"Taron Infinite" - Chapter One

I opened my eyes and found the sky rushing toward me, and from me, spinning me 'round and 'round till I shut my eyes again, stomach churning and heart in an upheaval.

I was falling through clouds. Vision hazy, I caught mere glimpses of flame, then an ever-growing ground beneath me. It was like a poorly cut edit and the camera work was sloppy. No focus. No direction. Just a dance in chaos, about and about. Amidst my adrenaline rush, I barely felt the wound slashed across my abdomen, a blade left inside.

I paid attention to the pain and it repaid the kindness a thousand times over. Blood escaped from between my lips. A sort of cold blanketed me even though the sun struck me gold. There was a reddish color to its light, or maybe it's me painting the sky.


The hurt melded into the panic and thin air and knowing that I'm going to die. The thoughts were killing blows, took the fear and beat it into peace. A calmness settled like a budding pioneer, charting new territory since I first woke.

I must have fallen asleep. Passed out from the trauma, maybe. Dreams took me away, far away from the here and now. Into the past...
-----------

1.

The alarm had me up at the crack of dawn. Light outside was still too weak to climb in, so I was walking mostly blind to the kitchen till I found a working switch. My eyes retreated as the bulb kicked on. It burned bright. I rubbed my eyes. Found a glass. Water. I needed something to quench the thirst but I suppose that's more of a mind game at this point. Rubbed my eyes again to keep them occupied with something other than sleep.

"Dreams again?" asked Rory, yawning. She stretched then gave me a peck on the cheek.

I acknowledged her with a noncommittal grunt.

"You still taking your meds?"

"Yeah."

"We can use a hammer. I hear that's effective." She smiled, got me to do the same. If only a little.

"I hate heights." Weird feeling a shiver during summer. But there it was; a sheet of ice lightly along my skin. She didn't seem to notice, back turned and making coffee. The maker was loud but it did a good enough job. I'd sooner break it than keep it around any longer, but Rory insisted. Said it had charm. Character.

She didn't hear me....

"I'll be out all day today. Won't be back till tomorrow," I said, content to move on.

"Stay safe." A peck on the cheek then it's her and the coffee and nothing between.

Chowed some cereal. Strapped on my gun holster. Put on my gallon hat. Set out into the dust and the wasteland. Miles and miles of desert heat coupled with deserted sands. Said hello to Micah, my horse, and saddled up. I clicked my tongue a few times to spur him on and off we went.

There was a well to my west, so I trotted west. Away from the still rising sun. The sands shifted with Micah's steps. At times his balance was threatened, so I'd quickly hop off till more stable ground came to be. The Well came into view soon. Dug hundreds of feet deep to strike an underground river. Untainted drink.

The guard post was nothing more than a canopy made of rotted wood, with a rotted table placed center. Four men sat about. One was dealing out cards. A fifth man lay at the well, cap over his face. He snored loudly. As I approached, I heard the faint sounds of a gushing river. Lifeblood of the desert. Proof it had a heart.

"Morning, fellas," I said, interrupting their hand. The snoring man remained unchanged.

"What's that?" asked one, a bigger burly brute. A shotgun rested on his shoulder. A lit cigar dangled by his teeth. The cherry glow was strong.

"I said morning. Mind if I get some water for me and my horse?"

"Got the Coin?" asked the brute. I nodded.

"Fifteen clinks'll do." I raised an eyebrow.

"That much?"

"New tax." The other guards stood with him, now fully engrossed in the interaction. Snores permeated the air. A hand tapped my pistol. Rubbed the butt of the gun.

"There hasn't been a raise in years," I said, ever watchful. My pulse rose. Throbbed with the moment.

"It's a people's tax. We're hungry, see."

"By the looks of you, not hard to figure out why they might be."  I gestured to his entourage.

Brute lowered the barrel. Aimed it at my chest. "Watch yourself."

One of the other guards piped up: "Balisk, relax. Just let 'em git their drink and be on with it. I got five clinks on this card game 'less Kad here cheated." He narrowed his eyes at a taller, lankier man.

"You slippin' the wool over me, you rat bastard?"

"Why're you bitin' me off?"

"Cause I know you cheat."

"You got proof?"

"I'll get me a forced confession, believe that."

The man so called Balisk growled: "Will you two quit yer yammering already?"

"Sorry, boss," came the unified response, one apology echoing another. Balisk rolled his eyes and returned to me.

"Cough up the coin."

"Don't have nearly that much, sorry."

Buckshot sprayed sand at my feet. A deep boom shocked my body. I nearly flinched. Nearly.

"Coin."

Boom, sand swirled at my feet. I swallowed nervousness like a bitter pill and stood stoic. His finger pressed the trigger, but before another shot was blasted, Balisk fell backward. A hand clutched his shoulder. He shouted in pain and swore every curse he knew. My pistol was still smoking as I readied its sights on the other two. They raised their hands above their heads. Surrendered.

