Post by thomas on Feb 6, 2010 15:44:17 GMT -5
The white heat that consumed New Amsterdam overwhelmed the Blue Destiny's sensors--the computer, forced to somehow represent the unimaginable, turned its screen up to the highest brightness setting and shone blinding white hot light that sizzled on Thorvald's eyeballs. He covered his eyes quickly, looked away.
"It's all right now, Thorvald. You can look."
He did and he saw nothing--only naked smoking wreckage.
"Christ Almighty..." he whispered and crossed himself. "Lass, I'm thinking we'd best get out of here."
Thorvald's statement was compounded by the debris, flung miles up into the air by the explosion, that suddenly began to crash down to Earth around them.
"Right. Hang on."
The Blue Destiny took off at a run, loping across the frozen planes like an infernal sprinter who never hits the wall. Marion predicted, to the barest centimeter of accuracy, where each piece of flaming flotsam would fall and at the last second, would dart the mobile suit out of the way. It was like running through Armageddon--Thorvald made no attempt to take control and merely braced himself.
Suddenly, they came to a steep drop--the surface of snow and ice that they had been on dipped straight down, at least a mile.
"Lord..." Siggurdson whispered.
"Should we jump? I can't tell what the surface is down there--it could be solid enough to hold us, it could not be--but if we don't do something, we're going to be pulverized in 8.2 seconds--"
"Jump, lass, I'll take my chances with the ice and snow!"
This was what Marion wanted to here--the Blue Destiny took a few steps back and then leapt, arms back, off the precipice. Thorvald let out a whoop in spite of himself--the old thrill of adrenaline was back and he was deliriously happy, despite the destruction that lay behind them. They crashed through the ice below them but Marion fired the Blue Destiny's thrusters and a moment later, they rocketed out of the ice. Something had damaged the backpack thrusters in the jump, though, and they gave out right after they cleared the hole in the cracked ice. The mobile suit clattered to the ground helplessly, rocking Thorvald against his overheated display.
"The bleeding--"
"Something's wrong with the internal cooling system. Get out now. If you don't, you'll fry in there. I'll shut the Blue Destiny down and you can make repairs once it's cooled down."
"But, lass, I'm not really dressed for the weather..."
"GO!"
"Alright, alright--" The cockpit was getting uncomfortably hot, even for a kilted Scotsman. Thorvald all but kicked the door open and realized that the ladder hadn't been lowered for him. He was already covered in cuts and gashes from the fight but, he figured, another broken bone or two wouldn't hurt him. After spying a pile of particularly soft looking snow, Thorvald made a swan dive, bursting out the cockpit seconds before flames started to erupt from the display. His landing burrowed him about eight feet into snow and ice but, taken in the context of the last half hour, this wasn't such a bad fate.
After fighting his way up out of the ditch, the half naked Scottish Viking peered up at his now silent mobile suit.
"Things I did nae imagine happenin' to me today..." he muttered, clutching his arms around his naked chest and running up to the mobile suit. Its armor was still burning hot and he pressed himself against it, allowing himself a long sigh.
Gradually, over the course of an hour, the Blue Destiny began to cool down, the result of the snow storm and the general frigidness of its environs. As it cooled, so did Thorvald.
"Lass, this thing had better be ready for me to get back in soon... 'Lest I freeze out here..." he muttered, ice clinging to his eye brows and beard. He sank to his knees, rolling up into the fetal position for warmth and shivered.
"You'll be fine, Thorvald. You've faced worse than this."
Thorvald looked up to see Marion's naked figure floating just above him, supported by her gently flapping wings. He sat up with some difficulty, grinning.
"A true fact, that one is... We did well out there, lass. They was running scared o' us. If 'tweren't for that big bastard from the sky..."
"If I had another chance... I could kill it. I know I could. I felt it. I just need the right weapon and I would tear it to pieces, Thorvald, I would."
"Lass, come now... We can na' win 'em all. We'll fight another day; that's what's important right now."
"No! I won't let that thing stop me! If it stands in between me and... and I don't know what--freedom--finding my sister--I'll kill it!"
Her wings were flapping harder now, with more agitation.
"Find me a weapon Thorvald, that'll destroy that thing!"
"Marion, love, I dunnae know that I can."
"Then what bloody good are ye?!" She screamed this, almost crying. Then she observed Thorvald's pathetic figure, which seemed to be crying for real.
"No, Thorvald, I did nae mean that..."
But he was laughing instead.
"Yer' startin' to talk like me now..."
"'n why d'ye say that, lad?" And then she caught herself and smiled. She touched the ground and lifted Thorvald up till he was standing, pressing her naked body against his.
