NationStates Jolt Archive

"Bah, who gives a shit? It's jusss anotha station in space. No differnt fro' any otha." A man said at the bar, slumped over a mug of beer that his glazed eyes starred at blankly.

"Fuck y'u, man. Dis is da biggerst thang sinc' tha Wolfz won da champzionzip in eighta fo'." Another drunkard slurred, waving the arm holding his empty mug at the previous man dismissively before slamming it back on the counter.

"Bot uh ya's shudafuck up. Sum a' us wanna hear dis shit." The immense, bald bar-tended said with a low growl that was still clearly audible above the various goings on a bar packed with drunkards and more smoke than air that the dim azure lamp-lights struggled to pierce through. The two men quickly quieted down, retreating into the dirty confines of their mugs with defeat drawn all across their faces.

Hoerold, the bartender, walked over the to TV: a flat-box worn by age and stained by various alcohols that found themselves airborne in all of the usual excitement. Most of the pixels had fried or died out completely, those that weren't, still found themselves warped by the unending assault of age, till the only images that it could convey were almost too grainy to be seen. Still, it was the best that could be found in Uberlaerm.

It was on the ground floor, the only floor of a massive sky-scrapper with any life. Windows covered in layers of dust smothered the incandescent neon signs that shunted their light through, into the decadent streets and alleyways outside. The steel facade had long since deteriorated, till only the white-painted word 'Chance' was left visible against the rust caked background. The thick metal doors, and the fishnet style screen behind it were both coming off the hinges, themselves also rusted beyond recognition, to the point that Hoerold left them perpetually open for any and all to enter whenever the prospect of stale ale and low-grade alcohol piqued their interest regardless of the time.

The streets outside were broken: cracked, crushed, nothing but powdered asphalt covered in the outcroppings of rockrete and the husks of rusted vehicles that stood like headstones in a forgotten cemetery.

The building itself was in total ruin, with the top fifty levels entirely gone save for certain mangled sections of the metal skeleton. The lower levels were just as abhorrent, though cracked and worn rockrete walls hid most of the damage from view. Floors sunk in, with the remains of furnishings conglomerating in the center of each pit, and pipes leaking a noisome substance eternally. Windows no longer contained any glass; that had long ago shattered into fine refractive showers over the ground below. It was one of many buildings-turned-tombstone in the Outer city, marking the location where progress and prosperity once live.

Most were apartment buildings, Gothic-style buildings that could barely find the energy to stand. Almost the entire Outer city population lived in these buildings, entire families roughing it in rooms conquered by legions of dust and mold. Yet, despite their squalid appearance, and crumbling forms, each dim light that permeated through every window acted as a beacon that life could still be found in this impossible place, in these buildings enshrouded constantly by their larger cousins.

These were the stubby sort, not climbing above twenty stories and wider than most blocks as well. They used to be either office buildings or parking garages, though discerning one from the other was impossible now: they were all caved in ruins that barely stood at a tenth their original height. No one lived here, not even criminals and those without employment, for they offered less shelter than a box or an abandoned vehicle.

Others still were the momentous type, reaching hundreds of stories into the air; still massive today despite the damage age had done to them. They were the only buildings where businesses such as the Chance could be found. The towers they had been born with had been worn away, replaced by outcroppings of the superstructure worn away by wind and rain into a gnarled finger, breaking the eternally cloudy skyline of ashen chroma from years of hyperindustrialization and regional volcanic activity.

This was the Outer city horizon, in sharp contrast with that of the inner city, with its clean air, and rigorous repair standards. Beautiful where Outer city was ugly, rich where it was poor. It was a sight to behold, and one to resent, as anyone who entered the Chance did.

"Shit Big H, can't see good enough to tell a man from a cock. You need a new TV for fucks sake." A younger man said, leaning on a pool cue and smoking a cigarette with emerald eyes that only projected arrogance.

