Colony

by SpunSilk

Part one : Exile

Only the misfortune of exile
can provide the in-depth understanding
and overview into realities of the world.

– Stefan Zweig

Carl is not mine, but I'm borrowing him for this story. You will enjoy this story, so much more, if you first read Lodestone for background. Do take the time.

I worked the combination on the old lock. It opened with a stiff thunk, and I pushed the door open and peered inside. Well. I'll be a monkey's uncle... I pushed my hat back on my head.

The cabin 'with all the comforts of a back-country home' that I had arranged to rent online was a disappointment, to say the least. I had already noticed the lack of electrical wires leading into it as I had approached in the Mustang. No juice. A kerosene lamp stood on the single table. The fireplace appeared to be the only source of heat, although the wood supply seemed generous. I noted a sturdy bed, a braided wool rug, a kitchen sink with a pump-handle spout (!) emptying into it, and a row of pegs in the log wall to serve as a closet. Maybe I expected more comforts than the average back-country home normally offered. Or maybe, I had just been bamboozled.

I looked around expectantly for a john, but found not a trace. Fearing the worst, I walked out and around the back of the cabin... and there it stood: a quaint little outhouse, complete with the obligatory half-moon cut out of the door. My jaw hung open. Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle, I repeated in my head.

This I had learned so far; the next time I needed to go into exile, don't trust the damned Internet.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Mr. Kolchak, we need to talk."

I had rolled over sleepily in my bed back home in the city. Shock had turned quickly to delight as I found a lovely gal sitting on my bed. She was young and shapely, short blond hair in a pixie style, immaculately dressed in a black almost skin-tight suit. Not the sort I usually dream about, but variety is the spice, they say. "Hallo beautiful." I smiled.

"I'm sorry to have to just come talk to you like this but extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary measures." 'Extraordinary' was the only word I heard, and she was. Huge black eyes that sparked with intelligence, great body – the whole package. I gazed at her like a love-sick puppy. She continued, "I know you must be shocked, but you must be made aware of your condition."

"I'm not shocked, Honey. Surprised; delighted. Who are you? And does it matter?"

She eyed me skeptically. "I know your exposure to the existence of the Ether has been limited, but still you know considerably more than most humans on the planet... So you will be able to follow the logic, if not the detail, of what I'm about to explain."

"Not to worry, Darlin', don't stress your pretty self. This is just a dream anyway. Lovely gals every now an' again come into my dreams..." I drawled.

A quick smirk flashed on her lips. "I see. I assume when these 'lovely gals' do appear in your dreams the dream quickly takes a far different direction than this conversation has thus far, hmm?"

I rolled the truth of her question around in my noggin.

"Mr. Kolchak, please listen carefully. For the good of the human and non-human populace in this city, I need to have you to isolate yourself."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Isolation. This place was that, in spades.

I heaved the next box of provisions from the trunk of my car and returned back into the cabin. How long can a man live on canned food? How long would he be willing to bother? I left it on the rough counter next to the others by the pump handle. The last load from the car consisted of a small satchel, a fresh ream of paper, and my trusty old manual in its travel-case. Ha! I was feeling smug as I carried my old friend into the electricity-free cabin. Take that, Mr. 'Computers-are-superior-Why-do-you-insist-on-holdi ng-onto-that-dinosaur' Vincenzo. The plan was for me to take the time out here to slap out a pulp fiction crime novel. I can't just up and take an unpaid vacation from life, quarantine or no. A man's got to earn a dollar.

I set the typewriter out on the bare-wood table, paper next to it, glanced around and sighed.

Home sweet home, I thought bitterly.

The quiet of the place was already too loud on my ears...

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO