THE DUST PIRATES: SECRETS

S3E2 • Cli-fi • Post-apocalyptic • Dark

The Dust Pirates is part of my cli-fi series There Is Hope about life on a planet devastated by climate change and the things that give humans hope.

This is episode #9. You can find an overview of all the episodes here.

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Previously👇

The Dust Pirates: Trapper

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The Dust Pirates: Secrets

During the rainmaking festival, a young boy rescues a teenage girl from danger, but her secret sets him on a perilous journey.

If you’re born on the Dust Road, you die on the Dust Road.

***

‘It seems like we’ve arrived!’, the Trapper says. Sanse and Kike squat behind a shackle. From the safety of their hiding, they watch the Trapper stop at the end of the cul de sac, with Shia on his heels.

‘Where is your friend?’ The girl’s voice sounds shrill in the deserted, narrow back lane. She instinctively takes a step back when the Trapper closes in, her eyes searching a way out but finding none. Above, dark gray clouds loom heavy in the sky.

‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t do anything to you. I only want what you carry,’ the Trapper says, leaning against the wall just one breath away from her.

‘Don’t come any closer!’ Shia takes a sidestep trying to put some distance between them but bumps into a wall. She’s trapped! Then her hand lifts holding a taser gun.

‘Clever girl!’ Sanse searches through his pockets and takes out a blowgun.

‘It’s not worth risking your life.’ The Trapper’s face twists into a snarl.

‘You think I care about my life?’ Shia’s hand is shaking. Behind the shack, Sanse loads two darts into his blowgun then points it at the Trapper’s leg.

‘Güey, don’t miss!’ Kike says, peaking into the lane.

‘You’re a brave girl. But dead or alive don’t matter to me. I’ll have what I came for.’ With smooth, fast movements, the Trapper grabs Shia’s hand and twists it. The girl screams and drops the taser gun just as Sanse blows the first dart.

‘What the fuck?’ The Trapper’s body twitches as if hit by an electric shock. Sanse enters the cul de sac followed by Kike.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll just put your leg to sleep,’ Sanse says, holding the blowgun ready to shoot the second dart.

‘For a couple hours,’ Kike grins. ‘You might feel it all the way to your arm. Your bladder might be a bit loose. Hope you didn’t drink too much water today.’

‘Who the fuck are you? Fucking Indios, ha? I’m gonna kill you, sand rats… aaa!’ The Trapper steps in their direction but his movements are sluggish. Then one leg buckles under him, and he falls face down on the ground. Shia picks up her taser gun and shoots. The Trapper’s body stretches and curls in spastic convulsions.

‘That’s enough! You’re gonna kill him!’ Sanse says. The girl looks at the two boys, acknowledging their presence for the first time. In an instant, she drops the taser gun, jumps over the unconscious body of the Trapper and almost trips over the boys in her haste to get away.

‘Wait!’ Sanse follows the panicked girl down the dark lane. ‘You’re gonna get lost!’ He reaches for her hand, and she turns, ready to punch him.

‘Wait! I know who you’re looking for. He’s my grandfather!’ Sanse says.

‘It’s true,’ Kike says, touching the girl’s arm. ‘You’ll be safe with him!’

Raindrops start falling on their faces, drip, drip, drip. Sanse takes Shia’s hand and they run together through the maze of empty lanes past rundown human dwellings emanating a heavy scent of food and waste. By the time they reach the Patio of Dances with its blinding lights and deafening sounds, water is pouring from the sky over the frenzied crowd. A long chain of people holding hands snakes across the patio moving side to side, then back and forth meeting face to face. Sanse grabs the hand of a dancer and pulls the girl in.

‘What is this?’ Shia says, clumsily trying to follow the steps.

‘It’s called the Snake Dance,’ Sanse says, stepping back and forth and side to side, swinging closer and closer to the pyramid, where the musicians sit on the ground, playing drums and flutes. And back and forth and side to side, and back and forth, and side to side moving in a trance as commanded by the rhythms of the colorfully dressed elders, with faces painted yellow and black.

‘There’s my grandfather!’ Sanse says, pointing toward the oldest drummer with long white hair adorned with red feathers. And back and forth and side to side, following the intoxicating rhythm of the booming drums and high-pitched flutes.

