Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
4 more chapters are written (and I hope and pray that the story ends there 'cause I could sure use some sleep), but I like to give them a day between writing and posting. I change my mind like a wild mind-changing thing, and it will be easier to totally change my mind *before* I hit post...
Random details not explicated in the text.
1) Titanians never talk, much like in the Waid / Kitson boot. However, 'never' does not mean 'can't.'
2) Garth's powers flip on and off like a switch. Medical science can detect nothing out of the ordinary about him when he's not calling up the lightning, no electrolyte imbalance or tiny power generators in his cells or excess bio-electricity. So he can have machinery, like a regen-pack, strapped onto him, use normal medicines, etc. Where does the lightning come from? Not my problem. It just works.
3) Queen Sarya, like most Venegarians of royal blood, is stronger than a human male twice her size, but not Spider-Man strong. The Eye of Ekron holds the collective memories of every ruler of Ekron past, and they give her advice, comfort, a surprising level of willpower (including effective immunity to telepathic control) and limited psychic powers, equivalent to what the Rings give the Champions. She doesn't fly around because... she doesn't like heights. But anyone who suggests that she is *afraid* of heights (or anything else) is cruising for a butt-kicking. Fair warning.
4) Queen Sarya is in her mid thirties, has been for quite some time, and will be for several more decades. Another thing not to be mentioned, ever.
5) Kathooni males don't leave Kathoon. They are smaller and weaker than Kathooni females, and not terribly bright, being both easily confused and easily frightened. To the great joy of sentients of other species, Kathooni women are tall, strong, classically beautiful, and, best of all, fascinated by the concept of independent-thinking males who suffer the amusing notion of being 'equal' to females. This is utterly irrelevant to the story, but I find amusing and share for no reason at all.
6) There is no six.
[ March 07, 2007, 02:58 PM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
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Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
Emerald Legion – Chapter 6 “Tell me of your homeworld, Usil.” – In which our young Champions share their impressions of their birth-worlds…
The three Champions had used their Champion’s Rings to ensconce themselves atop one of the spot-lights, watching the moopsball play-offs from a spectacular vantage point that no one else could challenge.
“I just don’t get it. *Team* sports? Where’s the glory in that?” Rokk muttered, not for the first time.
<Cooperative exercises are useful, Rokk. You have to admit we worked well when we coordinated our actions and didn’t all attempt to run rampage against those gunmen…>
“That’s different. This isn’t life or death, or military action. It’s for *fun.* What’s fun about sharing the glory?”
“I beginning to think I’d never last a second on Braal.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad, Garth. Yeah, we’re hyper-competitive, but it brings out the best in people. It gives people something to strive for, goals and dreams and all that.”
<That’s easy for a sports-prodigy to say. But it doesn’t work out for everyone, does it Rokk?>
With a heavy sigh, Rokk concedes the point. “That’s for sure.”
Garth was trying to figure out the game again, “This game is stupid! They just run around for like, a few seconds, and then call time-out to argue about all these stupid rules for another half-hour.”
“On this we are agreed.”
<We’re all colonists, come back to the mother Earth, but we don’t really have anything in common with these people. Tell us about Braal, Rokk.>
“Not much to say. It’s just a rock that exports lots of exotic metals. Just about everyone is tied to the mining and enrichment consortiums, and we work like beasts, and then play twice as hard when shift is over. Our SP branch is the second highest paid in the UP, because we keep them so busy cleaning up after us. The only spectator sport more popular than magno-ball is bare-knuckled bar-brawling…”
“Second-highest paid?”
<The detachment to Rimbor is the highest paid, I’ll bet.>
“Yeah. Even we can’t compete with actual professional troublemakers.”
<Everyone has magnetic powers, right?>
“Not like mine, but yeah. When we settled Braal it was an accident. The third planet was lush and hospitable. Braal, the fourth planet, was a shattered lump of metal and rock that had been split open by a cometary impact a few million years before. The molten iron core spewed out in an enormous fountain that scorched Braal’s smaller moon, and formed the magnetite ring surrounding the planet today. The planet was all lopsided and broken, and after some ridiculous number of years, all of the chunks of iron that had rained back down to the planetary surface degraded into particles the size of sand. The entire planet was one giant desert, but the sand dunes were made of tiny chunks of iron, and when the moons passed overhead, the magnetic fields would sweep across the deserts and hurl up mile high clouds of charged iron particles that spent the next million years wearing everything else on the planet into dust.”
“So, obviously the colony ship wanted the third planet, and got sucked in by the magnetic forces?”
“Exactly. They had planned for it, but an asteroid shower damaged the ship and brought them too close to Braal, and left them unable to escape its’ pull. The captain realized that she’d drain the ships fuel and burn out the engines, and still not be able to escape, and then have nothing left to make a safe landing. So she accelerated towards the planet and cut the engines to save power.”
“Ballsy move.”
“Yeah. She tore into the atmosphere like a meteor, and only engaged thrusters when she was nearing impact, slinging the ship along the surface and letting the atmosphere break their velocity. She went all the way around the planet two and a half times before the desert sands, attracted to the charge the hull had picked up during entry, reached up and pulled the ship from the sky.”
<I don’t get it. Was it a sand-storm or some sort of magnetic interference?>
“The charged iron sands were attracted to the ship as it passed overhead, and the more of them clung to the hull, the more they slowed the ship down, and weighed it down… Fortunately, they also ended up cushioning the ship from the worst of the impact. The captain died, and six other crewmembers. The passengers in cryo-sleep were heavily shielded, with triple redundancies and all back-up power reinforcing those sections, and still, 23 of them couldn’t be revived. At planetfall, two crewmen and 227 passengers were left alive, on a planet with an unbreathable atmosphere, and magnetic fields so intense that most of their machinery flat out wouldn’t work.”
<What a nightmare!>
“Yeah, the first year was rough. But the passengers were all scientists and explorers, resourceful folk who had leapt at the challenge of colonizing a new world, so far out on the fringe that they knew it would be years before anyone came to check on their progress. They couldn’t live on the surface, so they tunneled down, using the airlock tubes to make a passageway down through the iron sands until they hit rock. Then they used cutting torches that they’d ripped off of the useless worker-droids to bore down through the rock and fashion caverns, which they immediately began to seed with renewable food sources, as they were already running short on rations. Thoughts of colonizing the surface were abandoned when the exploration teams were attacked by what turned out to be unknown forms of electromagnetic life. The head of the team was Resa Martel, and she was unconscious when they brought her back, her suit having been overloaded by the energy discharges, and having some sort of epileptic fit. She recovered quickly, but the researchers discovered that she had been pregnant, and that the baby seemed to have retained some sort of magnetic charge. Because of the high iron content, just about everyone was suffering mild metal poisoning, but she seemed to get healthier, and months later, gave birth to Genn Martel, the first Braalian. He was born with bright purple eyes, and a powerful magnetic field, and the colonists knew that everything had changed…”
“So the purple eyes, everyone on Braal has those?”
“Actually it’s a reaction to all the iron in our systems. Like me, Genn should have had blue eyes, but all the iron makes our eyes look purple. If a Braalian would have green eyes, the red from the iron would make them brown, and if they were already supposed to be brown, they would end up looking dark red. Purple is kind of rare, actually. Dark red is the most common eye color.”
<I’m surprised that the colonists so quickly accepted a child that was so different.>
“Ah, you’re already getting ahead of the story, Imra. And no, they didn’t all welcome the new child. A few superstitious weirdos, already stressed out by the living conditions and the shortages and the various energy disturbances said that the child was possessed by the energy creatures or something. Anytime something would go wrong, they would blame it on the birth of Genn, claiming that he was cursed or something. The other colonists were forced to move Genn and Resa into secluded rooms and guard them day and night, after a few fanatics attempted to kill them. It was nearly a civil war, until two other women gave birth to children with dark red eyes and similar magnetic anomalies. Neither of these women had ever been to the surface or encountered an energy creature, and that took some of the fire out of the movement. The last hold-out, a true fanatic who had snapped under the stress of the living conditions, ended up being killed by his own wife after she discovered that she was pregnant. She wasn’t about to let her husband kill her ‘demon-baby,’ and killed him with a plasma welder.”
<That’s horrible!>
“The other colonists banded together and held a vote. It was determined that she’d acted in defense of her child, and her desperate act was actually applauded. Five years later, she became the first elected leader of Braal. Who would have thought killing your husband would be the first step to a successful political career?”
<Only every woman in the universe, ever?>
“Heh, she’s got you there, Rokk.”
“Anyway, the shortages remained harsh, and it seemed like they ran on the brink of total collapse for three generations. During that time there were constant fears that the rationing system would fail, and there were constant rumors of a ‘death lottery.’ According to the rumors, anyone who didn’t perform a vital function would be denied a sustenance ration, to save vital supplies for those who were necessary to the survival of the colony. It never actually happened, but it had our people at each others throats for years, and even centuries later, we remain hyper-competitive, as if we aren’t going to get fed if we don’t break records and exceed expectations.”
<These fears only lasted for a few generations, and your people are *still* affected by them?>
“Yeah, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I guess fears rarely do.” Rokk conceded,
“Finally, the colonists encountered an underground sea, and a form of algae that was subsisting off of geothermal activity and chemical synthesis. It wasn’t much, but it was a carbon source, and they quickly turned it into a food supply. The days of rationing were at an end, and the deeper mines had turned up many forms of radioactive materials that could be used for power sources. Things were looking up, and over the next two centuries, exploration teams discovered that the electromagnetic life-forms were vanishing. Every decade there were less and less encounters, until it seemed that they were completely extinct. The Spiritualists of the Crystal Unity claim that for every birth on Braal, one of the creatures was replaced, and that each Braalian is a composite creature, both flesh and energy, but most people don’t believe that. Because of the whole ‘demon-child / possession’ incident, Braalians have a strong dislike of that train of thought, associating it with the crazies. I know that *I* certainly don’t feel ‘possessed’ by any sort of electromagnetic entity…”
<And yet, I don’t feel ‘possessed’ by the organisms living in my cells, or the ones in my bloodstream, or the ones in my intestines. Why would you be aware of a creature that has become an indistinguishable part of you?>
“I guess it’s possible. In any event, the worst of the storms seemed to vanish along with the entities, and over the next few centuries, the colonists were able to begin building on the surface, and soon established contact with the United Planets, who had never realized that there was an thriving subterranean civilization trapped on the world that they had marked as ‘off-limits’ and a ‘navigation hazard.’ We communicated by laser, until a Coluan scout-craft landed in our main city, completely unaffected by the magnetic storms, and the diplomat’s *kid* ended up showing us how to get our antique worker-droids active despite the magnetic interference. Something that took him a few hours of pondering, because he was bored, something he called ‘adaptive heuristic response,’ and it revolutionized our world. Any stubborn insistence that we didn’t need the UP after all we’d accomplished on our own vanished overnight.”
