Well I competed in a Write-a-thon today hosted by the local ISU Journal Black Rock and Sage, and even won the third hour prize for writing 1763 words in one hour. For a total of 2720 words. WOOHOO, free coupons. The following entry sort of ends unexpectedly as it was a timed writing project. I hope to continue it later, but we'll see when I find the time.. I just wanted to post what I had for you all to enjoy. Please feel free to tell me what you think...things like flow, grammar, and story consistancy are pretty important. Thanks everyone who manages to read it all.
Seth
John couldn’t run any farther.
Weighed down in industrial armor he collapsed into a heap, sending a red cloud of dust into the air. His legs burned, and he swore he could feel the lactic acid oozing across already swollen muscles. He tried to push himself up, but the extensive weight of his body suit kept him pinned to the ground. In frustration he tried again, but resulted in getting only a few inches off the ground before falling again into an exhausted heap. His standard issue MSA, or Military Space Armor, was simply too heavy.
Like the astronautic suits of the original Apollo missions it covered his whole body, protecting himself from the harsh inhuman atmosphere of mars. Layered on top of it were sheets of a thick ceramic compound capable of stopping bullets. Simple in design, but effective in combat his suit had become more of a skin during his last two tours of the Mars Theatre. A skin that he now cursed.
They would be arriving soon, and if he didn’t get moving he was mince meat. He tried again to lift himself, and managed to get onto one knee. Damn this suit was heavy. After a brief pause, he succeeded in standing fully upright. His knees wobbled a bit, and the sudden rush of blood to his head made his eyes cloud over for a second nearly causing him to fall over again. Looking around he spotted his rifle lying a few feet away, half buried in the soft martian dirt. He made a movement to retrieve it, but the knowledge that the clip was empty, combined with the effort of bending over caused him to forgo the effort.
His took a moment to grasp his surroundings. He was standing at the bottom of a small ravine. Red walls providing cover from prying eyes stood on either side. Each casting long shadows across the hallow from the already low lying sun. Behind him he could see his tracks snaking up the ravine back to where the screams still lingered on the air. “Were they still alive?” he wondered to himself. He had no way of knowing, all he could remember was a sudden boom, and then the screaming. Like overly large black insects they’d crawled from the earth. Thrusting spear like hands into the bodies of Phi Company, and then ripping off the armor like squirrel going for the meaty center of a particularly soft nut.
“What the hell were those thing?” he thought again to himself. “Hell is what they were. Demons from some unforgotten nightmare. A nightmare yes, this was all a nightmare. I’ll have to tell Chuck about this one tomorrow. Maybe even the Sarg. Could it possibly give me leave to go home? I think I’ve heard of Soldiers having horrible nightmares and being sent home. Why was it again? Oh yes, Mentally Unfit. That doesn’t sound too bad. Home doesn’t sound that bad at all.”
John’s thoughts continued to spiral around in circles until he collapsed once again onto the soft red soil of Mars. Unconscious he was relieved from his nightmare.
Sir Anthony Hembridge stormed down the hallway. A tall man with black hair, and a square chin, his broad shoulders filled out his Captains uniform quite well. From his well polished boots to his short standard haircut everything said precision, and detail. The large manila envelope clenched in his had swung back and forth like the pendulum of a ticking grandfather clock.
Sub-ordinates took one look at his stern brow and drooping mustache, and scurried into cubicles or pretended to talk with neighbors. Everyone had heard about what’d happened, and they weren’t about to get in his way. Anthony marched past them all, and disappeared into a room at the far end of the hall.
“What’s going on?” asked Barry leaning over to his neighbor.
“Don’t you know?” responded his heavyset partner. He was shorter than average and even though he was wearing a military uniform it lacked the luster of Sir Anthony.
“No I don’t. Today is only my third day. What’s going on?”
“Well I don’t know all the details myself” whispered the man as he scooted closer. “but I heard from a very reliable source that we’ve lost an entire Platoon.”
“An entire platoon?” gasped Barry his eyes going wide. “But that’s nearly fifty men! How do fifty men go missing?”
“Exactly what I want to know. We haven’t lost a soldier too the pirates in over three y ears, and now all of a sudden fifty up and disappear.”
“Do we have any idea what happened?”
“Maybe the higher ups. My after my own opinion, they’re all hiding stuff from us. Running around with their manila folders stamped in red ink. There’s always something fishy going on, but us low lifes aren’t capable of handling it. Mark my words though; the dark side is gaining power again.”
