Today we’re going to try something a little different. YOU, the audience, are going to determine how this story ends.
Guidelines:
– Your story should go in the comments section of this post. Please type “reserved” in the slot you wish to fill. I can go back later and edit your entry for you.
– Take note of the name above and below you. Try to pick up where they left off, working yourself into the story, and leave your ending open for someone else to easily add themselves to your story.
I thought it might be an interesting experiment. Here’s hoping it works out well.
—
They had all watched the race; some were there to cheer on their favourite racers, others watched it over illegal encrypted subspace transmission. Everyone watched in horror as the only racer to be left unaccounted for was Roc Wieler. He had ascended the mountain, as had many others, but neither he, nor his mount, had exited that section of the grueling race.
The search and rescue drones had given up, their sensors useless in the ferocious storm that encompassed the mountain range. Nine hours had passed already, and yet still many of the crowd would not leave until the fate of Roc Wieler was determined. Some had even boycotted the victory ceremony and after party, knowing in their hearts that foul play had tainted the tradition of the bear races. Many spat on Vladimir Karnakov as he proudly embraced his third place victory, and guaranteed spot in the Annual Finals. This wouldn’t be covered in the news; these races didn’t exist. But to everyone gathered, the emotions existed, and were running high.
Something had to be done.
ROC'S RAMBLINGS 
***
Roc groaned as his bear cooled around him. A brief search of the landing site had yielded only a single blade that had been on rocks below the course far longer than he wanted to remain.
It had taken almost the last of his strength, and had broken his heart, but his loyal mount continued her service past her noble death; Roc was still quite warm, not counting the frigid air that he sucked in through a small hole.
Thoughts crashed angrily through his head. Unless someone found him soon he was going to have to save himself.
Again.
***
The man adjusted his goggles as he exhaled ice back into the blizzard.
“Report!” Taro had to yell into his comms to be heard over the wind by the rest of the search party. One by one they reported nothing found. For a volunteer group of friends and fans with no rescue experience, they were making good progress coming down the mountain.
Except for the not-finding-Roc part.
“Report!”
Everyone, nothing. Keep moving down the pathway. Cold. Next guy in sight. Check back often. Tired. Save energy. Don’t do anything stupid. As if THIS was a smart thing to do. Keep moving. This is no country for a Brutor…
“Report!”
Everyone, nothing. Wait… not everyone. ” Talk to me! REPORT!” Silence. “Someone close to Pete, check on his position. We’re going to need him to handle the bear.” “If it’s still alive.” he added to his thoughts. He sighed out a white cloud that blew away instantly. Losing one of the group meant yet another one to rescue. They would have to choose whom to rescue and, as things were going, it would not be Roc Wieler. At best he would come back empty-handed, at worst one man down.
“This is Kera. Pete is here, his comms broke. Wait… what? WHAAT? He says he has an idea, about how to find the bear. Find the bear; find Roc right?”
Taro’s relief sounded very much like string of expletives.
The bearhound slitted his eyes against the stinging wind, the tiny pellets of ice driven before it, the deadly cold. The product of hundreds of generations of selective breeding, he was huge, hard muscled, and protected by a mottled orange and white coat of dense, luxurious fur. He did not process discomfort. In his world, one thing mattered: bear.
The massive head swung this way and that as the powerful legs propelled him forward. The sweet scent of bear blood flitted just at the edge of his olfactory senses–just the barest teasing line pulling at him like a drug, like the promise of a sweet elixir at the end of a hero’s journey where no obstacle is too much to risk to reach that reward. The thick leather line attached to his harness went taut and slack by turns as he bounded against the restraint and was pulled up short by his equipment-laden handler who struggled to keep up. He whined in frustration, in eagerness, in need to close in on the maddening source of that scent. In some dim corner of his mind, a memory of the savage satisfaction of shredding his prey, of tasting blood, of feasting fueled his anticipation.
Straining, gasping in the icy air, he dragged his handler round a turn on the narrow trail, past the reeking humans that shirked away from his fearsome magnificence. Stunned by the full-bodied blast of scent that rolled up the mountain and struck his brain full-blast, the hound stopped dead in his tracks, raised his head and unleashed a blood-curdling howl.
Taro, not 30 feet further along the trail, felt a curious mix of dread and inevitability as the handler activated the beacon on the terrifying beast’s control collar and unclipped the leash.
“There is no way we can know this is where he fell.”
Sard glanced down the precipice again, using his flight of two camera drones keyed to a hardwiring implant to probe the blinding weather.
Nothing. No way to tell just how far down this cliff went either.
“The bearhound is insistent on this spot. He has to be down there.”
