Once More...

ONCE MORE…

She jerked to wakefulness, eyes wide, breaths coming in heaving draws.  For a moment she was still on the battlefield inhaling air heavy with death and the steady staccato of gunfire echoing in her ears.  Bi-colored eyes raked wildly over the room; sleep-addled brain unable to recognize her present surroundings.

Then, like a light switch, the battlefield disappeared, and her brain reset itself to the present.  Her heart slowed and she realized she was back in her tiny bedroom.  She was safe.

She wiped the cold sweat from her brow and rose, knowing from experience sleep was now a lost cause.  Taking in a meditative sigh, she slipped her feet into a pair of worn blue slippers and exited her small room.

On silent feet, she strode down the hallway, the soft creaking of the floorboards a welcome familiarity, and stopped at an alcove. Two gyevers, war suits woven with fabric laced with metal alloy and equipped with sophisticated technology and weaponry, lay draped over two headless mannequins. One was clearly female, the other male.  One was pristine the other mottled with deep scars, the blue wiring beneath peeking through. 

She stepped forward as if on hallowed ground and reached to the larger suit.  Calloused, slender fingers traced the scars almost reverently.

Her heart clenched in her chest.  Oliver, her mind whispered the beloved name. Oliver Sharif was her best friend, her greatest love, her husband.  She traced the shallow laceration across the abdomen, remembering how it was acquired.

Ollie! She bolted towards him, avoiding corpses scattered upon the ground.  He could not be dead, not her Ollie.  He was the only

thing that made her messed up life worthwhile.

A Kirill spotted him too and began barreling its way toward the downed gyever jockey.  In its large clawed hand was an ion blade it would certainly use to end Ollie’s life. She would not let that happen.  It became a race between them, both trying to reach him for different reasons.

No! She needed to get its attention. Fast.  She held her right arm up and her gyever performed.  The nanite infused armor covering her arm transformed into a plasma cannon and she popped off a shot, missing on purpose.  It jumped back in surprise and turned upon her with rage in its cold black eyes.  A primal roar ripped from its throat, its mandibular claws flaring out in challenge.

She braced herself but before it could charge it was impaled from behind.  Its massive form fell forward like a sack of flour. Its assailant fell backward, exhausted.  She wiped the green blood from the visor of her helmet and dashed forward, catching him before he hit the ground.  His helmet slid back revealing an almost playful grin. 

“You alright?” He asked.

She rolled her eyes behind her visor and dropped him to the ground. 

“Hey, is that any way to treat your future husband?”

She sighed and reached out a hand, pulling him to his feet when he took it.  He pressed his forehead to hers after his helmet reformed over his head and they went back to work.

She laughed at the memory. At that moment there had been no war raging relentlessly onward.  There was just them in the quiet of the storm.  She closed her eyes as a tide of grief washed over her. She pressed her forehead to the chest of his old gyever, heart aching with sorrowful longing.  Turning on her heel, she exited the alcove and decided to go bathe—even at this ungodly hour.

She wiped the fog from the generic bathroom mirror and gazed at her reflection. Bi-colored eyes, one viridian the other cyan, gleaming with a faint glow stared back at her.  She gave a slight frown, causing the scar above her upper lip to stretch and crinkle.  Even the simplest things made her stand out.

Before Oliver, she’d been a soldier without a history for Torvatis, born and bred to fight.  Nothing more. She had no life outside her gyever, but she had been the best with interface levels at 97.65 percent.  Her whole life centered around battle, like a clockwork soldier.

Oliver taught her to laugh, how to enjoy the world around her, how to smile and how to love and be loved. He’d taught her how to be human.  And now, he was gone, and not even at the hands of Kirill. An insidious disease had taken him, ravaging his body until he couldn’t even go to the bathroom without assistance. Watching her

beloved husband waste away had left her heartbroken.  Shaking herself she strode out the bathroom.

The sun was just cresting the horizon when she stopped at their peach tree, one of three fruit trees in their backyard. She took a moment to appreciate the idyllic beauty of their surrounding scenery—the grassy Highlands in the distance.  She turned and began picking fruit for breakfast.

She plucked two peaches from their tree and placed them in the basket with the lemons and oranges.  Afterward, she strode into their modest home through the back door, leaving her shoes just behind the door.  She took off her large sunhat and sat it on the coat hanger and strode to their quaint

kitchen.

