Caleb Fast – Inklings Fiction

Shrunk: Weekly Prompt 78

Imagine the world around you if you were just an inch tall.

Lots of stories are out there for stuff that happens like that, Honey We Shrunk the Kids, Tom Thumb, lots of stories revolve around someone who was small.

So, why not join the bandwagon?

Tell me a story about someone who is either tiny, or someone who is shrunk to some tiny size.

Was it a lab accident? Did aliens do it? Was it some crazy witch casting a spell on an unwitting peasant? Or were they born this way?

What do they do with their tiny size?

Do they rob banks because they can sneak around undetected? Do they make intricate jewelry? There’s got to be something that a tiny person can do that’s neat!

Whatever you come up with, this prompt is free to use however you please! (And I’d love to see it on Inklings too!)

Military

The Cambridge’s Final Voyage

Kinn System

“She’s nearly ready to be scuttled, sir,” First Officer Reddy says with a salute.

Looking out of the bridge’s forward viewing area, Captain Mali can’t help but sigh.

Floating haplessly through space ahead of them is the Cambridge, an old frigate that had seen more action than most, but it hadn’t seen nearly enough to earn its salvation. The ship had fought alongside Mali and his ship, the Adelaide in the Corva Uprising.

Now the ship was about to join the countless others that had been intentionally crashed into one of the planets in the Kinn system, where the wreckage would be slowly picked through by salvagers, robots, and scavengers who thought they’d make a quick buck.

“We’re certain that there’s nothing else we can do with her?” Mali asks his First Officer.

Mali had been doing all he could for the past few years to save the Cambridge.

For Mali, this was a personal fight to save the old ship.

During the Corva Uprising, the Coalition-planted insurgents had commandeered a ship and sent it hurtling toward the Adelaide. The Adelaide, a large, lightly armored, semi-clumsy battle cruiser. Since the ship was still going through its shakedowns, it had a larger crew than usual, and it wasn’t ready for combat.

Chuckling, Mali recalls how he had summed up the situation afterwards, We were sitting ducks and the insurgents were like hawks, swooping in for the kill.

Out of nowhere, the Cambridge dropped out of warp and then raced between the Adelaide and the ship that the Coalition insurgents were using as a massive battering ram.

The Cambridge took the hostile ship along its portside and Mali had thought that everyone aboard the ship had to of been killed—or, if nothing else, the ship had to of been disabled.

But then its forward thrusters roared to life, pulling the Cambridge away from the now stricken insurgent ship which was largely shattered from the impact. Once it was a safe distance away, the Cambridge opened fire and reduced the remainder of the insurgent ship to dust.

Mali had reached out to the captain of the Cambridge, but he was never patched through. According to his sources, the Cambridge was on some secret mission and the captain had disobeyed orders in order to intervene in the Corva Uprising.

That decision saved the lives of Mali, and the thousands of people aboard the Adelaide.

“I’m sorry, Captain, there’s nothing left for us to do,” Reddy shakes her head, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Sighing, Mali takes a seat, and he stares at the dark hulk of the Cambridge.

Even in its current state, the Cambridge looked like a fearsome warship. Its sleek hull betrayed the ship’s ability to fly faster than even some of the fastest ships available today. The sharp edges of the remaining armor stand as a testament to the nigh-impenetrable armor that once lined the entire ship. Gaping holes up and down the ship’s length stand as reminders of the weapon systems that once occupied those same spaces.

“Such a travesty,” Mali sighs once more, “It was a wonderful ship.”

“Indeed, it was, sir,” Reddy nods.

Mali nods back and he recalls one of his more creative attempts to save the old Cambridge. This particular attempt revolved around the abilities of various skilled engineers from all over. The finished project, as Mali had tried to convince everyone, would have been one of the best fortified defense stations along the Alexandrian border. Any Coalition ship that saw the station would immediately turn back to find another way because the sheer capacity of the proposed station.

But that plan fell on deaf ears.

Everyone assured Mali that the Coalition’s days of recklessly attacking planets in Alexandrian Space was over. They said the Coalition was crumbling and they couldn’t spare the ships on such an attack.

Mali wasn’t convinced and reminded those who shot down the idea that desperation drove animals and people alike to lash out violently.

He was then escorted out of the building and sent out on a new assignment far from home.

“Sir, it’s time,” one of Mali’s officers urges from behind him.

Nodding slowly, Mali finally relents. With a nod, he gives his permission for his crew to deorbit the Cambridge, “We may proceed.”

“Would you like some privacy, sir?” Reddy asks as a few short alarms chirp over the ship’s speakers to notify everyone aboard the Adelaide that the Cambridge’s scuttling is about to commence.

“No,” Mali grunts.

Still sitting, Mali watches the scene unfold before him as the Cambridge is given the honor that it was entitled to.

All along the length of the Adelaide, colorful flares and gas canisters are shot out, illuminating and casting beautiful colors in all directions. As Mali saw things, the flares and gas canisters painted one last picture that he could remember the Cambridge by.

