Chapter Text
My heart is racing. The warnings sent to my devices are no doubt true, but seeing what at first looked like a star slowly become an entire ship… I give a couple dry coughs, holding my chest. Even my body wants me to move away, ignore what I am seeing. I had heard rumors a couple months ago that Sol had been lost, it was only a matter of time before they would come here. I’m sure there are more of these starships, my window isn’t the biggest and truly needs to be cleaned. More heavy coughs rack my body with pain as I lean against the window, I can’t feel any air entering my lungs. Why was I so frail… this and my profession kept me from the military, but it doesn’t matter now. They’re here. I look at my dresser drawer, debating something. “Be prepared” I remember the propaganda saying. If we were to protect the last remnants of the Terran Accord, it would happen in our homes just as much as any other battlefield. Before I can take more than a couple steps to my dresser, my communicator buzzed. Then my computer, then my datapad. Was this our governments attempt to “Rally the Reserves” I heard so much about?
I lift my communicator, before another bout coughs has it tumble from my hands. I’d complain, but I’m already on my knees, my vision going dark. After a couple seconds of blindly easing myself to lay on the floor I haven’t vacuumed in months, I begin hacking a few more times, finally feeling some air get into my lungs. Curse this planet, curse the Affini, curse the government, curse my family! They did this to me, they robbed me of my health, my dreams, everything!
My vision slowly started to return, looking at the spinning fan on the ceiling. I was honestly thinking of finally going to the clinic this week, despite how expensive it was. The funds I saved for filters that never existed could probably help me get some relief, but that’s a pipe dream now. I wish I could see the flames licking at the ship’s hull, even if I knew the reentry would do little more than to scratch the… paint? I don’t know much about Affini starships, other than the fact that almost anyone who had seen one had been enslaved, or worse. I look to my side, grabbing for my communicator. My hands are numb, I can see myself accidentally pushing it away through my blurry vision. Tears are rolling down my cheeks from the pain in my chest, I only just now realize with how faint the coughing fit had me. I barely grab my communicator, propping it up on the floor so I can read what message had been sent. In cutesy dark green text on a red background, a clearly custom message had been sent to my communicator, and no doubt my other devices. “No need to be alarmed, none of you will go wanting ever again.”
The Terran Accord had long ago terraformed Mars. This, however, was at times still considered less than perfect, habitation wise. When I was a kid, I used to live there, but the bouts of radiation shielding dropouts led me to a distant planet known as "Mars Two" (though I did hear at the time of three other planets called "Mars Two", this one actually wanted to live up to that name, it seemed). It was known as a testbed for rapid terraform technology to make any planet inhabitable within a Terran lifetime, even as optimistic as twenty years, a goal that left even me starry eyed back then. Many of the rich and poor moved or volunteered to live here (respectively), and a large city built within a crater was affectionately named "Dust Bowl" during the first couple years of colonization. This is where I live, after ignoring my family’s warnings. It was my chance to leave home and make something of myself, somewhere that needed me!
Sure, it is still a bit cold, like old Mars, but some large exotic matter boosters had helped spin the planet fast enough to create magnetic poles, less dense than Terra's, but also less gravity than Terra as well, easier on spacer bodies. It even had a mostly breathable atmosphere by the time I had arrived! Some idiots who tried warping in comets managed to cause a bigger opening in space than planned, and our city became a lake for a couple weeks before corporations managed to pump all the precious water to be around the crater, not inside. During this minor crisis five years ago, all the rich people moved to the poles, where there were four Aerogel biospheres, climate controlled to be any season permanently, a luxury for anyone rich enough to enjoy it. I had always wished I could live in the winter biosphere, influenced by the fact most of my rich clients bragged about having multiple homes in each one, spending three Terra months of each Terra year traveling around them, in a vague attempt to replicate the past. If I had just kept my family from taking control of my bank accounts, maybe…
Back at my town of Dust Bowl, industrialization kicked off into high gear. It was also rather quick for most planet standards, but with no rich people paying corporations to keep factories off their lawns, most of the fancy housing districts were demolished in favor of more smokestacks, any other housing relegated to apartment complexes. The rapid industrialization was originally used to give us an actual atmosphere, a temporary solution that encouraged high production to achieve high rates of terraforming, and would supposedly be dismantled later and put on new planets to terraform each of them one by one. Any especially toxic air makeups would eventually be captured by huge air filters built on the planet, which I had been told were supposed to be built any day now since I was young.
At least, that's what I had been told. As I walk outside to head to work, I don't necessarily feel like I am choking, it just never feels like what I breath in is air. It burns what little of my lungs still work, and even the rich people in the poles I heard had respirators on the worst days, though that was what my neighbors hoped for. What my clients actually told me is that they only wore respirators when they explored outside their domes, more of a recreational hike once a week than anything else. Regardless, the factories that were supposed to be temporary became permanent and numerous as the start of the Xeno war broke out, and the planned filters were rumored to have been stolen by the Xenos. When I was younger, though, I had been told they were being built in a nearby factory which now makes carbon fiber ship parts. Regardless of the official statement, the war effort made this planet match Terra in many ways, and it feels like I am reliving history.