‘We’re like ocean waves!’ Shia says, closing her eyes and her red lips part in an ecstatic smile, dancing her worries away, dancing for rain. And, for reasons he couldn’t understand, Sanse felt happy.

***

The capsule hut’s ventilation system is a welcomed relief from the heat. In the cramped space, three men sit on the floor across from Sanse and Shia, their knees almost touching. In the middle is Sanse’s grandfather, Acalan Ahuic, flanked by his two sons, Cualli Ahuic, Sanse’s father, and Zolin Ahuic, his uncle. The capsule door opens, and an old woman places a canister of water and five glasses on the small table and then leaves. Kike, is behind her, trying to peak inside the hut, but she shoves him away and closes the door. Sanse’s grandfather, the tribe leader, serves the water in silence and distributes the glasses.

‘Thank you for sharing the water of your tribe. I accept it with gratitude,’ Shia says. Sanse watches the girl placing her palms on the floor in front of her knees with her fingertips touching in a triangle shape, then lowering her forehead to the floor. His grandfather gives a satisfied nod. The fresh aquifer water is cool and silky on the tongue, and they savor this rare treat in silence. Shia loudly slurps the last drops from her glass.

‘Who are you, child? And what brings you here?’ his grandfather says. Shia roams through her backpack, takes out a round parcel wrapped in seaweed silk and places it on the floor. A drone’s buzz interrupts the silence, and the girl’s hands freeze.

‘Don’t worry, child, there are no Cooperative surveillance drones on the Dust Road. And this capsule has a hacker-proof firewall,’ his grandfather says. The girl unwraps the parcel with shaky hands, revealing a white dome. Bodies shift in the tiny space, and exclamations of surprise lift in the air.

‘A seed growing dome,’ his father says.

A text in red cursive letters appears on the plastic encasing.

Phoenix dactylifera
Date palm tree
Gender:Female

The girl searches with her fingers at the base of the seed-growing pod and taps. The protective encasing opens, revealing a transparent plastic dome with a mop of induplicate v-shaped leaflets pointing in all directions with the rebelliousness of the young.  Sanse’s eyes widen, and the three men gasp in unison.

‘A date palm seedling,’ his grandfather says with teary eyes his old wrinkly hands caressing the dome. Shia nods.

‘My name is Shia Santos, and I am 16 years old. I come from the Japanese Colony of the Seaweed Growers, and my grandmother is Aia Santos, the Colony Counselor. Last year, I was one of five chosen ones to participate in the annual Human Island sacrifice, but a woman named Nova Novikov, who was filming a documentary about the sacrifice, asked to take my place, and her wish was granted. I finished the documentary and flew to the Siberian Headquarters of the Cooperatives to hand it over. They were pleased with my work and allowed me to take over Nova Noviko’s equipment, including her flying pod, and sent me to film the annual Midsummer Festival of the Seed Growing Colony. This is where I discovered that Nova Novikov was a member of a secret underground organization sourcing seeds and plants south of the borders in the network of the Dust Road. This seedling was handed over to me by someone from the organization with instructions on delivering it to the Dust Pirates. I found a note with your name in Nova Novikov’s documents. I escaped the North Colony Alliance and sold her filming equipment and the flying pod in exchange for passage to the tribes. I was almost robbed tonight, but this boy saved me,’ Shia says, bowing her head in Sanse’s direction.

‘He was a Trapper,’ Sanse says, squirming. The three men look at each other in silence. ‘And I’m not a boy. I’m 11 years old.’ The three men laugh and Sanse blushes, much to his embarrassment, which in turn makes him blush even more. Viejos jodones!

‘With your help, I have finally accomplished my mission. I am happy to deliver the seedling to the Dust Pirates,’ Shia says, smiling at Sanse. Then she offers the seedling dome to his grandfather and bows again. His grandfather looks at the seedling with loving eyes.

‘I am sorry, child, but you have the wrong address. We are not the Dust Pirates you’re looking for,’ he says.

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Next👇

The Dust Pirates: Betrayal

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I hope you enjoyed episode #9 of There Is Hope, a cli-fi series. You can find the series overview here. Please don’t forget to subscribe, like, comment & share. This goes a long way in supporting this independent publication!