A light flashes to life overhead, indicating that the Adelaide is blasting its horns for the stricken ship before it, as per maritime tradition. Sure, the sound would never reach the Cambridge in the vacuum of space, but tradition dictated the need to blare a ship’s horns in order to honor the death of their brethren.

A few seconds pass and every gun on the Adelaide flashes to life as they all let off a round or two as yet another salute.

And then everything stops.

The flares that had been shot off gently die out.

The gas canisters expel the last of their contents and the clouds dissipate.

The light indicating that the Adelaide’s horns are blaring turns off.

Taking a slow breath, Mali gives the final order that he had been dreading for the past few years, “Scuttle the Cambridge.”

On cue, a small handful of deorbiting torpedoes emerge from the bow of the Adelaide.

The torpedoes aren’t much to look at, and the only thing that really set them apart from the blackness of space are their thrusters, which are slowly burning as they carefully approach the stricken ship.

A few minutes pass before the various torpedoes come to a stop on the portside of the Cambridge. Once they’re all in place, the torpedoes’ thrusters all flash as they turn to full power.

Feeling like he is watching an old friend die, Mali helplessly watches as the Cambridge begins slipping toward the atmosphere of the planet below.

Several more minutes pass and the first few signs of reentry flames start to pick at some of the sharper edges of the Cambridge as it slips into the atmosphere. Seconds later, the ship is one massive fireball hurtling toward the unforgiving ground below.

There was no going back now, the Cambridge was gone.

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Action

Smuggler’s Route

*Author Note: This is a prequel/supplemental story that feeds into The Invasion of Allegra and the series The Battle for Allegra*

Thessalonia, Allegra

22 June, 2284

“I’m telling you, Pete, this is a horrible idea,” Ransom Williams mutters forebodingly.

Looking over at his first mate, Peter Petrova can’t help but chuckle. Ransom had always been far too cautious and doubting to make it as a smuggler on his own, which is why he and Peter partnered up a few years back. Ever since then, they had always been several steps ahead of any local, regional, or any other level of security force.

All it took was Ransom’s worries and Peter’s cool and prowess.

“If you stay with the ship, you’ll be better off than if you come with me,” Peter tells Ransom, “I’m doing this. We’ve come too far not to.”

“But what if they’re expecting us!?”

Peter lets out a loud laugh and he motions around the busy spaceport, “Tell me, who in their right mind would expect us to come to Thessalonia of all places? A place known for its security and upstanding citizens?” Peter lowers his voice as he continues his usual, friendly smile firmly in place, “If the Coalition could even figure out that we’re on Allegra, they wouldn’t think we’d be dumb enough to come here.”

“If it’s such a dumb idea, then why did we have to come here?”

Pulling out a small bag of gold dust, Peter tosses it lightly up in the air and lets it land back into his hand. He offers Ransom a face that says, ‘are you really asking this?’ before he slips the bag back into his pocket.

This bag of gold, plus the other few that Peter has hidden on his person, were supposed to buy them a new ship.

Not just any ship, but a Thessalonian ship. One of the best built ships in the galaxy.

Knowing that the Allegrians were a people who didn’t like the Coalition to begin with and knowing that they all had an affinity for real money and not the paper the Coalition churned out in the trillions every second, Peter knew that he had finally made it big.

All it took was five or so years of hustling and grinding.

“Are you sure I can’t come along?” Ransom asks after a few beats.

“Can you keep your cool?”

“Um… Maybe,” Ransom answers honestly.

Sighing, Peter shakes his head, “I’m sorry, Ransom, I can’t risk it. Can’t you just stay with the ship? I’ll come by to pick you up once we get our new ride. You can double check everything to make sure we’ve got all of our stuff out of the Night Sky.”

“But I never get to leave the ship!”

“You never keep your cool! When you’re constantly making a show of looking over your shoulder, people notice!”

“What if I promise not to?”

“Then you won’t be able to tell if someone’s following you. Trust me, we’ll be better off if you just stay here. Just this time! After this, we’ll be home free, and no one will ever have to know how we were able to buy our ship in the first place!”

“But—”

“Ransom, stay with the ship. You can talk to the passengers, play some of your games, anything. Just stay here. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“That was a one off—”

“It’s happened several dozen times,” Peter interrupts. Taking a steadying breath, he tried to be as kind as he can as he says, “You can wander to your heart’s desire next time, for now, I’m going this alone and you’re staying with the ship.”

Ransom frowns and he crosses his arms. Letting out a pitiful groan, he relents, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Peter nods to the man.

Smiling, Peter then looks back over the concourse that is stretched out before him, and he looks at all the people. Unlike a lot of the other planets that they visited on the Alexandrian side of the galaxy, most of the people here are all human. A few small groups of aliens are making their way around the landing area, but it is anything but representative of the number of aliens in the galaxy. Sighing, he shakes his head and wishes that things were different here. He wished that the Coalition would fall already, and everyone could be free once more.

