Evan tugged his hover board on the sidewalk towards Strucka’s apartment, having been dropped off by Brandon at the front gate. As he avoided stepping on another patch of weeds, he thought for a moment that he had gotten the wrong address, but cheap engineers were cheap for a reason. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake with this commission.
If it worked out, and he was able to get his riding license, he wouldn’t have to ask his mom or dad to drive him around everywhere. Sure, they might not approve of his mode of transportation given the risk and skill required, but it was his project. He deserved to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
He paused for a moment to let his legs rest. They quivered as if he had just emerged from an ice bath. While his coordination was returning as expected, the muscle strength was taking a bit longer than normal. A month without a single nerve impulse sent muscles to atrophy in no time.
He started forward again, doing his best to tolerate the subtle tingling sensations that splashed throughout his legs with each step. Several times since beginning to walk again had he slapped his legs absentmindedly with his hand, trying to get rid of the nonexistent ants. Sometimes the sensation came even when he wasn't moving. The doctors had told him those sensations would go away with time. His question of how much time always went unanswered.
He knocked on the door to the apartment. The door opened sooner than he thought, and in the doorway stood a stringy man in a baggy white shirt and jeans. He looked to be a few years out of college. He had short dark hair, complemented by a mass of intricate, black tattoos that covered his right arm. His awkward smile was at least sincere, if a bit too energetic.
"Is this Strucka?" Evan asked timidly.
"Yes!" He held out his hand. "At your service, Evan."
He shook Strucka's hand. It felt cleaner than it looked.
"Right," Strucka said, looking behind Evan at his board. "We can get started right way. Why don't you bring that around to the garage? Do you need help with that?"
"Oh, uh." Evan looked back. "I got it."
"Okay, I'll see you in a moment, then." He let the front door close by itself.
Evan led the wagon to the edge of the curb, then wished he had accepted the help. He cringed with both drops of the wheels to the pavement. The last thing he needed was to incur more repairs. Although, if gear that was meant to travel more than half the speed of sound was damaged moving at crawling pace, a redesign was sorely needed. Fortunately, it handled the jolt just fine.
For a moment, Evan thought Strucka had the quietest garage motor, before realizing he was using the attached rope. The space within was small; just large enough for a midsize car and some walking room. Tools were neatly assorted on the walls. A single yellow light bulb provided a soft glow to the workspace.
They moved his board onto a rolling table Strucka unfolded from a storage space. The board weighed more than Evan. It could have been designed lighter, but those materials were ten times the cost of the once currently in use. He gave it a narrow design to compensate. The nose was tapered at a shallow angle, and the board was a few centimeters wider than his foot was long. It still had its dull, metallic grey exterior. The paint-job would be the finishing touch, Evan had decided, an emphasis on a job well-done.
“I had a look at the schematics you sent,” Strucka said as he rotated the model on the computer screen. “Did you design this yourself?”
“Yeah…” Evan muttered, gazing at the real board to avoid Strucka’s inquisitive gaze.
“If that’s the case, not bad for your first try.”
“I had help from my dad. How many of these have you seen?”
Strucka shrugged. “Only a handful, all from known brands. Speed Demon, Extra, Fotoni. This is the first truly custom board I’ve worked on.”
“How does it compare to commercial models?”
“The design is simpler than most. Probably saving on costs, right? The corporations have had a while to iterate on their designs as well. I remember the first ones that came out a decade ago. This one could outperform those, honestly. Do you plan on racing with this thing?”
Evan shrugged. “It’s gonna be mostly for getting around cheaply, and without stoplights, but I’ve thought about racing.”
“Yeah?” Strucka turned to him, intrigued. “What kind?”
“Time trials. Course races. Maybe slopestyle.”
“Slopestyle? Are you sure you can afford the insurance?”
“That’s why I said maybe.”
Once they got the technical details straightened out, they got to work on the second power module. It would be a mirror of the one already installed. Fortunately, Evan had created the first one himself. Strucka wouldn’t have to deal with the legal issues of copying an existing product. He had already ordered the materials, all that was to be done was the manufacturing. Evan had commissioned a metal printer for the power module, so Strucka rented one for single use. It had arrived yesterday, and he would have to give it back tomorrow. The rest of the job could be done with the engraving and welding equipment.
Evan watched as Strucka lifted up the hollow box-frame that was the printer. “I heard you got out of jail recently.”
He noticed a slight drooping of Strucka’s posture and immediately regretted speaking. Strucka replied as he flipped a few switches on the printer and plugged in a cable. “You heard rightly. Honestly, it was a fucking miracle to see a commission had come in after that. Not to mention, of course, one from you. Did your father tell you about me?”
