. It seemed she had gotten it right. “Any trouble?” she tried, whilst waiting for the elevator to reach the top. The man shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve got the kid upstairs, but he’s not started talking yet.” Damson nodded, hiding any expression of sympathy for the young man. Her people had already found his true body which was how they had been able to track his virtual self to the Flamingo. However, they couldn’t just remove the headset – otherwise the synaptic shock might kill him anyway, or at the least do considerable damage to his brain. Probably repairable damage. Probably. This was the kind of thing she specialised in – getting in, using the VirtualScape to her advantage, and getting people to the point where they could trigger the exit procedure themselves. “Damson,” came a voice in her eat. Control. They were actually communicating with her true body, so there was no danger of the man in the elevator with her hearing it. The same couldn’t be said of any replies though. “Our people on the ground confirm that Mr Salatio has been tortured – his true body has responded to their actions in the VirtualScape. Medics are working on him, but he can’t take much more punishment.” “Understood,” she replied. The man with her nodded, assuming the response was to him. As the elevator climbed the last few floors she crouched, as if to tie a bootlace. The man looked down at her to see what she was doing but was still surprised when she surged to her feet, a fist pointed upwards, taking him directly in the chin. His head snapped back and he fell, unconscious, to the elevator floor. The elevator made a soft sound as it reached the top floor, and then the door started to slide open. She was moving as soon as she could slip through the cracks. No time now for pretence – she had to move and move quickly. Her virtual self was far stronger and quicker than her true body, but the same would be true of the criminals in the room. She moved her head quickly as she moved, taking in the surroundings. The young man – Mr Salatio – was tied to a chair, looking very much the worse for wear. He was surrounded by four men, all wearing suits that matched the one that the man in the elevator had been wearing. An additional man was falling back from the chair, having been the one facing the elevator. He had already pulled some kind of gun, and was shooting, but the bullets only left trails in the wall that showed where she had been. His suit was different – pinstripe, where the others were plainer. He was probably in charge. She ran up the wall, his bullets trailing her still and dropped down behind him, pulling a knife as she moved and putting it to his neck. “Time to call it a day, sugar,” she said, her words dripping with honey. “You’ve clearly had some fun, but I’m here for the boy. I’ll kill you if I have to, but if you drop your weapon and you and your thugs leave the ‘Scape, I’ll just take him and go.” She’d like to be able to take them all in, and her headset was already reaching out those that the criminals were wearing, trying to analyse their signals and work out where their true bodies were. Maybe they would get people to them in time. “You know it makes sense.” He nodded carefully, dropping his gun. The men around her all lifted their hands to their heads, pressing the buttons in the real world that would disconnect them from this virtual world. It was only a few moments before she was along with Salatio. “Control – we’re alone. Lock down the server.” To her vision a red glow started to permeate everything, showing that nobody could enter the server. The lockdown wouldn’t last long, but it should be long enough. She moved to the man – boy really – and untied his ropes. “My name is Damson, and I’m with the Virtual Agents. Nod if you can understand me.” He nodded. “I need you to disconnect from the ‘Scape. There are medics and more of my people waiting for you to wake up.” He nodded again and tried to lift his arms. She saw that they had been badly damaged by the escaping members of the Thorn. She took his hands in her own and lifted them to his head. He gave one final nod of gratitude and disappeared as he was able to disconnect. Job done, and hopefully the analysis that her computer had been able to do would lead Control to capture the criminals as well. Either way, the important part was done. She started to look around, taking advantage of the lockdown – when the server reset, any evidence here would be gone. |
Flash FictionSome shorter fiction, usually based on some kind of challenge. Archives
October 2021
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