Pazzo's Mystery Fax Machine - The Station

[Pazzo.]

Good evening.

Ser pan comido

Midday light oppressed the narrow city allies, causing shadow to hug close to their casters. White hot air drove everything living to seek better climates, people stood or sat inside buildings or under awning shade, cats and dogs trotted from cover to cover as others came to challenge their rest. The world was bleached of color. An elder gazed at the striped umbrella she sat under as a fan gyrated and the radio spoke some trumpet’s lament to the canyon-like street. Somewhere a child contradicted the trumpet by giggling with unseen glee.

The elder turned her eyes downward to the street and caught the outline of a man. He was walking quickly towards her down the street. She sat up a little, but the stranger wasn’t looking for a place to rest from the heat. Instead, the man passed the woman in her small oasis without so much as an acknowledgement.

Past the icy windows of a storefront the visitor strode. The frosted shine of baked confections tempted the eyes, the sounds of a rumbling air conditioner the ears. Inside the baker paused his idle doodle of the street on a snow-white napkin to catch the man’s determined gait. Here was yet another who had no time for treats.

At the end of the street ran another. Anyone familiar with the town knew it continued like a maze, but the man’s end was just on this street. The man walking down the street was on a business call. In bubblegum letters backed in a green sign read, “Pawn Shop”. The store was well lit, wide windows displayed all the trinkets and baubles to be redeemed or lost to others. The man without missing a step flung open the door and stepped into the store. Such force was applied that one of twin hanging cactus flung off its hook and broke on the sidewalk, shattered wall of pottery exposing guts of earth and root. The radio now was its funeral horn.

From under her umbrella the old woman watched inside the Pawn Shop as the owner, a short man, rose from his seat to meet his customer. The old woman was only able to make out vaguely the events inside. The man said something, the owner nodded, the man drew a long “2020 Colt Special” revolver and shot the owner through the heart. As the owner snapped quickly backwards the old woman drowned out the street in screams.

1 – Agents of Fortune


Albert Checroux packed the last module for shipment to Aeneas. Wiping the sweat off his tanned forehead he clapped the dust from his hands to clean them. Caked on like chalk was the heavy volcanic soil of Venus. The other farm hands did the same, anything to keep the filth out of the living quarters. “Al, any trouble with the new components?” Jean, the tenured and appointed leader of the workers spoke up as he brushed some dirt from his shirt. Of everyone, Al thought he kept the iron stench the longest. “No, but some of the cheaper tubing needs replacing again.” Jean nodded slowly as they walked back to the common areas of the farm. “I’ll put in another order. How were the men today?” Al paused, squinting through the dim googles. “Tired. They’re ready to go back home. Some men had a fight last week, remember? Jameson almost didn’t respond to me today when I called in his truck. Gave me some excuse about tire pressure.” Jean nodded sagely. Al bet that made him feel wiser. “I’ll check with the owner to see if we can’t alternate men next season. You’ll be back, Al?” He didn’t respond.

In the recreation room the twenty-odd men were watching the news, playing ping-pong, reading, and otherwise mulling about. The room was decorated with the attractive colors of brown, brown-green, and brown-yellow. There was a VR station the boss installed to “boost moral” but it broke and needed repair like an old pinball machine you saw in the old Earth movies. Broken could describe half of everything in the room, from the lights to the furniture to the men. One man smoked, he’d rationed his cigarettes over the half-year much better than everyone else. Al watched him from the corner of his eye, pretending to read a magazine on the couch. Was his name Fred? Slyly he kept the cigs hidden too well, and he wouldn’t bargain with them. The voice on the television crackled with static. “In rural news, the Aeneas state police are investigating a murder in the town of Qudao-Léon. On the 12th, a pawn shop owner was shot by a suspected man using a revolver.” Albert’s head snapped towards the screen. He stood quickly and strode to the hall towards the telephone. “Off.” Albert said, jabbing his thumb away. “Got to go, love you.” The occupant of the only phone quickly hung up.