"Oh, now innit this nice..." Thorvald whispered. He kissed her and she felt as though she were melting against him, her smooth, warm flesh spreading out to coat him...
A bounce of the sled woke Thorvald up. There was something coating his lips. He licked them. It tasted vaguely of bacon and butter. He tried to open his eyes but they were heavy with the same substance. He finally managed and saw the sky moving above him. He realized he was wrapped up tightly in furs and that he was moving. Sitting up ever so slightly, he saw a heavily furred figure in front of him and heard barks.
Bearmen, Thorvald decided. I've been abducted by Bearmen and they'll eat me now. An interesting day I've been having.
Hours later, he woke up again in small home. The walls were covered with animal hides and a portly woman crouched over the fire in the center, stirring a steaming pot of stew.
"Pardon me for asking," Thorvald said, as loud as he could muster. "But where in creation would this be?"
The woman looked over at him, her brown, well wrinkled face smiling. She said something in a strange language of clicks and guttural sounds. Thorvald managed another smile but it was clear neither of them understood the other. She brought him a steaming ladle of whatever it was she was stirring and his drank it down, understanding that this was the time honored ritual of the old woman feeding the young man--one that would play itself out a thousand million more times before the ending of world.
The stew tasted vaguely of haggis. Thorvald was pleased and the woman was pleased that Thorvald ate and ate. She filled bowl after bowl for him and spooned it into his mouth. Then, she brought him--joys of joys--pickled herring and he swallowed them without chewing.
A figure came to the hut's entrance and the light coming in from the outside obscured his features. He ducked into the hut and Thorvald realized that over his heavy coat, he was wearing a Canadian hockey jersey. He was young, younger than Thorvald, and rather handsome. He said a few words to the woman and she fussed over him, fixing his hair, and giving him a bowl. She left the two there and the young man ate in silence for a moment before saying, in perfect English:
"You're the from the Federation, aren't you?"
"Laird but I am glad you speak the Queen's."
"Federation?"
"I am."
"That's a Scottish accent, isn't it? I studied at Edinburgh for a year."
"A fine city!" Thorvald exclaimed. "Now, tell me... Are ye Eskimos?"
"We prefer to be called Inuit."
"And this is Canada, yes?"
The man shrugged. "On paper, yes. Really, it's Nunatsiavut."
"Right. That place."
"My name is Roger Quintawut."
"Private Second Class Thorvald Siggurdson, at ye' service."
"There was a battle, some distance off--we all saw it. Something fell from the sky. Was it--some sort of machine? The elders think it was a god."
"Were it only. A Zeon machine, yes. I can nae tell you more right now--we lost the base and scattered."
Roger smirked. "You deserted?"
"I prefer to think of it as a tactical retreat, lad. The Federation will find me or I'll find them--does nae matter. The war innit over."
"That's what I'm afraid of. We can't allow the war to touch our village--you understand. We'll feed you till your strong enough and take you back to your mobile suit but we'll offer you no other assistance. If the Zeon come while you're here, we'll have no choice but to deliver you to them. Once you've left, we'll deny you were ever here."
"Fair enough."
Roger lit a pipe and offered it to Thorvald. He inhaled the thick, fragrant tobacco and felt it warm every inch of his flesh. They sat in silence for nearly half an hour and Thorvald was about to drift off to sleep when Roger spoke again.
"I left university to come back here so I wouldn't be drafted--we've got immunity from Canadian service and the Federation draws from the national armed forces so..."
"I can sympathize. I did na' particularly intend to join the war effort meself. It was more of an accident, really. Wrong place, wrong time, that whole story."
"I can't help but feel like I made a mistake."
Thorvald shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. If ye'd stayed, ye may very well have been one of those poor fellas what's laying in the snow, all burned to death back at the base."
Roger nodded gravely.
"Still. I went to university to get away from this place."
"Oh. I see." Thorvald sat up and took another puff of the pipe. "Ye're made for bigger stuff than this--yer provincial backwater, where no one understands ye and ye can nae stand their backwardness, the way they talk and eat and the way they think 'bout men and women. Ye go to the center o' the Empire, thinkin' it'll be diff'rent there, and then ye go to another culture's provincial backwater, because surely, surely there, it's all diff'rent. Better. Then things get tough, ye come home to mom 'n dad, but ye still want to get out."
Roger stared at him and Thorvald smiled.
"I'm sorry, lad, but I was young too, once. Stay here. It's better--grow old, marry some nice little--Innuit--that how you say it?--girl roundabouts here and nae think on me and the Federation once I've left."
