Pilgrimers

By Gordon M Burns

In a future world, confident teenager Eska is not the average, fun-seeking teenager she appears. Instructed by her teacher, Saurin, to help Lyking to achieve a step at school, she discovers a malevolent force intent to destroy her. Torn by an attitude of why-bother, Saurin leads her towards to search for, Cliva, a teenager from the dregs of life who knows nothing of their connection and purpose. They are transmigrated beings that pilgrimage through time and space to free enmeshed spirits from dread fates. In others forms they were successful but now, at the end of time, where is there left to go?
Pilgrimers is the story of a group of teenagers - no longer acceptant of childhood realism and aware of the childlike fragility of their elders - who seek avoidance of the trap perpetuated by myths into which, generations have fallen. Separately latching onto false ideals, morbid assumptions or imagined certainties, they struggle to find a meaning beyond the environmental depletion of their world, the discord and displacement evident around them and the imbalance and banality in the legacy bequeathed them. Eska, hot-wired and dynamic, beguiles them with her uniqueness but this only brings them closer to the lode running as a flaw through humanity threatening ruin - greed and avarice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gordon M Burns
• Release date: Mar 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311885951

Gordon M Burns

Writer living in Abernethy Perth Scotland. see my website for more details.

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PILGRIMERS

Gordon M Burns

©March 2016

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

©Cover design by G M Burns March 2016

Published by Gordon Moncrieff Burns at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

PILGRIMERS

First Quarter

Second Quarter

Third Quarter

Fourth Quarter

Decider

First Quarter

1

Compressed as time and space into a hotty-spot and expectation was that in the elements of her and him, something had to spark. Not easy though, never simple and never certain if the science and numbers did not equate. That day was futher complicated by him styled silent and her yollering a squealed delight one way and sending it round the bend as anxious giggling the other. A self-annoyed tut-huh, audible as the click before the system lock-out, relayed data to all that her shrill input into a pressurised atmosphere was not the utterance intended. And then, hyper-tense, a moment of utter blanking in which no one knew just what the Jez had been premeditated except her. However, as it was, she and him were only there by fifty-fifty chance of him being a him and not a her. She began recalibrating the myth created about herself to the set ritual now expected. Not easy and never to be smooth gliding on a slippy slope, on a planet, in this humid area where everything was calculated, codified and recycled to the final atom, the sub-atomic particle where space, time, nada and not far up ahead - Maths equated the conclusion - spin it as you wish - the probabilty, the burden of overwheling science, pointed out - all ends somewhere and it might be soon. However, and on a lighter note, in that she went beyond convention, the term to yoller was not universally known although to her it did exist - somewhere, at some time - only not here where it would be equated to a passionate, discordant yell.

Right, so - okay - the sound was actually a word and the word was meant to imparting knowledge on her part with a reassuringly tickling high-note at the end - there for his ease, poor wee vaddie, and he was welcome to it - knowledge. So, right - thing was - knowledge was a word of understanding, a disyllabic utterance meant to coax him out of his box all wired-firing and egar what to do like all the rest - interface. And, fine then, she could go with that and feel ticky-box well-pleased. As that word had not been given yet, no afterglow of achievement for who’s-the-clever-ossie-then? - was evident. And, truth was, his confusion required verbal cleaning if binaries had been cluttered. Truth was she needed to get by the next and start to sigh and try with contact in the eye whilst giving it verbal-mode plus ultra-telphatia MindTime. And so, she did just that, sent it out across the darkened expanse and pulsed the word she meant - nervous?

