Lagomar
Here's another short story of mine. I had the pleasure of reading this aloud to about 30 people. I'm not usually one for stage fright, but this one was a lot more politically incorrect/challenging - and I didn't want anyone to think I was trying to be too edgy. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun writing it... and I'm pretty sure it's my own fatalistic way of dealing with last years election results.
(Content warning: Language)
Lagomar
by Garrett DeRose
“Would you ever reconsider? Your mother and I didn’t exactly raise you for this” cried Mr. Linden-Peters
Brayden Jade Linden-Peters, a Martian of twenty-five cycles, spun around and dropped the duffel bag to his feet. They felt enormous and labored with each step. He could barely lift his chin to meet their bloodshot, watery eyes. After a long moment of shame and regret, Brayden spoke.
“I didn’t choose the thug life. It chose me.”
Mr. and Mrs. Linden-Peters let out a deep sigh, nearly simultaneously. Mrs. Linden-Peters stepped forward and put her hand on her son’s shoulder.
“Y…Y…Yolo, sweetie. We can’t stop you. Just come back safe, and show those idiots the error of their ways”
Brayden began to sob, thrusting himself into their arms. The Linden-Peters family wept under the Martian sky, that is, until a SnapJack zoomed down from above. The trio was then prompted to strike a shoulder-to-shoulder pose. There were several clicking sounds, accompanied by a camera flash. A few moments later, Brayden had trudged forth - presenting his Martian ID to the SpaceX crewman. He looked back one last time at his parents, wondering if he’d ever see them again.
There was a loud boom as the SUV backfired, exhaling a plume of dark exhaust. This was normal for the Atwood family rig, as it was modified to do so. Mr. Atwood didn’t care for the sky-lanes. He was old-fashioned, and liked to ‘roll-coal’ – just as his ancestors did before him. The road to the StarPort was filled with cracks and potholes, causing all seven of the passengers to bounce up and down in their seats. He glanced over through his sunglasses, scanning his oldest son’s features.
“Honey, I packed a couple of your trophies. Maybe you can put them up in the hotel room, get all psyched for your big match?”
Blaine Atwood turned around in his seat, his eyes met by the smiling faces of his mother and five siblings. He so badly wanted to exuberate, a pressure bubbling inside him. He was his father’s son, though – and conversation was for the weak. Argument, according to Mr. Atwood, was the only exception. Deflating himself through a faint sigh, he smiled and nodded back.
The sun had already gone down by the time they arrived to the StarPort. The ride was particularly dull and uneventful, save for the four-door sedan they had passed.
“Make them eat dust, Dad!” cheered Billy, the youngest.
The StarPort was packed, and they were running late. Blaine almost forgot to say goodbye to his family, the excitement overtaking him. This inadvertently made tears welt up in the corners of Mrs. Atwood’s eyes. She knew in her heart she would see him again, though. Everyone received big hugs, that is - everyone save for the stonehearted patriarch. Mr. Atwood stood straight, looked forward, and gave a firm salute.
“Private Atwood, you will honor our family through combat. You make us proud, so damn proud,” the father of five could feel his own upper lip quivering. “May the great light of the founders shine down on you! You must succeed, for your family’s sake… for EARTH’s sake.”
Mr. Atwood finally looked his son in the eye, “…Now get your ass on that ship and give ‘em hell!”
In a surprising display of excitement, the rigid man quickly gestured for a huddle. The Atwood family stood in a tight circle, their hands touching in the center. Mr. Atwood led the cheer:
“One, Two, Three….” Their hands bobbed up and down in rhythm, ending with a vertical jut.
“Fuck the Libturds!”
Brayden lay back in his seat, flipping through a holographic display emitting from a wristwatch. The SpaceX cruiser hummed faintly, occasionally vibrating the snack-carts as they rolled by. He switched over to the Free Martian News Network, but quickly shut it off after hearing a mention of the upcoming ‘Spacebook Olympics’. He stared out the window for what felt like hours, taking the occasional break to check his wristwatch. It was hard to tell the difference between the stars and the lights of other vehicles. Brayden often liked to imagine what life was like before all of this, what Earth was like. Just seconds before he slipped into a deep train of thought, there was a loud announcement over the cruiser intercom.
This is your Captain; we will be arriving at Lagomar Station shortly. If you look out the left hand viewing ports, you can get a good look at Founders Point.
Brayden squinted at the thousand foot tall statues – posed hand-in-hand. They were covered in what appeared to be a type of gold foil. This wasn’t the first time he had passed through the arch at Founders Point. Giant tablets were propped at the base of the colossuses – one reading ‘Zuckerberg’, the other ‘Trump’.
“I’m going to die here” Brayden sighed
Blaine winced in anticipation as he inspected the new charges on his account. The numbers fluttered across the transparent blue projection, reaching several digits. Tapping his wristwatch, the hologram fizzled out of existence.
