Short Story Sample

My legs ache and lungs burn, but still I run. Through durasteel corridors twisting and folding back into the paneled hallways of my home. Familiar doors open to vast emptiness and strange blast-doors open into nooks and crannies of my past. And always audible, penetrating door, wall, and my skull. Screams. My wife. Crystal. Her lovely voice cracking in agony. The twins. My heart walking in two pony-tailed brunettes, Autumn and Misty. Pain. Fear. Betrayal. Daddy, Daddy, they scream. Again and again, and again. Daddy, help us. Save us. Where are you.

And I run, to come to their rescue. Therin, my wife cries out. Help me! Through a doorway and into our living-room I run, into what should be the stairway to our room. A durasteel corrider faces me, lined with blast-doors. Oh god! Therin! she screams. Down the corrider I run, heart on the verge of bursting. Daddy! Daddy! And I run. Rooms blur together, halls and corriders of insane length fly past. And always the screams. Why can't I reach them? Why can't I find them? Save them? Daddy, Daddy, Therin, Daddy, Therin, Daadddddyyyyyyy!!!!!!

A scream, and the lights snap on. Harsh sodium glare burns through sleep-crusted eyes and reflects from tear-streaked cheeks. Twin pinpoints of laser light search the wall wildly, emited faithfully from their parent weapons. Hands still shaking, the pistols are lowered, and dropped onto the twisted, sweat soaked sheet. The gentle whirl of a servo-motor accompanies the arm as it raises to wipe at eyes staring blankly ahead. The vacant eyes stare out of a face heavy with pain and loss. Goosebumps rise as flesh reacts to the cold air in the room.

Slowly reaching for a shirt, the dark tanned flesh of his chest contrasts sharply with the three deep scars running from shoulder to waist.. Pulling it on and rising, he shakes his head, trying to clear the last vestiges of the damned nightmare. That damned nightmare! They said time would ease the pain, fucking liars! Muscles tight from a fitful night of tossing and turning protest the motions. Grimacing slightly at the lesser physical pain of his old wounds, he pulls his gun harness into place and walks into the little refresher cubicle.

A slap of icy water cures the last bit of sleep. Fuck it, and he walks back to the rumpled bed. Never fucking fails, first the godsbedamned nightmare, then I can't get it out of my fucking head! What was it, almost 10 years ago? I was in the middle of nowhere, the Shareaskic System in the Outer territories. Godsbedamned planet, only one habitable in the whole system. Fucking pointless dig. Some rich bitch in the Corporate Security Sector finds some old family secret and wants to check it out. Paid well, damned well. Outfitted and supplied transport, I was just an archeologist, who was I to complain that I needed to spend some time with my family.

Fuck, I missed them. It was a slow dig, the excavation droids were acting up, so I had a lot of time to do nothing. I remember thinking about the day I meet Crystal. We were still in college, I was all gung-ho about unearthing lost civilizations and forgotten technologies. She was this quiet finance major, all set to go to work in some big firm in the Galactic Core after graduation. Old money, her old man was loaded, and I, well I was only the third person to leave my homeworld in something like 60 years. Not that it was a bad place or anything, just a quiet little place off the major trade routes, mostly self sufficient. I hated it with a juvenile passion.

We were introduced by mutual friends and it was instant. I mean fucking fireworks and all that. We finished school and by that time had decided to get married. Her family was pissed, of course. But then we returned to Vrantis, my homeworld, and we bought my old house from the bankers. It was a few years, during which her father never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was wasting his precious little girl's life, before we had children. Once the twins arrived, her folks melted. I went from being a good-for-nothing wastrel that played in the dirt, to a respectable family man and scientist. I only regret that my folks passed away before they got to meet Crystal or the girls.

Things got better after that, Crystal's old man went on this sudden trip about how my being a scientist was such a great thing. I think it was because he could point to me, to his rich-bitch friends, and appear to be this great fucking friend and benefactor to the sciences. Well, at least he mentioned my name to the old broad that ended up sending me to the Shareaskic System. It was a good couple of years, watching the girls grow up, and just being with Crystal. I was a damned fool for not staying there. I had a decent job teaching at the school. I didn't fucking need to go anywhere, I just fucking missed it.

And that is how I found myself sitting on my fucking ass, half a fucking galaxy away from the three women I loved, waiting for the fucking excavator droids to do their fucking jobs. Damnit all to Hell!! Rising, he heads to a small wall cabinet and grabs out a bottle of dark brown liquor. Taking a large drink, he goes back into the refresher and leans against the sink, lost in thought, striving to drown it with booze.

