Heroes & Thieves

 Even as she walked through the rag-tag band of Spican Rebels, being welcomed into their fold, Dove knew she did not belong.

For starters, she was not a native to the Wasteland. If the appearances of the two scouts who had brought her here were any indication, the Chimera who had been living in this supposed “No Man’s Land” were quite used to a life of kill-or-be-killed. Their clothing was composed of tattered uniform remnants and colorful scraps of what must once have been the latest Hume fashion before it was pitched into the ever-increasing mounds of the City’s refuse.

Worst of all were the bloodstains. Dove‘s stomach turned just thinking about where – and who – those stains must have come from and how long they had been carried on jackets and trousers as badges of courage. She was a pacifist at heart; she couldn’t imagine hurting anyone, even if it was for her own self-defense. And now these grim young faces streaked with grit and gore were crowding around her with genuinely friendly smiles.

She had never felt more alone.

Dove kept her head bowed as she followed her guides to the largest tent where she would meet with the Spican leader, a woman they called ‘Zombie.’ She didn’t want to reveal her disappointment…or worse, her discomfort.

From the moment she’d been led into camp, she was acutely aware of the whispers that followed her every step. And the eyes—oh God, it felt as if there were thousands of them, all focused solely on her. Dove couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying. Were they commenting on how pale and freckled her face was, so different from the tanned, leathery skins of these Wasteland warriors? Or maybe they thought she was too small and frail for the Rebel life. Too ‘soft,’ perhaps. Maybe even too pretty. She fervently hoped they weren’t saying anything about her age – she really was older than she looked. Above all, she prayed they wouldn’t pay much mind to—

“—an angel!” Someone gasped none-too-quietly as she passed by. Dove felt her face burn with embarrassment. Too late…

The cry was taken up by the remaining Spican population. Soon it seemed as though all any of them could talk about was Dove’s unearthly gold-and-purple eyes, her delicately feathered ears, and the two cherubic wings that jutted awkwardly from her shoulder blades.

This, Dove felt, was the reason why she did not fit in with the Spican. While the rest of the rebels were Chimera of the canine and feline persuasion, Dove was very clearly not. She was an avian – one of the very few who lived to see the world beyond the City walls. Dove supposed she should consider herself lucky to have escaped the confines of a Hume’s cage, but the Wasteland felt to her like a different – if substantially larger – prison.

These days, there were hardly any avian Chimera seen in the wild, a fact which Dove was painfully aware of. Most of her kind were kept as pets by wealthy Humes, coveted for their ethereal singing voices. Those whose singing didn’t quite come up to snuff were chained to a life of performing and prostitution, a fate which Dove herself narrowly managed to avoid. The few which developed abilities were utilized by the City Polices for everything from aerial scouts to nursemaids, though they were usually given jobs that kept them out of danger and out of sight. Avian were few and far between – a precious commodity that couldn’t be wasted on the front lines like canines and felines. Dove doubted that anyone living in the Wasteland had ever even heard of Chimera like her before, much less seen one.

It was really no wonder that they compared such a plain thing like her to a mythical creature.

The scouts came to an abrupt halt and Dove had to quickstep backwards to avoid an awkward collision with the female scout’s back. All at once the excited chatter died down to a curious hum, and a woman ducked beneath her tent flap to step out into the open.  She began to speak with a voice that was altogether emotionless yet warmed by such sincerity that Dove slowly, carefully, raised her eyes to look.

What she saw was entirely different than what she had expected. Rather than a fierce and withered old crone, Dove found herself staring up at a tall, slender woman with a youthful face and ash grey skin. The woman’s smoky brown hair was pulled back into a sloppy knot at the nape of her neck. Stray wisps and tendrils were plastered to her forehead with sweat or curved gently against her neck, accentuating her unusual beauty. But it wasn’t the woman’s apparent youth or looks that drew Dove’s attention.

