Kismet’s Tale

      Alden walked early in the morning where there were no townsfolk wandering the cobblestone streets. Usually, the town would be active during nine with corporate employees heading to the main cities to clock in.

Those who were active in the morning were the old vets who had grown old. The oldest gentleman in the town was named Mr. Lucas who had recently entered his eightieth birthday. He had two daughters, two grandkids, and a wife that recently had gotten into taking care of potted plants.

Alden slowed down his walk when he got in front of the patio. His eyes on Mr. Lucas’s house, and the Sisterhood of Jove house where four sisters of Jove are living.

“Oy, Alden, that you?” Mr. Lucas pulled the door open. He carried a cup of coffee with a thick smell on it. Alden walked over, and was about to lean on the picket fence when Mr. Lucas slapped his hand away.

“Boy, don’t you lean on that. Saw you strong enough to lift me tools.”

Alden took his hand back. Mr. Lucas sat on the staircase of the front and drank his coffee. “I ain’t much of a vague sumbitch’, so I asked you directly. Heard from one of the boys that some white-haired kid is in the orphanage.”

Alden looked away for a moment. “Everyone knows that?”

“This town’s small, bud. Karlan, that butthole doesn’t stop yapping as well. So, is it true?”

“Yeah, but I think he's harmless.”

Mr. Lucas placed his coffee down, cracked his knuckles. “Had a pleasure of working with them back in 72’. It was the highest point in the war, demikins plaguing the old continent. Me and the expeditionary forces were hiking, the Vulcans of our motherland carrying equipment when we saw them horde from the southern side of the world still rocking away.

“Had them removed from sight with our airships, those rotor vehicles, punishing them demikins, and shattering their line. We discovered then that they were starting to develop gunpowder, and so we had to send over skirmishers in their camps to blow up their supply. Most of those skirmishers were those magiborne, you see they were the toughest and durable sumbitch’ we had back then. They have stone faces, always coming back without a shed of emotions, even this one who had his arm cut off by some axe, just had it replaced with an old prosthetic.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “We don’t mind them, pretty helpful, but you have to watch out when they have bad tempers. Something’s wrong with their minds. The stable ones are the nicest, but there’s something about them boys.”

“I didn’t think that you’d be...amiable to them.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He snorted. As if that was the most absurd thing he heard in the morning. “Look, they are fellow soldiers, good men who went to war with us. Most of the time they bring back victory, and we cherish that shit in those times. Nana there knows what she’s doing, but there are some people in the town who couldn’t look them in the eye, fearing that they would rip them out.”

Aldens slowly nodded his head. “I had a talk with him. He seemed to have emotion, and Nana said he’s fine so I had to accept it.”

“That’s good and all, but you still had that six-shooter I handed to you?”

“And the hunting rifle as well, Mr. Lucas,” Alden showed the six-shooter inserted under his belt.

“Good, I ain’t being a meddler, but just in case, keep your piece, when he acts up. He’ll heal up nice if he’s a bit shot.”

“Glad that you have faith in me, Mr. Lucas.”

“Saw you kill that buck three hundred yards away. Never seen someone cleanly shoot a  buck’s eye in so I doubt you could miss, are you sure you weren’t trained?”

“Not sure really, just got a good feeling with rifles and guns,” he looked at his watch. “Oh, Anna’s bakery probably has some bread now.”

“Sure, you ain’t looking for other bread.”

Alden’s mouth opened a little, confused. Mr. Lucas snorted, took a sip of his drink, and shooed him away. He saw Mrs. Clea in the garden, so he offered a morning greeting before passing the house-dorm of the Sisters of Jove. The bakery was located in the park of the town where it was surrounded by the municipal hall, library, a local college, pharmacy, cathedral, convenient store, and the bakery.

Alden trotted to the bakery where they were just displaying their bread on the shelf.

“Good morning, Anna,” Alden said, sliding the bread basket on top of the counter and shelf. Anna took the bread basket, called Oleg from the back, and had the bread filled up.

“That’d be six hundred florins,” said Anna, writing down the receipt for the bread.

Alden took out his wallet, and took out a one-thousand bill alongside a one-hundred bill, leaving him with only a thousand in his wallet.

“Office work ain’t paying much, hon?”

“It does, but I am still paying for the fees.”

Anna regarded him casually. “Sometimes, I forget that you ain’t from around here.”

“He’s probably from the Old Empire or something,” said Oleg, picking the bread. He was an orphan as well, and had been attending the church’s soup kitchen.

“Athesia, was it? That's far from Holmia, a continent away. Doubt I’d be drifting that far here. Besides, I'm pretty sure if I was from Athesia, I’d be picked up by their social service or something.”

“True, their civil service there is pretty good,” Oleg picked up the rest of the bread, placed it in the bread basket, and slid the basket across the counter. “Oh, almost forget, tell Nana that Kolens are offering to hunt some hogs in Kagon and say they’d been breeding like crazy again, you know how to quarter them boars? Process them?”