A few moments pass and Peter realizes that his smiles had long since disappeared. Now he is just about searing, and he can’t help but notice that he is looking at the nearest group of Coalition soldiers with his hand on his hip where his concealed weapon is.

“And who’s the one who can’t keep their cool?” Ransom asks unhelpfully after a beat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter waves him off. Shaking his head, he quickly pats down his clothes to ensure that he still has all the baggies of gold and sighs in relief. Closing his eyes, he thinks, They’re all still here. We’ll all be able to get out of here soon.

Taking one last breath, Peter begins walking down the ramp of the Night Sky and he stops in front of the Coalition soldiers who were waiting for him.

“Peter Petrova?” the sole officer in the squad nearest Peter inquires.

Nodding, Peter answers, “Yes, sir, that’s me.”

The officer looks up from the paperwork they are holding, and he grimaces ever so slightly. Shaking his head, he then looks at the rest of his team and whispers a few things to one of them.

Feeling uneasy, Peter gets ready to draw his weapon and shoot his way out of things. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had to shoot people at this close of a range, however he always wished that things were this up close and personal. There was something about looking someone in the eyes when he killed someone that hurt more than when he shot at them from afar.

What hurt Peter even more was being the one who shot first. There were always the questions of who could have been spared, if the person he shot was a threat, and so many other things.

But that was the price that Peter paid every day in order to get as many people as he could out of Coalition space.

He was a smuggler, sure, but his cargo wasn’t drugs like so many others. He moved people. Not slaves, but refugees who hoped to get out from under the boot of the Coalition.

Whenever the opportunity arose, he helped people out and moved select cargoes as well, but that wasn’t his focus. He was here to spirit people away to a freer life.

“Mister Petrova, I don’t want you to make a scene, so please listen carefully,” the officer says after a short while of speaking to one of their soldiers, “We know who you are, and you’ve been flagged to be arrested. However, we aren’t about to do that.”

Peter swallows and he loosens up slightly. There was something different about these people. Cocking his head, Peter asks, “What are you getting at?”

The officer that had been doing all the talking takes a slow breath and then nods to one of their soldiers.

Peter looks to the soldier and curiously asks, “What’s happening here?”

The soldier’s eyes dart around, and they slowly answer, “You saved my family a few months back. You smuggled in some medicines to our town and that saved my family and a lot of people I know. Thank you.”

Unsure what to do, Peter remains still and silent. He had never been thanked for his work by anyone in Coalition Space. Up until now, the only people who got the chance to thank him like this were those he snuck across to the Alexandrian side of the galaxy.

“Not only that, but some of us have family that you’ve snuck out of here,” the officer continues, “Plus you’ve brought our people things in the past.”

Peter shakes his head, “I don’t get it, what’s going on here? Aren’t you guys with the Coalition?”

The officer chuckles and shakes his head, “Clearly you don’t get how things work on Allegra! We’re our own people, we just tolerate the Coalition’s presence.”

“And that leads us to a little something else…” one of the soldiers whispers, “We need your help.”

Peter cocks his head and eyes the soldiers. He can tell that they are being honest and straightforward about everything, but he wasn’t used to that. Every other planet that he had been to the soldiers seemed intent on finding and killing him. Now, after all these years of running, Peter is standing in front of people in the same uniforms as those who sought to kill him, and he doesn’t feel like running.

He isn’t sure if this is some sort of elaborate trap or if his instincts about the soldiers are true, but he chooses to remain still, waiting for whatever was to come next.

“We need you to transport something for us,” the officer says under their breath, “A lot of something, actually.”

Peter opts to sound skeptical in order to further feel things out, “Seems awfully convenient that you need me to do it, out of all people.”

The officer chuckles and shakes their head, “Well, we weren’t waiting on you to do it. Believe it or not, we were planning on going AWOL to move this stuff, but it’d make our lives a lot easier if you were the one who transported it instead. It would really help us, and our cause if you did.”

“And what ‘cause’ is that?” Peter asks, his curiosity getting the best of him momentarily.

“The Allegrian militia needs food, munitions, and supplies,” the officer answers, “We’ve got access to the warehouse that has everything we need, and we’ve got everything ready to move too. All we needed was the chance to steal a ship and fly it out to the—ah—the compound.”

“Allegrian militia?” Peter rakes his memory for mentions of such a militia, but he comes up wanting. All he can remember for sure is that the militia on this planet is loosely affiliated with the broader Resistance movement.

“Yes, can you help us?” the officer pleads, “If you do it, then we could stay here and maintain our cover a lot easier—”

“What will I be transporting specifically?” Peter interrupts, “And what will it be used for?”

The officer shifts from one foot to the other as they carefully answer, “Weapons, munitions, food, and medicine. Maybe a few pallets of other supplies too, depending on what our latest batch of instructions say.”

“And what will they be used for?” Peter repeats his question.

“On the war effort,”

“What war?”

“The rebellion?”

“Last I heard, Allegra isn’t in the middle of a rebellion.”

