For example – the moment the Aurelians left, the Scorp started coming.
Scorp are bad news – worse even than the Aurelians. At least you can reason with one of those seven-feet-tall warrior-aliens. There’s no reasoning with the Scorp. I don’t think they’re even capable of reason.
The half-reptile, half-human creatures are proof that if there are Gods watching down on us, they have a sick sense of humor.
Those monstrous beasts can stand over ten-feet-tall, with huge pincer claws and sharp, barbed tails.
Their pincer claws are bad enough. They can rip you in half like your body is made of parchment paper – and, if you’re lucky, that’s what will kill you.
But if you get stung by the barbed tail of a Scorp, your fate is so awful it makes my knees quake just to imagine it. One touch of their dripping barb and you’ll die a horrific, agonizing death from the venom they secrete.
Fortunately, Scorp aren’t native to Independence. They land seemingly at random. The species travels through space in massive, organic ships that look like asteroid-sized eggs. They infest the galaxy like roaches – only towering, deadly, venomous roaches.
Their incursions are relentless, and those organic ships appear in our atmosphere almost weekly. If our anti-air defenses don’t stop them from landing, people die.
Lots of people.
My parents are gone because of the Scorp – so if there’s one thing in this universe I hate even more than those arrogant Aurelians, it’s the red-eyed, reptilian bastards that live to kill.
As much as I blame them for our suffering, it wasn’t the Aurelians who destroyed my family and my future. It was the Scorp.
It hurts to remember my family – which is why I have to force myself to do it regularly. We once lived near the Capital itself. The Capital is the one place on planet Independence still seemingly untouched by the ravages of the Aurelian embargo. It’s the only remaining paradise on this now Gods forsaken planet.
I was supposed to be a nurse there. If everything had gone well, I’d have completed my internship and been working in the Capital hospital right now.
My family had owned a small refinery, servicing the local farms near the Capital. Had. One night, a Scorp organic ship landed in the darkness, unseen and unnoticed by the anti-air defenses. I still feel guilty that I lived while the Scorp interlopers slaughtered my family.
I know it’s foolish to think that way – but survivor’s guilt still haunts me every night, right before I fall asleep.
I’d only escaped because I wasn’t there that night. I’d been the only one in the entire village with high enough grades to get into the Capital’s university system – with a full scholarship for nursing.
That’s why I’d been safe in a city dormitory that night. If only I’d been there when that Scorp ship landed… Maybe I could have saved some of the wounded with my medical training. Maybe I could have helped…
But I was safe and asleep in my bed, and I didn’t even hear about the tragedy until the following morning.
I carry the guilt constantly. The only time it dissipates is when I’m setting a broken leg or bandaging a cut for one of the street kids. When I’m healing other people, it heals part of me – temporarily, at least.
Those poor kids. They take such awful risks. Earlier this year, one of my street brats named Tod tried to snag a useful piece of metal from the tracks of the ancient rail system, but his leg was snapped when a shifting piece of metal fell on him. He was so tough, he wasn’t even crying when they dragged him to me. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't be walking today. I know that the other orphans would have helped take care of him, especially Stacey, but it would have been bad. Really bad.
Even when it’s not a serious injury like that, the street kids constantly have bite wounds on their body, from when the many savage dogs that hound them finally catch up. Others wear black and brown bruises from the beatings they receive when their shoplifting and thievery is discovered.
The street kids are a reminder that the dark underbelly of Barl can eat you up if you aren’t careful. Stacy, Tod, Tyler and Runner are the four kids that I take care of. They’re like my own children, even though I’m far too young to be their mother.
The street kids. My slaughtered family. Life certainly is grim here, but if you let it get you down then you'll give up, and giving up isn't an option.
I shudder, trying to push out the dark thoughts of Scorp Warriors from my head. I think of those murderous reptiles daily, but at least they haven’t attacked this close to the city in over a decade. Yet, even as I remember that, I feel a constant anxiety that these uneasy peace-times will soon be broken.
“Oi! Tammy! How’s that order coming along? Almost done the fucking thing?” It’s my boss, Edgar. His voice is gruff and curt. I shoot him a glance from across the grimy mechanic’s shop.
Edgar claims he once had a fancy downtown showroom for luxury cars, long before I was born. Now, though? He runs a chop-shop – selling used parts and rebuilt vehicles that we don’t ask too many questions about. It’s better to keep ignorant, given the shady characters who bring in cars, hoverbikes, and anything else they think we can chop and flip.
For example, right now: When Edgar asked about the order, he really meant: “How’s it going stripping any identifying materials and serial numbers from those parts, so we can flip the stolen goods
