Ghost Hunted

The weight of the cans of battery packs kept my arms full and myself encumbered. Luckily, the ferrying of ammunition from here to there was not my burden alone, for I had Mik helping me. He always seemed to help me with whatever tasked I assigned myself, even if I did not ask for his assistance. However, I do confess that his aid rendered would considerably shorten my time attending to this effort.
“You see, Kai? We’ll be finished before the hour’s done,” said Mik.
“Indeed,” I replied succinctly, devoting almost all of my strength and concentration at my labor. As I set down another can of batteries, I looked in the short distance. Here I observed a small group of Minors gathered around one seated on a Ghost. There was a slight commotion, a loud conversation, but the words I could not discern. I continued my task at hand, shrugging off the Minor spectacle.
“I miss the ‘Elamee brothers,” pondered Mik openly.
As I walked in front of him, I briefly turned my head as a visual cue to him that I acknowledged his comment. “Oh?” I uttered.
“Yeah, they were funny, very humorous. Made me laugh quite a bit. Remember when they recited the lines from that film word-for-word? Gah, what was the name of that?”
“The Eighth Keep.”
“Ah yeah, that’s right!”
Mik then started to recite a particular scene. “You know, you look for the person who benefits the most and uh… uh… you know…”
“I am the doarmir?” I replied. We shared a chuckle.
“Ahh, I wonder where they are now,” wondered Mik.
“As I recall, they were being transferred to a new fleet heading to Harvest,” I replied.
“Infinite life, infinite light, infinite wisdom to them.”
“I second that.”
We were carrying crates of Plasma Pistols now, and as I walked over muddy, wet ground, a distinct splotching noise beneath my boots, I turned my head to the left as I heard the engine of a Ghost rev up. Then, the vehicle came speeding towards me, the driver boosting forward in an apparent ramming attack.
“Gods!” I yelled out as I dropped the crate I carried. I rolled out of the way, getting my cuirass muddied up. The sound of crates smashing and a Ghost crashing into a rock was thrown across the encampment. I almost instantly recovered, and when I recomposed myself, wiping the mud off of my face, I observed the accident I was almost a victim of: the Ghost was not severely damaged, but some of the outer plating had been crushed and fell from the vehicle, and the driver’s personal shields apparently took slight damage.
“Shit!” cried out Mik. He rushed to me. “Are you alright, Kai?”
I thoroughly ignored Mik as I stomped towards the driver of the Ghost: one of my own Minors, Iskral ‘Thomaree. “What in the name of the gods happened here?!” I bellowed, entirely eschewing my usually cool, calm, collected, and reserved demeanor.
“Sir! I-I-I apologize, I was attempting to pilot the Ghost and-“
“Some attempt!” yelled Mik, who approached from behind me to stand by my side. “You nearly killed Kai, almost clipped me!”
“It was only my second time piloting a Ghost, I was hoping to learn the controls to be a better driver and-“
“Do so in a training simulator, Minor! Not in a real-life situation with other warriors around! Otherwise, you could run them over!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fuck… I’ll clean the mess up…” uttered Mik. He went off and started gathering up the smashed crates and its contents. The Plasma Pistols seemed undamaged from the glance I shot towards Mik and his grumblings, but I could not be certain from this distance.
“Should you make a fault like this again, I will have your head, do you understand?”
Iskral was silent for some time. He nodded.
“I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR AN ANSWER!” I suddenly screamed.
“Yes, sir!” Iskral answered with a shout of his own. He straightened up and stared blankly straight ahead.
“Good,” I said in the tone I usually converse with. “Now, gather up all of the Plasma Pistols on the ground, clean up your mess that you made.” I looked to Mik. “Mik! You may stop now, Iskral will take over from here.”
“Really?” said Mik. “Very well.”
“Get to it, ‘Thomaree,” I commanded.
“Yes, sir,” said Iskral. He moved to set out on his task. As Mik got up off of his knees, he glared at the Minor. Mik then unceremoniously and abruptly kicked over the crate he had finished rearranging, spilling out its contents onto the muddy ground.
“Oops,” said Mik.
As I went away from the scene to clean the muck and grime off my armor, Mik strode by my side.
“Are you alright?” he asked once again.
“I will live. Gods, dying at the hands of an ally, from an accident? Certainly not the way I would want to go.”
“I hear you, brother. You know, I almost never see you explode like what just happened.”
“Simply a result of what would happen if I am pushed over the edge.” I let out a long, exasperated sigh, the adrenaline that was rushing through my veins fading, leaving me fatigued.
“Almost turning into roadkill sets you off? Not getting shot at by the enemy?”
“The enemy I can shoot down with no compunction. When I am run over by a subordinate, it is something different.”
Mik nodded silently. He did such things if he did not truly understand something, but wanted to convey the appearance that he in fact did.
Dying because of a mistake of another? Someone from your own side? What a terrible waste.
Category:The Weekly