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Writer's pictureStephen T. Polk

Zamira's Run

Updated: Jul 7, 2021

By Stephen T. Polk


Zamira sat alone in darkness, only illuminated by the light from her small holo-dev screen. Nevermind the cut signal and loss of reception, she didn't need it; only the image displayed. A woman, in her mid-twenties. A woman she knew better than anyone else. Alice.

It was a picture she took on their trip to Port Nahsani, Alice emanating joy. Her lips stretched in a smile, punctuated by dimples, while amber eyes squinted gleefully under round magenta shades. The resplendent tropical backdrop held no comparison to her beauty. A picture powerful enough to drown out the quaking chaos overhead. She touched Alice's cheek, the cold screen biting in place of warm flesh.


They met at a banquet honoring Zovia’s Planetary Armed Forces four years prior, about a year after Zamira had completed basic and undergone the Hack-Body upgrade. Nothing stretches three hundred and sixty-five days like spending them reacclimating to one’s own, now enhanced, body. Signals from her brain traveled faster than she could follow and each sudden twitch caused the internal hardware to buzz a resounding echo around in her skull. Yet, when Alice entered the room, all of that went silent. A glowing bronze goddess gracing mere mortals with golden eyes that glistened under numerous crystal chandeliers. Her feet never seemed to touch the floor, gliding under a sumptuous azure gown as she fluttered between each cluster of guests. Even among idle aristocratic banter, she exuded a grace that Zamira never could. Just watching caused her fancy new knees to nearly buckle.


When their eyes locked, Alice was quick to notice three things. The first: Zamira’s deep-red hair, cut short for tactical purposes, but kept just long enough to add a little of her own, wild flair. The second: The adorable awkwardness of a fresh Upgrade recruit’s rigid posture. However, being the eldest daughter of career politicians, seeing at least one new Hack at an event like this was fairly common. The third, and most intriguing, was the captivated gawk followed by an excessively abrupt look-away. She smiled, laughing somewhat under her breath, and seized the first opportunity to approach an hour or so later.


To this day, Zamira swears she can still hear the shrill ping of her cybernetic joints locking up when Alice’s silky cadence welcomed her to the event. Their talk was pleasantly forward, quickly shifting personal after Zamira nervously divulged her social anxiety in the form of a crass joke. Alice had never laughed so hard, nor been so taken, and the conversation that followed was perhaps the most comfortable in either of their memorable lifetimes. Mutual. Instant and profound in a way that allowed them to glean each other through cracks across illusory walls erected around their true selves. They talked for nearly the whole gala, escaped shortly before the end, and continued entertaining each other throughout the night and into the next morning. One date turned to several more whenever they could spare the time throughout that year, having to schedule around Zamira’s Cy-Tac training and Alice’s political obligations. Yet, brevity only served to increase the already intense intimacy, before finally culminating into one sudden inquiry.


“Wanna get married?” Zamira had blurted it only two weeks before her first deployment. Eloquence on desires of the heart was never really her strong suit.


“Took you long enough”, Alice teased, letting her sardonic mask break to genuine elation, “I’ve been waiting months!” She cupped the sides of Zamira’s face and pulled her into a kiss, “Of course I want to, Zami. I love you.”


A loud crash rocked the bunker, finally pulling Zamira’s attention away from the memory and her device . Small pebbles dripped from the rumbling ceiling and skittered across the floor in no certain direction. Using the light on the screen to see, she looked up to check the damage. It was minimal, but getting worse by the second.

"Could hold a while longer", she said almost to herself, "but I ain't gonna press my luck." She returned the screen into view. "I need to get back to you." With one last look, she closed the device and surrendered it to one of several jacket pockets.


Outside, aerial warships rained down a deluge of destruction. Ominous silhouettes flickered in flashes above pitch-dark clouds, engines muted by artillery and decimation. The entire city of Jiroku was fettered in flames set by Zovia’s own military. Ash cascaded through smoke and crashed debris twisted familiar streets into unrecognizable mazes of scrap. There was no sun. No moon. No stars. Night and day’s passage stood still under the orange glow of the new firmament.