Xussan was already on her way when Al called. “I figured you’d want to know what happened, so I rented a skiff to pick you up. I’m just in the dark as, I haven’t talked to dad for years.” Al sighed, rubbing his forehead. The dim light in the hall barely illuminated the telephone box. “I’ll be ready as soon as you get here.” He hung up. If she wanted to play that old lie he’d play right along. He punched the pad and lit his boss’ number on the digital display. He was already regretting even leaving the couch as he slid his card to pay. The boss was willing to let him go under the conditions. Al knew that if he ever needed to come back he’d have to work his way back up from the bottom as Jean found another worker to manage the “physical” side of the job. On an atmosphere farm, what held the men from killing each other at times was the wit and fists of those closest to the farm boss. Jean was just the brains. Al had a harder job and was hated unanimously for it. Most of the workers were former prisoners, men from the city who couldn’t find work where at least you could get fresh water every day.

Atmosphere farming, filtering carbon-dioxide to create oxygen was a poor man’s job, but a rich man’s business. After years of terraforming Venus the planet itself was habitable, vegetable farms and towns grew equally in the developed areas. The poles had been restored, but the massive amounts of carbon dioxide created a market for fresh air. Al could have used some of that as he found his way to his cot. Sometimes he imagined life back on the cradle, Earth. They had animals there, Al had never any animal other than the domestic sorts that had been imported. On Venus, humanity may have just been another import, but at least you could make yourself something away from where you came. Al closed his eyes, still fully dressed, and tried to sleep before his sister arrived. “At least I tried to get away.” He didn’t sleep that night.

1,185 words down. Comments appreciated, thoughts suggested.

Update 2: Thoughts and plans

This is the start of something I've always been fond of: a space western. Justifying old stories in new settings, and then twisting the old to adapt to the new.

Al will be our main character, a sort of drifter who will serve as our eyes. He's spent most of his life on Venus, and never got a great education, so he'll have to learn about some of the finer details away from the job of a mechanic on an atmosphere farm. His dead father's secrets will be his motivation, and we'll soon get a glimpse of our main villain.

Xu's going to be a sort of "Oracle" type character, feeding Al info and even getting a few of her own chapters to deal with the more advanced ends of society. Eventually Venus will have to be left, and we'll get new settings.

A major concern of mine is making Al not to be just a "tough guy" character, he's going "off the reservation" into a world where people are smarter and stronger than he is. His own meager experience and willpower are going to be his biggest assets over the course of the story. Don't get the idea he's stupid, but he's intentionally designed to know about as much of the advanced workings of this universe as you do.

In the lore, most of space was colonized by the Chinese with groups of Europeans grafting into their societies. Venus has a substantial population of French-Chinese, while Mars has a mixture of Chinese and American. The further colonies have smaller Asian influence, with new sub-groups being created.

Atmosphere in towns and cities will try to be portrayed as cramped and dark, with tight buildings needed to share energy and limited resources. Most planets will have breathable atmosphere due to highly advanced terraforming. I'll try to stray away from any boring details about technology and instead try to work around specifics by general descriptions. The amount of exposition I do in this chapter may be about all I want to do. Atmosphere farming may never come up again.

Ideas on how companies and nations can earn money from planets other than farming is appreciated.

Current years will not be mentioned, but the Colt 2020 is intended to be a little of an "older" weapon.

Most colonies are owned by Earth governments, but events over the last fifty years have made them more or less independent of their Earth counterparts. It's hard to convince people to make a living away from Earth, so free land is offered to people willing to work for large companies. The towns away from cities are mostly independent of nations, but representatives from companies still keep tabs on towns to make sure nothing absolutely anarchic happens. It's better to think of independent towns as work sites for company employees.

Although faster than light travel is possible, it's very expensive, meaning technology rarely gets replaced. I'm trying for a "worn out" feel to the universe. There will be a plot point later in the story involving advanced technology, but how soon I introduce it depends on how the story progresses and if I'm confident to avoid all the tropes that come with it. And don't worry, it's not time travel.

