Space Challenge by Penfet
Jan. 14th, 2007 03:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: Cutting Losses
Author: Penfet
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1947
Summary: It was the sky that put Ray into a cockpit, but it’s his homeworld, his allegiance, that keeps Ray there as flying becomes more about death than the vast beauty of the universe.
Notes: I've seriously messed with life as we know it. Just go with the flow ;)
When Ray Kowalski is five years old he climbs into the cockpit of a retired USAF North Star and knows he wants to be like his dad, wants to fly over Earth’s continents and help police the globe.
Four years later, humans populate the first planet outside their own solar system. Ray watches the first settlers touch down on the continent, their feet shuffling in the dust of an untouched world as television viewers looked on in awe. It’s the first time that Ray realizes that there’s more to existence than his father, his home, or even Earth.
When Ray turns fifteen, he and his mother take a trip to Saturn, and together they count the rings around the planet. Ray is the only person besides the pilots not to get airsick on descent.
The fee takes every penny from his University funds, but at eighteen Ray goes to flight school and learns how to soar through the stars, up in the endless, inky black of outer space. He feels a great peace as he flies far away from the heightened tensions on the continents. Up in space there’s no nationality, no demands to ally with one growing faction or another. The politics of space are tearing the people on Earth apart.
On Ray’s nineteenth birthday he gets a notice in his e-mail account. The words light up in red across the screen, bold, commanding, and impossible to disregard. After reading it, Ray gets up, eats breakfast, kisses his mother, and goes off to fight a war.
********
It was the sky that put Ray into a cockpit, but it’s his homeworld, his allegiance, that keeps Ray there as flying becomes more about death than the vast beauty of the universe.
Ray watches his sensors, but he also keeps an eye out for enemy aircrafts as he descends, catching one last glance of the stars as he lands. She handles beautifully, this little Ghost of his, and Ray wishes he had more than one chance to fly her around the Second System. The war council had exulted in the new aircraft, decked as it was in bells and whistles, but many Air Force officers had flown to their deaths on a smile and a promise. Still, seeing as Ray hasn’t been shot out of the sky, or worse, captured, he’s inclined to believe that the promises had been legit.
The Mountie uniform is tight and restricting, causing him to stumble out of the craft. It keeps his back straight and his eyes forward. During the early days of the war Ray had worn a uniform of his own, a deep dark blue, his name embroidered neatly on the sleeve, but those days are long gone. The War Council decided that sub-dermal implants were more cost effective. So, while the Mounties look sharp and carry their honor on those squared, red shoulders, Ray carries his devotion up against his spine. The high collar of the Queen’s Guard chafes against that bump on the base of his neck, and Ray can’t help but wonder if it’s possible to rub that serial number right off.
He sort of misses the uniform, misses the statement it made, but he has to admit that running away is a lot easier in street clothes.
The helmet on the Mountie uniform makes Ray feel like an utter lunatic.
Ray cloaks the Ghost and watches with awe as it disappears with a shimmer, remembering the old science fiction movies from his childhood as he disappears into the thick darkness of the palace gardens. He keeps his eyes and ears open for the soft footsteps of wandering patrolmen but he can’t help but breathe deeply at the scent of New Britain’s famed night blossoms, their colors dazzling even in the shadows.
Ray continues through the gardens like they aren’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, heading towards the sounds of the changing guard. The palace is the most heavily guarded building on the planet of New Britain, and rightly so. This is the Queen’s home, and how would the monarchy survive without its monarch?
In the distance, nearly hidden in shadow, Ray spies his contact.
“Good evening, Commissioner Gerrard.” Ray says, his voice obscenely loud to his own ears as the man takes his cue and they step into the light.
“Yes, Constable. It is.” The Deputy Commissioner’s voice trembles and his face flushes under the brown visor of his helmet. His fingers, pale and slick in their white gloves, shine in the dark as they fidget against the deep blood red of his tunic.
The Gerrard’s nervousness is understandable. Ray is about to kill this man’s Queen.
“Follow me.” Gerrard says. As usual, Ray does as he’s told, minding his posture as they walk right past the guard and into the belly of the beast.
*********
At the very threshold of the Queen’s chamber, Ray kills the Commissioner. He feels it’s the right thing to do.
The Mounties make oaths, swear their loyalties, and even as he fights against them Ray respects that above all else. Loyalty is a scarce commodity, and it shines like a star amidst the constant turmoil of warfare. Even though his own government seems able to stomach treachery, Ray has seen too many good men die to let his guide live. After snapping the man’s neck hides the body behind a planter, and enters the Queen’s chambers.
On a normal night a half dozen alarms would be going off even before Ray stepped up to the doorway, but with Gerrard’s help the room stays quiet, and Ray is nothing but a brief flicker of red on the security cameras.
She isn’t there, and Ray thanks his Gods for that small favor as he ducks into her closet. Sliding deep between silk and cashmere he settles in to listen carefully for the woman’s return. It’s dark, so dark, and Ray wishes desperately that the could look up and see the comfort of stars above. Ray almost wishes he never made it into flight school, never heard the thrum of a waking aircraft and felt like he was coming home to some gentle, lost lover.
Ray presses his face against some slick, flowing cloth and he doesn’t weep, but he wants to. In these days just the urge is more than enough emotion to unsettle him. It’s in that mind that he makes his final decision, almost wishing that the careless footsteps on the other side of the door would fade into nothing more than memory.
In the crack beneath the door Ray watches the smallest sliver of light go out.
********
She doesn’t struggle, and that’s good. It would have made his job so much harder to watch her beat against unbreakable bonds. Looking into the Queen’s face, worn and lined but still striking, Ray has the sudden urge to touch her hair and curl those soft grey strands between his fingers. Watching her watch him, Ray thinks, It shouldn’t be this easy.
“I’m here to kill you.” Ray sighs.
And then, taking off the helmet, he adds, “I’m not really a Mountie.”
Queen Elizabeth rolls her eyes. Ray smiles.
“I did, however, kill the Mountie who helped me get here.” Ray confides recklessly, leaning up against the tall oak bedpost. Ray hasn’t slept in a real bed since he joined the United Air Force. He briefly considers a nap.
“You know, I’ve assassinated forty-two people.” Ray tells Elizabeth, taking no pride in a brief flash of fear he catches in her eyes. “A lot of them were Mounties. Officials. No women though.”
All that blood…Ray remembers each and every name. He counts these murders on his skin and wonders what kind of man he could have been in a different lifetime. If he had the same talent for death, would he still use it?
The Queen shifts against the headboard, casually resting her head on the rich ornamental design.
“You aren’t a woman though, are you?” Ray leans forward and covers part of one pale leg with the loose fabric of her dress. “You’re a Queen.”
Ray runs a hand through his hair and unholsters his weapon. Where is this going? What does he want? Old questions relentlessly stirring ever since his first kill suddenly come to the forefront of his mind, making the world fragment and shift in his imagination.
Ray points his weapon at the Queen’s heart and says, “I want you to listen very, very carefully.”
Her eyes widen, she nods, and Ray takes one deep, trembling breath.
“This,” Ray says, his hand shaking, “Is how you’re going to win the war.”
********
The news-pod headline subjects vacillate wildly throughout the next week, flipping back and forth between topics with an indecision uncharacteristic of the BBC. Finally the Editors decide to combine both topics at once, and Ray can’t help but chuckle at the sight that page one presents.
Queen Elizabeth sits on her throne, gazing down coolly at the President as he kneels. Her face is bruised, one arm in a very fashionable sling, but when she demands the surrender of the United Systems and the disbandment of its War Council, it’s with a dignity that transcends flesh. Ray’s anonymous assassination attempt goes down as the spark which ignited the final fire, bringing the war to a sudden, forceful end.
All Ray has to show for his effort is a black eye, precociously given by his new Queen as he undid her bonds. It was a nice thing for her to do really, because Ray’s pretty sure he couldn’t hit a woman who hadn’t hit him first. They both knew she had to have something to show for their brief time together to make the story believable. Unfortunately that meant getting a little rough.
Ray remembers the first headline of the week, ‘Attempt on Queen’s Life! Mountie Suspected!’, but it’s the picture in his pocket that keeps Ray from feeling guilty. It’s wrinkled from all the times that Ray’s unfolded it, dirty from every touch of his fingers, but the sight is still as clear as day.
The photo caption reads: RCMP members being told of the attempt on the Queen’s life reacted with surprise. “God help the men who did this” said Corporal Benton Fraser, “No Mountie will rest until they‘ve been brought to justice.”
Corporal Benton Fraser. Ray mouths the name as he looks into the man’s still blue eyes. He’s sitting on the steps of the palace, one hand over his heart, pain written on every angle of his body as tears trickle down his handsome face. It’s this man who absolves Ray of his guilt. No U.S. squadron would care half as much for the President as this one man does for his queen.
It would have seemed ridiculous to Ray, this grown man making a spectacle of himself, but that was before Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek, before the Queen touched him on the shoulder, and said, “I understand.” This growing, shy devotion for Elizabeth makes it much easier to bear the fact that inevitably she’ll be obliged to kill him. There’s already a manhunt on, and though no one knows Ray’s name, the foot patrol gave a good enough description that only a little digging will pull up his military records from Britain’s newly acquired War Council files. It’s only a matter of time before Ray goes in front of a jury for war crimes, which, in all honesty, is where he deserves to be.
Ray looks into Earth’s sweet blue skies, soaks up the warmth of its golden sun, and waits for the Mounties to come and get him.