“Oh, you just landed, right,” the officer chuckles and nods, “My apologies. Well… the militia is gearing up for a rebellion and…” the officer takes a few steps closer, and he lowers his voice, “And there’s an alien invasion that is about to begin as well. For all we know, they might already be here.”

“I haven’t heard anything about an—”

“Please!” the officer interrupts, “I know this all sounds impossible, but it’s the truth!”

Peter looks the officer in the eyes, and he can’t tell for sure if the man is being honest or not. All he can tell for sure is that the matter is important.

“We’ve heard stories about some of your runs,” one of the soldiers speaks up, “We know that you can make this one a lot easier than any of us ever could. For all we know, we’d end up getting ourselves killed if we tried.”

“And we’ve all got families to go home to,” the officer adds, “I know it’s a lot to ask you to risk your life for us, but as Hemmings said, you’ve got a better chance than any of us.”

Peter swallows and he makes his decision. Looking the soldiers in their eyes, he says, “I’m in, but I’ve got a hold full of refugees here. I can’t risk them.”

“Oh,” the officer’s eyes drop, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“But I was hoping to get a new ship… I guess I could break it in with a quick run for all of you.”

The officer looks up, a spark in his eyes, “Really? You’d do that for us?”

Peter chuckles and he looks out over the crowd of people all around them, “You and I both know that this is a whole lot bigger than either you or me. I’m doing this for everyone.”

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Adventure

Distant Prospects

Jutland Mountain, Gade-Grand

I get a whole planet to more or less myself and I still can’t find anything, Soren Grand thinks to himself with a soft chuckle. Shaking his head, he looks down at the old gold pan in his hands.

The pan, like a lot of the things that Soren owned, came from those who came before him. His boots came from his father. His grandfather was the one who first wore his watch. The gold pan? That came from some great grandfather back quite a few generations. It is one of the steel pans that were used in the American West back four hundred or so years.

But, if Soren learned anything from his family, it was that things lasted a whole lot longer when they were treated well.

Sighing, Soren looks past his pan at his bare feet. In the effort to help his boots, he never wore them in the water. Turning to his left, Soren confirms that the boots are still laying on a boulder along the side of the river right beside his balled up woolen socks.

“Maybe it’s high time my family found a new line of work,” Soren mutters to himself as he looks back at his pan and continues swirling around the materials in his pan.

Through all the generations, his family had likely gathered no more than a few kilos of gold.

That much gold might sound like a lot to someone who didn’t know much about gold prospecting but stretched over nearly half a millennium and that figure seemed quite depressing.

At this point, Soren can’t help but feel like his family continued their prospecting out of nothing but spite.

Either that, or they knew that it was impossible to try forever and come up with absolutely nothing this long.

At some point, something would have to give. Either there wouldn’t be an heir to the Grand family, or they would strike it rich. There was no in between.

So, they waited.

For generations.

And generations.

Sure, they found some gold, but any oaf who tried their hand at prospecting could find gold. Everyone knows that there’s gold everywhere.

The only trouble is finding a place that has enough gold to make it worthwhile to invest your whole life digging.

“Please, God, let me be the one,” Soren whispers a prayer as he walks off some of the larger and lighter stones out of his pan, “If you let me be the one, I’ll do anything. I’ll build hospitals. Churches. I’ll pay for a cathedral to be built! Just give me this!”

A few more seconds pass and Soren is walking off the final bit of ‘blondes’, as prospectors called them. Most people would just acknowledge this sand as light brown.

Walking back to the shore of the river he is on with the remaining black sands that he had been panning out, Soren purses his lips and offers up a few more pleading prayers. And, when those prayers finish out, he squats down in a spot on the river where the water is a little calmer.

Taking his time, he swirls the materials around in his pan, he taps away at the pan’s sides and top, and he eventually looks at the results of his work.

Three ‘colors’.

Three? Really? Is this some kind of joke? Soren thinks bitterly as he carefully gathers his very meagre findings. Even though it wasn’t much, Soren knew enough to save everything he could get his hands on.

Everything added up to something.

Eventually.

Shaking his head, Soren quickly pans through the concentrates in his pan once more and he finds one more flake of gold and a speck of silver as well.

Shaking his head, he rinses out his pan and tosses it to the shore.

Chuckling, Soren looks up at the sky and lets out a joking prayer, “Well, I guess that’s a hard no, then. Huh, God?”

Smirking, Soren shakes his head and looks back own to his feet. If it weren’t for everything else that he had been through in life, he would have given up on a lot of things by now.

The colonizing of this planet.

His little homestead.

His long-distance relationship with his sweetheart back home.

His prospecting.

His God.

If it weren’t for what he had already seen, heard, and felt, he wouldn’t have anything to live for.

“I know, I know, keep going,” Soren nods along as he feels a little God-nudge. That same nudge had saved his life on more than one occasion, and it had guided him to this particular world when he was given the opportunity to colonize a planet for the Dawn Royals.

Soren starts walking back to his boots when he freezes.

Something, namely that God-nudge that he had grown used to, was making him second guess quitting on this particular spot.

Looking around, Soren rakes his memory for any reason why this spot might look familiar.