"But--you don't understand. That's the thing. My mother--she wants me to get married. The girl is perfectly nice but I--"
"Oh, I understand. Don't ye worry, lad--it's what all men go through. Ye don' want to settle down in yer prime. I know. I know."
"No, it's that--"
The woman, Roger's mother, returned, bringing with her another Inuit. Thorvald presumed this was the girl Roger's mother had picked out for him. She sat next to Roger and they chatted in their language and then she rubbed her nose against his. The old woman just laughed, covering her mouth.
"'Tis a good life ye've got here, lad."
The next morning, to everyone's amazement, Thorvald was on his feet and doing calisthetics in the middle of the village, still covered in seal blubber to insulate him against the cold. The village elders, many of whom had never seen a white man, gathered around to inspect this odd creature, who could recover from the brink of death over night and who wore a skirt and nothing else. After a big breakfast in his honor--toasts were made in Innuit that Roger translated, things to the extent of "We bid our Snow Friend return to his Blue Giant and hope he will cherish us as we have cherished him!"--they packed up a sled with food and warm clothes, donated by the village. Roger volunteered his dogs to take Thorvald back to the Blue Destiny.
They chatted as they rode over the ice. The village was only twelve miles away from where the Blue Destiny was parked and they made it in a little under an hour. Roger helped Thorvald unload his supplies and cheered with him as he powered the mobile suit up, finding it still working, despite the damage it had sustained.
"Well, lad, I suppose this would be it," Thorvald said finally, offering his hand.
"Take me with you."
"Oh, now, lad..."
"I can't stay here. I can't marry her."
"All right, have ye another lass? At university, perhaps? I'll tell you what to do."
"No, Thorvald." Roger looked at him very seriously. "Thorvald, I've a lad at university."
"A lad. Oh. Oh."
"Thorvald, I think I'm the only gay Inuit. Ever. Imagine growing up, never knowing anyone else like you, and then going somewhere else to find that it's perfectly natural and more or less accepted--I can't stay here."
"Eh... But, yer lad at university--"
"He joined the Ground Forces as a pilot. Maybe you know him? His name is Perry Wong."
"Lad, there are a lot... Oh, wait."
"Do you know him?"
"Roger, lad, maybe you'd best come back with him... Christ, but now I hope that Chinese boy made it out alive."
With this, they finished packing up the Blue Destiny and began to lumber off into the arctic day.
"Tell me, Roger--do ye believe in faeries?"
"It's all right now, Thorvald. You can look."
He did and he saw nothing--only naked smoking wreckage.
"Christ Almighty..." he whispered and crossed himself. "Lass, I'm thinking we'd best get out of here."
Thorvald's statement was compounded by the debris, flung miles up into the air by the explosion, that suddenly began to crash down to Earth around them.
"Right. Hang on."
The Blue Destiny took off at a run, loping across the frozen planes like an infernal sprinter who never hits the wall. Marion predicted, to the barest centimeter of accuracy, where each piece of flaming flotsam would fall and at the last second, would dart the mobile suit out of the way. It was like running through Armageddon--Thorvald made no attempt to take control and merely braced himself.
Suddenly, they came to a steep drop--the surface of snow and ice that they had been on dipped straight down, at least a mile.
"Lord..." Siggurdson whispered.
"Should we jump? I can't tell what the surface is down there--it could be solid enough to hold us, it could not be--but if we don't do something, we're going to be pulverized in 8.2 seconds--"
"Jump, lass, I'll take my chances with the ice and snow!"
This was what Marion wanted to here--the Blue Destiny took a few steps back and then leapt, arms back, off the precipice. Thorvald let out a whoop in spite of himself--the old thrill of adrenaline was back and he was deliriously happy, despite the destruction that lay behind them. They crashed through the ice below them but Marion fired the Blue Destiny's thrusters and a moment later, they rocketed out of the ice. Something had damaged the backpack thrusters in the jump, though, and they gave out right after they cleared the hole in the cracked ice. The mobile suit clattered to the ground helplessly, rocking Thorvald against his overheated display.
"The bleeding--"
"Something's wrong with the internal cooling system. Get out now. If you don't, you'll fry in there. I'll shut the Blue Destiny down and you can make repairs once it's cooled down."
"But, lass, I'm not really dressed for the weather..."
"GO!"