“My dad? No, someone from the Eredore Guard.”
“Ah.” Strucka gazed up in remembrance. “I think I know who you’re talking about. But I’m surprised Brandon didn’t say anything. I was in the cell opposite his, and we had lunch together most days.”
“Well, when I showed him your profile, he didn’t say no.”
Strucka loaded the metallic spool onto the side of the printer, then went to his computer to load the file onto the printer. “You know, you’re pretty damn lucky to have a father like him. What’s it like being the son of a celebrity?”
Evan paused, stricken by the question he had hoped he’d never have to answer out loud. It was unconscious payback for him mentioning jail earlier. He was relieved Strucka was preoccupied by the screen. He was nearly physically squirming trying to come up with an answer.
“It’s a mixed bag,” he said. “He gets a lot of the attention and the money, and some of that gets reflected onto me. He’s really busy, but he does try to spend some of is free time with me, mostly helping me with my board. I’ve been working on it for a few years now.
“Sometimes I wish he wasn’t so well-known. Most strangers I meet know who I am, already know my name. They know me in terms of my dad. ‘Oh, you’re Brandon’s son!’ Because of that, I can’t meet anyone authentically. I’m always trying to figure out what image of me they’ve come up with in their mind. What have people already assumed about me?”
“What can they assume?” Strucka asked. “I mean, besides your recent… episode at the hospital, not too many people know what you do.”
“But they assume I’m going to do something like my dad one day. Even he says it to me. Constantly! ‘Don’t pay attention to those jealous bullies. You’re way smarter than them, you’re way better than them, and you’ll go farther in life than them.’ But I don’t know what I’m going to do. Everyone else knows but me, and they’re not telling me. Sure, I’ve got a custom board in the works, but I’m doing what’s already been done before! They’re expecting the same genius from me that came from my dad a decade ago. He had that breakthrough, but since then he hasn’t improved upon it much. He's only grown his ego.”
Evan looked at Strucka and found his gaze confronting. Strucka turned fully towards him and put both elbows on his knees, his eyes unwavering. “Tell me, has your father, at his worst, hit you?”
Evans eyebrows rose. “No…”
“Has he ever told you that all his problems were your fault, and that you would never amount to anything or do anything useful?”
Evan couldn’t speak. He felt any verbal answer would be an insult to the rhetorical question.
Strucka’s eyes were glossy as he sat up in a more relaxed posture. “Let’s just say I envy your position.”
Evan nodded and looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, not your fault my dad was a sociopath,” he said, spinning back to the screen. “But we shouldn’t talk about a lost cause. Waste of energy.”
With a few more taps on the translucent screen, the printer whirred in its startup processes. Evan took a step back, as he was already feeling the heat it used to melt the metal. The moment it began to lay the first line of the first layer, a low rumble emanated from somewhere outside, like someone banging an enormous drum.
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Evan and Strucka looked at each other with confusion. He checked his wristpad. Today called for crystal clear skies, no thunderstorms. A minute passed, and there was another boom, this time louder.
Then there came screaming.
***
"What is it you have in mind for this study?" Brandon asked Rich in his office.
Rich looked away from the screens at Brandon, his mustache raising in a frown. "I'm not clear on that yet."
"I thought you were?" Brandon leaned forward in the chair. "Who gave you this idea, anyway?"
Rich passed his hand through the sparse layer of hair over his scalp. "I've had it in the back on my mind for a while now. You see, we haven't had too many breakthroughs in the past year, and the investors are starting to ask some harsh questions. We gotta start thinking out of the box, or we won't be able to keep our funding for long."
"What if they don't like your new idea?"
Rich looked at Brandon over his bifocals. "They do. They're the ones who asked."
Brandon stared at him. "You're kidding, the same ones that depend on charged Aetherite?"
Rich shrugged. "Seems like they're expanding their horizons."
"Do they know something we don't?"
"I don't get that impression."
Brandon thought for a moment. "Those scientists working on crystal dating. Did anything come from that?"
Rich frowned. "That study lost its funding for unknown reasons. They also had equipment malfunctions, so they drained most of their budget on replacements. Their paper shows miminal data, and it's inconclusive. They've been struggling to get sponsors since."
"Couldn't we do something like that?"
"I want to," Rich said, "but only after the current one finishes. Though, we might face issues similar to the other team in terms of finding support, and we can't just use the money we got on hand. That came from somewhere too, and if they find out we used it for something they don't approve of, we could serve time. Do you want to go back there?"
