Fear Not The Night

Fear not the night, for the sun shall rise upon the morrow,

Burning away shadows long and cold,

Cleansing all they try to cling to,

Leaving naught but husks and ash in its wake,

As it spreads across your path,

Guiding you through all the day,

And warms all in preparation of the coming night.

~ Fear Not The Night, from the Annals of Light

Inhabitable

   Whatever world used to be here ended. It did not go quietly; without a fight. It was harsh and abrupt. There were overgrown remains of strange structures and contraptions all around the surrounding area of our landing vessel. Our people found this dead, lush, vibrant world a long time after the last body fell or crumbled where it had stood on that final day, that final moment of an entire civilization. Fragments of bone are all that remain.
   Unhindered, nature took its course. Everywhere is "The Wilds" on this planet. Life of a kind found a way to begin anew upon the ruins and ash; of the desolation that was wrought in a cataclysmic finale. Enormous trees, vines, and plants of all kinds grow everywhere, untamed and in constant competition for space. Flying creatures unlike anything I've ever seen before, rule the skies, and the wild calls of beasts among the foliage are unrecognizable to my ears. It is a world that looked like it had been reset, the slate wiped clean.
   It was here that our people attempted to rebuild our own civilization. We had been adrift amongst the cosmos for thousands of years aboard our ship. An ark of sorts. Generations had passed, and our former home world was akin to a tiny star among the cluttered night sky. It had ended abruptly, much the same as this place. We did not wish to leave, but had no other choice. It was simply a case of advance or die.
   Nomadic by nature, our race embraced the challenge ahead of them then with caution and skepticism at first, but as the fate of our world became increasingly evident, with vigor and a sense of urgency. Our people came together as one to achieve their goal of interstellar flight on a sustainable scale that would allow each massive vessel that left our planet behind forever to succeed in their quest to find not one, but many new homes. Courses were plotted based off of hundreds of years of research of the universe. We would attempt to re-establish contact with the other settler ships over time.
   Ours was the longest journey, to a planet simply known as Inhabitable-3854. It was approximately thirty three hundred light years from our world.
   We had been in orbit for months before this first landing, and I was the head of landing vessel three. Our mission was to collect soil, air and water samples for analysis and return to the mother ship. All was going according to plan so far, but that did nothing to ease the pain of planet-side gravity slowly crushing my body after a lifetime in artificial gravity.
   It would take us two days to gather all the samples we required from a large enough area to sustain our people if indeed it was safe to inhabit this place.
   While the vegetation and calls of the wild were promising, it did little to ease my mind of the 'what if' scenario that would see us set adrift once again.
   I took in the sky with awe as I stretched to my full seven foot three inch height, the first real sky I had ever seen, with two suns and three moons visible in various sizes. My spine popped in several places as it adjusted to the gravity a little more with the stretching. The pain was excruciating, but the gravmeds were keeping the worst at bay.
   The first shadows of nightfall were beginning to creep across the landscape of the valley we had landed in as the second of the two suns began to dip behind the mountain range to my left as I looked up the valley. Orange fire danced off the surface of a river that wove its way through the flat of the valley, bending through grasslands on both sides before dipping beneath the forest canopy once again.
   My peaceful serenity was shattered by a piercing cry, deep and guttural, with three echoing cries following it. The bass of the cries shook my bones and I knew without a doubt that whatever beast was king in this place was awake and ready for a hunt. The hairs on the back of my neck were on end as I signaled to the rest of my team that it was time to return to our landing vessel for the evening. Seven of us in total. Five scientists and two guards including myself.
   One by one they filed into the ship with their equipment in tow, and I found myself eager to hear what they had seen over the course of the day, and even more excited to see what they would find in the data from their samples they had already collected. The landing ramp closed behind me as I thumped the closing switch with the heel of my hand and waited for the enviro-chamber to clean and vent, then stabilize the air before opening the inner hatch for us to enter the ship proper.
   We stripped out of our suits and stored our equipment before heading to the mess hall to eat. Every one of our faces was aglow with the dreams of a tomorrow on the surface of an actual planet. It was going to be a long night.