I have an idea of where I want to end the story, but stops along the way haven't been finalized. It's going to be a sort of "writing in progress" like how the novel The Martian was handled. I'll give updates if I go back and change an earlier part of the story to fit a current chapter.

If everything works out, I may attempt to publish this, so your input is not only appreciated, it's vital.

 

[A0SHIMA]

Chill mate. i want to read you're story now. lol

 

[Pazzo.]

Week 2's chapter is here.

2 – Fortunate Son


Xu drove the skiff as it sped just above the terrain. She’d tied her brown hair back to keep the open-air vehicle from making it a mess. Her brother hadn’t said a single word after the “thanks” from picking him up, he just kept staring out into the terrain. It was a good day in Venusian terms. The dust hadn’t picked up, and a few clouds and risen to hide the sun. Xu had to take a sick period from her corporate job to sort out her father’s murder and knew Al would want a piece of the action. She still remembered the day he left their home, grabbing his belongings and hitchhiking out of town. He was silent then too.


“…I know you and dad- “she started half yelling, but Al finally spoke, “This has nothing to do with him and I. I’m here to find what happened and then go back to work. If they’ll have me. This is a busy season.” Xu glared at him through her goggles. “Don’t interrupt me.” Quiet again. “How’s the city job?” Al’s sister raised an eyebrow. “Making small talk?” “Anything to pass the time.” “How pragmatic. It’s fine, I wish you could fit into it somehow.” Al spat whatever he was chewing out the side. “I’m worthless to the city. Hell, I’m worthless to my old job. You know the fate of all mechanics.” She helped enact the fate of progress he described. Robotics continued to advance each year. The cheapest ones could clean city homes while the expensive companions were edging closer to the Turing Test. Venus had also been the forefront of the working-class robotics that Xu managed at ZeusTech. “You should just hook me up to those machines and save me the trouble.” Al laughed. Xu rolled her eyes. “You know augmentation’s illegal. All those poor souls…” Al stopped chuckling. She had always turned his light-hearted nature into something serious. She was just like her father.


After some time, the pair arrived at Qudao-Léon, a dusty mining town turned supply station. Most of the large corporations that operated mines and farms in the area bought their necessities here instead of going to a city. ZeusTech bought and converted the town years ago. It was built from synthetic material painted various colors, narrow streets created by square houses and buildings that could spring up overnight. Among the multicolored building rose metal nests and jagged antenna pointing to the heavens, to the judge of a sun which beat down upon the fools and wise alike. It’d been ten years since Al had been here. The skiff was left at a metal oasis busy with shipment and commerce. “I hear they built the station here a few months after you left.” Xu walked quickly to a nearby large square building. The number of small craft on the roof and the emblem above its door told all, the police station. “Just like old times?” Xu smirked. Al ignored her and walked up the smoothed steps.


“Welcome Ms. Checroux. If you’ll follow me…” An even toned android met and escorted Al and his sister to the office of a detective. Over half the force were androids, the government installations preferred its employees when they could work without sleep, food, or pay. Al was well familiar with a few, nicknaming them. They were programmed to respond with basic levels of conversation but looped their scolding of young Al eventually. Air conditioning burned through government dollars at full blast. The halls were quiet, the detectives mostly in their offices. Almost everything was automated, clean, cold. Investigation hadn’t been automated yet however, so the entire section of twenty towns had their detective offices here. Xu walked in front of Al, who checked gold lettering on the alphabetically listed doors to see who had left in the years. He only recognized two names, “Olson” and the name on the door he was entering.


“Albert and Xussan Checroux… what a sad reunion…” Detective Gu LeTian had been detective over Qudao-Léon for over twenty years. A certain mixture of contentment and lack of crime in his town kept him from relocation. “It’s truly a tragedy…” LeTian looked over the reactions of his visitors. Al looked vacant, Xu looked concerned but not emotional, not sad. The detective coughed into his hand. “Please, sit.” The two sat. He offered them coffee, but no one drank.


