September 2016 – Radiosaurs in the Wastes

I don’t know how you do it, Phillipe cast about the enclosed viewing suite, regardless that the servants could “hear” him. They’re everywhere! And you even let them speak in your presence. He pointed a hoof at an engineer whose head was buried in a hole in the wall. What is it doing here? I say, it turns out my council wasn’t exaggerating – the Wastes truly is a backwards place.

Human servants hurried about their tasks, scuttling in and out of the suite.

Darkheart’s feathered talons nudged an enormous clay bowl of watercress toward the nest prepared for the Brachylophosaurus. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, ambassador. But, you see, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Please do not misunderstand. I am delighted to have you, but in order for you to better enjoy the festivities, I am having that woman install a heat-signature screen. As you say, we may not have the culture of our esteemed cousins to the south, but the festivities will show that we do know entertainment. The Deinonychus’ indigo snout bobbed up and down at the screen they lounged behind.

Thank you for that consideration, and flexibility. Phillipe craned his neck so that he could study the coliseum. The waning sun’s light barely touched the massive forest in the middle. Some levels of the outer wall, like the one on which they presided, had private viewing suits. Others were just one big balcony, from which to watch the games. Humans were restricted to the top balcony, unless they were under the employ of a spectating radiosaur. Impressive, for the Wastes. And I am looking forward to learning more about tonight’s entertainment, but at the moment I am more interested in learning more about what happened to my clan’s expedition party. He bent his muscled neck; his powerful bill snatched up a handful of watercress.

Darkheart shoved his snout into his arm’s calico feathers, nervously stroking their barbed vanes with his tongue. It would be a personal honor ambassador, but the debriefing meeting isn’t until tomorrow. Besides, it would be the antithesis of appropriate for me to conduct the debriefing. Instead, let me tell you about the entertainment we’ve prepared for you.

The Brachlyophosaurus chattered his two front hooves together, and quit adding to the cud-ball in his voluminous cheek. I beg to differ. Yes, the governor and other feds might be more appropriate if I were only looking for the official story. But I want the complete story. And who would be more appropriate to provide information on an Enigma than the mayor of the town that that Enigma made famous?

The Deinonychus kicked at a few branches that made up his nest, pretending to be preoccupied with settling in. And, to be sure, ambassador, I eagerly await the opportunity to provide you any and all information that might be of use to you tomorrow, as scheduled.

Phillipe huffed. The loud, warm blast of air lifted watercress out of the bowl, scattering them across the floor. Look at it this way: by talking about it now, I’ll be more equipped to ask better questions tomorrow. My clan will be in your debt. And you have my word that I will be discreet. Besides, I never knew you Wastelanders to go by the book.

A massive telepathic blast brought Phillipe to his feet, causing him to loudly blort. He was bombarded by I hope your senses are good tonight, because I have an amazing line-up for you! To whet your appetites before the main course, I’ve procured the gore-fest we all know as Alice the Atrocious! Just as soon as Phillipe blocked that particular telepathic channel, a cacophony of roars, screams, and blorts shook the coliseum to its foundation, causing Phillipe to stumble to a knee.

Darkheart could do nothing to help the ambassador rebalance. Ambassador, are you ill?

There’s a yelling voice in my head… Phillipe got back to his feet and frantically looked out into the coliseum.

That is just the announcer, ambassador. Casting from a single psy-enhancer. Surely you have psy-enhancers in the south?

The brachylophosaurus slowly stumbled back into his nest. After he collected himself, Of course. But we use several, less-powerful ones. This one is difficult to modulate. I’m afraid it interrupted our conversation. You were just about to tell me about my expedition party.

The Deinonychus couldn’t stop himself from flattening his chest and pinning his eyes at the ambassador. He was thankful that both were still in the process of nesting, so that Phillipe didn’t notice. Ambassador, if only you would ask something else of me.

Your Enigma swallowed a host of my best scientists, a platoon of their servants, and priceless equipment. Where did they all go to? What are those purple flying orbs? Is it true that time stood still at the same moment they were said to disappear? What did the Mad Priest really say to you when he returned? Why are the Humans so interested in Engimas?

Ambassador, I am certain that…

A servant, who was pouring water into the trough next to Phillipe, accidentally overfilled the trough. As the ice-water collected around the Brachlyophsosaurus, the Ambassador gasped, and once again jumped to his feet.

Before the servant could apologize, Darkheart launched himself over Phillipe, and splintered the wooden bucket when he landed on it. The retractable claw on his left leg swung out, scything the man deeply across the arm. Worthless krill! He braced himself, preparing to jump on the man’s chest.

Leave it for later. Instead, let’s put aside the questions for now, and instead make a gentleman’s wager. Phillipe’s powerful tooth-filled bill ground the watercress into slime.

Darkheart eyed the bleeding and trembling servant, pinning his pupils. His reversed fangs thirsted for flesh, and killing would be a good distraction from the ambassador’s relentless questions.

