Anyhow, I guess I have some new writing to share. Specifically speaking, awful, awful science-fiction fantasy shit that I've been working on for quite some time now inside my head. Only in the past few months did it manage to climb out of the formaldehyde jar and plant itself as grisly words on a screen.
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Someone kidnapped the stars from Resna’s night sky.
That meant perfect cover for the three operatives climbing
the jagged peak. They aimed for seemingly nothing but the thrill of reaching
the top. They had rifles slung over their backs, with belts laden with an
assortment of hooks, ropes, and grenades. Clad in jackets with tough black
leather and helmets with crescent black visors, they trekked up the steep side
in single file to cover their tracks—not that they needed to anyways. Their
only tools against the darkness were little flashlights that emitted the
smallest of warmth and sight.
Unusual darkness meant unusual cold. Ice covered the way to
the top, making it especially treacherous. But then again, it made for perfect
conditions for the trio. No one would suspect anyone climbing something so
utterly and completely dangerous.
The first operative made it atop a ledge, sitting down with
his feet dangling as he waited for the others to follow suit. They were good,
but not as good as him, he thought. The other eventually came up and sat next
to the first, who had a helmet and visor more elongated along the sides of his
head.
“Commander Willard,” one of the lesser operatives said as he
sat down, his voice malformed by his helmet’s transmitter, “signs are clear,
target is twenty feet above us.”
Willard nodded slowly. He looked up, and through his visor
saw a twinkle in the barren sky. The light flash twice—a bright red—then
vanished. Odd, Willard thought, but paid it no more mind as he refocused
himself on the objective. Willard laid a gloved hand on the operative’s
shoulder and whispered to him. “You take center, Farv. Cork and I will come
around and flank left. Once you’re up there, don’t move”
Farv gave a quick nod and shot up, pouncing to the next
ledge.
Cork’s visor was pointed down towards the clouds that
separated the peak from the world below. Willard knew his comrade’s nerves were
a bit shot. Willard couldn’t blame him. After all, his long lifespan allowed
him a substantial wisdom in these kinds of objectives. His longevity also told
him Cork’s relative inexperience could make or break this mission, given the
amount of times he had to work with greenhorns due to a shortage of ‘experts’.
“You’re human, aren’t you Cork?”
It was a legitimate question. Willard had never seen his
operatives’ faces before. Protocol, his superiors said, just in case.
It took a while for Cork to answer. “Yeah.”
“You don’t see humans much around these days, much less work
with them. I hear you can be pretty useful, even if you don’t get the hang of
things right away.” Willard paused, hoping he was right. “Is that true?”
Again, Cork took his sweet time answering. “Yeah, I guess.”
Willard, of course, never heard of any such talk. Humans
were so rare that hardly a word was spoken of them. Yet still, everyone in the
galaxy speaks their languages, follows their structure, and knows their
history. He wondered how useful they can actually be, apart from what they have
already given to galactic civilization. This is the first time he’s met one,
never mind actually carrying out a dangerous mission with one.
As Willard pondered this, Cork looked up towards the sky.
Farv had disappeared over the next ledge, much like the stars.
“Where are they tonight?”
“Where are who?” Willard asked, pretending not to know.
“The stars. You can’t see them.”
Willard looked up. He grunted and looked back at Cork. “So
you can’t. Some molecular disturbance in the atmosphere I would imagine.”
“Molecular disturbance?”
“Don’t ask me…”
Willard stood on the ledge and
pushed on a pressure point on his flexsteel neck armor. His visor went from a
glossy black to a glowing bright red, with a large shimmering white circle
centered perfectly. It blinked.
“…I’m not a scientist.”