Rokk shifted as the night breeze whipped Imra’s cloak into his face. “Well, that’s it for Braal. You’ve pumped me for info, now it’s your turn. Tell us about Titan.”
“Yeah! I heard it’s cold there.”
<Very. Titan is the oldest Earth colony, but no one knew that for a long time, because we were hidden from Earth for centuries.>
“But Titan’s in the Earth system! How could they miss it?” Garth protested.
<Let’s start at the beginning. Telepaths have been native to Earth for millennia, but rarely welcomed. Sometimes burned as witches, or persecuted as ‘demon-children,’ like that first Braalian child, the only telepaths that survived were the ones who learned to hide their gifts. By the early 22nd century, there were enough of us being born, and humanity was so closely connected, that it became impossible to deny our presence any longer, and some cultures turned paranoid and began to cull any child that showed signs of the gift. There wasn’t a culture on the planet that didn’t strictly regulate telepathy, declaring telepathic contact to be ‘mental trespassing,’ or eavesdropping, coercion, espionage or even rape!>
“That’s just crazy!”
<Everybody had secret shames and fears back then, Garth, and would die, or, more likely, *kill,* to keep those secrets. Telepaths were the ultimate threat to society-as-it-was, and so we found it increasingly impossible to live in peace among ‘normal’ humans. The first proposed withdrawal was at a summit in Europe, a summit that was attacked by racist terrorists, resulting in the deaths of some of the most outspoken and publicly-known telepaths. It was in Amundsen City that the Earth’s telepaths began to gather, but even Antarctica wasn’t far enough away, and they came up with a desperate scheme. Earth was constructing it’s first large-scale colony ship, intended to take five hundred colonists to settle Mars, and the telepaths seized control of a cruise ship, the Pacific Princess, and traveled to the launch site in Hawaii, where they co-opted the entire site with their combined powers, and left Earth completely, leaving the would-be Martian colonists stranded on Earth, wondering what had happened.>
“That’s awesome! How did they know how to fly a spaceship? Did they have telepath-astronauts?”
<No, but a few hours alone with the original pilots, and the telepaths knew everything they needed to know. They knew that Mars was not an option. Earth could too easily retaliate, and yet the ship was not sufficient to leave the system. One telepath had worked as an intelligence agent for several nations, under various guises, and had learned of an alien base abandoned under the ice of Titan. It had been ultra-classified, and he wiped all knowledge of it’s existence not just from the data-records, but from the very minds of the few who knew of it. That was the telepath’s goal. They practiced mind-over-body techniques and entered trances, to reduce oxygen consumption and eliminate the need for foodstuffs, since the ship didn’t have supplies adequate for their longer-than-projected voyage, and upon entering orbit around Titan, they quickly located the base, and shuttled the people down over the course of several weeks, stripping every usable thing they could from the colony ship, before programming it to fly to Jupiter and plunge into the Jovian atmosphere in front of the exploration satellite orbiting that world. As far as Earth knew, the stolen colony ship had fallen into Jupiter’s gravity well and died with all hands.>
<The colonists spent the next centuries confined to the alien base, lacking the technical know-how to expand the facility. It took many generations before the technology was re-invented necessary to add onto the structure, and by then our people had grown accustomed to the bleak sterile surroundings, cramped conditions and tasteless protein bricks assembled from raw elements by automated machine. Making sound, or showing emotion, was considered rude and disrespectful. We became a race of pale-faced ghosts, never speaking, eating only tiny bites of tasteless food and drinking only water.>
”It sounds as hard as what the Braalian colonists went through, in it’s own way.” Rokk noted sympathetically.
<And yet, it was paradise. I would sit in my tiny undecorated quarters, gray walls over my gray sleeping mat, close my eyes and soar through skies of colors I had never seen with my own eyes, surrounded by living creatures I only knew from the memories past down over a dozen generations. We live a life of the mind, and most Titanians are content with that.>
“But not you.” Rokk added.
<No. I had to see these things for myself. I didn’t want to relive someone else’s dreams of sunsets that I would never see, of flowers and birds and a world with warm scented breezes where children and run and play in open fields. Mind-pictures weren’t enough. I had to *feel* these things for myself.>
“Is it everything you’d hoped?” Garth asked, as Rokk had fallen quiet.
<So much more. I want to go back to Titan and shake them and scream in their heads what they are missing. We don’t have to hide anymore. We don’t have to live like that. There is another world out here, of sights and sounds and scents, and it’s so *real.* Not dreams or psychodramas, actual flesh and dirt and sound.>
“Wow.”
<But they’d think I was crazy. They’d ‘calm’ me with soothing platitudes and psychic readjustment, saying that I was ‘overstimulated.’>, although the Ring keeps her warm, Imra wraps her cloak around herself anyway. <I’m never going back there. It’s all I’ve ever known, but it was never my home.>
Garth massaged his shoulder, which had stiffened up from sitting in the same position for so long before standing up and stretching, “Well, I guess it’s my turn. But it’s kind of a let-down. Winath was colonized only 200 years ago, and there really isn’t any big drama. It was a rich, fertile planet, and we moved in and planted some stuff and now it’s the bread-basket of the galaxy…”
“I’m sure it’s a *little* more interesting than that, Garth.”
“Winath was old when we found it, really old. It had been crawling with life for millions of years, but a radiation wave-front from an exploding supernova in the next system had sterilized most of the living creatures on the planet. It was perfect for colonization. A million years worth of fertile chemically rich topsoil, oceans teeming with decaying organic matter, an entire dead ecosystem lying in front of them, and it was all fodder for the new plants and animals that they introduced. We measured the topsoil on our farm once, and it went down nine and a half meters!”
“That’s a lot of tordek poop...”
“Yup. It was like a graveyard when the colonists landed, and they just dropped seed and stuff started growing like wildfire. The planet was just waiting for new life.”
“And that’s when they discovered the twin thing?”
“No, that’s a myth. Stuff grows fast on Winath because the soil is so rich. If you used the right fertilizers and genetically modified crops, you’d get the same crop yields on Braal. The only reason the colonists have twins is because we’re gene-modified that way. Our sperm trigger a chemical reaction that causes a fertilized egg to divide exactly once, and then chemically repel towards opposite sides of the womb, so that the two fetuses don’t get in other’s way during development. They remain connected by something sort of like an umbilical cord, so that if even one egg implants, the other one is ‘tethered’ and won’t be flushed out, to help prevent single births. It was intended to speed up colonization, but it’s become such a way of life that they never changed it back.”
<Yikes. The colonists *chose* to always bear twins? That’s quite a commitment…> Imra thought, her hand brushing over her stomach dubiously.
“Yeah, it was. There was no way the women were willing to just bear twins as is, there was almost a riot. So the first generation of genetic modifications caused their hips to expand slightly, to make child-birth easier on the body. It’s kind of a galaxy-wide joke that Winathian women are ‘full-figured.’”
“That must be the source of the term ‘child-bearing hips.’”
<On behalf of women everywhere, we prefer ‘Juno-esque.’> Imra declared defensively.
“Juno-esque it is, not that *you’d* ever need to worry about that…” Rokk backpedaled diplomatically. “So the farm animals don’t actually have twin births?”
“Some were modified in the earlier years, but for the most part, not any longer. It’s just the people. And those stupid space-legends about crops producing double the yields because of some weird energy field? That would be really nice, but it’s just a load of crap.”
<What about your powers? Rokk and I come from worlds where everyone can manipulate their bio-magnetic field, or read minds, but Winathians aren’t generally known for throwing lightning…>
Garth looked down for a second, but was smiling, maybe a bit too broadly as he replied. “Winath isn’t just the breadbasket of the galaxy, it’s also got the most sophisticated weather-control systems ever constructed, since our whole planetary economy revolves around crop schedules. Turns out that those big signs at the weather control sub-station that say, ‘danger, don’t touch’ are actually important…”
“Garth, I don’t need to be a telepath to know that’s not the whole story.”
“Look, I don’t want…”
“No, you look.” Rokk stood up quickly and moved so that he right in the taller man’s face, “We’re your friends Garth, and that means *if* you want to talk about something, then we’re here, any time, no matter what.” Garth’s mouth started to move again, and Rokk smoothly put his hand over it, blocking any protest, “And it *also* means that if you *don’t* want to talk about something, we aren’t going to pry, and it’s none of our sprocking business.” He removed his hand from Garth’s mouth. “Got it?”
Garth looked to Imra, unsure of her reaction, “Imra?”
<Everything Rokk just said. Every word. Applies to me as well. We’re not your parents, Garth, we’re not here to judge.>
Garth folded his friends up in his arms, “I love you guys! You guys are the greatest, you know that, right?”
“Oh, I’ve known that for years, Garth, but thanks for saying…”
<And we’re so modest, too!>
Registered: Aug 2006
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Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
Emerald Legion interlude “Are you now, or have you ever been?” – Where Imra asks the most important question of them all…
The three had returned to the Embassy and loitering in front of Imra’s quarters, as if hesitant to end the evening they had shared.
<I have a question, for both of you. It’s the most important question, ever.>, a playful smile flitted across her face and her eyes sparkled in the dim lighting.
“Shoot.” Garth responded confidently.
“I retain the right to lie about it, if it might serve to embarrass me…” Rokk qualified with a grin.
