The Broken One

[Arizona Nova]

-=Capitol of Arran'gock, on the new Sornei colony of Rhuckh, 203 Y.O.R.

Her first day at her new high school had just ended, and she was headed back to her home on Rhuckh. The red-brown dust blew thickly about her, whipping her long, dark hair about her face, as she walked down the road, which was little more than cracked pavement; par for the course on this savage world. She looked up at the sky with dislike, glaring indirectly at the merciless sun as she walked along.

Her father was the new governor for the planet, so she had to endure all sorts of questions from the locals most of the day. It was all quite tedious, and not all of the questions were friendly, either. Julius Rynn was a man of high importance, and impatience. The government had given him the “opportunity� to come out here and help “bring order� or something to this world, an assignment he, to her great chagrin, enthusiastically accepted.

“Janthea,� he had said, “I have a real chance of doing something that matters out there. Rhuckh is a relatively new colony, and we could make a name for ourselves, and do a lot of good!�

He loved the idea of being a name in one of the history books she ended up having to study, and that is what she hated most about him. He was okay, other than that, but she’d rather not encumber future generations with the tedium of remembering his name and his dates; she was sick and tired already of what got forced down her throat every day as is.

She hadn’t gotten to know anyone yet, but they were all bumpkins anyway. Bumpkins, or lizard-men. Those ones in particular loitered around the towns, their outlandish, coverall clothing flapping in the wind, and went riding around on people’s property like some kind of scaly gypsies. How they endured wearing all that coarse stuff on them she didn’t know. It was so unbearably hot here – the land around her new house was all just desert, and went on for miles, and it was so ugly! The only place you could have a proper garden was indoors, unless you wanted to grow the ugly spiked cactus that grew like weeds, everywhere. She preferred their old house on Ondataru, small as it was in comparison to this place.

She finally got to her house – it was far out from “town� – she doubted they’d even invented proper cities yet on this backwater. It was the nicest building on the planet, she was sure, and that wasn’t saying much. It was a bland, tannish shade, which stood out strikingly from the desert around it well enough but would have been hideous in any civilized setting. The front veranda bulged out in a semi-circle, with smooth stucco pillars holding the roof that gave it desperately needed shade. The front door opened to an entry way which opened on its left side to a living room, and on the right side to a kitchen and laundry room. On either side of that main square were two wings; on the left was the family’s wing, and on the right, was the wing for guests and dignitaries.

She walked in the front door and called out her customary greeting into the house. Strange, it wasn’t returned.

“Hello? Mom, Dad?� she called. She set down her pack and headed into the kitchen, and pushed open the door. The scene was like something out of Hell.

Her mother and her father were splayed out on the floor, their faces twisted, frozen into horrendous grimaces, fear and pain wrote all over them. On both their corpses there was a huge gory hole blown in the torso, and blood and bits of flesh were specked all over the tan, new walls of the kitchen. A figure in some sort of black and dark red armor was hunched over the counter, and he whirled about on hearing Janthea come into the kitchen, leveling a gun on her.

“Who the hell are you?� he growled, his voice floating out of a helmet which obscured his face.

Janthea simply stared, in shock.

“Oh wait, I think I know,� said the man, knowingly, putting the gun back to his side. “You’re their brat. Well it’s your lucky day, kid – the bounty wasn’t for your head, just your dad’s. Stupid woman there,� he said, contemptuously gesturing toward the corpse of Janthea’s mother, “had to get in the way. I’d take your little life and go now, before someone decides they want their revenge to completely destroy all remnants of Governor Rynn’s ‘legacy,’ such as it is.� He spat aside, and continued, “The prat, thinking he can come in here and bust everything up the way he wants it. Fuck that.� Noticing her shocked silence, he added, “You start bawling and rest assured I won’t hesitate to blow you away either. Can’t stand that shit…� he turned around, growling, and attending to whatever he was doing before Janthea came in – cleaning a weapon or messaging some boss, it didn’t really matter.

Janthea slowly came to, and couldn’t see anything but red. She went back out into the living room, silently grabbing a poker from the fireplace. It shimmered in the half light of the Rhuckh sunset, which came in red-golden rays through the great front windows of the veranda, mingling with the long shadows of coming night. The light glanced over its strangely sharp end. She stole, tense, silent, barely keeping herself from crying out in wretched hate and sickened fear, back into the kitchen. The bounty hunter’s back was still turned.

“Well,� he said, back still to Janthea, “Time for me to get back outta this hellhole. I’d grab what you can, kid, before the looters co…�

His words were cut short as he turned around, and Janthea leapt forward with every last ounce of her strength, driving the poker two-handed straight through his armor, his body, and out the other side. He gurgled something incomprehensible, then slumped down on the poker, a slimy trail of blood coagulating with leaked coolant on the sharp end of the poker. Janthea held the poker firm with her right hand, and violently shoved his body back upright with her left, propping him against the counter, and ripped the poker back out, splattering fresh blood everywhere. Tearing off his helmet, she looked into the man’s eyes hatefully, and he looked back with equal rage, surprise, and fear, as his life ebbed away – no, she wouldn’t let him get away that easily! She raised the poker, bringing it back down in his face with all her strength, crushing his skull, feeling the satisfying crunch of his bones under her weapon. She did it over and over as the body slowly slid down on to the floor, until there was nothing left but pink, stained shards stuck in ichor on a broken stump of a neck, and a trail of red-black slime from the countertop down.

Going out to the garage out back, she gathered flammables – anything she could find, then stockpiled them in the living room. No looters would get this house – nobody would have it. She didn’t want it – how could she live here after this? – she would destroy it, a pyre to a life she already knew, deep inside, unconsciously, was dead. Then she’d leave, she didn’t know where she’d go, she didn’t care. She’d just die, it didn’t matter. She soaked the place down, top to bottom, and then took a flare she had found in the garage out of her pocket. Going to the front door, she lit it, and threw it in the house. A massive boom shook the house, and threw her backwards, and within seconds, it was wholly on fire. She stood back up, tears streaming down her face, making tracks in the caked dust, and watched for a minute or two as the inferno took her parents, their murderer, and her life, and turned it all to smoke and bright red flames, and then turned and ran into the desert.