Parched

Parched

By R.A. Iscalon

            Cola clenched her jaw, the reflection of her hard pale gaze staring back from the viewport. Polluted skies choked the city streets below, suffocating its denizens in an orange haze - a stark contrast to the vibrant greens and blues she remembered. Moiste’s oceans, once a canvas of such colors, was now a vast empty waste - a gray stain of corporate residue drenched in acid rain. Even the trees, once revered for their resilience against nature’s wrath, were but husks. Their skeletal remains stretched across the bleak horizon. But even they threatened to retreat into dust.

            Frustrated, Cola turned her back on the blighted planet, and strode to her throne. Her attendant, Sazerac, stood waiting there, his bleeding red eyes trained on his Strictess.

            “Are you alright, my Strictess?” Sazerac inquired, his white ceremonial robes rustling as he straightened his sore back.

            “No,” Cola nearly snapped. She sank into her cushioned throne, its Sintheni fibers a cold comfort. Her flowing red dress pooled around her on the steel floor. “Even after everything… Nothing lasts. Not even the water from that last planet… what was it called?” she asked.

            Sazerac hummed thoughtfully for a few moments. “Borm? I believe,” he said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “No…That was before,” his words trailed off as he reached for his zob, a sleek oval of iridescent glass, their people’s primary mode of communication. The soft clicks of digital files filled the vacant silence of the throne room until he murmured, “Ah yes, the world of Lais.”

            “Yes. That was it. Lais. We broke it,” she tightened her first. “Took everything. But Moiste still dies. Why?”

            Sazerac’s gaze flickered to the viewport. A storm gathered before their vessel. Its white lightning flashed across the sky, adding a rare splash of color to the ever-thickening smog hanging over Mello.

            “The resources from Lais might not have been compatible. Different densities, atmospheres, oxygen levels… Anything could have gone wrong really.”

“Clearly,” Cola said, her words sewn with doubt.

 “But, Strictess, rest assured! Our tanks are full, our citizens are fed, and, well, everyone who matters is quite comfortable,” he chuckled. “And the drinks! Of course! Such exquisite offerings. Truly ideal for everyone.”

            Cola rested a palm against her cheek. “Yes, well, what good is a planet that can’t even make a decent drink?” she sighed, her thoughts drifting back to the beverages her people were famous for. The citric Parfar, with its sharp, tangy aroma that made any Parched cry. The bubbly Foba, each tiny, gelatinous bubble bursting with enough delicate sweetness to stain anyone’s tongue green for days… Her tongue wetted at the memory  of those drinks - a taunting reminder of what was lost. In recent months, even the most mouth-watering of beverages brought her only fleeting moments of joy. Even her choice brew, the icy Zansa - a blend of spiced rootibar milk that once shivered her bones with each sip - now tasted flat, its spices mute. The mere thought made her permanent frown deepen. If she had come across Moiste now, would she break it? Would she care? The possibility made her skin crawl. To imagine her empire… gone. What would be left of their… no, her greatness? Lost to time, like the others she broke… But surely their flavors were uniquely bad. Yes, that was it. Moiste’s beverages may have been dulled to her. But they still had flavor. She faced Sazerac. “Remember those poor Gilgans last year? Couldn’t even produce a simple wine. Tasted like Arbear hair,” she gagged, remembering the pungent taste of body odor and rotten berries against her tongue. “A mercy to break them, I would say.”

            Sazerac tilted his head, and tapped his chin. “Ah yes. Not that the winner was much better… Pitterbol they called it. Tasted like sand. A clumsy attempt at a Parfar if you ask me.”

Cola’s throat tightened, and she chuckled, “At least it had flavor.” She crossed her arms, her thoughts shifting to the day’s schedule. “Hopefully today will be different,” she said, a tinge of boredom in her tone.

Sazerac glanced down at his zob. “We have two worlds prepared for you today, my Strictess. Though, only one of them is space faring. The other…” his eyes narrowed, and he scrolled down. “... Nomads.”

“Nomads?” she mused, scratching her tired eye. “Maybe not, then,” she stretched her back, fighting back a yawn. “Fine. Set a course.”