Brandon pursed his lips, then blew out a breath. "So what are we going to do with our quasi-useless Aetherite?"
"First off, we need to know all the electrical properties of a completely discharged crystal."
Brandon waved his hand. "No such thing."
Rich glared at him. "You know what I mean. Beyond the extractable density. Next, we need to see if we can turn it into something more useful than a brittler-than-normal glass."
Brandon chuckled. "Good luck with that."
"Third, we--"
Rich was cut off by distant rumble. Brandon thought he imagined the ground resonating with the noise. He looked at Rich, disturbed. "I don't think that was thunder."
He scrambled out of his chair and ran out of the office, Rich close behind him. He burst through the double door entrance and stood on the sidewalk, scanning the sky and horizon. When he saw the plume of smoke, his heart nearly stopped.
“The Capitol!” Brandon shrieked, breaking into a sprint to his car in the parking lot. “Evan’s over there!”
He vaguely heard Rich shouting his name, but everything turned into a blur focusing in on his car. He hardly remembered getting in and starting the engine, the tires screaming on the pavement. The roads leading to Ridgemire cleared quickly, while those leading away were soon filled with vehicles making their escape from the disaster.
After leaving the parking lot, he called Evan on his wristpad. His status still showed as green, so he wasn’t too surprised when Even answered. “Dad? Where are you? You heard that too?”
“Yes,” Brandon shouted, “Evan, listen. Stay where you are. Wait at the gate of the apartment. I’m already on my way.”
“But what if there’s another attack?”
“You stay there. You hear me? I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He ended the call.
The drive, which normally took half an hour, lasted only eight minutes. For once, he was angry at the abundance of trees that lined the roads. They blocked his view of the smoke, which was already towering a mile into the air, twisting through the skyscrapers, distorted by the ocean winds.
The pounding in his chest grew stronger as he retraced the path he had taken to drop Evan off at Strucka’s apartment complex. It took him almost directly to the base of the plume, which he could now see was where the Ridgemire Capital Bank had proudly stood. Flames leapt stories above the collapsing building. Strucka’s apartment was five blocks down the street.
Just as he turned to take a safer route, away from the wreckage, the base of the building across from the Bank exploded in a dazzling show of red energy. He slammed the brakes and stared. That building was the second tallest in Ridgemire, and the two bottom floors had just been vaporized. Brandon’s mind raced as he thought of the possible causes of such an explosion. He had never worked on Aetheric weapons, but he had never seen something this powerful.
The building’s frame screeched as it leaned in Brandon’s direction. He floored the accelerator, and for the longest second of his life, the car went nowhere as the tires screamed again, spewing smoke. Then he was slammed against the seat as he doubled the speed limit. After driving in a straight line for several blocks, he got the courage to slow to a stop and look back.
He was just in time to see the toppling building reach across the street and flatten five other buildings. The event was oddly quiet, as all the people had already evacuated after the first explosion. He then became aware of someone calling his name. He turned, and half a block away stood Hector next to his police car. He was in a group with other officers, all guns out of their holsters. Behind them, Eredore Guard trucks filed through towards the destruction.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hector shouted. “This is an active battle zone—”
“Evan is six blocks away with no transport!” Brandon jogged to Hector. “Please, man. Get these trucks to stop and let me through. I gotta get him—"
Hector held up a hand, cutting him off. “You are going to get in your car, right now, and drive away like your ass is on fire, because it will be if you don’t comply.”
“Look, you are out of your mind if you think you can—” Brandon was cut off again, but this time by an intense wave of nausea. He stumbled into Hector for support, who helped him keep his balance. It was as if someone was forcing their finger into his forehead. He growled in the back of his mind. Not now. Not now!
There was an intense sense of foreboding emanating from a source behind him. He whirled around, pulling himself out of Hector’s grip. He was talking sternly to him again, but the words floated by his ears as though they were foreign. His eyes locked on an object in the distance, swooping down in the sky, slowly growing in size. It was a black horizontal line with a slight bulge in the middle.
“What is that?” Brandon whispered. He pointed at the craft and glanced at Hector. “Are you seeing this?”
Hector seized Brandon’s shoulder. “Get back to your car, NOW!”
Brandon twisted out of his grip again. “No, look! Is that one of ours?”
Hector glanced to where Brandon was pointing. “Is what one of ours?”
The line began to take on more definition as it approached. It looked almost organic in nature. Brandon’s knees nearly buckled from desperation. “That craft! What is that!?”
“There’s nothing there, Brandon,” Hector said. “I’m telling you one last time—”
Words lost all meaning again. All Brandon could hear was his heartbeat. All he could see was the craft approaching. It must have been moving just slower than the speed of sound. There were only a few seconds left.
