literature

Zion

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    He had slain the beasts.

    His ride into town was celebrated.  The maidens, in fluster, tossed down their silken cloths before his path while they perched as songbirds from neon balconies.  The lads and lasses walked beside him, shining his steel horse with clean fabrics like fine bootblacks.  The men cheered, the ones of service offering complimentary accoutrements.  There was talk of heroism, of fine drink, and hearty food.

    A feast was thrown in his honor.  He’d been to grander, more elaborate occasions hosted by nobility or even His and Her Majesty.  But, there was something to be said about the endearing cheer and merriment of the commoners.  Their joy was joy.  It was not political, dishonest, or sham.  When they raised a glass in his name, it was not to swell their own reputations but to bolster his.  Indeed, in many ways the simple folk, through all their crude traditions and lack of etiquette, were purer than the most polished of blue bloods.

    That night, as he gazed into the stars from his honorary suite and still smelling the blood of monsters, a message came through his helmet.  It was laying on a table, and he had just gotten comfortable with the free moving air around his head.  He went to it and slid his eyes up under the visor.

    It was a message from the Crown.  While all messages were unique when sent to a High Knight, the steps he took in response were always the same.  He would affirm the orders and be on his way.  It seemed the soft trophy which was this hotel bed would have to be replaced by the familiar cabin of his ship.

    It was time to be off.

    From the bridge of his ship, he watched the world he’d aided shrink and be replaced by the infinite void of space.  Zion leaned back, allowing the computer to do its job.  Out here in the nothing, there were no uprisings, less bands of derelict marauders, no pesky multiheaded abominations.  Maybe someday, he reasoned, he could lay down his blade and gun and take up residence on a hospitable asteroid.  He sighed at the thought.  No knight of the Crown ever died in his sleep.

    Several weeks of flight went by before Zion entered the unfamiliar solar system and could see the rocky planet from his cabin.  The ship would do all the heavy lifting, assuming nothing malfunctioned.  In a day or so, he’d be exiting the comfort of his vessel and venturing into another hostile environment. 

    This was a frontier planet, according to the briefing.  He would report in at a mining outpost, which someday might become a town or city.  He was familiar with such planets; they were among his most often visited.  With these it was usually a case of marauders or pirates coming in from deep space on raids.  What with the unforgiving atmosphere these planets usually had, it was almost never wildlife he had to deal with, which he preferred.  Beasts were only doing as instinct fated, but men were malicious.  With marauders, they were after women or easy scores of resources.  He loathed pirates.  They were clever, often former knights either from his country or another.  They were in the business of kidnapping, and they were, more often than he would like, well armed and organized.

    Zion stroked his ebon beard. “Squire,” He announced at the empty, sterile room, “can you give me the details on my current mission?  I wish to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

    “Sir,” Echoed an adolescent boy’s voice, “your current destination is Antares 67, or as the locals call it ‘Lithos.’ A distress message was formally sent to the Royal Knight Matrix and was confirmed to be legitimate.” There was a pause.  The computer was mimicking concentrated thought, even though all its dialogue had been chosen the instant Zion asked. “But I’m afraid the exact details are not available in the network.  The information has been redacted, but author comments on the redaction suggest rogues, sir.  The planet isn’t naturally hospitable and has yet to be terraformed, so I doubt it’s fauna.”

    Zion nodded, so the machine could see.

    “Anything else, sir?”

    “That’s all.”

    The gray, waterless planet came into view from his cabin.  He went to the bridge and to his armor.  The Squire assisted with mechanical arms in putting his suit on.  After he was plated, he strapped himself into the chair before the main controls, a formality if nothing else.  The atmosphere was nominal and wouldn’t be likely to cause turbulence during entry.

    His ship landed at an unimposing dock at the mining outpost, his predetermined destination.  Though he’d entered a breathable pressurized space of air, he kept his helmet.  He didn’t like showing his face, any weakness, until his duty was fulfilled.  He also left his alloyed steed behind.  The smooth terrain of the outpost didn’t demand it, and he’d rather keep people from gawking while he asked for the details of the distress call.

    The place hadn’t been leveled by harriers, so he supposed he wasn’t too late.  There were men in yellow body suits walking about, sophisticated multi-tools on their wrists.  They regarded the walking bullet and kept to their tasks.  There was one working on the base of a light pole, and he approached this one.

    “Greetings, citizen.” Zion said to the turned back. “I am Alexander Zion, knight of His and Her Majesty.  I have been dispatched in regards to a distress signal.”

    The man quit prodding at wires and turned around.  He was young by the look of him, but he had some extra years of grime seemingly graphed onto his features.  He was a worker through and through. “You’d want to speak with Doctor Braun.” He shook his head. “But, you’re late for him.  Sorry, but I wish you’d gotten here a few days ago.”

    Zion looked down at the man.  With the physical augmentations he’d received from the military and in his plate, he stood a full two feet higher than the worker.  Yet, the man seemed completely at ease facing him.  He respected this and wondered if, under different circumstances, this one would’ve been a good candidate to join the Knights Corps.