Sazerac nodded, and tapped his zob. A gentle ‘bloop’ rang for a moment, signalling the crew to begin operations. “To plundering worlds,” he said.

“And disappointing drinks…” Cola murmured, resting her neck against the soft cushion of her throne. The thoughts of inevitable disappointment made her eyes heavy, and she slowly drifted into a soft slumber. The slender pale walls and shining blue lights of her throne room evaporated, replaced by the dusty, paint-cracked gray walls of her old home.

 

-(0_0)-

 

            Two figures emerged from the shadows of her mind. One was a man adorned in a tan cloak. He was holding a pale child with wide cyan eyes, wrapped in a soft sky-blue blanket. The other was a woman dressed in a forest green rain coat. Her hands were wrapped greedily around the handle of a bloated traveling bag as she rushed towards the door.

“Dasan-” he caught his tongue. “Briar, please… After everything we’ve been through, how can you just walk away?” the man asked.

            The woman faced him, tears streaming down her sore lime eyes, “I won’t sit here while the Parched destroy this world. Destroy us! It’s not right!” she snapped. 

 The man’s jaw tightened, and he approached the woman, careful not to cause the child to cry.

He spoke in a raised whisper, “You would abandon Moiste, your daughter, and ME, just so you can travel the galaxy with a bunch of space hippies and their utopian nonsense? What is wrong with you?!” his voice raised to a near shout. Moments later, a small cry came from the bundle of rags in his arms.

The woman’s stomach sank looking down at her diamond of a child - a destined princess of the galaxy’s most powerful empire. “I am sorry, Cola,” she sniffled, wiping her nose. Her red-rimmed eyes turned harsh, aimed at the husband. “But I will be damned if I take another breath of your lies, your smog that chokes everything. Murderer,” she spat, her nose curled in disgust.

Adrenaline shot through the husband, and his black eyes widened, “Enough of this! Those freaks have poisoned your mind! Brainwashed you into joining this…” he fumbled over the words, “CULT!” The fluorescent lights of the home flickered, casting long shadows that made the scene look like a broken holovid - one of those artifacts from bygone eras. A cliche of the past.

The woman’s face hardened, and she placed a hand on the button on the wall behind her. The glass door leading into the steaming moonlight whined for a moment, then slowly slid open.

“Goodbye.”

“Wait!” he cried. His mind screamed to reach out, but his arms remained firmly under the bundle of warmth against his tight chest. Rain blew in from the storm outside, and the woman vanished, covered in the veil of the smoggy night.

 

-(0_0)-

 

            Flashing blue lights pounded against Cola’s eyelids, pushing those faded memories deeper into the annals of her conscience. She blinked, vision still hazy, and the blurry shapes of two sister planets swam into view, dancing amongst an ocean of stars, ignorant of what came next.

Sazerac, observing his Strictess’ stirring, bowed. “Apologies for the abrupt awakening, my Strictess. But we have arrived.”

Cola waved off her servant’s platitudes. “It’s fine,” she rubbed her leaking eyes and straightened her back. “Still, that was quick. Even for our vessels,” she added with a yawn.

“Indeed, Strictess. The distance was rather minimal. Merely a few light-years.”

“Have they responded?” she said, not giving a second thought as to what the creatures looked like. It didn’t matter to her in the end. Her thoughts had already gone to thinking about how long it would take to return to Moiste once they retrieved the resources they needed.

            “Yes. Though, they have been… less than receptive. The emperor of the oceanic world - Octus Bolandra - is calling us ‘pepid squiks’...” Sazerac tapped at his zob, bringing up a holographic display. “We’re trying to cross-reference it with every known dialect. We haven’t found anything so far. Though, the chief tourist suggests it might be an insult related to cephalopod anatomy. Or, a religious slur of some kind,” he said, holding back a chuckle at the thought of an angry squid person flailing its tentacles around in desperate anger.

Cola lifted her arm, and watched the digits on her chronometer tick up. “An hour, Sazerac. If they haven’t made themselves clear by then, begin,” she tapped her fingers against the armrest, a sharp rhythmic sound that echoed in the empty throne room. Cola let off a light sigh. There was always a struggle with breaking undeserving worlds. As it turned out, leaving the fate of billions in the hands of a beverage wasn’t appealing to everyone they came across - even if they deserved it.