I nodded and holstered my weapon. I scavenged what water I would need and went on my way. Back into the desert's mouth. The sands whipped with the strong winds as the day neared its end and the sun slowly fell from the sky beneath the horizon. Vestiges of its light bore an orange hue, fading but alive. I covered my face with a bandana, relying mostly on luck to get me to shelter. If not for me, then for the horse. I would need him for the long journey ahead.

Eventually, I happened upon a cave. In too much of a hurry to check and see if all was safe, I ushered the horse into its jaws. Swallowed us in darkness. The storm raged on outside and the desert howled its menacing screams. I patted the horse gently to keep him calm and searched for supplies to make a fire.

Looks like we're stuck here tonight.

--

Quiet filled the morning air. Micah rustled me awake by rubbing his muzzle against my cheek, gently at first, then more aggressively when I didn't respond to his liking.

"Alright, alright. I'm up," I said. I took a glance outside. The weather had fallen to a whisper in a slight breeze. The sands shifted as they would. Hell was calm. I saddled Micah and left the cave cautiously. Winds had blasted sand dunes closer to the lip of the cave so the ground was much deeper than the night previous. Micah struggled to push through with me on his back, so I hopped off and took hold of his reigns to lead him myself. Once the sands became shallow enough, I started riding him again.

We had half a bag of water left. Plenty for the trip there. But the Coin it was going to take to spend an evening in one of the larger Citadels would make the return expedition rather arduous.

[Gomorrah Citadel, half a day later]

Gomorrah Citadel, the Trinity City. So named for the three lone towers that scraped the skies above, and growing out from them upon the land below was a large city full of shanties, buildings made with the finest pure steel, and the middle-class Estates: a small area near the entrance of Gomorrah that housed those who were not quite rich but far from impoverished. Their structures attained the brick-and-mortar design of old, with clay roofs for faring the unfavorable weather. They barely got the job done.

I entered the Middle Estates, pulling Micah from behind. Civilians moseyed about. Some ran, others shouted. Merchants barked their best prices. Alchemy ingredients. Weapons and gear.  Grimoires for users of light magic. Ambient sounds of guns firing far off and inexperienced magicians testing unpracticed spells resounded with authority, but no one paid any notice. It smelled of hard-working bodies mixed with oil and smoke.

I was here to receive my new post among the Lawmen. The rumor mill churned stirrings of a promotion, but higher stations were not often given to those without a name. Names spoke of respect, of legacy, and I had none. Still, gossip persisted. My antics in the desert turned heads. Enough to create a burst of excitement.

When I arrived at the security offices, the metal door produced a hologram asking me to be patient. It flickered momentarily and revealed another message: Please tie all horses to the detainment posts indicated on your left. Thank you for your cooperation.

The detainment posts mentioned were a set of wooden posts inside a medium-sized corral. The front gate had a designated fingerprint lock for attendees. Three Coin an hour. I shook my head and shoved three Coin into the feed on the gate. A metallic female voice rang out:

"Place your thumb upon the scanner."

I did as requested.

"Please wait..."

Thirty seconds later the scanner was green and a confirmation tone sounded. The gate opened with a hiss as it slid toward me. I urged Micah inside, tied him to an empty post, pet him gently to keep him mellow. He snorted in approval.

"It'll be alright old boy. I'll be back soon."

The gate hissed and latched shut behind me. The hologram at the entrance to the security offices now read Welcome as the doors slid open. Rictor was waiting near the forward desk, actively avoiding any conversation with the secretary. She didn't seem to be bothered much and beamed a fresh smile at me as I approached.

"Good afternoon! How may I help you?"

Before I could reply, Rictor cut in. "Taron's with me, Cheryl."

"Oh," she said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her glower at him and I smiled slightly. Rictor clasped my outstretched hand with a firm shake. He was an older gentleman, inches above me, with a finely-combed mustache. The thick glasses he wore gave his brown eyes the appearance of being larger than they actually were. His suit and pants crinkled with every motion as he briskly led me to the escalator.

"Nervous?" he asked as we moved slowly on up.

"A bit," I admitted. It was a big moment for me. A big step for my future family.

"Don't worry, kid. Today's gonna be a good day. I can feel it in my bones."

"You sure that's not the arthritis?"

He grinned.  Three stories higher and we stepped off onto a floating platform. It was guided by a laser strip that glowed orange. The color attributed to the Sergeant's desk.

"Sarge won't shut the hell up about you, so that's good news," said Rictor, coughing into his hand. He pulled out a handkerchief, sneezed briefly, and stuffed it back in his chest pocket.

"Damn third level air recyclers are clogged again." Dust accumulated in vast amounts in Gomorrah. Many of the long-time residents had respiratory problems ranging from mild to severe. Air recyclers helped to prevent that, but they were subjected to being backed up. Not enough power to get rid of so much sand, especially during the storms.

"They'll fix it," I said. History was on my side. They clear the vents out completely by the end of the week. Given last night's tirade, though, it might take a little longer.

