CHAPTER 3 – Old friends, older wounds
Yon waits out the storm at Dries's Fixes while Luan goes to his home seeking powerful gifts.
Yon / Luan
Dries had made a place for Yon to sleep in the workshop after giving him a proper meal of fish and stale bread. Yon was grateful for it, more than he let on. The workshop was pitch dark but for the weak flicker of a single candle. The din of wind and hail was still roaring outside as Yon sat against the far wall, just out of the candle’s glow. He held a hand-carved wooden lion in his hands, staring at it. Though he sat quite still, there was a storm of emotion inside, a sorrowful rage, the kind of rage that he could not change, because the world could not change.
All his feelings spun around the lion as if anchored to it. This was the totem of his anger, a token of the past he dared not visit. But when he gazed upon it, his rage could focus. The whisper inside was constant in this silence, a splinter in his mind that would not quiet, uttering horrific things, things of violence, wicked things, urging him on. Just like everyone else in the wasteland, Yon had endured much, too much to remain completely sane, too much to remain completely human. He thought about the cannibals he had seen today. Then his mind went somewhere darker, deeper – it went to the past. It went to them. He did not want to go there, but it seemed impossible to resist now.
A loud burst of thunder pulled him back to the present. The lion in his hand began to rattle as his hands started to shake again. He sighed and put the lion into his backpack. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled from it a vial of dark fluid. Oblivion, the most powerful wasteland drug and the only thing that silenced the whisper. With resignation in his heart, he opened it.
He inspected the dirty vial for a few moments between his fingers, considering. Why, he didn’t know. He was going to take it – he always did. It was the illusion of choice he had created in order to have a semblance of control, though he knew the choice was already made. His hands still shook in quick bursts. It was withdrawal – he knew it, accepted it. He opened the vial and put a drop under his tongue. And within moments, his hands stopped shaking. The frowning mask of his face went limp along with the rest of his body as the drug took hold. He felt the whisper fade away, leaving an emptiness, which was comforting to him – true silence.
As he toppled over, he became numb. He could think of them now without pain, and sleep. He could finally sleep without the nightmares.
*****
Luan was walking along a narrow walkway on the ledge of a giant man-made hole. A flooded open pit diamond mine from the old world. As a younger man, he had always wondered how deep the massive body of water and the tunnels below went. After losing several siblings exploring the deeper sections of the mine, he abandoned that pursuit. Despite the enjoyment he found in manipulating his siblings into exploring the deepest and most dangerous sections, it became too costly, the family needed to grow, not shrink. That’s what the oracle always said. Around it stood a town of tin buildings, some destroyed, others worn down by time and weather. Mining equipment and structures were scattered about the rubble, all deserted long ago.
There were even a few advanced old-world structures distributed sporadically throughout the area, all of which were silent, locked and nearly indestructible. He reached a stone building. Its tin roof was a faded green but looked closer to silver in the moon’s glow. Above the entrance was a big sign that read T E BIG HOL MUSE M and below it in smaller letters, KIM ERLEY. Some of the letters were missing. Everyone here called it the museum. He entered.
Luan walked through the silent, cramped building. It was in shambles, and he stepped with practiced caution to avoid falling or knocking high scrap piles over. He reached a doorway that led underground and entered through it. From here, candles lit the walls of old mining tunnels. He passed stone rooms outfitted with tattered beds, blankets and pillows. A soft chanting began filling the air as he went deeper. He reached another portal in the stone. This one was adorned with extra candles, drawings and writings that looked like prayers and purity seals. There were incense sticks burning around it too. The chanting emanated from somewhere beyond. Luan took one deep, weary breath before entering.
The doorway led to a large, dimly lit cavern. The chanting was getting louder, a strident, hoarse voice accompanying it, but it was unintelligible at this distance. But he knew it well. The chamber was large, bathed in an inky, oppressive darkness. Tiny motes of candlelight revealed dead machines in various stages of disrepair as they guided Luan’s way deeper in, the chanting and the hoarse voice growing louder with each step.
