Decided to simply call this the Steampunk Arc due to the fact that the technology is on that level, but with space capabilities. Think of... Treasure Planet crossed with Steampunk. Anyway, here is a look into Holmes time in The Wastelands. The next drabble of this arc will have another look into Steampunk Victoria London. Oh and you all will be getting two drabbles today to tide you over until I get back from my grandmothers funeral in California.



Hope

The glaring sun and the oppressive heat were intolerable. I had been wandering the empty wastelands for the last three days with only a loaf of bread and a flask of water at my disposal, both of which had been given to me by the Interstellar Police (Interpol as they're commonly called) upon my arrival to this wretched and godforsaken place. The only other objects I had to my name were my clothes on my back and the silk chute and pack that had delivered me safely to the surface from the mis-matched scrap of a shuttle. To say I had not been terrified of the jump would have been an understatement of the century.

I had an unhealthy fear of heights and being pushed out of a fast moving vessel had helped attribute to that fear. So too did landing on the edge of a cliff and to have the sandy wind catch at my chute to nearly send me over the edge and into the bottomless pit below. If I had not been able to latch onto the uneven ground via a jutting rock, I would not be wandering The Wastelands to this day. Instead I suspected I would have become the luncheon of the day for the skittering, furry lizards that inhabited this planet.

The shadows that I occasionally caught glimpses of were of the very same creatures that followed me now as I wandered aimlessly through the desert sands in search of shelter, food and water.

I was tired and thirsty and I wanted nothing more than to return to my Baker Street home and partake in Mrs. Hudson's fine tea and smoke my pipe and listen to my friend talk about whatever meaningless subject currently interested his mind at the time. Oh what I would give to go back to that life! But it was a life lost to me now unless I somehow managed to manifest an interstellar ship out of the sand and fly myself back home. The chances of that happening were next to none and I quickly stamped down hard on that fanciful hope knowing that it would only do me more harm than good in the end.

I had to think and act as a survivor. If I did not, I would become the next meal for the predators and scavengers of this wretched world. It was a fate I did not wish to endure but it was a fate I knew was ultimately going to happen to me someday, even if I somehow manage to survive for several years. I knew I was going to die here regardless. I silently cursed Moriarty and his gang for landing me in this situation. I cursed myself for being so stupid and failing to see what had been so obvious. If only I had seen the ruse, the trap that ensnared me and allowed the Assizes to convict me, I would be happily sitting back home flipping through the various letters and grams instead of wandering this desert trying to preserve my only flask of water for as long as possible.

My brooding was suddenly interrupted as I found myself stumbling into the hot sand, my foot having tripped over something buried in the yellow grains when I wasn't paying attention. I hissed as my bare hands came into contact with the scalding earth and I buried them into my desert parka which I had made out of the silk chute (along with a kufiyya[1]) the moment I had arrived here. I sat there for a moment and glanced back at what had caused me to stop my monotonous journey and glared at the grisly sight of a half buried skeleton poking out of the sands. Curious, I crawled forward and ignored the stinging heat of the earth and dug around the remains until I was able to determine what unfortunate creature had succumbed to the desert.

A human skull soon stared out at me, seemingly to laugh at my plight and remind me that this was going to become my fate. I glared at the cracked skull and picked it up out of the sand to turn it before me to curiously stare at the obvious dent in the back. I felt a flicker of hope flutter in my stomach at the sight. If this man had died from a murderous blow to the head, then that meant there were others on this planet. It did not bother me that the man had been most likely murdered by his fellow man, I had already known of the possibility that I could come across other exiles who had been convicted of a variety of crimes from petty pick pocketing to treason. I was simply elated at the thought that some of them had survived.

Where there were survivors there would surely be food, water and shelter.

With a renewed hope within me, I quickly dug up the rest of my unfortunate friend and soon discovered bits and pieces of his own personal possessions and claimed them as my own. An obsidian dagger that was broken in half and which I could easily reshape into a smaller blade, a pair of boots that had seen better times, a broken pocket watch and after examining it I knew I could fix with little trouble despite the lack of tools, and a pair of broken spectacles which would come in handy in lighting a fire and cooking meals (provided I could catch my meals).

Better prepared then I had been three days ago, I stood and dusted off the sand from my clothing and started my journey once more, a renewed hope in my step.


[1] kufiyya - an Arabic headpiece designed to protect the wearer from the harsh conditions of the desert