<You first Garth, are you a dog person, or a cat person.>
“That’s important?” Garth’s eyebrow raised skeptically, “We had dogs on the farm. Two or three, usually, and they were hard-working and helpful. When we wanted to go run around in the fields and play fetch, they’d play with us, even when Mekt was being a turd-for-brains. They were big dogs, working animals, and so they’d bowl us over and wrestle with us, and we’d have to team up, because they were so strong, but they never hurt us, it was just play. It was great. Dogs all the way.”
<And yourself, Champion Krinn?> Imra said with a slight curtsy.
“’Champion Krinn,’ is it? Well, very few people on Braal had Earth-pets, or any other sort of pet, unless they were really rich. It was a status symbol to have an Earth-pet imported, and they had to stay indoors, because the iron content of the atmosphere would poison them. Even then, the vast majority of Braalian pets were fish. But, as planetary champion, I was expected to live a conspicuous life-style, and I had an Earth-cat, Benni. I’d be gone for days at a time, doing tryouts and exhibitions and sponsorships, and I’d come home and she’d be sitting on the couch, looking at me like, ‘Oh, you’re home.’ It was the perfect pet for my life-style. I could come and go, and she didn’t suffer at all for it. I had this metal ball that made tinkling noises, and I would make it roll around on the floor and she’d chase it around. It drove her crazy when I’d make it fly around above her head and she’d leap for it and try to pull it to the ground. But she knew it was me, even if I was sitting across the room. When she didn’t want to play, or got really frustrated, she’d ignore the ball and walk over and swipe my leg…” Rokk’s smile faded and his voice trailed off.
<That’s a wonderful story.> Imra thought, looking so beautiful in that moment that Rokk was able to put aside the unpleasant memories that followed.
“And I think we’ve figured out you’re a dog-person,” Rokk added with a wry grin, nodding his head in the direction of Garth.
<Don’t be so sure. We had no pets at all on Titan, but we had *memories* of earth-pets that had been handed down for many centuries. They were our most prized possessions, these worn and faded memories of life on Earth, and they were a valuable commodity among our people. I have memories of running through grass and tossing sticks and handling tiny kittens, but I’ve never actually seen any of these animals with my own eyes.>
“We have to do something about that! That’s just crazy!” Garth exclaimed, as it was a great offense that Imra had never gotten to have a pet of her own.
<Yes, now that I’m Earth, getting to meet real animals is definitely high on my agenda.>
“You’re stalling, Im. What is it, dog or cat.” Rokk insisted.
<Well, I like dogs…>
“Saw that coming…”
<If I might finish?> Imra said with a glare, hand on her hip, until Rokk gestured that she continue, <Thank you. I like dogs because they are loyal and dedicated. Their feelings are all out there in the open, they have nothing to hide and they are always happy to see you. If you cry, a dog will curl up next to you and lick your face, and it doesn’t matter where you go, a dog will try to follow at your side, no matter what.> at Rokk’s smug look, she added, <*And,* I like cats. They always seem so commanding and confident. Everything they do looks graceful and deliberate. They never look like they’re sorry or confused, as if anything they’ve done is exactly what they meant to do. They never doubt themselves, and I always wanted to have enough self-confidence to be able to walk into a room and own it like they do.>
“So why did you think Imra would be a dog-person, Rokk?”
Rokk’s smile turned mock-innocent and the faint glow from his eyes shone through the shadows as he bowed his head, “Oh, no reason at all. On a *completely* unrelated note, how did you guys like those little sandwiches? I think the green curry added a pleasant feistiness to the dish, gave it certain… *lasting* qualities…”
Imra’s face flushed with embarrassment, but Garth just smiled broadly.
Rokk afforded Imra a smile before turning away, “I’m off to bed guys. I was hoping to do some training together in the morning, learn to coordinate and try that crazy team-work concept the Earthers are so on about, so don’t stay up too late…”
“Night man,” Garth waves absently to Rokk’s receding back, turning to see that Imra has already stepped into her quarters. Looking both ways, Garth pushes the curtain aside and pokes his head in, “Hey, ahh…”
<Oh come in already, you silly man.>
Registered: Aug 2006
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Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
Emerald Legion, Chapter seven “Practice makes perfect” – wherein lessons are learned, and much butt is kicked
Garth looked up blearily to see that Imra was already up and dressed, wearing some skintight bodysuit of silvery-gray, over which she was even now attaching her golden psi-metal adornments.
“It’s not morning already,” Garth strenuously objected, flinging one arm over his eyes to block the light now filling the room.
<Yes it is, and it has been for some time. Rokk’s already up and on his way.>
A rapping at the door-frame served to underscore to Imra’s statement, and Rokk could be heard outside, “Wakie-wakie, kids. Time to kick each other’s butts…”
<Come on in Rokk, we’ll be ready in a second.>
Somewhat dubiously, Rokk entered the bedchamber, pointedly looking at the wall, only to start as Imra stepped directly into his view. He sighed in relief upon noticing that she was completely clothed. “So, no Champion’s Garb today? You are going to have to learn to fight in it eventually…”
<I know, I just want to work with what I know before I start adjusting to that outfit. I’ve already made an adjustment to the cloak so that it pulls free without effort. The last thing I need is someone grabbing the silly thing and yanking me off-balance…>
“A good choice,” Rokk then raises his voice, “Will Garth be joining us today, or is he afraid of getting his ass kicked by a girl?”
Pulling his Champion’s Garb up, Garth hops one-legged into view. “Yeah, yeah. I’m ready. Bring it, oh, talker of big talk.”
“No bracers today?” Rokk notes, pointing out the missing bits of Garth’s Champion’s Garb.
“No bracers, ever.” Garth corrected, “They were made of conducive gold, and it’s hard enough to aim lightning bolts without the pull of the metal making it arc back towards me. The stuff has a mind of it’s own, and I don’t want to have to fight my costume to use my powers…”
<Ok, move it. I’m getting bored already.> Imra declared in a no-nonsense tone that left both of her fellow Champion’s looking questioning at each other as she strode out of the room.
In the room that the Champion’s had cleared out in sub-level 3, Imra was stretching in a manner that caused Rokk to stop dead in the doorway, only to have an inattentive Garth plow right into him, before pausing to similarly admire the view.
<Keep staring at me like that and the next thing you’ll see is me kicking your ass.>
“So, Garth, your girlfriend has suddenly transformed into the master of smack-talk.”
<Get your champion-of-the-world-washed-up-ex-sports-god butt out here, ‘Kid Cosmos,’ and I’ll make you eat those words.>
Garth just threw his hands up with a bewildered expression on his face. “Shouldn’t have called her ‘fiesty,’ man. You brought this on yourself.”
Rokk stepped out onto the mats with Imra, who was just uncoiling from a yogic posture on the ground in a move that some gymnasts would consider challenging.
“Well, you’re certainly flexible…” Rokk began, but was suddenly backpedaling desperately as a rain of blows came at his face, seemingly from all directions.
<Less talky-talk, more fighty-fight, pretty-boy.>, Imra thought with a cool mental clarity that Rokk found as disturbing as her aggressive attack.
‘Ooof’ Rokk was getting punished, and only the reinforced metal structure of his Champion’s Garb was going to spare him from bruises on the ribs she had just kicked. “Aaagh!,” and then he was on the ground, having had his legs swept out by a graceful spinning sweep. She was back on her feet and smiling at him.
<Wuss.>
“Can we have a time out for me to catch my breath, Kung Fu Super-Chick?” Rokk pleaded, hauling himself to his feet.
<Sure. Want a blankie and some warm tea with that?>
“Seriously, Im, what’s up with you?”
<Nothing’s ‘up’ with me, I’m just a better fighter than the both of you put together, and it’s my job to whip you into shape. And, for your information, I don’t like ‘Im.’ My name is Imra. Champion Ardeen, if you piss me off…”
“Now wait a second…”
<No, you wait a second. I’ve been training my body since I was old enough to walk, and while Titanian physical conditioning isn’t *currently* an active combat art, it was designed from the martial arts styles of old earth. What looks like fluffy prana-adjustment moving meditations are a series of effective blocking and striking techniques. You’re an athlete. You’re hell on the magno-ball court and in great shape, but you’ve never actually *fought* anyone.>
“And you have? I don’t think so…”
<I’ve practiced all of these moves since I was a girl. And yes, when I hit you just then, it was in fact the first time I’d ever actually struck someone with these techniques. Are you going to tell me that they weren’t effective?>
“No. You know what you’re doing. I get that, and I’m ready to learn, oh, sensei.” Rokk added with a sarcastic half-bow.
<I just want you to know one thing Rokk…> Rokk’s eyebrow arched and she continued with a grin, <This is going to hurt *you* a lot more than it hurts me…>
Garth watched the two of them move, and it was clear that now that he was mentally prepared, Rokk was able to block most of her attacks, although he seemed to be moving in slow motion compared to her. His own attacks were perfunctory at best, and it seemed increasingly obvious that Rokk was still not taking this seriously. “Man, don’t do it, she’s gonna mess you up…” Garth muttered, but it was too late and Imra yanked Rokk forward as he made a half-hearted strike past her head and as he stumbled forward she leapt into the air, sprung off his back and kicked him hard in the back of the head. He went down like a thunderbolt, but rolled to his feet in time for Imra to just miss a stomp to where his head had been a moment before.
<You *suck.* No wonder they stripped your title!>
Garth winced as Imra’s head rocked back from the force of Rokk’s backhand, and he rushed forward as she staggered back. Rokk was already apologizing, hands in the air, “Stone! I’m sorry, oh lords, I didn’t mean…”
Imra shook her head and regarded him with a grin, rubbing her sore jaw, <Don’t apologize, dummy. It’s about time you started actually playing to win and not jerking me around.>
“But…”
<Shut up, Rokk. I *made* you hit me. I earned that, and I’ll throw the regen-pack on it and not even have a bruise in the morning. It’s all part of the new game we’re in. Are you honestly telling me that if one of those gunmen at the Mindfire den had been female you would have held back? ‘Cause she would have shot you dead, and walked right over your corpse to shoot at us, buster, and we can’t afford that kind of thinking…>
“It’s not a ‘because you’re a girl’ thing, Im…, *Imra.* My hardest challenge match was against a girl. She put me in the hospital, actually. It’s a ‘don’t like to hurt my friends’ thing.”