Phillipe thought, Leave us. And get healed. Darkheart wouldn’t want you to bleed out before he has a chance to discipline you. In fact, close the door. I don’t want any more of you ruining tonight. The ambassador’s heavy tail gently brushed against Darkheart’s calico-feathered back. Unless you don’t appreciate a friendly bet. I find that adding personal investment to a sport gives it more spice.

Darkheart kicked the servant away. You heard the ambassador. Get out of here and don’t die before I can kill you. Overjoyed that the ambassador had stopped questioning him, and that he was going to have his own sport that night, the Deinonychus skip-hopped over to Phillipe.

The two radiosaurs looked out the window. The heat-sensor screen was up and running. A raptor-sized shape skirted away the north side of the coliseum, sneaking through the underbrush. Three human-sized shapes huddled together at the south side. Phillipe and Darkheart could actually see and smell the humans. They smelled deeply of fear.

This will hardly be a good hunt, but you must suspend your judgment until the main event, ambassador.

Phillipe walked parallel to the screen, then turned when he reached one side. But it is exactly this event for which I wish to place the wager. I bet on the Humans, fifty-to-one.

Fifty-to-one?! Ambassador, surely you misunderstand this game. Even if the Humans win, which they most certainly will not, it’s last man standing, so…

The engineer suddenly popped her head out of the wall. “Echo, it’s open.”

Darkheart’s head pivoted to the engineer, suddenly realizing that the scent of fear was also coming from within the room. What are you talking about, krill? My name isn’t Echo, and who gave you permission to…

The Brachlyophsosaurus’ tail slammed into Darkheart’s skull. It wasn’t clear if it was this or the subsequent collision with the wall that snapped his neck. The engineer and the “ambassador” anxiously watched the screen. The raptor approached rapidly from the north, while the humans just stood around. The raptor got closer and closer until, finally, another set of human-shaped blobs appeared outside the extreme south-east side of the coliseum. They breached the coliseum just as the imprisoned humans in the coliseum got to them. The coliseum was filled with crackling and popping. Then the raptor went down.

The engineer sighed, as if she had been holding her breath for years. “They did it. They found the door. Thank god. And thank you, Echo. You were amazing.”

Thanks, but I wasn’t able to get any more information on the Enigma.

“Echo, we just rescued the mother of the resistance… I’d say our mission was a helluva success.”

Now we just got to get out of here alive.

The Runner

By The Kid

On September 22, 2016

In Wastelander

It felt no larger than a pebble but it struck with a force that sent stars shooting across Xipu’s vision, shattering his running cadence and throwing him sideways onto the desert rock. He immediately scrambled to his feet, throwing himself from side to side to scan the horizon, his two hearts hammering his abdomen. Crouched low he turned small circles searching for the threat and seeing nothing but the rainbow colors of rock and sand.

It had been a small thing but small things could kill out in the Wastes. It might have been a zip pellet, he thought, or a sling stone. The Mantecs of this sector were know to use them and it was a common enough occurrence for those vermin to try and take a lone radiosaur. He cursed himself for acting as absent minded as a two-run fool. He had let the rhythm of the survey run lull him into a stupor, thinking too soon on this last leg of the sleep and comfort waiting at Badwater Station. It was only after a minute passed with no second shot came that Xipu finally slowed his defensive circling and heard the tiny intermittent scraping of frantic steel on rock.

It was no more than the size of a ripened grape and at first Xipu had difficulty in locating it among the iridescent sands he had churned up in his haste but eventually the sound and the glint of sunlight off that hateful cybernetic body led him to the spot. Even though Xipu had known at once what it must be, still his nostrils flared wide and the nictitating membranes that covered his eyes fluttered in fear as he saw the small metal insect that jerked and buzzed on the sand.

Swarm.

Xipu’s talons flashed out on instinct, slashing down, but the monster was too small and he succeeded only in casting it away. Coming up again, Xipu frantically raised his haunch and smashed his foot down to crush the drone against the rock. Again and again he brought his full weight down on the thing, trusting in strength and weight to smash the power out of it and each time the rise of his claws showed the flickering minilights and steel exoframe still intact. Falling to his knees Xipu cast about himself until he gripped a flat piece of sand blown pumice. Scrabbling back through the dust he brought the sharp edge of the wind scraped rock squarely down onto the struggling drone. Three times Xipu struck before the drone went silent and he was again surrounded by nothing but the sounds of the wind across the Waste.

Xipu knew he must flee. Encountering only a single drone meant he must be on the very edge of the Swarm’s territory. But where there was one there were many. Crouched low he set out West, casting terrified glances to each side, at any minute expecting to hear to the terrible droning of the swarm. His talons bit into the sand, the webbing on his feet throwing it behind him, building speed, conserving nothing, his legs hammering like a machine flying across the Waste. With each meter his equilibrium returned. The drone had broken a wing. He had destroyed it before it could report! Fifty meters, seventy, a kilometer! He would clear the Swarm’s range and be safe. Home! He was Xipu, Map Runner to the Second Surveyor Clan of the Science Castes and no radiosaur could run as well.

So glorious was the feeling that Xipu did not feel the first drone attach. He sensed only a strange shifting in his gyrotheodolite as if it had been seated badly in the harness, then a resistance on his retroreflector as if someone had been plucking at his sleeve. The blood hammering in his skull still muffled the humming of the tiny saws and the snap of the cutting lasers.

