《screw you, captain suffy》
Prologue
In the halls of the youngest pillar''s heart, he is there. Eyes glassy. Skin icy. Stiff. Laying dead with the other members of his crew: a dozen men and women of various species, united at the last frontier.
No pulse. Dead long before the Captain came here¡ªnot that she expected him to be anything else. Just never seen a dead father before. Stranger than how they describe it in books or show it in movies. Much stranger.
She sits by his side, still, for an almost outrageous amount of time. Then she twists the ring off his finger, slips his tablet into her bag, and pats him down for any potential tools.
Pre-apocalyptic people used to bury or burn the dead. That was when there weren''t dead bodies across every once populated planet. She could spend a lifetime cleaning them up, but then what would she have done with her time. Her father''s body lies still on the marble.
She leaves him here. Leaves the halls.
NINE YEARS LATER
"It''s like, negative fifteen degrees out. You''re going to ruin your legs if you keep heading out there."
"I know!" Gold calls back. "I got it, alright?"
"At least wait till Christmas," Sera mutters.
"I''m still going out to check," he says, walking out of the bathroom. Or at least, trying to. He manages to catch himself on one knee when he falls. Posed kinda like a superhero.
"Wow," Sera says, impressed.
He glares up at her.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
"Here, what about..." She helps him up. "I''ll go this time, and you can take a break at home."
That''s how she ends up trekking to the comms tower. How Gold manages it twice a day on frozen ass half-metal legs is a wonder to her. She takes a step, there''s snow up to her knees.
The comms tower is connected to one of humanity''s last satellites. It''s an awfully rusted and old thing, but Gold''s managed to clean it up pretty well on the inside.
"It is currently ten thirty AM," a pleasant, automated voice recites.
She takes a seat. Studies the mic hooked up to the autoresponder, the control panel, then settles back into her seat. Breaks into a book. It''s a good one, something about nano tech.
She spends her first day at the comms tower reading and listening to the autoresponder tell the time every thirty minutes.
On her second day, she spends her time thinking. Feeling. The same kind of feeling she gets when the second pillar''s trying to reach out. A sort of tug at the back of her mind, a straining of her heart.
Hell. Maybe she''s not doing enough cardio.
The autoresponder chirps into the mic, "It is currently seven AM." Like a trigger, the screen blinks to life, nothing but a blank white chatroom. But Sera sits up promptly, leaning forward and bringing her cold fingers to the keyboard.
Hello?
are you the prophet
Sera''s breath catches. She hasn''t been called that in years. She asks, despite herself:
Who is this?
i am captain snazzy of the ss suffy
A moment. Sera doesn''t laugh. Not even a little.
As hilarious as that might be to some, I refuse to call you that. What are you, nine?
no
Well, you found me, and I can''t really stop you if you''re a strange alien that wants to invade Earth again and finish us off. You''d tell me if you were, right? What''s your business?
It might be needlessly reckless, but she can''t help herself.
And the answer is promising.
i am human not an alien
looking for earth
and a way to save the world
#1: en route to Earth
She wakes. Floating in the air. Not just her, the bed, the equipment. Like gravity has let up on the planet. Out the window, the world blurs together. Colors wipe through each other like a mad painter out of control. The river is fractured, black void between the cracks where matter should be, fragments floating through the atmosphere. Decay.
The world really is ending.
It''s hard to comprehend. Maybe next year. Maybe it''s next month that her body tears apart or melts by the whims of the pillars. Maybe the month after that, all life ceases to exist, and the universe fizzles out like a bad signal¡ªconcentrate.
Fatalism is the enemy. Especially since you''re on a mission.
A mission to undo the apocalypse.
The Captain takes a seat at the helm (not that the ship is big enough to be separated into different areas). Flicks a switch. Engine roars to life. Tablet hooked to the ship lights up, a visual of nearby stars and landmarks mapped out. Along with a new set of coordinates. Leading to Earth.
The Prophet came through. She''s ecstatic. The ship rises, the world gets dark. Then she''s speeding through the galaxy, to the place her father was born.