Rufus

   Here is a short bit from a 15 minute free form writing session about an intelligent dog named Rufus:


   Rufus scratched furiously at a patch of fur behind his ear, awkwardly cocking his head to the side, and almost bending in half as he did so. He half growled and half whined, pulling one side of his upper lip back over his lower canine.
   "That's all you have to say on the matter," questioned a scraggly, bearded, older man as he sat at the end of the fishing wharf, slowly kicking his feet back and forth in the water.
   Rufus finished scratching his itch, looked at the man and chuffed.
   "Well then, what would interest you enough to converse in earnest today?"
   He tilted his head to the opposite side as he listened to the man, and when he was finished, barked once loudly and pawed the mans news paper which lay beside him on the wharf.
   "Ah, feeling refined today are we," questioned the man as he looked down at the paper and flipped it open with one hand while blindly steadying his fishing rod with the other, "what shall it be then?"
   Rufus stood and repositioned himself, sitting next to the man so he could look straight at the news paper.
   "This one," asked the man as he pointed at the first article "a bank robbery?"
   Rufus looked from the article to the man and back again before shaking his head, his collar jingling lightly.
   "OK then, nothing too serious. I can appreciate that."
   The man flipped a few more pages and pointed at the next article. It was a story about a flower show at the local convention hall that coming weekend.
   Rufus repeated his previous disapproving actions.
   "Hmm, going to be one of those days is it," gruffed the man before flipping ahead some more.
   Suddenly, Rufus pounced on the open page with both front paws and yipped once, loudly.
   "Ok then, no need to get excited. I mean, I know the mayor lady is a looker, but lets be civil here," the man said as he laughed at the dog's excitement. He cleared his throat and began to read the article aloud as Rufus curled up next to him and stared intently at the paper.

A Warning Too Late

   Clouds are weird!
   It was a fact that had many times entrapped Tommy Tigerson deep in thought. They could hold water, glow, race across the sky, block the sun from shining, and dissipate as quickly as they formed a variety of shapes on their errant journeys across the sky.
   They had no purpose at times it seemed, yet at others, they brought life giving water or the protection of shade from the summer's blazing heat. He twisted sideways more while remaining on his back so that he could get a different view of the clouds.
   "It's like magic don't you think Jim," he asked with excitement in his voice?
   "Yeah," replied Jim, "they really are amazing."
   They stared up into the sky for a long while in silence.
   Tommy's imagination was on fire as he painted his own world with the clouds.
   A looming tower sprouted from a field of cotton fluff, while a short distance away a chariot was pulled across the bright blue expanse nestled between two white mountains by turtles. A silhouette of a giant appeared atop one of the mountains, standing guard for a while as the chariot passed by, and then evaporated on the wind, becoming the smoke plume of a volcano.
   Day was just giving way to night when the warning roused him from his daydreaming.
   Tommy's world shattered around him like ice cracking away during the spring thaw. He bolted upright and looked at Jim, who's face resembled the clouds they had been watching.
   "Was that the first horn or the second," asked Tommy?
   "First... I think," replied Jim hesitantly.
   A moment later, a second horn blast rang out, long and shrill, echoing down the valley.
   "Oh man, no way," exclaimed Tommy as shock crept across his face.
   "That's not good," replied Jim, scanning the the valley and the sky all around them, "I don't see anything, do-"
   The shriek Jim let out made Tommy wet himself as his best friend disappeared from his side, up into the clouds above him. His own scream drowned out any thought other than the one that told him to RUN!
   His faculties didn't fully return to him until he had run halfway down the mountain path towards the village. His mind was fuzzy and his vision blurred by tears. He didn't remember leaving the mountain top where he wast posted to man the signal fire that was to be lit in warning to the other villages further down the valley.
   A dozen thoughts raced through his mind at once. Had he lit the fire? Did Jim really get carried off into the clouds? Did he really see what he thought he saw? If so, that meant they were real! They aren't real thought, they are just creatures of myth, used in stories to frighten little children. And young men it seems! Did anyone else see it? Is that what the warning horns were for, or was the village under attack?
   A quick glance over his shoulder as he splashed through the stream just before the village told him all he needed to know. There was no smoke plume coming from the mountain top. His heart sank into his stomach as the dereliction of duty mounted the already crushing failure and emotions that drove his foot falls one after the other as far away from what he had seen.
   Tommy crashed against the gate made from hewn logs at a full sprint, banging his fists upon it and screaming at the top of his lungs, wailing to be let in. He put his back to the gate and scanned the mountain path where he had come from, then the sky, looking for any sign of the beast he thought he had seen. Darkness threatened to claim him, creeping in from the edge of his vision as he began to hyperventilate. He kicked against the gate with his heel, pleading for someone to hurry. Fresh, hot tears bore a path down either side of his face as he screamed in rage at the mountain. He felt himself falling backwards, his body becoming weightless as darkness washed over his vision; The gate finally opened behind him. He didn't feel the ground come up to meet him as he passed out from sheer terror.