Zamira struggled to stay focused on her goal upon emerging, but she had to take it in. She had to see the hell that now consumed her home. To feel the shudder underfoot, the tremulous dread that followed, and the unwanted taste of each breath she took to steady herself. A foul blend of sulfur and burnt flesh. The perfect reminder to cement a clear memory of the crimes ordered by their own, corrupt ruler. A sinister show of force when faced with the true will of the democracy. Did these forces not take the same oath she had when she enlisted?


“How could they do this?”, she asked in a whisper. Only one reason made sense. The growing division within the military had finally reached a breaking point and Thorne’s loyalists had made it abundantly clear: Their allegiance was to power, not the people. The carnage clenched her fist, but she remained steadfast in her one remaining mission: Survive. Survive to fight back. Survive for Alice.

Screams steeled her nerves through echoes off broken, bloodstained walls crumbling into rubble. Survivors of the firestorm scrambled for their lives, hunted by armed troops playing accompaniment with their rifles. Frantic cries for salvation silenced by rapid, mechanical cackles exhaled in controlled bursts. The rigid march drawing near, Zamira crouched low behind an alleyway dumpster and pulled a thin black scarf over her nose and mouth; one hand resting on her hip-holstered pistol, the other readied on the grip of her back-mounted Ion-Edge sword.

As the patrol regimen passed, her muscles tensed with the desire to strike. However, even with all her enhancements, thirty fully geared shock troopers against one Hack-body were terrible odds. Especially true, out in the open and in formation.

"Don't get yourself killed, Zami", the memory of Alice's voice echoed, "I know you're a fighter but if you don't fight smart, the fight ends.”

Zamira relaxed the tightened grip on her weapon's hilt. "Don't worry, babe", she whispered in response, "I'm not that stupid." Digging the toes of her boots into cracked concrete, she waited until the last line of the platoon faded into the fog.


A bolt springing forth through the streets, she streaked between crashing wreckage and derelict vehicles. Buildings she had once seen breach the clouds now reduced to ground level, leaving jagged foundations obscured by shards of their own structure. She whipped right at the corner of what was Milton and 84th St., heels kicking up pavement like dirt. Were it not for a charred sign showing the way, Zamira would have nearly missed the one street she once called a second home.


Her parents used to work on 84th, at Cyios Labs; Cyios Industries headquarters for bio-tech research and development. Every summer, as a young girl, Zamira would wander the bustling sidewalk between there and her favorite family owned deli at the other end of the block. The walk once teamed with life, in both people and budding flowers upon planted trees spaced meticulously along the stretch. A bright, brilliant display dancing in the warm rays of summer’s heat. All now gone. Replaced by a sweltering pyre. Her mind raced back to the days she would meet Korbin, the eldest son and heir to the delicatessen, to play fantasy card games while her parents worked tirelessly on yet another confidential project. She didn’t mind. The restaurant was as welcoming and homely as the Reynolds’ family themselves. The two of them would hang out in some out-of-the-way booth, elaborately painted cards spread deliberately across the table, and talk of their futures. Their dreams. While Zamira would eagerly muse on what cybiotic upgrades she imagined getting, Korbin looked forward to owning the family business.


Unfortunately, like many close friendships of youth, the two gradually drifted apart over the years after Zamira’s parents lost their jobs and were forced to move away. Last she heard of her former best friend, he had just announced the birth of his first-born son. The new heir to the delicatessen.


Flames bellowed out of the hollowed remains of Maise’s Dress Emporium as it collapsed into itself, the sharp crack of concrete jolting Zamira back into the present. She saw no clear sign of Cyios Labs or Reynold’s Deli. Only the inferno. Vaulting through the fire, her hazel eyes scanned the street for survivors only to find heaps of indistinguishable corpses and severed limbs, their coagulating blood choking the gutters. Another thunderous crash rolled as several towering stories poured stone and concrete along her path. Forced to slide through the pungent gore, a brief cold panic shot up her spine and seized in her chest. Could it have been someone I knew? Could it have been Korbin? Grinding teeth of a tightened jaw pinched her cheek. No. Can't think about that. Gotta keep moving.

