Captain Quirón (1/2). Symbolic Entry? SCI-FI "RPG-Writing Contest" #1

adncabrera (62)in #nextcolony-contest • 6 years ago (edited)

Dear friends, I am serious when I say that I love Science Fiction and that I find the Nexcolony experiment very exciting.
I'm going to tell a second story. It may go against the rules of the SCI-FI "RPG-Writing Contest" and, if so, I plead with the organizers to take it as a symbolic entry (@art-universe?).
I wrote this story thinking about the universe the contest opens up, and I like the character. I would finish developing it (the character, not the story) into one more part.
I won't go into more detail in this introduction. I leave the bases and another link for you to see more of this project.

I am grateful.

Planeta, Sol, Estrellas, Espacio, La Astronomía

Source

Captain Quirón

Quirón was tired. His lungs were burning. The tunic let in the sand of the gray Zyklop desert. In the distance, a flat landscape, rarely interrupted by some unusual flowering scrub (red flowers with tender petals that harbored humidity); no settlement was visible in the distance. He kept the antennas upright, recognizing movements on the ground, for although he had not seen superior life in several days, he had been stalked by small hungry creatures, very similar and no bigger than a terrestrial dog, but with poisonous and sharp teeth. They were fast and beautiful. Possessing a toasted and shiny coat dotted with white spots, with fine snouts and chestnut. He had managed to spit acid on them, but he had not been drinking for a long time and was not sure he could salivate enough.

On the trip he had lost Kera, the partner he had bought, and had to ingest both of their larvae in order to survive. The abdominal gonads contracted instinctively and reminded him that the mating season still lasted. He would have to be careful when he found his swarm. He had lost his genetic contribution to the colony (and all his fortune in the investment for this trip), and even if his companions were willing to mourn his loss and celebrate that he had survived the collision, none would be willing to give him a female, let alone overlook that he had had to feed on the offspring. For sacrificing a calf, he would be condemned to sulphur mines, until he died slowly from toxic syndrome. On the other hand, as a male with neither female nor calf, victim of fatality, he would be destined for the recognition and fertilization of the fields, until he languished (with dignity) and his genetic contribution was extinguished, far from the military glories. Thank you very much.

Although for the time being he would keep the story of the victim and, thus, at least, he would have a chance to steal some young female, and once fertilized, his cell would not dare to leave the larva without a progenitor to incubate it.

Quirón was immersed in these calculations, while his antennas worked frantically. He consulted the compass again. The sensors had gone mad. By a similar phenomenon they had crashed. The navigation instruments had been guided by a sandstorm front and the advance ship had not been able to deal with that hell. Faced with this evidence and the days he had spent wandering, he had to admit that he was stranded. Zyklop was big. He could succumb without finding the swarm, even if he was supposed to be moving in the right direction.

Before discouragement finally took hold, the nicest odds were repeated: there were numerous Earth camps and Delta camps in the northern quadrant of Zyklop . Xador had commercial dealings with all of them. They were bound by Nexcolony's Diplomatic Treaties of Commerce and Colonization. In addition, he was a catastrophic victim and Captain of an advanced exploration vessel that had lost its genetic contribution. They were bound.

He would definitely keep the victim's story

Then he saw the dome. Far away still, its shines could be confused with a mirage caused by the incandescent sun. He looked through the telescope. The indicators informed him of a rather small settlement, judging by the organic mass measured by the sensors. He adjusted the viewfinder and could clearly see the sentry box with the symbols of the Earth. It was good. Humans were easier to persuade.

He took a minute to straighten his back, trying to adopt a martial posture beneath the ragged tunic. The antennas were moving frantically and he knew he could do very little to calm them. He unfolded the forearm spikes; they were in good condition, but dry. Useless until he could drink. There was nothing he could do for his feet. He knew that they were full of bleeding blisters under his boots, in a more pitiful state than that of his skull, which he used to wear polished and oiled, as was military use, and which he now had shelled by the harsh sun.

He walked straight, martial, until he perceived the laser sight light on his face. Then he stopped and waited.

A reconnaissance drone landed at the height of his face. A metallic voice asked for his identification:

"Xandor. Nurse Sipus-I. Captain Quirón Iustus. Advance Mission Quadrant 9. Zyklop . I request refuge from a catastrophic victim under the Nexcolony Diplomatic Trade and Colonization Treaties.

The laser light continued to dance between his eyes and occasionally interfered with his vision. He listened to the static of the microphones.

"Friend Quirón..." heard a familiar voice. How did you know that voice?

Earth, of course.

The Great War had left deep scars. The ancient days were remembered by the force of catastrophe, but they wanted to be forgotten. The earth had broken up into a few republics that barely survived between ecological calamities and free peoples that had moved into the few territories less affected by radiation. These territories (and their resources, which included a slave hand that could be hunted in the absence of states) were coveted. A large portion of the depleted terrestrial population had gone into exile from colonization, but fundamental resources for building colonies in sometimes very undomesticated territories still came from the Earth.

Quirón, years ago, had taken advantage of his detachment in a merchant ship to do some private business. And from there came the voice: Marcus; his associate in a brief financial agreement.

"Friend Quirón...", he repeated. "What a pleasure to have you visit..."

That wasn't good, Quirón thought.

Gracias por la compañía. Bienvenidos siempre.

En mi país hay tortura, desapariciones, ajusticiamientos, violaciones masivas de derechos humanos.¡Libertad para mi país!