First steps- Act I, Pt. I: Waking up after so long
Trek Across the Sands
Story by: Fire Blanket
1
My eyes snapped open, and I quickly assessed whatever situation I was in. A large, dark cavern, no visible light source in the walls or ceiling. Thankfully, my home had survived the test of time.
A three story tall building, assembled from scrap and junk like every other building of the time, with a large sheet metal door and several balconies, each one with a rusted, old rifle mounted on the railing. Home sweet home, or at least it was.
It’s been so long since this had been my home....
I wish the stasis was unnecessary, waiting out... I don’t even remember how many years, just to see the ones you love again? Horrifying, ugly, discerning, heartbreaking and lonely. Luckily, I know I will get to see them soon, even if I must wait a few months. I just wish they could have sent me forward closer to their arrival. Why was that? I... I don’t remember....
I stood up from my spot on the ground, where I had last laid down during my stasis break so long ago... I still don’t remember the years.... Anyway, I stood from my spot and stretched, earning pops and cracks from my old bones as I did. I then looked around briefly, then made my way to my old home, opening the door and entering the main room.
I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to enter my home once more, I felt I would find my answers to the lost times there. As it turns out, I did find my answer. An old hologram projector, which turned on as soon as I approached it. It was corrupt, the image of the person on it obscured by static and disfiguration, and their voice was deep and distorted.
“Sarah,” It said, “Sarah Solhourne... I hope this message stands time and reaches you. Listen well, as this may be the last time this works, should it still function...” There was a pause and a sigh, then the message continued, “You have been sent forward-” static cut in, obscuring the words briefly, “-years-s-s-s, just months before J--k-k a-a-and --ra-- would arr-i-i-ve---” the voice became deeper and slower, before hastily continuing,“with memories of you in place-e-e-e.”
Ah, so I must wait only a few months. Good, as I am eager to see them once more, my beloved and our child. It may not have answered everything I might want to know, but it would do for now.
The hologram had malfunctioned then, and I stepped away from it and over to the one place in my old home that had survived time with me. The stasis chest I had specially made for this situation.
Opening the large, wide, deep chest, I removed the contents of it and placed them out around me. A pile of clothes, that specifically I was lacking at the moment, a decent sized weapon case, a backpack, a walking staff, and my PEt-DSD (Physical Essence to-Data Storage Device).
First and foremost I put on my clothes. Baggy white pants and a white sash to hold it first, followed by a similarly baggy white shirt. Next was a large, brown, hooded robe and a long, large white scarf, which even wrapped twice around my neck would still flow past my knees. Finally was a white cap, placed snugly over my shoulder length black hair, with a large square of cloth hanging around the sides and back of my head. I slipped a pair of sandals onto my feet as well, then moved to the weapon case.
Opening it revealed my prized weapons, all of which were still in perfect condition. The two, connected hilts of my blades I simply slipped into my sash, under the robe and out of site. Next were the three-slotted throwing needle holsters, empty, which I strapped to the insides of my forearms, and I subsequently used two rolls of white cloth bandages in the case to cover my hands and arms up to my shoulders.
Finally, the only weapons I ever carried in the open, my two prized revolvers. Both black with intricate gold inlays, made in the same series of weapons as my daughter’s, all handcrafted by my husband and her father. I strapped two side holsters under my arms and slid the pistols into them, moving my robe and scarf slightly to allow them to be seen.
I stood there silently in my home, allowing myself to take it in one last time, as I didn’t expect to return anytime soon. After a moment of letting myself soak in the old ghosts of the house, I set out, PEt-DSD in hand and backpack over my shoulder, which carried my folded walking staff inside.
After much searching and wandering through the admittedly complex series of tunnels and caves connecting to the cavern I awoke in, I found an exit, moonlight washing in from the outside, leading my way. When I finally reached the outdoors, I found myself facing a large, open land of desert sand and mountains.
A large splash of stars adorned the beautiful, clear night sky, and the large moon, full tonight, cast a light glow over the land. It was a truly amazing sight, as a clear sky had not been something so easy to come by so long ago.