<That’s very noble, but training was your idea, and we aren’t training how to lose here. We’re training to survive, and to survive, sometimes you’ve got to be willing to do things you don’t want to do. Do you think I really want to hit you?>
“I *was* wondering for a minute there…” Rokk said, rubbing the back of his head pointedly.
<Do you think I want to hit Garth?>
“No.”
<Garth, you’re up. If I sense you holding back, you aren’t allowed in my quarters for a week.>
Garth and Rokk both blinked at that bald statement, and Rokk was the first to react, “Oh wait, I didn’t realize that there was an incentive plan, can I try again?”
<Don’t push it, buster. I’ve got more where that came from.>
“You sound like an old holo-vid, Imra, nobody talks that way,” Garth said confidently as she lunged towards him.
Rokk watched the two of them move, and Garth was using his mass to good effect. He didn’t have the advantage of a metal-reinforced suit to cushion her blows, but he just kept shrugging off her attempts to throw him off-balance. Finally he got ahold of her arm and in a second he had wrapped around her like a python, and she was barely visible behind his biceps as he threw them both to the ground and drove the wind out of her with his weight.
“My big brother liked to wrestle with us, it was get good or get beat up...” Garth explained with a grunt as he continued rolling around, smacking Imra into the mats with every roll, keeping her off-balance.
<Yes, very clever. Off, now.> Imra thought as her dainty fist drove backwards straight into his crotch.
Rokk missed a second of the action as his eyes involuntarily closed in sympathy for his fellow male, but when they opened, Garth was rising shakily to his feet looking pale and Imra had rolled to one knee a few meters away, where she was wheezing for breath.
Neither of them seemed to be interested in pressing the attack, and all three were startled by the arrival of Queen Sarya, who chose to announce her presence by clapping her approval for the scene she had just walked in upon.
“Highness,” Rokk said with a bow, “we didn’t expect to see you down here…”
“Whyever not, Champion Krinn? This figure doesn’t maintain itself,” she added sweeping her robes off to reveal a skintight bodysuit similar to Imra’s but in a dark jade green. The figure in question was a fine one indeed, bulkier than Imra’s, but with no trace of fat, and indeed quite shapely for her age, which Rokk was not nearly suicidal enough to inquire about…
Garth had already put two and two together, and walked gingerly over to Rokk. “So, we’ve just been suckered.”
Rokk realized that he was right, Sarya and Imra had clearly talked this over, there was no other explanation for their matching skin-suits.
Sarya stepped onto the mat and said, “So, who’s first…”
The three young Champion’s sat on Imra’s bed, which seemed to have become their informal meeting area.
“So,” muttered Garth sourly, holding a heating pack against his back, “Venegarian women have super-strength.”
<And they’re resistant to telepathy.> added Imra, massaging a hand-shaped bruise on her arm. <Or, at least *she* is.>
“Lesson learned. Queens who have to face regular honor challenges to hold their thrones are not to be underestimated.” Rokk agreed.
“Wait a minute.” Garth began and Imra just shook her head. “You were cheating!”
<Obviously, Garth. I’ve never been in a physical fight in my life. Remember when Rokk hit me?>
“I’m really…”
<It’s fine, Rokk. The point is, he hit me because he *wasn’t thinking.* I made him so angry, he just acted, and that gave him the advantage against a telepath. I couldn’t anticipate that he was about to hit me, because he realized that he’d hit me the same time I did, as it was already happening.>
“Then how come I was able to grab you? You weren’t setting me up for that dirty hit, were you?” Garth glared suspiciously.
<Well, it was the plan, I had no idea you were going to crush the breath out of me so effectively. The slamming around and keeping me disoriented thing was very effective. If you hadn’t stopped to gloat, I wouldn’t have been able to get my bearings…>
“Hmm. Things sure would have been different if I’d used *my* powers,”, Garth proclaimed before turning to Rokk and drawing a deep breath. “Rokk, I’m not sure how to say this, but you were really moving slow out there…”
<It’s true Rokk, I’ve seen the vids of your championship matches, and you moved like a dancer. When you were on the court, your serves were blindingly fast and incredibly coordinated, but I didn’t see anything like that today.>
Rokk remained quiet, eyes closed, with his hand against his head, shaking it slightly as if attempting to deny his friends questions.
“It was the same at the drug-lab. You floated in, and sort of hung there in the air, using your powers…”
“Enough! Yes, I’m slow and clumsy.”
<That’s not what I meant…>
“No, but it’s the truth. I *was* really fast and coordinated once, but that was back when I had a living nervous system.”
<What?>
“I don’t get it, you’ve got nerve-implants? I thought those were supposed to make you *faster?*”
“No. The short version is that I got poisoned by a rival player, and the drug he used killed every single nerve cell in my body, except for my brain, which was protected by the blood-brain barrier. I was paralyzed and powerless.”
<Oh, Rokk…>
“That sucks! Did they find out who did it?”
“Oh yeah, the pony-tailed creep is in Takron-Galtos. They ruled it attempted murder. He won’t be out for years.”
<But, you were walking when I met you, and you had regained your powers…>
“The drug ended up replacing my nervous system, settling down in the same pathways where the cells had been. It’s a crystalline powder, superfluidic in structure, and it contains and channels my magnetic field. It’s actually a lot stronger than a normal Braalian nervous system, but it *isn’t* a nervous system. I can’t walk, or move my arm, or any of that. I’ve spent over a year re-training my biomagnetic field to move my muscles for me, and even then, I have a regulator chip installed in here,” Rokk tapped his chest, “to keep my heart and lungs and other systems working when I’m sleeping, or in case my powers fluctuate or are blocked. So yeah, I’m just a little bit cyborg, Garth. It’s Coluan photonic tech. Any normal tech wouldn’t work in a Braalian system, due to the magnetic fluctuations.”
“So yeah, I *know* that I’m slow, and clumsy, and nothing near what I was a few years ago, when I was a star athlete. I can walk, but I can’t run. I can’t dance. I can’t jump around or do gymnastics or roll to my feet. But every day my control improves.”
<I’m sorry Rokk, I had no idea.> Imra said, placing her arm on Rokk’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I just thought you were a little cocky or something.” Garth said
Rokk laughed, “Oh, I am cocky. And I meant what I said. Every day, I improve. A year and a half ago, I couldn’t get out of bed. Today, I’m ‘clumsy and slow.’ Next year, I’ll be as fast and coordinated as either of you. And I *will* regain every single move I’ve lost. That’s not a fantasy or goal or a dream. That’s a *fact.*”
“I believe you buddy.”
<I was so critical about the Braalian love of competition, but it’s really made you into the fighter you need to be. I’m proud of you, Rokk.>
[ March 05, 2007, 08:01 AM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
| IP: Logged |
Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
Emerald Legion, Chapter eight “Blood is 7.3 times thicker than water” – wherein our young Champions face their greatest challenge
The Kathooni delegation had not been formally accepted into the UP yet, so they had no Embassy of their own. Instead the reception was in the sprawling Talokkian Embassy, the otherwise lightless interior of which was decorated in gleaming Kathooni sparkle-crystals, and the many glistening decorations of the various Ambassadors and their retinues. The Talokkian staff themselves wore only armor-like accoutrements of reflective metal, and, as Ambassador Ravin proclaimed, ‘bathed only in the radiant magnificence of their guests.’
Queen Sarya had dressed in robes of deep jade green, effectively black in the dim surroundings, but orbiting her crown was a fist-sized star emerald, which had been specially treated to glow with its’ own verdant inner fire. Her face was bathed in a soft green light, and shifting shadows played over her face as the stone completed its’ circuit around her head. Imra had treated her gossamer cloak to radiate the subtlest pale green hue, not enough to cast any light of its’ own, but merely enough to be visible in the dark as a glimmering emerald shadow. Her Titanian psi-metal adornments shone with their own pale amber glow, and in the shifting light sources, seemed to move of their own volition, like serpents of gold writhing over her legs and arms. Garth had allowed the white and gold segments of his own Champion’s Garb be treated with a fluorescent dye, and cut a bold figure, with his face underlit by the dramatic white lightning bolt cutting down his torso. Rokk had skipped any cosmetic alterations for the occasion, and in the unlit shadows, the pale violet glow of his eyes cut through the darkness with a surprising intensity.
“Great, we’re all gussied up, and I can’t see a sprocking thing.” Garth complained.
“Just watch out for that Talokkian Ambassador. I think he grabbed my ass when he was introducing himself…”
“You *think?* How could you not be sure?” Garth muttered, wondering not for the first time was in this glass he was holding, since he couldn’t actually make out what color it was, only that it had a suspiciously thick texture and tasted like nothing he could identify.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ‘cause it was dark? Could have been anyone, really. Well, anyone wearing a lot of metal, I could tell that much…”
Garth got an evil look on his face and cupped a hand to his mouth, but Rokk nudged him in the ribs before he could make any sort of embarrassing announcement.
“What? I was just gonna holler across the room to Imra and ask if it was her…”
“Oh great, get us both killed why don’t you,” Rokk laughed. “What’s she doing over there anyway?”
“She said that she thought she ‘heard’ another Titanian in the room, but she’s having trouble finding them, so she’s on the prowl.”
Any reply died on his lips as the room suddenly exploded into brilliance, and the assorted delegates were left reeling and blinded by the explosion, as a thunderous display of *lightning* poured down in the center of the room.
The Talokkian and Kathooni in the crowd were most stricken by the brilliant display, and Garth could just make out a figure standing in the midst of the brilliant bolt of lightning that was traveling upwards to splash across the ceiling in a display of sparks and electricity.
<Surrender immediately, and die. There is no ‘or.’>, came a powerful telepathic command that neither Garth nor Rokk recognized, although the source was recognizably female. The command seemed to surge around in their minds like a crashing wave, repeating endlessly, and both found themselves momentarily unable to react.
A red flash, likely invisible to the light-sensitive members of the delegation was followed by a gut-wrenching stench, and Garth sank to his knees retching.