He was an engineer. Designed the SVPH-I himself. Documented everything he could throughout the apocalypse. Did everything he could to stop it. His crew had arrived at the halls in a last ditch effort to hijack it. No logs after that event, for obvious reasons.
It was stupid of them to go in there. There was no chance of any of them making it out. The gods. The pillars. Every being vying for the apocalypse. Those were the forces against him. He did it anyway.
This is where she succeeds him. She decided, long ago. Be smarter. Strategic. Smarter is how she survived long enough to come in contact with the Prophet.
And she''s closing in.
It''s snowing on Earth.
Little pellets. About 30 cm of it stacked on the ground. Not soft like blankets or mist, soft in a different way. Cold. Less so than black space, but still uncomfortable. The suit and helmet helps.
The Captain turns around to face the Prophet''s residence. Hopes she doesn''t mind the ship positioned right above it. Crash landing. Embarrassing, even if the tall, dull metal tower looked fine.
The phone in her pocket pings once.
Hold on, there was a really loud sound just now.
mightve been meStolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
What?
A figure rushes out of the entrance. It''s got to be the prophet. Bundled up in a thick, heavy looking coat. Long black hair is tied back in a braid. Red scarf around their neck covers their mouth. It''s surreal, to be standing before someone, and the Captain can''t help but stare.
The Prophet: a "pre-apocalyptic law major" who can "mind-meld with the most incompetent pillar on the block". Not entirely sure what that means, but the Prophet knows things humans normally can''t. In classic prophet fashion, she can be insufferably cryptic. Says it''s not her fault. "You can blame the second pillar for that."
She tugs her scarf down. "Captain!" Her voice is warm, like an actress. "Is that you?"
"The Prophet."
"Sera." The Prophet grins. The Captain remembers the name perfectly¡ªthis prophet, on the other hand, has admitted to not being very good at remembering things, that''s why she carries her tablet everywhere with her. Like the Captain''s father did.
And there''s a tablet tucked under the Prophet''s arm now. "Nice helmet," she says, "So, uh, what did you to do the..."
She follows her gaze up to the top of the tower. The more the Captain looks at it, the better it looks, settled snug up there...
That is definitely a concerned expression on the Prophet''s face.
Eventually, she says, "Follow me, I''ll take you to my little safe haven."
She holds her hand out and looks expectant. The Captain''s hesitant to take her hand out in the cold, but this is the first time someone''s held their hand out to her. And it''s probably warm.
The Prophet smiles when she takes it. The two of them follow a faint set of footsteps. They''re quiet. In movies, this is around the time someone starts to make conversation.
And the Prophet doesn''t disappoint. "So you really lived on your own this whole time?" she asks.
Shrug. "First time on Earth."
"Yeah. That''s crazy to me. How old are you?"
(The sky is big and blue, not smoky or blood red.) The year is 2038. That makes her: "15."
"Wow. Post-apocalypse baby," she mutters.
Technically born before the apocalypse, but no point correcting her. The Captain looks around and asks, "Why go to this safe haven place?" when we could be going straight to the second pillar.
"There''s someone we have to see before we go."
The mind boggles. Another person, maybe even human. How many people does this one person know, she wonders.
Holding her hand like this, walking alongside her through snow and grass. It feels familiar. Like something she used to do with someone heavier. Or stronger.
It should frustrate her. There are some memories she can''t reach, too old and faded to recall. She''s grown used to it. Like dreams that dissipate the moment she stops holding on, these memories only serve as a fleeting feeling. A brief longing. A sweet nothing that gives her no insight on the present or the future.
In contrast. Meeting with the Prophet is proving very insightful. Point: found out that there are more than two humans in existence. People that didn''t try to tear the world apart.
The Prophet stops me before a wooden hut. Knocks twice. "It''s me!"
Click. Creak. The door cracks open. Behind the frame is a man that looks about a decade older than the prophet, the skin around his eyes creased in what looks like suspicion. "And our visitor," he says slowly, eyeing the helmet, "This that spaceboy you been talking to? Or some alien?"