For all the progress made since the expedition started searching, there had been little evidence life passed through here. Blizzard conditions erased any trace of the trail mere feet in front you; the only reminders of your companions were the constant vocal updates over comms and their emergency locators.
Mynxee, who’d come planetside along with many other capsuleers to cheer Roc Wieler on, spoke up. “We have to check down the mountain. This has been our only break through so far, and I’ll be damned if we pass this by!”
“I didn’t say to we should ignore this site!” Sard rubbed his nose through his ski mask. “At least take the bearhound further down the trail. The scent it picked up here could be from any of the riders that made it this far. We can rappel down here while the rest of the team continues the search.”
“Who’s going down there?”
“I’ll go. My drones can’t see too far in this weather, but it’s more eyes than anyone else here brought.”
“I’m staying here.” Mynxee had already uncoiled a line of rope and thrust an end into Sard’s hands. “He’s down there Sard, and you’re going to find him.”
Taro began directing the rest of the rescuers down the slope. Members split into pairs, each splinter group maintaining enough distance to communicate with those ahead and behind. Sard had just finished securing the line to his harness when Mynxee gathered his collar in one clenched fist, wrenching him to face those grey eyes, so like the blizzard raging about them.
“You’re going to find him down there, or you’re not coming back up.”
OOC – I’m seriously just grabbing some popcorn and following this post. I am really enjoying the efforts on these stories. They are fantastic! Thank you so much. For once, I am left teased, wondering what the outcome is going to be. It’s very rewarding.
Sard checked over his harness one last time. The survival lessons he had been subconsciously reviewing provided only basic knowledge of what he was about to do, and double checking his safety line seemed a good idea before stepping off a cliff. He glanced once more at his partner, whose hard gaze offered little relief.
“Are you ready Sard?”
“Yeah, let’s do this.”
Sard steadied his stance as he leaned outward, sparing one last look around the trail before pushing off into the abyss.
Rappelling is an exhilarating activity under normal circumstances. In blizzard conditions, it’s downright terrifying. Even with the aid of camera drones Sard’s hops downwards were nothing more than mildly controlled anarchy. In the limited visibility, it was more a matter of ground finding him rather than him it.
Roughly a minute elapsed before his feet touched snow covered earth. Probing with his drones, then his feet, Sard eased onto the level surface, calling “Off Rappel!” into his comms unit. Without the cliff face as a reference, the whitewashed terrain spreading outwards from this spot offered no definition, let alone clues to Roc’s whereabouts. It was hard to believe anyone would willingly travel into such territory, above all for sport.
Mynxee lit up his comms, her voice sounding distant with some static. “Do you see anything?” Sard replied in the negative. “I’m coming down!” Sard again replied in the negative.
“Give me a few minutes to explore this spot. There may be no more than a few meters of ground before the cliff resumes downwards.”
He began to make his way along the cliff face, first to the left, and then back to the right. Where he climbed down level ground went at least eight meters in either direction, in a roughly semicircular pattern inset against the mountain. Sard had begun venturing beyond the wall into the white unknown when his comms lit up again. It was Mynxee.
“Sard, they found his emergency pack further down the trail. No sign of him or his mount.” Wind and static took any emotion out of her voice. There was no way Roc could be alive without the supplies from that pack, and they both knew it. Sard groaned, and angrily lashed his boot out against the snow.
Boot connected with a solid, and uncovered a swath of black fur. Dumbfounded, Sard knelt down and brushed the snow back further, his actions becoming more frantic as the import of his discovery sunk in. He activated his comms while excavating the light snow cover over the animal.
“I found his bear! Mynxee, it’s down here… Gods, he’s here! I’ve found him! Roc is here! Call everyone back immediately!”
Sard could not believe his ears. “Come again Taro? I do not think I heard that right.”
“What you just heard,” the voice over the comms repeated word by word, “use the pack on Roc, take your coat off and hug him. Inside the bear!”
Sard thought he could hear a smile on the other end.
Another voice in the group -was that Kera or Mynxee?- cut in “Ha, some bear hug!”
“Cut it, kids. We are only halfway through, now we keep him warm and call for pickup.”
Mynxee grinned to herself and thought fleetingly, Hmmm…I don’t think even the opportunity to wrap my arms around Roc could convince me to crawl inside a dead bear. She was so relieved that Roc had been found, she allowed herself a moment of lighthearted humor. It was a relief after the stress of the last few hours.