Finally, the damned droids found something, and I could get to work. Once we got going it seemed to go very quickly, a year passed, and I was so wrapped up in what we were finding, I didn't even fucking notice. Crystal sent me letters, so did the girls, but I was too busy. By night I would collapse into bed, sleep, and then bound back to work. Meals were caught whenever, usually with a brush in one hand. The fucking work filled my mind. It was incredable stuff, frightening really. We were excavating a fucking Jedi Temple. A real, fucking Jedi Temple. So we sent the locals away, wired a heavily encoded message to our proprietress, and kept working. We fucking kept working! What a bunch of fucking morons.

I was away when it happened, I went into town to get some supplies. Mainly so I could try repairing a device I had found. I stopped at a bar for a drink and a bite to eat, and went to work on the device. Damned good beer, the steak was alright, but the gravy was a little burnt. Strange how you remember some things. I never did get that thing, a Holocron I was to learn, fixed. Maybe that was for the best.

The camp looked fine when I returned, I could even see some people moving around the dig site. I fucking thought everything was normal. I went into a co-worker's tent, Dr. Anasta Drivazock, to get her help with the device. That's when I found the first body. I found many more, all shot, all dead. Then they found me. They were waiting for me, specially trained commandos, Imperials, of course. Under the command of an honest to god, Dark fucking Jedi. I nearly pissed myself. Later on, I did. Some other things too.

The bottle, empty now, breaks when it falls. But he is already on the floor, the memory too much, his brain locked into replay mode. They took the Holocron, and wouldn't believe me that I had not been able to get it working. The commandos went out, probably to clean the site, or some other shit, I never found out. That bastard, that Jedi bastard had me where he wanted me. The Empire had intercepted the message, and already suspected something in this area. Didn't take them long to find us, the rich talk, especially when you shoot them in the foot first, then ask your questions.

It did take them a little while to track me down. As the chief archeologist on the expedition, I was of special interest. So special that they sent a fucking Dark Jedi to my home. To my wife and children. Then to me. He killed them, obviously. But first, he made them suffer. Torture, Jedi fucking mind tricks, drew them to the edge. Then over it, broke them, the people I loved. They knew nothing, the bastards didn't care. Then they came for me. Torture, sure. I can take torture, tell you anything you want to know if you hit me enough times. Fucking Jedi fucking mind tricks, well, I don't know much about 'em, but they can hurt to. Just one more kind of torture.

Thats when the bastard did it, somehow he reached in, and made me see everything he had fucking done to my family. I saw it, I felt their pain, smelled their blood, heard their screams. It's the screams that get you. The scream you make when your entire world is pain, when all you know and can remember, is pain. I lost it. I know I blacked out more than once, the bastard just woke me and started again. I don't know what the motherfucker wanted from me, but finally I lost it. I reached that point where I had lost everything. Not some cheesy bullshit, where you think you have lost it all. But the real razor's fucking edge, every-fucking-thing was gone. My family, my friends, my work, my life. I reached that point, and, where most people, and I mean like 99.9 fucking percent, break. I didn't.

I just lost it. Somehow I ripped loose, and caught the arrogant bastard off guard. Sure, he took my arm with his fucking lightsaber, and fucked me up pretty good too, but I caved his fucking head in. I killed him and ran. I thought I killed him. It was two years before I could do anything. Sure, I did escape. Killed a few Imperial troopers and a couple of pilots, stole their lander. Had to sell it, and the lightsaber. But I got clear. Lived in the gutters, and rolled hobos for booze. I didn't care.

Then the Family found me. I had jumped one of their runners, looking to make a quick score and then drink it. Must have been half drunk, and sloppy. They found me and sent in a couple of ladrones. Really tough customers, I perforated their fucking skulls. Guess that's how it got started, I killed a few of theirs, so they had me brought in. Wanted to see the one-armed fuck that wasted some of their boys. Maybe it was the look in my eyes, or the fuck-you attitude I threw off, but they liked what they saw. Potential they said, and who the fuck was I to argue. They made an offer and I told 'em to go fuck themselves. They laughed. And made me another offer. I wisely accepted.

With a decent blaster in hand, I went out, and four of the families, shall we say, problems, disappeared. It was that easy. I killed for them, and I was in. By then it was too late to do anything about my chest, but they fixed my arm. Damned nice piece of work, looks real and is very quiet. Now I'm a made-man, part of the family. He lifts himself off the floor and into the shower. An hour later, he is dressed and ready for the day, looking at his watch, it's only 0527 hrs. Damned nightmares. They keep telling me that all I need is time to heal. Fucking morons. Fucking nightmares.