Episode 6. Purple Sands

“Rana IV,” the smuggler mutters to himself. The name conjures images of brilliant blue water cascading on sands of various shades of purple. Bioluminescent coral grows beneath twin moons that cast the only natural light from the stars the city of Kyrris experiences. It had once been home, back when home was a prison. Someplace Deviax couldn’t wait to leave. Twice. Now it’s to be a sanctuary. One of the few places no one knows he’s connected to.

Shocasta leans in over his shoulder. “Beautiful as ever. But you should approach from the southern pole to avoid air traffic sensors. We can land in the canyons.”

Dev thinks he hears a hint of nostalgia in Shocasta’s voice. “I know the approach. I was making it before you were born.”

“Maybe don’t advertise your old age if you’re going to try and sleep with every tramp my age or young we come across.” She spits back with more fire than intended.

“Easy, girl. Keep the shots above the belt. Metaphorically and literally.”

Sho grunts, wanting to be apologetic, but also exhausted and anxious. “We mooned the Merchant of Death’s men twice. We’re going to need fuel and a path to making some credits soon. Sheltering here is a desperation move.”

He doesn’t respond directly to Sho’s concerns, knowing he wouldn’t say the right thing regardless of his intention. “Setting course to approach from the Southern pole. We be on the ground in no time.” The Haider sinks, heading on a parabolic arc toward the underside of Rana from a wide distance. With this approach, it will prolong their time on the ship, but minimizes the risk of being detected.

From the bottom of Rana’s Z-axis, the Haider swoops in toward empty turquoise seas, rich with aquatic life. The southern hemisphere is devoid of land masses, rippling waves and soft storms cover the planet all the way from pole to equator. Flying only a dozen meters above the rippling waves, the vibrant blue stretches toward the planets curve for as far as his eyes can see. Dev must keep them low, basic radar able to detect them if he approaches Kyrris to high.

Shocasta begins disengaging several systems, diminishing their energy readings. Just in case. She sees Dev looking at her. “What? We haven’t been back in ten years. They might have upgraded their tech.”
Still, he doesn’t respond, not wanting another verbal lashing.

A city skyline emerges on the horizon. The glow of a mini-metropolis glitters against the twilight sky diminishing the power of the twin moonlight. A few spire seem to give the city teeth, like the fangs of an artificial lower jaw hung open. Above, specks of light move along the skyline; sand haulers and speeds zipping like mechanical insects.

Deviax angles the approach, remaining low, toward the sandy dunes to the west of the city. The rippling brilliance of the shining seas gives way to a sea of sands. Purple dunes rise and fall, bending the Haider’s shadow nearer and away like a yo-yo beneath the ship as it seeks an area open and flat enough to act as a landing zone.

Sho points over to an area that appears to have been mined for sand. It’s well away from the normal sand farming areas much farther inland. Likely a site used by sand smugglers taking a similar approach to pilfer Rana IV’s most valuable resource. “There. Looks perfect.”

The ship tilts and shifts toward Sho’s suggestion. Dev circles once, just to show caution, before setting down. He begins locking most of the systems down. “You should stay here,” he says finally.

“Don’t you dare-“ Sho’s eyes begin to burn.

“We can’t leave patches, M4, and the stowaway here alone. I need you to stay with them. For their safety.”
Deviax is quiet and stern in his tone. Worse for Shocasta, he’s making direct eye contact without flinching. She knows he’s serious. It’s a rarity, but it happens. Her glare stares back, furious but understanding. “Take M4-D3 with you.” She doesn’t blink.

Her co-Captain nods. “I will.” Breaking the stare, he heads off the flight deck, allowing both to save face.

“M4! Get you rusted chassis to my speeder!” From somewhere ahead of Deviax, a whistle calls back to his demand causing the smuggler to protest. “I am not more rusted than you. Humans don’t rust. We ferment.”

Twin moons above cast silver light on his back as Deviax speeds with M4 toward the dusty city of Kyrris in the distance. Flying mere centimeters above the dunes, the beauty of Rana IV is presently lost on him. This isn’t a pleasure trip.

