REALITĀTĒ

<infobox>

 <title source="title1">
   <default>REALITĀTĒ</default>
 </title>
 <image source="image1">

</image> <label>Posted On</label> <label>Author</label> <label>You can also find this here</label> <group collapse="open"> <header>Order</header> <label>Previous Suggested Story (Manuscript)</label> <label>Previous Suggested Story</label> <label>Next Suggested Story</label> <label>Next Suggested Story (Manuscript)</label> <label>Chronologically Previous Story (Manuscript)</label> <label>Chronologically Previous Story</label> <label>Chronologically Next Story</label> <label>Chronologically Next Story (Manuscript</label> </group> <group collapse="open"> <header>Series</header> <label>Series</label> <label>Previous</label> <label>Next</label> </group> <group collapse="open"> <header>About the Manuscript</header> <label>Type of Story</label> <label>Canon Status</label> </group> <group collapse="open"> <header>About the Story</header> <label>Date</label> <label>Location(s)</label> <label>Characters</label> </group> </infobox>

Chapter 1

He lay in the underbrush, senses not too keen.  That feeling of - what had that seventy-something year old guy with the mannerisms of a drill sergeant, who was actually a drill sergeant, called it?  Transporting?  Yeah, transporting, that was it.  Transporting still left his nerves feeling all tingly, even days after the fact.  Or it was psychosomatic.  Or his arms were just numb from being pinned between his chest and his rifle.  Yeah, he had a rifle.  It was a device as rudimentary as it was ancient, possibly a musket, with a shank on the end that technically made it a bayonet.  The gunpowder had to be ignited with a fuse lit from a match.  Very rudimentary.  It had to be, to work on this godforsaken planet.  Some sort of curse or crap “impeded the proper function of post-industrial revolution technology,” as Marion Allison, the aforementioned drill sergeant, so eloquently stated.  Marion also dyed his hair black, to pretend to be young, but he fooled no one with his old face all shriveled like a craisin and his lack of political correctness.

The young man in the brush sighed himself out of his listless reverie.  He needed to maintain awareness of his surroundings, not just of himself.  He wiped the sweat off his brow, slid the butt of the rifle-musket-bayonet out from under his ribs, and slid the chamber open.  Then he shut it.  Then he opened it.

He was still listless, restless, and bored.  He glanced to his left and saw about twenty feet up the roadside the glint of a coin flipping through the air, going up and falling down.  He heard the rustle of a page turning in a book being read about thirty feet above him.

The crew was bored.

He took out his logbook and a ballpoint point to scribble on the first page.

Aiden Talmid

September 17

3038 AF

Now 1100 hours of Day 5.  At 748 a mule passed, one traveler, trashy dude, no contact.  At 1033 I saw a blue bird, no contact.  No royal activity.  Having dirt for lunch in 100, can’t freaking wait.

Aiden Talmid sighed again and wiped his brow again.  The temperature was warm presently, not summer hot, but not autumn cold, so his coat was cooking him.  He longed to get up and stretch, but it would undo his precariously prepared hiding place.

The coin was glinting an awful long time.  Then he realized it wasn’t the coin, but a mirror – the signal, and Aiden’s inner voice shut the hell up.  He gave the tree to his right a thump, then he trained his rifle up the road and set his eye behind the rear sight.

He heard the squeaking of wagon wheels, heard the clops of the horses, and saw the horses pulling a tall carriage before sighting the eight-pointed king’s crown emblazoned on its doors.

That meant it was a Morcian carriage.

That meant it carried soldiers of thedude, present dictator of Morcia… and the entire planet, but his main base was in Morcia.  The capital city of Orlan, specifically, just outside of the forests in which Aiden and his merry band of idiots were camped.  In Orlan was thedude’s castle and also thedude’s dungeons, and in those dungeons was a man the mission objectives called Private Lego.

That was a code name of course.  The man’s real name was Killian Talmid.  They were saving Killian Talmid.

No doubt his squadmates had sighted the carriage by now.  When the carriage was forty feet away Aiden clicked the rifle’s safety off and aimed at the third rider’s head.  At twenty feet he held his breath.  At fifteen feet he lit the fuse.