"Nice to meet you," the Captain says honestly. This is someone she recognizes from one of her father''s files. Someone, then, worth trusting.
"She''s the one who''ll accompany me to the second pillar," the Prophet says.
"Small girl." He sets forward a long, heavy gaze. She''s momentarily reminded of the large, deep eyes of vantabeasts, the way they observe their prey.
"Fifteen years old, Gold." She rolls her eyes. "Care to remind me how old you were when you joined that crew of yours?"
He glares at her before turning back to the Captain. "Take that thing off when you''re inside."
#2: the second pillar
The Prophet sits her down on a wooden stool and disappears into a back room. Her friend hobbles around the house, picking up mugs and clothes. The place is warm. But disorganized. Dusty. The Captain''s itching to clean it, but the two owners don''t seem bothered by the mess.
There''s a fireplace, and a fridge, probably hooked up to a generator somewhere. The place is clearly not a city. No corpses littering the streets. No streets to be littered. Any food here must have been transported a long distance.
The Prophet''s friend ("The name''s Daon Gold, but everyone calls me Gold.") sets two steaming cups of a rich brown liquid on the table. Is that coffee or hot chocolate?
"Careful, it''s hot," he says when she reaches for one. It''s beautifully warm is what it is. She unbuckles her helmet, and the smell hits her. It smells like... great. It smells great.
"What is it?" she asks.
"What, the drink?" That''s an expression of surprise. "That''s hot cocoa."
She nods.
The Prophet reappears with her tablet in hand, a small spherical projector in the other. On second glance. That''s the Google Proball V, latest model of its line before it went out of production (due to the end of the world). And this place is neither an office nor a modern smart house.
She sets it down on the table and it lights up, projecting a flat, solid white square into the air. It flickers into a blueprint. She takes a cup with two hands.
"That is the castle of the second pillar," she starts, eyes flicking over to watch her two intent listeners, before turning back to the projection.
The plan is simple.
1. TRANSPORTATION
"We''re going to have to bypass anything that might be guarding the place. If they installed any traps, it''ll be here (the entrance), here (the back entrance), and here (the second entryway)."
"Then we go from above," the Captain said. "Take my ship."
Reinforced against most magic, electronic sabotage, it''s the obvious choice of transport.
The Captain buckles into her seats. The Prophet looks around, amazed, before following suit. "Man. How old were you when you learned to fly this thing?"
The Captain flicks on the power and watch the Hippocampus rumble to life. Truth is, she still doesn''t know what some of the buttons do, and she''s too scared to experiment after the first time she tried. (Steam. Error messages. Not like there was supposed to be a manual for this thing, right? She sticks to what she knows. It''s enough.)
Systems checked. Time to fly.
2. RECON
"Send a drone before you move in," the Friend said.
"If they''re expecting us, then there''s not much we can do in terms of planning."
They''re landing before they know it.
"That was short," the Prophet says, echoing the Captain''s own sentiments. Almost annoyingly short. She loves flight, but the ship is speedy, made for intergalactic travel.
The Prophet flies out a few of her drones. They''re plastic spiders with propellers, three little eight-legged scouts in the air.
They return quickly. The Prophet exhales. "There''s nobody here," she says, but exchanges a look with the Captain that isn''t entirely gleeful.
It feels too easy. The two of them hop out of the ship and make their way into the hall.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
3. ARMAMENT
As they make their way down the hall, the Captain finds herself feeling for the alert chip in the back pocket of her suit.
The Prophet handed her a disc, a thin, black, plastic thing the size of a large coin. "That''s an alert chip, linked back to our home here and my tablet. Something goes wrong, all you need to do is snap it."
She turned it over. It wasn''t like anything she''d seen before, but it was sleek and well made. "How''s it work?"
"No idea. Some alien tech we managed to snag."
"You know how to use a gun?" The Prophet''s friend set his gaze on her again.
The Captain knew what that was. Recalled manuals, instructional videos. Recited everything she could remember.
"Huh," the Prophet said.
"And you don''t point it at anything you don''t want to shoot," he told her. "Finger off the trigger until you''re aiming to kill. Take one with you, Sera."