The voice became clearer as he got closer. “And in his infinite wisdom, the angel wanted to bring an end to the suffering, but there are always those who would seek to halt progress, to halt justice!”
Luan turned a corner and came upon the source in a larger cavern filled with candles. The walls were covered in writing that would look like the ravings of a lunatic to the uninitiated.
The voice boomed from the Oracle, an old, thin, pale-skinned woman standing before fifteen chanting people. Her leathery skin hung like draped rags from her bones, but she did not seem frail, several old world augmentations made sure of that. He had no doubt that she was the oldest person in the wasteland. Her crooked body was animated as she delivered her sermon to the entranced followers, his siblings. “That is why the angel chose us, the Orphans of the wastes. We owe no allegiance. We—” She stopped when she saw Luan, and she cried “Speak!” in a voice that sounded as coarse as it was menacing.
The chanting went silent as the others turned to look at him.
Luan knelt and said, “Mother, Oracle, I need your guidance.”
“Leave us,” she said, and the others got up and began filing out of the chamber. Many of them sported crude machine implants in their bodies. They were his adopted brothers and sisters.
The Oracle began walking slowly towards another portal in the stone. Luan followed.
The next chamber was a workshop. It, too, was dark and filled with more machines and more candles. Luan was walking a step behind his surrogate mother as they spoke.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” she said.
“One of the roaming bands found something. A crashed airship from the End War.”
“So?”
“I went inside, found a hologhost. It was wearing a Halo. The wearer knew about the Kill Signal. It was a badly damaged ghost, and I couldn’t fully make out the name. But I believe it is the betrayer. I believe we’ve found him.”
She stopped and turned to Luan, an expectant expression on her wrinkled face. He looked at the floor, unable to speak; he could feel her onyx eyes boring into him for a moment. She sighed in disappointment.
Luan continued. “The ship’s black box was gone. Someone was there before us. They killed the roaming party with an explosive.”
“You’ve come all this way to disappoint me,” she said.
“Simson is searching the surrounding towns. Aashi has gone to gather the horde. I need the angel’s gifts.”
A wicked smile crept over the old woman’s face, thin lips stretching tightly like overextended threads over yellow teeth. She continued deeper into the cavernous network. Luan followed, uneasy.
The Oracle led him into a new chamber. This one had less broken machinery, and the walls were covered in writing and diagrams in black and red ink. Incantations, litanies, prayers. There was an operating table. It looked clean, but dry blood covered the floor around it in brown and black patches. This was the room of the Oracle’s wonders. She came to a stop next to a beaten-up old-world bodysuit and called it by its name, the exodermis . The suit consisted of a strange material, not quite metal, not quite organic. It was covered in armour plating that, on closer inspection, was further segmented into tiny, interlinked hexagonal plates. Luan knew his eyes betrayed apprehension at the sight of it. The suit meant power, but it also meant pain, and a prison.
The Oracle picked up a strange device from the workbench next to the suit. It had hexagonal buttons and seemed to consist of the same material as the suit. A small glass orb and tiny lights sat within its frame. She manipulated the device, and the suit’s material began to writhe and shift like a living thing, creating an opening. “Get in,” the Oracle said.
Luan took a deep breath before taking off his clothes and climbing into the suit. She continued to manipulate the control module, and the suit morphed again, sealing him in. It felt cold and clammy against his skin. The metal spine of the suit had rows of fine needles on either side, which shot down into Luan’s spine one by one in slow, painful succession. Luan winced as the suit connected to his nervous system, grinding his teeth.
“The angel spoke to me again a few nights ago,” the Oracle said as the suit continued its work on Luan.
The last set of needles shot into his lower back. She manipulated the strange dials of the module again. Luan knew it for what it truly was – a leash. He let out a breath of relief as the suit began emitting a soft hum. The connection was stable, and the pain dissipated.
“It gave me strength, told me to remain hopeful. It seems prophetic now,” the Oracle continued.
Luan flexed his fingers and his arms as she spoke, admiring the finer details of the suit.