Darion the Defiant

   Nothing could have prepared them for it. Not the smell. Not the sounds. Especially not the sights. No, the things seen in battle could never be unseen. They visited them in their sleep, they appeared behind their eyelids every time they blinked shut. The screams echoed in their ears over and over, even when the ringing from the concussive blasts threatened to drown out all other sounds for the rest of their lives.
   Eternity stretched on as they hunkered down in their trenches and battle holes. Ditches dug into the farm lands that stretched for thousands of feet. Farmers who but a few short months ago were sowing seed into the fresh turned spring soil now dug like rabbits and fought like packs of rabid packs against an usurper unlike anything they had ever seen before. A man-- No, a monster of a man with no name that commanded an army of faceless savages larger than any other force that had dared to invade their lands before. The only thing worse than the savages were the robed and hooded figures that stood atop giant platforms with their hands folded together beneath over-sized sleeves as they overlooked the battlefield. The last mistake anyone could have made would be underestimating them based on how fragile they appeared. When their hands clapped together, a concussive blast rushed forth, shredding anything and everything that stood in its path.
   The first of the farmers-turned-soldiers over the the top of the trenches disintegrated and blew back over their companions as dust and ash would from a fire. They were not the first to die, nor would they be the last. The second wave of soldiers fared no better. The third wave, now in shock at the speed with which their friends and family members had been erased from this world, fell back into their trenches and wailed in defeat.
   Four lines behind them, one simple soul had not been paying attention to the demise of those who attempted to clear the way ahead of him, as he was lost in his blindness, praying to the heavens for deliverance from those that would wipe them from memory because they were caught in the middle of a feud that they neither cared about nor wanted any part of.
   Darion the Blind felt a tug at his heart, and his legs pulled him forward suddenly as the wails of agony washed over him. He crested the lip of the trench he had helped to cut out of the fields. Once out of the trench, he stood defiant, blade in one hand, walking cane in the other. He planted himself and raised his head to the sky he could not see and bellowed at the top of his lungs as he tamped his cane into the muck beside him.
   A ray of sunlight pierced the veil of shadowed clouds that hung low in the sky over the battlefield, casting its warmth upon the remaining farmers-turned-soldiers. Their wailing ceased, and a calming certainty filled them as Darion's call echoed out across the sundered fields. They began to poke their heads up above the safety of their trenches, and seeing Darion the Blind standing alone facing their enemy gave them the heart they so desperately needed in that moment.
   Darion's cry came to an end, and after a few breaths he leveled his gaze towards his unseen foe and bellowed one order that all his fellow men answered.
   "Scatter like the ash of our lost brethren, come upon them from all sides, and give no quarter!"
   Like locusts they swarmed up and over the trenches all at once in every direction, giving their enemy no point to focus on. Thunderclaps came and few turned to dust, but within moments every section of their lines were assaulted by hordes of defiant farmers filled with the rage that only those defending their homes could exude. With everything to lose, and no mercy to give, they fought the bloodiest and most savage battle their realm had every known. Many of them fell and were lost to naught but memory, but many more overcame the insurmountable odds.
   The robed men were not impervious to blade, spear, or pitch fork, and once encircled could not flee from their platforms. Their power was no less awful against a single man as it was against many, and they did their worst. Pillars of walking fire, bolts of lightning, and men turned to stone or salt all around their platforms as they faced their inevitable deaths.
   As the last of the platforms fell, a horn blared out as dusk crept in. The usurper had sounded retreat and with that call, fled alone into the south as his army was slain to the last faceless savage.
   On that day, Dorian became 'The Defiant', leader of the free men of the western plains where farmers became soldiers and an usurper's army became fertilizer for their lands.

On The Eve of Tomorrow

Another day has come,
And another will soon be spent.

With heavy minds and burdened hearts,
We lay ourselves down to rest.

To see the dreams and live tomorrow,
We shall forget all this sorrow.

Spend a moment and breath it in,
This is the beginning of something new.

Alas ye stay,
Near and dear yet far away.

Soon then,
We shall meet again.

On the eve of tomorrow.

Good Timing

   Sometimes the creative mind has a mind of its own and it ends up lining up with something relevant unexpectedly. This is one of those times. I scribble out a little Sci-Fi idea earlier this week, and not a day later, came across the Arizona State University 2016 Climate Fiction Short Story Contest. At first I had to check my web history to make sure I hadn't subconsciously skipped over it while scrolling through my various writing news feeds, emails, or social media, but to my delight, most certainly had not.
   I re-read what I had scribble down earlier in the week and decided that it was definitely on the right track already, and have started to run with it and see where it ends up. It's beautiful timing for the writing contest to pop-up, as I am currently looking for my next work adventure, and have free time to fill with writing and reading. It's double so as I wanted to more research on climate change for general knowledge anyways. I figure, if I'm going to be creating worlds that change with the ebb and flow, I should have a good understanding of how a world can change over time from a scientific perspective.
   So, today I sat down at my usual coffee shop office and got to work researching and expanding on the bit I had written already. Here's what I have so far:

Exodus Earth

   We thought we could escape all our problems if we could just reach the stars. Interstellar flight was the key to our future. It would bring us closer together as a whole; provide us with endless potential, and the brightest of futures.