Author: Penfet
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1947
Summary: It was the sky that put Ray into a cockpit, but it’s his homeworld, his allegiance, that keeps Ray there as flying becomes more about death than the vast beauty of the universe.
Notes: I've seriously messed with life as we know it. Just go with the flow ;)
When Ray Kowalski is five years old he climbs into the cockpit of a retired USAF North Star and knows he wants to be like his dad, wants to fly over Earth’s continents and help police the globe.
Four years later, humans populate the first planet outside their own solar system. Ray watches the first settlers touch down on the continent, their feet shuffling in the dust of an untouched world as television viewers looked on in awe. It’s the first time that Ray realizes that there’s more to existence than his father, his home, or even Earth.
When Ray turns fifteen, he and his mother take a trip to Saturn, and together they count the rings around the planet. Ray is the only person besides the pilots not to get airsick on descent.
The fee takes every penny from his University funds, but at eighteen Ray goes to flight school and learns how to soar through the stars, up in the endless, inky black of outer space. He feels a great peace as he flies far away from the heightened tensions on the continents. Up in space there’s no nationality, no demands to ally with one growing faction or another. The politics of space are tearing the people on Earth apart.
On Ray’s nineteenth birthday he gets a notice in his e-mail account. The words light up in red across the screen, bold, commanding, and impossible to disregard. After reading it, Ray gets up, eats breakfast, kisses his mother, and goes off to fight a war.
********
It was the sky that put Ray into a cockpit, but it’s his homeworld, his allegiance, that keeps Ray there as flying becomes more about death than the vast beauty of the universe.
Ray watches his sensors, but he also keeps an eye out for enemy aircrafts as he descends, catching one last glance of the stars as he lands. She handles beautifully, this little Ghost of his, and Ray wishes he had more than one chance to fly her around the Second System. The war council had exulted in the new aircraft, decked as it was in bells and whistles, but many Air Force officers had flown to their deaths on a smile and a promise. Still, seeing as Ray hasn’t been shot out of the sky, or worse, captured, he’s inclined to believe that the promises had been legit.
The Mountie uniform is tight and restricting, causing him to stumble out of the craft. It keeps his back straight and his eyes forward. During the early days of the war Ray had worn a uniform of his own, a deep dark blue, his name embroidered neatly on the sleeve, but those days are long gone. The War Council decided that sub-dermal implants were more cost effective. So, while the Mounties look sharp and carry their honor on those squared, red shoulders, Ray carries his devotion up against his spine. The high collar of the Queen’s Guard chafes against that bump on the base of his neck, and Ray can’t help but wonder if it’s possible to rub that serial number right off.
He sort of misses the uniform, misses the statement it made, but he has to admit that running away is a lot easier in street clothes.
The helmet on the Mountie uniform makes Ray feel like an utter lunatic.
Ray cloaks the Ghost and watches with awe as it disappears with a shimmer, remembering the old science fiction movies from his childhood as he disappears into the thick darkness of the palace gardens. He keeps his eyes and ears open for the soft footsteps of wandering patrolmen but he can’t help but breathe deeply at the scent of New Britain’s famed night blossoms, their colors dazzling even in the shadows.
Ray continues through the gardens like they aren’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, heading towards the sounds of the changing guard. The palace is the most heavily guarded building on the planet of New Britain, and rightly so. This is the Queen’s home, and how would the monarchy survive without its monarch?
In the distance, nearly hidden in shadow, Ray spies his contact.
“Good evening, Commissioner Gerrard.” Ray says, his voice obscenely loud to his own ears as the man takes his cue and they step into the light.
“Yes, Constable. It is.” The Deputy Commissioner’s voice trembles and his face flushes under the brown visor of his helmet. His fingers, pale and slick in their white gloves, shine in the dark as they fidget against the deep blood red of his tunic.
The Gerrard’s nervousness is understandable. Ray is about to kill this man’s Queen.
“Follow me.” Gerrard says. As usual, Ray does as he’s told, minding his posture as they walk right past the guard and into the belly of the beast.
*********
At the very threshold of the Queen’s chamber, Ray kills the Commissioner. He feels it’s the right thing to do.
The Mounties make oaths, swear their loyalties, and even as he fights against them Ray respects that above all else. Loyalty is a scarce commodity, and it shines like a star amidst the constant turmoil of warfare. Even though his own government seems able to stomach treachery, Ray has seen too many good men die to let his guide live. After snapping the man’s neck hides the body behind a planter, and enters the Queen’s chambers.
On a normal night a half dozen alarms would be going off even before Ray stepped up to the doorway, but with Gerrard’s help the room stays quiet, and Ray is nothing but a brief flicker of red on the security cameras.