Anything.

A good three minutes pass before an inkling of a memory of a vision from decades ago comes to the surface. The memory is foggy from its age, but it seems to fit this particular scene.

The only issue is that there was a mineshaft in the vision.

A mineshaft located right near where Soren had tossed his pan.

His brows furrowed, Soren carefully picks his way over the boulders in the river over to where the pan had landed. As he makes his way over, he takes in the stones around him.

As far as he can tell, there is nothing about the geology that should indicate that there is gold, or anything else, in the mountainside he is approaching, but he had been surprised many times before.

Shrugging, Soren reminds himself that he had very little to lose at this point.

So what if he wasted a month poking around at a potentially barren rock? He had already wasted at least a year and had all of a few dozen grams of gold to show for it. This river was the best producing one he had come across to date.

Swallowing, Soren reaches the beach of the river, and he removes his hat. Something about everything around him made him feel like it wasn’t proper to wear a hat here.

Running a wet hand through his greasy hair, Soren lets out a long, low whistle.

“Well, there’s no use standing here, might as well figure out what’s the big deal,” Soren says, reminding himself of why he was here. Approaching his pan, he continues scanning the stones for any signs of anything of value.

Nothing, as per the usual, Soren thinks.

When people heard about his intention to search for gold on this planet, they mocked him. Those that knew his family’s history were some of the harshest mockers.

They all told him that he wouldn’t find gold.

Those who didn’t know him told him that there wasn’t any gold here based upon charts, maps, and old data about where gold-bearing asteroids had crashed.

Those who knew him reminded him of his track record.

But the shining star through all of this was his special little lady back home.

She reminded him time and time again that King David from the Bible had never seen a victory against a giant before he faced Goliath. She reminded him that King David was the least cut out to do the job and that people doubted him.

And then David went out and made history.

Looking up at the sky once more, Soren whispers the same prayer he had offered up several times every day since he had arrived here, “Let’s make history, God.”

Bending down, Soren picks up his pan.

And there is a grand total of nothing beneath it.

Dropping to his haunches, Soren shakes his head and continues his prayer, “I don’t get it. I really don’t get it.”

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, he lays down and looks up the sheer cliff that his pan had landed at the base of.

Still shaking his head, his eyes eventually lock onto a tree.

The tree, like most of the vegetation on this world, is young. Nothing on the planet is older than maybe fifteen years, which was around when the seeders and spreadships that the Dawns sent out arrived in this system to try and make the planets around here more hospitable to humans.

However, what is sticking out to Soren about the tree isn’t its age.

It’s the fact that it is hanging precariously to the cliff’s face. All that Soren can see holding it up is a handful of slim roots, none larger than his finger or thumb.

There is an outcropping of stone hanging over most of the roots, which Soren notes must block out a lot of the rainwater that the tree might hope to ever receive.

And yet, somehow, the tree hung in there.

It persisted.

It stuck to the dream of living its life in the place where it was planted.

As Soren looks at the tree, he begins to wonder where it got its water, since the stone outcropping clearly blocked the rains. As he wonders, Soren’s eyes look back to the roots and he sees a slight glimmer.

Narrowing his eyes, Soren sees that there is a tiny spring of water that is burbling out of the cliff’s face providing water for the tree.

“Almost like that stream exists entirely for that tree,” Soren mutters with a soft chuckle. Looking back up to the heavens, he whispers, “Well, where’s my stream? Where’s the little crack that You set up just for me?” As those thoughts pass through Soren’s mind, he briefly recalls a scripture that said outright that if God took care of animals and plants then He’d take care of people. Rolling his eyes, Soren tries to convince himself that this was a sign that he’d find his gold.

Eventually, at least.

As if on cue, Soren’s little God-nudge speaks up and instructs him to walk over to where the tiny rivulet from the tree’s stream meets the base of the mountain. Looking at the bushes at the base of the stone face, he briefly considers ignoring the thought, but he eventually relents.

Shrugging, Soren thinks, What do I have to lose? No one’s watching me anyways.

Soren spends the next half hour chopping through and removing the bushes and he stops once he can see the damp area from the stream.

Sitting squarely at the base of it is a small, polished nugget of gold.

A nugget that wouldn’t be quite so dazzling were it not for the years of the water gently rolling over it.

Smirking, Soren can’t help but say, “Alright, I get it. I complain too much. But really? A nugget? That’s not about to cover any bills.”

Shrugging one more time, Soren crouches down and he grabs the nugget.

And he proceeds to tip over when he gives it a tug.

Surprised, Soren scrambles back to his feet and he clears a few stones from around the nugget.

Then a few more stones.

Then a few large rocks.

And some sand.

All the while, the gently flowing stream from about him washes the gold nugget clean, reminding Soren oh so vividly of what he was working for.

With every handful of gravel and rocks, the nugget seems to grow. Already it is many times larger and heavier than all the gold his family had ever dug up.