She went about preparing breakfast, a pot of oatmeal with real fruit and orange slices on the side. While she cooked, she softly hummed, smiling when the patter of feet reached her keen ears.  Oliver left her with something precious.  A son.  A beautiful boy they had named Oren, or Ren as she liked to call him.  Her son was Oliver’s legacy and she loved him beyond words.  He was her

little sun.

Ren walked in a moment later, dressed in his school uniform, every article crisp and impeccable. He tugged at his suspenders before setting his backpack aside.  He flashed her a half-hearted smile.  She found herself wondering how an eight-year-old managed to look so curmudgeonly.

She shook her head. Not a morning person her son. Without a word, she plated his food and set it on the table of their breakfast nook, where the sunlight filtered in through the open window.

He sat down, tall glass of milk in hand, and mumbled a “good morning, mummy, thank you,” before tucking into his food.  They ate in comfortable silence, her enjoying the scent of lavender outside the window, him probably contemplating murdering the happily singing songbird.  Once they finished breakfast it was time for him to leave for school.

She kissed his forehead and fixed his blue bowtie.  “I love you, mummy.” He hugged her when she signed the three words back, thick head of hair reaching just above her navel.

A sad smile touched her lips when he stared up at her with bright brown eyes. He had his father’s eyes, deep brown and brimming with kindness.  He also possessed Oliver’s temperament, thank goodness.  She bopped his nose with a finger.  She opened the

door when she heard the chatter of children.  Keela, the child monitor, strode up the lane with a gaggle of children trailing behind her.  She gave his forehead a quick peck before sending him off.

He left with a farewell on his lips, bolting down the dirt path as fast as his legs would take him.  “Hi, Mona!” He greeted the adorable little girl with two afro puffs.

She waved at Keela, watching until they were out of sight.  With her son gone she managed to finish her housework. Afterward, she sat down with a piping hot cup of coffee to watch her favorite talk show.  A quarter of an hour in the host was doing a piece on two female fugitives when the news abruptly appeared on the screen.

“We interrupt this program to bring you shocking and dire news.” The news anchor, a lovely Latina woman, spoke.  “We’ve just gotten a visual feed of two enemy ships entering our orbit.” The satellite images appeared on the crystalline screen.

She nearly dropped her coffee mug at the sight.  No. Please no.  It could not be them. They’d destroyed them all.  Her hand began trembling. 

The anchorwoman swallowed.  “These images were leaked by personnel that shall remain anonymous. And yes, they appear to be Kirill.”

Kirill. That single word left a dead weight in the air, pulling it taut like a bowstring.  Images of death and carnage flooded her mind in high definition.  Her stomach roiled and her heart dropped like a stone. How many gyevers had died at the hands of those brutal monsters? Now they had returned.

“The military is mobilizing…” She cut the feed and slumped on the sofa.  A memory struck her viciously.  She had made her husband a promise on his deathbed:

“Promise that you won’t put the suit on again. That you’ll be there for our boy.”  He’d gently caressed the tiny infant in her arms with a feeble hand.  “He needs at least one parent.”

The words returned, still fresh.  She’d promised him she wouldn’t fight again. She’d promised that she would let the world take care of itself because she’d given it so much already.  But she made that promise thinking they were safe.  Now, the Kirill had returned.

She silently cursed.  What should she do? Honor her beloved husband’s wishes?

For hours she grappled with a decision, oscillating between every possible angle.  Oliver had been her nucleus.  He had given her more than she had ever deserved.  Surely, she could honor his last wish.  Besides, there were so few jockeys left.  What could they do against a horde of Kirill? She couldn’t go on a suicide mission. Ren needed her. She buried her face in her hands.  She’d promised Oliver she would not abandon him.  Anyway, the Kirill had eyes on Hermitage City first.  They could hide here in Quolun.

She dug her canines into her bottom lip, mind moving at Mach 10.  A jumble of fear entombed her mind until it was a seething mass of images. Growling in frustration, she rose.  She needed to practice.  Maybe beating the crap out of something would clear her head.

She strode to the heavy punching bag in the corner, wrapped her hand in strips, and whaled on the gym equipment.  As she pounded away at the bag her mind rushed endlessly, struggling against the rock and hard place decision plaguing her.  She punched and kicked, images of the horrors of war twisting and flashing like a macabre version of a kaleidoscope within her mind. 

