With Promethium died the mechanization empire, as well as the
darkest days mankind had ever faced. The war's heroes were elevated to
an almost godlike status, living myths and legends. Their faces had
long since blended into the tiding sea of mortality, people replaced by
their own undenyable grip on the populace.
Bit by bit, the yellow of Maetel's hair faded, the chrome of
the Galaxy Express lost its luster. Hoshino Tetsuro's voice lost its
childish twang and his clothes their ragged, unkempt appearance. The
actuality became more and more fantasy, and the notoriety of Tetsuro
and his friends began to surpass even that of Harlock and the Pirate
Queen Emeraldus.
However, as it is with the tales of Greek gods and goddesses,
and other such fantastic people, every child who heard the tales had
his own image of the heroes and heroines. Some thought Tetsuro the
tall, debonaire, romantic hero, others an intelligent, kind soul with a
Robin Hood history. Likewise, Maetel changed from an angel to demon to
even a nymph, each face replacing her true sad eyes and wispy,
windblown hair.
As tales of adventure and danger and bravery swept throughout
the universe, they carried a solitary truth: Promethium was dead. It
was time to rebuild. What ws left of the various odds and ends of
billions of mortal races crept out of their hiding places, each hoping
to revive his planet to its former glories. Humans drifted to Earth
from as far away as Inner Andromeda, all wishing to revive their home.
The stranger was on his way to Earth, of that there was no
doubt. There was no mistaking the human race, being the gangly,
scraggly, slightly ugly things that they were. His movements helda
strange grace to them, though, his eyes darkened by the sights seen and
fingers curled around the invisible stock of a pistol. He probably had
friends to visit, a family, perhaps, on another planet. Still, he
traveled alone.
The next stop was an odd place for a human to go. As it was,
no one had been seen on the planet Endorado for a few years, much less
a human. However, when the stop was called, the stranger stood up. He
owned barely a stitch to his name; the only possessions he had with him
were a battered suitcase and the clothes on his back. He wore a
fluttering red cape scarred with gunpowder and riddled with bullet
holes that caught in the wind, pulling away from his body, revealing a
well kept but empty holster and a lumpy package. He glanced around the
car just once before grabbing his case and briskly stepping onto the
platform. He gave the passengers a jaunty wave and turned to the
terminal.
The stranger's slow, unsteady gait and the clicking of his
heels on the old stone drew a few young children from the shadows, the
innocent joy on their faces bringing memories to the stranger. His
lips moved slowly with a conversation which had long since ceased its
echoes along the desolate barrens of the La Metaal castle it was first
uttered in.
"Don't you die before me! It's a man-to-man promise!" a
cheerful voice called.
"Hey! Don't you die either!" another replied.
Looking down, the stranger realized that the children had gone.
He sighed, smiling wistfully at the concept of childhood, of innocence.
His cape flapped in a cool breeze and he shook the thoughts fron his
head.
He followed a path from the station to a nearby town. It had
obviously once been a thriving city, but most of it lay in shambles,
rubble and garbage and even more disgusting things decorating the
streets, leaving almost no room to walk. With a grunt, he kicked aside
the scraps of what had once been one of Promethium's robots and stepped
by it.
Once in town, the stranger knocked on every door, looking for
an inn. Eventually he found one and rented a room for the night.
After he put away his suitcase, he took the lumpy package and put it in
his pocket as he left the inn.
He marveled at the people as they passed him. They were pale,
colorless, with wide, pale eyes that reflected light. Their fiery hair
was the only color to them, aside from the rags they wore.
Finally, he reached out to a semi-well dressed man, gripping
his coastsleeves. He urgently described his friend to the man, but he
pulled away, turning his back. The stranger tried on various people
time and again for hours with no luck. Just as he stood to go back to
his room, a young woman approached him.
"Sir?" she asked. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at
her. "I know who you are looking for, " she continued.
"You do?" his voice was hesitant.
"Yes. You won't find him here, " she told him. "He's dead."
"Yes, " the stranger replied.
"Then why are you here?" she asked.
"To put him to rest."
"You have his body?"
"No. Siren the Witch has it, " he breathed.
"Then he will never return, not even in body!" the girl
sobbed.
"If that were true, I wouldn't have come here, " the stranger
replied. "Where is his family's home?"
"They are gone, too, " the girl sniffled.
"Yes. Where are they buried?"
"Their bodies are lost. Come with me. I'll take you to their
home, " the girl guestured.
The stranger nodded and followed her as she stepped lightly
through the rubbish in the road. After a few minutes, they came to a
quaint house. The door swung from its hinges and it seemed to have
been ransacked by thieves, but it was otherwise decent.
He gingerly entered the house, glancing at the pictures on the
wall. Spying one of his friend, he gently pulled it from the wall.
"Meowdar, " he murmured, the name catching in his throat. He
pulled the lumpy package from his belt, frowning. Then he picked his
way to the back door and outside, where already two gravestones sat.
He knelt by the last plot, where an unfinished grave was.
With shaking hands, he unwrapped the package, revealing the
red, black, and gold watch he had taken from Meowdar's limp hand. Very
carefully, he placed it in the plot and covered it with soil. He
breathed a prayer for the soul of his friend. Standing up, he brushed
the dirt from his hands and began to walk away.
