The bad old days

Posted on Wed Jan 4th, 2023 @ 9:41pm by Chief Operations Trades

Mission: Mission 16: Hysperia
Location: Hysperia
Timeline: MD 2
1073 words - 2.1 OF Standard Post Measure

Trades had decided to risk one more trip out into the public for supplies, before packing his bags and getting ready for his new home. There were mixed feelings regarding the change but still, it would be good to be on the move again and having a daily purpose. Rather than just making it through the day to the next one. He could feel the lack of purpose eating away at him a little each night. Each morning it was a little bit harder to get out of his rented room to find a way to finish the day.

The work had helped. Though custom weapons weren't a big market; especially on a planet that embraced life before firearms. To most people they were a novelty. On this planet, the wrong novelty for any long lasting work or income. Perhaps it hadn't been the best choice to come here, but still there was a new direction now.

The streets were unpleasantly loud and crowded. Whatever the celebration was, it showed no sign of slowing down. There had been hints and whispers but he had paid no mind to it too. He didn't celebrate. There was nothing to celebrate anymore.

The street was almost like trying to walk through a wall of noise and good cheer. Only the wall moved with each step and there was no way through it unless he went backwards and returned indoors. It was desirable; it wouldn't get him the last few items he wanted for ship life. He pushed through, one footfall at a time, keeping his mind focused on the list in his head and the most likely places to get them. His head down, shoulders hunched, thin coat wrapped around him to keep out the... attention.

The levels were getting too much and Trades headed down a darker alley to escape. The lower lighting, humid air and less noise was a welcome respite. Almost like a cool cloth had been placed over his senses to calm the intensity. There would be no reason to keep to the alley, and although there appeared to be almost no crime on the planet he wasn't foolish enough to tempt whatever elements there were by straying too far from the herd. Predators were always going to strike at those in the most vulnerable position. So he would take enough time to allow the assault on his senses to reset, then head out again. He just had to breathe.

There was a loud bang. A firework, or some sort of vehicle or something. That part of his mind told him and tried to hold onto the thought...

But the other part was there, it was stronger, as always and it pulled.

The world shrank.

It went black.

The alarm woke him, its loud insistence hammering away through all the other noises. Slowly Philon eyes flicked open; they didn't want to stay open but by the same token could no longer stay closed. The last of his breath escaped his lungs in a groan and his awareness snapped to attention in the desperate need to fill his lungs again. But the shuttle didn't look right. The lighting was red, and weren't there supposed to be people sitting in front him? Someone had even taken the chairs. Was someone screaming?

With more effort than it should have taken Philon turned his head, something was pulling on him trying to force him to look the other way. The pulling stopped and he was able to look around properly, trying to see the cockpit or even the crew. But all the lights were red, there was so much smoke in the air and it was too hot. At least half the squads were missing too. This wasn't right, they couldn't have Bajor yet, it was still hours away. He hadn't fallen asleep had he?

Ideas formed in his head and clashed against each other and forced their way to the front of his mind demanding to be heard. That force pulled at him again but this time he couldn't resist it. His head turned to face what should have been the shuttle wall and his two squad mates sitting next to him. There was only a hole. Still part of the shuttle wall was there half shielding him from a direct view of space, sparking, wrent and as he watched a force field flicked into place.

Shuttle systems whined trying to replace the lost atmosphere, he could feel the shuttle straining under him trying to restore normalcy. Gravity flickered, lights tried to change colour but wouldn't, the force field failed.

The heat returned with the atmosphere rushing past him. Philon looked down to see right side of his body was on fire. Feed by the rushing wind as it escaped into space. Panicing Philon desperately swatted at his right arm putting the flames out. The force field activated, the rushing stopped and the flames dimmed to smolders. Philon swatted at his body, with one arm while trying to release his restraints with the other. He had to get out of here, there had to be a way not to be here.

The forcefield failed. Philon screamed.

People looked down the alley at Trades.

The Cardassian eyes opened staring at the alley floor. A puddle and random rusbbish came into focus.

He breathed. It would be ok as long has he breathed. Trades steadied himself against the alley wall. He was here, now, not there, not then. He was here.

A few breathes later the people had stopped looking, the wall was still solid and his breathing was normal. Trades forced himself to straighten. He was here, now. The boots he wore were too heavy, the coat not thick enough. Trades adjusted the coat and pulled his hood a little lower. To keep out the light and lingering onlookers. He forced his right foot to move forward, it didn't lift properly, dragging slightly. The left foot followed. His back was forced straight even as his head lowered. The next step came, and the next.

Trades left the alley and entered back into the living wall of the festival. There were things to do, even just one thing would be progress; would be now, not then.

A voice drifted out of the darkness and past. It spoke in Cardassian but the accent was wrong.

"We're not going to waste medical resouces on a solider that can't fight."