Some days later the section survey master of Badwater Station moved a chit on his board from active to missing. And no more was ever heard of Xipu Runner, of the Second Surveyor Clan of the Science Castes.

Surveyors

On September 15, 2016

In Uncategorized

“You’ll make a lot of creds, but you won’t live long enough to spend them.”

Rapture Towns

On September 15, 2016

“… there are a million ghost towns in the Wastes. Some a kind of modern Vesuvius, inhabitants vaporized in one explosive moment, crumbled buildings tattooed with the shapes of people who would be mercifully spared the suffering of the War and the GP. Some were abandoned in the face of the angry radioactive wave that raged its way across the West, in places like Biden and Cordry that are still too hot to visit, another world captured in time. These are what the Wastelenders call Rapture Towns, as if everyone had been vacuumed up into the bright beautiful light of Judgement Day, leaving the rest of us – the damned – behind. Worst of all are the cities and towns where humans tried to stay, vainly holding out against the rads and the radiosaurs, where they circled the wagons and tried to adapt to the changing world and hold out through the worst. Towns like San Antonio…”

Allie Bell
Excerpt from Rapture

The Lottery

By Aughra

On September 15, 2016

In Wastelander

How can I relate the wretched, macabre, and tragic scene I stumbled upon in San Antonio? How to describe the monstrous images burned into my memory? I suppose the best place to start is the notice ubiquitously plastered throughout the town… the Decree:

“We, the duly-elected Board of Council, recognizing that our town has depleted all possible sources of beast and radiosaur, on this day, March 23, 2075, decree that all men and women residents, and visitors of more than one week, above the age of sixteen will be entered into a lottery.

“The lottery will be held on the Friday of every week, at 8:00 in the evening.

“Everyone must be present for the lottery. Those not in attendance at roll-call will be stricken from the lottery, and their lives will be immediately forfeit, property of the Board of Council.

“During the lottery, a name will be chosen. The individual whose name is chosen will furnish a limb of their choice to the Board of Council. If the individual does not provide a choice, the Board of Council will decide on a limb.

“The individual has the choice of preparing the limb themselves, or request the assistance of the Board of Council.

“The individual’s name will be removed from the lottery until the depletion of all names in the lottery.

“Pregnancy does not preclude the inclusion of an individual’s name in the lottery. Upon birth, the product becomes the property of the Board of Council, and a lottery will not be held that week.

“Death does preclude the inclusion of an individual’s name in the lottery. Upon death, the individual becomes the property of the Board of Council, and a lottery will not be held that week.

“The distribution of all lottery proceeds equitably and in a timely manner will be the sole responsibility and prerogative of the Board of Council.”

Shocktroopers

In Great Pacification

Wielding a krakk staff retrofitted with a kinestatic electricity collector on the blade end, the original Shocktroopers were a hastily-formed skirmishing unit organized in response to the electromage mutation. The shocktrooper’s krakk staff discharges a single lethal blast of energy on contact, after which it is still useful as a bladed weapon until the next charge cycle is complete, and perhaps most importantly is capable of absorbing the large amounts of electricity produced by most electromages. Shocktroopers proved especially useful during the Great Pacification of NorthEq and were deployed with stunning effectiveness in Montana District against the bandit kingdom that called itself the Gauss Gang. To this day, each District maintains its own quick response Shocktrooper unit to deal with electromage marauders.

Electromages

In Wastelander

Electromages collect static electricity from the arid, charged landscape of the Wasteland and store it in their body. By combining this natural ability with protective, grounded clothing they are able to store up an amount of electric charge that would prove fatal to other humans. They are able to discharge this electromagnetic energy in various ways, commonly as a short range EMP burst or in rapid arcs of bolt lightning. The most powerful electromages are able to essentially turn themselves into powerful electromagnets, capable of attracting and repelling metal at will. What makes them such desirable peace officers, and such feared criminals, is their ability to both repel deadly projectiles fired at them and then immediately return them at lethal speed to their assailants – earning them the nickname “Railgunners”.

The Dervish of the Wastes

“The chiming of water… resolved itself into a Dervish of the Wastes”

The Dervish of NorthEq are nomads who wander the Wastes collecting water through giant metals staffs. These poles, which they refer to as Diving Rods, use antenna-like devices to harvest tiny particles out of the air, which are condensed and distilled in the central shaft, then fed out in drops through the branches of the rod to a collection of bottles. The exact nature of this process is unknown as no Dervish has ever been able to be induced or compelled to part with their Diving Rod.

No one outside of this insular community understands the true motivation of the Dervish but they have been mythologized by many as agents of mercy coming to the rescue of creatures stranded in the Wastes- appearing over the horizon in many stories, heralded by the tinkling and clinking of their many bottles, a vision of salvation, bringing water and salvation to those on the brink of death.

To outsiders the Dervish seem to serve those who traverse the Wastes – but what is their ultimate agenda? Where do they come from? Why do they risk their lives in this way?

Mister Red

By The Kid