Sway's Demise

by Jess Harpley

  She had yet to see Reese that day, and assumed he must be busy with chores. All the better; he couldn’t see what she was working on. Before long, the free hour expired and she groaned at the lack of progress. Sway begged Christine to allow her to take the needed tools home, and as always, she refused.

  “What happens if you lose them? Or break them? Then no one gets to woodwork.” She snatched the chisel from Sway’s hand, locking it and the lathe away in the supply locker.

  Sway sighed indignantly, pushing the stolen exact-o knife deeper into her pocket. It could at least help her to work on cleaning up the edges of the heart, but she’d have to work on the initials again at the next electives class.

  She deposited the love project at home, then ran to find Reese. He should have been at the windmills, helping repair a damaged blade. Upon arriving, Sway saw the metal was fixed, beautiful welds all the way around. There was only one other place he would have gone when his chores were complete.

  Twigs and crisp weeds snapped underfoot as she ran to the training facility. He was the only other teen in the community with a desire to join Beacon that rivalled hers, and maybe Eli’s. He could always be found learning techniques for some sort of situation in his downtime. That day it was trapping, but not for rabbits. He was learning to set traps for Priyon.

  With all of his focus on the knot, he appeared to be oblivious to the opening door. He looked back and forth from the book to his thin, metal wire. Sway eyed the Priyon dummy he worked on with annoyance. It wasn’t at all accurate to the true anatomy.

  Priyon had a hard exoskeletal structure, a remnant from their maturation cocoon. They took so long to mature in their cocoon, humans only saw the emergence of a few in almost a century. Sway felt certain the process was interesting to observe, but all that remained were a series of hand drawn pictures and text.

  The Priyon infant created a cocoon approximately one and a half times its size after stuffing itself to the brim with food. Then, when the time was right, it broke through the shell from the inside. It had to attack its own shell to expose the sensory organ on the top of its body, and the section on its abdomen for the mouth.

  In a book Sway once read, the artist wrote in the margin it took nearly three days for the Priyon to break away the shell in front of the sensory organ. It was essentially blind until then, and he could get near to it without risk of injury.

  The test dummy slumped in the corner with no exoskeleton, and was missing the additional two leg appendages. It looked more like an awkwardly shaped human with too many limbs than a Priyon.

  Sway crept closer to Reese, taking shallow breaths through her nose as the excitement gathered in her chest. What she would do to surprise him was unknown to her, but stealth was necessary to carry out whatever plan happened to emerge.

  He spun from his seat, tackling her to the ground. “Oh thank god, it’s you. If you’d been River, this would be awkward.” He smiled sarcastically, then planted a wanton kiss on her lips which she returned with vigor. Sway’s slender fingers wound through his wavy auburn hair, and she could think of nowhere else she’d rather be than in his arms. All too soon, they pulled away from each other, knowing at any moment they could be without privacy.

  “How was electives hour?” He yanked her from the ground.

  She brushed stray debris from her worn corduroy work pants, grumbling. “The usual: too short, too few tools, grumpy children, grumpier elders.”

  “Did you finish it yet?” He pulled on her hand to sit with him as he continued working the knots.

  “Maybe,” with raised eyebrows, she added, “but maybe not.”

  He smirked, “You didn’t finish it.”

  “I’m so close! Christine said I couldn’t take any tools home, so once again, it will have to wait until tomorrow.” She lied about the pilfered exacto blade hidden carefully in the wall behind the bunk bed she shared with Dymtre. It was where Sway hid all of her prohibited paraphernalia.

  She almost felt bad about it; stealing. It wasn’t as if she didn’t intend to return it eventually. With the except for one item. She found an unguarded pistol years earlier, which quickly became her pistol. She knew without it she would never have made it into the trainee group that started two years previous. Or perhaps she had more of her mother’s marksmanship in her than she knew.

  There was a large search for the pistol, and the armory attendant got in some trouble, but after a few months the hoopla died down. Very suspiciously, nine-millimeter ammunition started disappearing one at a time since then. Even more suspiciously, the shells returned 10 at a time for reloading.

