The Storm

Posted on 23 May 2025 @ 7:55pm by Lieutenant Commander Temerant Bast

810 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: The Festival of Unity
Location: Elysia
Timeline: After the Beach Party

It starts in the middle of the night.

The last partygoers have retired to their cabins - some by themselves, but a few couples have formed, and some have retired in pairs. Only a handful of staff remain, clearing up the food stands and cleaning up the site, prepping it for the next day's activities. A celebration of Elysia's artisanal history. Their task is to set up a few dozen stalls, where artisans can show off their craftsmanship. And food stations of course, and a music kiosk.

Usually the workers would have to shoo away the malykans - small creatures, similar to Earth's macaques, but covered in bright and colorful feathers. They would usually be present by the hundreds, trying to scrap whatever bits of food left behind.

But not tonight.

The workers think the animals, which are typically considered a nuisance if not an outright pest, have been scared away by the crowds and the loud music. Which is just as well, since it gives the workers more time to clean up the mess.

But little do the workers know that the malykans have taken shelter, deep in the jungle. They sense that something is approaching. Subtle shifts in air pressure. That strange gust of wind coming from an odd angle. All pointing to impending disaster, at least on a malykan's scale. So the small feathered simians hide.

A worker bends down to pick up a cardboard plate that one of the dancers dropped. The plate has been trampled, the food stomped into the ground. The workers buries the food in the sand, where it will decompose or be eaten by bugs or soft-shelled crabs that are native to this area.

A gust of wind blows through, stirring his Lekki, long and flat like what humans would call rabbit ears hanging from the back of his head, vestiges of a sensory organ from when the inhabitants of Calisto IV evolved from their marine ancestors. Most now wrap them in colorful silk ribbons, but tonight the worker's are bare.

The man snaps upright, sand flying into his eyes. He tries to blink it away as his mind finally registers the increase in the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. The sea is angry. The waves are high, almost as tall as an Elysian.

The wind picks up again, and the light, already dim at this time of night, dims even further. He looks up at the twin moons, only to see them disappear behind heavy clouds. The stars themselves disappear one by one. Even the Starbase, which from this distance appears as a very bright star, hides from view.

Most unusual for this time of the year, thinks the worker. There is a weather modification network in place so that such things do not happen. At least from what little he knows about such things, which are much too technical for him. He is a simple fisherman and a manual worker, not one of those fancy Federation people.

But the worker does not have time to worry about such things. There is work to be done, and very little time. They have to finish cleaning up the mess from last night's beach party, while another group of workers has already begun setting up the stalls for the artisans, who should come in about five hours to begin displaying their wares. Tables are being set up, and banners bearing the name of each artican over the tables, and the emblems of the Elysian people. The man goes back to work, filling his bags with waste.

Soon the wind picks up again. The heavy clouds are lit from within by lightning, and the rumble of thunder shakes him to his bones. Rain begins to fall. A light drizzle at first. Heavy drops now. He can hear them striking the ground, and hitting the leaves in the jungle. Rivulets begin to stream through the sand, back down toward the sea.

The sound of the wind grows stronger and louder, almost shrieking now. The tables are knocked over, some dragged forward by the wind, leaving tracks in the sand that are soon brushed away. Another table moves across the beach, but this one leaves no tracks - the wind has lifted it from the ground.

The colorful banners are being ripped to shreds. The tall trees begin to bend, their large, rubbery leaves being torn away. One hits the worker on the head, knocking him to the ground. The others are shouting at each other in panic, seeking shelter. The worker looks around. There is almost nothing left of the installation they were putting together for the Festival.

The Ancient Gods of Elysia are angry.

A branch is torn from the trees and flies off, striking him in the head, cracking his skull. He will be dead before he hits the ground.

 

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