Cracks from gunpowder exploding at various points around him sent birds flying out of the trees and the horses went wild.  Aiden’s target slipped out of view so he turned to the rider’s horse instead.  His gunpowder ignited, the bullet fired, the rider fell with his horse, and he didn’t see what happened next because the carriage exploded in a burst of expanding orange flames.  The heat hit Aiden’s face before his eyes had time to tear.

When the ash stopped falling and the injured horses stopped neighing, Aiden looked up at the... remains of the carriage.  Splintered wood was scattered across and along the path, along with armor and weapons from the aforementioned thedude’s soldiers, now very smashed.  And a man stepped out from behind a tree, a thing held in each arm.  A rocket propelled grenade launcher in his right, and a bundle of cloth in the crook of his left elbow.  A vest with many buckles, light chainmail, and a brown hooded cloak adorned his figure.  Visible on his belt was a black pistol of modern times, and Aiden groaned.

The man wasn’t part of their squad.

And he’d just blown up their way into thedude’s castle.

Aiden scrambled to his feet, and around him so did his squad.  Twenty feet up the roadside the coin tosser, a blond haired man in a bomber jacket named Luke Mercury, was on his feet as well, except at the sight of the man he’d exchanged his slow firing bayonet for a Nexus Force-spec revolver.

They’d been told modern weapons didn’t work, but this guy had an RPG and a pistol on him, and Aiden agreed with his blond teammate’s choice.  Judging by the fresh carnage, they worked well enough, and a revolver helped even the odds.  Keeping his eyes on the man, who hadn’t made another move, Aiden reloaded his rifle.  The rest of his squad were slowly making themselves visible from their various hiding spots: various points around the road, atop the branches in the trees, all around the rocketeer man.

And the man knew it.  He kept his RPG pointed nonthreateningly at the ground, not that it mattered since it wasn’t loaded anymore, and his other hand cradling his cargo as he looked around at the Nexus Forcers around him.  He made eye contact with some of the men and women.  For a moment his met Aiden’s, and he looked about to speak

Then the bundle of cloth began to cry.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Aiden muttered, and he called out.  “You’re with child?!”

The man laughed.  “That means something different around these parts!”

“We know,” a woman’s voice behind Aiden retorted.  It belonged to Mara Mercury, who had come down from her tree.  She placed herself next to Aiden and whispered, “What do we do with this guy?”

“Enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Aiden responded.

“Let’s be friends!” Mara shouted at the man.

“Hard to say yes when you’ve got guns pointed at my back, and my front, and everywhere else!” the man snapped.

“Right.”  Aiden lowered his bayonet and the rest of the squad copied with their bayonets or other Nexus Force weapons, pistols, rifles, submachine guns.  One woman dressed in combat fatigues with her dark blond hair tied back in a ponytail even carried a sword.  Some people just couldn’t get stop using the retro gear, even though guns were better at smashing Maelstrom, and people, so long as there was ammo.

Aiden and Mara together, Luke from the side, and the swordswoman from behind all approached the man, except the swordswoman kept walking past him and motioned for Aiden to follow.  He shook his head.  She pointed harder.  Aiden set his jaw and sidestepped away.

He and the woman joined at a distance down the road from the gathering of Nexus Forcers, a man holding a baby, and dead knights.  They walked a few yards and stopped when they were discreet.  The woman turned to Aiden.  They were close in height.  She barely edged over him now, since she was wearing boots, and for a few moments they just shared each other’s gaze.

“That explosion scared the bricks out of me,” the woman admitted.

“Yeah.” Aiden related.  “Me too.  Wasn’t expecting it at all”

“I thought we were dead,” she groaned, and she sheathed her sword.

Aiden sighed.  “Yeah… it wasn’t that bad-“

He had to stop talking when she slung her arms over his shoulders and pulled themselves into a kiss.  Her bangs brushed the debris from his forehead, and he let the bayonet drop to wipe the dirt from her face, then grip her firmly back.

She leaned back and whispered, “I thought you were dead.”

“I love you too, Bridget.” Aiden told her.