High-pitched and still a yeech not quite intelligible, she gave out wrong meaning all over again which in there, that cosmos she found herself within, meant that ZubeLubed, SocialSpoofed and dock-bar-iconed in every WazZup, she could be tagged as - OssieFuzzup@YoSpreadZit#whatshelikzz! She had gone poxic in every intray as so unbelievably near to infantile-logic and old-tec, hand-hold mufzinci-stuff in the way that she behaved, it made her appear proper-well-obscure. Having gone NonPessona in everybody’s concept, she tongue-prodded behind lips, pushing out an immature stick-that-huff knowing that by any physically-coding and DataPillow-twining, her UnCool-smart just became uncool-sucks all because her voice zinged like washer over the rolling floor from east to west. Snip-slapping that sound flat with a twitch of her lips, she stamped it right off her repertoire as one style well-nerdic and glanced up at him mean-aggressively growling as she might have to venture on more carefully but had no wish to show it. Gawking up at him, she found a hunched-up non-reaction as clueless as he was non-commissioned and as he had missed all that PapProba mish-mash done her, she might as well trill it passed him a third time in hope that chirpy-tooth-flash worked its wonders.

‘Oh Jez,’ she smiled her beamer all naive and open-blunder, ‘little old me-huh sounding skittish?’ That, because it had a sort of beat to it, embarrassed her slightly but seeing as but nobody there would know rhythm if they heard it dripping out a tap, she did not blush and closed their space next to body-personal humid. ‘Sorry, I’m not, er, nervous that is - or, um, skittish or whatever - Jez, no way, ha-ha - wouldn’t want that now would we?’ Her laugh, fresh-breath minty in his face, had the effect of plugging his breathing and arrowing his eyes in her mouth like he was puzzling out what had stuck on her teeth. All in all, a way of behaving that miffed her. ‘Huh! ... Mhmmm?’ The frown from her - cute-appealing pouted with aw-whatzup - questioned the situation as logical electric pulses behind her eyes gave an answer - yep, quiet ones need watching. ‘Yah,’ she continued. ‘So then, no need for you to be either - nervously skittery or skitterly nervous. Sure like it is easier when you’re young - you’ve gone and left it a bit too late, that is if you have, er - left it alone at ... Ah-hmm’ She cleared her throat. ‘So, low downs is, it’ll go fine once by the initial the er ... Erummies?’

‘Huh!’ He simply grunted. So much of what she said was but skim-the-head and spoof so, hiding nothing of a bladed voice, he added: ‘And you would know, wouldn’t you?’

‘Meaning?’

No answer in his eyes implied much. In half-light her follow-up modulated like a wary sneer - eh-hmmm? Next a sniff showed her understanding that here was mousey scared of cat. If he knew what a cat was or had any notion of a mouse but he must have heard of rats. Her head tilted for neat positioning. Lips approached an open smile and through the gap in her upper-teeth, hissed steam pressure released under control. Half-issued, she stopped, corked her mouth on a sting therein and rested her angled-head on a hand considering spitting the smarting out at him. She took a sec-out from this elsewhere checking, as she did when some new inbox item zings in, and what she scolled there calmed her. ‘Oh, now, you don’t say?’ This was remarked more to herself than to him although she slant-eyed him now, stretching a thin-tight smirk below gleamed delight. This expression next morphed into mock-sorrow as, patting his arm, she mewed pity-notes from a puckered look of concern. He winced but held the arm in place. She gave a squeeze frimly then laughed. He grinned toothy-in-her-face and both made light of the incident as they tittered twitchy on the knife edge. She sorted herself out first.

‘So-oh, the thing is, what we do is - we find somewhere hummy-doky. Us two, you and me, yeah - aint you the lucky spinner then?’

‘Spinner - what’s that mean?’

Rhythmically her body gave reply. Hips gave action that swung down to stoppage on an outstroke to the left and eyes, stuck full-open on the non-blink, weighed the head to near rubbing of the shoulder as the mouth worked up the verbal. She started by trying to make clear the simple for the jeek but got only as far as - er-doha, it means, donitlike - when words failed her. Eyes rolled the full circle, fired out a danky-dart whilst, breaking into rocking a pendulum of shoulder attitude, she popped her hip out right. It locked composure. ‘It means as in bottle - yeah? Spun in, like you take your chances - like you do with life - get it?’