It was her eyes, greenish-blue and heavy with confusion and sorrow the likes of which Dove had never seen. These were not the eyes of a proud and wise leader…these were the eyes of a lost and lonely little girl. There was so much pain locked away in those eyes that Dove found herself wanting to something—anything—to make it disappear.

Dove suddenly became aware of the awkward silence and the confused way Zombie was staring at her. She felt her cheeks burn crimson and dropped her eyes hastily. Had she been rude by staring so openly?

“Tell her your name, kid.” The male scout reached out to touch her. Dove flinched violently away before his fingers could even brush her shirt. He yanked his hand back, startled. The surprise on his face quickly twisted into anger.

“It’s okay,” Zombie said sharply to him. She knelt down before Dove to peer at her face and repeated the words softly. “It’s okay…”

Dove believed her.

Her small feathered hand darted out to catch Zombie’s bare wrist. ‘My name is Dove,’ she spoke the message telepathically, watching as the older woman’s eyes slowly widened in understanding. ‘I’m here to help you.’

Written for Flash Fiction Month on deviantART. 7/14/09.
Word Count: 1000
Featured Characters: Zombie & Dove.
© Caelwit, 2009. Do not use without permission!

The moment the Triumvirate handed down their verdict, Sergeant Sanität knew she had won.

When the Lieutenant had swayed slightly upon her platform, looking as though someone had punched her in the stomach, Sanität’s victory was all but set in stone. The Triumvirate had readily accepted her testimony as truth – and why shouldn’t they? Sanität was a pureblooded member of the Police whose ancestors had proudly served their Cities for as long as anyone could remember. There was no reason for the Triumvirate to doubt her or her motives.

This fact alone would be Kristallstadt’s downfall, she thought with a hint of dark pride.

One day the City’s great Generals would realize that pure blood does not ensure pure devotion to the Cause. Until then, they were doomed to repeat the mistakes of a world rife with bloody crusades, blind to their gradual self-destruction. If someone like Sanität could break free from the cycle and predict its outcome, it was simply evolution at its best.

But now was no time to gloat. She may have won the battle, but the war was just beginning.

The hearing over and done with, the hovering platforms Sanität and Lieutenant Einsatz stood on descended slowly into the holding chamber below. A split-second before Sanität’s platform touched the concrete floor, a clawed hand grasped her by the throat, lifting her off her feet and propelling her sharply backwards. The Sergeant’s breath was knocked from her lungs in a loud rush as her back slammed into the wall, her head snapping back against the stone with a sharp ‘Crack!’ She moaned in blissful agony, the endorphins and adrenaline swiftly drowning the sting of what was surely now a bleeding head wound. The hand around her throat gripped her more tightly, the claws stabbing her in vicious disgust.

“What the hell were you trying to pull up there?” The Lieutenant’s voice was calm and collected as ever, but Sanität didn’t miss the thinly veiled tremor of emotion. The Ice Queen’s façade was cracking. “Because of you, an innocent girl is going to die—Do you understand that?—Do you?” Einsatz squeezed the Sergeant’s throat to punctuate her question, cutting off Sanität’s air for a brief moment. The Sergeant choked and scrabbled against her superior’s fierce grip, scoring little red rivulets down Einsatz’s arms. After a moment, Einsatz let her breathe again. Sanität fought against the rising urge to dissolve into hysterics, settling on a smile instead.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” she rasped. “They’re not going to kill her. Well—” she paused to lick her lips, “—at least her body will be fine. Her spirit, on the other hand…”

The claws dug in a little deeper, synchronized perfectly with the narrowing of a pair of turquoise eyes. This time, Sanität couldn’t resist a delirious giggle.

“You disgusting little—“Lieutenant Einsatz just barely stopped herself from cursing, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the image of the Sergeant from her mind. “My Private did nothing wrong, do you understand me? She was innocent. And now that you’ve gone and told the Triumvirate that—that she corrupted me—“

“Your Private?” Sanität countered, ending the Lieutenant’s uncharacteristically emotional tirade. “Do you hear yourself, Lieutenant? She has corrupted you.”

