Cambria Chapter 2: Questions

Beams of sunlight pierced the blinded windows of Poindexter’s apartment as best they could, the golden morning light filtering through them in a multitude of separate rays, dust swimming lazily around within each one.

Poindexter sat upon the side of his single-sized bed, eyes focused on the warm patterns spread across the brown-carpeted floor. Doubts swum around his mind, demons carrying pitchforks of inferiority and failure that fought against him without pause. He’d lost track of the time he had been sitting there in spite of the small LED clock atop his nightstand blinking a steady 6:23 in all red. He remembered falling asleep just three hours prior, eyes instead rooted to the acoustic finish of the ceiling. Now they burned, begging Poindexter to close them and slip away into nothingness.

The lab had yielded no results. Nothing he tried was working. The entire world was falling apart and neither he nor the best minds living within it could stop that. Maybe today he wouldn’t show up to work. Maybe he would just lie back down and finally get some sleep. Maybe he would simply enjoy his last year or so on the planet in peace. He jolted back to reality as a steady ring began to escape the black dial telephone affixed to the wall in front of him, however, its tone lording over the distant barking from hounds and the soundscape of the city.

Poindexter’s eyes shifted upwards, his mind beginning the debate as to whether or not to bother answering at all. In the end he figured it couldn’t hurt, pulling both his body and soul out of bed with herculean effort and letting his feet press against the soft, frizzy texture of the carpeting as he walked over to the scratched up telephone and removed the mouthpiece from its metal holder.
“You’ve reached the Armichael residence, this is Poindexter speaking.”
“Dude, you’ve gotta get down to the lab right now,” Poindexter immediately recognized the mid-twenties, perpetually over enthusiastic voice as belonging to his friend Carver. “You know that rift that appeared near Del Orno?”
“Yes, what about it?”
“We just picked up a distress signal coming from inside it. That protocol you put into the DN units freaking worked! Like, Beckett’s even been contacted about this. Commander Beckett.”
“I appreciate your attempt at improving my mood, Carver, but now is not the time for jests.” Poindexter let his tone drop.
Carver spoke next in a half laugh. “You think I’m joking about this? Dude, just get to the lab now. Beckett’s going to be here at one.” Carver hung up.

Taken aback by the brief conversation, Poindexter returned the mouthpiece to its home and gave a heavy sigh, half heartedly making his way towards the little closet across from the end of his bed and pulling the golden knob. Five pre-determined outfits greeted him, each one hanging from its own separate portion of the closet. There was a sterile white lab coat, grey undershirt and slacks, another sterile white lab coat grey undershirt and slacks, yet another sterile white lab coat grey undershirt and slacks as well as a suit and tie and a T-shirt and jeans for casualwear. Beneath each combination lay five sets of shoes, four of which were black dress shoes whilst the fifth was a pair of red and white sneakers.

Poindexter decided upon doing something original today, this time boldly choosing the third lab coat and slacks combination down and the first pair of black dress shoes. He took his time getting dressed, making sure everything at least fit comfortably so that it would be more bearable if this was indeed a ruse created by his ‘friend’. The clock read ‘6:34’ by the time Poindexter considered himself ready to go. Work usually started at seven, but today was probably some kind of holiday if Carver was to be believed so it hopefully wouldn’t matter if Poindexter arrived a little late.

His daily commute would take him through the rustic city streets of Ravage, the capital of Nation 8. Ravage was a fishing town by all definitions, pressing up against the usually tame waves of the great Eastern Ocean with its giant piers and boardwalks protruding hundreds of feet into its frigid waters in some places, lined with the uneven figures of fishing trawls and warships alike, minus those swimming the bay area in search of their next catch… Or perhaps- prey. Snow still clung to the asphalt and concrete pavements now, in considerably smaller amounts than existed last winter but there all the same. Saltwater ran through your veins if you were born here, that was just how it went. One way or another, maybe through your father or a simple friend teaching you, you were going to learn how to operate a ship and fish if you were born in Ravage. Poindexter was no exception to this, having navigated Crawdad bay with just his brother to teach him and a sailboat. He remembered back to that day as he looked over the endless expanse of blue at the foot of his apartment complex, past the tin roofs of the family bakeries and similar businesses, the rocky shoreline, and the smoothly paved street before him.

The clouds weren’t as dense as they usually were today, still managing to line the sky with silky white cotton but not cotton procured from a black sheep, or a grey one for that matter. Poindexter could see the circular outline of the sun poking through one of the puffs, still agitating to view yet visible nonetheless. Its rays ran across the ocean, creating hundreds of miniature sparks that remained in the same place for naught more than a couple seconds. Typically it was overcast in this town. Poindexter thought this sudden weather may be a good omen.

