AilAid (VayneLine) Read online

  AilAid

  By

  E. A. Szabelski

  Copyright © 2016 E. A. Szabelski

  All Rights Reserved

  AilAid is part of the VayneLine universe

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ‘Marking’— the term that has gained popularity refers to someone whose hair has turned neon white, thereby ‘marking them for death’. This is rumored to be caused by being in close proximity to certain locations, or finding specific things one ‘should not have’. Among the speculation is an increase in physical and mental abilities at the cost of being ‘marked’ for death by unknown entities. So far this has yet to be substantiated. Conspiracy theorists counter that this is because the subjects die too fast.

  – Terran Intradex Ver. 4 Excerpt on ‘Marking’

  See also: Life Energy Theory, The Line, Dimensional Lattice Theory

  Only three of us remained alive and Bray’s hair had already begun to turn; he had been Marked and now it was only a matter of time.

  ‘Finally reflecting my wisdom,’ he would joke. Maybe that might have been true once with gray hair, but his hair was turning white. Neon.

  That had been the sign of one’s soon-coming death. “Marked” was the slang everyone had begun used. No one left alive had ever uttered those words anymore out of fear the very action of naming it would infect the speaker. Only others who had died once used it but it didn’t seem to really matter now. Bray was smart, always smiling; it pained me that subconsciously I would watch my distance from him as if he contained an infectious disease. From his square jaw to a toned physique he looked healthy, but I knew what happened to everyone else.

  Was it a disease? It did not seem to impart any negative ailments once one became Marked. Yet the correlation between that and soon being picked off by the creatures was undeniable. There had been many who died without being Marked; after all, our whole colony was now ravaged down to only three remaining. Yet…as soon as someone’s hair would begin to turn, they were usually dead within a few cycles. It had held true all the way up to the final three, Bray being the exception.

  Bray had lasted the longest, with each cycle his blond hair turning whiter and whiter. It was nearly completely white. Truthfully I didn’t know what was scarier: how long he was defying the odds, or that one cycle I would find a section of my hair had now become Marked by the planet I had begun to loathe.

  “You are staring at your pistol again.” Bray’s voice brought me back to the dining hall the three of us were eating at.

  With his comment, I realized I had been spinning my pistol slowly, considering its facets. In recalling my lost thought, I guess I was not thinking about anything specific, yet something seemed profound about its simple nature of dealing death. “Sorry…I guess it’s the only thing that helps me feel safe now. Almost like I have to guard something. Guess that sounds kind of weird though, huh?”

  “Ria, are you okay?” Dixes asked me. “You have been zoning out more lately. We need to stay together.” She was a guard for the colony before everything fell apart. Her black hair was a bit shorter than my shoulder-length and while she was friendly, she always had a no-nonsense seriousness to her face.

  “Lot on my mind.” I said it but regretted it. Those words were excuses back in the old way of life. Heh, as if either of them didn’t have a lot to think about as well. I was glad neither of them seized upon my words. Then again, neither of them were really the type to push it anyway.

  We sat in silence in our metal prison. The large colony had been reduced for us down to a small series of connected rooms that we were able to seal off. The harsh lighting of the dining room never changed, never ceased. The light went on forever as just another messed up aspect of this endless nightmare. This facet alone had begun to grind down my mind with the monsters right on the other side of the large doors.

  Based on our jobs, we were a fair mishmash of survivors: Bray the miner, Dixes the guard, and me, the ‘Comm girl’ Huria. Emotionally though we were fairly connected, this might have helped our waning will.

  I had known of Dixes growing up. We went to the same training academy as children before we went separate ways in adolescence. Acquaintances only back then, but you seize upon any connection to someone when you are on a colony tour. It was an extremely remote and passing connection yet it was something, and out here that meant a lot.

  Bray and Dixes loved each other for some undisclosed time. Bray was confident enough, and Dix bold enough that their little flirting games left no illusion to the passion they had for each other. Back then anyway. Now they managed a quick hand grab and a grim smile between our constant barricading and fighting.

  *Crash*

  Something behind the metal door behind me fell once, and the fact it did not bounce was even more horrifying. Something had caught whatever fell. Our food and utensils fell to the table as we all swung around towards the door. We had welded the seam shut, but the very fact a creature that had already killed so many of us was on the other side did not stop my heart from beating a millions beats a moment.

  The three of us stood in a half crouch, no one daring to move while we all strained to hear any clue. The tension was immediate. My breath came quick and staggered, my heart racing against the nanites trying to slow it down.

  Was it another survivor? No way.

  Another alien attack? Probably.

  But why did it catch what fell? I don’t know. Stop thinking and just focus on listening!

  “Fan out,” Dixes commanded. I strafed to the side, keeping the sights on the door, unsure where exactly the attack would come from. Bray assumed a near-frontal position, crouching next to a turned over table we had set earlier. His focused face and Plaz-Shot dared something to break the hardened seal the door now possessed. Dixes had taken a position that allowed her an uninterrupted field of fire with her automatic rifle.