“Strange indeed,” she thought, a flicker of unease pricking at the edge of her dormant conscience. It used to shock her. Night after night, she’d lie awake in her silken sheets, on her plush Zapadian cushions, haunted by phantom screams. Watching the celestial giants begin their final dance - a slow spiraling ballet of destruction, she wondered how many other worlds she had consigned to a similar doom. The amorphous number of dead worlds floated through her mind, twenty, twenty-five… she couldn’t quite recall. Their value was lost to her now, like the memories of those cursed, sleepless nights.

Even so, she knew it was never supposed to go this far. When the planet mining campaign began several years ago, a tidy extraction of one or two worlds seemed sufficient. But after losing hundreds of tanker ships - their hulls overburdened, or their crews dying from alien diseases - and after the cataclysmic failures of their re-terraforming efforts, it seemed that even an entire planet’s worth of resources wasn’t enough. It was as if Moiste itself was rejecting everything it was given, like a sick child spitting out the very medicine meant to save it.

            “Why can’t they just lay down and die for once?” Cola thought with a weary sigh, lifting her tired legs to approach the viewport, allowing her a better view of the two planets. One, as Sazerac had reported, was a swirling blue ocean world. The other, bringing an unexpected pain of nostalgia, bore vast verdant plains like Moiste used to have, albeit smaller.

            She dragged her lingering gaze from the eerie sister world and towards the mass of battleships aligned with her own. A sense of pride swelled in her, bringing her deep frown to a subtle smirk. More than anything, she prided herself in the military and technological might of her kind. The Parched had worked through blood, sweat, and tears over 10,000 grueling years to get to where they were now.

The sleek, pale vessels, with their gracefully elongated forms, mirrored the resilience of Shazta beasts - ancient serpents known to live for thousands of years through primal supremacy over their natural predators. Though, she suspected that fact may have been lost on most other Parched. Such creatures haven’t blessed Moiste’s barren oceans for hundreds of years. Not even their bones, except in the collections of the few who could afford them.

She spotted a pair of ships approaching the fleet, and the small smile that had crept up her cheek vanished.

            Sazerac’s zob came to life, emitting a soft emerald light. “My Strictess, they will be arriving soon.”

Cola took one last look at her artifacts of destruction, their cold, steel hulls and plasma torpedoes glistening like scales in the darkness surrounding them. With the forest world ever at her periphery, she returned to her throne. Though, as she sat, a strange feeling nagged at her chest. The pain was one she hadn’t felt in years. Decades even. Like a vacancy inside her had suddenly begun to fill.

“That was faster than expected,” she murmured, a hint of unease in her tone. “I take it the translators were successful?” she added.

Sazerac scrolled through his zob, and nodded. “Although their initial response was… problematic,” he tightened his throat at the translation of ‘pepid squiks,’ “the explorers were able to… persuade them to cooperate.”

Cola stole a glance at her chronometer, then scratched an itchy spot on her neck. “And in record time no less. Be sure to give the tourist my regards. Say… five hundred zodas.”

“A very generous reward, my Strictess,” Sazerac bowed.

“You flatter me, Sazerac,” Cola chuckled.

Subtle anxiousness rose in her chest, a prickling knot that flamed the warmth kindling there. Minutes stretched while she waited for her new competitors - each second on the chronometer ticking by like hours. Tapping her nails against her armrest, her mind wandered to other thoughts. What would she watch when she returned? Pepseco recently released a new film…  Then again, her neck was beginning to ache from sitting so long, and her back screamed for the cushions of her bed. Perhaps a nap?

Her thoughts were broken when she heard the metallic doors of her throne room slide open. “Finally,” she thought, tapping a button on her throne. Its internal gravitational engines whirred for a moment, before turning her to size up the newcomers.

            “Bow,” Sazerac commanded. The translator around his neck sputtered, emitting a series of whines followed by an emission of several holographic glyphs. After a few moments of uncomfortable guttural sounds that attacked Cola’s ears, the machine quieted into a soft hum, as it listened for any response from the locals.