"Alright, alright--" The cockpit was getting uncomfortably hot, even for a kilted Scotsman. Thorvald all but kicked the door open and realized that the ladder hadn't been lowered for him. He was already covered in cuts and gashes from the fight but, he figured, another broken bone or two wouldn't hurt him. After spying a pile of particularly soft looking snow, Thorvald made a swan dive, bursting out the cockpit seconds before flames started to erupt from the display. His landing burrowed him about eight feet into snow and ice but, taken in the context of the last half hour, this wasn't such a bad fate.
After fighting his way up out of the ditch, the half naked Scottish Viking peered up at his now silent mobile suit.
"Things I did nae imagine happenin' to me today..." he muttered, clutching his arms around his naked chest and running up to the mobile suit. Its armor was still burning hot and he pressed himself against it, allowing himself a long sigh.
Gradually, over the course of an hour, the Blue Destiny began to cool down, the result of the snow storm and the general frigidness of its environs. As it cooled, so did Thorvald.
"Lass, this thing had better be ready for me to get back in soon... 'Lest I freeze out here..." he muttered, ice clinging to his eye brows and beard. He sank to his knees, rolling up into the fetal position for warmth and shivered.
"You'll be fine, Thorvald. You've faced worse than this."
Thorvald looked up to see Marion's naked figure floating just above him, supported by her gently flapping wings. He sat up with some difficulty, grinning.
"A true fact, that one is... We did well out there, lass. They was running scared o' us. If 'tweren't for that big bastard from the sky..."
"If I had another chance... I could kill it. I know I could. I felt it. I just need the right weapon and I would tear it to pieces, Thorvald, I would."
"Lass, come now... We can na' win 'em all. We'll fight another day; that's what's important right now."
"No! I won't let that thing stop me! If it stands in between me and... and I don't know what--freedom--finding my sister--I'll kill it!"
Her wings were flapping harder now, with more agitation.
"Find me a weapon Thorvald, that'll destroy that thing!"
"Marion, love, I dunnae know that I can."
"Then what bloody good are ye?!" She screamed this, almost crying. Then she observed Thorvald's pathetic figure, which seemed to be crying for real.
"No, Thorvald, I did nae mean that..."
But he was laughing instead.
"Yer' startin' to talk like me now..."
"'n why d'ye say that, lad?" And then she caught herself and smiled. She touched the ground and lifted Thorvald up till he was standing, pressing her naked body against his.
"Oh, now innit this nice..." Thorvald whispered. He kissed her and she felt as though she were melting against him, her smooth, warm flesh spreading out to coat him...
A bounce of the sled woke Thorvald up. There was something coating his lips. He licked them. It tasted vaguely of bacon and butter. He tried to open his eyes but they were heavy with the same substance. He finally managed and saw the sky moving above him. He realized he was wrapped up tightly in furs and that he was moving. Sitting up ever so slightly, he saw a heavily furred figure in front of him and heard barks.
Bearmen, Thorvald decided. I've been abducted by Bearmen and they'll eat me now. An interesting day I've been having.
Hours later, he woke up again in small home. The walls were covered with animal hides and a portly woman crouched over the fire in the center, stirring a steaming pot of stew.
"Pardon me for asking," Thorvald said, as loud as he could muster. "But where in creation would this be?"
The woman looked over at him, her brown, well wrinkled face smiling. She said something in a strange language of clicks and guttural sounds. Thorvald managed another smile but it was clear neither of them understood the other. She brought him a steaming ladle of whatever it was she was stirring and his drank it down, understanding that this was the time honored ritual of the old woman feeding the young man--one that would play itself out a thousand million more times before the ending of world.
The stew tasted vaguely of haggis. Thorvald was pleased and the woman was pleased that Thorvald ate and ate. She filled bowl after bowl for him and spooned it into his mouth. Then, she brought him--joys of joys--pickled herring and he swallowed them without chewing.
A figure came to the hut's entrance and the light coming in from the outside obscured his features. He ducked into the hut and Thorvald realized that over his heavy coat, he was wearing a Canadian hockey jersey. He was young, younger than Thorvald, and rather handsome. He said a few words to the woman and she fussed over him, fixing his hair, and giving him a bowl. She left the two there and the young man ate in silence for a moment before saying, in perfect English:
"You're the from the Federation, aren't you?"
"Laird but I am glad you speak the Queen's."
"Federation?"
"I am."
"That's a Scottish accent, isn't it? I studied at Edinburgh for a year."
"A fine city!" Thorvald exclaimed. "Now, tell me... Are ye Eskimos?"
"We prefer to be called Inuit."
"And this is Canada, yes?"
The man shrugged. "On paper, yes. Really, it's Nunatsiavut."
"Right. That place."
"My name is Roger Quintawut."
"Private Second Class Thorvald Siggurdson, at ye' service."