After an hour or so of digging, Soren’s stomach growls and his hunger pulls him away from his work. He mechanically reaches into his jacket, and he pulls out his bag of jerky. Reaching into the bag, he quickly rips it back out and he peers into it, looking for whatever had bitten him.

Confused when he doesn’t see anything other than blood, Soren looks down to his fingertips.

Staring back at him are some mangled fingers without fingernails.

In all of his excitement, he had gotten ahead of himself and gotten hurt in to process.

Chuckling, Soren reminds himself that he had forgotten to thank God for all of this as well.

Dropping to a kneeling position, Soren looks up to the sky once more and he offers God a sly smile, “So, what kind of cathedral you want me to build You, then?”

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Dystopian

A Bootleg Christmas

*Author Note: This is a prequel/Christmas Short Story to the story: The Invasion of Allegra which is in Kindle Vella*

Watchtower XXIV, Deep Space

25 December, 2283 – 00.04

“Fahy!” Vansen whispers through the door that she had just barely cracked open.

Yawning, Fahy rolls onto his side and looks at the light that is streaming in through the crack from the bright hallway outside of his cabin. Rubbing his eyes, he asks, “Yeah?”

“Can we come in?” Vansen requests, “It’s just Boris, Fagan, and I.”

Nodding slowly, Fahy thinks about what Vansen was asking. A few beats pass and he can’t come up with any ideas. Confused, he finally says, “Yeah. Why?”

The door slides the rest of the way open, and Vansen, Fagan, and Boris slip in silently. Once they’re both in, Vansen taps on the console beside the door, and it whooshes shut. She taps in a few things on the console before she smiles and excitedly says, “It’s Christmas!”

“Christmas?” Fahy rubs his eyes tiredly, “Already?”

“Yes already!” Vansen sounds happily as she quietly claps her hands.

“She’s a little too happy about all this,” Boris chuckles.

Vansen gives Boris a playful scowl before she responds, “It’s a bit of a big deal!”

“We know,” Fagan smiles, “We all know.”

“Well, it’s a bit of a bummer since we’re not allowed to celebrate right,” Vansen sighs.

Fagan shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what’s allowed or not so long as we’ve got each other.”

Vansen smiles and nods at Fagan, “Exactly!”

“So, how are we celebrating?” Fahy asks as he swings his legs out of his bed and straightens out a few things that are in reach.

“Well…” Vansen slowly looks around before she answers, “I sort of smuggled in some gifts for all of us. I made a few things too.”

“I made a few things too,” Fagan smiles, “Been sneaking down to the maintenance area to get a chance to make things.”

“Me too,” Boris smiles. Chuckling, he adds, “Fagan and I had to hide our projects from one another.”

“D—did you get something?” Vansen asks after a few beats.

Smiling, Fahy pulls out a few small boxes. In them, there are the things that he had been slaving away at for the past few months for his team.

“I thought you’d remember!” Vansen squeals happily as she grabs the box with her name on it.

Smiling, Fahy hands out the other two boxes as he asks Vansen, “How’d you manage to smuggle in gifts?”

A twinkle in her eye, Vansen answers, “I have my ways.”

“Mysterious as always,” Fagan chuckles, “From what I heard, there were some people who owed her some favors.”

Vansen lets out a loud laugh, “That makes it sound so much easier than it was. You’ve got no idea.”

Nodding, Fahy chimes in, “I’m sure it was hard—there’s a reason why none of us were able to smuggle anything in!”

“It really was,” Vansen nods along slowly, “Well, are we ready to start opening them?”

“Let’s,” Fagan smiles, “Who first?”

“Oh, we’re taking turns?” Boris asks, his first present already halfway unwrapped.

Vansen chuckles, “Of course, we are civilized, after all!”

Smirking, Fagan says, “Well, Christmas is here to celebrate Jesus and he said whoever is first will be last so… Boris, I guess you’re up!”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Boris lets out a very sarcastic laugh before he turns his attention back to his gift from Fahy. A few moments later and Boris is poking at the small machine that Fahy had made for him.

“It’s a little farmer!” Fahy explains as he points out the small mechanism which is working slowly, “See how it’s using that thing like a hoe on the dirt? I thought it’d remind you of home!”

Boris chuckles and smiles slightly, “It does, that’s super neat. Thanks.”

“Alright, now I’m curious!” Vansen blurts out as she rips open her gift from Fahy. Once it’s open, she examines it and smiles, “It’s a cow!”

“Just like the ones on your ranch, right?” Fahy asks, his heart in his throat as he hopes that she likes it.

Vansen looks up from the cow after a few beats and assures him, “It’s awesome, thank you, Fahy!”

“Good, I’m glad you like it,” Fahy smiles back as he lets out a very quiet sigh.

Everyone else opens their various gifts and each gift is very well received. After a long while, Fahy is holding the very last gift.

“Well, you’re finishing things off, Fahy,” Vansen notes, “Hope you like it.”

Looking at the gift, Fahy briefly wonders what Vansen was able to make and what she could have smuggled all the way out to their Watchtower. The small, wrapped box isn’t large, but Fahy had suspected that it was impossible to smuggle anything larger than that out here.