  She was sure someone in Beacon knew she had the pistol. It was hard to hide gunfire no matter how many kilometers she ran out into the forest. Still, no one bothered her for it. It wasn’t as if she was preparing to kill anything, or anyone, she simply found target practice entertaining.

  There was something gratifying in hitting a bullseye on a target forty meters out with just a handgun. Sway knew even some of the best marksmen in Beacon weren’t as accurate at that range, and it gave her immense pride, especially with her mother having been who she was to Beacon.

  Reese pulled her from thoughts of mothers and goodies hiding in her room with a gentle pinch, “Where did you go?”

  “Nowhere. Just thinking about our little two year anniversary present.”

  “Two years.” His brown eyes darted away in thought. “How the time flies.”

  “I only remembered it was two years because it was the day we both tried out for Beacon training. The day I embarrassed you.”

  “We went over this,” He waved his finger at her. “I went easy on you because I was afraid to hurt a girl. We both made it in, didn’t we?”

  Pecking his lips once, she whispered, “Yes, we did.” The eventuality of initiation came rushing to the forefront of her mind, and her palms clammed up. “Are you nervous?”

  “Not a bit. We’ve both made leaps and bounds, progressed beyond all the other initiates, even the older candidates.”

  He pulled her closer, taunting, “Why, are you?”

  “There’s not a single thought of failure in my mind.” A lie. She was extremely nervous. Beacon was all she ever wanted, aside from Reese.

  “Hey, what do you say we go see our parents before heading off to bootcamp?” He tossed the knot aside, slapping the book shut.

  Their mention caused a throbbing in the pit of Sway’s stomach. It had been six years, almost seven, but the dagger in her heart twisted when she thought of her parents, dead before their time.

  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  With their fingers laced together, they walked in silence to the west edge of town. Sway stopped every so often to pluck late season flowers. Though they were mostly weeds, they still looked nice.

  The closer they got to the graveyard, the more bile turned in her gut. Though she loved them dearly in life, Sway avoided their graves. The thoughts they brought were never of the pleasant times, the safe times. It was always destruction and suffering.

  Even the young trees cast long shadows in the low afternoon light, encompassing the private site in gloom. The forty-two graves sat apart from the others, with their own memorial plaque at the large pine tree in the center. Beloved victims and defenders of the Night Raid, October 3rd 2123. May they rest among the angels in Heaven.

  Placing the flowers at her parents’ headstone, Reese and Sway chanted together, “Gone are the lives of so many. Brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, children, and lovers. In their sacrifice, we live on. No matter the foe, we are prepared. We are the light in a great expanse of darkness. We are the first warning, the protector at the gate, the savior in the night. We are Beacon.”

  She kissed the icy memorial that mirrored her frozen heart, and pushed back tears. With a stoic face she nodded for Reese to proceed to his mother’s grave. He dug through his pocket, pulling out a handwritten card he rested against her site. Sway wondered what he could write to the dead, what was th
e point of it? The living could hear his words, know the feelings of love and gratitude. Why did he spend time writing to the deaf and blind, emotionless corpses, when she, Sway, or his father could be better targets for his affection?

  He pulled her from these dismal thoughts, and again, they recited the vow of Beacon, the vow their grandparents and great grandparents created. One last stop, the hardest stop, then the pain was over. Reese knelt in front of his sister’s grave, and Sway knew to stay back, give him his space. He whispered the vows again, reliving the night she died. Never had they feared an assault from other humans, until that night.

  The raiders infiltrated Kamloops, Sway’s home, under the guise of seeking sanctuary, and the community was all too willing to provide. Kamloop’s leaders had been more cautious after that night, and few outsiders without a backing community had joined since.

  Why hadn’t they just asked them to share? Why did they have to steal? Priyon never stole from one another, much less killed each other. Theft and murder were human conditions. They could have joined the community, but Beacon terrified them.