“As you know… your father was tragically killed under strange circumstances. He was in his shop when what the only witness describes as a man in dark clothing… you must know the details.” LeTian was grasping for sentences. The Checroux family had always been socially cold. He’d had Al in his office multiple times, trying to convince him to apply himself to the force. Although he’d been given a rare opportunity to work for the government, Al didn’t have the drive or energy to become a detective. Eventually LeTian told him to leave and tell his father why he was throwing away his future. Al, age eighteen, stood, thanked him, and left. The next few days and LeTian had heard Al was gone, hitchhiked away from the town. LeTian wondered if he could have done anything differently, even though he knew he tried his best. Coughing again the old detective spoke. “Let’s just get what you need.”


“You couldn’t have said anything more?” Xu scolded Al as they walked out of the precinct. “I’ve said enough in there.” “You never cared for what was important.” Xu said harshly. Straight from her father’s mouth. Al let his face slip behind his sister’s back and sighed deeply, hanging his head. It was midday, most of the town folk were under shade or about inside work. Al was thirsty. He veered off from following his sister and walked to a vending machine glowing and humming a soft tune to passers. Pulling out his wallet, Al ignored the happy voice welcoming him. He selected a green can of tea and brought his wallet to the screen displaying a holographic outstretched hand. Nothing. He tried again, no effect. By now Xu had walked behind him, observing. Al snapped open the artificial leather and frantically searched his wallet. “Those dirty, damned, carbon sucking…” Al trailed a string of profanity. When he went into the kitchen for breakfast early in the morning, someone must have snuck into his room and stolen his identity card. It couldn’t be used without his DNA, but he could be arrested if he didn’t have it on him. Xu realized what was wrong. “Lost card? The new tech is sub-skin I.D. chips. Can’t lose it unless you lose your hand. I know a guy, I can spot you for it in the city tomorrow.” Al licked his lips. This was going to be one long visit.

 

[Pazzo.]

Don't tread on me.

Trying something different... enjoy "De-tour".

Spoiler

"Is there any more?" The woman spoke. The man nodded and pointed to the back of the store. "Two" and made the number with his fingers.
Along the dead grass were bodies, some mutated some... worse. It was still burning in places. The woman still remembered what a joint was like somehow, after all the days of running and killing. The eating out of cans, the terrible radio station. The tentacled undead hated sound, so blasting the radios all the time was the only way to get through a night. "Hey hey, it's raining acid, but we can still have a sunny time (rimshot) here on the END 96.7! Up next is a special request... well, it was the last thing someone croaked to me while they were dragged off, but he said "it's all a lie..." which reminded me of Fleetwood Mac! Awww yeah..." Sometimes the music was fine, but anyone could get tired of DJ JD Summers. The woman glanced at her partner to see if he had the ax. He was asleep. She couldn't say if he'd always been narcoleptic, but after the incident that left them wiped of memory she couldn't say much at all about their previous lifes or past. Sighing, the woman picked up the axe which lay at the man's feet and walked towards the back of the convenience store. She found the two monsters behind the building mulling about confused by the tones of "Little Lies". She dispatched them both with several minutes of frenetic chopping, making a mess. Another messy afternoon.

The man awoke to the smell of microwaved beans. Why or how the power was still on was a mystery, but why he wasn't sure. After the accident that left him memoryless he spent most of his time in the store with the woman. Back at first it was difficult, with not knowing about the nightmare or even your own name, but they had eventually settled into a normal life. They ate in silence. They never talked while eating. Life was boring but safe. Constantly dazed, he slipped in and out of the waking world where he saw and felt shapes of this nightmare. He could sense objects through walls, and had come to recognize the terrors as manageable. The woman was talking to him. "Sleep well?" she gently asked. He wasn't sure if she was trying to be funny or not. For whatever reason she hadn't fled him, just stuck around like he was a lost dog, whatever those were. She hated the mess of the monsters, so whenever he was awake he went to work. Often she would follow to make sure he didn't suddenly drop like a rock and break his crooked nose again.