“Well, are you going to open it?” Boris asks.

Nodding slowly, Fahy proceeds to begin unwrapping the gift. When he finishes, he sees that there are two boxes.

When Fahy hesitates, Vansen speaks up again, “The one on top is what I smuggled in, the one on the bottom is the one I made.”

Letting out a long sigh, Fahy stops and says, “Thank you all for this. As much as I’d like to be back at home with my family for Christmas, you all made this Christmas something special.”

“Oh, you can’t go and say that before you open your present!” Vansen laughs, “And besides, we haven’t even finished the party! Things are just getting started.”

Smiling slightly, Fahy presses his point, “All the same, you guys are the best. I hope we can keep doing this when this is all over—”

“You mean when we’re not in the middle of a deathly cold vacuum that could kill us and that the only thing keeping us alive is this little tin can?” Boris cuts in.

Fahy chuckles, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I don’t know if I’d like to stick around with you weirdos if I don’t have to,” Boris says sarcastically.

Vansen elbows Boris and then looks around. Smiling, she lets her head lull to the side slightly and she sighs, “I’d like that. You all are something else, and I think my family would love you all too.”

“Mine too,” Fagan chirps.

“Same here,” Fahy smiles, “Let’s just hope that we can get home sooner rather than later so we don’t have to spend another Christmas way out here.”

“And so I don’t have to go through so many hoops trying to get you all gifts!” Vansen adds with a laugh, “I mean, you guys are great and all, but sheesh!”

“And so I can just buy you guys your gifts,” Boris teases. Holding up a hand, he points out a few burns, “You have no idea how much of a struggle it was to make all your things.”

Fahy laughs and nods, “I think it would all be a lot easier back home. A lot less people to try and sneak things by that way too.”

Shaking her head, Vansen scoffs, “You guys don’t even understand how much of a struggle it was to make it through all the trainings and whatnot they forced me through to become an officer. If I stuck to the rules like I’m supposed to, we’d all be stuck in the brig for this.”

“And we’d be dead not long after that,” Fahy adds the grim caveat that they all knew was the truth.

“And we’d be dead,” Vansen echoes in agreement.

“Well, open your thing already, Fahy!” Boris urges, “I’m ready for our Christmas dinner!”

“Christmas dinner?” Fahy asks, his ears perking up.

“Oh, unwrap it already!” Vansen laughs, “Stop getting distracted.”

Chuckling, Fahy shrugs, admitting defeat at long last. He was, in fact, stalling and he knew it.

Turning his attention back to the present, he gently unwraps the bottom box.

“It’s a miner!” Vansen tells him, “I know it’s just a figurine and can’t move like yours do, but—”

“It’s awesome,” Fahy cuts Vansen off, “I love it.”

Fahy is slowly turning the piece over in his hand as he admires Vansen’s work. Sure enough, the figurine is a very well done miner and they are in the middle of swinging a pickaxe. Fahy knew full well that Vansen likely spent just as long as he did, if not longer, making this present. He also knew that she must have spent a lot of time coming up with something that would be the perfect gift for someone like him who spent so much of his life belowground working the various mines around his home on Allegra.

“The second gift—the one I smuggled in—is the other part to this one,” Vansen explains, “Go on, open it!”

Nodding obediently, Fahy opens up the next gift and is greeted by the sight of a chunk of iron pyrite.

“It’s fool’s gold!” Vansen pipes up.

Chuckling, Fahy rolls the piece of metal between his fingers as he recalls the story that Vansen had likely used as inspiration for this gift. That story, as Fahy had told it, had taken place maybe ten years before. Fahy had been working an abandoned part of one of the mines he worked in an effort to find something worthwhile to make a name for himself and hopefully breathe some new life into his town’s mine which had been struggling as the ore dried up. As he had been digging, he found some iron pyrite and was convinced it was gold. After running through town and making a complete fool of himself, Fahy had been informed that his discovery was nothing more than fool’s gold and that he was the fool.

“Just like your story,” Vansen continues, confirming Fahy’s suspicion.

Smiling, Fahy looks up at Vansen and says, “Thanks, Vansen, this is great.”

Vansen takes the two gifts from Fahy and then puts them together so that the miner figure is preparing to strike the lump of fool’s gold instead of empty space. Handing it back, she smiles and nods, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Well, with that out of thee way, that means it’s time for some chow!” Boris announces as he sets his presents aside and pulls out his bag.

“I guess it is,” Vansen nods as she pulls her own bag out and starts laying out small bags of food, “I had to pull some strings for these too.”

Smiling, Fahy takes a bag that Vansen hands him and he does his best to help finish laying out their little Christmas meal.

When the meal is all set up, Vansen looks out the window behind Fahy and sighs, “Despite everything else, we sure have a lot to be thankful for too. I mean, just look at that view.”

Turning, Fahy sees that they are looking over the whole of the Milky Way.

“Yeah, that’s a view alright,” Boris nods, “Makes me think about how small everything is in the grand scheme of things.”