"You really think they''re still going to be there?"
"Haven''t seen a ship fly out, yeah? They''re dead or still fuck - uh, around there."
The urgency that happens when the Captain sits still for too long was growing steadily, so she said, "We''re going to be late."
She finally managed to take a sip of her drink. The flavor flooded her mouth. Her jaw ached with the intensity of it. It was better than she ever imagined. She took another sip. Then another, and it was warm enough to drink until suddenly there was none left. Setting the cup back down on the table, she picked up her helmet and marveled at the warmth sitting inside of her. "Let''s go."
With each step increases the thrum of something that doesn''t quite register as unusual. And the Prophet. The Prophet is positively excited¡ªshe''s shaking a little, speeding up the closer the two of them get. The Captain keeps up.
The hall is quiet and echoes of boots on a stone floor.
The library: dark. Lots of shelves. Empty; a shame.
Down the stairs. On the last step, the Captain can almost feel the pillar, but not as much as the Prophet, who has abandoned all care to run to the glowing pillar in the center of the basement. The glow is a bright blue or green and the Captain is suddenly reminded of the decay, of the way objects started to bleed into one another.
"Prophet," she calls. She keeps her eyes away from the pillar.
"Here it is, Captain." The Prophet reaches out, stops herself short. "The pillar. The pillar of change, of metamorphosis..."
The Captain grabs the Prophet''s arm. "What now?" she tries to inject more force into her voice, which is as papery as it''s always been.
She looks down at her with eyes large, full of something the Captain can''t comprehend, and does the unexpected but very pre-apocalyptic gesture of placing her hands on the Captain''s cheeks and smiling. "Okay, captain. I understand now. We''re going to turn back time, right?"
Something fills the Captain''s heart. Is enthusiasm contagious? "Tell me what to do."
"Go inside," she tells her.
Inside?
The Captain drags her gaze to the center of this large room, to the wide, glowing shaft in the center. This is what an active pillar looks like. Hard to imagine there''s a living being inside it, thinking away. Her eyes adjust. She can begin to make out the outline of the pillar, small grooves in the smooth exterior. They snake around and above and below, an intricate engraving throughout its entire length.
She swallows and turns to the Prophet, but her eyes are closed now, her hands only millimeters away from the pillar.
Exercising extreme vigilance, the Captain goes to touch it. Her fingers slip through the pillar like it''s water. Cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so. Pleasant is a good word for it. It''s pleasing.
She licks her lips.
The Prophet is wise. That was what her father professed, and if she couldn''t trust him or her own research, who would she trust?
She steps inside.
Then she is the pillar. No, you aren''t. This vessel is occupied. The cool airiness of the pillar turns hard and claustrophobic (what a pre-apocalyptic word) and she can''t breathe. Can''t move. The sensation lasts a moment too long, like the moment you realize an impossible event is not a dream.
The instant she can move again, she stumbles out of the pillar. She manages to catch herself on her knees. Never want to do that again.
"Hey, are you okay?" It''s the Prophet, she thinks, but she can''t see straight and the... the woman''s voice sounds off. Like it''s split or frayed. A hand comes into view and the Captain takes it.
Then she faints.
But she doesn''t. There''s a sharp pain on the back of her head and she feels herself fall to the ground, but her senses shutter then she''s standing.
She feels around her head. There''s no bruise or blood. Looks up at the Prophet, breathing hard. She''s still holding onto her hand.
"What happened?" the Prophet asks.
Isn''t she supposed to know? All the Captain can do is shake her head. "Let''s go back," she whispers.
"Did it work?"
It''s difficult to move, somehow, like her limbs are twice its weight, but a bit of concentration has her fingers wiggling again. She takes a slow step forward. "I don''t know."
"The connection''s still there," the Prophet murmurs. "Maybe if I..."
She gazes over at the pillar. For a frightening moment, the Captain thinks she might touch it, but she turns around. "You gotta communicate with me, captain. Did anything change?"
"Yes." The cold light of the second pillar washes the floor in waves. Her tongue works slowly. "Yes." She doesn''t know what.