Starblade - WIP

Prologue
We were doomed from the start when the New Confederacy formed in the year 2024.
  
The original Confederate States of America was formed under a vision shrouded in hatred and bigotry, that people of African descent in the south deserved to be enslaved and not have the same civil rights as whites. The New Confederacy was founded in similar fashion, except their belief had spread to all minorities, believing they were not worthy to live.
  
A man called Peter Mazkoff set off to slaughter many minorities living in the U.S, a bloody tragedy reminiscent of the Holocaust. The U.S. government disagreed with his views and started the Second Civil War in response.
  
During the war, a new weapon known as pyrobombs were used by both sides. These weapons used a unique, man made chemical to flare tremendously upon impact, spanning a radius of five miles. Six years into the war, many people had contracted a completely unknown disease that turned them carnivorous and completely irrational, dubbed “pyroitis” due to the belief that the chemicals inside the pyrobombs caused the disease.
  
The war ended suddenly, with the New Confederacy controlling half the U.S. and part of Canada due to the common enemy appearing across the globe. Unable to fully contain the outbreak, both sides managed to control the infection and infected in areas called Death Zones. A private health organization, named Thomas Health Incorporated, was formed to help treat- and possibly cure- pyroitis and many other diseases. Its eponymous founder, Pierre Thomas, turned the organization into the American Republic, uniting seven countries that formed after the war and disease scattered them in the Western part of North America. The North American Union united nine other countries in the east.
  
A hundred-and-fifty-foot-high stone barrier, known locally as the “Wall”, was placed between the two unions, effectively keeping the peace between the two. No one was quite sure when the first Starblade was built or shot up into the atmosphere, or who had launched it when it was discovered sixty years later. 
Truly, no secret can be kept forever.
Chapter One
  
That lesson didn’t get me very far in life. Or it would have if I’d become a historian. But no, remembering sitting in the classroom learning about some jackass who lived sixty years ago wasn’t helping me load the crates onto the freighter.
  
It isn’t good money, compared to working in the shops in the Plaza or working in the government complex that contained the Seat. It ain’t easy either, to lift huge pounds of cargo or tend to the freighter. But it’s enough to get me a roof over my head, food, clothes, and a few simple electronics for daily use. And my EyeScreen, a mixture of a portable computer and telephone fitted next to my right eye, of course. 
  
“It could be worse,” I mutter to myself, hauling crates into the cargo bay of our freighter, the Mighty Hawk. “I could be living in the slums.”
  
“Or living in the Death Zones,” my coworker and best friend Ace said, struggling with a crate.
  
I chuckled. “True, I don’t have the instinct to gnaw your face off like one of those freaks.”
  
“Not yet, anyway..” Ace says with a broad grin on his face. “If I were to tell you that you fucked up somehow just for a laugh, I’ll need plastic surgery.”
  
I smile back at him, setting down my crate on the floor of the cargo bay. “Best not to do it, then.”
  
He laughs. “Alright then, think we got a few more, Eric. Shouldn’t be too heavy.”
         
"Nothing's heavy to you," I complain. Ace is built like a brick shithouse, tall and stocky. Perfect build for lifting cargo. I'm a little thinner than that and not very strong at all. Ace's spikey platinum blonde hair drips with sweat as my tousled dark brown hair makes my head feel heavy in the unbearable summer sun.
  
As I snatch another crate into my hands, I catch a view of the American Republic Seat, where Pierre Thomas, country representatives, and other politicians bitch about Starblades and Rotlich, the country that seceded from the American Republic. Once known as Utah, it was on bad terms with the American Republic since the first Starblade popped up. It had only left last year, and the government still wasn't over it.
“Wasn’t Pierre Thomas supposed to extend the truce or whatever between the N.A.U.?” I ask Ace, loading the crate.
  
“Think so. They’re meeting in the Crossing Zone,” Ace says.
  
“Amadeus Zane oughta be glad Thomas can’t bring a gun into the Crossing Zone.” I load the last crate onto the Mighty Hawk, pressing the SEAL button as I hop out of the cargo bay. 
Amadeus Zane is the leader of the N.A.U., and is disliked among many west of the Wall, including Pierre Thomas. Many folks suspect Zane and his union are what remained of the infamous New Confederacy, and the creator of the Starblades, mysterious space stations that hover over both sides of the Wall. “He’d kill him in a split second.”
  
“If Harvey Bates don’t kill Zane first.” Harvey Bates is the head general of the American Republic Army. Wisecracking but tough, it’s no wonder he was elected the spot. 
Ace and I spot the Starblade that hangs over Fort Collins, a black line shot across the clear blue sky. 
“And if they don’t decide that today is the day to say fuck the truce over the Starblades. The debates over which one did it is driving me insane.” 
Ace turns his attention to the cockpit. “Start it up, Alex. We’re all through here.”
A young African American man sticks his head out of the cockpit window. "You two best get on board, we have to take this one all the way down south into Albuquerque!" 
I groan. I hate Albuquerque, which was once called New Mexico. It's bland and boring, probably because we take a run down there about once every other week. "Why can't we just have a short one and stay in Colorado?" I grumble, headed towards the main entrance to the freighter. 
"If it hadn't left the Republic, Rotlich would be doing it," Alex says once we're inside. The other three crew members are already aboard; Amber, the mechanic, with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a pretty face with a small mole on her left cheek who has a kind and generous personality; Jared, the guy who tends to the ship's computing, with long, messy brownish hair and glasses with an EyeScreen specially fitted inside with a jokey demeanor; and Emmet, the copilot with stylish black hair and a laid back, quiet attitude. 
"Well, fuck Rotlich," Ace says, sitting down next to Amber. "I've done this run too many times for it to be exciting at all."
Category:Rebellion