But instantly her focus returned to the pressing matters at hand. The winds were stronger, the icy snow driving harder. The window of opportunity for saving Roc was closing fast. Pulling the hood of her thick, fur-lined parka closer around her face with one hand, Mynxee held the now-slack line attached to Sard loosely in her other hand, occasionally tugging it forward to reassure herself that it was still firmly fastened to the piton driven into the exposed rock beside her. Stepping as close to the edge of the trail as she dared, she peered futilely down through the storm. Nothing but swirling snow and shadow in the falling darkness. Perhaps a dim glimmer of light from far below, probably Sard’s headlamp. Other rescuers crowded close, discussing next steps, calling for equipment, relaying messages to others.
There was a sudden murmur and a movement in the crowd, then a more urgent jostling. As Mynxee turned to see what was happening, the rescuer behind her gave a little shriek and moved sharply toward the edge of the trail, shoving her hard as he did so. In that moment, Mynxee felt herself launched over the side. Reflexively, the hand on the rope clinched tighter but not before several feet had slipped through her gloved grasp. Other limbs flailed in mid-air as she attempted to keep her balance. Time slowed. She spun in that moment to see the bearhound handler attempting to manhandle his resistant, growling beast through the cluster of rescuers on the narrow trail.
“F*cking IDIOT!” she thought as she raced mentally through a distressingly meager set of options. The wind whipped at her, pulling the parka hood from her head, sending an icy blast down her neck. Her other hand found the rope; she clung for dear life as her body flew through the air. “This is going to hurt…” she thought, and braced for the inescapable impact with the rocky slope.
Interjection, not story-related: Roc, you’ve been tagged!
“Itchy you got the beacon up? Can’t see a thing, over.”
“Bitchy, this is Itchy, pack is open. We actually hear you but have no visual, over.”
The blizzard intensified “Copy that, I am coming in for another pass before I have to go for more juice… can you guys please wave or something?”
The pilot turned the small 8-person dropship around. Her license would have been suspended just for flying in a blizzard, not to mention doing standby duty at an illegal event.
That is, if there still were a license to worry about.
Licensed experts never made any real money. Yee haw.
***
It was broken. The way it hurts, it has to be broken, thought Mynxee. Her arm could be treated afterward but right then it hurt like hell. And he is going to hurt twice as bad when I am done with him.
She had rappelled down and looked around for Sard, Roc or the bear, but the pain reminded her that, before anything else, she needed the meds in her own survival pack.
***
Taro’s comms cackled. “Itchy, Bitchy. We have a Casualty-#2-Mynxee beacon lighting up, approaching. Wait, I see the Casualty-#1-Caird pack too now, close by. One is paid for, will you accept the contract for Two as well?”
Mynxee hurt too…? Will this story ever end? he thought.
He was not going to take any chances. “Copy that, Bitchy, we pay for Two as well.”
“Thank you Itchy, you are on record.”
***
The dropship, with all lights on, touched down some 30 metres from the base of the slope and a medic -unlicensed- jumped out towards Roc & Sard as soon as the ramp swung open. Comms blared with the pilot’s voice “This is the Freelance Ambulance Corp. We are here to take you two home.”
Someone… would have to walk.
*NOTICE* From Mynxee’s blog
He was still on that godsforsaken frozen ledge. And now so was I, arm broken, in pain, freezing. The meds from my emergency pack took the edge off, but that was just a tiny part of the greater cliff of pain bearing down on my brain. I thought I might pass out or throw up. I really didn’t want to move at all. But I wanted to get out of here more. I could see lights and hear muffled shouts in the direction of what I assumed was the other end of the ledge I’d landed on. My guess was that Roc and Sard–who’d rappelled down before I’d been accidentally pushed over the ledge higher up–were there, along with others whose movements I caught in glimpses through the darkness and blowing snow. “Rescuers!” I thought hopefully.
Agonizingly, I shuffled on my knees through the snow and the howling wind in their direction. Standing made me feel sick and dizzy. I hoped the artery in my arm was intact…so far, that was difficult to assess. Too many other things demanded my immediate focus. Namely, avoiding passing out and tumbling over the side of this narrow safe spot into nothingness. I rationalized to myself that it was good my arm hurt so badly–it meant I could hope the nerves were intact. And if not, well, thankfully for me, clones were an option.
The light grew brighter as I shuffled toward it, cradling and protecting my broken arm. Then suddenly, I was there, right at the feet of the rescuers. They turned and shouted to each other when they saw me. Having reached them, I could hardly hear them. I was retreating from this world of hurt. My mind was foggy around the edges and I couldn’t think straight. Through the fog, I heard “We are here to take you two home.” My cloudy brain fixated on the word “two”. That was wrong somehow but I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around why. I just wanted to sleep. Someone grabbed my broken arm and made to move me. I screamed as a bolt of pure white pain impaled my mind.