I just wish my respirator's filters were from an earlier part of history, as their prices have skyrocketed along with everything as almost every factory was retooled to fight the Xeno menace. I was lucky, my pay went up, though only because I was so necessary. Accountants were one of the few jobs considered essential and so the few that were enlisted worked out how much money the government needed to conjure to fight this unending war. Though none of that had to do with the real reason my pay went up. More rich people than ever had been trying to pay any accountant not drowning in paperwork to find a way to avoid each new war tax.
As I’m practically choking behind my respirator in this smog filled city, I am reminded why I had accepted those snobs’ requests. The package said these were to be discarded for a new one every month, though every three months if used only as needed. I think I have cleaned these filters by hand every day for the past year, trying to ignore the fact the package said they were supposed to be white when they were now a very dark, sandy brown, even with my cleaning.
A client I worked for offered me a "discounted" package I waited patiently to arrive to pay for at an exorbitant price, yet I wasn't stupid. When they first asked me to pay for them, I told them I would pay when I saw it on their tax records, but this was the second year in a row it didn't show up on their deductions. They insisted they got some off the grey market and could ship me them any day now, but from the foreclosures on two of their summer homes, I genuinely doubted that. For now, I was making do with the last filters I had, kicking myself for throwing out the old ones when they could have just been cleaned more thoroughly, but back then I was still hopeful that my client could acquire such rare and expensive relics. I heard some planets still had filters stockpiled, others even still produced them!
What I saw, however, were more reports of many and more supply ships vanishing before they could bring more. The few that did arrive only brought food and materials for weapons making, the former having been necessary since the flood destroyed any unsheltered farmland, and the latter being used to build weapons to pay for the former. It had taken years for the farms to be rebuilt, but all future ones by this point had to be sheltered. Even if there were to never be a comet disaster like that ever again, the air was toxic, and even the hardier plants died when exposed to it. I wonder if these Xenos would also die to this air, I know I surely am…
I had been in the office for a couple hours by now, and I look up from my desk after a coughing fit to see a coworker. Why did she look so worried? My body has been like this for two years now. “Sirius, have you even been to a clinic to get your lungs examined?”
I tried to sit up in my chair, but I needed to use my desk for support as a few more dry coughs left me bracing against it. “Doesn’t this-” I pause wheezing a little. “…Doesn’t this happen to most people around here eventually? You’ve only been here, what, less than a year, Ida?”
She handed me a glass of water I graciously excepted, the cool liquid easing the pain in my throat. I’m not sure if it was from the constant coughing, the harsh, toxic air, or both. “I know of others this has happened to, but I’m sure it’s treatable. Most people can’t afford a clinic but you-”
“-can? I know I’m not strapped for credits, I can usually avoid eating Synthcubes, but you know all health insurances on this planet have a clause excluding paying for lung issues. Even if they were to find something wrong, at best it would wipe out my life savings and put me in massive debt, and I would have to take time off work for who knows how long, which I’m sure work would use to cut my pay.”
“Maybe… you could visit another planet? One where the insurance could cover any lung issues? And I could pick up some of your paperwork in the meantime, so our boss and your clients don’t get angry.”
I scoff. “At that point I may as well pay for a clinic here.” She looks a bit sad with my denial. “Sorry, I appreciate your concern, but getting a ship willing to transport anyone in the middle of the rebellion war is… I would basically need to enlist if I wanted that. Even one of my clients had their pleasure yachts taken by our government. Plus, I couldn’t give you all this extra paperwork, I can barely keep up myself.”
Ida had that look on her face, the same one she always had when she wanted to say something. “If… if the Aff-… the Xenos take over, then wouldn’t your medical bills be meaningless?”
I can see it now, at the heel of a Xeno, but debt free, and maybe even slightly healthier. To me, I almost wanted to believe something like that wouldn’t happen, but I wasn’t a rebel, I was just some Accountant. “I… Maybe I will go later this week, thanks.” I look at her, expecting the usual extra info she manages to dig up. As usual, Ida didn’t disappoint.
“I heard… reports that the fleet engaged with a Xeno ship a couple days ago. The fleet hasn’t reported back since.” Seeing me holding my chest, she tried to calm me down. “I was just saying that because then it wouldn’t matter how expensive the treatment was, you might not even have to pay any of it!” I gave her a worried look. “…Maybe the propaganda they share is right, you know? Maybe they truly do have our best interests in mind.”
Maybe the propaganda was right, but if it’s not, I could just as easily be enslaved, maybe killed, or worse, experimented on, basically tortured. “I heard it’s people like me they take as pets second, the first being the military.” I said in a raspy voice, Ida helping me stay upright. “Promise me, if… when they invade, you will help me stay free?”
Ida has that conflicted look on her face any time we talked about the Xenos. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she actually liked those weeds. I don’t know how she can be so positive, she said all her friends had been captured while she alone escaped. It’s probably her way of coping with the feeling that she abandoned them. The hand she placed on my shoulder feels comforting. “Of course, I will try my best to make sure you stay independent.”