“I think I do, actually.”

“Well, if you’re up for it. It might be best if you bring in the new guy with you, and have him hand some of your game to the block representative. They’ll appreciate it, maybe they'll feel less worried about him.”

“I’ll tell him, thanks Oleg.”

“Sure, I don’t want them to worry about Nana.”

Alden took the bread basket, and bid the two goodbye.

 

***

 

Alden was walking back to the orphanage when he passed by an electronics store. He saw that the news was up so he stopped for a moment to watch the news.

The news anchor, Regy Hews, sported a fancy mustache. He was tapping the stack of papers and started with his catchphrase.

“Good n’ jolly morning to our dead Holmia, I’m your host, Regy Hews! Morning breaks for Holmia, and news reports that there is a recent interest in electronic games. These games are on top of every wish list, and are heralded as the new year’s best seller. The Holidays season has passed, but these games sure aren’t!”

They then played a clip of a reporter with rather curly hair in front of an electronics game store. “There are many choices that toy manufactures are spending millions of florins on advertising them.”

They then showed a battery operated game where players use electronic sounds as clues to get through this dungeon and steal the dungeon master’s treasure. It was a hot item that was based on those fabled demifiend creatures on the western side of the world.

They also played a clip about electronic handheld items and electronic video games that made Alden frown at the prize. He barely had any money left after buying bread. Where would he get four thousand florins for a set of video games?

The man being interviewed said, “I remember back when my father would buy a game for the family and we’d play it back then and it was usually the most expensive game that was purchased for us. Now that times are being they are, the family game is now around the TV set it seems. And this is an ideal gift that the family could enjoy. Everyone can play it and everyone can get involved,” the man was the manager of the toy department, and there was clear interest in his eyes as he showed the news about the electronic games.

Then the music stopped, and a clip was played. It showed two boys in white shirts and gray pants fishing on a riverbank, followed by a shot of the train. Then the flag of Holmia was shown, and cars were running around. There were students in uniforms happily roaming the streets, and a view of two people eating in an open store just near the harbour. Then there was a shot of a painter, illustrating a red bridge.

It was certainly an interesting commercial advertisement of the tourism department. They also advertised about the documentaries being played in the following schedule.

Odd that they would insert advertisements in the middle of the news.

Then the live footage was returned to Regy Hews. Who still gave a jolly smile despite the rather awkward advertisement placement.

“Sorry about that folks, that was going to be inserted later, but yes, new documentaries shall be released on the following schedule.”

Documentaries were useful, but most of the kids, at least in the cities, were occupied by the arcade parlors to care about them. It was different for the kids in the orphanage who had grown differently.

“In local news, racial tensions have begun as the easterners officials demand the presence of the Expeditionary Forces out of their continent. Safety has become a top priority.”

Then the footage was switched to a clip about an easterner accompanied by a soldier. “Yes, yes, we want Holmian troops off our homes. The war is over! The demikins are subdued!”

The footage was switched to another clip. This time it was from General Vigno Steelheart, head of the Expeditionary forces, and the grandson of James Steelheart, the one who had helped in the construction of the transcontinental railroad and one of the great defenders when the demikin horde came to be.

“Although reports suggest that the demikin threat had been subdued from the eastern side of the world. We have reports of guerilla bands that are still threatening the lives of the good folks here. In accordance with their request, and the defense agreement signed by our motherland, Athesia, and the Eastern nations will remain steadfast in protecting the interest and safety of our motherland against the non-human enemies.”

The demikins were humanoids, but they differ from humans. Their skin were rough like tree-barks while the rest of their appearances were monotonous and revolting to any humans.

After that interview, they started showing another round of advertisement, mostly about a corporate brand named Armstrong Industries, and a weapon’s manufacturer called Whitefall Technologies that was introducing ‘self-defense’ weapons and Hydroelectric-powered weapons.

The rest of the news report was about rising celebrities and actresses that were touring the country for their concerts. Alden pried his eyes away from the TV report and looked up to the direction of the wharf where he saw a fast-flying object flying five hundred feet over the air, followed by a Gyrodyne.

The sound barrier being broken made a rather loud sound. The electric shop’s owner looked at the trail of clouds and shook his head. “Back then, we used to be surprised about flyers, and those iron giants. Now we have these things. Times sure have changed. Oh, ain’t you from the orphanage, you buying a new one, bah, no way you would. Tell Nana my regards, you ain’t making it hard for her now, are you lad?”

“Course not, Mr. Simons, sorry for standing around in your shop.”

“Bah, it’s not like anyone buys TV’s unless theirs is broken. I do sell them VHS’s tapes, want some?”

“Will you allow us to borrow your VHS player?”

“Fine, fine, if you buy,” Alden looked at his wallet and shook his head. “Sorry, got no florins for it.”

“A shame, it’s about a family in the west who get rid of monsters or something.”

“Sorry, I have to pass, Mr. Simons,” Alden bid the shop owner goodbye, and walked fast to deliver the bread to the kids before they woke up.