His grip twists the speeder throttle toward full, stretching the engine to its limit. Gliding over the shifting sands, his thrust tosses up a cloud that alters the very shape of the dunes he’s skimming across. Purple swaths of sand blur beneath him, undulating like waves rolling toward him. The sandy peaks rise and fall in seemingly endless repetition. Still, Deviax navigates with a deftness of youth, muscle memory activated from several decades earlier. Flashes of memory cross his mind. Old moments forgotten, chasing his fellow rapscallions across these very sands, or simply racing for pride.

Off to his left, just ahead of his approach, a small dust cyclone threatens to impede his approach. Throddle still at full, his mentality harkening to his youth, he’s sure he can beat it on his way to Kyrris. After all, there exist other dangers out here aside from the swirling of sand. The empty swath he landed upon showcased just one type of criminal that lurks out here.

Ahead the city grows larger. Far larger than he remembers. Towers of metal and reflective glass rise above in places they weren’t the last time he was here. The ghostly lavender hue from the moons seems to diminish as he approaches the city edge. Neon and yellow light cast to illuminate the bustling cityscape colors the sand various colors from deep maroon to light blue.

Coming to the city edge, he sees walls where there was once open access. Meaning he would have to approach through some sort of gate or causeway into the city. He sees an opening, thankfully not too far off, meaning he could soon rest his engine and vent some of the sand from the intake.

A pair of guards stand at a city gate. It’s a fairly wide opening in the towering metal barrier that is worn and scarred from years of sand lashing and wearing upon the surface. Large flood light cast harsh beams over the passage, illuminating the smoothing terrain as he approaches. Above the guards, a small turret mounted upon a pylon swivels to lock onto Deviax’s speeder. Sensors tell the turret to chime, alerting the guards to what the pair can see already.

M4 whistles and whirs in worried tone.

“Not the homecoming welcome I was hoping for either, buddy.” Dev says, cutting the speeder engines so he drifts to a halt just outside the gate. He kicks his leg over the left side and dismounts, hands up to show he’s not a threat.

The pair eye him, warily. One steps forward, his visor reflecting the floodlights above. “State your business, traveler.”

Deviax knows the routine. “Relax fellas. I’m not here to cause any trouble. In fact, I’m actively trying to avoid it. I’m just here seeking a safe place to drink or -short of safe- anonymity. No business. No rough stuff. No sand scalping. Just hoping to see if the Amethyst Oasis is still serving local moonshine. I’ve even got a travel visa.”

“Let’s see it,” commands the forward guard in a stern tone.

Slowly, Dev reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a data disc. Slinking forward, he offers it to the guard as proof.

Much to his surprise, the guard pulls out a device and scans it. “The visa is out of date,” the guard says flatly.

“Expired five years ago.”

With a forced grin, the shaggy bearded smuggler inwardly curses. But he doesn’t have many options. He needs to get into the city and avoid further entanglements. He steps forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I’m just looking forward to a little bit of remembrance and a stiff drink. Visas, dates… that’s just paperwork. Same thing as holding me up. Why don’t we cut through the red tape?”

While talking, the guard failed to notice Deviax’s hand slipped in and out of pocket. In the hand opposite the visa is now a credit stick. His hand moves back and forth, drawing the guard’s attention. But the guard remains silent, tension in the air thickening.

For a moment, Dev thinks he might have miscalculated. Did this backwater suddenly become an upstanding and proper home for industrial growth? Are the days gone when you can bribe a city guard to look the other way? Or worse: is his charm somehow fading?

Thankfully, none are true. The guard takes the stick and sternly informs. “Sixteen hours and you’re out this gate. Any longer, I throw up an alert of a suspicious bearded hobo who snuck past our station.”
With a grateful smile and nod, Deviax remounts his speeder, starting it up. “Appreciate it.”

The forward guard nods to his fellow, informing the second to pause the turret’s function and open the gate.

Let the homecoming begin…