To show chance with her was a fine thing and always sucro-sticky-surface up, she smiled, syruped her arm round his sleeve and rolled her hip to spicy his pallete. It was if the sting felt in her mouth just found a new target. He jumped back but why, she gave up trying to figure. Not only did he still have his hoodie-hood on, he wore a mask and all she could see through the slatting-slatty-slat were two dark eyes - possibly puzzling - probably nervy - most likely amazed that probability turned her up for him. Sure, she thought, definately feeling mirco-inadequate. Spin that as dead-cert, but they were both there now and like eveyone else coupled, they might as well get down to it - let zap the zips - sound out the ole-time velcro and find out how goes it before button back-up. Nothing new to her, buttons, but they would be for him, anything clippy would be - they could exchange contact details after, if so wished.

Through all the high density closeness of her, by the lip-cruel of his mask-hidden sneer he knew chance had lain outwith her knowing and wondered how she, in thinking fate worked them together, could welcome him other than in shallow falseness? She could not like him, the back-tattooed welcome of such kept on Level Five credit-raking would hardly be this free with him and yet, if she but knew his true intention in all likelihood her spirit of surety would dare her do this with him. So sharp the razor line that cut him, but sharper still the scent from her that spilt him from resolve but in its sweetness, the barbed reminder of the reason he was here - to pin-prick her super-heated bubble. Then hardly credible - given his present situation with her freestyling in her element - his atttention was drawn thankfully to a faintly audible being - the whirring of an ancient aircon whining out a recycled blend of snyth-scents and tension and sounding disgusted that it did. Somewhere in that fuggy mix was her, the trace of which he could not place, an unquiness the like of which, he had never smelt before.

‘Guess so,’ lip movement shuffled out of hold as he gave way.

It was so long since he had spoken she had to ask: ‘Guess so what?’

‘I guess I get it.’

‘Hmm?’ She sounded doubtful but swished her ponytail and immediately perked pinky. ‘Well, you wait, you’ll like it - what’s not too like I say.’ Satisfied she sounded chirpy, her eyes searching around. ‘Wheek,’ she fanned her face whilst scanning the room for a spot to cool out. ‘It’s it hot here - are you hot?’

‘No.’

‘No? Hmm-ha-ha - just you wait - it’ll frazzle you!’ She laughed in a manner too free and over submissive to her own liking and glanced up, knew why. Adjusting herself, she leaned back assessing. With one hand supporting an elbow, her other hand quartered the space in front of his face with a finger as if a hex into the dark upon the thing disquietening her. ‘You needing to wear that hoodie-thingy and the mask?’

‘Yes. Why ask when you know I must?’

In the answer, she looked away cheek-sucking as if uninterested, muttering vaguely about having enough of having to deal that attitude back home and next studying the room more intently on locating where, in body-buzz of similar contact-seekers, their sweet place to zing their neuro-wiring senseless might happen to be found. He sensed her keeness and asked:

‘Is there anything I should have remembered?’

‘With me?’ She beamed confidently back. ‘Naa - spam-free and know-all. Tell you what though, see after this you’ll never white-wire, hot-wire or handhold an android ever again - interfacing at another level this is. Come on then, let’s find a place before the best spots are taken.’ She moved away but he stayed put so that when noticing, she spun round irked by him. ‘Jenaz!’ She swore eyes shut in exasparation, failing to note his stiffening at the use of that name. ‘Suit yourself, Spam, I’m going.’

Glancing back at times she barged a wake through an electricity of excitement where dewy-eyed hand-holders slipped into places where free hands sought out shiver-surfaces in the rustlings and sniggers. He knew as sure as eyes examine that he had to follow her. With hood-shrunken into shoulders and feet dragging flooring, behind her bouncing body and tossing hair he cringled at the delight his following caused her. He leered fixed intentions, cold behind his mask at the rock-pop-lock messaging her body-advertised. Finding a place she put herself down first. Beaming up at him, she patted the space beside her.

‘Come on then, let’s be having you.’

He heard the Aircon, the sighing sage, the waft of old age across taut the skins and callow passions in the room. He knew it failed in distraction or purification. He smelt funky bio-musk and sweet synth-scent, an asinine cocktails suggestively smouthering youth hell-bent on discovery and shuddered for his wholeness and well-being. Enlightened was elsewhere but here in this dim space he knew what they sought was chipped-corruption.

‘Anytime - I’m ready,’ she smiled up happily to him.