“You’ve asked many times why I never blessed you with augmented gifts. This is the reason. The exodermis only connects with a living body, and wherever machine mingles with skin, the flesh dies.” she said with a reassuring tone.
The Oracle walked over to another bench and returned with two large-bladed katars. Each looked like a hilt connected to a diamond-shaped blade. At each handle, embedded in the base of each blade, was a fist-sized hexagonal plate of intricate design. It had a few small openings, which emitted a faint orange glow.
“Nanofiber katars,” the Oracle said.
Luan took the weapons, admiring them with great reverence.
“There will be much blood before the end,” she said, and she continued to one last chamber.
Luan followed.
They reached the shrine chamber, a place where few of the Orphan cult had ever stepped in. Luan could count on one hand the occasions he had been allowed to enter here. The room was empty but for one thing: a shrine of candles, cables and small holographics built around a skeleton on the far wall. He came to stand before the skeleton and looked upon it. On its skull rested the most valuable artefact in the wasteland, a Halo from the old world. But this one was broken. A large hole went through the Halo and the skeleton’s skull. The hole exposed intricate circuitry and a faint glow from the inside of the Halo. They both bowed before it.
The Oracle walked up to the skeleton and removed a tiny implant lodged between the neck vertebrae at the base of its skull. She took a small metal box from beside the shrine and opened it. Inside was a gun with a translucent tube of some kind. She loaded the implant into the gun and walked over to Luan, placing it at the base of his skull, where the exodermis shifted away to grant her access to his skin. She pulled the trigger, shooting it into his skin with a thick needle. The sharp stab of pain caught him off guard, causing him to flinch.
Suddenly a red hologhost appeared, emanating from the broken Halo’s eye. It was a pale man. He had a thick beard and intense eyes. The hologram was stuttering severely as it raised its hand and beckoned Luan closer.
The Oracle smiled with tears in her eyes, saying “The angel doesn’t reveal himself to everyone” while nudging Luan towards the broken Halo.
He walked over and carefully removed the ancient artefact from the broken skull and placed it on his head.
Suddenly a stuttered and broken voice rang in his head. “Greet-t-tings-s, ch-child. We hav-v-ve much-ch to d-d-do.”
A sneer cracked across Luan’s stern face.
The Oracle took his face in her hands and said, “Take our best warriors, and your sister Linny. The great plan is finally in motion.”
“Thank you, Mother,” he replied. Then he moved for the door.
“I will see you at the Hive,” she called out after him.
He moved with new speed and vigour through the Orphan complex, excited by the power he now wielded. Other Orphans started following as they saw him pass. He reached an isolated room in an isolated tunnel. No one stayed near this room, for fear of death. The area around the entryway was full of scorch marks and holes, and Luan could hear a woman’s voice humming softly from inside. He felt alarmed at the sight of the scorch marks but pressed on and entered. The inside was bare, only some candles, a blanket, and a bowl. In the middle of the room, the epicentre of all the damage, sat a woman playing with her dreaded hair, humming. The candlelight bounced off her scorched bronze skin. Three black pyramids were floating in the air above her head, each roughly forty centimetres in size. They were old-world machines, some of the deadliest they’d unearthed. She didn’t seem to notice him, her large, dark eyes staring blankly out in front of her as the humming continued.
“Linny,” he said.
The pyramids swerved and pointed at him, buzzing aggressively. He held up his hands. Linny turned to him, revealing a crude, almost black scar around a machine implant in the side of her head. She smiled, and inside her implant, tiny lights flashed quickly, and the pyramids returned to their docile floating. She hardly noticed the exodermis. He looked around at the scorch marks and asked, “Bad dreams again?”
She continued to play with her hair. “I missed you.”
He smiled. “Well, prayers answered. You’re coming with. We leave within the hour.”
She looked at him with those intense eyes, there was gratitude in them, excitement even. She got up and kissed him passionately before getting her things.
Next, Chapter 4
Can’t wait for Sunday!!!