Why were they here? The DJ had kept a count, a number as high as 60, but had lost his calender and forgotten what day it was so he just stopped. He reported weird and wild stories from beyond, sands of glass, invading armies, biker cults, the news of the world changed with each passing week. Time was a slipping stream.

They didn't intend to sell fuel, so the the "Philip's Station" sign remained off. The plain and grassy fields swayed in the sunburnt morning light as jet planes soared overhead. The woman was hanging laundry. She checked her revolver again, the man was in his usual state inside. Over the property a road stretched like a snake towards the direction of the sun. The woman paused to stare where her shadow pointed. Something like the wind blew her spirit and tickled a sense of longing. But for what? And why? She ignored her daydream to deal with a crawling insect the size of a baseball. She kicked it hard, and it skidded across the road into the field.

 

[Pazzo.]

A little setup for a small Splatoon fanfic.

Spoiler: Camp Twist

It was warm even in the shade. The boy sat, wiping his forehead off with his head wrap, as he sipped a drink. Sour melon, his favorite. Insects clicked, chirped, and otherwise made a pandemonium of attention-seeking noise. Rosso, the kid, had nearly drowned out all the annoyances of the bugs, they became white noise-like. Even if they were still annoying like the first few days he’d been working at Camp Triggerfish, he still had his headphones. He changed the station on Clamdora to a more eastern flair. The sounds of sitars strummed in clandestine rhythms. He started to lay on his back when two figures approached. “Rosso, finished with the grass?” Said a camp regular, Jakksu. Three years the senior of most of the part-timers, Jakksu was a sort of “older brother” the full time groundskeepers sent to keep the younger on task. “All done!” Rosso made an OK sign with his hand. Jakksu, who always insisted on his full name being used, nodded in a sage-like attempt. Maggie, a girl small for her age, set down the bag of trash she was carrying. “Jak-er, Jakksu was looking for another volunteer.” The elder kid nodded again, crossing his arms. “Maggie said you hike?”

Fifteen minutes later and Rosso met the two at the north trailhead. Jakksu motioned for the two the follow him into the pine forest. One of the valves that redirected water from the camp had turned off, and as an up-and-coming part timer, the groundskeepers wanted Jakksu to grab two hiking partners to simply twist it back on. “As a representative of the camp management, thank you for coming with me.” Rosso adjusted his trucker hat. “Anything to get out of the sun!” The shady trail wove in and under trees, and a few fallen limbs. The tail keepers hadn’t made it to this one yet. Crunchy pine needles under the three pairs of Inkling feet. A pillbug was scared by the noise and fled from investigating a pinecone. Birds chirped at the younglings, scolding or laughing at what they must have seen as silly. It was the right time of year for the air to be incensed with the sappy, sharp smell of the trees.

They marched in silence, Rosso at the back. He was nodding along to his music when it suddenly stopped. Lost signal, as expected. He sighed, taking off his headphones and picked up his pace to match Maggie’s. “You never said you liked to hike when I mentioned it yesterday.” She nodded. “I haven’t in such a long time.” It’d be hard to say Maggie was shy, more like pensive, curious. Yesterday at lunch she’d started a conversation with Rosso. He liked to talk, she liked to listen. Between bites of tuna, he mostly shared his stories and she mostly just ate. Rosso smiled, jumping over a fallen log. “You should’a spoke up yesterday, do you come here for the camps?” Maggie shook her head. “I’m mainly with my grandparents in the summer.” “City folks?” “That’s right.” They almost ran into their leader, who had slowed a little. “What’da do? You have a league team?” “Not anything permanent… but I like to bowl a lot!” She flexed her arm and smiled. “Great for the ol’ aim.” Rosso tripped on a limb as he smiled at her confidence, running this time into Jakksu’s back, almost sending him sprawling. He spun around, a frustrated underneath his bangs.