Sway's Demise

Sway’s Demise

By: J.D. Harpley

Astral Scribe - Copyright
©
2016

I dedicate this fiction first, and foremost, to my husband and greatest friend. Though he refuses to believe good ideas or valid feedback can sprout from his mind, he never fails to help me improve my work.

Next, to my friend George. He spent hours reading it, mulling it over, and poking through plot holes. Without him, Sway’s Demise wouldn’t be what it is now.

Third, to my artist, Jeremy Aaron Moore. He spent tireless hours painting this beautiful cover, and dealing with me, author with an art degree who thinks she still knows something about it.

Last, to my editor, Jennifer. She pushed me to leave my comfort zone and try something drastic, leading the book to take a big leap in quality. Thank you.

Chapter 1: A Walk Among the Dead

Autumn light trickled through the window, illuminating the warm wooden walls with dim orange hues. It was the best time of year. Carved gourds, nutmeg, cinnamon, hot chocolate—which was getting scarce—and gift exchange was around the corner.

Sway squinted, groaning with a deep inhale through her nose as she pushed into a long stretch. She pulled the blanket around her tighter, avoiding the inevitable as she thought of the chores beckoning. Not getting up meant abandoning all thoughts of joining Beacon, so, with a yawn, she slipped from the top bunk. Dmytre stirred as she crept across the room, yet didn’t wake. He was lucky; still too young for the hard, and early morning chores.

She strapped on her ancient, patched leather work boots, courtesy of the community’s cordwainer, and wriggled into her hand-me-down parka. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it was Sway’s duty to help get the day’s shared rations from the catacombs, the very rations she put in there on a week’s previous Sunday or Wednesday. On those days, she always returned reeking of cow patties or feathers.

The ration storage wasn’t actual catacombs, thought that was always what the older kids had told Sway to scare her. They were dark and cold, necessary for keeping the food good. It had been dug out as a bomb shelter at the start of the war, as if an underground hideout would protect them from the Priyon. The catacombs were converted to a refrigerant system not long after the peace fell. A hard peace it was, and not at all the choice of humanity. If humans had it their way, the Priyon would have been eradicated.

The catacombs conversion was brilliantly crafted, in Sway’s opinion, with minimal technology required. The community had enough tech already with the robots, or as she liked to call them, Mews. The citizens weren’t all technophobes, but they did try to heed the Priyon’s warning: Don’t rebuild, or the darkness which destroyed their world would come for Earth.

It had been just over eighty years since they landed, and seventy-nine since the start of the war. Humans were capable of such amazing, yet terrifying feats when faced with annihilation. The Mews were one such feat. Though the Japanese created them, they couldn’t take all the credit. The Mews owed their sentience to themselves, and humanity owed to them the end of the war.

The Mews could have finished off the Priyon, made the world safe for humankind again, but they wrought enough destruction. They refused to kill anymore in the name of humanity, to be slaves. The Priyon and humans reluctantly came to an agreement to ensure both race’s survival. Humans would take the north, the colder regions in which the aliens were unwilling to inhabit, and the Priyon took the rest.

The threat of winter nipped at Sway’s cheeks, pulling her from thought as she jogged past the second residential block to the kitchen center. Normally, it would smell of pine and rain, but it was unusually dry in the past weeks. The scent of chimney smoke dominated the air, which was also pleasant, but still, she missed the delectable fragrance of damp wood.

The guard dogs barked at the entrance to the kitchen as she approached, which was strange. She thought they knew her odor. Most of the bears entered into hibernation by October, but it wouldn’t be unheard of for a late snacker to prowl the community for leftover garbage, or if lucky, a nice greenhouse meal.

Sway ducked behind a group of half empty rainwater barrels, pinning to the wall of the building as her senses went on alert. Her heart pounded in her ears, as she listened intently. Two pairs of footsteps: one robotic, exact, and the other lazy. Not a bear. She smirked.

“Calm down now, guys, it’s alright.” Eli’s deep voice cracked as he coaxed the frustrated pups. “Sheesh, they’ll just never get used to you, will they, Vendum?”

Sway maneuvered into a crouch, her hands flush to the ground as her feet silently stepped to the side. She peeked around the corner, spotting her soon to be prey.