  We stood there in a nervous tension. Everything was so vibrant. My breathing seemed like huge screams in their volume of intensity. The grays of the walls, which were normally so monotone, took on new shades of areas that could indicate weakness. My ears strained against the silence, broken only by my breaths that I cursed would sound quieter.

  *Crash*

  We all jumped a bit. Ready to unload our arsenal, but nothing happened.

  “They are testing us…”

  “Or trying to wear us out,” Dix finished Bray’s thought. She lowered her rifle, walking over to the door. My heart urged her back, but she continued on.

  “They know how barricaded we are.” I hated that she used ‘know’ but I could not refute that the creatures seemed partly intelligent. “They have to know they aren’t getting through here.” She lifted her rifle and bashed it on the door, causing a loud clash to resonate throughout the room. It shook my nerves, and they were already unstable. “Cowards!”

  I took a deep breath, reluctantly putting my pistol down. I was suddenly filled with an unspeakable hatred for these aliens. It was one thing to be fighting a mindless enemy that did not plan its murder. But to think they were now resorting to psychological torture such as keeping us awake until the moment they struck made me want to kill them violently.

  I shook my head, breathing out. Let go of the hatred. Someone had taught me that once, somewhere.

  “Come on, we need to get back to eating,” Bray said as he went back to the table. We followed, but the unease of the crash now occurring at regular intervals made it hard to enjoy the food he had made. He came over to me as I sat down, rubbing my hair pla
yfully. “That long ribbon you wear isn’t hiding some white hair under there is it?”

  Everyone knew he was trying to soften the mood, but his attempt mostly fell flat. He tried doubling down on acting as if everything was okay by sitting with his back to the threat. I was glad he switched the plates around so as he sat down, it was him that could not see anything coming. Perhaps knowing it was an act took away from its intended purpose but I appreciated his effort.

  I stared downwards at the table, feeling really tired as my adrenaline waned. “I feel so exhausted.” I wanted to say something else, but didn’t really know what. Even admitting it made my head swim a bit from dizziness and fatigue.

  “It’s the situation,” Dix stated. “We are all tired from the fear.”

  “It’s because we’re dying,” Bray continued. The comment was morbid, but on a deeper level seemed accurate. He stabbed at his food with a level of hostility we all felt welling up inside us.

  Was Dixes going to say something? I wasn’t. It was tough to explain, but in a way I definitely knew what he was talking about. We were dying.

  ***

  The kid was laughing, climbing a tree away from someone under him. There were two kids underneath him trying to climb their way after him. One of them made a grab at his shoe, grasping it for a moment before he kicked them away. In other trees birds were chirping in the bright morning sun as the laughter of children filled the forest.

  Though the scene was innocent I felt unease at what was underway. There was something important that must be accomplished, and if this seemingly-meaningless scene was allowed to come to completion the greater goal would never be fulfilled. Of this fact I felt certain, though in no way was I sure of what exactly was going on or where I was.

  Though my words are so clear now, the scene was a very airy, ethereal experience. My awareness floated alongside the tree, watching the subject of the story climb upwards. I possessed an understanding that dwarfed my normal mind. I felt I saw things in an inexplicable way, but with an absolute clarity. My form felt not in a way superior, so much as evolved. ‘Superior’ was an ego word.

  The kid grasped a branch that bent, a slight snap and I felt my (stomach?) fall. I dashed forward to him, but the branch held and he continued upwards. My form abandoned its temporary worry, and processed an awareness of a sense beyond our normal existence. I stopped, waiting for what I knew would come. Two branches further up I went into action.

  I was watching myself do this, experiencing what was happening beyond any shadow of freewill. I had the sense that this was not happening, but had happened before.

  To my ‘eyes’ I saw the tree and the boy in front of me, but my vision was far beyond that. I saw a branching of possibilities, each outcome as clear as what was occurring linearly in front of me. There was a narrow path that needed to be guided to avoid a termination of futures.

  I gently moved the boy’s feet only a few critical steps to the side. The act was so small but required the most tremendous effort from myself and was at the limit of what I could accomplish. Did I physically push them? Did I subtly suggest to the boy, so unconsciously he did what was required? Was it outright possession? I was unsure; I only knew what resulted.

  With what happened next, I could not tell if it was happening ‘in the now’, or if it was simply a vision. Or perhaps a dream? The boy grasped the next branch, putting most of his weight onto it right as it snapped completely. He screamed as his balance was destroyed and he fell.

  His small body pitched, hitting a branch hard as it cut open a part of his cheek to the jaw. Anyone watching might think his death was the soon result. I knew better. The subtle replacing of his feet earlier was enough that after two branches his body hit a stout branch, his flailing legs catching on another. He was crying, but alive. His limp body hit a few more branches before it fell to the ground where the others started screaming. The blood only made the situation look worse.

  A silly boy falling a few branches from a tree appeared to be all this was: a mere forgettable childhood experience. The only reminder would be a small scar to the right of his chin as he grew up. Without that small change of footing, the ‘natural’ progression of this event would have continued its course. The boy would have died from the long fall I had saved him from.