Carnage and destruction, death and suffering, war and fear were all side effects of the Kirill invasion.  That’s what the Kirill brought with their return.  But she made the promise to Oliver that she would never step foot into another gyever.  And she always kept her promises no matter the cost.  But was she willing to pay the cost for this promise?

Her hits grew harder and faster, vehicles for her frustration.  Oliver had given her everything and how could she reciprocate by breaking a promise he made as a last rite?  She struck the bag with more vehemence until sweat beaded her body and her limbs felt like lead weights, but her mind was clear.  She blinked back the tears pooling her eyes.

Sometime later she stood in the alcove eyes on the empty gyevers.  The Kirill were merciless killers. They rained down death upon the capital cities before.  Those that weren’t vaporized were ripped apart by their foot soldiers in the streets.  They came for one reason: to exterminate humanity and inhabit the planet.  She doubted their motivations had changed.

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists until her nails dug into the skin of her palm.  The Kirill would raze Hermitage City to rubble and then they would turn their attention to the rest of the world.  Quolun would be safe for only so long but even its remote location would not escape the Kirills’ murderous gaze.  They would find Quolun and slaughter everyone.  Even Ren.  She wiped the single tear from her cheek.  I’m sorry.  With a heavy heart, she exited the alcove.

She called up Nadine, a young adult with a shining reputation in childcare, and strode to her room to get her affairs in order. Hours later she bid the babysitter farewell and exited her home, heart lanced in half. She took the train to Hermitage City, a bustling metropolis of progression and innovation.

She stepped into her suit, closing her eyes as it molded to her like a living glove, though it felt a wee tighter in the bosom area.  The dormant nanites activated, covering the undercarriage with armor light as spider’s thread but durable as the strongest metal.  Her helmet enveloped her head.  She closed her eyes, staggering from the unexpected pain of the neural interface but focused. It had been eight years since she’d jockeyed.  She spent the next several minutes strengthening her interface. Slowly the suit shifted

to her favorite color: purple.

“Interface levels at 95 percent,” the g.i.m. stated. She snorted, a bit dissatisfied at the number, but knew she had to take a small favor when offered.  She just needed to fight.

She strode past the soldiers clustered near the Caspian Wall.  Army vehicles rigged with weapons sat on either side of the street occupied by soldiers.  She heard their whispers but did not respond verbally or silently. 

“Is that a gyever?”

“Is it her?  It is!”

 “She’s a legend.”

She ignored them, regarding the slack-jawed general with a nod.  Pleasantries had no place on the battlefield.  She stopped and stared at the Caspian Wall, a gigantic structure towering above like a silent sentry protecting her citizens.  She leaped into the air and landed upon the wall though her landing was a bit sketchy.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile at the pastoral view.  From here she could even see the mountains in the distance, but she wasn’t here to admire the view.  She gazed upward and clenched her jaw with resolve.

The Kirill warship breached the clouds like a whale in the ocean.  It was a monster of a ship, armed to the nines and built for one purpose: annihilation.  But it did not start raining carnage from above.  It headed straight for the city, eclipsing the sun.

Its massive size dwarfed her and surely, she looked a fool standing on the rampart alone.  She was an insect quarreling with a boot, but she held her ground.  Her son’s face appeared in her mind and her resolve solidified.  He would have a future even if it was built atop her corpse.  It was all for him.  For Ren.

She startled when two figures, Tilly and James, flanked her. One gyever was green the other red.  Seconds later two more gyevers, the Eclaire twins, landed, one silver the other rose gold.

She only stood there as they talked shrewd mind formulating strategies and countermeasures. The last time they fought the ‘death ships’ there had been 35 of them. Now there were only five. Her stomach sank. She got the feeling she’d not only broken a promise but was abandoning her darling son. At least she had a contingency plan for the moment of her death.

All of them knew the gravity of the situation. This might be their last fight. This might be suicide, but they were gyevers. They were the first liners. They held the line when no one else could and dared the enemy to cross it.

Her thoughts went to her son.  The thought of never hugging, serenading, and seeing Ren lacerated her heart with animal ferocity.  But she could not waver.  Not now. This was for him.

She rooted her resolve, thankful for the presence of her fellow gyevers. Her gaze shifted to the approaching mechanized behemoth. She swallowed, mustering her courage. No matter what happened today, she refused to watch her son burn. With fierce determination she sprang into the air, flight engines on her back activating smoothly and carrying her towards the battleship. She led the charge fearlessly battle cry mixed with that of her companions.

END