“If I wasn’t mistaken I’d say you were a Jedi with the way you talk.” said Barry with a questioning air.
“Sure am, and proud of it.” The man poked his finger at his flabby chest and proclaimed “Everything is powered by the force. It lives in all of us, and when we learn to listen to it we are able to do much more. See much farther.”
“I’m sure you can.” Answered Barry coolly. He wasn’t too concerned with ancient religions. He was a man of science, and didn’t really want to hear his neighbors mystic mumbo jumbo. “but what happened? Do we know anything?”
A coy smile played off the man’s lips and he leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper “I hear that they were drilling out in the southern hemisphere when some martians came out of the earth and killed them all.”
“Martians?” Barry wasn’t sure he wanted to talk with his neighbor anymore. This guy was a certifiable nut. “Don’t you think if they existed we would’ve found them by now? We’ve been mining tridium from this planet for over forty years now. Martians are just some industrial age myth written to scare little boys at night.”
“Who says they have to live on the surface?” pointed out the man. “We’ve been looking at Mars’s surface for nearly 800 years, and haven’t seen a thing. What about under the ground? Don’t you know that even though 70% of Mars’s tridium is located under the drilling barrier? Why can’t we go another measly thousand meters? We’d be richer than kings if we did.”
“Well…” began Barry. He honestly didn’t have an answer for this man, but he sure wasn’t going to believe that this wasteland of a planet was inhabited by underground mole people. “Who knows, but everything we’ve seen so far says that Mar’s is uninhabited. It was probably the Pirates. They’ve probably found a way to take down one of the MSA Soldiers, and took us by surprise. That tends to happen when a fighting force gets arrogant.”
“What Pir….” Began the man, but he stopped himself short. Sir Hembridge was back, and he wasn’t looking any happier.
“Johnson!” he barked. The fat man next to Barry sat up straight, and saluted his commander “Sir, what can I do sir?” Hembridge sized Johnson up in one contemptuous glare, before shooting a glance over to Barry.
“Stop leading the recruit on with your wild conspiracy theories. I need your logistics report by noon.”
“But that’s in less than an hour” whined Johnson in return.
“Then I suggest you get started.” Johnson grumbled and spun his chair back to face his monitor. Hembridge waited before glancing over at Barry. “So you’re the new guy. I’m Captain Hembridge, but unlike you Americans you can simply call me Sir Hembridge. Welcome to Mars HQ, I’m sure you’ll feel at home here Ensign …” he paused looking down to the name tag stitched above Barry’s shirt pocket “… Richards. Make sure you keep your eyes on your job, and don’t let flights of fancy distract you.” Hembridge’s eyes couldn’t have sent a clearer message than if he’d pointed and shouted at Johnson. Who tried unsuccessfully to make himself appear smaller in his chair. In sharp crisp movements Hembridge nodded and marched away. His empty hands ticking like a grandfather clock.
Barry was exhausted. Every one of his muscles complained in dull thudding throbs. Fumbling with the keys he opened the door to his dorm sized flat. No larger than two meters, by three it had just enough room for a bed which stood five feet off the floor, a desk placed under the bed, a small wooden closet big enough to hold one suitcase worth of clothes. There was a sink on the other wall, along with some shelves for toiletries and personal items. There was a small walkway down the middle of his room which led to a small half meter, by half meter window. The showers were just down the hall, and he’d go wash his sweat off as soon as could, but first he drop off his workout bag, in exchange some clean clothes, and shampoo.
Throwing his bag down on the floor under the sink, he reached up and grabbed the fresh clothes he’d left folded on his bed. Goodness did it feel good to feel his muscles stretch. He left his arms out in front of himself for a second, letting his cramping muscles extend to back to their full potential. He left the tension slowly crawl down his arms, into his back, down his legs, and then back up to his arms. Boy did it feel good. Pulling his arms back down he let his body relax.
Looking out the window he could see the dark red surface of Mars stretching out towards the horizon. The sun was only a few minutes set, but the dusk still left a lingering glow across the sky. Casting odd shadows of leviathan length unopposed across the ground. The twinkling lights of neighboring buildings, and facilities dotted the foreground. Like miniature stars they formed constellations across the sky. Northern Smokestacks was probably his favorite as they shot straight up and down, perfectly aligned. Forming an outline fence to the large Military Compound.
“Where’s the Northern Star Barry?” asked an old familiar voice.
