Epics of Noche 1, Anchor

EON CH 60

JACK'S YOUNG ADULT YEARS.

1771.

Jack stood at a desk before chemicals, beakers, and glass instruments. He scribbled notes as his co-workers experimented. A bell rang loudly.

"Days over everyone!" The boss shouted, "Back to your cells!"

Amidst the crowd of scientists Jack, now a young adult, left the facility. He closed his eyes and let the flood of people guide him, the murmuring died down. He pondered how sharp the green spikes really were, how crinkled un-harvested wood could be, and how bright the sun really was. His imagination struggled to paint what the surface probably looked like.

The noise and shoving died down, Jack opened his eyes, and soon found himself standing before his door. He stood there for a long while; coughing came beyond other side. Hiding his frown Jack opened the door.

"Mom! I'm home!"

"... Jack? Where have you been?" His mother weakly said. "I haven't seen you for a few days."

"Sorry mom," he said. "I've been working lots of overtime."

Jack walked into her room.

"I'm glad to see you," she said.

"Me too... I'm glad to see you too," Jack smiled. "I... I think we can afford the surgery."

Days later Jack sat in a room with a doctor. The underground hospital stank of antiseptic, the exits guarded by DeathTech soldiers. Jack swallowed at the sight of those terrifying behemoths.

"Jack?"

He turned to the doctor.

"Did you hear me?"

"N-No."

"Your mom doesn't have long to live," the doctor said. "Even with the surgery... She has a few months at best."

"What!" Jack shot to his feet, "But I saved up so much because the surgery would save her."

"I'm sorry. Its at a stage where we can only buy time," the doctor said. "Once the surgery is done, I recommend you spend as much time as you can with her."

Hours later Jack paced the hospital corridors with grit teeth.

"I don't have enough time," he muttered. "I have to show mom the sun... But how!"

A DeathTech soldier walked past him and Jack froze. The gleam of those yellow visors caused Jack's eyes to widen.

"That's it," Jack whispered.

He ran back home, went to his room, and cleared off his work-desk. Rummaging through the house he gathered the ingredients he needed. The first attempt was botched, plastic was either too soft and malleable or too hard and brittle. The second attempt wasn't much better. Neither was the thirteenth. By the time three A.M. hit Jack passed out.

The next morning the process repeated. Jack went to work, visited his mom in the hospital, and worked on getting the plastic right. Weeks passed and his mom's coughing was fixed, but she was by no means better. Jack had to get the plastic right, he only had so much time. His shaking hands held the beaker, he poured the steaming liquid into the mold, and waited.

It worked, the durability was correct. The plastic was hard enough to work and soft enough to be flexible. This time he would add the dye. Steam covered his face as he added the color. The final product was too dim, gray. Somehow it lost its vibrancy. Jack scoured the house for more supplies; he even had to steal from work. On following attempts Jack added red, but even that didn't make the color POP.