  She didn’t blame them for that, Beacon was something to be feared if they were crossed. They were well organized, well supplied, with a cooperative community, and competent leaders. Kamloops had been host to a large Canadian military force during the war. They’d brought stockpiles of weapons, erected ammunition production factories on the outskirts, built up the train transport to Vancouver, and done many other things to ensure their success.

  It hadn’t been enough, though. All the weapons in the world wouldn’t have saved them from the deception of feigned desperation. She’d wondered after that night if she could track them. They must have been part of a neighboring community. They must have come for their location, their resources, and they must have been backed by someone else. She would have given anything that night to know where they came from, even her life for a chance to avenge her parents.

  “Sway.” Reese rubbed his thumb over her lip. She unclenched her teeth and the salty, iron taste of blood permeated her mouth.

  She pushed the fury back, deep into her core, lingering heat radiating at her ears. “I’m sorry. When I think about the night of the raid, something else takes over my thoughts—something malicious.”

  He gripped the back of her neck, pulling her against his chest. “I know, I feel it too.”

  Sway wrapped her arms around his waist, burying herself in his scent as he went on, his melodic voice massaging the anger inside her. “One day, the fire will only smolder, an ember of remembrance from a night long ago. That day, we can be our true selves, leaving the hate behind.” Brown eyes searched her radiant jade green, his dark olive skin flushed with love. “Then we can be whole, you and me.”

  “Promise.” She moved her arms around his neck and under his coat, doing everything she could to entangle herself in his warmth.

  His kiss was soft. “I promise, you and I will be truly happy one day.”

  Fifteenth of Gahli, the Eighty-third year of D’Mjak

  I’m far beyond ready to return. The skies of home come to me in my sleep, something I was unaccustomed to before I arrived. It is apparently a common occurrence on this planet. Dreams, that’s what they call them. The natives experience them often, and sometimes with vigor.

  While it frustrates me they’re so hearty, I do appreciate their creative and imaginative spirit. If it weren’t for their prime real estate, I’d think the Pesciten would love to study them. Perhaps, in time, allow them to join The Coalition.

  I digress. I’ve been on this forsaken planet too long, become too fond of the natives. They are so desperately clinging to life; it’s almost admirable. If it weren’t for the fact they kept me from the pastures of my loving motherland, I would argue the case to keep them alive.

  My digressions continue. I miss you. I love you. It’s so strange to say. Yet another custom of this alien world. I won’t be returning for a time still, but we will prevail, even at the loss of our lead battle commander, Plynk. He retired not long ago. We should be receiving a replacement in the next planetary cycle, but the war may be over by then. We can only hope.

  Chapter 2: History of the World

  Sway shuffled through the door of her home, exhausted from yet another hard night of bootcamp. Two straight weeks of it had left her and all the others weary and weak. The cell leader wanted them beaten down for the test, desperate, grasping at their last ounces of strength. She was definitely there, grasping at the walls just to crawl into her bedroom.

  The only benefit, as Sway saw it, was two weeks of bootcamp gave her fractured hand time to heal. Isla was in a tiff of fury as she wrapped it for Sway the day it happened, her brown eyes squinted in anger every time they met Sway’s. She knew Isla wished she hadn’t gone into a combat cell, but was even more upset when Sway did something to jeopardize all the hard work she put into training.

  Isla’s yell reached her from the tiny kitchen, “Sarah, dinner is on the table!” Sway groaned loudly in response from her bedroom floor.

  “Sarah, you need to eat! You better not have tracked mud into the house again.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked down at her sopping feet. Her cell had trained near the river, getting in and out, and running with soaked clothes. It had been freezing, leaving them all famished.

  Sway kicked off the boots in a hurry, limping back down the stairs with them. No one in the community would take another’s belongings, so it was safe enough to leave the boots outside to dry.

  Isla was behind her when she turned, grinning a very guilty smile. She held a damp towel out to Sway with pursed lips. “Clean this up, then eat, then,” she sighed as she looked her over, “then I’ll warm up some water for the shower bag. Don’t forget to drain the water from the plastic pool into the garden irrigation system when you’re done.”