            Two figures in imposing, sleek armor lingered behind the aliens, their featureless masks unreadable. With a sharp, deliberate movement, they prodded the ‘contestants’ with the tips of their energy spears.

Taking the hint, they bowed.

“Welcome to my humble Coqa,” she said, her voice raised and polite, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not many are given the privilege of setting foot within it," she paused. Her eyes narrowed slightly, betraying the formal look she plastered over herself to remain appealing. A tinge of frustration made her faux smile falter when the two did not speak. 

Taking a breath, Cola allowed her smile to rest. "I assume my escorts have already described the rules of this event?” she paused.

Once again, silence.

Cola examined the aliens, her glowing cyan eyes scanning them like floodlights. She could hardly blame them for their fear, given the circumstances. Her seven-foot frame towered over them, like a monument overlooking a colony of la’crants. That, and she had been told in the past by Sazerac that the room was… less than comforting. Apparently not all creatures were fond of vast, echoing spaces of subliminal white, filled with an artificial chill that left even the most resilient natives shivering.

            Cola’s attention fell to the cups in the aliens’ hands. A hesitant excitement snuck up her spine when she caught a glimmer of the liquids that settled within. Her gray tongue watered, just barely. “Well,” she cleared her throat, maintaining her composure. “Enough with the formalities. Who would like to go first?”

            A brief silence swallowed the empty room. The explorers were about to ‘encourage’ them to respond, before one of the aliens decided to step forward.

“... If I may,” the stranger-looking of the two replied nervously before providing a respectful bow. Its body was a tangled mass of writhing tentacles, crudely held together by plates of metallic armor. Its face was covered by a strange black sphere, possibly made of a thick glass, which she assumed was to ensure it didn’t suffocate. A glistening, viscous goo marked the creature’s path as it awkwardly shuffled forward.

Cola withheld her disgust at the sticky residue, and she tried not to imagine how much of her ship was now covered in it. “... You are from the ocean world, yes?” Cola asked.

“I am.”

 “And your name?”

“My name is Squeebo, a humble servant of emperor Squik Squab,” the squib man bowed as he held a chalice up to her. It was a breathtaking item - encrusted with roughly cut gemstones that pulsed with an inner light, swirling in mysterious hues that were completely alien to Cola.

With a slight tremor in his tone, hidden by the mechanical whirring of the translator around Sazerac’s neck, he spoke: “I hope our traditional drink is appealing to you. Its ingredients are stripped from the deepest parts of our oceans and brewed for 100 years before reaching absolute perfection. It was originally created by chef Octparius to commemorate our kingdom’s triumph over the deep.”

Cola glanced into the beverage for a moment. The liquid glowed an unnerving electric blue, and an army of crackling sparks emitted explosions over the surface, like tiny fireworks.

Surprisingly, it didn’t look bad. Dare she say, good.  

“It looks… delightful,” she gave a genuine smirk as she picked up the glass and took a sip. She was startled by the initial tingly jolt that spread across her tongue, acting as an electric bed for the fruity concoction sliding down her throat. Cola lowered the cup and closed her eyes. The overall flavor, while undeniably sweet… wasn’t exactly complex; hardly distinguishable from other fruity concoctions she’d had in the past. The electrifying aspect certainly gave it points though. “Thank you for your offering,” Cola provided a faint smile. 

            Squeebo bowed, a wave of disappointment and fear washing over his featureless form as he noticed the chalice, resting on the right arm of her throne, was barely half empty. 

            “Next,” Cola said as the squib returned to the line, sulking. Her attention had been so trained on the squib and his chalice, that she hadn’t noticed that the remaining alien bore a similar body shape to her own. Aside from her height, green skin tone, and noticeable aging, there weren’t many differences between them. Though, her head - with the exception of her wrinkled mouth - was partially concealed by a cloak, so it was difficult to say for certain.

            “Well, aren’t you a sight?” Cola mused, a playful note in her otherwise formal tone.

