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(Elyse Larkin)
by Raven Eades
This is a short character story / study that actually fits into my larger science fiction world that fit between two novels I'm working on. Unfortunately for it some of the crucial background info changed and made the story outdated (and I also lost interest). Still, because I'm a writing packrat, I still have it and want to share it with the world anyway.
All quirky world related things in the story are MINE; don't take them lest you incur my wrath. This world is very much in operation by me even if this is an older model of its evolution. :)
And yes, I have a thing for the name Sam as some of my friends may point out upon reading this. :)
In the year 252 of the Solari System, Elyse Larkin was running away.
She had wanted to run away for quite some time now, away from the cruel politics of the Underground where everyone was suspect and trust was a vestigial word for a quality long forgotten. But in the slums of Vorge's lower sections, escape often remained no more than a delusion of the willfully naïve. The influences of the crime chain permeated everywhere one expected and where its presence was not expected. In people it was not expected to influence.
“Oh hush,” Elyse muttered to herself. Thoughts like that were likely to get you killed; empathy, sentementality, love (if such a thing truly existed) squashed without a thought. Especially in such a precarious situation. Perhaps her actions would prove to be foolish, even fatal, but at the moment nothing else seemed to matter than escape.
Elyse spun down the cooridor of one of the cramped streets of the dirtier area of the slums. The stench of refuse, excrement, rot, filth, and decay caused her nose to recoil under the protection of her coat sleeve. The motion caused her coat flap to open, revealing a bag jingling at her waist. Pulling her garment shut with a firm tug, Elyse hugged herself as she rushed to the hydrolic transport that would move her toward the intermediary level.
When the caged door whisked shut in front of her, the girl exploded with the pent up breath of fear that her lungs had carried for nearly two blocks. There was still a chance of pursuit even now, but the worst of the danger was over. Maybe the Master was now only realizing what she had done...
Floor 1a. That's where she wanted to get off.
The metal in front of her shhhed away to reveal the next residental block that was physically identical to the section she had just left. But the atmosphere, the attitude, the upper division carried made the differences as obvious as black and white to Elyse. Here there was no unseen garbage to dirty the streets but the plesant smells of cooking and distant spray of the ocean that continually surrounded them. Even though the houses muffled the sounds, Elyse knew that here the middle class families were clinking and clacking their dishes and silverware as they ate dinner and talked about the events of the day, the election of the Senators tomorrow, and the worries of the still distant future. This was the way her mom had described what they life would have been like... but that was before...
Elyse shook her head again to clear it of the nostagia and the pain that insistantly welled up inside. Grasping the drawstring bag hanging at her waist, she set out looking for the motel that was guarenteed to be on the floor level for those rare tourists who visited the “many wonders to be found on the floating city of Vorge – where all your dreams come true.” The street girl couldn't help but snicker. There were wonders all right – wonders that would cause the respectables on the first floor to faint with mere mention of the topic.
The first inn claimed full house though Elyse could see the sign lit proclaiming its vacancy. The second had a manager mentioning suggestive methods of paying half fare to which Elyse left him unconsciously slumped over his magazines of full body pictures. The end of the block came later with no other offers of the night.
The girl sighed in frustration. She came out of one prison to be denyed access by the barbed wire around the perimeter. Next thing you knew the guards would be coming with their hounds and guns to herd you back where you came from and the penalty for running in the first place would not be pretty.
Elyse leaned against the solid brick of the last house on the block, a tan one that was a multi-plex for up to five legal businesses. In their bowels were other the settings of other dealings that were not so easy to find in the phone book, but connections could be made if one knew where to look. Any self-respecting slum sparrow would know these basics. She had been a runner to these errands afterall. Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, Elyse stared vacantly into the next block of businesses and residencies. One of the buildings, though sporting a small wooden sign (elegantly carved too) stating the establishment was closed. Inside though, a man puttered around, brushing away the messier results of the day's work while marking other specifics in a small book held in his left hand. As Elyse watched, she saw the man stacking rows of wood and setting them in their proper places where they could be readily accessed the next day.