His arm shot out as he spun like a dancer. Suddenly, he was holding Hector’s gun, then his arm aimed the gun at the craft almost on its own. His vision narrowed until only the craft existed. He saw every detail from over half a mile away. It had birdlike wings, but they were black and slightly blurred. The angular head and body glowed with lines of red Aether, charging for another attack.
Energy rushed through him, down his arm, and into the gun. The muzzle flashed red, and the bolt streaked toward the hull of the craft. A transparent red pane flickered just as the bolt reached it, and Brandon recognized the sign of an Aetheric shield breaking. The craft flared red and was shoved to the side from the impact. One of its wings dug into the windows of a skyscraper before it rebalanced. Glass showered down around Brandon’s car.
Everyone was still moving in slow motion. He saw Hector’s angry shove coming, and let it happen. The gun had fallen out of his hand from the force of the shot. Hector bent down to pick it up, only to flinch and drop it again, shaking his hand in pain. The entire gun was smoking. Hector stared at Brandon with a mixture of outrage, surprise, and confusion.
All Brandon could do was point. The craft was pitching its flight up into the sky. The officers started pointing. Some started talking into their wristpads. Others moved to get to their cars.
Words gained meaning again.
“What did you do to my gun?” Hector demanded. “You shouldn’t have been able to fire it. How did you hit that craft?”
Brandon’s mouth flapped open and closed noiselessly. How could he explain any of this to Hector? He couldn’t explain it to himself. He grinned awkwardly and shrugged. “Luck?”
Hector shook his head and stared at the gun still smoldering on the pavement. Brandon tracked the craft in the air. It seemed to be trying to circle back around for another attack, but then he heard the engines of Guard Jets in the distance. There were squadrons approaching Ridgemire from every angle. The cloaked ship had nowhere to run, as wherever it flew it left a trail of smoke behind.
The closest squadron fired in unison, red orbs in a V formation honing in on the craft. Its wings deformed in a sharp turn, avoiding all but one orb, which glanced harmlessly off the shields. It fired three bolts back, striking two Guard Jets but harming none.
More squadrons closed in, and the cloaked ship was soon fighting a losing battle. It managed to avoid most of the shots by executing impossible flight maneuvers, but with each hit it took, its energy reserves depleted faster and its invisibility illusion started to flicker and fail. It managed to damage a few Guard Jets, even take one out entirely, all while performing its hypnotic acrobatics.
The battle reached its end after five minutes. It flew straight up in a last-ditch attempt at escape, where a flurry of shots from the pursuing Jets pierced its rear shields. The wings dissolved into a fine dust, and the hull of the ship began to flake away.
As it started falling back toward the ground, a tiny dot emerged from the head of the ship. Red light flared, and the dot shot away from the doomed craft.
“That’s the pilot!” Brandon shouted, pointing. The other officers said they couldn’t see anything. He watched helplessly as it flew away into the distance and disappeared.
Everyone watched in horror as the ship continued to descend. Despite the Jets’ best efforts, the remaining shields kept the rest of the ship intact for the remainder of the descent. The red, flaming mass of metal impacted the ground on the outskirts of Ridgemire, miles from where Hector and Brandon stood. The impact scattered blinding red light back into the sky. Brandon’s heart plummeted. Shattered Aetherite that still held enough charge always resulted in massive destruction.
“Oh shit, that’s the school! Adam!” Hector cried, swinging around his car to get in the driver’s seat. The other officers began to protest, saying that he had duties here with the collapsed buildings, but he shut them up by shouting out the open window, “My son is at that school right now!”
The Guard trucks had stopped their traffic since the start of the sky battle. Brandon ran clear as Hector made a tight turn in the direction of the crash. He gazed incredulously at Hector’s police car as it left the scene. Now he understands.
As he made his way back to his car, the pressure in his forehead eased, though it took longer than normal. During that process, he thought he saw something at the corner of his vision, but when he looked, there was just the city street and buildings.
He scowled at the myriad of dents on his car caused by the shattered windows from above. It would take a long time to repair the damage. At least he could still drive it to check on Evan.
He put his hand on the outer handle, then there was a sharp sting on the left side of his neck. He tried to reach up to see what it was, but found his arm heavier than normal, much heavier. A warm sensation spread quickly from his neck to the rest of his body. He tried to turn his head to where he thought he saw something before, but instead his body collapsed forward onto the side of his car, then slid numbly to the ground.
Brandon’s ears rang. His vision tunneled onto the side of his car. The last thing he heard was the approach of running footsteps.