Muffled frenzied searches from box-ticking couples who dared, assulted his senses. Pairs induced and opposites attracted either by comfort and closeness or opportunity and purpose, all fumbled in their forwardness. All pushed towards where half the party had experience. He held back steeling himself on the rote-learnt to see him through, telling himself that a pleasant smile was but the glad-eye-grin of her impulsive nature, and then stepped forward forcefully with purpose unbeign.

‘Ouch, watch it!’

‘Watch what?’

‘Me - watch me, ediot!’

‘Okay, so what am I watching exactly?’

‘You spinning me, Spam?’ She snapped, down rubbing her foot in upset.

‘Am I spinning you spam? Well I don’t see how that can be when were not connected yet?’

‘Oh, you - you,’ she laughed, palm-pushing his shoulder looking for the right expression and came out with something he would not understand, ‘you pillock.’ Before he could work if through her glee she had bad-named or ran affection passed him, she was up off the floor smiling and appologising for the name she called him. Following that, set herself up alluringly on cross-leg coyness blended with a brazen bold-out in his face.

To him, her pinging about bore little logic to the calm milk-skin, the intelligent eyes, the simply neat yellow-resin top above the plain black leggings but what she did, so neat and sweet, would stick so that when come his day for dying, passing or just having to say bye-bye nice knowing, he would know that in those moments, fleetly flying, glittered the ends of his undoing on his purpose there with her.

‘Oh,’ was uttered vaguely as if he had just registered black legging’s outlining a lower body-shape but, as she saw his preoccupation, his eyes fumbled for a spot beyond her shoulder because red should fleck his humour and red flow his mood unchecked. They both thought that but behind masks of threads or keeling legs in near topple, different were their reasons. Puzzled at his feelings, eyes drying in the look he gave at her rubbing away at an ankle and pouting at him so, he mumbled: ‘I see what you mean- I should look out for your legs - okay, sorry.’

‘Sorry would be a good start,’ she glistened, patted the empty space and seeing him this time take it. Her tone changed back to the level theme that smoothed along so gentle. ‘Look, Lyking, if you don’t - you know? If you don’t want to, we needn’t.’ She grinned playfully. ‘Only - it might be to you liking - har, har!’ She barked. ‘Geddit?’

‘It’s what were here for isn’t?’ He replied unpleasantly. Her twisting and joking grated him. She might billow about all over the place but he was constant in his manner and what she rippled his way needed resisting. However, he was now so near to the wonder of her that now fresh citrus, her bouquet all invasive, her smile an honest invitation and he knew this would be hard.

‘Haven’t bruised you, Eska, have I?’ He stalled for time.

‘Had worse and it hasn’t happened yet.’ Clamping his hands, she jerked him nearer. ‘Right, matey - game on, let’s go for it.’

2

An onlooker - there was one for the room formulating for the records such things as, rate of bated taken-breath sucked in to that razzed out on defunct mufzincihood - took careful note of the links within the room. Proceedings were to plan and soon a constant flow of AdFeeds which, by hook of set rules alinged and crook of calibrations, would allow those over-heated sweet young things, browsing in the borrowed safety under subdued lighting, to consider themselves as consumers in charge of things. In a way, the watcher felt sorry for programmable innocence grabbed in party-fuse by that not caring a flick for the download luring them on. The observer, green-eyed, but not in envy, noted this right of passion in head by the body tweaks a few blog-seconds from connecting. She knew their rating already, knew who would take the tool and use it from those who would be naught but myth of nudge spread wide across the Mesh seconds later. However, not all assessing streamed in as per-spec as, nested in a cooler section, the data-noter saw cosiness turning caustic more suited for ZubeLube viewing or MindTime chitchat in a pair scratching about each other on the edge of mega-disagreement. The watcher, Saurin Keifea, could have laughed out loud on seeing who they were but given her position, zeroed in to overhear:

‘Erm, so, what now? Not like your side- isit? What’s you problem - just how you want it - hmm?’ A moment’s silence. ‘Look, Lyking, how wide you want my system parted? Input please like you really mean it - yeah?’