"Sayonara, Meowdar, " Tetsuro smiled sadly over his shoulder
to the ghosts.
darkest days mankind had ever faced. The war's heroes were elevated to
an almost godlike status, living myths and legends. Their faces had
long since blended into the tiding sea of mortality, people replaced by
their own undenyable grip on the populace.
Bit by bit, the yellow of Maetel's hair faded, the chrome of
the Galaxy Express lost its luster. Hoshino Tetsuro's voice lost its
childish twang and his clothes their ragged, unkempt appearance. The
actuality became more and more fantasy, and the notoriety of Tetsuro
and his friends began to surpass even that of Harlock and the Pirate
Queen Emeraldus.
However, as it is with the tales of Greek gods and goddesses,
and other such fantastic people, every child who heard the tales had
his own image of the heroes and heroines. Some thought Tetsuro the
tall, debonaire, romantic hero, others an intelligent, kind soul with a
Robin Hood history. Likewise, Maetel changed from an angel to demon to
even a nymph, each face replacing her true sad eyes and wispy,
windblown hair.
As tales of adventure and danger and bravery swept throughout
the universe, they carried a solitary truth: Promethium was dead. It
was time to rebuild. What ws left of the various odds and ends of
billions of mortal races crept out of their hiding places, each hoping
to revive his planet to its former glories. Humans drifted to Earth
from as far away as Inner Andromeda, all wishing to revive their home.
The stranger was on his way to Earth, of that there was no
doubt. There was no mistaking the human race, being the gangly,
scraggly, slightly ugly things that they were. His movements helda
strange grace to them, though, his eyes darkened by the sights seen and
fingers curled around the invisible stock of a pistol. He probably had
friends to visit, a family, perhaps, on another planet. Still, he
traveled alone.
The next stop was an odd place for a human to go. As it was,
no one had been seen on the planet Endorado for a few years, much less
a human. However, when the stop was called, the stranger stood up. He
owned barely a stitch to his name; the only possessions he had with him
were a battered suitcase and the clothes on his back. He wore a
fluttering red cape scarred with gunpowder and riddled with bullet
holes that caught in the wind, pulling away from his body, revealing a
well kept but empty holster and a lumpy package. He glanced around the
car just once before grabbing his case and briskly stepping onto the
platform. He gave the passengers a jaunty wave and turned to the
terminal.
The stranger's slow, unsteady gait and the clicking of his
heels on the old stone drew a few young children from the shadows, the
innocent joy on their faces bringing memories to the stranger. His
lips moved slowly with a conversation which had long since ceased its
echoes along the desolate barrens of the La Metaal castle it was first
uttered in.
"Don't you die before me! It's a man-to-man promise!" a
cheerful voice called.
"Hey! Don't you die either!" another replied.
Looking down, the stranger realized that the children had gone.
He sighed, smiling wistfully at the concept of childhood, of innocence.
His cape flapped in a cool breeze and he shook the thoughts fron his
head.
He followed a path from the station to a nearby town. It had
obviously once been a thriving city, but most of it lay in shambles,
rubble and garbage and even more disgusting things decorating the
streets, leaving almost no room to walk. With a grunt, he kicked aside
the scraps of what had once been one of Promethium's robots and stepped
by it.
Once in town, the stranger knocked on every door, looking for
an inn. Eventually he found one and rented a room for the night.
After he put away his suitcase, he took the lumpy package and put it in
his pocket as he left the inn.
He marveled at the people as they passed him. They were pale,
colorless, with wide, pale eyes that reflected light. Their fiery hair
was the only color to them, aside from the rags they wore.
Finally, he reached out to a semi-well dressed man, gripping
his coastsleeves. He urgently described his friend to the man, but he
pulled away, turning his back. The stranger tried on various people
time and again for hours with no luck. Just as he stood to go back to
his room, a young woman approached him.
"Sir?" she asked. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at
her. "I know who you are looking for, " she continued.
"You do?" his voice was hesitant.
"Yes. You won't find him here, " she told him. "He's dead."
"Yes, " the stranger replied.
"Then why are you here?" she asked.
"To put him to rest."
"You have his body?"
"No. Siren the Witch has it, " he breathed.
"Then he will never return, not even in body!" the girl
sobbed.
"If that were true, I wouldn't have come here, " the stranger
replied. "Where is his family's home?"
"They are gone, too, " the girl sniffled.
"Yes. Where are they buried?"
"Their bodies are lost. Come with me. I'll take you to their
home, " the girl guestured.
The stranger nodded and followed her as she stepped lightly
through the rubbish in the road. After a few minutes, they came to a
quaint house. The door swung from its hinges and it seemed to have
been ransacked by thieves, but it was otherwise decent.
He gingerly entered the house, glancing at the pictures on the
wall. Spying one of his friend, he gently pulled it from the wall.
"Meowdar, " he murmured, the name catching in his throat. He
pulled the lumpy package from his belt, frowning. Then he picked his
way to the back door and outside, where already two gravestones sat.
He knelt by the last plot, where an unfinished grave was.
With shaking hands, he unwrapped the package, revealing the
red, black, and gold watch he had taken from Meowdar's limp hand. Very
carefully, he placed it in the plot and covered it with soil. He
breathed a prayer for the soul of his friend. Standing up, he brushed
the dirt from his hands and began to walk away.
"Sayonara, Meowdar, " Tetsuro smiled sadly over his shoulder
to the ghosts.