Monday, July 30, 2012

No Love Lost on the Dark Star, Ep 2: Folgtat Illuminated

Golke felt the hot, grey grains of the Dark Star's desert as they rode on, each particle scratching against his face as if it were sandpaper. Finally, they stop under the shade of a Parniqe, a tall twisted tree with green leaves and red bark that has a look like it's eternally locked in a battle with itself. He welcomed the respite.

"What's your name, kid?" Golke asks the yellow one, seeing that Balistoi has wandered off to root for moisture.

"Don't try to trick me." He responds back.

Golke lays there, his hands and legs bound, looking incredulous.

"I don't know what you think I'm going to try, but I'm just asking for a name. Unless you want me to make something up for you."

"Do you learn everyone’s names?" He asks back, inquisitively. "You know Balis, and that bartender back there too."

"Hah." Golke can't help himself from a chuckle. "Kid, what I called that bartender wasn't his name."

"Ah... Is that the sort of thing you'd call me as well?" The young captor says, sitting in to settle for the conversation, but keeping his hand on his Yupaz. It was a small pistol with a short range, but lethal if you point it at the right things.

"Nah." Golke says, smirking. "Your people ain't cold blooded like his."

"Call me Liske." He answers. "You seem like an awfully honest man, Golke."

"Why lie? The truth is equally as made up." Golke says, sullenly.

"Just tell me one thing." Liske pleas, quietly making sure Balistoi isn't within earshot. "Is the Folgtat real?"

Golke feels like smiling, but tries to keep a straight face.

"Then he never told you. That's classic Balistoi, aint it?"

Liske stares at him, still waiting for an answer.

"Yes, it's real." Golke looks down, and really puts on a show of emotion. "We did those things. It wasn't pretty, but we were so sure of ourselves at the time. Still, you could say my people are responsible for you and your people being here now because of it."

"I'd rather not." Liske replies, running Golke's words over and over in his mind. "Could you be more specific... about the 'things?'"

"You really know nothing about it?" Golke replies, having some fun with him. "It was a long time ago. It was before we found the Dark Star, or Ghulral as you'd call it on Prrux. Your planet has what we considered ideal conditions for life, so we used all of our science, and we pushed it along a little. We brought materials, built machines; we basically found a way to put your evolution into motion. The kicker though, the thing that irks Prrus the most; we did it just to see what would happen, and when it started working, we killed nearly every one of you that we found with ruthless experimentation. We tried to kill you all."

"We flourish. How is that?" Liske responds.

"You guys were smarter than we figured. Some must have hid somewhere, and then when we left, those few repopulated. Thanks to our tinkering, you Prrus reproduce at an enormous rate." Golke looks up into the sky, toward Prrux. "Only thirty years later, and your people stretch from one end of the planet to the next."

"Thats enough." Balistoi says, calmly. "The humans may have landed on Prrux, but they are not our Gods. They hunted us for their twisted pleasure, and were rebuffed. That is the end of the story."

"I'm sorry, Balis!" Liske says, standing up. "Please forgive my insolence."

"Why don't you tell my ward what that bartender called you, eh Golke?" Balistoi says, dumping a canteen of dew over Golke's face to keep him hydrated.

Golke smiles again, trying to shake the moisture. "I believe the most literal translation is: "Fucking racist prick."

Soon the sand once again rubs against his face, littering his short thick beard with specks, as they continue their journey.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

No Love Lost on the Dark Star

"Nothing is ever over." He thinks, walking through the saloon doors. He was tired. Tired of walking, tired of looking over his shoulder; hell, he was tired of thinking.

A lady sits on the stage holding an acoustic guitar. A Brenuvian cowgirl, fitted with a yole cap and denim tunic; or so she would have you believe. She starts to strum a simple melody as he finds a bar stool to occupy.

"Kraajchk 'ere Golke?" The man behind the bar asks what he's buying. A tall skinny reptilian faced man, he rubs his hands together and lets his long tongue jut quickly around his face as he waits for a reply, like he was trying to catch flies in that crooked smile of his.

"Whatever's on tap, Poikilo." He says.

The bartender hisses a little bit as he walks away. He doesn't hear him. She's starting belting out a song with that lily waver; a tune with the aural complexity that only those born under the blue sun could possibly master. Still, those wavelengths strike a pretty heavy chord for the rest of us. He's caught in it, like a fly wandering into a spider's web. It's not long before he recognizes the trap, but it's too late.

The bartender rubs a rag against a dirty glass and watches as two bounty hunters drag him away. "Telear ech biastialke." He says under his breath.

They bind his arms and take his volt gun.

"Don't worry guys, it's only for self-defense." Golke says, regaining movement in his face.

"Irrelevant." Comments the darkly blue and grey one, whose tendrils hang past his glum lips; the two bounty hunters being from the dour people of Prrux.

"You must be recovered." Adds the other, still yellow from youth and showing splotches against his smooth shiny skin. "This is for your own good."

"So idealistic still." Golke says, shaking his head before turning to the older hunter. "When are you gonna teach this one about the folgtat?"

The bounty hunter looks back at him, the fire almost visible in his beady eyes.

"What does he mean?" The younger one says.

"He's got to know about his people some time, Balistoi."

The bounty hunters tie him to the back of their charodon, knowing he'll be dragged against the hot sand as they make the long slow journey to Gorvin.

"You said the Folgtat was just rumours." Golke hears Balistoi and his assistant talk in hushed whispers. "It is, of course!" the older one answers. "He's just trying to set us against each other. Don't be so naive."

"Damn." Golke thinks. "That usually works."