Saurin, Ostrazina Kiefea, to give a stunning ostrona her title in this room, smirked at seeing hippy-impatience, physical and mental, sidling an alignment, creating disapproval so that the probability behind both masks was - postured exasperated. This was not addiction to the angst of youth, far from it, for this being although curious was not habit-looped, urge driven or triggered by flashes of desire - not much was without her control. Mind-tempts and body sensations she could override with ease, however, with this young ossie she observed - a soft-spotted tenderness to her - that moping attitude drew her mindfulness as that vexed ostrona muttered to the put-out zad:

‘Is there a problem here? Jenaz - bet it’s all meally-mouth behind that veil with you!’

‘Not sure what meally-mouth means,’ he muttered like her line-chat needed pillow-softener, ‘but Jenaz me once more and I’m off-lining you.’

‘Oh, yeah - and how’s that happening exactly if you never been online yet?’

She, Eska Hyval, who bused-off internal date transfer long ago as been there, done it and would tranfer , like anytime with anyone, had her interest-network so far stretched, she was beginning to feel DarkMesh e-commercal-freebee. She felt obscene, which she was not, and sat back glaring at a fuse blown on her flick-on - Lyking Trinnawin. He, coy fundamental type from off this planet, wire-crossed, fused his configurations and tense-endings in case he gizmoated with this bright-lit princess roast-wiring him for her delight. Glared back knowing her product, he determined not to buy-in. As a pair, flowing or resistant, they fussed the edges of a Black Hole that might suck the numbers out their brains any day, hour or minute now. Only tossed together by, she intuitively surmised, generated number lots star-crossed for certain but, he knew, hidden reason, they were wired into this personal, spark-it-all-about Entry-thingy-thing, like or not. To a point she was not concerned and, to his horror, to a point he did not dislike they did, so he worked data-blocking to the point she minded. So, while all around in the half-light others melted groans to one another via multi-platforms, they growled each other like lottery was a bad idea.

‘Okay, no Jenaz then. How about Jez?’

‘I’m warning you, once more and I’m off!’

‘Fegs then?’

‘Fegs? Where you get that from? It still sounds like blasphemy.’

‘Ach, what do you know?’

Nearby, the nosey-noter, Saurin Kiefea, smirked her shoulders not quite unnoticed. Linked into awareness of her, Eska sensed the nippy Ostrazina homing on them, a wet smut in the air as all staff are.

>yep there you go eska fifteen hot cored solid mantle bru-bubbly party-darling spectrum coloured and now a mashup.

Eska zipped her back a message quick:

>not my fault

>tagged # back-fired disaster>>>

Tagged such, Eska seathed:

‘Come on, Lyking, this ..,’ she whispered her exasperation at him, ‘this is becoming harder than it should be!’ Then - she could not help it - linked a smirk to Saurin in the shadows and got replied:

>adolescent eska concentrate try neatening your styling it’s all over the place i can hardly read it so how can Lyking

>yes ostrazina>>>

That noted, reaction to it mainfested itself as a cute humph of amusement down Eska’s nose. Others the sound and simper could drive delighted but Lyking failed to merit it or, when he missed it, reacted as meant. Neither did he see the follow-up, an act of huff Eska jabbed at him impishly as warning. ‘Jenaz, lighten up,’ she swore at his ill humour, dug fingers into his ribs then red-sharp-nailed an attempt to rip below his grey-cloth sleeve. She twinkled a smile to see how that rocked him while all the time slanting her eyes to calculate her performance according to hint of pain alongside his thrill-laced breath intake. ‘Hmm, give us a break,’ she crumpled the result, startled him with a huh-you then perked body styling to high-set, soft-fudge-sweet-pie to catch the eye if not his plaudit. Then tried again. ‘So-oh, Lyking, know what I’m saying? You’re making something here hard - just not sure what or why - is we?’