Vendum’s mechanical voice held a hint of sadness, “I suppose not.”

Sway guessed Vendum detected her presence long before the dogs started barking, yet was apparently indulging her desire to be stealthy. Excited for the thrill of mock combat, she licked her lips in anticipation.

She had the lanky blonde boy in her sights, sliding ever closer as he reached for his limited key ring. The youngsters, though considered community adults by the age of fifteen, which Sway and Eli were well past, only had access to the essential areas: living quarters, the kitchen, the training facility, and the community center. Everything else Sway or Eli wanted to get into required an adult escort. She thought it was absolutely ridiculous.

“Watch out, Eli.” Vendum betrayed her at the last moment, but it was too late! Eli turned and she jumped to grip under his arm, latching her hand behind his head.

He yelped, “Stop it, Sway!”

“Surrender!” She grunted as Eli struggled to escape her hold.

With the toe of her boot, she tapped the back of his left knee, sending both of them to the ground. Dirt powdered their faces and coats as they tussled. He rolled about, attempting to shake Sway from his back to no avail. Her grip was firm.

“Alright already, I give up.”

With a broad grin she yanked him up to stand, patting dirt from his brown parka as he slapped it off his stained blue jeans.

Vendum commended her, “A very effective move, Sarah. He surrendered thirteen seconds sooner than normal.”

She beamed, a blush working its way over her tan cheeks, “Thank you, I’ve been practicing.”

Vendum nodded, “Watch out.”

The attacker pulled the parka hood over Sway’s eyes, pinning her hands behind. Sway dropped to her knees, slipping free of the heavy coat, and the assaulter’s grasp. Bounding back to her feet, she faced Sojin, a tactical master and her unofficial sparring partner. Sway rarely beat Sojin, and when she did, she assumed it was because Sojin let her.

The frosty November air shot prickles of cold down Sway’s spine, ending in a shiver at her thighs. She tugged on her tight cotton t-shirt, wishing she’d layered up with a sweater. Far too late to do anything about it. She would be warm in due time. Combat with a Mew was always more intense, and the heat of that combat would radiate from her core.

“The weakness of man,” Sojin mused, “Temperature. So distracting, isn’t it, Sway?”

Sojin cared not about heat or cold, nor rain or fire. The Mews were practically indestructible, masterful artistry. Sway was jealous of her near perfection. The metal of Sojin’s body had long since lost its high shine, yet there wasn’t a single spot of rust on her.

“Not at all, Sojin. The weather’s fine.” Sway’s teeth chattered, revealing the truth.

If she had eyebrows, they would have risen when she said, “That’s not what your skin communicates.”

Sojin lurched forward, hand poised for a grab, and Sway twisted her shoulders to avoid it. Instead, Sojin went in for a smack, landing it solidly against her diaphragm. Ripples of pain shuddered through her ribs as she held in the need to gasp. Gripping Sojin’s antennae-like ears, Sway’s knee careened toward her, but was met with a twang by both of her hands.

She pulled on Sway’s lifted thigh, flipping her. In a move of acrobatics even Sway didn’t know she was capable of, she curled her back, released Sojin’s head, and sprung onto her palms, cartwheeling away into a fighter’s stance.

Sojin’s vocal modulator cracked with laughter, “You
have
been practicing.”

Sway panted, heart drumming wildly with adrenaline. Fluffy clouds parted and the sun shone off Sojin’s well-oiled humanesque frame, causing Sway to squint. Her shine wasn’t completely
worn away, after all.

Eli whispered under his breath, “Get her,” causing Sway to ball her shaking hands into fists. She took another calming breath through her nose and swallowed to wet her parched throat.

With the speed of a dozen humans, Sojin kicked at the dirty pavement. Gravel splashed into Sway’s face and she dropped into a quick, desperate squat, unable to see. Her forearms met with Sojin’s shin as she deflected a blow aimed at her side.

Blinking away the painful, grainy distraction, Sway stood with an uppercut. Her fist gonged against Sojin’s steely abdomen, the vibration sending needles of agony up her arm.

Before Sway had a chance to recover, Sojin had a deadlock on her wrist, twisting as she sidestepped. Sway’s eyes watered as the sharp throb worked its way from her shoulder to her neck, begging her to relent.