"I pray to Abraham you're right or I'll hack up my lungs."

The platform stopped and our irises were scanned for access to the Sergeant's quarters. Once the computer confirmed, the door unlocked with a click and rose vertically to let us inside.

I saw the Sarge, in a heated war of words with his earpiece. I saw his oak desk, handmade by woodcrafters before the last trees fell. It shined like it was branded with a new coat of gloss. He had various digital paintings lit along the walls. Famous illustrations from long, long ago. The artists names have been forgotten, buried in centuries. A live-feed of the sun up close illuminated the ceiling. Solar flares raged across the dark skies of space. It was a thing of terrible beauty.

The Sarge spat out a few final profane-laced sentences and tossed the earpiece aside. Once his mood improved, he sat down and looked up at us with steely gray eyes.

"Taron...without Name. Rictor Aegis. Are you ready?"

We both nodded.

--

Silver-haired Sarge invited us to sit and we did so. His countenance seemed to suggest he was a hard man. Lines drew his face downward, a visage of a seasoned veteran grown weary of the constant battle. He was a good leader. Straight-forward.

"Aegis, what makes you think Taron here deserves a leadership role?"

"Well --"

"I'll give you the short version: the men like 'em and fugitives are running shitless. Am I right?"

"That's the gist, sir." Rictor coughed into his hand, noticeably on edge.

"Nameless."

He placed his attention upon me.

"Yes, sir." I responded, after which I hurriedly cleared my throat and shifted in my seat.

"Don't squirm, No-Name. We're not havin' the sex talk." He hardly glanced at me. I stopped. Breathed deep.

"You've got a few captures under your straps. Pretty big names, too. No raids..." He paused as he read, licked a finger and flipped a page. "No joint operations efforts... Ever had a partner?"

"Pardon, sir?"

This time he took a good look at me and raised an eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a 'no', then." He read briefly in silence before he closed the file and folded his hands.

"Aegis, I can't offer your subordinate a leadership role if they've never executed any real-life scenarios involving teamwork."

He raised a hand to halt Rictor's objections.

"I understand their individual field work is exceptional, but what this file tells me is that they've never been part of a coordinated team effort. Until that happens, they have no business being a squad lead." He shook Rictor's hand, ignored me. We walked out. He tried to bottle it but Rictor was furious. His hands were balled into fists and his teeth clenched.

"He has a point," I said once we were out of the building. Rictor seemed to chew his tongue before he spoke:

"It's a poor excuse and he knows it. He's just shafting you because you're not Named. Abraham Above, the man is a military genius but prejudiced in equal measure. It's infuriating."

"Then put me on a squad patrol," I suggested as he walked with me to collect Micah from the corral. Rictor shook his head. "You need three years with the training chumps before you're eligible to take on a live situation. In case you were wholly unaware, Nameless can't volunteer for Draft."

"Be my voucher, Rick," I said as I slowly lead Micah out. Rictor paused in his tracks, forefinger and thumb kneading the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to do away with a headache. Dispel the fatigue. Finally, following a heap of a sigh he said: "Alright. I'll vouch for you. But --"

He walked toward me and met eye-to-eye just inches from my face.

"You'll be bearing my banner, Taron. If you should fail..."

There was an unsettling rage in the tone of his voice, almost scathing with his last sentence.

"We'll get the credentials and I'll make squad lead in a year." Suddenly, Rictor began laughing: first it bubbled, a few chuckles, then it boiled over into hysterical fits. It rocked his body and shook his shoulders.

"Abraham Above, kid. You've got brass ones...." Tears squeezed out his eyes and he wiped them away with a thumb. "Next week then. Meet me here, mid-noon."

I nodded as I straddled Micah and clicked my tongue to get him to move. No storms would beat across the desert during our return home. Stragglers would pass by, some caravans in need of serious reprieve. Their parties covered in filth and sand. Their rags were haggard, torn. I looked on. Refugee migration was nothing new, especially during the hotter months.

--

I arrived home in the early hours of the morning, as the dark only grew darker. It was fairly frigid. I could see my breath in the air. Shivering to the bone, I placed a couple thick blankets on Micah and brought him to the stables. The horse whinnied. Snorted. Stamped his feet and fought me to pedal backward.

"What is it, boy?" I tried to calm him but he kept backing up. I glanced back at the stables and saw it: a trail of blood smeared like red paint across a blank canvas. Horror clutched at me then, tore at my gut. My heart sank to the deepest depths of my soul. It couldn't be...

Micah wandered off to distract himself with chewing on some hay I left out. Slowly, I followed the trail. Each step tensed me more than the last. My fingers were wrapped tightly around the butt of my gun as I neared the entrance to the stables. I peered over the gate...

It wasn't her.

It was the head of a native, and carved on their forehead was a single word: NAMELESS.

A warning, but for what?

Rory came out, coffee mug in her hands. She sipped it as she, too, peered over the gate.

"So how was your day?"