Prafiro’s Roar

Prafiro’s Roar

Helbrid gazed up at the torrenting skies of the planet Prafiro, just barely visible through the dense green jungle canopy, a seemingly green-black darkness closing in hundreds of feet above him. Distant thunder boomed so violently that it sent a shockwave shiver through the verdant species of a thousand different plants, causing a miniature torrent of rain to run off leaves, branches and stems and onto Helbrid’s muddied face.

The brief rush of droplets on his face felt as good as it could, breaking up the ever-ending rhythmic patter of rain the planet’s tempest-like skies constantly unleashed upon the world. Another thunderous boom sounded from behind him, followed by another shimmering of leaves and a brief torrent of drops on his face. He blinked against the endless rain and watched the emerald clouds continue to twist and contort within one another, like one giant hideous but beautiful cosmic beast constantly reimagining itself.

Some paradise, Helbrid thought as his gaze dropped to the mucky roadway in front of him, which led from blackened deep jungle to his small semi-exposed guard post. One hundred meters behind him towered massive black rusting costeel gates with white coscrete walls spanning for miles on either side, making the gate look like the sickly mouth of some horizon-eating beast. The walls were built slightly higher than the hundred-foot jungle canopy so that the processing plant housed within would not be overrun by the jungle of this paradise.

The cosmilitary had originally mandated that a one-hundred-meter gap be maintained between the jungle and the compound walls, but the vines of Prafiro fought back harder than any enemy Helbrid had ever encountered. So much so, that the cosmilitary had abandoned the mandate altogether, and so it was now on Helbrid, the lone guard, to walk the transports of the endless and ever valuable Praftimber to the safety of the gate that lay one hundred thicket-encroached meters from his guard post. The cos-economists had dubbed Prafiro a Regeneration Planet, as they could not harvest Praftimber faster than it grew back – the planet was one in a million in the vast galaxies of the Cosmic Republic and was guarded fiercely by the interstellar battleships orbiting the planet.

When he was transferred here from his last post, a desert planet, Prafiro had been sold to him as a jungle wonder – with its endless tropical seaside getaways and gleaming emerald skies that matched the glimmering green of its three large oceans. All of this, accompanied by a promotion? Of course it was too good to be true.

What the cosmilitary propaganda writers had forgotten to mention was that out of its 582-day cosmic year, Prafiro only had an average of ten full sun days. These ten days were spent in full celebration of the light, the whole planet essentially going into lockdown for the festivities. The rest was a wet misery – from one extreme climate to the next for Helbrid. And then there was the local fauna...

Another thunderous roar sounded off in the distance, not the slightest being muffled by the dense thicket, but this time it wasn’t from Prafiro’s turbulent skies.

“Guard Post 114, come in!” a staticky voice commanded. The sudden blast of sound into Helbrid’s ears from the built-in audio system of his helmet jolted him to attention in the rain, his shifting boots causing a sloshing sound in the muck. Helbrid held a finger to his helmeted temple.

“GP 114 to Transport 2456, this is Helbrid. You’re coming through with a bit of interference,” Helbrid said, releasing pressure from his temple and awaiting a response.

The grav-truck driver radioed back, “Acknowledged. We are on approach, but our radar is picking up movement in the brush from a singular entity. Could just be an anomaly. Every time there’s thunder, our radar goes berserk — so that is near all the damned time!” The stress in the driver’s voice was evident.

Helbrid responded, “We haven’t had any activity from Prafraptors in this sector all year. I’m with you on the anomaly. Continue your approach.” But all Helbrid received was silence in response.

Prafiro let out another cry and the jungle shuddered in response. The increased rhythm of the weeping forest made its familiar patter on Helbrid’s helmet. He turned towards his guard post, nearly slipping in the mud, and reached over the main counter of the post to grab his cosrifle, his not-so-elegantly named weapon — standard to the Cosmic Military.

Although he knew he was just one soul in the swaths of billions in the cosmos, he needed to — no, he must — believe that his actions on this frog’s paradise mattered. Besides, just like a jungle was only a sum of its billion lifeforms, the Cosmic Republic was only a sum of its billion servants and their duties. He would get this shipment of Praftimber into the processing plant. A beach is not a beach without its grains of sand.

Helbrid jolted to attention once again as his audio system blared into his ear.

“GP 114! Come in! GP 114! We ar —” and static engulfed the rest of the message.

Another finger to the temple, another message. “Transport, you broke off. Please retransmit.” Helbrid waited, with his hand now unconsciously reaching for the hilt of his cosrifle which was slung over his shoulder.

“We —” the grav-driver staticked in a breaking message, “We are... on approach. Repeat, we are —” and the message cut off, with not even static accompanying the silence anymore.

Helbrid’s eyes darted towards the sky as another deafening roar echoed throughout the soaked jungle. Then another, and another. But this time, the rhythm of the rain remained static and there was no shuddering aftershock from the verdant landscape of Prafiro. Helbrid unslung his cosrifle and stood at the ready, his eyes narrowed down the darkened roadway coming from the depths of the jungle. He raised a shaking finger to his temple.

“Transport, you are clear to approach...” Helbrid said, ignoring every alarm sounding in his head. The message sounded so unsure, it almost sounded like a question.

Suddenly the gloomy roadway burst into life.

The blinding headlights of the grav-truck transport ignited the jungle white and illuminated the clearing ahead of the guard post so bright that Helbrid could have sworn he was witnessing one of the ten full sun days of Prafiro in front of his very eyes. As the grav-truck's full form burst from the greenery-encroached clearing, the driver made no indication of slowing down, and that was when Helbrid noticed that there was no driver.

As the transport rushed toward Helbrid and his post, he could make out smashed cosglass windshields and what looked like a cockpit painted red with blood. Helbrid dove toward the jungle next to the guard post as the transport barreled past him and completely flattened GP 114. Helbrid watched from his prone position in the muck as the unmanned stowaway closed the hundred-meter gap between the pancaked guard post and the processing plant gate in mere seconds, slamming into the costeel gates. The roadway and surrounding jungle erupted with a metallic boom, pops from secondary explosions and the rattling of timber as the grav-truck made its final delivery.

Helbrid could not hear the jungle, the soothing rain, the crackling fires or alarms sounding from inside the safety of the twenty-foot thick walls. He could only hear the booming of his heart as he slipped his way to his feet.

From somewhere in the greenish darkness directly behind him, Prafiro roared — except the lone guardsman knew now that it was not the sounds of the skies of the paradise planet, it was the sound of his death. Helbrid heard the jungle part behind him as he closed his eyes, and Helbrid Evertag, guardsman 98,372,856 of the Cosmic Republic, was no more.

A jungle is only a sum of its billion lifeforms.