Anger flashed white-hot in the Lieutenant’s eyes. “Shut up!” The Sergeant’s back once again collided with the cold stone wall. She groaned lowly, her bleeding head lolling forward and back as Einsatz roughly shook her. “Don’t you dare talk about Shiv! Don’t you dare talk about her like that!”

“She deceived you…Made you think you were one of them!” Sanität spat. “You’re not a Colonist, Einsatz. You were born to be a soldier.”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut UP!” The Lieutenant dropped her grip, letting Sanität’s body crumple unceremoniously to the floor. She staggered backward even as the Sergeant continued to goad her on.

“Why else do you think they hunted you down as a child? They wanted you back home—they needed you. You’re your father’s daughter, Lieutenant. Your precious Private’s lies can’t change that.”

Einsatz stood with her hands balled into tight white fists, her ash-gray skin sickly pale. Even in the dim light, Sanität could see the unmistakable glint of unshed tears. It seemed as though she’d touched on just the right nerve.

“Besides,” the Sargeant drawled, lifting her heavy head to stare directly into her superior’s eyes, “you should be thanking me. I got her a better sentence than death, at least.” Sanität smirked suddenly. “Not to mention the fact that I saved your life.”

“What are you talking about?” Einsatz snapped. “They scheduled me for Elimination tonight. Or did your selective hearing not pick up on that part?”

Sanität chuckled. “Just because they scheduled you for Elimination doesn’t mean they’ll follow through.”

Einsatz continued to glare daggers at her, though the Sergeant thought she saw a flicker of doubt cross the Lieutenant’s face. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I convinced them to spare you from Elimination,” Sanität explained slowly, as if to a child. “Your existence will be wiped from the records in accordance with Police regulation, but instead of actually killing you, I managed to persuade the Triumvirate to let me utilize you for something much more deserving of someone of your unique…talents.” The Sergeant’s smile was predatory.

“You mean my healing ability.”

“Precisely,” Sanität grinned. “There’s an experiment in the Medical Ward scheduled to take place at exactly the same time as your Elimination. The Triumvirate agreed with my assessment of you as a perfect specimen for experimentation, given your accelerated rate of tissue regeneration. Just think of it! You could become immortal!”

“And if I refuse?”

Sanität laughed again. “Have you forgotten your sentence already? Your options are to face the surgical knives or the firing squad. You don’t need me to tell you which is the better choice.”

Silence. Then suddenly—“Will it hurt?”

Sanität grinned. Victory.

“You won’t feel a thing…”

Written for Flash Fiction Month on deviantART. 7/13/09.
Word Count: 1000
Featured Characters: Lieutenant Einsatz & Sargeant Sanität
© Caelwit, 2009. Do not use without permission!

 “I don’t understand,” the soldier said slowly. “Why am I being called before the Triumvirate? What offense have I committed?”

The robotic guards escorting her to the Arena refused to answer. Not that she had really expected them to. Watchmen only did or said what they were programmed to. “We are not authorized to release that information, Lieutenant.” They prodded her back with their guns when she didn’t move fast enough. “Your haste is required. Resistance will not be tolerated,” they reminded her needlessly. “We are authorized to use deadly force.”

They reached the Arena’s portal and abruptly stopped. The highest-ranking Watchman stepped forward from the ranks. It extended a metal hand, which promptly rearranged itself into a particular key which slipped perfectly into the glowing lock beside the portal. The door slid up with a hiss of air and the Lieutenant felt her knees grow weak. Her mind rapidly searched for what she might have done, what she might have said, what small offenses she might have overlooked that led to this moment.

The leader of the Watchmen turned back to her, its hand reassembling from key-to-fingers in a matter of seconds. “Please enter,” it said in a hollow, vaguely masculine voice, before roughly shoving her onto the landing just inside the doorway. She stumbled slightly under his unnecessary force, righting herself just as the portal hissed shut behind her. No turning back.

