Dark Blue Monstropolis

When Welsh told Argo and Mayster to wait in the van, they didn’t argue. It was not their place to step outside for this.

As Welsh and Threnody climbed out in front of the small one-story dwelling, Argo and Mayster looked at each other, sharing the unspoken exchange “This is a van?”
The only Airtrawlers they had seen prior to this one had been at the local junkyard. No one had the patience or the skill anywhere in the region to create skycraft that could tolerate the environs of the Bowl. The particles would get into just about any engine or hovereye and eventually clog it to the point where it would chew itself to pieces trying to compensate for the loss in thrust.

Airtrawlers were good for one thing–moving a few thousand pounds of goods from one place to another. Normally this was done through flight, but someone had taken the short, stunted wings of the ‘trawler off and mounted the entire cab and storage area onto a set of large tank treads. The end result from the outside was one of the ugliest land vehicles either of them had ever seen and was a cobble only a few steps above shit, but out by the Bowl, utility was key. And it easily carried them and all of their gear out towards the city limits where Jeni’s parents were waiting.

Whoever put this vehicle together had also done a decent job of sealing the cab itself. One could always tell how well your seals were working when you tipped your vehicle one direction or another while on a hill…the sand would run together and slide to one end of the vehicle, following the pull of gravity.

Here, in this Airtrawler-van, only a few bits of grit skittered around the inside as they moved. Mayster nodded his approval.

The man and woman, Jeni’s parents apparently, had been waiting outside of their home as the “van” pulled up. The man was old, though how old they could not have said–his face showed heavy weathering from the Bowl’s constant storms. He was wearing a disheveled military uniform that looked as though they had tried to unwrinkle it as best they could.

The woman, much younger than her husband, perhaps early thirties–had laid her head against the crook of his remaining arm. Her face was a twisted mask of misery and the dust on her face had been cut through by her tears.

The man’s right arm was missing from the shoulder down. His uniform’s unnecessary sleeve had been folded up to the shoulder and attached there, the neatest fold anywhere on his person.

Welsh walked up and put one hand on the woman’s shoulder and the other against the man’s side–a gesture of comfort. Neither of them inside the van could hear what words were spoken, and that was a blessing, they thought.

Threnody approached bearing the box that contained Jeni’s remains. They had found the box for her, the general consensus being that a bag was not the best way to return the poor girl to her home.

Threnody had asked for a piece of twine, which they had managed to find amongst all of Mayster’s stored shite. She had run it from one side of the box to the other, creating a makeshift handle.

Her foresight was commendable, for as the woman looked up to see the box coming closer, she broke free of her husband and ran into the house, her hands covering her face.

The man watched her go and then turned back to Threnody, bowed his head a little–perhaps saying thank you–and then he grabbed the box by the twine handle, holding it a bit by his side.

He looked down at his burden and even from here, Argo could see his face change. He shifted it a bit at the end of his good arm and Argo said aloud what he was thinking, “He’s…thinking how light the box is.”

Mayster ran a hand back over what little hair he allowed himself. “Okay, I’ve seen enough. I’m going to…” he looked back into the storage area of the van “…do anything else. Let me know when they’re headed back here.”

Welsh could obviously tell it was time to go and let the two bury their daughter. A hand went to Threnody’s shoulder. She stepped forward, said something else to the grieving man, and then gripped his lessened shoulder in support. Then she started back to the vehicle.

“It’s breaking up,” Argo called back.

Mayster did not answer. Argo knew that Mayster had buried a child himself, but never spoke of it.

Welsh patted the man on his arm and then turned to go.

Threnody took the passenger seat up front. Welsh got into the driver’s space. Both of their floorboard suction units removed the sand and grit from their boots as best they could.

Mayster came forward into the cab, rubbing at his eyes. They were red, but he said nothing.

Welsh started the van up and moved forward past the house, waiting until they were good and clear before picking up speed.

Argo watched in one of the mirrors. The man stood out front for a while, holding the box containing his daughter. Then he walked inside his house with the movements of a man who has nothing else he can possibly do.