   The first Generation Ship launched to a staccato of cheers and verbalized fears for the loved ones being lost to Earth forevermore. That was a hundred and sixty years ago. Twenty years later, Earth was entering the final stages of a massive climate change. A new ice age had begun to encase the equator to the dismay of scientists and theorists alike. They couldn't understand how they could have been so wrong about how the Earth works after so many centuries of constant study. To me, that's the beauty of life in this universe. For everything we think we know, there are ten things that surprise us.

   A massive exodus from Earth was inevitable. There simply wouldn't be enough space for the remaining populace to relocate to the polar circles and although the technology to build subterranean living shelters was advanced enough, no preparation had been made to counter nature's wrath.

   Of the nearly eight billion people that called Earth home, seven remained surface side. Best estimates for the remaining ships already built or being built in orbit, could house another five hundred million people. The Mars and Moon colonies could take another two hundred and fifty million each if they put all their efforts into expanding living and agriculture domes. That left nearly six billion souls to fight for survival as the remaining population attempted to cram as many as they could into the polar circles while maintaining adequate sustainable food, water, and waste management systems. To say it was ugly would be putting it in the most positive light possible.

   Over the next ten years, nearly half of the remaining Earthers died of exposure or in the fighting that broke out over who would get to live in the polar circles. Fanatical groups that were pro-apocalypse sprung up in ever increasing numbers and frequency. By the time the last seven generation ships were ready to leave orbit, only two billion people remained surface side. My grandparents were two of them, and they were the remaining leaders of the southern polar circle.

~*~

   Icy winds bucked and rocked the supply shuttled as it flew across the frozen tundra that was now mid-western Canada. An alert klaxon warned that the turbulence was at dangerous levels and a small display panel next to it indicated the new recommended safe flying altitude. Denton Weaver flipped the acknowledgement switch to register his confirmation of the warning with home base, and punched in the new altitude on his flight panel. The giant thruster engine located at the back of the shuttle above the cargo bay door ramp whined as it accelerated, and the polymetal frame protested slightly as the flight computer directed the vessel up to the new height.

   Denton leaned back into his cozy contoured pilot seat and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from his thermos into the lid. No matter how many times he made this supply run, he couldn’t get used to the extra chill that bit through the sidewalls of the shuttle when flying over the Ice Belt that now encased the entire equator of the planet. Steam rolled off the coffee in vivid dancing lines, and the smell of the brew was as fresh as if he had just brewed it a moment before. As he took a sip he flicked the heat dial to max with his other hand. The setting sun to the west was his only companion on this trip besides his emergency droid harnessed in its docking station inset in the hull ten feet behind him. It blazed through the small cockpit windows as it danced off the endless ice that traversed the horizon to meet its decent.

   Despite all the technology advancements in the past hundred years, the shuttle trip still had a round-trip count of twelve hours before adding on the loading and unloading procedures. There wasn’t a ton of trade between the Northern and Southern Circles, but they maintained the essential supplies trade routes as much as weather would permit. Orbital jumps were simply too expensive on the remaining resources left accessible to the Earthers, and was only used when absolutely necessary.

   Other than these few trade routes and their shuttles, the only other resources coming into or going out of the colonies came in the form of supply drops from the Galactic colonies on Mars and the Moon. It was rare that anything would be sent back with the small team of Droppers.

   Denton found it hard to imagine that there was nothing out there as he watched the white-blue landscape rush by far below. He had video clips and pictures aplenty from his family of the time before the ice. The world was completely unrecognizable to anyone left alive that remembered it any other way. His mind wandered to thoughts of what he would do if his shuttle ever went down, but quickly shook himself out of it. That was a dangerous train of thought to allow on a solo supply run. Although it was rare that it could happen, the fact remained cemented in the back of his mind that it could. The company archives were littered with stories about the crashes that had occurred, some recovered, others observed during a passing flight came across the half buried wreckage on the horizon after the ice storms had abated enough to continue running the routes.

   He hated the cold, but the money was good, and it was better than doing an essential duties job that was all too common but necessary for the Polar Circles to be maintained. Two billion people crammed into roughly a tenth of the livable space previously available and entirely brand new as far as ecosystems go. The one saving grace was the Svalbard Global Seed Vault that had been established on the old Norwegian island of Spitsbergen in the Svalbard Arctic Archipelago about 1,300 kilometers from the North Pole back when the earliest signs of global change began.

   The seed vault had provided the foundation for the revitalization of food crops lost to the ice belt, including the coffee he now enjoyed. The polar circles had shifted to mostly tropical climes, and a great deal of engineering went into maximizing crop growth within vertical farm pillars. These consisted of a central column with jutting greenhouses that looked like leaves branching off of a plant stem. Solar glass doubled as the primary source of energy production for the colonies within each polar region, and the grid could sustain well in excess of the demands.

   Thoughts? Feedback? Input of any kind? Let me know what you think.