“You know, the Martians don’t pay to travel. I’m pretty sure they don’t pay for anything,” said a voice from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes lit up. It was Dana, his personal assistant for the weekend. Other than a brief introduction while on the flight, Blaine didn’t know what to think of her.
“Lazy assholes”, Blaine replied.
Before Dana could react, something caught her attention – leading her to point her finger. Blaine brushed her hand from his arm, squinting across the football field sized flight deck. Shading his eyes, he could barely make out a face.
“You’re right, it’s him.” Blaine said, feeling his pulse quicken. “It’s the wuss”. He began his pursuit, weaving through armies of tourists. Dana was in tow, trying her best to stop him. It wasn’t until they had lost Brayden that they decided to check in at the hotel.
“What a nice way to receive a history lesson” said Brayden, sipping his tea. The rooftop lounge was now covered by the shadow of a large floating billboard. The hundred-foot tall screen blasted propaganda and advertisements so fast that Brayden could barely keep up.
Enjoy your stay at Lagomar station, home of the Spacebook Olympics!
The screen quickly buzzed with static, and an icon, which read ‘live’ blinked in the upper right hand corner. A giant face now filled the frame, bathing the rooftops in an orange glow.
People of Earth, I thank you for being here on this special weekend. It’s going to be fantastic, and I would like to announce that I will definitely be in attendance.
Brayden imagined the glass dome above cracking; due to the volume of the audible gasps he could hear for miles.
We people of Earth have a long tradition with sports and competition. Tomorrow is going to be a big celebration of this. I feel bad for the Martians, they’re good guys, but they’re also losers. The MILFY-Way Galaxy is far too small for a big disappointment, so we better come out on top. Don’t get me wrong though, both contestants are champions in their own way, so I’d like to say a thing or two.
The Galactic National Anthem began to fade in through the speakers.
Champion Atwood, Blaine Atwood – you’re the biggest and the best, and you know it. I don’t think you’re going to need much help. You’re a great guy, and I hear you have a very big family. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow. God bless.
Lagomar station erupted with cheering and commotion
Champion… Wow, your name is long isn’t it? Champion Brayden, I thank you for representing your people. I will honor your memory by personally giving my condolences to your family. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but it takes more than that to come out on top. Good luck tomorrow.
The music came to an abrupt stop, and the people of Lagomar station continued to enjoy their evening.
The next morning was marked by the sounds of fireworks and music. The opening ceremony lasted for an hour or so, and this gave the contestants time to prepare for the match. The arena was huge, taking up nearly a quarter of Lagomar station. The seating sections were completely segregated, splitting the SpicerDome in two. Patrons on the Earth side could be seen brandishing big trays of hot dogs, popcorn and large beverages, which were branded ‘Liberal Tears’. The concession lines on the Mars side of the arena were much shorter, as the vendors preferred to deliver food and drink directly to the patrons via drone. People could be seen sipping bubble tea of many colors, tiding themselves over with kale chips or yogurt.
“I’m sorry, I love you guys. It’s better if you just wait until it’s over. Peace, beeotch!” Brayden choked back the tears; he closed the Skype before his parents could respond. He took off his watch and placed it inside of a locker. It was game time, and he had to make his big splash. Adjusting his tight red bodysuit, he followed the coordinators out into the open arena. Confetti was raining down from above, the crowd above him cheered statically.
Representing the Unofficial People’s Republic of Mars – Brayden Jade Linden-Peters! Please enter the circle.
A referee grabbed Brayden by the arm and led him inside. The support staff brought out a machine, which resembled a medieval gauntlet, fitting it onto the Martian boy’s quivering hand. The ref barked into his ear, though the sound failed to cut through the roars of applause.
Representing the crown jewel of the Galactic Americas itself, Champion Blaine Atwood!
A mid-tempo heavy metal version of The Galactic National Anthem blasted through ten story speakers. Fireworks exploded overhead. Showers of red, white, and blue confetti dropped from the sky. Blaine emerged from his locker room and onto the field, scantily clad cheerleaders lining him on each side. His gauntlet was already on, and he turned to face the crowd. Lifting the metal glove to his brow, he saluted the Earth side of the arena.
And now, a word from our special guest… the ruler of the known universe… the leader turned god… you know him… you love him! The immortal Donald Trump!
A nearly hundred foot life-like hologram appeared at the center of the field. Wearing a dark blue suit with a red power tie, a giant head nodded in delight to the crowd’s jubilant response. The cheers from Earth side turned into a chant: ‘Stomp him, stomp him, stomp him!’
“Stomp this poor Martian boy? You people are so nasty, aren’t you? I mean--” The huge Donald yelled playfully, pointing downward.
Brayden cowered as a gigantic polished penny-loafer came down from the sky.
