<-------[That's space...yeah..big, don't you feel small.]
As you've noticed from this websites header I'm an Author, I've been working on a series known as ROAM. Here's an excerpt. You lucky dog you.
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April 1st
2014
He placed his boot off the curb and sent a small spray of water onto his pant leg. Normally he’d be pissed, just what he needed, a wet leg; but today he was on a mission, on top of that he was wearing his tank boots and so, he couldn’t even feel the moist muddy water on his black pants. His attention turned to the promising sky. The clouds were finally breaking up and once again the crystal blue sky shone brightly through. It was ridiculous, how could the sky become cloudy for days? It’s not like the Artificial Weather Center (AWC for short.) has ever had a registered failure. Who was the depressed nerd who allowed the weather to be overcast for four straight days? Believe it or not the law, the actual law stated that the weather must not remain overcast longer than 96 hrs, or four days. See, what I got to wonder is why on earth anyone would want the sky to be overcast for more than four hours, let alone four days? Aside from the absurd ability to keep the sky dismal, the AWC has effectively eliminating hurricanes, tornados, flash floods, and hail for the past century. They hold that proudly, and of course because of this “heroism”, they are allowed to make it “Crappy” for the four day period and then, the sun returns.
The populous whined, “Ooh, if we could just control the weather we could make it rain for thirty minutes once a week to keep the ground fed and alive; rain would never be a problem again.”
Well, we can control the weather; and you wanna know what happened? The government screwed it up.
The AWC is a powerful company, and something feared as much as it’s loved. Being able to control the weather is like being able to harness a giant weapon that can obliterate a planet.
If it should fall into the wrong hands that is; such a facility has a powerful security force, practically an army.
The AWC ranks number one for security in the entire galaxy.
In the world we live in, even Caesar himself is ranked number three on that list. Number two is the Galactic Credit Alliance, the only legal and established bank in the known universe. Why is there only one bank, dumb you say? There will never be only one bank?
Wrong, there is actually something called the great Credit War. Where rival banks actually started a lethal war for customer dominancy, and when civilian causalities started to rack up, Caesar ordered the Gladiators (Also known as all military factions under a single name) to end the war. Immediately after all banks except one were shut down; ironically the bank that survived the great Credit War was the same bank that Caesar Henry Arnold held his account…”Uh-huh, real ironic.”
Suddenly the sky lane opened up as cross traffic ceased and a 2008 Nova, Charger zoomed overhead. He watched as its overpowered engine roared loudly. “What a stupid machine” he thought as he shook his head at the ridiculous square shaped body of the “Hot Rod wanna be.”
Who on earth…or any other planet makes a square flying car in an atmospheric condition? No, don’t go there. “They” did not figure out some super magical way to prevent any negative effects, like oh…wind resistance. That’s still a problem folks. “Deal with it.”
His mind slowly drifted from the, as he saw it, ridiculous machine, and returned to what he considered immensely more important. The “Acquisition” of a real vessel; plus the craft he had in mind overshadowed the Charger. The Charger had mid-range capabilities and was unable to leave Earth’s atmosphere or jump system.
What he had his heart set on was not only rated as a long or extra-long range vessel, it flew in space, and it’s even a decommissioned scout vessel. God only knows why it was decommissioned, but that was from a soldier’s point of view, not that of the boy’s in “Higher” positions who said. “That is an outdated piece of war trash; we must make room for our new design.” Roughly translated as, “We know better than you do. Shut up and do as we say, or we’ll find someone else who will” but I’m sure you knew that.
The day was as previously mentioned, beautiful and he was now across the street standing at the base of an unthinkably large building. He leaned back to see the top of the massive skyscraper. To his surprise, or maybe horror, he couldn’t see the end of the building. It just kept going up. Its large steel frames reeked of that stereotypical “Future” look; except for the bright, reflective, almost inviting windows that if possible, made the delightful blue sky even more….delightful. “Who would build a building of such a magnitude, for what reason?” He looked upon a thick sign with superimposed white letters that proudly boosted the official logo of the Galactic Credit Alliance.
Time was ebbing on and so he turned away from the massive bank and made to cross the street once again. Now that vehicles with wheels were banned due to their extensive safety risks, streets were for show. That way the main populous, or “Retards” as I like to call them, know where to and not to fly. For some reason, he still looked both ways. Once across the street he felt like he’d transitioned worlds. Behind him, the vast sea of oversized buildings and a million aggravated travelers dealing with day to day traffic; to a much more modest, flat almost colorful building. That’s face value though. If you looked left or right, the building didn’t ever seem to end. Like that ridiculous bank building, just on its side.
This facility was on the other hand a military base. More to the point it was “The” military base on the planet; the largest, most powerful armed forces base in this or any another part of the galaxy. It was home to the famous Gladiators. “This installation now actually covered one quarter of earth’s surface. From here the Gladiators can produce fleet after fleet of warships of any kind, at almost any number you pick. The ship graveyard is even kept safely behind its walls. This is where he was headed. His ship was right through the glass doors he saw his reflection in.
He looked tough enough; the year hadn’t been all too good on him. He had a three day beard over his soft jaw line that he hadn’t bother to trim in the last couple days. He saw his cozy dark brown leather jacket in the reflection, it fit him well. You wouldn’t even be able to tell that he had a SATAC side-arm and a digital storage manager on his left wrist that held his waver blade machete, and an arsenal of other weapons. His hair was a sandy brown and as always set to military regulations. Against his appearance his eyes were a bright and focused golden brown.
His gaze gave the impression that he could see through anything with an x-ray like vision. The doors slid seamlessly open to reveal a mono colored open room with a tiled floor. The kind of room you’d expect to see at a car dealership.
“Ronald!” called a tall, broad shouldered, wall of muscle, man with dark red hair. “Did you get the credits?” he asked in a heavy Irish accent and overshadowed Ron in superior height. He must have stood and incredible Six foot five, maybe six foot six.
Ron turned to him and immediately felt an eruption of rage and fierce hatred swell within him; but just as quickly as it came it faded. The man he saw before him was not the man that had torn his world apart, and forever separated him from everyone he had ever loved, and yet, in that strange cosmic way, He was the same man. He nodded to him and they turned to another set of doors across from them. From there they entered an awe inspiring sight. As far as the eye could see was ship after ship, and pile after pile of “Junked” metals. Ron had no intention of looking around, he knew what he was looking for, and now his prize was fifty yards from him. Even before a short, fat, balding, salesman approached to try and sell something else; Ron pointed and said.
“That one”
“You’re kidding!” Riley O’Connor choked.
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You just got ROAMed. If you liked it, buy the book, read more.
-Fox