It was all so orderly and cozy that the next thing she knew, Elyse was knocking politely on the door.
The man was much older than Elyse had suspected from watching him in the window. His hair was a distinguished gray and several lines traveled on his face, but his build was better than most young men and he held his tall frame upright giving the appearance that he could best several without breaking a sweat. Seeing him tower over her, Elyse gulped and assumed her weary traveler stance.
“How may I help you?”
“I was wondering if you might put me up for the night, sir. All the inn's are saying they haven't got the room for me.”
The man frowned. “That's odd. I was talking to Joe before close and I know that nearly all his lodging is empty.”
“They haven't got the room,” Elyse repeated, catching the man's eye. He observed her face a moment before nodding slowly.
“I see.” He studied her a moment longer and Elyse felt that every crease in her clothes (there were several of those) and ever stain (there were several more of these) was caught by his attentive eye. The girl sighed, and waited for his words of rejection.
“Come in. I can tell that you're tired.”
Elyse's eyes snapped open to see the man had stepped back and was extending his arm to offer her in. She took a hesitant step forward, more aware than ever of the filth that coated her shoes and rubbed off onto the cleanly scrubbed floor. The man shut the door behind her while narrating. “You can probably see that I'm a woodcarver,” he began, gesturing toward the piles of wood that filled the room. Stacks was a better word for piles indicated disorder. Nothing was out of place here; Elyse could almost see the gridlines for the room in her head: oak here, pine, yule, carving tools, half finished projects, waiting to be painted, wanting to be sanded... The smells were also comforting – organic and comforting compared to the pervasive smell of the sea. These were once trees, firmly planted and unmoving; the ocean was still there, its water always shifting and changing with no solid place to remain.
“It's a simple business and not in much demand, but I've found that most people on Ataren are in want of a little beauty in their lives.” He smiled at her and somehow Elyse thought that his words implied much more than their surface meaning. She cocked her head at him quizzically, but he continued on. “My name is Henry, just Henry will do. This shop has run in the family for a couple of generations now and my son Sam is taking up after me.” Elyse stretched up on her toes for a look at the elusive Sam, but he seemed to be in some unknown room performing an equally unknown task. “It isn't much, but it satisfies.” Henry walked over to the piles of unfinished pieces and held one up for inspection. “This for example; what do you think it could be?”
Elyse studied it for a moment, her natural suspecion increasing the more the woodcarver talked. What reason did he have to be so familiar with her, as if she was the daughter of a good friend rather than some stranger off the moonlit streets? How did he know she wouldn't murder him in his sleep or steal him blind? The bag at her waist tugged uncomfortably with the thought and Elyse forced herself to look again at the wood. “It looks like it could be anything.”
“True,” Henry said, twisting it thoughtfully in his hands. “It's at a point now where any stroke will make it the shape it's meant to be.”
His words again caused a deep tugging within Elyse's heart, like he wasn't just discussing a piece of wood. But before her question could be spoken, a heavy-footed stepping came from the other end of the room where another man – a boy almost a man, really – entered and stopped in slight surprise at the sight of Elyse in the display room. Henry nodded toward him. “Sam, we have a guest for the night. Joe said the inn's full.”
Sam smiled. “Joe often says the inn's full when it strikes his fancy.”
“True enough. I'd like you to meet my son Sam. Sam, this is...”
“Elssie.”
“...Elssie. She'll be staying for the night. Have you had dinner?"
"No," Elyse said with a slight hint of relief. She hadn't eaten since yesterday when she had stopped by the local mercy center instead of scrounging in the dumpsters or stealing from the stores and restaurants. Henry watched her face during the second it took the thoughts to pass through her mind before turning toward Sam and nodding.
"I'm afraid we've already eaten, but Sam'll fix something up for you. Would you like to wash up after? I think we can manage a little hot water." He grinned at the look of esctacy that crossed Elyse's countenance at the mention. "I'll take that as a yes. It's this way."
