Sway's Demise (3 page)

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.

“Really, Isla. We’re going there tonight?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Sway looked to Isla’s still fork, and full plate, then crossed her arms, “But you’re not going to eat, until I praise your god, correct?”

“
Our
God, Sarah.” She leaned forward, tone full of annoyance.

“I’m not explaining myself again. You know how I feel about this!” She stood, pushing the plate away, “Goodnight.”

“Get back here and finish your dinner, young lady!” Isla yelled, but Sway’s anger was too great to face her with any amount of decency.

“I’m full. Thank you for the dinner
I
collected from the chickens
I
raised, then hauled to and from the catacombs.” She slammed the door with little satisfaction.

Why couldn’t she just leave her alone about this? It was her belief, her faith, and Sway could place it where she wanted. If she didn’t want to praise the god who caused all the suffering in the world, that was her choice! The thoughts circled through her head infinitely as she screamed into the pillow.

Calming herself to rational thought, she pulled the bunk bed away from the wall, retrieving the exacto knife and wooden heart. She whittled at it for an hour or so, hiding it under the pillow as Dmytre came to bed.

“She didn’t eat until almost ten minutes ago. She’s really mad.” He peeked over the top of the bunk with hazel eyes, flickering candlelight casting playful shadows on his maturing features.

“That’s
her
business, not
yours
.”

“Why can’t you just say Amen?” He dropped to his bunk, blowing out the candle with frustration.

Sway rolled onto her stomach, lighting the window candle. “Because it’s one of my core values. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

He mumbled, “I understand you’re being a chickenbutt.”

She bit her tongue with frustration, then hopped down from the bunk, and stomped to the door. “
Amen,
” echoed off the darkness, sounding spiteful. She vaulted back into bed, pulling out the blade and nearly smooth walnut heart.

“Was that so hard?” he poked.

“Dmytre, I only like to say words I mean. I just lied to Isla. I don’t want to praise her god, and that’s
my
business.”

His voice quivered, “Do you hate him because he killed your parents?”

Her teeth clenched as the blade slipped into her thumb. “He didn’t kill my parents, he allowed them to be killed. He didn’t send the Priyon, or start the war, but he let it happen. If he loves us so much, why would he allow us to suffer like this? I think it’s because there isn’t a god. No god would allow this.”

“That’s not true. He’s teaching us.”

The words struck her. Was he just repeating Isla, or did he believe it? Was there a lesson to be learned from all the pain? Even if there was, Sway thought she’d learned quite enough.

“Go to bed, Dmytre.” She sucked on her sliced finger, stopping the flow of blood. Setting the heart aside, she blew out the candle and cleared her mind. She needed to be refreshed for initiation.

Dymtre’s voice peeped in the darkness, “Sarah?”

“What is it, runt?”

“Will you tell me about the war again?” He pulled himself up to her bunk and she groaned.

“No.” Facing away, she hoped he would disappear, but he lingered.

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the saddest look ever. Protruded bottom lip, eyes welling with fake tears, frown plastered to his face.

She sighed in defeat, “Fine, get up here.”

His eyes lit with excitement as he wiggled onto the top bunk.

“Don’t you want to read something a bit happier, or at least story driven? Like
Peter Pan
, or
The Lord of the Rings
?” He shook his head vigorously and Sway laughed, “Alright then.”

He lit the candle on the sill, snuggling against her shoulder. She reveled in it for a moment. A little brother, something she’d never had before, but didn’t know what she’d do without.

She pulled a small press, self bound history book from the window ledge, and flipped to the beginning of the Priyon War. Why the kid was obsessed with it, she had no idea, but it was the fastest way to get him to sleep.

She cleared her throat, “May 7th, 2046, the Priyon colony ship crash landed in Roraima, Brazil. Within hours, military forces from Mexico, United Kingdom, United States, Russia, China, and Japan were on site, investigating the technology, despite Brazil’s protests.”

He moaned, “Blah blah, this part is boring. Skip ahead.”

Passing the information about how the Priyon’s parasitic offspring infested the bodies of humans, using them like communication conduits to work the peace with humans, which inevitably fell apart, she flipped the page to the start of the war.

She mumbled, searching for what he was interested in, “November, 2047, ambassador shot, breakdown of communication, ah!” She pointed to the paragraph, “Here it is. Civilian casualties numbered in the thousands on the first day. Governments from around the world helped with the evacuation of every country in South America, but many of the inland cities were left to fend for themselves.

“Priyon combatants were discovered in Southeast Asia as the threat continued up to Panama in the west. Canadian, United States, and Mexican forces fought together at the pinch point to stop the Priyon infestation. Unable to hold them off, the armies were extracted, and the U.S. sent in six, ten kiloton nuclear warheads.

“A hundred thousand Priyon were eradicated in a
single move
, but the Priyon army seemed to be endless.” She added emphasis to the words, though he didn’t care how it was delivered. “They passed through annihilated Panama, up into Honduras, where they were nuked again. The Priyon retreated back to Brazil, and the west thought they’d won.” Dymtre yawned and she paused.

“I’m fine, keep going.”

“Not willing to destroy the crash site for the valuable technology it held, the Priyon threat was pursued by the United States and Canadian air forces. Meanwhile, in the east, the Priyon spread through most of China like a plague, feeding off the moist, tropical climate of Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos.”

Sway took a deep breath, turning the page. The image of the final gathering sat atop the text,
World summit on Priyon Threat and Japan’s solution
.

“The remaining leaders of the world met in Iceland to discuss further use of nuclear weapons. It was agreed if we were to have a planet remaining when the war was done, we could no longer use weapons of mass destruction. So, governments of the world threw funding into the only remaining solution, Japanese war machines,”

“Yes,” his eyes were alight with a craze, “the robots!”

Messing his dark brown hair playfully she returned to the text. “Seven years after the war’s start, the first Mechanical Infantry Unit, or
Mew,
” she pronounced the acronym and Dymtre looked to her with annoyance, “I mean M.I.U., was deployed. Upon exceeding all expectations, the M.I.U. facilities went into high production.