She felt more than heard the damning hum of thousands of scandalized voices as she took her first step onto the narrow metal gangplank. Her heavy boots clanked as they made contact – metal on metal – a sick parody of church bells tolling in the City Green. Dong…Dong…

With each step, her heart cracked a little more beneath the bug-eyed stares of her peers though her expression remained carefully blank. All those painful years of training had been worth something after all, she thought wryly. Not a single trace of her discomfort was present on her face. The knuckles of the hands she held clasped behind her back were bone white beneath her ashen skin.

Dong…Dong…

Her purposeful strides propelled her closer and closer to the large round platform suspended by some glorious feat of modern engineering in the center of the circular chamber. A blindingly white shaft of light flooded the platform. She tried her best not to look away from it as she drew close, and wound up compromising with an eye-watering squint. The claws of her left hand dug sharply into her right wrist. Don’t show weakness, she repeated her mental mantra one final time. Don’t show fear. You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing can break you.

The Lieutenant stepped onto the hovering platform, ducking her head against the horrible light and the incessant buzzing of whispers echoing from above. The platform bobbed a little under her weight. Her stomach lurched. She was suddenly certain of nothing at all.

Three large black video screens launched themselves forth from beyond the platform, fan blades slicing through the air like curved fangs. They paused just within the white ring, purring in mutual satisfaction. Each floated in a predestined position, blocking just enough light that she could clearly see each screen, but not enough that she could see beyond them.

A thick hush settled over the arena. She swallowed – just once – before the screens simultaneously came to life with a crackle of static. Each screen transmitted a different but similar image – an imposing, seemingly faceless figure shrouded in one of three colors: green, blue, and red. The Triumvirate.

“Lieutenant Einsatz of Kristallstadt,” the commanding male voice of the blue-cloaked figure resounded through the Arena. The soldier in question stood at attention, silently saluting her superiors. Upon hearing her codename, she spoke.

“Aye, sir.”

“Do you know for what charges you have been brought before us, Lieutenant?” The green silhouette asked. Her voice was deceptively soft. Einsatz could picture the sneer of disgust on her face.

“Yes, ma’am.” She lied, knowing that admitting her confusion would only increase her punishment.

“You have committed offenses most foul, Lieutenant,” the red wreathed figure snarled in a way that made Einsatz grit her fangs. “Colonists have been eliminated for less.”

Colonists, the soldier mentally scoffed. What a bureaucratic word to use for “slave.” They use it as if it’s a privilege or an honor to be dragged to this godforsaken City. As if they should be thanking them. As if they had a choice.

She does not bother thinking about what the Red One means by “elimination.” She already knows. Einsatz hesitates a moment before responding. She doesn’t want her voice to shake when she answers.

“I understand, sir.”

“Given your rank and ancestry, we were reluctant to sentence your elimination, Lieutenant Einsatz.” The Green One says regretfully, and Einsatz knows she’s faking it. What’s one less Colonist when there’s hundreds more dying to prove their worth and take her place?

“However,” the Blue One says with an air of distaste, “It seems a Sergeant under your command has come forward to testify for your innocence.”

Einsatz’s canine ears twitched. A Sergeant? But there were no Sergeants under her command – she was in charge of training the incoming Privates. The highest ranking soldier she commanded was a Specialist—

A spotlight burst into life to her left, the video screens re-arranging themselves to allow her to see who stood at attention on a separate platform, waiting to testify. The Lieutenant’s pulse stuttered as she realized who it was. Her skin felt cold. Her lips were numb, but the single word that fell from them was bitter and leaden on her tongue.

“You—!”

The young woman on the platform beside the Lieutenant glanced sidelong at her superior from behind her glasses. She smirked knowingly. “You seem surprised, Einsatz,” she spoke so that only the Lieutenant would hear her, but there was no mistaking her tone.

“Surely you didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

Written for Flash Fiction Month on deviantART. 7/12/09.
Word Count: 1000
Featured Characters: Lieutenant Einsatz & Sargeant Sanität
© Caelwit, 2009. Do not use without permission!