Prisons of Ice and Fire

Prisons of Ice and Fire

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WpMetadataReadComplete Tue, Sep 16, 20141h 6m
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Fiction
Science Fiction
A CliFi short story. Imagine a place where there is a searing thousand mile desert that runs to a sea... ...a sea that one hundred miles off shore is so cold you die within a minute if you fall in. Five hundred miles to the south of the sea is a frozen landscape in perpetual winter... ... a place that is always snowed on and that frequently calves monster icebergs. Hardly anywhere on land is safe; little life survives. The last refuge of mankind are the Stilt Cities, floating in the middle of the ocean. To the north are the Desert Domes: the last farms, protecting plants from the intense heat and sand. To the south the Ice Quarries: the last supply of fresh, cooling water. A current system moves strongly along the divide of heat and cold, but rarely over it. You, however, move across it like a metronome... tick... tick... tick... ...and as the prison ship Destiny plies the waves, a secretive cult have a strange request of the Captain.
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Code: 213

TEASER: I sit comfortably in my makeshift shelter, planning my next voyage to the surface. Faint footsteps above ground snap me out of my thought. I silently reached to my loaded gun, an SKO Shorty, and carefully pulled back the hammer. I silently crept up the unstable metal stairs, aiming my gun at the door at the top. The heavy metal door creaked. Something was behind it. The door pushes open to reveal a man. A human. He slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crinkled yellow paper. I grab the note, while lowering my gun. I look up only to find the man gone. I unfold the paper. It's hard to make out the words in red ink with the dim lighting of the sewer tunnel. Eventually, I'm able to decipher, "34.0522' N, 118.2437' W". Coordinates. At the bottom of the note, scribbled out in black in, there's one phrase. "Code: 213" *Please note this story includes graphic depictions of blood and violence. This story may not be suitable for all audiences.

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