Remains of old store fronts and businesses became those of old homes after Zamira rounded the corner into the residential district. Buildings, or what was left of them, gradually began to space further apart the closer she came to the outskirts of the city. Patrols had all advanced, leaving scouts behind to finish off anyone they may have missed. Luckily, they were scattered. She made quick work of the few she passed, most before they were even aware of her approach. The ionized particles on the active edge of her blade could slice through the reinforced haul of a Mech like cheese; lightly-armored recon troops didn’t stand a chance. With each kill, catharsis. She had never taken joy from killing before, it was a job. A duty. An order. Means to ends, nothing more. But this? This was something truly foreign to her. Soaking Zovian insignias red twisted her stomach in knots, yet each humming cut quivered the corner of her lip upward for the briefest second. Why should they get to live after this? Despite who they were or what good deeds they may have done in their lives, this is what they ultimately decided to be. Weapons for a madman. How much more blood would they have spilled? How many more of their own would they callously execute in the streets? In their own homes? The risk wasn’t worth the mercy. Best to send the message now, with the undeniable marks of a Hack-Body’s blade. Thorne and his loyalists had become the enemy they swore to protect the world from.

Before long, Zamira found herself in the outlying suburbs. She stopped briefly to get her bearings, remembering the location of the abandoned hanger deep in the surrounding woods. The rendezvous point. It was south but, in the upheaval, it was difficult to maintain a proper heading. A passing breeze briefly brushed the obstructions clouding the air aside and Zamira’s gaze passed over what she could see of the neighborhood. It was spared the brunt of the bombing, but it was clear some regiment had taken it upon themselves to root out anyone disloyal to their Premier. Kicked in doors dangling on broken hinges and shattered windows revealed the charred interior of mid-sized homes. She stared, perhaps longer than she needed to, but something about the scene seemed familiar; almost nostalgic. If it were all pieced back together, it would be the spitting image of the neighborhood her family lived before they were priced out.

"THERE!", a filtered voice barked, "Take her out!"

Zamira turned just in time to see a squad of scouts readying rifles in her direction. No choice. She drew the sword from her back, extended it to proper size, and activated the ion-edge. A line of plasma filled the groove along the blade's perimeter and she darted to the side as a hail of shots tore into abandoned cars behind her. Muzzle flash flickered over the smoldering wasteland like crackles of a dying fire.

Springing off a nearby wall, she emerged and flanked the troops through a haze of dust and smoke. The blade peeled through their guard with a high-pitched buzz, searing clean through each target. Two fell, but she was still outnumbered. Two-to-one, from what she could tell. The first charged with a sparking shock-baton while the second trained their sights on her. Through sheer instinct and cybernetic reflexes, she unholstered her hand-cannon, let her internal targeting software command-lock her arm in line, and delivered a round through the gunman’s forehead. Nearly simultaneously, she parried the melee, splitting the club in two with her blade before following through with a lethal counter.

A sharp, burning sting pierced through her clavicle after several pops rang out from a scout's pistol. Shit. She spun and returned fire with deadly precision before seeing two more reinforce the assault. With no time to let them form up, she serpentined headlong towards the group. Not today… Not now!


Three more shots ripped through her torso and she let loose a battle-cry capable of curdling the blood of psychopaths. She didn't stop. She couldn't. In the thick of the chaos she only thought of her. Alice... The safety of her tight, warm embrace after a six month deployment. The feeling of loving fingers trailing along her scalp and combing through her hair, like their hours spent intertwined in that empty hospital room after Zamira’s parents were covered and rolled away. The only sensations strong enough to ease the weight of a violent world from her shoulders. Peace. Hope. In her arms, Zamira could glimpse a world beyond war. Beyond pain. Beyond isolation. She could see a future worth saving. You can’t keep me from her!

Shrieks of plasma pealing metal serenaded her spree. Once the gap was closed, they could not contest her impassioned fury. It was over within seconds. As soon as the last body dropped, she staggered past what was left without a second look. Can't waste time, she thought, clutching her wounds. Not when I'm this close.


Zamira pressed further south, until houses gave way to trees. The flickering light of her home ablaze faded in the thick of the forest and in its absence, the serene dark of night. Heat turned to a chill far quicker than she anticipated but, all things considered, it was not entirely unwelcomed. Though injuries slowed her down, eventually she saw the overgrown airbase Admiral Finley had set as the extraction point.


They better still be there, she joked silently, relieved to be within sight of escape. Excitement attempted to hasten her pace, but instead, her feet felt heavy. They seemed to drag with each step, as if the firm earth underfoot gripped her boots like mud. An automated ping warned that her internal repair functions were struggling to keep pace with the damage and her defiant exertions. Her body was literally howling at her, pleading desperately for rest. Her legs ached and trembled through each forced stride, extending a growing trail of blood behind her. Vertigo set in as the surrounding foliage drifted and overlapped itself with the green tint of her night-vision, swirling into a messy blur until she finally collapsed.