“Shit! I think that arm’s broken!” I heard a gruff voice say.
I slid into a gray place. It was warm there. Blissfully quiet. And totally without pain.
“NO!”
The comm panel groaned under heavy fists. Vladimir Karnakov had just received word that Roc had been found. His small dropship had been circling the rescuers for hours, concealed by the blizzard. One of his bear handlers had posed as an eager fan of Roc’s, gathering intel on the rescue effort.
“Yes sir, they have him, but they’ve hit a snag. Mynxee, a capsuleer ally of Wieler, has fallen and seems to have been injured severely. The extraction team is attempting to pull her up as well.”
Karnakov paced the tiny dropship. He had several options, none that he liked. Sighing with resignation, he approached the ships controls to handle his own dirty work once again.
Annalii circled the scene once again. Roc Wieler, a stranger she had come to admire was in trouble, and she couldn’t justify leaving. Besides, she thought with a grin, I can’t leave until I meet Mynxee face to face. Although not a traditional celebrity or hero, Annalii was far more attracted to Mynxee than to heros, like Roc, or celebrities like Chribba. Besides, she too had some yarr in her.
Though Annalii and her silent partner were not part of the actual search party, they had been monitoring the area for the authorities. They didn’t want to rescue Roc only to have him arrested, after all. Annalii turned the ship for the thousandth time when she caught a glimpse of something through the snow, close to the ground but above the rescue team. She had anticipated this as well. Annalii looked back at her friend and nodded.
Vladimir Karnakov hovered just above Bitchy’s dropship. The blizzard had allowed him to settle less than five meters above the unsuspecting dropship. He ran from the cockpit to the cramped cargo bay grabbing small explosives. He would only have a few seconds once he opened the bay doors to drop the explosives and run back to the controls and hope to flee before incinerating himself with the others. It was a chance he had to take; he could not let anyone else find out what he had done. Karnakov turned to the bay doors to find them already open. Confused, he turned around to the control panel. Between him and the controls, a Brutor male stood, face shrouded in darkness, a tiny glint of refracted light from his shades the only light coming from him. Neural implants showed this man was a capsuleer, and dog tags hanging around his neck indicated he was with the militia. A horrific looking blade was lightly fixed to his belt. Whitt’s arms were crossed as he leaned against the control panel. Annalii’s friend was here.
Karnakov’s mind raced.
Who was the man in front of him? Shades in this blizzard? Where could one get cool tags like his? Why did he have his blade belted, his arms crossed and, more importantly, why was he sitting on the “OPEN BAY” button?
And who the heck was Annalii? Why did the name sound familiar?
With the lightning-fast reflexes of a coward, Vladimir Karnakov threw whatever he was carrying into the cross-armed stranger’s face, as he jumped backwards through the open doors.
And he fell.
It was dark. He kept falling. Faster.
He kept falling towards his doom, he could feel an invisible hand pulling.
He turned around, to see Roc Wieler’s smiling face instead of the ground. “But I killed you, Wieler,” yelled Vladimir before hitting…
… the ground, waking up startled besides the couch. Right between two empty bottles of ale.
That had been one crazy dream.
Everyone knew that Wieler was gone. Everyone knew it was Wieler’s own damn fault. Vladimir had told them, told them all. And they had bought it. All of them.
Annalii. Why did the name sound familiar?
I have to admit these are very cool short stories. Well done so far.
Now would someone PLEASE rescue me and Mynxee? Pretty please?
(Confusing. Here we go, let’s mix and match. I think there is only one dropship not three, Karnakov had a dream, Annalii and Whitt are actually the names of the freelance ambulance, and they go by callsigns because this entire thing is illegal. Okay?)
Strapped to her seat, the pilot ran checkup again: Casualty-#2-Mynxee aboard, sedated and being tended by Doc; Whitt would be back with number One in a second now. She wondered if Two was really Mynxee, the dread woman pirate she had heard so much about.
Annalii cleared her mind. Fly now, meet later.
***
Whitt had a problem. Casualty-#1-Caid was not cooperating.
“Bitchy, Shades here. I have reached One but he seems delirious. He is bloodied, keeps hugging the bear and mumbling something about being warm inside.”
“Knock him out if you have to, just bring him in.”
WHACK.
“Copy that Bitchy,” he grinned, “patient sedated, now bringing him in.”
As he lifted the limp body across his back, the medic looked at the bear. Poor animal, she had at least saved her mount’s life.
He noticed a rescue pack stuck in the mess, blinking. Life. Human. He put Sard down.
“Uh, Bitchy? There’s someone else here…”
Whitt reached for his blade. It looked horrific but it had saved his life many times.
Now it would save Roc’s.