    “Late or not,” Zion responded, “I’m here to answer the call.  If Doctor Braun isn’t available, with whom shall I speak?  It doesn’t matter who, so long as I’m given direction.”  He paused a moment, and the man before him shifted. “You could give me the details.”

    The man removed a glove and wiped his face. He swiped at a device on his wrist, punched in a sequence of numbers on a projected screen, and powered it down. “They don’t care who you talk to, the royal wizard or a bum, you sign out before you take a break from work.” He took a breath and wiped his face again, smearing dirt across his brow and down a cheek. “Follow me to the rest area, and I’ll tell you.” He turned and put a cover over the exposed wires. “I need a drink for this.” He began walking.

    Zion followed.

    The break area was a large building fitted with a cafeteria and some basic recreation.  Overall it was much like Zion’s ship interior, a white and sterile landscape.  The food was behind a long bar, hidden in cold storage.  The bar itself had a running digital display of what foods were available, awaiting someone to follow the prompts and be served from a dispenser at the end.  There were tabletop games, some of which were in use, and visual screen entertainment besides.

    The man took a beverage from a machine by the bar and then had a seat near the tabletop setups.  Zion sat across from him, sinking deeply into a chair which was not prepared for an eight foot tall man covered in thick metal.

    “I thought you’d have grabbed something with bite.  That’s only juice.” Zion remarked.

    “Still work hours.  I needed a drink in the sense that telling you what’s going on will make me dry.”

    “Before you begin, what is your name?  I believe I’ve given you mine.”

    The man cocked his head to the side, puzzled.  He shrugged. “Eddy Parish for whatever that’s worth.  I’m also Maintenance Worker Thirteen Thirty-Seven.  That’s what all my friends call me.”

    Under the armor, Zion mimicked the puzzled look Eddy had just given him. “You should wear your name more proudly.”

    “Listen,” Eddy leaned forward, “we little people don’t have meaningful titles.  That’s all there is to it.  You wanna hear the problem now?”

    The knight nodded.

    Eddy took a swig of liquid and set it on what appeared to be a wooden coffee table, though it was surely synthetic. “It’s been going on a few months now.  A gang of cutthroats has been touching down to the surface and harassing our operation.  Security handled them just fine at the start, since there’s nothing worth taking from here.” Eddy knitted his hands together.  There were a few other workers that had stopped their break to listen in. “Then a bigshot from Corporate came in.  Dr. Braun, foremost researcher of...” He rolled a hand, “… something above my paygrade.  He came with his own security, and I don’t know how word got out, but suddenly this little dig became a priority for those pirates.  They showed up in force, killed our security and Braun’s, and then took the doctor with them.  That’s where we stand now.  Braun sent the distress call, but I see we were no priority.  And Corporate says to continue work as usual.”

    “Pirates?”

    “Yeah.  They have their own ships.  Unmarked, so I can’t tell you if they were Crown, Federation, or what.  They’re not from Antares.”

    Behind the visor, Zion frowned. “Can you tell me where they are, where they might’ve taken Braun?”

    “Of course.  They left all the details.  Ransom, obviously.  The company doesn’t want to pay it, though.  They say they don’t negotiate, but I think the doc isn’t quite as valuable as these scum thought.  If they found that out, well.” He tilted his head, stuck out his tongue, and rolled his eyes up to the whites.

    “I want these details they left, and I’ll decide what to do from there.”

    Eddy furrowed his brows, his dirty forehead folding into dusty canyons. “I think you should ask for backup.  Not to tell you how to do your job, but these ones knew what they were doing, and they’re armed.”

    “How well are they armed?”

    Eddy almost winced.  He rocked his head side to side. “They outgunned security, but I already said that.  Also, some of them were wearing armor like yours.  Not as new and shiny, but apparently still functioning.”

    “Tell me everything you can.”

    Eddy did.

    Zion very much would have liked to take Eddy’s advice and call in a contingent.  He grabbed more details from the other workers, and the odds only stacked higher against him.

    He went back to his ship to think.  The Squire confirmed his assumption.  If he called in for support, it would be at least three weeks before it arrived.  Braun would be dead by then, more than likely, and the derelicts might be moving on to new territory.  He asked it about the coordinates Eddy gave him, and the Squire confirmed it to be authentic.  The next rocky planet in the system, Antares 66, and more specifically the location was that of an abandoned mining operation by the same company.

    In the privacy of his cabin, he removed his helmet and gauntlets.  He had to run his hands through his hair with bare hands.  The machine pretended to understand, but it couldn’t.  Sometimes he had to rub his scalp and scratch his beard.

    “Squire,” He called, “take me to these pirates.”

    “Sir—”

    “I know, I know.  The rate of success is low, and not asking for support given the circumstances isn’t protocol.  I got that already.  Just please, do as I command.”

    Another calculated pause. “Yes, sir.  But I will be inclined to dissuade you all the while.”

    “That’s fine.  I can mute you.”