The dropship was right there, no more than fifty feet away, but secrecy demanded no lights and brush veiled most of the forest floor. She pressed the ground defiantly, forcing her body to act against instinct. More system warnings blared in her brain and flashed in her visual HUD before fading focus blurred their text. Any attempt to speak only choked in her throat and stabbed her chest.


“I’m…HERE!,” she managed to force out, devolving into a fit of hacking coughs. Each sharp breath that followed exhaled deep, guttural heaves dripping with the blood that had filled her lungs. Her face and neck bulged in a web of veins. Fuck...am I…dying? No…I can’t…please…Alice…I’m so sorry…I can’t… Unable to rise, she slumped prone on the warm, soaked dirt.


"Lieutenant Yoshida?”, a voice near the ship called out. “Is that you?”


It was the last thing she heard before silent nothingness consumed her senses.


 

"You push yourself too hard,” Alice said, rolling her eyes, “Believe it or not, it’s not your responsibility to fix everything.” She turned and leaned against the balcony railing, the seemingly endless expanse of the ocean at her back.


“Maybe, maybe not,” Zamira smirked with the reply.


“Can't you just stay with me? If things turn, we can help organize a response from here.” Though her tone was calm, Alice’s widened eyes unveiled desperation.


“I’m sorry, really, but I have to go back. Jiroku was my home. I gotta do every-“


“Everything you can,” Alice interjected, “I know. Believe me, I know, but tensions are so high right now….”


“Don’t worry, babe, my orders are to hide out and prioritize my survival if anything crazy happens. Admiral said if the loyalists split, she’s gonna need all the Hacks we can get.” The grin extended and she placed a clenched fist to her hip ironically. “I’m what the kids are calling ‘Essential.’”


“Oh right, of course,” Alice looked away, both annoyed and reluctantly amused. “You’ll just stroll on out of there, huh?"


“Hey, I never said it would be easy. If shit goes south, it’ll be a long-shot I get out of there in one piece.” Zamira stepped closer and perched her hand on Alice’s shoulder. “But you know me. I’m my best when my odds are the worst.” She laced their fingers and offered a goofy, cocky smile. “Didn’t have much of a chance blending with your family, did I? Your parents hated my guts.”

Alice huffed out a laugh while brushing a few windswept curls from her face, “They didn’t hate you, necessarily.”


“They called me a tin-can, Alice…” Zamira quipped, “but, if I can go from that to carving the roast on Solstice, I’m pretty sure I can handle anything.”


“Careful. Those sound a lot like famous last words,” Alice said, her gaze averted in a failed attempt to hide tears trickling free.


“Yeah? How about, ‘I’ll be fine’?” Zamira asked impishly. She stifled a laugh, assuredly wiping away tears from her wife’s cheek. “Seriously, though, it’s just a quick trip. But, even if we’re wrong, nothing can stop me from getting back to you, ok?” She pulled Alice into a kiss, letting her lips linger before pulling away. “I love you.”



 

Zamira snapped back to consciousness as some turbulence rocked the aircraft. Her wounds had been hastily patched and her vital systems pinged in a shaky, but stable rhythm. The pain, however, still throbbed over the inhibiting neurotransmitters pulsing from her brain’s artificial regulator. Almost immediately, acting against physical agony, she fished her holo-dev from the jacket now hanging next to her. It fumbled around in her hand, but she managed to avoid completely dropping it. The screen had been cracked in her run but, when she pressed the small button along its edge, it activated without issue. There was the same picture of Alice. Safe and happy. Nothing else existed in that particular moment in time, especially Ensign Hughes, who was quick to notice her return to the living. His persnickety brief of the plan to petition for extraplanetary aid may as well have been given to the vines of IV tubes between them.


Zamira simply touched the screen tenderly and returned a wider smile. Whether through the certainty of hope, or the fresh dose of morphine, it felt as soft and warm as a cheek soaking under the Nahsani sun. Tears drowned her view until they flooded over, streaming freely into rivers winding through the dimples and creases of an unbridled expression. "I’m coming home.” End.


Photo Credit: Shutterstock

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