“Sweet siblings, the stench! What is that?”
“Sulphur dioxide, I think. And it’s killing them,” Rokk choked out, pointing at the fallen delegates, now clearly suffocating on the floor. “Rings, protecting us from the worst of it.”
“Thanks, Exposition Lad,” Garth muttered through his hand, futility trying to block the nauseating stench. He suddenly pointed, “There.”
Rokk turned to see a man in a blue and red outfit, wearing an unusual helmet and his eyes glowed red, much like the same energy flash that had preceded the sudden change in atmosphere.
“Venusian, methane-breathers, allergic to oxygen.” Rokk gasped, as he raised his hands and dozens of sharp-edged metallic Talokkian items of tableware flew towards the figure. Both Champions were surprised to see the man’s eyes flash red again, and the metallic projectiles dissolved into water and splashed harmlessly across the figure.
“We need to,” Rokk began when suddenly the room went dark again and he was suddenly lifted from his feet by a massive discharge of electricity which left him gasping and on the razor’s edge of consciousness.
Garth stepped into the current, blocking it with a stream of lightning from his own hands, and saw a familiar face backlit by the flaring discharge.
“Mekt?”
“Hey, little brother. Fancy meeting you here…”
Garth advanced slowly, his own streams of electricity matching the single blast that his brother seemed to be effortlessly sustaining, “Why are you doing this, these people…”
Mekt kept talking manically, ignoring Garth’s words, “You had the right idea, Garth. Winath was a dead end. Why stick around and watch little Ayla finish her transformation? Crying all the time that you’d abandoned her and thought she was a freak…”
“Shut up!” Garth screamed, switching from just holding his brother’s discharge at bay and pouring out all of his rage.
Mekt stepped back, a look of amused surprise on his face, and raised his other hand to focus fully on keeping his brother at bay. “Come on, you know I’m right. She’s a freak, and you couldn’t stand looking at her freak face. You were right to leave her behind. Who needs a twin, anyway? I sure didn’t…” his face twisted into a hateful sneer, and Garth felt himself falling back under the blistering strain.
Rokk had regained his breath, and noticed that a half-dozen men in masks were walking among the fallen ambassadors and snatching up items of jewelry and shoving them into sacks at their waists. The Venusian was watching him with arms folded, apparently considering him no threat and waiting for him to make the first move. Across the room, he could see Imra standing directly in front of another woman in what appeared to be some sort of uniform. It was obvious they were having some sort of mental battle, as Imra’s arm was frozen in the attempt to reach the woman, and both of them showed signs of strain.
Of the Queen, there was no sign, and Rokk realized that they had only minutes before the delegates began to die from oxygen deprivation, but every time he seized control of a metal weapon to use, the red-eyed man just shook his head and it turned into water in a crimson flash and fell harmlessly to the ground. The man’s environment suit was made of some material that didn’t respond to his magnetic powers, and his hopes of cracking the man’s life-support systems open were dashed.
Sensing a heavy source of metal across the room, Rokk activated his Ring,
<<Garth! Switch targets, I’ll take care of your brother, you shoot the Venusian!>>
<<No!>>
<<Garth, do it!>>
Suddenly, Garth dove to the side and Mekt’s lightning blasts flew harmlessly into the drinks table, where several of the local beverages proved to be flammable. Garth fired a double-blast of lightning at the flat-footed Venusian, and as Mekt turned and started tracking the lightning to where his little brother had landed, a 200 kilo metal gong crashed into his back and threw him to the ground.
Rokk used every erg of his magnetic strength to press the metal gong down, pinning the lightning wielder to the ground, while trusting Garth to handle the Venusian. His trust was rewarded as the scent of sulphur abruptly vanished to be replaced with sweet, sweet air, heavily tinged by the odor of the electrical fires touched off during the brothers’ exchange.
He shifted his position carefully, and he could now just make out Imra and the Titanian woman now face to face, faces glistening in the flicking firelight as sweat poured down their foreheads, muscles straining as they gripped each others arms. Slowly, Imra leaned forward and it almost looked like she was going to kiss the other woman when she suddenly shouted in the other womans’ face, “BITCH!”
The older telepath looked shocked and flinched visibly before attempting to regain her mental focus, but it was too late and she closed her eyes and slumped backwards, stricken instantly unconscious by Imra’s mental assault.
The sack-toting henchmen attempted to flee, only to find that the room had been sealed, presumably by the villains themselves and while Rokk kept his concentration on making sure that the lightning wielder was pinned, Garth and Imra made short work of the remaining henchmen.
The main doors wrenched open with a squeal, and Queen Sarya and Kathooni Ambassador Marin strode into the smoke-filled battlezone, accompanied by a half-dozen statuesque armor-clad Kathooni security women, who quickly moved to see to the fallen delegates, most of whom were sputtering and choking, but seemed none the worse for the wear.
Within minutes, SP troopers also entered the room, and the criminals were manacled and led away.
Being dragged out, Mekt was red-faced and screaming, “Your idiot friends won’t save you Garth! I will destroy you for this! You’ll abandon them like you abandoned us, you don’t deserve friends, you don’t deserve family, you’re *nothing!*”
Garth was trembling with rage, and his hands were crackling and sparking with energy. The SPs continued trying to wrestle the struggling Mekt out of the room, but Garth had moved into the doorway and was blocking them from getting Mekt out, “Go ahead, let him go.”
Rokk stepped between the brothers, “Garth, no.” he placed his hand on the taller man’s chest, carefully avoiding his hands, which were tossing off tiny bolts of electricity that arced towards Rokk’s metal suit, shocking him painfully.
“Get out of my way, Rokk. I’ll burn you down.”
“No you won’t.”, Rokk maintained, only managing to hold himself steady in the wake of the stronger man by using his magnetic powers to hold himself in place.
“You think you can stop me?” Garth said coldly, his eyes glowing with blinding golden energy.
“Go ahead!” Mekt ranted, “Incinerate the fool! Nothing can stop us!”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. *You* are going to stop you.” Rokk pointed behind him at Mekt, who, thankfully, had been gagged by one of the suspiciously strong Kathooni amazon-women.
“I know you won’t attack me, because that’s what *he* would do. And you’re nothing like him.”
Suddenly the glow faded from Garth’s eyes and he turned away, shoulders shaking. “You’re right. He’s not worth it.”
By that point, the armored Karthooni had given up on dragging Mekt out on his feet, and instead rolled him into a decorative tapestry, heaved him into the air and carted him off like produce, struggling feebly as Garth pointedly turned again so that his brother couldn’t even catch his eye on the way by.
Imra came up behind Rokk and put a hand on him as he sagged in relief. <Thank you. I could have stopped him, but it’s far more important that he stopped himself.>
Hours had passed, and the young Champions had returned to the Venegarian Embassy. Imra and Rokk sat in her room, while Garth had asked to have some time and soared up into the night sky.
<Do you think he’ll be able to get past this?> Imra asked, the concern tinging her thoughts.
“It’s got to be hard for him. It seems like nobody can hurt you like family.”
<Not just family. It’s the people we love that have the power to hurt us. We give them that power.>
Rokk looked around the room, as if the answer would be sitting in the corner, waiting to be found. “I’m not a telepath, Imra, but I know alone, and I don’t think Garth needs to be alone right now. I think that’s the *last* thing he needs. You should go to him.”
<No. *We* should go to him.>
“You guys have a thing…”
<That’s not the ‘thing,’ he needs right now. He needs friends. He needs family, and we’re his family now. You and me both.> Imra extended her hand. <Let’s go find our family.>
[ March 07, 2007, 03:00 PM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
| IP: Logged |
Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
Emerald Legion, Chapter nine. “Diplomacy, by Night.” – the beautiful coming together of two cultures [Warning: Semi-Adult content. Huh, huh, I said 'semi.']
“Hey Rokk, you decent?” Garth called out before barging in anyway.
”No, I’m sprocking amazing,” Rokk said, looking up from his hammock, where he’d been reading a pad on linguistic commonalities and the development of Interlac.
Garth waved his own pad enthusiastically, “Guess what I found…”
Rokk gestured impatiently and the pad tore itself out of Garth’s grasp and flew to his own hand.
“Hey!” Garth protested half-heartedly as he crossed over to lean over Rokk as he viewed the pad.
“It’s a nice likeness,” Rokk began, somewhat bewildered as to why Garth would have a spectrum-enhanced depiction of his backside.
“Wait for it…” Garth cautioned as he selected for the image to advance in half-speed, and Rokk watched as the Talokkian Ambassador glided by on his left, hands primly folded in front of him, while a second figure moved past quickly on his right, and a hand snaked out and gave his butt a firm squeeze.
“Image freeze, and pan out.” Garth said, and the image pulled back to reveal the Kathooni delegate leaving the chamber with Queen Sarya. The hand in question was attached to one of the Kathooni retinue, a heavily-armored amazon of a woman who had copped a feel without breaking stride. “Freeze there.” Garth added unnecessarily to he datapad. “And there we have it. The pressing mystery of Ass-Grabber Lass, resolved.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t Ravin. Guy’s a galaxy-class perv…” Rokk conceded, before looking up to the proudly grinning Garth, “While I’m grateful, was this really what you’ve spent the morning looking up?”
“Actually, I was reviewing the security footage of the break-in. It was Mekt who sealed the doors. They meant to suffocate everyone and leave no living witnesses. That Titanian woman was just there to keep them from calling for outside help and keep them pacified while they died…” Garth’s voice was shaking. “I can’t believe he’d do something like that. I’m so sprocking stupid…”
With a heavy sigh, Rokk rolled out of his hammock and stood in front of his friend. “I’m sick of having to yell at you, Garth, so sprocking listen up this time!”
Garth started to lean back, but thumped into the wall behind him and had nowhere to retreat, “Wait, what?”
“I am sick to death of hearing you go on about this stupid farm-boy thing.”
“Actually, I am…”
“You *were* a farm-boy.” Rokk interrupted, punctuating his words by poking his friend in the chest. “Not any more. And you were never stupid. I’ve read up on Winath, and on you, and your flight trainer gave you the highest marks anyone got on the entire *planet* when you were fourteen. He said that you were a natural, that you could take apart a skyburner and put it back together with your eyes closed, and he said that he *hated* that you went back to the farm and didn’t stick with piloting as a career choice.”