            The elder approached without a word, revealing a roughly carved wooden cup filled with…

            “Water?” Cola thought, her eyes narrowing.

            “Our people’s pride and joy,” the elder bowed, propping her drink with ancient hands.

            But her words were lost on Cola, who sat in silent disbelief. Even Sazerac’s usually impassive expression faltered, his mouth agape, dumbstruck at the possibility.

“Did the fool really bring… water?” Cola thought to herself as she picked up the wooden cup and stared into the clear liquid, half-expecting something to leap out at her. When that didn't happen, she raised the drink to her mouth and, with brief hesitation, sipped its contents. As the water danced across her tongue, brief disappointment changed to breathtaking joy as a symphony of flavors overwhelmed her senses. It was almost as if she could taste the glacial winds and blue skies of the elder’s home world themselves. For the first time… ever, she felt a genuine sense of woe overtake her as the cool mountain fluid waterfalled out of the cup and into her greedy maw. In mere moments there was no more.

“It tastes good, yes?” The elder spoke with a wise smile on her face.

Cola hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod, trying to hide her amazement. She’d never had a beverage so gloriously flavored before.

“What… is it?” she asked, her fabricated tone of authority crumbling against her genuine curiosity. 

“Water,” the elder continued her proud grin.

            Cola’s eyes fluttered, and she scoffed, “What?” It couldn’t have been simple water. Moiste had water, and its flavor was nothing compared to this. No, she had to have added something. Anger rose in her chest at the mere idea of such a thing. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” she added, her voice nearly a growl.

            “I promise you. It’s from one of our planet’s freshwater caves. I could take you there if you like,” she chuckled, clearly entertained by her confusion.

            “Do not lie to your Strictess!” Sazerac snapped at the elder, his bloody eyes boiling with rage at the elder’s heresy.

Cola raised a hand, and Sazerac bowed, “Apologies, Strictess.”

The Strictess leaned forward, eyes narrowed as she sized up the frail old creature. “No one would be stupid enough to bet their planet’s fate on the flavor of drinking water,” she scoffed. “We had our glaciers, lakes… seas,” her tone turned intense and somber. “None of their waters ever came close to this,” she raised the cup. “Now. Tell the truth. I will not ask again.”

            “Oh, dear. We Famished never lie.”

“Famished? Is that the name of your kind?”

“Why yes. We named ourselves after our devotion to nature,” the elder said, clearing her tired throat.

For a moment Cola wondered if the elder’s kind was simply an offshoot from her own. It was certainly possible. Not all Parched stayed on Moiste when it started dying. Many fled once the first spacecrafts were invented centuries ago. As the elder began to speak, however, the eerie resemblance of name and biology became less important to her. All she cared about was how to gain access to water that tasted so brilliant… yet. Something tugged at her, like an old memory or a feeling that had long since been suppressed. There was a familiarity to the flavor that lingered on her tongue and in her body - a calm that wasn’t entirely alien.

Cola stared down into the empty cup. Not even a puddle of the liquid remained, only the moist, damp wood that bedded it. She rubbed a thumb against the roughly carved instrument. She hadn’t thought about it until then, but it had been too long since she felt something natural. The soft, dry lumber against her cold fingertips sent a warmth through her veins that almost made her naked skin crawl.

The elder noticed Cola’s silence, and continued, “The world breathes with us, and we with it. This is where true flavor comes from.” A pause followed…

Cola scoffed internally. “Breathe? Water does not breathe. Stones do not bleed, and iron does not cry. They are resources. Nothing more.” ‘Quant’ was putting such ideas mildly, she thought. She tapped her foot impatiently, and stole a glance at her chronometer. “All this talk of nature,” she nearly gagged. “Why does your water have taste at all?”

“Listen, child," the elder said, a hint of pity and frustration in her ancient voice.

“How DARE-” Sazerac fumed. The explorers brandished their spears against the elder.

Cola’s eye twitched, but she remained composed. “Let her continue.”

Sazerac faced his Strictess with a dumbfounded look on his normally vacant face. “My Strictess, please. This is unacceptable. I can’t allow-”

Cola raised her hand, waving off her advisor’s concerns. “I will repeat myself, Sazerac.” She folded her hands. “Go on.”

