Quenin Tran

Normally spring on Zhahura is beautiful, full of lush, green trees and flowering bushes. But not this year. Instead, the once green, healthy landscape is marred by war. The green fields are torn up, more bloody mud than grass, and littered with the wreckage of destroyed ships, weapons, and bodies. Broken branches and burned trees litter the edge of the forest. The buildings are mostly intact, but some have blast markings, holes, or corroded, twisted metal hanging from the ceiling or littering the streets. Engineers are clustered around various points of the Shield I designed, repairing it after the most recent attack.

I stand in the middle of the torn-up field, observing the wreckage. The mud is still wet and squishy with blood from yesterday's battle and the bodies of the Earth humans lay in mounds, waiting to be burned. I pick my way through the warzone, jumping over piles of still-smoking wreckage, looking for salvageable weapons or pieces of electronics. I completely ignore the intact Earth human guns. None of their technology will work with ours. They still use bullets in their guns, unlike our burning bolts of pure energy. So old-fashioned. I climb one of the piles that aren't smoking anymore and look behind me at the city.

It looks completely out of place, surrounded by charred forests and battle debris. The silver walls shine in the dawn sunlight. People start to emerge from some of the buildings. I remember what it was like when we didn't wake each morning, afraid of what might happen. Before everyone took to walking around armed, no matter what they happened to be doing that day. Before the people jumped at the slightest sound of an airship. Before their first inclination was to draw their gun when something seemed off.

I wrap my fingers around the handle of my own gun. I like the feeling I get when it is in my hand or close to my side. Powerful. I pull on my dirty black gloves that have the top half of the fingers cut off and sift through the sheets of metal and melted electronics. A breeze blows my unzipped black jacket out behind me and presses my shirt against my body. Like the rest of the people in my city, I am thin. Too thin. The Earth humans target our food, burning it or taking it, even though their soldiers look well-fed and healthy, and leaving us constantly hungry.

Footsteps crunch behind me and I whirl around. Kaedin strides between the heaps of twisted remains, bloody mud clinging to his boots.

"Hey," I say, hiding my bleeding fingers behind my back. The sharp metal had cut my fingers that weren't protected by the gloves. Unfortunately, they were the best I had.

"Hey," he replies. He has a few cuts and scrapes that are bandaged, but nothing serious. "Are you coming or not?"

I shrug. "I don't know. We need more parts. The attacks are destroying our materials faster than we can make more, even with the extra hands." I turn away from him and go back to shifting away the useless scraps.

"I don't think they'll object if their smartest inventor takes a break for a couple of hours. Besides, we need food. The people are starving, and so many are busy with either healing the injured or helping repair things."

I turn back around. "And?" I do my best to leash my annoyance. My temper has been shorter than usual. The stress and sleepless nights must be getting to me. I rub my bleeding fingers through my hair, tinting some of the short, cool blond strands light blue. I sigh. "Fine."

The corner of Kaedin's mouth quirks slightly. "Cool. You should put something on those fingers before we leave," he says.

I wave off his suggestion. "Yeah, whatever. I'll meet you by one of the hangers." he agrees, and I run back across the churned-up field to get my hunting gear.