I smile and gesture towards my computer. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dealing with a lot of paperwork. Maybe we can chat over lunch?”
That cheerful smile truly did brighten up my day. “Let’s!”
The rest of the day went rather uneventfully, though it left me sad. I used to love working as an accountant, I got to help so many people deal with this system and help them get deductions that allowed them to live in this rather unfair society. Ever since the war started, however, the documents have saddened me. Writing off that yacht the government had seized was easy enough, any of the rich people I knew had betrayed me, who cares. I still wrote it off for them, because I needed the money, but what saddened me were the less well-off clients I had.
One client had so much overtime working at the factories that they had more overtime hours than non-overtime hours, and the pay from it wasn’t much better. Another tried to write off medical expenses, though I wasn’t sure they would even see any of the money they hoped to get back, it often only covered all the war time taxes anyways. Another client, which left me sobbing at my desk once, had tried to basically write off their missing leg and arm they had lost at their factory. I knew our government didn’t handle disabilities well and often limited the amount of income they can get due to disabilities. I think I had Ida fill that one out for me, it reminded me of why I hadn’t applied for disability myself. In a civilization fighting tooth and nail for freedom, they sure loved to rob the most vulnerable of any freedom they could. The only reason I was as free as I was no doubt was from being able to work while I was like this.
Regardless, while the pay from this job was helping me to afford living in a building not still completely water damaged from five years ago, it still wasn’t enough during war time to deal with these massively inflated food prices, and if I had to eat synthcubes for every meal, I think I probably wouldn’t even have the energy to show back up to work. I am willing to spend my better than most funds on actual food occasionally because of the extra “tips” (bribes) my more well-off clients give me. It’s also why I have been able to set money aside for filters. Now that it sounds like the Xenos are in our solar system, I think I might just take the credits and use it for a visit to the clinic like Ida suggested. Maybe tomorrow after work, I want time to think about it. I’m not an astrophysicist, but when I was a young graduate before the Xeno war and moved here, I remember sub-light speed not always being the quickest. At least for Terran ships, who knows how fast these Xeno ships were if they were already here after the fall of Sol.
The conversation at lunch was nice, though I tried to avoid talking about the potential invasion, especially since there were other coworkers there too, and neither of us wanted the rumor to start a panic. Ida is really sweet, and we get along rather well. She’d ramble on and on about the littlest things, like the planets she had seen on her way here, she even mentioned how pretty neutron stars were, like massive lighthouses. I was confused what she meant by that and had mentioned it was something ancient Terrans used so ships could avoid dangerous waters. I felt it was silly to ask why ancient Terrans left their starships on the waters of Terra, so I kept that to myself.
The day dragged on, with occasional breaks for any coughing fits I had. Tomorrow I will go, tomorrow…
My eyes open to stare at the slow spin of my fan overhead, gently humming in my otherwise quiet room. My head is reeling, my chest is killing me, and my throat feels unbearably dry, no doubt from the hacking. I look to my side and… I’m on the floor? I reach for my communicator, and if I had the energy, I would have jumped at the text displayed on it. “So, I’m not dreaming…” I mutter to myself. I must have fainted after the message. Don’t those horrible weeds know they gave practically everyone here a heart attack to arrive like they did? The orbital cannons have automated messages to alert everyone to seek shelter, though it was more of a constant ping that, if interrupted for any reason for an extended period, sent an alert. And every single orbital cannon had sent alerts, almost all at once…
I tap away the message on my communicator, and another message pops up, mentioning that my devices could connect to the new internet? I notice my own internet was down, no doubt taken out by the Xenos the moment they arrived, so I decide, why not, not like I have anything to hide.
Almost immediately, my communicator’s messaging app filled up with pings from a couple friends, asking me the obvious question about if I had seen the Xenos. Of course I did, how would they message me without also connecting to the new internet? Ida also messaged me, asking if I was alright. “Scared but hoping for the best. You?” I cough a couple times, trying to force myself to stand, ignoring the pain in my chest.
After a while, she responded. “I’ve seen stuff like this before, so I guess I’m used to it. Would me calling help calm you down?”
She knows how my lungs are, and how stress exacerbates them. “Can’t, hard to breath. I’m going to grab some water, but thanks.” I don’t even look at her message, setting my communicator down as I try to get a glass. I choke on the first couple drops, sputtering as I spill water on my floor, before trying once again, this time more successful. I could already feel the pain in my throat easing a little, and I set the glass down on my kitchen table, taking some slow steps to retrieve my communicator.
When I do look at the screen once more, I notice something strange. Why is there a new contact, I never met a “Primrose” before. I feel my jaw drop as I read the message. “Hello, it has come to my attention that you have been dealing with some sort of lung issue. Because of how severe it is for most Terrans, I recommend, today, boarding a shuttle to visit our vet onboard the ship, as we need more time to set up accommodations planet side. This is for your safety and wellbeing.” I held my chest as the coughing returned, but I wasn’t going to let myself lose consciousness again. The message ended with a “~Wishing you well~ ~Primrose Quill, Second Bloom~”