“Right there Grandpa.” Large wooden trees framed the sky with their trunks, all pointing towards the heavens. A small boy with brownish hair lay on his back with his arm pointing skywards. His grandfather laying next to him in his own sleeping bag. Arms propped behind his head, and sleepy eyes half closed.
“Good job Barry. Now, What’s so important about it?”
Barry thought for a second, his arm still stretched out towards the bright northern star. “It always stays in the same place.” Stated Barry with confidence.
“Good job. ” rumbled grandpa’s voice, old and worn, but still strong. Grandpa was a cowboy. His scratchy beard, and flannel shirts the last of an era long gone. “The North Star is a constant. This planet of our is always spinning around and around. Going in circles, but that star,” he nodded towards it with his head “is one of life’s few constants. If you guide yourself by it at night you’ll never be lost again.”
The dusk afterglow had long faded, and the factory lights twinkled all the brighter against the pitch black sky. Merging themselves with true stars which covered the heavens. Barry didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. His legs had stiffened again, and the salt left from evaporated sweat was beginning to itch. With a shiver he shook himself out of his day dream and grabbing his towel, and clothes headed to the shower.
John couldn’t see a thing. A bright light kept blurring his vision every time he tried to open his eyes. His head swam with foggy nightmares, and the lines between dreams and consciousness were fuzzy. He’s been lying somewhere for some time now. His body was restrained somehow, and he could feel the faint tickle of tubes running down his arms, and around his face. Something beeped slowly in the background. Ticking by unknown seconds with each high pitch tone.
Sliding in and out of thought for some time he slowly began to remember words. Meanings vainly trying to blow away the fog of his mind. “Where am I?” he’d ask himself. He’d struggle for a few moments to try and find an answer, a bed, a room, somewhere warm, before he would forget there even was a question and would fade off again. Only to ask himself the same question a few minutes later.
Each time his thoughts became more intricate, and he was able to hold onto the question a little while longer. “a hospital maybe?” he tried to remember what a hospital was, vague images of stern faced men in long white jackets came to mind. Gentler faces also appeared, ones framed in long red hair, and perched upon shapelier forms. He liked those better than the stern faced ones. A smile played across his lips. Hospitals aren’t bad. He was about to fade off into more pleasant dreams than what he’d previously had, but a loud bang blew away all the fog. “Cpt. Hembridge, he’s just barely stablilized. He’s not ready yet.”
“We don’t have time Doctor. We need to know now.”
John opened his eyes and looked towards the bang. He was lying on a bed in a small room. Computer equipment lined the walls, some letting out a gentle beep with every thump of his heart. IV’s pumping chemical miracles into his arm were hanging on both sides. A man stood in the open doorway. He looked like one of those grave faced men in his dream. He had his back to John and was addressing another taller man dressed in dark blue. The man in blue was trying to get past the man in white, and the man in white had stretched his arms across the threshold. Holding the doorframes in an attempt to keep the other from entering.
“I’m telling you Captain, if we disturb him now we could be facing permanent damage. He needs to rest. ” said the man in white. His voice pleading.
“I understand your concern Doctor, and I admire your courage. Speaking to a superior like that, but I have my orders, and I know things you do not. I must speak with him now, and so I order you to stand down.” The man in white relaxed considerably and his arms slowly returned to their sides. With a defeated sigh he turned gesturing with his clipboard allowed the Captain to come in.
In crisp movements the man in blue, who John was now guessing to be Captain Hembridge, marched into the room, and pulled a wheeled chair up beside John’s bed. He sat as straight as he stood, and crossed his legs. The ankle resting at exactly ninety degrees on his thigh, which was also squared nearly perfectly. John would’ve guessed he probably didn’t even take a dump without receiving orders stamped and approved ten times over. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he felt the need to sit up straighter in bed, and with a weak movement raised his hand to his forehead in a salute.
Captain Hembridge, chuckled uniformly, and said mildly impressed “I’ve heard of the MSA Marines dedication, and I’m glad to see you live up to it.” John noticed he carried a clipboard which was now resting across his legs. Hembridge pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and clicking it once jotted a quick note on the papers in front of him. “Now then, what’s your name?”
John looked at Captain Hembridge, his face a posterboy for puzzlement. “My what?” he stammered.
“Your name soldier” came Hembridge’s cold reply. He didn’t even look up from the clipboard. “Just think for a second, I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”
John felt perplexed. He knew he had a name, everyone had one, but what was his? Who was he? Like a ship emerging from the fog it slowly came back to him. “My name is John.” He said slowly.
“Good, now what’s the rest of it?”
“John Sullivan?” said John uncertainly.