"Fuck off Caeterand, noone askt you wut you tught 'bout it." Hoerold said, throwing the volume on the TV up as loud as it could possibly go while also trying to clear the picture.

The view was that of space above Iiathum, with the planet invading roughly half of the image, and some great metallic object of pure white dominating the upper-half. In the background was the voice of a woman, blemished by static, till it was nothing more than a macabre noise that no one could comprehend, but listened to all the same.

Soon the camera refocused, bringing the object into complete view - a ship. It was a rough cylinder, tapering off to a blunter, rectangular shape at one end. Various sections of the hull were raised indicating defensive turret and radar emplacements, as well as storage bins for volatiles too dangerous to be placed within the primary holds.

Around this ship was a large superstructure of metal girders, scaffolds, and active rails. All of it was connected to a central station to the vessel's right, alive with activity and ablaze in light. From here the various procedures necessary to launch were being monitored and implemented.

"Daum, that thang surrre iz purdy!" A cloak-covered man said before slumping over and passing out.

"Old Haggard is right even if he's shit-faced: that thing is amazing." Another said, with a voice that had not yet been contaminated with alcohol.

"Fuck yeah! Too bad none o' us could evar git own somethin' like dat!"

"Damn rioght, we're too po' to get tha privlage to get on somethang like that."

The voices continued to praise the ship as the cluster of engines began to glow, howling about its beauty and grandeur, while also softly protesting about their inability to ever be apart of something so magnificent. All save for one.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting the fuck out of here one day. The thought shot through Aeger's head like a bullet, just like his glazed golden eyes as they scanned the room from the security of his empty corner booth, empty save for the a-typical passed out drunkard who had been in that spot since last night. And that’s my ticket. His eyes were transfixed upon the ship as if it were about to jump out at him.

The ship quickly accelerated away from the superstructure, blowing part of it away towards the atmosphere in chunks of plasma. Cameras posited around the ship went off, creating a surreal universe of dancing shadows created from the myriads of flashes as they glimmered on the pearl-white hull.

"The Dawn has launched successfully we're told, heading directly towards the Kriesfeuers asteroid belt. Inside is a crew of 200,000, whose sole mission is to bring the Electrons, into a new age." The television said, as Aeger walked out of the Chance as a black blur.

"Don't turn the shield off honey; the sun's too damn bright this time of day." Carter said from his corner chair, shielding his eyes from the beams of mid-day sunlight as they shot through the window with his hands.

"Oh please, you haven't seen the sun in ages! How can you shew it away like a scared child?" Mary Carter asked, rolling her eyes while she went to increase the density of the wall window's UV shield, hiding a skyline broken by silver monoliths and the rails winding through them.

"Pardon me if I value my eyesight, honey." Carter retorted sardonically, returning to reading the news as it slowly scrolled down his silver-cased PDA in a shower of verdant characters. His own green eyes scanned over each character with detective like intensity. News about sports, city politics, and the weather were all assimilated into his mind. Much to Mary’s chagrin.

She wanted to say something, but the room was hot and she was tired. It wasn’t the best time for an argument. So Mary went back towards the kitchen, adjusting the knob to the environmental controls to bring the temperature down a few degrees on her way. She paused, simply staring at her husband for a few moments with bright golden eyes, wondering how anyone could be so content with sitting around all day, reading through the happenings of the world from someone else’s jaded view with only a muted television playing in the background.

She entered the kitchen, lit by same flat flouropanels as the rest of the house that never stung the eyes with its extreme radiance. Mary poured herself a drink, setting the tall glass of red-wine atop the obsidian counter while she placed the bottle back into the cooler, embedded in the cabinet construction that held the same black chroma as the rest of the room.

With just a thought she was back in the living room, with her footsteps echoing off the floor designed to look and feel like hardwood. She looked outside while cupping the glass in her hand; admiring what images were permitted through the UV shield; the modernist-industrial skyline and the winding highways that wove through them, sights that Michael never appreciated, and lately never saw. She averted her eyes back to her glass: half empty, with a heart half full of hope as she asked the following question intended to rouse her husband from his current vestige state.