“Splat! Are you guys happy now?” The hologram laughed, moving his foot away from the traumatized Martian. People were falling out of their seats with laughter, at least on the Earth side. The giant leader of the known universe turned around and looked downward, meeting the gaze of an apprehensive Blaine. Bending over, Donald lowered his massive holographic hand.
“Down low! Lay it on me, man!” He yelled.
Blaine jumped up, his hand swinging through the projection. The laughter of the crowd hit its crescendo, and then lowered with the aid of Donald’s holographic gesturing.
“Ok, ok people – enough horsing around. I’d like to thank these two young men for honoring the big treaty. Yeah, the big one, signed so long ago. Nobody likes a war. You don’t know anyone who hates war more than me. Lets have ourselves a nice, civil war—uh, I mean civil debate. Thank you, and god bless.” The hologram flickered, disappearing in an instant. The crowd roared in excitement as the translucent force field formed a dome over the circle. It was nearly time to begin. Brayden and Blaine stood on opposite ends, awaiting instruction. The ref gestured to them, announcing for all to hear:
“Ok guys, I want a clean fight. You know the rules, no Poe’s Law or any Claims and Evidence nonsense. False Classical Equivocations will cost you a point. Each point landed will spin the appropriate team wheel. Atwood lands a point; the Wheel of Fortune will be spun. Linden-Peters lands a point; the Probability Actuator will be spun. Got it? Play ball!” The ref quickly backed out through a temporary hole in the force field. A giant red prompt appeared in front of both opponents. It read ‘Galactic Hunger Crisis’. The crowd gasped.
Brayden stepped forward, waving his gauntlet around as if he were conjuring a spell. Colorful streaks of light appeared in front of him.
“Peer-reviewed studies and statistical data, addressing the need for humanistic accountability!” He shouted, a bolt of pink light shot in Blaine’s direction.
“Bootstrap defense!” Blaine retorted, pumping his fist towards the pink light. A swirl of brown and black sparkles formed the image of a large pair of work boots. The commentator’s box lit up in neon lights.
Brayden comes out strong with the statistics, but… OH WOW! It looks like he just got blocked by a classic Bootstrap Blast from Atwood!
The crowd on Earth side began to chant:
“Lace them up! Lace them up! Nine-to-Five! Nine-to-Five!”
The red prompt quickly changed, the sound of an air horn blasting overhead. The new prompt now read ‘Environmental Protection’. Blaine took the initiative, quickly conjuring an attack.
“Taxpayer burden, brought on by a liberal agenda to end the timber industry!” A swirl of white smoke formed into a C-6627 Environmental Corporate Tax Form. Unable to counter the attack in time, the paper sliced across Brayden’s face – sending him doubling over in pain. A point hit the scoreboard, the game now in Earth’s favor. A large wall shot up between the two contestants, ending the first round.
The focus shifted to the Wheel of Fortune, which was spun by a beautiful tall blonde woman wearing a sequined gown. The Earthlings were quite pleased, as it landed on “Coal Roller Blackout Blast”. This prompted the Martians to begin covering their faces with articles of clothing. The Earthlings cheered as several enormous monster trucks emerged from underneath the arena. Loud heavy metal music played as the fleet of gas-guzzlers backed up, stopping in front of the Mars seating area. Revving their engines loudly, a plume of black exhaust shot out – engulfing a majority of the Martian patrons. By the time they were finished, the whole front row were covered in black soot. The SnapJacks made sure to fly into the crowd, sending a live-feed to the Jumbotron. It zoomed in on the scores of coughing, charred faces.
Looks like the Martians can’t take the heat! Let’s see how they do in the next round!
After the wall went down, the ref blew the air horn. The red light from the holographic prompt hid the fact that half of Brayden’s face was now stained in blood. This time, the prompt read ‘Ad-Hominem free-for-all’. Blaine made the first move– painting a powerful attack with his gauntlet.
“Commie apologist cuck!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, sending over a Cuckoo bird riding a Soviet hammer-and-sickle.
“Neo-Nazi Capitalist!” Brayden countered, launching a golden swastika adorned by gemstones. The two powers collided, causing an explosion – effectively causing a stalemate. Brayden almost got the next attack in, but Blaine was too quick.
“Liberal Safe-Space Snowflake!” Blaine screamed, punching forward with all of his might. Brayden lowered his head, exhaling deeply as he planned on absorbing the blow. His mind drifted away, as it had on the ship the previous evening. He could only think about his parents, and how they might not be able to help themselves tuning in. He thought about his childhood home on Mars, and how lucky he was to have such a loving family.
Oh my god! I can’t believe it… Atwood’s attack backfired! Brayden somehow blocked it! We’ve never seen anything like it!
