Campfire

Sci-fi flash fiction

Author’s note: This is a flash fiction story, meaning it was written quickly with minimal plotting or editing. The story was inspired by a Flash Fiction Friday prompt from Scoot: “Write about a campfire story.” This is my take on the prompt. It was fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it!

Photo by Joris Voeten on Unsplash

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“That’s a good one, Merv.” The thin young man wiped a tear from the corner of an eye. Sally saw it in the thick orange light of the fire. Below, at the foot of the Campsies, the lights of Glasgow shimmered the same shade of orange. Westward, the evening sky still clung to a few shreds of colour. Merv nodded, scratched his beard, took a swig from the hip flask then passed the flask to the thin young man.

“Your turn, Ad,” said Sally as the laughter subsided.

“’S right,” someone said. “Adam, your turn!”

“I’m not that good at stories,” said the thin young man, his voice low, looking at the fire.

Sally scratched the back of her neck. “Midges getting anyone else?”

An exasperated chorus arose from the rest of the group, apart from Adam, who kept looking at the flames.

“Word has it they only used to come out late summer,” said Merv. “Here, put some of they leaves on the fire. More smoke.”

“Go on, Adam,” said Seth. “Just give it a go.”

Adam looked round at the faces lit by the orange light. Most of them were thin. Gaunt, even, though their bodies were wiry and supple as stoats. The men’s beards were thick and all their hair was long and braided tight, except for Merv, who was bald on top. Adam knew the ritual. It was time to take part. To earn — what? Their trust? He already had that, as far as he could judge. No, their respect. To show he was really one of them. This could be key to the success of his mission.

“OK,” he said. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “OK, here goes.”

Across the fire, Sally watched the light play on Adam’s sharp cheekbones and the soft coils of the dark beard that spilled over his chest. He flashed a quick smile and she saw the perfect moon-paleness of his teeth, barring that one canine that was missing. She ran her tongue over her own teeth, felt the sharp edges of the premolar she’d broken trying to crack a hazelnut, and the dark gap where Merv had helped her extract that upper molar that had rotted.

Adam took a sip from the hip-flask and coughed.

“That’s the good stuff,” said Merv. “Put hair on your chest, so it will!” The others laughed.

“Right then,” said Adam. “This one is about something that happened down there, a long time ago. A story my, uh, grandpa told me.” He nodded in the direction of the city lights. The group settled down to listen, rearranging limbs and rustling into more comfortable positions around the fire.

“Once upon a time,” he began, the nervous edge in his Bearsden accent smoothing away as he got into the cadence of the story, into an old-style bardic rhythm. “Once upon a time, before the water rose and before the ice came south, a prince came from over the water.”

There were a couple of grunts of appreciation. Tales of old royalty were popular among the group.

“The prince’s name was Melskoun, and he was a fine and lordly young man from the kingdom of Durmtopland. His father, King Melskoun the Second, desired young Melskoun to travel beyond the borders of the kingdom, to gain wisdom, slay dragons, and advance the cause of the kingdom in the wild lands of the east. And so young Prince Melskoun took wing and landed down there, on the far side of the Clyde from where we now sit, and enrolled at the ancient and long-renowned University at Glasgow.”

A puff of wind twisted the smoke from the fire and blew it gently in Adam’s face, but he continued unperturbed.

“Prince Melskoun embarked on his studies with enthusiasm, seeking to learn all he could of Philosophy, Epistemology, Quantum Arcana, Metaphysics, Economics, Botany, Natural Theology, Electromagnetism, Robotics and many other fields. He was an extremely intelligent youth, as well as gifted at sports of many kinds, including Football, Rugby, Tennis, Lacrosse, Soccer and Pickleball. He became very popular among his peers. But something disturbed him as he observed the lives and habits of his professors and classmates.”

A few of those around the campfire shuffled restlessly. Sally kept her eyes fixed on Adam as he spoke, watching him thoughtfully.

“What disturbed Prince Melskoun was the way that, although the people of Glasgow were clearly brave and intelligent, they refused to accept the enlightenment that alliance with Durmtopland would bring. They rejected the efficiencies that Melskoun’s economic theories would bring, and clung stubbornly to outdated ideals.”