"There was a battle, some distance off--we all saw it. Something fell from the sky. Was it--some sort of machine? The elders think it was a god."
"Were it only. A Zeon machine, yes. I can nae tell you more right now--we lost the base and scattered."
Roger smirked. "You deserted?"
"I prefer to think of it as a tactical retreat, lad. The Federation will find me or I'll find them--does nae matter. The war innit over."
"That's what I'm afraid of. We can't allow the war to touch our village--you understand. We'll feed you till your strong enough and take you back to your mobile suit but we'll offer you no other assistance. If the Zeon come while you're here, we'll have no choice but to deliver you to them. Once you've left, we'll deny you were ever here."
"Fair enough."
Roger lit a pipe and offered it to Thorvald. He inhaled the thick, fragrant tobacco and felt it warm every inch of his flesh. They sat in silence for nearly half an hour and Thorvald was about to drift off to sleep when Roger spoke again.
"I left university to come back here so I wouldn't be drafted--we've got immunity from Canadian service and the Federation draws from the national armed forces so..."
"I can sympathize. I did na' particularly intend to join the war effort meself. It was more of an accident, really. Wrong place, wrong time, that whole story."
"I can't help but feel like I made a mistake."
Thorvald shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. If ye'd stayed, ye may very well have been one of those poor fellas what's laying in the snow, all burned to death back at the base."
Roger nodded gravely.
"Still. I went to university to get away from this place."
"Oh. I see." Thorvald sat up and took another puff of the pipe. "Ye're made for bigger stuff than this--yer provincial backwater, where no one understands ye and ye can nae stand their backwardness, the way they talk and eat and the way they think 'bout men and women. Ye go to the center o' the Empire, thinkin' it'll be diff'rent there, and then ye go to another culture's provincial backwater, because surely, surely there, it's all diff'rent. Better. Then things get tough, ye come home to mom 'n dad, but ye still want to get out."
Roger stared at him and Thorvald smiled.
"I'm sorry, lad, but I was young too, once. Stay here. It's better--grow old, marry some nice little--Innuit--that how you say it?--girl roundabouts here and nae think on me and the Federation once I've left."
"But--you don't understand. That's the thing. My mother--she wants me to get married. The girl is perfectly nice but I--"
"Oh, I understand. Don't ye worry, lad--it's what all men go through. Ye don' want to settle down in yer prime. I know. I know."
"No, it's that--"
The woman, Roger's mother, returned, bringing with her another Inuit. Thorvald presumed this was the girl Roger's mother had picked out for him. She sat next to Roger and they chatted in their language and then she rubbed her nose against his. The old woman just laughed, covering her mouth.
"'Tis a good life ye've got here, lad."
The next morning, to everyone's amazement, Thorvald was on his feet and doing calisthetics in the middle of the village, still covered in seal blubber to insulate him against the cold. The village elders, many of whom had never seen a white man, gathered around to inspect this odd creature, who could recover from the brink of death over night and who wore a skirt and nothing else. After a big breakfast in his honor--toasts were made in Innuit that Roger translated, things to the extent of "We bid our Snow Friend return to his Blue Giant and hope he will cherish us as we have cherished him!"--they packed up a sled with food and warm clothes, donated by the village. Roger volunteered his dogs to take Thorvald back to the Blue Destiny.
They chatted as they rode over the ice. The village was only twelve miles away from where the Blue Destiny was parked and they made it in a little under an hour. Roger helped Thorvald unload his supplies and cheered with him as he powered the mobile suit up, finding it still working, despite the damage it had sustained.
"Well, lad, I suppose this would be it," Thorvald said finally, offering his hand.
"Take me with you."
"Oh, now, lad..."
"I can't stay here. I can't marry her."
"All right, have ye another lass? At university, perhaps? I'll tell you what to do."
"No, Thorvald." Roger looked at him very seriously. "Thorvald, I've a lad at university."
"A lad. Oh. Oh."
"Thorvald, I think I'm the only gay Inuit. Ever. Imagine growing up, never knowing anyone else like you, and then going somewhere else to find that it's perfectly natural and more or less accepted--I can't stay here."
"Eh... But, yer lad at university--"
"He joined the Ground Forces as a pilot. Maybe you know him? His name is Perry Wong."
"Lad, there are a lot... Oh, wait."
"Do you know him?"
"Roger, lad, maybe you'd best come back with him... Christ, but now I hope that Chinese boy made it out alive."
With this, they finished packing up the Blue Destiny and began to lumber off into the arctic day.
"Tell me, Roger--do ye believe in faeries?"