She isn’t there, and Ray thanks his Gods for that small favor as he ducks into her closet. Sliding deep between silk and cashmere he settles in to listen carefully for the woman’s return. It’s dark, so dark, and Ray wishes desperately that the could look up and see the comfort of stars above. Ray almost wishes he never made it into flight school, never heard the thrum of a waking aircraft and felt like he was coming home to some gentle, lost lover.
Ray presses his face against some slick, flowing cloth and he doesn’t weep, but he wants to. In these days just the urge is more than enough emotion to unsettle him. It’s in that mind that he makes his final decision, almost wishing that the careless footsteps on the other side of the door would fade into nothing more than memory.
In the crack beneath the door Ray watches the smallest sliver of light go out.
********
She doesn’t struggle, and that’s good. It would have made his job so much harder to watch her beat against unbreakable bonds. Looking into the Queen’s face, worn and lined but still striking, Ray has the sudden urge to touch her hair and curl those soft grey strands between his fingers. Watching her watch him, Ray thinks, It shouldn’t be this easy.
“I’m here to kill you.” Ray sighs.
And then, taking off the helmet, he adds, “I’m not really a Mountie.”
Queen Elizabeth rolls her eyes. Ray smiles.
“I did, however, kill the Mountie who helped me get here.” Ray confides recklessly, leaning up against the tall oak bedpost. Ray hasn’t slept in a real bed since he joined the United Air Force. He briefly considers a nap.
“You know, I’ve assassinated forty-two people.” Ray tells Elizabeth, taking no pride in a brief flash of fear he catches in her eyes. “A lot of them were Mounties. Officials. No women though.”
All that blood…Ray remembers each and every name. He counts these murders on his skin and wonders what kind of man he could have been in a different lifetime. If he had the same talent for death, would he still use it?
The Queen shifts against the headboard, casually resting her head on the rich ornamental design.
“You aren’t a woman though, are you?” Ray leans forward and covers part of one pale leg with the loose fabric of her dress. “You’re a Queen.”
Ray runs a hand through his hair and unholsters his weapon. Where is this going? What does he want? Old questions relentlessly stirring ever since his first kill suddenly come to the forefront of his mind, making the world fragment and shift in his imagination.
Ray points his weapon at the Queen’s heart and says, “I want you to listen very, very carefully.”
Her eyes widen, she nods, and Ray takes one deep, trembling breath.
“This,” Ray says, his hand shaking, “Is how you’re going to win the war.”
********
The news-pod headline subjects vacillate wildly throughout the next week, flipping back and forth between topics with an indecision uncharacteristic of the BBC. Finally the Editors decide to combine both topics at once, and Ray can’t help but chuckle at the sight that page one presents.
Queen Elizabeth sits on her throne, gazing down coolly at the President as he kneels. Her face is bruised, one arm in a very fashionable sling, but when she demands the surrender of the United Systems and the disbandment of its War Council, it’s with a dignity that transcends flesh. Ray’s anonymous assassination attempt goes down as the spark which ignited the final fire, bringing the war to a sudden, forceful end.
All Ray has to show for his effort is a black eye, precociously given by his new Queen as he undid her bonds. It was a nice thing for her to do really, because Ray’s pretty sure he couldn’t hit a woman who hadn’t hit him first. They both knew she had to have something to show for their brief time together to make the story believable. Unfortunately that meant getting a little rough.
Ray remembers the first headline of the week, ‘Attempt on Queen’s Life! Mountie Suspected!’, but it’s the picture in his pocket that keeps Ray from feeling guilty. It’s wrinkled from all the times that Ray’s unfolded it, dirty from every touch of his fingers, but the sight is still as clear as day.
The photo caption reads: RCMP members being told of the attempt on the Queen’s life reacted with surprise. “God help the men who did this” said Corporal Benton Fraser, “No Mountie will rest until they‘ve been brought to justice.”
Corporal Benton Fraser. Ray mouths the name as he looks into the man’s still blue eyes. He’s sitting on the steps of the palace, one hand over his heart, pain written on every angle of his body as tears trickle down his handsome face. It’s this man who absolves Ray of his guilt. No U.S. squadron would care half as much for the President as this one man does for his queen.
It would have seemed ridiculous to Ray, this grown man making a spectacle of himself, but that was before Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek, before the Queen touched him on the shoulder, and said, “I understand.” This growing, shy devotion for Elizabeth makes it much easier to bear the fact that inevitably she’ll be obliged to kill him. There’s already a manhunt on, and though no one knows Ray’s name, the foot patrol gave a good enough description that only a little digging will pull up his military records from Britain’s newly acquired War Council files. It’s only a matter of time before Ray goes in front of a jury for war crimes, which, in all honesty, is where he deserves to be.
Ray looks into Earth’s sweet blue skies, soaks up the warmth of its golden sun, and waits for the Mounties to come and get him.
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