A Call to Arms

[Katelyn Ross]

Iris Swanning, Earth. Continued from: Fluorescence.

Before anything else, Iris Swanning needed time to think. She couldn’t fully comprehend what had taken place inside that office, and she hadn’t had a moment’s rest since leaving the place. For whatever reason, she felt compelled to run. She didn’t know where she would go, but that was her purpose, that was the path that she now found herself on. She sprinted down the sidewalk of West City, weaving between passersby and not even thinking to stop and explain her hurry. Once or twice, her solo grand prix aroused anger from those she shared the sidewalk with, but she ignored them — they didn’t matter.

The girl’s mind preoccupied itself with other thoughts, probably as meaningless as the people who cocked their heads in confusion as she ran past. What, she wondered, would Stephanie say? Would she even believe her? It wasn’t the most plausible story in the world: the fact that she had ripped a light fixture from the ceiling and slammed it onto her desk, just through her will. Iris might’ve had a hard time believing it herself if she hadn’t actually been there.

She continued to run; she ran, and ran, and ran, until at last, she had lost track of where her body stood. She slowed to a stop, surveying her surroundings, and took a deep breath. Unlike the streets of the city — which were abnormally empty — this tiny block was crowded with people, all looking up at a television screen. Something on it was attracting their attention, so Iris made for a closer vantage point. She nudged a few people aside, and finally found a spot where she could see the screen clearly, and hear what was being said.

“Our worlds are in grave danger from an unknown assailant. These enemies are powerful and ambitious; they will not stop there. To all who can fight, now is the time. Answer the dire call and register with your local Militia representative. They will not be hard to find.”

A shuffling to her left caught her attention, and her eyes flew from the giant television screen that blared overhead to a small pebble that rolled across the ground. She looked up, and saw a suited man pushing through the people, heading straight for her. Without a second thought, she bolted away from the crowd, pushing people away violently. Shouts of offended pedestrians filled her ears as she zoomed away from the crowded city block.

After running for a couple of very long minutes, she dared to shoot a glance back over her shoulder; no one was there. There was no assailant, no pursuer, like she’d expected, so she ceased her sprint, and leaned against the building next to her. As she gathered her strength, she looked down at the pavement, at a tiny pebble, not much different from the one that had incited fear in her not four minutes ago. Her breathing grew heavy, and she closed her eyes nervously, slowly raising her hand from her side. She opened her palm, and began to think one thought: rise.

She opened her eyes, and there it was, in mid-air; the pebble, just sitting there, as if there was something holding it up. She staggered back, pulling her hand close to her chest and pressing her spine to the building’s cragged surface. She gazed back in the direction from whence she’d come, a new fear surging through her. Nothing had followed her — not yet, anyway.

Across the street, a myriad of all different types of people gathered at the doors to a public gym. There were aliens, and humans; people wearing suits, and people wearing overalls; young people, and old people. Iris took a step off the curb, and a hover car skidded to a stop; the driver yelled obscenities at her, but she pressed forward, leaving him in her dust.

She couldn’t face Stephanie, or Jim Bombadil, the man who, out of a fear for her abilities which she now shared, had offered her a job. Hell, she could barely face herself — so this, signing up for the militia and being shipped off to a faraway world, seemed like the only option. A disappearance, at least for a while, was necessary; and what better way to disappear? She ignored the risks, and rather blissfully; the thought of death never crossed her mind. She would join out of necessity. Not because she wanted to help, but because she had to. This was a decision for herself; it wasn’t anybody else’s to claim. Not many of her decisions could brag of that.

There was, she considered, another reason that joining might’ve seemed prudent in her washed-up, vulnerable state. She could do something here — granted, she wasn’t quite sure what, but she had some sort of ability that could be utilized, and so she supposed the thought entering her head was, ‘why the hell not?’

Why the hell not, indeed. That was what a lot of the different people standing in line to sign up for the militia were thinking, Iris assumed. She had, minutes beforehand, shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, not wanting her to lose control of her abilities again, like she had in Bombadil’s office. She’d have plenty of time to muse about her abilities and try and get used to them on the ship to whatever planet she was going to, and right now, it looked like that would be Mercy-sei.

“Everything looks to be in order, Ms. Swanning,” the tiny man sitting at the recruiter’s desk nodded, “Welcome to the militia. You’ll get your assignment when you get to Mercy. Until then, enjoy the ride.”

He stamped her paperwork, finalizing the transaction, and handed it back to her. She walked past the desk, and out into the exterior areas of the gym — the outside basketball court was the only area with a currently boarding shuttle. She forced herself up the steps, and slid into a seat near the back. In one hand, she held the paperwork that signed her life — or at least this short part of it — away, and with the other, she began to twirl her long, brown hair, her nerves tickling the back of her next with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

She leaned her head back, her eyes scanning the seats in front of her; had the suited man followed her? She couldn’t take any chances.

As she sat here, though, she turned over the thought in her head, and wondered absentmindedly if he had ever posed a threat at all — had he really been coming for her, as she suspected, or was the fear his approach ignited in her born of an eerie, chilling paranoia that had been sitting prettily in the back of her mind since she’d left the jewelry office?

Without warning, sleep began to nibble at her senses; thoughts overloaded her mind, and her ability to stay awake suffered because of it. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her vision strayed in and out of focus. After a few minutes of pointless struggle, everything went black.