“Come on, guys, let’s eat,” Vansen says after a few moments.

Turning back to Vansen, Fahy smiles and nods in agreement, “Let’s.”

“Prayers first,” Vansen reminds everyone as she stretches out her hands.

Taking Vansen’s hand, Fahy nods, “Prayers first.”

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Caleb Fast

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Weekly Prompts

Dad’s Study: Weekly Prompt 77

So many stories based in the early 1900s seem to at least mention someone’s father’s study (or possibly the main character’s study). These rooms may seem like a piece of a long-gone time, but we’re seeing their resurgence. That resurgence is under a new name: the home office.

For a lot of kids growing up, myself included, the idea of watching your parents work and “helping” as much as you can seems both mystical and important. For some of us, that “help” that we provided inspired us to start our own businesses or take part in our parent’s trade later in life.

Your prompt for this week is to tell the tale of a kid who is thinking about their father’s study.

Maybe they’re forbidden from entering. Maybe they snuck in and broke something. Maybe they’re helping out. Maybe they’re trying to read some big old book that’s on the bookshelf. Maybe they are overhearing a heated conversation that leads to __________.

Regardless of what route you take, this prompt is free to use however you please.

Weekly Prompts

A Simple Christmas: Weekly Prompt 76

As per the usual, I’m giving you all a Christmas prompt a bit early so you can get it written, edited, and out there in time for Christmas for your readers.

This year’s prompt is a simple Christmas.

What makes a simple Christmas? What’s the point of one?

Simple Christmases, as I see it, are ones that aren’t full of the extravagant things that you see in most Hallmark movies. There aren’t several hundred dollar trees, a few more hundred in decorations, and maybe thousands in gifts. In a simple Christmas, all you might see is a small gift that cost next to nothing or was made by hand.

A lot of people celebrate simpler Christmases nowadays because they don’t like the idea of all the shopping and making things materialistic. But that’s not everyone’s reason. A lot more people keep things simple because they don’t have the money to go all out.

Maybe you know someone (or maybe you are someone) who didn’t have the money to get what they wanted all year for Christmas–instead they got a carrot, or an orange, or maybe a piece of canned fruit that was their favorite, but is a wee bit expired.

What does your character think about this gift? Do they see other people with greater or costlier gifts? What do they think about that?

You might also want to address why they aren’t getting anything extravagant for Christmas. Is there a war? Are their parents out of work? Is there a depression going on? A plague? What led up to them being in this boat?

As always, this prompt is free to use however you want.

Weekly Prompts

Gathering Nuts: Weekly Prompt 75

Loads of critters gather food for the winter. Those that don’t might bulk up and live off their fat. Either way, both groups of animals prepare for what they know is coming.

They know a time of cold and a time of death is coming–death for those who didn’t prepare.

Your prompt for the week is to tell the tale of a prepper (be it animal, human, or some other life form). Maybe they’re going about it innocently and they don’t really know why they’re prepping. Maybe they’re just doing it because it feels right. Maybe your prepper is doing it because their parents did. Maybe they’re conspiracy theorists. Maybe they’ve seen things in their life that showed them that they’re on their own.

What does your prepper do? What are they thinking? What’s coming down the line? Will they have enough to make it?

As always, this prompt is free to use however you please.

Weekly Prompts

Through the Halls of the Old Empire: Weekly Prompt…

Loads of old empires left behind mighty structures that hold stories. Some of those stories are painted on the walls, like we see in Egypt, some tell the stories by the scarred walls, and some structures have their stories told by those who still live around them.

Sometimes empires are rekindled and rebirthed in the same buildings, sometimes those buildings are completely leveled by newer empires that arise.

Your prompt is to tell the tale of an explorer, adventurer, or anyone else who goes in to check out an old building that was built by some empire that has since perished.

Maybe your character is preparing to destroy the structure. Maybe they’re trying to find an ancient secret weapon. Maybe they’re on the hunt for clues to a lost treasure.

There are so many things that you can do with this prompt! I hope it inspires, and you’re free to use it however you please.

Weekly Prompts

The Falls: Weekly Prompt 73

Waterfalls are awesome. They’re beautiful. They’re majestic. They’re so many amazing things.

And yet, they seem to hold a sense of mystery as well.

Your prompt for the week is to tell the tale of someone who encounters a waterfall for the very first time.

For me, seeing a waterfall is nothing special. We’ve got something called “The Gorge” where I live, and it’s home to over 90 waterfalls (according to the interweb)–and that’s just a tiny stretch of river in my state! Anyhows, I’m spoiled when it comes to waterfalls, so this prompt is a bit harder for me since I’m no longer easily impressed.

But just imagine how amazing a waterfall might look to someone who’s never seen one. To someone who has only ever seen puddles and ponds. To someone who has never seen a river or stream. To someone who lived in the desert their whole life and never saw any more water than what went in the jar they transported water in.

I hope this prompt inspires! Write on and God bless.

As always, this prompt is free to use however you please.

"Go Forth and Write." Isaiah 30:8