After a long look at the scenery, my eyes fell on a settlement off in the distance. It was a rather large grouping of low buildings, presumably made of sand and stone, and lit up by various, small fires, braziers from the looks of the controlled nature of the flames.
I was curious as to what the inhabitants of this world would be like after so many years, and with admitted excitement I said the first words I had spoken since waking up, “A new world, though old at the same time. I cannot wait to rediscover old memories, and new mysteries in this familiar but new land.”
I actually paused at first, surprised at my own voice. I had not heard it in so long, and I had forgotten how young I sounded, and young my body really was for that matter. I had already exceeded one hundred years before stasis, and with how many I must have been sealed away...
I laughed quietly to myself, “I suppose this world and I are not so different. Both young at face, yet when you search within, the age truly shows.” My laugh slowly got louder and more cheerful, and soon I was laughing merrily and heavily, not caring who or what may hear me.
For whatever reason, this was funny to me. The thought of being so old, yet so new, just like this world itself, it just made me feel so happy inside, and I had to express it somehow. I do not know why, but the thought of this scenario made me want to laugh, and laugh I did.
I had continued like that for at least ten minutes longer, until my laughter finally died down, and I pulled my PEt-DSD near my face and said into while holding down a button, “Please access and retrieve file 2-6724, please.” I was given a series of confirmative beeps in response and, soon enough, the tell-tale whirring of physical reconstruction of data to an actual object reached my ears.
I closed my eyes and let the old, familiar sound wash over me, bringing back memories from so long ago. To my dismay, however, it ended all too soon, and I reopened my eyes to see an at least pleasing sight.
My trusted motorcycle, an old steel contraption with seemingly rusted over and decrepit parts, constructed from pieces found of an old 1948, Harley-Davidson Panhead. My daughter had taken to calling it “Old Rusty”, and I must admit that, with her gone for now, I am compelled to call it that as well.
So I climbed onto Old Rusty and started it up, then kicked the stand and started forward. Slow at first, as it hadn’t been used in so long, but the old machine picked up a considerable speed in no time at all. Thankfully, with how it was so many years ago, it had been made to traverse sand with ease, and it carried me all the distance I needed until I reached the town I had seen in the distance.
Simply reverting Old Rusty back to data and storing the PEt-DSD in my backpack, I made my way into the town, down the center street. I was mildly surprised to see that many, if not all residents were out in the street, either at market stalls and booths, or sitting around on any feasible surface, drinking and talking merrily with friends and family.
What surprised me next was the variety of the residence. Oddly, there were things like ponies, bipedal dogs, insect like pony variants, and some strange, bipedal, cat-like creatures here and there. I did not garner more than a passing glance from the locals, as they were either too drunk, too preoccupied, or were too used to strange beings coming and going to take much care in my alien appearance. I was happy about that fact, it would mean less stress on my part.
Eventually, after around an hour of walking and looking through the many bazaars lining the streets, I was stopped by one of the bipedal cats.
“Excuse me,” he said with an almost middle-eastern accent, and a near undetectable slur, “you wouldn’t happen to be Ameenah, would you?” I raised an eyebrow at his question, and it was then I noticed my clothes were similar to what he and the few others of his kind wore. That, coupled with the heat, the drink, my dark skin in comparison to his noticeably brown fur, and the low lighting must have lead him to believe I was someone else.
I raised a hand and shook my head, “No, I am not. I do not know who it is you seek, but I wish you luck in finding them.”
He stared at me blankly for a moment, then nodded slowly, walking off with a slight stumble in his step as he did so. I watched him leave for a second, then turned away and continued my walk through the street.
Eventually, I came across something I could find use in. An empty, well lit, relatively clean alleyway, something I was not unfamiliar with in my time so long ago. Funnily enough, even after my long rest in stasis, I still did feel rather tired, and with no local currency this alley would be perfect.
I walked my way down to the dead end of the alley and sat down in a corner, pulling my scarf up and curling slightly as I closed my eyes. I drifted into a light slumber not even a minute later, waiting for what tomorrow may bring.