  “Do I really have to shower? I know I’m muddy, but it’s cold out there!”

  “You should have thought about that before leaving the training center,” Isla chided as she passed back into the kitchen, her apron hanging awkwardly off her tiny frame.

  Sway started in on the muck trail she’d left up the stairs, the scent of milk boiled oats filling the house. Though she was hungry, the thought of eating mush topped with raspberries, and a side of scrambled eggs was not appealing. Sway loved Isla to death, but the woman could not do anything ingenious with the daily rations. Not to say Sway could do any better, she knew she would probably end up burning everything.

  After cleaning the mess, she ran to the room she shared with Dymtre to change into cleaner pants, as not to get mud on Isla’s chairs.

  “Move, Chickenbutt!” Dmytre pushed past Sway down the stairs and she growled.

  “My butt looks nothing like a chicken’s! I would know, I see the chickens all the time while I’m doing chores!” She shouted after him.

  “I never said you had a butt like a chicken. I said you are a chickenbutt!”

  “That’s it!” Sway tore after him and he laughed maniacally. They circled the table as he made a mad dash to hide by Isla, his grinning eyes peering at Sway from behind her blue apron.

  “No, uh-uh, you’re eight years old. You’re not allowed to hide behind Mommy.”

  “Isla’s not my mommy and I can hide where I want!” The room became silent as his high-pitched tone pierced Isla’s soul. The only sound was the bubbling oats on the stove. Dymtre seemed not to notice, his face still sneering at Sway.

  Isla had raised Dymtre since he was three, when his parents left for another community. Having spent more time and effort with him than his biological parents, Sway knew Isla was more his mom than the woman who birthed him.

  Bolstering her resolve for Isla, she grabbed the little snot by the back of the pants, pulling him up into her arms as she blew a raspberry on his neck. He giggled uncontrollably, screaming for Sway to stop. She took a breath, sitting on the chair with him.

  “Isla is your mom, and mine.” It hurt her to say.
She remembered her own parents quite well before their untimely death. But Sway knew they were gone, and Isla needed recognition for her trials.

  “She took us in when our parents couldn’t take care of us anymore. She works hard for us, every day, so we can eat, have clean clothes, a roof over our heads, and everything else.” He looked at Sway with a half frown as he realized what he said hurt Isla.

  “I know. I’m sorry Isla.” He ran to her and she hugged him, giving Sway a teary-eyed smile over his shoulder. She turned to the table, not wanting to take anymore part in the intimacy of the moment, an intimacy she could no longer share with her birth parents.

  “Oh look, milk boiled oats topped with raspberries and a side of scrambled eggs. Isla, how did you know this is exactly what I wanted for dinner?” Sway smirked and Isla returned to her stern self.

  “Enough with the sass, young lady. Eat your food.” She took her place at the table, putting her hands out for her adopted children’s hands. Prayer was Sway’s least favorite part of the day. Why should she thank some all powerful being in the clouds who didn’t help put any of their food on the table, who allowed countless innocents to be slaughtered, allowed Earth to be ravaged by war?

  Ignoring the irritation, she gripped Isla and Dmytre’s hands, bowing her head to please them.

  “Dear lord, we thank you for everything before us, and everything behind us. The things which have shaped who we are, our purpose on this planet, Your Earth. Please continue to watch over, and provide for us. In your name we pray, Amen.”

  “Amen!” Dmytre shouted. Sway held her tongue, shoving a spoonful of dinner in her mouth instead. Isla eyed Sway, her own dinner untouched.

  “What?” Sway managed through a mouthful of eggs.

  “Never mind. Not tonight, you have a hard day tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Sway returned to the meal, shoveling it in faster.

  Isla sighed, and as her sigh went unanswered by either child, she cleared her throat. Dymtre eyed Sway, then Isla, his forehead wrinkled with apprehension.