Prometheus Falling

One Retirement doesn’t suit me, Björn thought while walking through the valley of Glencoe. Several months had gone by since he had lost his friend. Only then did he realize how much Adama meant to him. He missed debating the destruction of the Global Order, following him into battle, forging crazy plans. The spear of defeat had pierced them deeply—the armies scattered, the rebellion over. Maybe it was what Adama had stood for that Björn missed most: a new hope he could cling to in his heart. This hope had died with him. Glencoe Village had populated quickly after the destruction. Word of mouth spread throughout the Outer Areas that this was a safe haven for all those who had escaped the labour camps and now were on the run from the Peace Army. Björn had used his genius skills for evil and had hacked the government satellite, projecting an old image from the destroyed village and thus hiding them from the drones with his infamous device. As long as no Global Army trucks drove out here, they were invisible. Non-existent. He glanced into the face of the woman responsible for his sleepless nights over the last three months. Annie crouched on front of a turf hut—blackhouses, the highlanders called them here. Dark blonde strands of wavy hair fell into a face with delicate features, pointing to a smile that invited the heart to rest. She was treating the wound of a six-year-old boy. It was nothing major, just a graze wound, and the chubby kid was crying more from fright than pain. He was a boy who had survived the horrors of the labour camps, and now faced the uneven hills of the Highlands. Kids forgot much easier. There was something about their alertness to the moment that Björn himself unlearned with the years. But now, he increasingly found himself lost in Annie’s generous face. It had to be the boredom. The loss of purpose that made him think all these stupid thoughts. After all, he had renounced love since Kaari. But Annie was so different from the frantic, genius girl he had given his heart to once. Vivendel. Björn had called her by the Nordic name of a flower common in Norway, creamy white in color, tubular and two-lipped. It perfectly described her. Björn smiled involuntarily when Annie kissed the kid’s forehead and sent him off to play with the others. Annie glanced up to catch Björn’s persistent stare, and he let his eyes slide towards the mountains, pretending not to notice her. Which was stupid, of course. She caught his glance before he could evade hers. Still, he could not help himself. He felt boyish in her presence. At a loss for words. From the corner of his eye, he saw how she got up and began to walk towards him. Damn. Annie had found an interest in medicine during the past months and had become the healer of the Area Three. It was because of Adama; he was sure of it. Because she was trying to preserve a trace of his ghost. “Morning.” Annie’s voice echoed between the huts, and Björn watched the wind play with her curls and her skirt, which had become dirty from kneeling in the moist earth. The only thing he managed to do was smile, hoping he did not look too foolish. Something was happening in his gut. Just say something. Anything. Björn cleared his throat. “Beautiful skirt.” You fool. Annie looked down at the dirty rag he had just complimented her on, and smiled innocently. It seemed like she was absolutely unaware of the rising tension in his belly. He felt like a stupid teenage boy. Steps came from the right, and Björn noticed Caleb’s figure approaching from the mountains. Thank the gods. His face was at ease when he returned from his regular morning walks, but it could barely hide the deep wrinkles under his eyes and on his forehead. Neither could it conceal that his brown hair has nearly completely turned grey. The defeat was badgering him as well. Sometimes Björn heard how nightmares tormented Caleb at night. He had lost his whole family, unsure of where his wife and daughter were and whether they still lived. Waiting tires every man. But sheer powerlessness is what breaks the spirit. Still, Caleb always smiled when he spotted Björn, as he did now. He had become the leader of Outer Area Three. Another burden to bear. But Caleb would never let it show. Björn had never heard him complain, never felt fear or panic in his voice, doubt or quivering. Caleb was a rock. There was some mandatory chitchatting between the three of them. The weather, the fake reassurance of their well-being—although they knew that nothing in truth was “fine.” It was just bearable. There were questions roaming their minds that probably would never find an answer. At least it seemed so now, in this place where time stood still. Annie stopped Caleb before he had the chance to leave. “There is someone I wanted to talk to you about.” Caleb nodded, folding his hands in front of his torso. “Well…There is this woman, you know her, the one with the scar on her back. She refuses to talk about where she got it—probably from some terrible incident in the camp. Now she hasn’t left her hut, or even her bed, for three straight days. Her body is absolutely fine as far as I can tell, but she still complains about headache and fatigue.” “Depression,” Björn murmured. Annie raised an eyebrow. It was such a delicate gesture that Björn let a smile slip. He forgot that she had grown up in the Outer Areas. Depression was only a term for the cities, an occurrence so common that everybody was diagnosed with it. The white pills were the omnipresent cure. But for Outer Area folk, who worked hours on end and fought infections and famine, depression was a luxury they couldn’t afford. “It’s common with people who had traumatic experiences,” Björn explained. “A disease of the mind. There is medication for it in the cities.” “Let’s give therapy a try first,” Caleb said, tone unwavering. “Where can I find her?” Annie pointed to a turf hut further down the path. Caleb nodded and left. A broken man to heal the broken. Sometimes Björn wondered if Caleb had fallen victim to the symptoms of depression himself. Or was it his stoic demeanor that prevented him from forging some crazy plan to retrieve his wife and daughter from the cities? Anybody else would have pondered such a plan. He had rebuilt Outer Area Three instead, as if leaving his past behind. Björn had a hard time believing that Caleb, of all people, had accepted powerlessness. Or had he just fallen victim to utter resignation? It occurred to Björn that he was alone with Annie. The knot in his throat returned. “Well … I … you …” Björn’s mouth began to babble before he could control himself, as he suddenly heard a sharp buzzing coming from his hut right behind him. He was startled for a moment, wondering what the heck it was. A warning? Was something wrong with his drone deviation? But no, it made no such sound. Before he could even fully process what he was hearing, he turned around and sprinted into the hut, frantically searching for the source of the buzzing. No, this could not be it. Annie followed him, watching his hectic movements with narrowed eyes. “What is it?” But he gave no answer. He was too preoccupied with this sound that only one device could make. But could this be real? Finally. Here it was. Something that looked like the ancient phones from the nineties, with a two-way intercom system. This was the buzzing. Björn could not believe his ears. No, this could not be it. But, maybe, it finally was? He pressed the button and slowly, as if doubting his own common sense, asked: “Rahab?”