As he walked along the sidewalk the ever present stench of dried fish assailed his nostrils. It was a scent affixed to the air that was as natural as a nail to a coffin here, the indoors your only refuge. As pungent as it was, however, those born in the city always grew used to it. Poindexter could distinguish the scent of a pike from that of a simple bass at this point in his life. Nearly everyone here could. This smell was stronger than usual though, originating from within the Charles and Co. seafood building about a block down from Poindexter’s apartment. The wooden sign hanging over the fully open interior had long since faded, but it still managed to display the same old image of a trout with ‘Charles and Co.’ engraved above it in simple italics. A couple people were perusing the selection of different fish sitting within iceboxes atop the strips of tables whilst Charles himself sat in the back behind a counter, tending to the register.

Normally, Poindexter would have simply passed the place by had he not heard Charles’ booming voice call out to him from within, “Ah, if it isn’t the town hero,” He said in a sarcastic tone, a little smile stretched across his wrinkled face, a face that had been moulded by dozens of voyages, “Heading off to work again?”
Poindexter hesitantly turned to face him, saying, “Where else would I be going with this bloody labcoat?”
Charles removed himself from his post and began weaving his way through the store on his way to Poindexter, “True, true. You know, news spread quickly about your success on the disappearance case- very quickly.”
“Here I was thinking that whole project was classified.” Poindexter shook his head.
Charles grunted amusedly, halting his muscle-bound, apron clad form in front of Poindexter and placing his hands upon his hips, “You and I both know why it was classified in the first place.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“If the public had known how unsuccessful the effort had been, they’d panic. But if there was, I dunno, a sudden breakthrough per say, why not let out a little information?”
“Last time I checked you were nowhere near this perceptive. Carver told you about this, didn’t he?”

Charles laughed heartily, motioning to the telephone by the register, “Called about an hour ago. The sod sounded like he was having a panic attack.”
“I’m sure.” There was an agitation within Poindexter, a nervous sting that echoed throughout his very being. Just what could this news mean? Had his plan really succeeded? How was succeeding in this even possible in the first place? If this was some elaborate prank, Poindexter knew full well that Charles wasn’t the kind of person who would be in on such a thing, “So how is business?” Hopefully this question would take his mind off such bothersome thoughts.
“Can’t complain I spose,” Charles said with a shrug. “Been getting colder up north as of late. That’s where I’ve been catching my Terrio eels, and they’ve been pretty hot sellers so it’s bad for business when you can’t break through the ice to reach them.”
“That so?”
“That it is. You’d think it’d be getting warmer instead of colder by now. It’s almost June for crying out loud. Think this might be connected with the disappearances?”
“Maybe. With any luck we will be finding out today. Beckett is coming in, you see.”
A look of astonishment ran across Charles’ face. His tone fell, “Beckett? So it really has gotten that big.”
“Hmph. Thought Carver would have told you just how big this all was on the phone.”
“He’s not the most specific person, just gave me a brief summary and buggered off.”
“That certainly sounds like him.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the bassy boom of a foghorn. Charles looked past Poindexter while Poindexter simply turned his head around. From past the rocky, moss-coated curved right arm of the bay, a grey hull of a ship was revealing itself. At this distance Poindexter could hardly make it out at all past the glare of the sun on the waters, but there it was, slowly growing in size as more and more of it leaked into the bay.
“That’s no fishing boat.” Charles said. He was right, this was an Imperial ironclad: an extremely expensive and deadly class of ship only deployed during emergencies. Poindexter knew such warships to be equipped with thirty two incendiary cannons and a vast array of mortars, automatic weapons and even a disruptor cannon to boot which was mounted to the deck itself. His father had worked on creating these ships, detailing each and every bit of information about their innerworkings to an ever interested Poindexter. He never expected to see them anywhere but docked, though. The very fact it was here in the first place worried him. “Maybe that’s Beckett’s ship?” Mused Charles.

Poindexter knew this to be untrue, “No, he would be arriving by monorail if at all. There is no way an ironclad could get here so quickly after such spur of the moment news as this.”
“Then why’s it here?”
Poindexter’s eyes narrowed slowly, slightly, “Another reason. One that I do not know of. I think it is time I departed, I will hopefully be able to stop by on my way back from work.”
“I understand,” Charles said with a nod, his face slackening and his brows becoming furrowed. “You take care now.”

His shoes sounded louder on the pavement as he walked. Poindexter kept his eyes locked on the enormous ship approaching the harbour as he continued his commute, the smoke escaping the three stacks at its rear darkening both the air and the mood. His father had been very clear about when these kind of ships were to be deployed: emergencies. Something was coming to Ravage, something cold, something evil. Poindexter knew it. He needed to get to the lab now.

He needed answers.