“It’s just natural talent, ‘though, like your magno-ball, it’s not like *science* or anything…”
“First of all, you have no idea what it takes to play magno-ball, so don’t even compare the two, and second of all, there is a hell of a lot more to piloting than instinct or natural talent. You have to deal with hundreds of variables, all with enough speed and wit to avoid any of a dozen possible disastrous decisions. Flying doesn’t take balls, Ranzz, it takes *brains.*”
“I kinda used both, actually…”
“Regardless, if balls were all you used, you would have died on your first solo flight, and certainly not gotten highest marks.”
“It’s just, all my life, I wasn’t smart enough. I always thought, if I’d been a little smarter, I would have been able to figure out why Mekt hated us. I would have known what was up with Alayn, *Ayla,* know the right things to say to make it easier...”
“You can’t live other people’s lives for them, Garth. They’ll make their own choices, choices you never would have imagined for them, but it’s not your fault, and you’re not responsible for Ayla’s choice, and you sure as hell aren’t responsible for Mekt…” Rokk’s face softened as he came to a sudden realization. “It was Mekt.” Garth didn’t react, and Rokk stepped back, “Mekt’s been telling you that you were stupid all your life, hasn’t he?”
“He always knew stuff, and he’d just give me that look when I didn’t know something, like I was one of the meat-animals or something…”
“He was *older* Garth. *Of course,* he knew stuff that you hadn’t learned yet.” Rokk shook his head, “And this is the problem with Winath.” Garth looked puzzled at the shift in topic. “You guys are all set with the twin thing, but you have no idea how to deal with an older brother.” He shook his head, "Mekt was *jealous,* Garth. *You* had the twin. *You* were the 'normal one.' *You* were the one that got accepted into piloting school."
“It’s not just Mekt. It’s everyone. Imra took all sorts of molecular science and neural psychology classes. She talks about that stuff and I’m just lost.” He points at the pad depicting the Talokkian soiree, “And here. You’re all like, ‘sulphur dioxide’ and, ‘he’s Venusian, they breath methane and oxygen kills them’ and I’m like, ‘hey, dude has a bowl over his head!’”
“Garth, I don’t even know where to start. Braal is a mining world. Sulphur dioxide is a common industrial smell. And it’s also a commerce hub, and sentients from all over the sector come for the magno-ball play-offs. I’ve met Venusians before. I had to sit through an excruciating dinner with the head of the Venusian Gas-Mines, smiling the whole time as the poster-boy for the Blacksteel Cartel.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I know *some* stuff. You know *other* stuff.” Rokk punctuated his statement by tapping Garth in the forehead with his own pad. “Like that the Talokkian Embassy had spectrum-enhanced surveillance of the event. *I* didn’t think of that…”
“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like I can keep up. Especially with Imra being so… so…”
“Cerebral?”
“Yeah.”
Rokk steepled his hands in front of his face, drawing up his nerve. “Garth, if you ever mention this, I’m going to deny it.” Garth looked alarmed, but Rokk steam-rollered on before he lost his nerve. “It *kills* me to say this, but I had a month to impress Imra before we hit Winath to re-supply. So there I am, a good-looking, witty, charming *sports-star,* well-versed in interacting with sentients of all sorts. Since I was fourteen, I’ve had anyone I wanted and she chooses *you.* She’s Titanian, Garth. She didn’t choose you for your arms or that floppy mess you call hair. She chose you because *you’re smarter than I am.* She knows it. I know it, and the only ‘stupid’ thing I’ve seen about you is that *you* haven’t figured it out yet.”
“I..”
“Don’t. I’m never saying this again. Just don’t.” Rokk turned and flew out the door, leaving Garth standing in Rokk’s room, head spinning with notions that refused to take purchase.
Garth sat down heavily on Rokk’s hammock. “Wow.” The hammock promptly overbalanced and he flew backwards onto the floor with a heavy crash. “Oof!” Looking up from the floor at his legs, still hanging off of the hammock, he lay there, sides shaking as he laughed silently, still spun by his friends words, “Yeah, I’m a real genius…”
Rokk was sitting atop the Embassy, checking the pad and getting alternate angles. Each of the Kathooni security agents wore their armor in a slightly different style, and his target wore silvery torso-plate that resembled a one-piece swimsuit, covering her from crotch to neck, while leaving her arms, legs and head bare. She had a similar plate of steel on her left thigh, and another on her right calf. Her arms were similarly mismatched, with a bulky pauldron on her left shoulder and an ornate bracer, almost big enough to call a shield, on her right forearm. Underneath, a skintight black bodysuit covered the rest of her skin, although her milky-skinned fingers and toes were exposed, and her strong-jawed face. Her hair was a tower of black, held in place by far too many shiny silver pins.
Checking the other members of the delegation, he confirmed that each had a different style of body armor, and he was positive that he could recognize this one, even in the dark, based on the positioning of the metal covering her body.
He then looked up Kathooni courtship rituals. No reason, just bored, he managed to convince the tiny protesting voice that said, ‘what the sprock are you doing?’
The Kathooni mission was located in bowels of an administrative building, as the Kathooni had no Embassy of their own. Rokk stood in front of the entrance, wondering what the hell he was doing here. He was just looking at the pictures. And then he was just figuring out if he could recognize her. And then he was looking up how to say ‘take off your clothes’ in Kathooni. It was all perfectly harmless, and it was a train-wreck that would only stop if he turned around right now.
The door opened in front of him, and the chamber before him was pitch-black. So much for leaving before they notice, he thought wryly as an irresistibly strong arm reached out of the darkness and pulled him into the darkened room.
In the dark, he could feel a half-dozen metal-armored figures moving towards him and a deep voice sounded next to his ear, making him jump, “Jath, it is the purple-eyed one. His garb speaks of his mating status.”
‘Mating status?’ He finally managed to resolve the metal signatures, just in time to recognize that the woman in question was now directly in front of him. “Your eyes burn with lust,” came the husky voice and suddenly he felt the mail-mesh of his shirt bunch up as the woman grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward.
“Uh, hi, I was just passing by,” Rokk began lamely as he stumbled to regain his balance, wondering where he had lost control of this encounter, and then remembering that he’d never actually *had* control to lose.
“I will take you now,” the voice said matter-of-factly, and suddenly everything was spinning. By the time he got his bearing, Rokk realized that he had been hauled over the woman’s shoulder and she was carting him off like… well, like they carted off Mekt, come to think of it. And, oh yeah, her hand was on his ass again.
“Actually, I was thinking we could have something to eat, get to know each other…” Rokk protested in a voice that sounded far too high-pitched for his comfort and suddenly everything was spinning, and if not for her hand on his chest, he would have fallen over when she set him back on his feet, apparently in another room entirely.
“Oh hey, we haven’t even been introduced, I’m…” Rokk began, only to be stopped by the presence of strong fingers clamped over his mouth.
“No names. You have not yet earned my name.” the voice commanded, and with a sure confidence pried open the fastenings on the front of his Champion’s Garb. “Your armor will not serve you in this battle.”
“I…” Rokk managed to get out before she had peeled him like a banyo fruit, and he noticed that the room was just a bit chilly all of a sudden. The hand began relentlessly pushing him backwards and Rokk had just about had enough of this. Using his magnetic powers, he anchored himself to the floor and stood his ground, and heard her grunt lightly as she pushed harder against his chest. “Neither will yours,” he snapped, and with a series of pinging noises unfastened all of the snaps on the Kathooni woman’s armor as well. He felt a slight breeze and heard a loud clang as the woman pulled her now unfastened breastplate free and flung it across the room. Suddenly, despite his best attempts, he was flying through the air as she re-doubled her push, and his unscheduled flight ended in a massive pile of pillows piled in a corner. ‘Satin, I think,’ he managed to ascertain before the woman was on him like a tidal wave, pulling him under. The last sounds that he could identify as words sounded like, “Impertinent male! Learn your place!”
The waterfall was roaring past him, no, *through* him, and his body was shuddering with its’ passage. It seemed like it had been going on forever, and only now was he being born to consciousness from a place of warm soft darkness. He finally realized that it wasn’t a waterfall at all, it was his heartbeat, pounding so fast that it was like a piston engine, one continuous low thrum, the individual beats no longer recognizable as distinct events.
Slowly he felt the world spin into being around him, and Great Smithy, his body felt like it had been subjected to some sort of medieval torture! He was sprawled across the scattered pillows, and dimly became aware of voices in the darkness.
“It yet lives. I owe you two crystal moons and a blade of steel.”
“I would not have killed the male. Venegar would demand recompense.”
“I but jest, the wager was of the hours until the male recovered consciousness. His fortitude is unnatural for one of the lesser races. I desire him now.”
Rokk felt as well as heard a blade of steel slide from a leather sheath and a voice he recognized, as if from strange dream, said, “I announce claim.”
He felt metal-clad bodies shifting position and belatedly realized that he was lying naked in front of a bunch of people who could see in the dark. For some reason this seemed far more important than any impending knife-fight, but his feeble attempts to pull a pillow over himself were foiled by his arms, which trembled as if he had been pounded into jelly, shaken vigorously and then poured back into his skin.
“Stand down. I would not draw steel over an out-worlder, no matter his exotic skills.”
‘Exotic skills?’ Rokk thought? ‘Lady, I spent the last hour and a half *fighting for my life!* That wasn’t ‘skill,’ that was desperation…’ Clearly these Kathooni didn’t appreciate how strong they were.
“I leave you,” a voice announced matter-of-factly and the others left the room, and Rokk was again alone with his tormentor.
He had just managed to lean forward, ever so slightly, to discover that yet indeed, *everything* hurt, and not for the first time he cursed the fact that a man with no nervous system could still know pain.
