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“Fucking hell, Calum, was that you made that awful smell?” Tinder complains.
“Why don’t you open the window and stick your head out?” Calum replies.
“What, while we’re traveling at warp speed?” says Tinder.
“It’d stop you complaining about my farts. I can’t help it if space rations don’t agree with me,” Calum grumbles.
“Your ass doesn’t agree with any of us.”
And so it goes on. The litany of petty moaning. It’s been three days, and I’m about ready to kill someone. Luckily we’re due to drop out of warp speed any time now. I wish I could go up onto the bridge and watch as we approach Armstrong. It feels like this moment has been a lifetime coming.
I lay back on my bunk, and I’m pleased when the slightly nauseating feeling of dropping into spacetime arrives. It will only be another few hours, and I will be back in the arms of my beloved woman.
The atmosphere is tense in the small transporter as it takes us down to the planet. The conversations that are going on around me are being held in close whispers. Every seat is occupied, even those designated for emergency use only. And the air feels heavy and used.
“Sintaca’s right down there amongst the fog somewhere,” says the pilot. “We’re lucky it’s so thick, it’s helping us with the cloaking. We can touch down pretty close to the city without being seen.”
“Great,” says Kyltic. “Don’t do anything that will compromise the mission, though. It’s better to have a bit of a hike than to get shot out of the air.”
“I echo those sentiments,” the pilot replies fervently. “Don’t worry, the mission is going as planned. The Alliance agreed to the use of cloaking so that we don't stir up the citizens. No one will see us unless we want them to. If there was no fog, we would have to set down further away because twenty soldiers appearing out of thin air causes questions,” he finishes with a laugh.
The vibration as we come into land travels up through my seat, then there’s a jolt as the transporter touches down. Finally, I have returned to Armstrong. The sense of relief overwhelms me.
“Okay, Drex, you’re on your own from here,” Kyltic tells me. “You need to report to this coordinate in two days time and I’ll let you know the state of play,” he says, sending the details to my comm.
“Thank you, sir,” I reply. “I appreciate you getting me this opportunity.”
“Well, get, then. On you go, lad. Go find your woman,” he says with more affection than I’ve ever heard him use before.
Outside the transporter, the fog is indeed incredibly thick. I have to use my comm to navigate to the outskirts of the city. Water drips from the surrounding trees and street lamps, and the dampness penetrates my clothing.
Before long, it starts to lift, and I’m shocked to see the state of the city. As I walk through the deserted streets I can see the destruction caused by the Alliance onslaught.
There are huge craters where there were once shops, factories, homes. The air has a bitter tang, the residue of the explosives used to cause the devastation. Not everything has been bombed, but what’s left seems run down and abandoned as if anything left behind has just given up trying to hold itself together.
My route takes me past the hotel we made into a bunker, where I spent the last night here with Sophia. It has been commandeered as an emergency hospital.
As I approach, a haggard woman and her two weeping sons descend the stone steps at the front of the building. They walk past me without looking up from their private misery and disappear into the murky city.
I come to the plaza where the two flyers collided above the panicking crowd. It feels like a lifetime ago now. The panic in the city had been a tangible thing that day. Looking back, I should have known not to leave, but hindsight doesn’t give me back the months I’ve lost.
I find myself staring at the plaza. It is empty of people today, the fountain at the center dry and full of rubbish. But otherwise, the plaza is inexplicably intact. The tall edifices that surround it are unmarred by the tortures inflicted on the rest of the troubled city.
From a high-up window comes the sound of music and laughter. It is like a protective bubble has surrounded this place, preserving it as a memorial to happier times.
Reluctantly I move on, the strains of music evaporating behind me.
The disused entrance to the speedway tempts me as I pass, but I can’t bring myself to run the dark tunnel. I’m so close to having Sophia back in my arms, I don’t want anything to get in my way. At the thought, I break into a jog. I imagine her running into my arms, and the sweet scent of her hair as I hold her close.
I pause outside Drago’s bar where Sophia used to work. All the windows and doors are boarded up and the exterior shows signs of fire damage. It doesn’t look structurally sound enough to be worth saving, and I wonder how long until they raze it to the ground.
I have a vision of the night of our mating ceremony when the place was full of music and life. There are so many dire contrasts all around me. I wonder what happened to all the girls who depended on the paltry income to survive.
“Hey, it’s Drex, isn’t it?” says a voice behind me. “Sophia’s hunky soldier boy.”
I turn to see a girl I barely recognize looking at me quizzically. “Yes,” I reply. “Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Tansy,” she says. “You probably never knew it to forget,” she adds with a rueful smile. “You only had eyes for Sophia if I remember right.”