The hip flask was being passed around more quickly than before, and Sally saw Merv pull his ancient mechanical wristwatch out of his pocket. The firelight on the glass face of the watch caught Adam’s eye, and he began to speed up, trying to regain his audience’s attention.

“Prince Melskoun became very low in spirits,” Adam went on. “He became so depressed that he failed to make more than one touchdown in the annual Inter-Varsity football derby against Glasgow Rangers. He was too wise to drown his sorrows in drink, and besides, he knew that every coin has two sides and every cloud has a silver lining. But he was very gloomy in heart on his way home that evening. So he decided to take refuge in the caverns beneath the University, in the ancient coal mines that extended below the hill. He hoped that among the shades of past industry, he might find some inspiration.

“He entered the tunnels from the basement of the Kelvin Building, taking only a single candle and a tinderbox to light his way. The tunnel was dark, and the sides oozed a kind of phosphorescence that gave a haunting, ghostly effect. At irregular intervals there were drips of water. It might have scared a lesser man, but Prince Melskoun did not lack in courage. He pushed on to where he knew a wider cavern lay.”

“Finally getting somewhere,” muttered Seth. Adam didn’t hear him, or pretended not to.

“As he approached the cavern mouth, a draught blowing through the tunnel blew out his candle. At the same time, a great bat flew into Prince Melskoun’s face. He was startled, and dropped the tinderbox into a pool of water on the tunnel floor, rendering it inoperative. However, he was relieved to find that the phosphorescence from the walls was getting stronger, and he walked forward confidently, though despondently, into the cavern.

“Inside the hidden cavern, he was startled to find three men sitting around a table as if waiting for him. One of them pulled out a fourth chair and indicated Prince Melskoun should sit. Prince Melskoun was afraid, because he saw that they were not ordinary men, but ghosts. But he suppressed his fear and took the seat they offered.

“The first ghost was Lord Kelvin, the great physicist. The second was Adam Smith, the great economist. And the third was Susan Calvin, the great roboticist.”

Sally leaned forward, trying to get a better view of Adam’s face across the fire. Her hand moved to scratch her ankle, then rested at her belt.

“Lord Kelvin spoke first. ‘Prince Melskoun,’ he said, ‘you have a great and lonely destiny. But don’t give up! You will surely succeed in the task your father has set you.’”

The fire crackled in a loud pop, sending up a shower of sparks.

“Go on then, lad, finish your tale,” said Merv, when the sparks settled and Adam did not resume speaking.

“He’s not going to,” said Sally, standing up slowly. Across the fire from her, Adam sat in exactly the same position, eyes staring, mouth half-open, unmoving. There was a small round hole in the centre of his abdomen, and small petals of red unfurling around it.

“What have you done?” Merv was on his feet, and the rest of the group scrambling up and looking around in bewilderment.

Sally walked round the fire to where Adam still sat.

“Look,” she said. She unbuttoned the dirty woollen shirt he was wearing, exposing his angular chest and belly. The bullet hole was just below his ribcage, directly above his navel. “Not much blood, is it? And why’s he still upright and firm as a living person?”

“Oh, shit,” said Seth.

Sally pressed a finger in Adam’s navel and twisted his right nipple in a practiced movement. The chest seam opened, and they could all see the android’s internals.

Merv started barking orders. “Petrol! Burn him — it — then put out the fire. They’ll be tracking him. It. We won’t have much time. I’ve been avoiding integration for thirty years and I’m not going to get caught now. Let’s move!”

Seth was next to Sally as they rolled up the tents and kicked earth over the remains of the fire. “How could you tell?” he asked.

“I’m a literary historian, remember?” Sally stuffed her ration pack into her backpack. “Or was. I mean, sure, you can tell a historically inaccurate story and not be a robot. But no real Glaswegian is going to ever think Rangers were an American football team. Cultural memory is too strong. The whole text just smacked of fakery. Propaganda.”

She hoisted the backpack onto her shoulders and rubbed her face violently. With the fire out, the midges hung in clouds around them.

“And,” she said, “he didn’t react once to the midges. Not once. They’re going to have to work on that in their next model.”

The group set off across the hillside in the gathering dark, away from the city. Somewhere in the distance a flock of tiny drones whined.

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