Bukwyrld - The Short Story Read online



  - Bukwyrld -

  The Short Story

  Copyright © Amos T. Fairchild 2011

  Cover original photography copyright © Therese Fairchild 2011

  Cover original design copyright © Amos T. Fairchild 2011

  .o0o.

  Cameron woke with a very familiar feeling of deja vu, that he had been here and done this all before – several times – feeling much the same on each of those previous occasions. How he could feel that way just waking up was a mystery in itself, but not one he planned of wasting too much effort on.

  He had more important things to worry about, things that he couldn't quite put a finger on at that precise moment, but important things all the same. There was a sense of that as well, stronger than the vague feelings of deja vu. That sense of something different about today, something new. Things were about to start happening, and all Cameron had to find out was what.

  The difference of the day permeated everything in the room, making all of that everything seem new and fresh, even though it had been there forever – even though the bed was still stuck in its corner, the mirror still screwed firmly to its wall, the window still cutting a hole into the world outside. Traffic noises drifted in, a low hum accented occasionally with honks of various pitch, and voices rattled on the street below.

  Cameron rose gently, walked to the mirror, and gazed at the image within. It shrugged in reply, no more aware of what was going on than Cameron himself, moving away in disgust a moment later. Cameron also paced the barren room, wondering to himself exactly why he had never decorated or collected any trinkets to brighten the drab corners. There was no stereo or television – not even a portable radio.

  And yet that didn't seem to matter in the least. It was as if this room wasn't important at all. Cameron simply lived there, had slept there the previous night, and most probably had done much the same for weeks. He wasn't certain of that, mind you, but it seemed a reasonable assumption. As for the future, well, that didn't seem any clearer, but Cameron had the distinct feeling that it did not involve this room.

  All that was left was the decision. There were two doors leading from the room, and it was just a matter of picking which one to take – there was certainly nothing else to do in the room. And one of the doors only led to the bathroom. Cameron knew what was in there, it was just an average cramped bathroom with a tub that was about this much too short and blessed with an inadequate supply of hot water. There was a wash basin there, right alongside the toilet, neither of which Cameron had the desire to use. That seemed strange, but only for a second. He had only just woken after all.

  The future was out the other door, out in the world beyond. Cameron wasn't sure what that future was, or indeed what the world at large was actually like. That was something he could experience as necessary, something he didn't need to be cluttered with memories of. He was even ready dressed, again having slept in his clothes, it seemed, which was fortunate. There was certainly no cupboard in the room.

  Cameron moved on to the door, opening it and squinting in the glare of the new day. He felt the heat already radiating off the sand dunes that rose not far behind the last row of dwellings on the last street of the township, standing as he was on an open ledge one level up from that street. He stretched and yawned, soaking up the warmth and the smell of cooking fires and microwave popcorn, listening to the few merchants who bothered to work the last street in town.

  There were already a good few locals riding through on their overloaded camels, most of them reasonably wealthy judging by their chrome stirrups and velour upholstery. Most had at least one brass horn as well, if not two or three, ready to honk at the slightest traffic violation.

  Cameron shrugged. It was just that sort of town.

  Back across the rooftops, toward the centre of the township, there was a fire burning. Someone's home was now not much more than a cloud of soot coiling its way into an otherwise empty blue sky, empty of course except for the sun. It was hanging nonchalant above the eastern horizon, exactly what one would expect of a morning sun. If the sun rose in a particular place, then that was east. A nice, straight-forward convention.

  Cameron then thought about that burning home; thought about the people who had lived there and wondered what they were saying and doing. They were like the thousands of others out there saying and doing their own thing, and yet they were all incidental, all just part of the background of his own existence. Life was like that: centred on yourself. Being called self-centred wasn't an insult, it was simply the way it was.

  That could be his theology of the day. When any of the local priests and evangelists tried their moves, Cameron would have something to hit them with. Self-Centredism. He could start his own movement, his own church, but then the place already had its share. The oasis had attracted every denomination possible, and Cameron wondered if any had been left for the world outside the desert.

  Undoubtedly so. It was a big place. Cameron wasn't sure how big, but he was sure he had read plenty of stories about various worlds, and they tended to be big places – certainly more than a single town in the middle of a desert. Of course he didn't care whatsoever about what was out beyond the desert, and certainly had no intention of going there.

  The town was enough, with its ramshackle dwellings and sagging electricity lines. It had all the comforts, like plenty of water and a good range of dates and figs and bananas. Even the air was reasonably fresh. Cameron sucked a breath of that air and headed for the ladder down to the street. There were merchants waiting below, but Cameron paid them only a passing glance. One was selling portable stereos, the other a range of stainless steel swords and knives. Cameron had to smile. He could get a machine gun across town for a few dollars more.

  He waited for the traffic lights to change first to indigo then maroon before crossing the street to the nearest tavern...

  It wasn't until Cameron was halfway across the street that he realized there was something wrong, that all was not as it should be. It was as though there something wrong with the basic structure of the universe. More than that. He didn't even know who or what he really was, or what he had done on the previous day or indeed what he might do tomorrow.

  All he could do was stand there in the middle of the street and watch the traffic lights change to a pale, cool blue. Soon they would again be indigo...

  Something honked, and Cameron looked casually up into the wild stare of a very irate camel driver, this one with no less than four brass horns attached to his saddle. He utilized the one of highest pitch repeatedly, then began yelling abuse in something that approached plain English. A wealthy man, Cameron considered, wearing chrome plated armour rather than the usual saffron robes. It seemed a waste, Cameron certain there were no battles taking place in the immediate vicinity, and it was not something likely of deterring a bullet in any case.

  Cameron simply shrugged and stepped aside, resuming his trek to the tavern, still reflecting on his lack of direction and his lack of purpose in life. It was a lack of religion, perhaps. People needed a religion, a purpose, a reason to go on. Or so it was said. And this was a town of religions, the choice wide... But then it was also a town of sceptics – scepticism and atheism themselves recognized as religions – and there must have been a dozen individual sects of each.

  As Cameron had thought before, it was that sort of town.

  The Tavern was certain to be full of evangelists. Town laws guaranteed them at least one free meal a day and the taverns were the best places to eat. They were also usually full of people to convert, and so the battle for souls was certain to be on in earnest. That was as good a reason as any to be heading for the tavern, Cameron thought to himself. Before that po
int in time he was not exactly sure why he was going to the tavern.

  There he could have his pick of the available religions, or at worst justify his reasons for being a sceptic. Well, religions were so hard to swallow, all relying on belief, none with any proof of the existence of their deities. One was expected to follow blindly, observe the customs and ceremonies, and in some cases forfeit all one's worldly goods in the process.

  Cameron decided he might give religion a miss for another day after all, but went into the tavern anyway.

  It was cool inside, and there was plenty to drink, and that was another good reason to be there. Cameron headed straight to the bar for a large bottle of something very liquid and very mildly alcoholic,