Mana Pool Snippets - The Days After

One

Charles cursed, despite all his questions about this new world, it was useless to pursue the motorcyclist when the police department was so low on officers. Still cursing, he turned the car around while avoiding crystals and bodies on the curb.

A mile down the road, Jaruka was laughing inside his helmet. "Those are human authority vehicles? They need to step up on their tech!" He kept laughing until he was out of city limits. Opening the throttle invigorated him.

His eccentric use of his Howler Cycle was stifled when he had to transport Scott and Katie to the winery hours ago. They were fortunate enough to avoid a police cruiser, but having both on the motorcycle was an annoying balancing act for Jaruka. It was the hairiest ten seconds for the terran couple even after the airbase attack. An alien ship flying over and landing on the winery's parking lot would have caused local panic and questions about him, using the cycle to transport was a necessity. It was Katie's idea not to.

He rode far from Temecula, but not beyond the designated radius from Walsh Estate Winery.

Stupid, pointless rules, Jaruka thought.

He wanted to rip the ankle brace off, but there were serious reasons not to besides appeasing Denverbay's orders. Jaruka was irritated enough to fantasize socking Denverbay in his quill-covered face.

Jaruka drove toward Vail Lake and then onto a dirt road. The area seemed fitting for Jaruka, it served as a reminder of good times on other worlds, even Creos. He stopped in front of a grass clearing near the lake, killing the engine. He got off the cycle, reached into his pocket for a small black box, and shook it three times. Light shimmered off of the grass and rose like a stage curtain, revealing Jaruka's temporary home. He grumbled from under his helmet out of dread from the look of it.

The Marin'zal gunnery dropship, a new vessel of Nova Company—or it was. The vessel was modified to an extent of being suitable to live in. For starters, the majority of the plasma cannons had been removed and Jaruka was left with a single sonic cannon mounted under the bridge. Less cannons meant less humans dead, Denverbay mentioned. The dual bulkheads on both sides of the ship for quick loading and unloading of troops were welded and jerry-rigged to never open. The stern airlock hatch was left for two-way entry. The two gyroscope side thrusters that made up most of the thrust while several anti-gravity pads provided suitable lift were downgraded for air travel only. So much for any hope of off-world food and supplies shopping.

For lack of a better expression, his friends, commanding officer, and dunderhead councilman gave him a passive-aggressive flying box.

It's...not...home, Jaruka screamed to himself. He missed the Lunar Spear. He missed his stuff. I shouldn't have taken that job.

With his helmet off, Jaruka walked up to the ship with disgust on his face. His Howler Cycle was parked beside it. He swiped the black box over a key port and the hatch opened inward with a hiss. He stepped inside and the hatch closed behind out of generosity, Marin'zal dropships are not known to be equipped with A.I.s.

What used to be four rows of seats was reduced to just one in the middle. Towards the stern of the ship there was a kitchenette, a small bathroom in an enclosed box, a workbench, and a few installed shelves. The empty weapon racks were for storage, but most of his stuff recovered from the Lunar Spear was stacked in metal crates. Jaruka's plasma rifle and priceless katana were hung on the wall beside the airlock, perhaps as a gesture of respect from the Endeavour's crew. The only possessions that could be not recovered were his glassblowing tools, and with their loss went Jaruka's mental therapy.

Jaruka inhaled familiar smells of the Endeavour's hangar bay. He focused for a second, picking out multiple hard working and dedicated species. His friends—and personal enemies—had done their best to make things comfortable for him.