    The ship began its ascent, and the Squire began listing the most likely outcomes.  Zion went to the manual override and muted the computer, as he had warned.

    When he got into space again, he started wondering over the mission.  He was out here in the frontier, and the mission details had been redacted.  He didn’t like thinking of foul play amongst his own, but it was getting hard not to.  He unmuted the Squire, and it was not flooding the air with warnings.

    “Squire,” And he sighed, “have I done anything heretical?”

    “There are no records of misdeed.”

    “And do my comrades hail me?”

    “Vocal records and visual body language from previous encounters suggest that, yes, they do.”

    Zion shook his head. “See Squire?  You don’t know everything.”

    The machine did not respond.

    Zion secured his helmet, as the ship prepared to land again.  As he did, the Squire ran one more line of questions at him.

    “Sir, are you suicidal?  I ran a quick test on your vitals and chemical balance.  You checked out fine, which contradicts these actions of yours.”

    Zion wanted very much to ignore the question and let the machine come to its own conclusions, but he knew it wouldn’t.  If it ran out of logic, it would simply repeat the question until an answer was given. “No.” He finally said. “I would very much like to keep on living.” He paused. “But one thing.  Should I run into trouble, take this ship back to base as quickly as you can.  I’d not let them get their hands on any more equipment.”

    “Yes.” It replied.

    He had the ship land a short distance from the coordinates and rode his steed the rest of the way.  It was the heat of the day, and a sandy wind whipped about him.  There was no detectable presence, and in one deep pit of his heart he hoped the rogues had already moved on.  That this mission would be a failure caused by distance and time.  Guilt washed him at the notion and swept the thought far away.

    Zion approached the old outpost, a lifeless facsimile of the new.  Still he saw no signs of scouts or surveillance.  If they were still here, there’d be a trap.  The longer he had to wait for it, the worse his gut felt.

    So he sat upon his mechanical horse, waiting in the shadow of the old complex while the wind howled around his armor.

    He stayed for a long time before his visor detected movement caused by life.  Then it was just a short passage until he was surrounded.  Zion had been cautiously optimistic, but his hope was thoroughly quashed the closer the derelicts became.  They encircled him and stepped forward from his front, a clear gesture to open a dialogue.  He couldn’t see it, but Zion knew there was a smug grin behind the armored face.

    He bowed his head and then looked around.  He wished in vain that he could peel away all the armor and gaze directly into their eyes. “So,” He said, “was there ever any emergency at that outpost?”

    The one in front of him wore the same armor as he and replied, “Only financially.”

    “You’re lying.  I don’t need the software to tell me so.  It would’ve picked up on the miners.” He recognized the other knight, and he suspected the rest. “You killed civilian security to lure me out here?  Did you kill Braun too?”

    “He is making his way to this system’s sun.  Without a ship or suit.”

    “Be happy.” Another said. “You have the honor of going missing in action instead of a dishonor and public execution.”

    “Me, dishonorable?  What fairytale is this?  You must have framed me.  But I don’t understand.  I’ve not crossed any of you.”

    The first again. “That’s exactly the thing, Alexander.  No one will be able to vouch for you.  You’re respected enough that the Crown will cover up your heresy and have you sent on an exile.”

    He took a breath.  He couldn’t believe he was wishing for pirates.  Zion looked around.  There were eight surrounding him, each as well equipped as he.

    The first knight went on. “We mean to take you into custody peaceably, so that you may be tried and officially sentenced.  We know you’ll fight, and we know that you know you won’t win.  But you’ll do it all the same.”

    “You’re damned right!” He shifted and drew his rifle.

    He managed to fire twice before they were on him, dismounting him forcefully.  He shook them off, drew his sword, and fell back into his training and lightning reflexes.  For a few seconds he thought perhaps the stars had aligned, and he would be able to outperform them.  But they continued to flank him, so he made ready to die here, an honest man.  He parried and countered, closing off as many of his weaknesses as he could.

    Then he felt the heavy hot blow in his side, and his knees begged to buckle.  He went on until they disabled him, and he prayed that if he did not bleed out that the atmosphere would end him.  But no such mercy came.  Zion was restrained and dragged back to a ship like his, where he was thrown into a holding cell and stripped of his armor.

    He felt the ship ascend, his captors out of sight now but within earshot.  He asked, “What now?”

    A voice down the hall answered, “Tell him Squire.”

    The familiar boy’s voice replied, “You’re going home, sir.”

For March CVil War: The Hero's Journey

A prequel to this for some reason. Heretic

There was a 3000 word limit. This is 2963.  Probably would've made it longer without the limit.
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The medieval feel is very good,  and the sci-fi mixed well with it.  I enjoyed it his read very much.

But he is a loner? No Sancho sidekick?  Banter and comebacks?
You forgot to write in a comical bug-eyed Jar Jar Binks, or gold humanoid robot companion....  No great loss there.  But it is lonely out in space.  Where is your green-skinned Orion slavegirl ?

I'm  kidding !  It's  fine!!  (Well, except for adding  the slavegirl part).   :-)