“We are not so different, you and I,” The elder’s features softened slightly. “I know that look on your face because I have seen it before.” Her throat tightened. “That loss… We carried it with us for generations.” She smiled. “But… that cup you hold?”

The Strictess looked down at the crude item.

“It IS life.” 

Cola’s lip fell at the elder’s words, and her advisor’s eyes trembled with fury. She knew what he was probably thinking. “Traitors, scum, vermin!” were among a few of the possible phrases bouncing around in his loyal skull.

The elder’s smile faded. “We… knew that taste before. A world turning against you, its water… rancid, like yours.” She gestured to the cup. “This is from our home. A reminder of what can be, when you listen to the world.”. 

The Strictess wasn’t sure how to respond. The notion seemed ridiculous and she wanted to assume the elder was joking. But maybe… A tiny, unwelcome seed of doubt sprouted in the back of her mind. Was it possible they made a mistake? With something so fundamental? Could they really taste the world - its health? The notion seemed absurd. Like a child’s tale…

“What sophistry is this? My Strictess, this fool is clearly stalling. Be done her!” Sazerac pleaded, his tone crescendoing to reaches of anger she hadn’t been witness to for quite some time. Least, not since the last war.

Cola leaned back in her throne and closed her eyes. Her mind raced with thoughts. Was it true? Did her kind possess some latent ability even she didn’t know about? It would certainly explain things. Why her favorite drinks back home no longer excited her. Cola took a deep breath, stealing a glance from her chronometer once more. They had been there a couple hours now. Behind schedule. Not to mention, her back still ached… Cola scratched at the swelling spot on her neck. “It's a good story, I’ll admit,” she said, her voice absent of ridicule or anger, doubt or interest. “I don’t believe you, of course. Planets are not alive. And water is not blood,” she chuckled, her laugh unconvincing even to her own ears.

“You see, Famished,” she said, her words dripping with condescension. “Moiste did not die because of us. It is nature’s course to end. We rejected that fate, and now it is up to me to save Moiste. Not for its own sake, but for ours.” she nearly spat.

The elder sighed. “You have your technology. Your ships. Your soldiers. Your guns. Yet, you wonder why everything you steal is never enough,” the elder’s hood bounced up, revealing a flash of green from her deep, wise eyes. The sight made Cola’s heart twist, and her throat close up. Memories flashed before her eyes…

The elder met Cola’s absent, cold gaze with her own. Then, without a word, she turned her back on the Strictess, and returned to the guards, her old shoulders raised, as if a heavy burden had somehow been lifted off of her.

Cola sat there for a moment, blinking, wondering what just happened.

“Judge rightly, Strictess,” the elder finally said, taking in a deep breath as she realized these would probably be her last. “Judge knowing flavor will forever be lost on you. That is my final lesson to you.” The woman bowed.

“Take them away,” Sazerac commanded the two explorers. Without hesitation, the soldiers roughly escorted the two into the winding hallways of Cola’s Coga, leaving the room empty once more. Cola watched the elder’s back until the sliding doors cut her off completely. And yet, her green eyes were still imprinted on her, like a scar. She worried it may never heal.

            “A planet is to be used… It’s metals for war, its animals for food, its water for drinking…” she murmured, her voice nearly a whisper.

            “What a vile creature,” Sazerac seethed, then took a breath, clearing his throat from the rage that choked him. “Apologies for my interruptions, my Strictess. Personal… convictions aside…” He continued on, but his words were lost on her.

Cola dragged her gaze from the sliding door, to the gilded chalice on her right, then to the wooden cup on her left.

“... Shall we commence with the squips?” Sazerac offered, his voice hammering against her like church bells.

“No… Leave them,” she thought. The seed of curiosity blooming in her thoughts fought against her, but like Moiste’s boiling atmosphere, her mind choked any of its hopes of growth, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “Break the other. I want everything they have.”

Sazerac’s head tilted, “If I may… While I share your disdain for the woman… didn’t you find the Famished drink… superior?”

“Don’t question me, Sazerac.”

“Of course, my Strictess.”