  ‘As in life,’ he began, speaking in a form he was completely unaware of. Was I sure I had heard it? I think so, but he didn’t specifically mouth the words. I felt myself naturally respond with something I had no control over.

  “As in death,” I said in my form he likewise did not hear.

  ***

  “Uhh…” I put my hand on my face, rubbing my eyes. I was trying to bring my mind to focus. I had fallen asleep somewhere, even left my ribbon on. I tossed it back to the side of my head as it came to rest on my shoulders like my hair. My eyes burned a bit behind my lids as I was thinking about that what I saw. What a weird dream. Really weird. I had been having a lot of nightmares lately, but there was nothing really scary at all about this one. Most of my dreams involved going through forests, or something partially related to my waking job as a Comm Officer. Saving some random kid though? I didn’t even grow up on a planet that had trees on it.

  “Ria?” a soft voice called to me. I am glad they used the shorter name I preferred. Huria sounded like a guy name, or a fat ugly girl. I had a self-image problem already being on the small side.

  “Yeah, I’m up.” Some lights slowly came on in the room I was at. The oppressive light of the main room spilled in and added to a sad mood that was growing. Bray smiled softly as he came in and sat down on the floor next to me. “You didn’t need to let me sleep. I’m being weak.”

  “Ha, no don’t worry about it.” He grabbed my knee and shook it to rouse my will to press on. “The fact you are still alive is proof enough you are tough.”

  “Thanks.” The silence hung there for a moment. I wanted to ask him about a weird thing he had said earlier. “What did you mean at dinner when you said you thought we were dying?”

  “Hmm…it’s complicated.”

  “It just wasn’t something said as a bad joke?” I asked, hoping it was. Both of us were still sitting on the floor. I tried to not think that it was only a wall that separated us from the monsters that had overtaken the base.

  He stopped, wondering if he should indeed just pass it off as that. “I’m starting to put a theory together; I’ll tell you in a bit. But why is it that you think my hair is white?” he asked as he pointed to it. He went back to looking forward, his thoughts elsewhere while he waited for my careful response.

  “What do you want me to say? That you are ‘Marked’? Whatever that means.”

  “ ‘Marked’.” He shook his head. “I might only be a miner, but I see things. I see connections. Correlation does not mean causation.”

  “That doesn’t sound very miner-y to say.”

  He laughed. “Didn’t say I always use to be one. Maybe I’m in it for the money.” He gave me a soft grin. “But regardless, what was the prevailing theory? That the planet ‘Marked’ someone to then become targeted by the monsters.”

  “Indeed,” a new voice broke into our conversation. “But there were those killed without being first Marked,” Dix had stated, coming into the room with us. I suppose it was important to note that even with Bray holding my knee Dix felt no jealousy because of how strongly they trusted each other. Perhaps it was nothing more than the brave Bray comforting a scared young woman that was still alive and it was that naïve girl hoping it was something more.

  “Exactly,” Bray responded.

  Dix smiled at me, sitting against the door frame, leaning her rifle next to her. “Glad you got some sleep. I was too jumpy and didn’t get much.” She pawed her eyes that were slightly bloodshot. Without nanities they would have been really bad. “I really hate using nanite shutdown protocols, but I may if can’t sleep next time.”

  “So, what are you saying about the Marked thing?” I asked the two of them. It s
ounded like they had probably discussed this already.

  “Why didn’t anyone think about the fact that some of the Marked were not killed for a long time, while some of those unmarked were still slain?”

  “Well it made sense, most of the Marked were indeed killed,” I responded.

  “No,” Dix cut in, “the actual statistics did not support the general belief of ‘Marked equals death’ at all.”

  “What?” I asked, surprised if that wasn’t true. It sure seemed like it, that’s why the rumors were so quick to spread.

  “Let’s dispense with the ending, as obviously only two non-Marked remain…” Dix had started before being cut off.

  “And one Marked,” Bray said, laughing a bit.

  “But initially the first three killed were indeed those with white hair. It started the whole rumor, and even I believed it for a while. Sure for the longest time it seemed like it was the Marked being killed. But the fact was, there were others dying; that’s the key no one paid attention to. In fact, out of the first one hundred dead, twenty-seven were not Marked. People got it in their head and never paid attention to reality.”

  “That still sounds convincing. That means seventy got Marked then killed” I said. It was easy to feel complacent, as we were currently not in battle, but it did not take much to remember how dire the situation was that we were in.

  “Yeah, but the next hundred? Forty-three were not. Out of the next, seventy-six were not. Don’t forget that during this time there were more Marked than before. Based on raw odds, there should have been more.” As Dix recited the numbers it was clear she had committed them to memory.

  “But you just said it. If it was based on raw numbers, why didn’t the number start low of Marked deaths, and increase, instead of the other way?” I asked.

  “Because being Marked was not the cause of death.”

  “It never was,” Bray added.

  “What was it?” I asked. This was extremely interesting if it was something else.