“Drink this, you must replenish your fluids,” the voice ordered, and a cup the size of a serving bowl was thrust into his chest. He managed to grab it before too much of the hot fluid spilled onto his chest, and the smell was somewhat like Earth coffee, the beverage of choice to the Braalian working class. He sipped the rich liquid, and felt a pleasant burn travel down his throat and into his stomach, which, predictably, immediately cramped up at the intrusion. Still, a pleasant lassitude followed, and the pain faded away. “What is this stuff?” Rokk managed to say, shocked to realize that he had drained the entire bowl.
“You would call it an ‘energy drink.’ It is used after battle to soothe the nerves, and runners use it to carry messages from clan to clan, so that they may travel over many days without rest.”
‘Yikes,’ thought Rokk, not liking the sound of ‘many days without rest’ as related to his current position. “Actually, it’s making me a little sleepy.”
“I am not versed in your physiology. Perhaps it is poison to your kind.”
‘Well, *that’s* reassuring.’
“Would you like more?”
‘Why the hell not.’ “Please.”
As he sipped at the second cup, he could feel that the woman was crouching in front of him, no doubt seeing him clear as day even in the darkness, while he was only dimly aware of her location because of the heavy metallic residues in the cosmetics decorating her nails, skin and hair.
“I’m not clear on your customs. Should I tell you my name now?”
“Names are sacred things. If you give me your name, I will gain power over you.”
'Yeah, like I'm so on top of the situation, now...' Rokk thought sarcastically, “You could just look it up…”
“I already know what your people call you, Rokk Krinn, Champion of Venegar. But you have not *given me* your name. Do not do this, if you do not mean it.” The woman shifted before him, and he could feel the brush of her hair, which had come unfastened and was now hanging ankle-length about her like a cloak. “Would you know me?” she asked, and her voice for the first time was soft, uncertain. “Yes.” Rokk said, without hesitation, reaching out to take her hand firmly.
“My Clan is Jath,” she said with some firmness, and then leaned forward to almost whisper, “My name is Lydda, and I give it to you.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the drink, but Rokk felt his world shift around him, and understood. He leaned forward and said softly, for her ears alone, “My Clan is Krinn. My name is Rokk.”
She breathed into his ear again and somehow made his name sound like sex, “Rokk.” She leaned back slightly, “But this is not the name by which I shall know you. I shall make for you a name that none but we shall speak, when we are like this,” her hand dropped possessively to rest below his stomach, and Rokk winced with the reminder that his next date was with a regen-pack.
Her face hovered before his, and he could just make out the reflection of her silvery eye-makeup in the purple light of his eyes. “You are Thall.”
Trying desperately to remember any words in Karthooni, “Plaything?”
“Ha! No, that is Thole, and yes, you are that as well. Thall is the name of the comet that passes our world every seventh year. It ignites great storms of light that flicker like fires in the upper sky, and the ground below is bathed in purple light. Predatory beasts stalk the harsh light, taking advantage of our discomfort, and the males cower in fear. We take them into dark places and hide from the violet fire in the sky. We comfort them through this time.”
“My eyes. You said they burn with lust…”
“Yes. Your eyes call to our brightest fears. But I am a warrior. I have stared into my fear, and found there a mate.”
Her hand began to move again slowly on his stomach, as if tracing patterns only she could see. Rokk was surprised to feel his body responding to her touch. He reached out for her hand, “Lydda,” he said, saying her name very softly, “I can’t do this again. Not yet.”
“Release your fears, little male. I will not break you. Our time of battle is done. Now it is the time of peace,” she relaxed next to him and softly stroked his face.
“Uh, I’m not sure about Kathooni males, but the rest of us don’t like the phrase, ‘little male.’” Rokk noted. ‘Especially when we are naked,’ he added silently.
“It is a term of affection only, Thall. For the challenge at hand, your anatomy is…” she cast a measuring glance. “sufficient.”
‘Ouch.’ Thought Rokk. ‘Oh yeah, that’s *much* better. Note to self; Kathooni pillow-talk to be avoided at all costs…’
Rokk limped into the Embassy quietly, attempting to stick to little-used corridors, but resigned himself to his fate as he turned around a corner to find himself face to face with Imra and the Queen.
The Queen looked up with a distracted expression and not a trace of emotion passed her face as she looked him up and down. “I trust the other person looks worse for wear?”
<Garth! Bring the regen-pack! Rokk, what happened…>, Imra said, eyes wide with concern.
Drawing a breath, Rokk decided to get it over with fast, “Yeah, it’s a funny story. I got married.”
<WHAT!?!>
He heard a crash as Garth came around the corner and dropped the regen-pack in the middle of the hall. “WHAT!”
Rokk just closed his eyes and hung his head as the Queen of Venegar began laughing.
[ March 07, 2007, 03:03 PM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
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posted
Regal and confident, Powerful and strong, Sarya of Venegar felt so right when so wrong
A foe worthy of the Legion, though in the end she did die, for Sarya overestimated herself, and underestimated the Eye
Despite this failing, which one must surely address, You cannot speak of great Legion foes, Without mentioning the Emerald Empress
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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Lydda awoke to find herself alone, and Kand in her doorway, laughing roughly.
“Your pet outworlder has fled already, Jath. You offer him your name, and he takes it and runs like a mongrel with a scrap of meat.”
Lydda rose with a scowl and began seeking out her armor.
“Shall I help you prepare for the hunt?” Kand offered teasingly, shrinking back as Lydda hurled a blade into the wall next to her head.
“Leave. Or fight. But do it now.” Lydda growled, satisfied to see Kand’s eyes narrow and her back as she turned away.
Lydda prowled out into the common area to the sounds of her fellow warriors coarsely discussing the events of the night before, and Kand shot her a venomous glare of superiority. Brushing past her roughly, she reached the outer doors and hesitated for a moment.
“It is day, warrior. Death rides high in the sky.” Kand began, tauntingly, only to gasp along with the others as Lydda slammed the door override and opened up the portal. “Jath! No outworlder is worth this! I take back my words, do not risk this for that male!”
Lydda squinted at the glare of the dimly lit hallway and moved into the hallway, slamming the portal shut behind her and moving further into the soul-searing light of the Metropolitan day. She could hear her fellow warriors at the end of the hall calling, “Jath! Do not do this thing!” but she walked right out of the building into the full rays of the devil-sun, staggering to her knees under its’ merciless intensity. She felt her long hair streaming behind her in wild disarray, and knew that she was unfit to be seen, even by outworlders in such a state, her armor mismatched and her hair un-groomed, but she would die before she let this male escape with her pride.
She could only open her eyes the tiniest fraction at a time, and only for an instant, and then would stagger a distance before having to peek again. No matter how thinly she cracked her eyes, no matter how she shaded her gaze with her hands, there was always something bright and reflective within her sight to seemingly throw the fires straight into her fevered mind. She stumbled on, desperately trying to retrace her steps to the Venegarian Embassy, but unable to recognize any of the landmarks of the night among these bright buildings and milling outworlders.
A hand fell upon her arm and she whirled around to strike, but the deadly rays of Earth’s sun had poisoned her strength so that she could not even dislodge the outworlder’s frail grasp. “Oh, hey, are you okay lady, you look sick. I can take you to Met General…”
“I need to get to the Venegarian Embassy.” Lydda gasped.
“If it’s atmo poisoning, you need to get whatever mix your people breathe…,” the outworlder began, and seemed to be leading her towards one of the outworlders flying carriages.
“It is not. I breathe oxy/nitro. It is this cursed radiation. The Embassy,” Lydda insisted, feeling a tiny scrap of pride boil away as she added, “*Please.*”
“Okay, okay. Just sit here,” the elderly male said, and she felt a seat beneath her and felt a hatch closing against her side. Another hatch opened to her left and the vehicle shifted with the addition of new weight. “Clear for take-off,” the voice added, laughing and then the vehicle lurched forward. Lydda attempted to open her eyes ever so slightly, but the elderly man was wearing white pants, and she was immediately blinded by reflected glare. He could be taking her anywhere, and she was not strong enough to even fight an old human male in this light.
The vehicle stopped and the voice returned, “Okay, here’s Venegar. Boy, she’s got a thing for green, I guess.” Lydda was already prying at the hatch, but it opened before she found the fastening. “Okay, last stop, all ashore who’s going ashore.” The old man cackled, apparently having succeeded in amusing only himself.
Taking his arm and leaning heavily on it to pull herself out of the low-slung seat, Lydda quickly pulled her arm free. “I am in your debt.” She quickly unsheathed a blade from her wrist-sheath and the man gasped and pulled away.
“Whoah, nelly!”
She stumbled forward and gripped the man, placing the blade into his hand. “It is a blade of steel. My payment to you.”
“Alrighty then, you have a real nice day.” The voice quavered, lowering in volume as he beat a hasty retreat.
Lydda leaned against the side of the Embassy, still cool in the mid-morning shade, and followed the wall around until she found the entrance, which, of course, was in the middle of the brightly lit sunward-side. She was all-but crawling by the time she made it through the front portal, and slid down the wall to the side, out of the sickening light and heat.
She rested for a moment, trying to determine whether or not she was gathering her strength or laying down to die when a heavy footfall came into range. “Hey!”, came a male voice, “are you hurt? I’ll call a medic…”
A large hand, like that of a beast, gripped her shoulder and she squinted to see a large outworlder, one of Venegar’s Champions. Abandoning any attempt at subtlety, she whispered, “I need darkness. Light is poison.”
“Right. Dark you want it, dark it will be.” The male said as he pulled her to her feet and led her into a side-chamber. She heard him turning off the sources of illumination, but light still shone into the room through the open doorway, not at all blocked by the gauzy translucent curtain. “Right.” The male said, stepping out of the room and turning off the lights in the hallway. “Is that better?” he asked, sounding inappropriately concerned for a woman not his own.
“Yes.” Realizing belatedly that she had only a single blade remaining, and might have need of it soon, Lydda pulled a silver ring off of her finger. “You have my gratitude,” she said, tossing him the ring. “If I might also have some water?”
“Uh, sure,” Garth said, placing the ring down on a shelf. “But water’s free. You don’t have to pay me for that…” He returned with a pitcher of water and a glass.
Lydda looked at the extraneous container and set it on the shelf, drinking directly from the pitcher until the roiling in her stomach settled.