"You know, we could head over to the Getreo's and watch the Dawn launch, instead of sitting around by ourselves all day." She said with a smile and a more genial voice than she had used when chastising him just a few moments earlier.

Michael Carter's secluded world stopped just long enough for him to unleash a disapproving grunt from his rigid position in his leather chair of minimalist design. He then shifted his position slightly to the left, allowed the text to resume its slow cascade, and disconnected himself from reality, and his wife, again.

Mary's patience was already thin, now it was gone. She walked slowly towards her husband of eight years, projecting an aura that could chill bones. Her eyes were transfixed upon his nigh-motionless form, and her skin began to flush a shade of red blood would envy.

"So that's it is it?" She said coldly, "The world is too boring, or scary, or chaotic for you to retreat from the home you've created in that stupid little device?" Mary continued with a rage that radiated off of each syllable as they screamed into the air, with a demeanor just as wild.

At first, the words of his wife did not register in Michael’s ear. Only her continued presence caused him to turn slowly towards her with eyes that only reluctantly removed themselves from the digital screen. Then any concentration he had was shattered by Mary’s fierce words, sending a shock down his spine so suddenly that he felt paralyzed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Was all that he managed to say, as he struggled to find the resolve needed to stand.

Mary’s own gold eyes saw immediately her husband’s fight for courage against her assault, and she decided not to give him such time. “With me? With me? There is nothing wrong with me. I live in the real world, with real people, who do real things. I don’t read about them over the wire with no intention of being a part of it in the future. The question is, husband, what is wrong with you?”

Mary was tapping her foot now; in the impatient way Michael had come to know well. She was also staring him down, with her arms crossed and muscles tense. Michael was still sitting, but not out of fear but indifference to a situation that had come upon him as suddenly as an April shower. He simply sighed, and rose as if the newest argument wasn’t happening.

“I’m going for a walk. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but don’t bother waiting up if I’m late.” Michael said with a voice containing the same cold indifference that emanated from his posture. Walking towards the door, he grabbed his black night-coat from the rack and put his PDA on the metal nightstand that waiting outside the entrance to the bedroom hallway that laid adjacent to the front door.

Mary remained motionless the entire time; with the conflict between utter, unquenchable ferocity and bone-chilling shock immobilizing her where she stood. Only after the electric sound of the door slowly sliding shut could she move and comprehend what was happening, though it all seemed to occur in a series of still frames. Even then, she could only stand in amazement, till she suddenly found herself gazing down all hundred and twenty stories to the ground below, with her hand on the UV shield controls that had been slammed to the minimal setting, at a spot her eyes could not see.

Michael gazed into the sun behind dark lenses; through the crystal clear glass of the elevator’s super structure as it glided quickly downward towards the ground below; past each twisting highway and the traffic that soared through it.

When the elevator finally stopped, and the steel doors parted to reveal an empty lobby decorated with red carpeting, sharply polished furniture, and gold poles from a period hundred of years past. A sight Michael ignored; he simply walked through like a ghost unable to affect any aspect of the material world, walking till he reached the front doors.

He stared off into the distance: busy sidewalk after sidewalk, covered in the shadows of the buildings that now obscured the sun. Packed with people that abstained from acknowledging the existence of any near them, chocking the city in its grid-like form. He then looked up towards his own apartment for a few fleeting moments, with not a thought passing through his mind. Then his eyes drifted till they only focused upon the azure sky smothered by the post-industrial haze, only then did he feel anything: empathy.

Michael put his hands in his pockets; let out a long, deep sigh, and began to walk towards a skyline broken by the shattered effigies of a long-dead golden age, passing by a menagerie of screens displaying the Dawn’s launch.

"The Dawn has launched successfully we're told, heading directly towards the Kriesfeuers asteroid belt. Inside is a crew of 200,000, whose sole mission is to bring the Electrons, into a new age."