Blaine now lay in a pile of snow, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth. He struggled to regain his composure, the blow rendering him nearly unconscious. Brayden could’ve used the extra time to conjure another Ad-Hominem attack, but instead chose to let the clock run out. The wall shot up between the two.
There’s a point for the Martians! It’s their turn to spin!
The Probability Actuator spun on its own, as it was powered by a nearby solar panel. After it’s remote activation, the wheel stopped at ‘Changing Minds, Sending Signs’. This caused the Earth side of the stadium to boo and sneer uncontrollably. A variety of protest signs shot up in front of the crowd, obscuring their view of the game. A hail of hotdogs and ‘liberal tears’ cups flew from the stands, down onto the AstroTurf. This was such an affront to the Earthlings that some patrons got up and left. Thought crimes were real, and this sort of attack usually put many of the galactic citizens at a state of unrest. If they looked at the signs long enough, they might receive a liberal imprint, which could be detected during a thought audit.
OOOH! A brutal attack of differing belief systems! Yikes, I hope the censors were able to catch enough to shield the folks tuning in from home! Round three begins… NOW!
The air horn sounded, both contestants ready to finish the fight. The next category burned above, ‘Healthcare and issues of the body’. Blaine and Brayden’s gestures seemed to mimic one another.
“MMR Vaccine with defect-causing Thimerosal!”
The crowd went silent, as both contestants hit the ground. They both grabbed their upper arm, writhing in pain at the simulated vaccination. They had shouted the same attack in unison, to much surprise.
This is another first for the Spacebook Olympics! I can’t believe it! Both contestants are unvaccinated! This might be a dual-ideology deadlock agreement!
Brayden was the first to pull himself up onto his feet. Limping over to the wounded champion, he pointed his gauntlet. Blaine couldn’t believe what was happening. He looked into his opponent’s face, realizing that he resembled some of his friends back home. He looked around, noticing the universal anticipation. These people wanted blood.
This is it! The Martian boy is going for the killing blow!
In an unusual display, at least for the Spacebook Olympics, Brayden opened his metallic hand, offering it to his fallen opponent. Blaine could feel a lump in the back of his throat. He half-hesitantly grabbed the steely device, being pulled up to his feet. This prompted both sides of the arena to yell wildly, throwing items in protest. Brayden pulled his opponent close and spoke into his ear.
“If you want to have a good time, we could be homies. If you want to be a homie, I’ll hang out witchu” This brought Blaine to the point of nearly sobbing. He had never thought this was possible. He didn’t even care that his father was more than likely watching from his armchair, possibly sighing with regret.
What a crazy night! I guess that’s it folks. I really don’t know what’s going on. The referee is going to deliberate with---
The crowd was silenced by the re-appearance of a power tie clad hundred-foot hologram. The two competitors were leaning on each other, both unwilling to go on with the fight. Trump waved his arms, trying to silence the crowd. He cleared his throat.
“Now what do we have here? Looks like a couple losers to me. You aren’t losers, are you? We don’t do this thing every year for fun. It’s part of the big treaty. Do you want war to start, or something? I have never been so ashamed in my whole life. One of you little guys has gotta take one for the team tonight, you know?”
Brayden and Blaine looked at one another, but did not answer the translucent giant. Their silence spoke louder than the booming speaker system, which the giant spoke through. Letting out an infuriated growl, the orange giant took a swipe at the air in front of him.
“Trump Troops, go get ‘em. Guess we got a war on our hands now.” Said Donald in an antagonizing tone. A large group of armored riot guards entered the arena and began to encircle the two boys.
“Sorry guys! Nice knowing ya. I hope it was all worth—“ The sound of a generic ringtone blasted, piercing the silence. “Hold on, I gotta take this.”
The Trump Troops were closing in, shock batons in hand. They stopped in their tracks when their leader’s conversation continued, it becoming clear that he didn’t intend to leave his holographic feed running.
“What? What? This is so stupid. What do you mean the bombers aren’t cooperating? We need to hit them hard and hit them now.” Both crowds gasped in astonishment. This seemed to trouble the Trump Troops, who looked around at each other in confusion.
“Banny, your ass is on the line here. Well, send the landing ships – they’re already in place to invade and I think we—“ Trump stopped short, being interrupted.
“Oh, is that so? Hmm. Have you tried calling them back? Is there anyone we can send?” The giant hologram paced back and forward, covering the whole length of the stadium. “What do you think we should do? Hmm. Ok. Well, call me back if you get any big ideas. If these idiots start getting along, it’ll definitely be the end of me… the end of US! Ok, bye.”
As he closed his enormous flip phone, he realized the hologram feed was still online. His face went blank, his mouth agape. He looked down upon the faces in the crowd, all of them sharing similar expressions. Blaine and Brayden had dropped their iron gauntlets to the ground, walking towards the exit of the stadium – arm in arm. Letting out a final sigh of defeat, the hologram flickered away.