”You’re that Kathooni security person, right?”
“I am Jath. I am seeking my mate.” Lydda added, leaning forward and seizing the male’s wrist.
“Oh, I’m taken. But thanks.” Garth said, trying to dislodge the woman’s grip, which seemed ridiculously strong for someone who couldn’t get up a minute ago.
“Your words are nonsense. Your mating status is plain to see,” Lydda said, irritated by the male’s attempts at deception.
“No, really,” Garth grunted, trying with all of his strength to budge a single one of this woman’s steely fingers. “Spoken for, most strenuously spoken for…”
She released his wrist suddenly and Garth fell back. Only the presence of a wall stopped him from ending up on the floor as the tall woman stepped right up to him and placed her hand on his chest.
“If you are spoken for, outworlder, why do you advertise your availability with this display?” her hand traced the white lightning bolt down his chest, onto his stomach and Garth involuntarily laughed as he stepped aside before her hand could trail lower. “Any can see where this line leads. Why draw attention to what you do not offer?”
“Cultural misunderstanding,” Garth babbled, still backing away. “That doesn’t mean anything to us, just, y’know, a lightning bolt. Which is me!” his hand crackled with a display of electrical energy, and Lydda recoiled from the sudden light.
“Sorry, light bad. I forgot…”
“Enough of this babbling about your ignorance. Summon Champion Krinn to me now, I have words for him.”
“He’s not here. Do you want to wait in his room?”
“Is there light between this place and that?”
“Well, yes, but I could turn them all off…” Garth began, “or, I’ll be right back!” and he dashed out of the room at a dead run.
Lydda stood, unsure of what to do next. The outworlders were all insane, and she had sold her honor cheaply to a male who respected nothing. She wanted to cry, but tears were for children, and so she stood, turmoil eating away at her.
The heavy footsteps of the male returned, clearly running and out of breath, and she placed a hand upon her last blade, in case of treachery.
Garth swung around the corner, only to get momentarily tangled up in the curtain. In his hand he had a device that Lydda could see no use for, but at least it did not resemble a weapon.
“Okay, this might work. What spectrum of light do you see in?” Garth said breathlessly and Lydda thought back to her lessons.
“Ultraviolet is our primary spectrum. We also see in what humans call the ‘visible spectrum,’ but our sensitivity is such that under any lighting conditions comfortable to your eyes, we are blinded.”
“UV. Great. I’ve got these old-style pilot’s goggles. They were a gift from dad, from when I finished pilot’s training.” The male babbled, pulling out a small container and spraying some foul-smelling substance onto the round glass portions of the device. “And this,” he said, shaking the container, “is the super-dark green spray paint that Sarya’s been using on every single damned thing she sets eyes on…”
He swirled the items through the air, and Lydda tensed, as she now recognized that the ‘goggles’ bore close resemblance to a throwing snare for catching flying prey. “Okay, it’s dry now. Just put them on.”
Lydda accepted the item in her hand, and closed her eyes, resignedly asking. “How.”
Garth reached around and attempted to fasten the goggles, only to be hurled back into the wall so hard that he spent the next minute catching his breath. “You will not dress me!” the woman shouted, dropping the goggles onto his lap. “Demonstrate.”
Garth picked up his goggles, ruined now with the lenses blacked out for this crazy bitch, and showed her how to put them on. “See. Like that.” He then pulled them off and flung them at her head.
Lydda snatched the ‘goggles’ out of the air, puzzled at the male’s attitude, but resigned to the fact that she would never understand their outworlder madness. She put the goggles on and the room was blessedly dark. She peered out into the hallway and she barely had to squint, even looking out into the more brightly lit areas.
“This is acceptable.”
“So glad you sprocking approve. Rokk’s room is this way.” Garth said, pushing past her in a manner that had Lydda reaching again for her blade, before realizing that this male *claimed* that he was the property of another, and she had no idea as to his bid price. It would not be acceptable to damage him when she did not know if she could repay whatever value his mate placed upon him.
They reached another chamber, the same size as the others, with a strange net against one wall.
“This is Champion Krinn’s chambers?” Lydda exclaimed in disbelief.
“Yes.” Garth muttered in his best surly tone, arms crossed as he stood in the doorway.
“It should be larger than the other rooms. I misjudged his status.” She complained. “Where are his sleeping quarters?” she said, looking around.
“He sleeps on the hammock.” Garth ground out, each word sounding like it had been dragged kicking and screaming from his mouth.
“Hammock?”
Garth just nodded his head and Lydda stared again. “Wrapped up in ropes, like a snared beast? Hanging above the ground?” Lydda shook her head again. This was the least of the madness. She crossed to the room controls, next to Garth, who moved slightly away as she approached, and turned off the lights in the room. Still light poured in from the hallway, and Lydda extended her hand towards the container he still held in his hand.
Garth tossed it to her and walked away as Lydda began spray-painting the flimsy curtain with a thick coat of dark green.
<<Imra! You *have* to meet the missus…>> Garth broadcast through the Ring, dripping sarcasm as thick as paint.
With a forced smile on her face, Imra stepped out of Rokk’s room, to see Garth leaning against the wall in the hallway, rubbing his chest, where a bruise was already forming, and sporting a clipped smile to match her own.
<<I think you’ve covered her better qualities, yeah.>> Garth added as he wrapped his arm over Imra’s shoulder and they walked down the corridor away from their new guest.
Rokk awkwardly sashayed through the doorway, a large package of puffed pasty stuffed with cream cheese and crab meat in his hand, and he idly munched one of the freshly-made appetizers, savoring their steaming warmth as much as the sweet blend of flavors. Humming to himself, he continued to (badly) dance his way down the corridor to Imra’s quarters, where his Ring had already informed him his two fellow Champion’s were in residence. Knocking on the doorframe he could see that the two were clothed and sitting upright, so he leaned his head in and juggled the package of treats only to frown as the two wordlessly pointed in unison towards his room, wearing matching dour expressions.
‘Alrighty, then. Must be a lover’s quarrel thing going on. Best leave them to it.’ He gave up on the sad attempt at dancing-while-walking-while-eating, recognizing that he was already doing two more things than he could get away with, and just walked to his room, only to slow as he saw the green paint dripping from his lank, sodden curtain…
Gingerly pushing it aside, he looked into the very dark room, and immediately sensed a familiar armored presence.
Succulent cheesy crab-puffs exploded across the room as Lydda back-handed the offending offering away and shoved Rokk against the wall, with a blade to his throat.
“Okay, I’m trying to cut back, too…”, Rokk stammered, acutely aware of the press of cold steel against the suddenly hammering pulse in his throat.
“Do you wish to dissolve this mating contract, Champion Krinn?” Lydda growled right in his face. Rokk was momentarily distracted by the sight of ancient earth aviator’s goggles in the middle of her face, which also put them right in the middle of his face, and he could see that someone had painted the goggles dark green. ‘That whacky Sarya. Someone needs to take her paint-cans away,’ his brain offered by way of useless commentary.
“What? No, look Lydda, I don’t…” and then his face went numb with the force of her blow, and he was pretty sure that his jaw wasn’t really in the exact place it was meant to be. Sure enough, it clicked when he pushed it back into place, and *then* it really started hurting.
“You do not call me that name. Not until this dispute is done.”
Rokk stood up slowly, arms raised and palms forward in his best ‘I surrender, don’t kill me’ stance. “Look, Jath, I don’t know why you are angry. Please tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
“*What* you’ve done wrong?” Lydda said, knife slashing the air as she made her point, “*Everything* you’ve done wrong!” her hair whipped around wildly and she laughed hysterically. “Look at my hair!”
Rokk didn’t even know where to start. “Could you make me a list? We can start with the hair…”
“We had an agreement. We were to be mated. *I gave you my name!* And you, you, aaaa!” she turned around and ripped his hammock from the wall, “And you sleep in a fishing net! Like prey!” she flung the hammock to the ground and sat down on the floor, her hands over her face.
Torn between backing away and hopping the first shuttle back to Braal or comforting the sobbing woman, Rokk, as always, took the more dangerous route and knelt down in front of Lydda, carefully avoiding the side with the knife, and ran his fingers through her long hair, trying to unsnarl the tangles that had formed while she slept.
“Please, tell me what I’m supposed to do here. I should know, but I don’t. I know it’s my fault.”
Lydda regained her composure with effort and looked up, her silver eye-makeup glistening as it streaked down her face. “We are mated. It is *my* place to give you shelter,” she looked around at his room. “It is *my* task to return from the hunt with food, and to feed you,” she batted at an offending crab-puff. “It is *your* role to be there when I wake, to groom my hair and prepare me for the day’s battle. It is your task to bathe me and place my armor upon me. And when I return, you are to take the weight of my armor from me and cleanse my wounds.”
“I wake, and you are gone. You take my name and leave like a thief in the day. I must walk through fire and pain and death to find you. I must take charity from offensively-dressed and deceitful outworlders who mock our ways. I must wait for you in a shelter that I have not given you, and you come to me bearing food that I have not provided for you. Have I nothing to offer you?”
“Oh, Lydda, I had no idea,” Rokk ran his hands through her silky hair. He reached out with his magnetic powers and turned on the faucets to the bath in the next room. “I will bathe you, my big, strong, kinda scary warrior-woman. And then,” he added, handing her a crab-puff from the floor, “You can feed me.”
He rose slowly to his feet, pulling her up with him. “We’ll get this right.” She smiled slightly, and they crossed into the bathroom.
“You would use a week’s water ration to apologize to me?” Lydda said, her eyes wide at the sight of the filling tub.
“Uh…” Rokk began, but was cut off as Lydda pushed him into the wall.
“We must fight more often, my extravagant Thall.”
[ March 07, 2007, 03:06 PM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
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Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
This story continues to write itself in my head.
Vote now!
1) Should I be starting a seperate thread for it? 2) Should it remain here? 3) Should I be sticking my finger in a light-socket until the voices go away?
Garth, Imra and Rokk have gone slightly sideways, but Lydda has just most suprised me. I didn't plan to include her at all, and suddenly she's moving in! I thought *I* was writing this?
Registered: Aug 2006
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