Her mechanical voice was hushed, but held a well of pleasure, “Surrender.”

Sway contemplated, grunting as she struggled against Sojin’s hold. She could pop her shoulder out of socket, kick in Sojin’s knee and back off. Maybe she would have enough time to pop it back in before Sojin would come at her again. Would it be worth it? Sway wouldn’t win in the end, how could she? Then, she would lose weeks of training from injury repair, maybe even miss her chance at Beacon initiation.

Her voice hissed through clenched teeth, “I surrender.”

Sojin guffawed, shoving her away. “We need to get you boxing gloves next time. Your hand is broken.”

“Not likely,” Sway scoffed, but spared a glance at the swollen knuckles. Heat radiated from the inflamed joints, and she shook it off, pulling her parka back on.

“Very good, Sarah. You landed a hit on the sixth move of the first set, something you’ve never done.” Vendum tipped his head to her.

“You know,” she sucked in a breath as she patted Vendum with her damaged hand, “for disapproving of violence, you sure keep a strict track record of my progress.”

He chuckled, “I like data.”

Just as Eli retrieved his keys from the concrete, the door flew open and he jumped back with a start. The red-haired, blue-eyed beauty, Lanie, pointed to each of them with a scowl on her pale face, “Late, late, late, and late. Not what I expected from
you
, Eli.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He bowed, and Sway followed suit. Lanie was a member of Beacon, the communication squad. As Sway had no idea what she would do with her life without Beacon, she showed Lanie and all of the other members the utmost respect at all times.

“Get in here and get to work.” She ushered them into the kitchen entrance, and stopped when she saw Sway. “Sarah, were you fighting?” Her voice peaked with a motherly shrill.

She shook her head, “No ma’am.”

Lanie’s scowl deepened, “What’s this then?” She grabbed Sway’s hand, a sunburst of pain erupting in a tight wince. Sway refused to show any more weakness than that. Sojin humphed with amusement and followed the others into the catacombs.

“I was sparring, ma’am.” Sway’s eyes drifted to the ground with embarrassment, but still harbored a desire to defend herself. “That’s not fighting.”

“Sparring is for free time, not community time!”

A silence came between them as Lanie watched the others disappear down the stairs. Then, she pulled her in closer, whispering, “Did you win?”

Sway pursed her lips with clenched teeth, not daring to look Lanie in the eyes after wasting her time
and
failing.

She nodded with disappointment, saying, “Better spend more of your free time sparring, then. Off with you, and put ice on it!”

Sway trotted to the underground entrance, taking the steep, rocky stairs carefully. The first level held the community’s minor perishables: grains, tubers, berries, and squash. Everything Sway was interested in.

It stayed around ten degrees Celsius most of the time. She looked about the pallets of stacked greens, then crossed the hall to the second set of larger stairs to the lower level. The breeze was strong, which was good for circulation.

The catacombs stretched a kilometer through town, ending at the Thompson River, where a small opening was carved. Water was diverted through the tunnels for the town’s consumption, but the rest was allowed to keep flowing. A larger set of openings at the other end, near the kitchen side, created pressure to drive the air from the river through the catacombs.

Sway pulled the hood of her parka up around her ears in the dim light of the cavernous refrigerator, snatching the clipboard from the wall.
1,226 liters of milk, 96 kilos of oats, 2,012 eggs, 408 kilos of assorted vegetables, and whatever remained of the raspberries.
Her brow creased. It seemed far too little for nearly four thousand people.

“Eli!” she shouted, and he abandoned his cart of creamy milk, blowing into his hands to warm them.

“What’s up?”

“Does that seem like enough food to you?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the Mews who were quietly busying themselves with chores that had no impact on them. “I heard people have been leaving for another community a few hundred kilometers south.”

“South
?
” She squinted in confusion and he nodded. “Like Vancouver, or farther?”

He whispered lower, “I heard they have pieces of the Brazilian Priyon colony ship.” Eli looked about, as if being watched. “They want to rebuild.”

“Why? It’s not like our lives are hard.”

Eli shrugged at her question.

“Good grief, lazy bums and their techno-dependency,” Sway groaned, pinning the clipboard back to the wall. “Well, good riddance.”