Following this verbal note, brief code-bars straightlined messaging across her brow before her skin churned cold-clay grey, marbled orange with petroleum blue swirls in the eddies. A seasonal sharpness skirted sensibilities, nauseous to her but planned to be peculiarly intoxicating to him. Wrinkling her nose to bear its fouler whiffiness, the fact this fixated him pleased her. Intuition, in numerous contacts enjoyed perviously, held that a look of candy-cute could usually hook. However, her odour over-ripened towards musk on something unwashed a week old and so, turning from the smiley-funky affect, she perfumed zinged citrus again, ultra-smoothed her face obsidian; glassing it daringly with swirls of emerald greens below purple tinctures. What was happening to the rest of the tonal output she lost track off but assumed all matched a zipping vermillion over her bottom lip which, in turn, cherry-smothered the top one, cushioning its bordering disappointment to allurement and, hopefully, melting Lyking towards blessed Entry. She knew he had to desire or should itch wild for the wonder of her underlying motif, but the omegadork rendered a beatless rhythm of a riff not worth abstract symbolism. So, she fluidly expressed her discord through hair-flicks, lippy phu-phu-phutts but still got nothing in return. For nano-seconds eyes dug up inside her skull working out possible next-moves behind syncopating eyelids then, wide as the chord of a harpy-smile, she went for full-on syling. Sucking him into a drain of faux colours leaching out her skin, her complexion shone polished granite-cool. Nails iced over polar-white and reached out to a suitable hard surface to ripple displeasure. Contradicting this, her lips kissed the air:

‘Are you wanting want to stay a saddo screenjacker all our life,’ she mewed, ‘tapping, swiping - huh-humm?’ In saying this, Eska Hyval, knew she chiselled his ineffective pulsing to fusing point but to make sure, milked her pupils over so that the whole blanched show appeared as if off interfacing elsewhere. Lips and eyes, the whole set-up was now an attitude of affectation whose soul purpose for Lyking was to core-harden the interface. She peeked through a black line scored across one iris and what she saw had the appearance of clicking, if eye-tryst through an ink-scratch was to go by. According she flapped her own open and might have yelped gleefully but felt a weary start-again-sigh more appealing. This further jerking him from base level, worked his interconnector to hard-drive-entry on the search to accomplish satisfaction to all concerned. If that achieved, she could score him off as one more knocked easy-interfacer begging her ah-hah-rating review and thumb-nose Saurin Kiefea as the side-line nosey data-checker that she was.

Unfortunately for Eska Hyval, he, Memty’s vad-die, the omegadork-kie, the zade from off this planet, Lyking Trinnawin, had come with his reputation as shy-zad refusenix come input locked, rummaged somewhere in the stomach pockets of his hoddie and determindly stuck as drippy primabio. He still seemed to want to remain a secret, old-style android finger-flicker well past his sixteen years. On the sly, rumour spread it, he might be an esoteric, moralistic prude. All the same, notching one of that sort had a certain turn-on for Eska as that two-faced type mega-grated her in the form of her half-brovad Looth’s vader, Capla Zestra. Such at that well-needed levelling. So, given that Lyking was no gene-catch, added to the thought of what she was about to exchange with him was now making her positively yuck-yick, bile-burnt in her throat, she determined to see this to conclusion. It would do Eska’s reputation no good with anyone that mattered if she could not pull this tie-in with Lyking off. She glistened on her next move, determined he should not slip her grasp or Ostrazina Kiefea deride her later.

Bringing herself to refract body heat off him so that he visioned her a shimmering lead-on rebooting his interest, wavy alkaline browns and crystalline black-purples treacled her skin as she closed the personal space further. Next, momentarily in his focus, sparkling quartz highlights bleached bone-white tones across skin facets before currents of warmth beneath honeyed the skin and honed it with glows of summer-sun infusing visual warmth for him to savour. Not that he could name an effect he had never seen before. If nothing else, Eska worked unlimted styling for him, displaying in the past half hour skin-coding in every colour except illegal-green. She had skin-sprayed in and out of various outfits that barely requiring adjustment for position, advantage or imagination.

Now her complexion became pristine driven white-ice with no downy upperlip hair catching sweat beads through the effort in working him. Rippling down her arms, unnoticed by her styling, a rill of light-catching hairs glowed like doides as if she was still able to recall past-wickedness done her. Then