Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
'Kay, keeping it here then. I was just worried about cluttering up the thread with my long-winded narrative that shows no sign of slowing down. Thanks for the votes of confidence!
And so, chapter, uh, eleven? The talky-talk is boring me, so next chaper will have more fighty-fight, I think.
Canonically, Lydda Jath has super-strength only at night, thanks to an experiment performed by her scientist father. But I find that insanely boring, so my Lydda Jath and my Kathoon will have *no* relationship to that, although I kept the big hair, 'cause I like the big hair...
Rokk had spent the better part of the afternoon learning how to get Lydda’s hair just right, piling the many kilos of night-black hair into a towering mass that could likely repel blaster-fire.
“So, you’ve never considered doing a sort of page-boy thing?” Rokk mumbled around the mouthful of silver pins he was storing in his mouth while his hands worked frantically to stave off a structural failure to the port-side that threatened to set him back to square one, “Crew-cuts are *very* military, and, and, very liberating! I think you’d look very professional, very warrior-y, with a high-and-tight…”
Lydda just smiled, enjoying the touch of her lover’s hands as he worked, “A warrior does not cut her hair. It invites possession by evil spirits, silly man.”
Patiently, Lydda lifted a hand to ward off disaster. “Twist,” she demonstrated, torqueing the queue with such tension that Rokk thought she was going to rip her scalp clean off, “Fold,” she curled the thick braid to that it settled around on itself, “Hold,” she secured it in place with a single finger, “Pin.” She waited for him to produce a silver pin and lock the final piece of the intricate arrangement into place.
“Whoah.” Rokk stepped back. “I think it’s gonna hold this time,” he said in a weak but hopeful tone, having said this the three previous times he’d *thought* he’d gotten it right.
Lydda gracefully rose from her seat and leaned slowly back, so that her towering coiffure was a horizontal bar of black, and yet it held. Rokk’s lip quivered. If it collapsed this time, he was going to be the one sitting down in the middle of the floor and crying…
Lydda’s body suddenly twisted and she flipped effortlessly across the room in an acrobatic display that had less to do with agility and more to do with raw power. Rokk winced as he realized that he would have torn every muscle in his body if his body every twisted like that, but as she landed, he noticed that, most importantly, her hair remained intact.
She crossed the room and took Rokk’s hands in her own larger, calloused ones. “My outworlder Thall. The males of my world train for years braiding each others hair, so that one day they will be able to please their mates. I treasure your soft, clever hands.”
Rokk idly wondered what the Kathooni word for ‘emasculate’ was, but found himself distracted by the energetic kissing that then followed.
“And now, I shall show you how to decorate my skin.” Lydda said brightly, mistaking Rokk’s groan of frustration for enthusiasm.
<<Champion Krinn.>> came the Queen’s voice through his Ring. <<Ambassador Marin commands your attendance. You will follow her directions, without fail.>> and with that, the communication ended.
“Crap.” Rokk said and Lydda, who was busy explaining to him that all of her cosmetics must be laced with silver, and no other metal, to avoid offense to Clan, looked up concerned.
“Your Queen commands your attentions?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“The ring on your hand shone with green fire, and your eyes became distant. You were hearing a witch-voice in your mind. I know the signs.” Lydda explained.
“I’m not done with your makeup, ‘though…” Rokk said, not sure if Kathooni tradition had any protocol for males with jobs…
“Nonsense. Allegiance to Clan always comes first. Venegar is your Clan. Attend to Clan. I will return to my own duties, and you will come to *my* quarters when your own duties are done.”
“I’m not sure if that is the best idea…” Rokk started before Lydda placed a hand on his chest.
“But. You will *not* leave my sight wearing *that.*” she pointed at his Champion’s Garb.
“What do you…” Rokk began as Lydda snatched the half-empty container of spray-paint from the shelf and walked towards him, shaking the can purposefully.
“It’s an aerated dye-mixture, you don’t need to shake it…” Rokk said, lifting his arms and resigning himself to whatever sort of mark she was going to make upon him. He’d already spent three years of his life sporting Blacksteel Cartel corporate branding on his stomach, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being a walking billboard. She carefully sprayed the lighter colored panel of forest green covering his stomach and crotch, so that it matched the darker panels on his shoulders, sides and outer limbs, and then spun him around and did the same to his backside. The forest green panels on his inner forearms and thighs apparently got to remain.
“Now all will see that your manhood is claimed by another.”
“Great.” Rokk thought sourly. ‘And if it soaks through and dyes my skin, it should only be a month or so before it wears off…’
Lydda had ripped down the paint-darkened curtain that served as Rokk’s ‘door,’ and had flung it over herself to block the sun’s rays as she dashed to the vehicle that Rokk had summoned. He closed the door behind her and got in beside her, surprised to note that even this brief exposure had left her exposed hands warm to the touch, as if her body had somehow absorbed the light striking her body.
“Quadplex central six. And can you make sure we come in from the east side?” Rokk requested and the cab-bot blinked its ascent as the vehicle smoothly pivoted in place and leapt into the traffic lanes.
“I am concerned that the Ambassador wishes to speak with you. What if she disapproves of our mating agreement? I am her vassal, she could dissolve the contract…” Lydda fretted, while Rokk attempted to allay her fears.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, hon. Maybe she just wants to meet me, or give me her blessing?” even *he* couldn’t believe that, unless ‘her blessing’ involved jumping through hoops of burning plasma or defeating a clawed tusk-horn with a pointed stick. His limited understanding of Karthooni culture suggested that, ‘challenge-to-the-death to prove worthiness’ was more up these people’s alley than, ‘welcome to the family, sit down and pretend that you’re interested in my father’s boring stories!’
Arriving at their destination, Rokk made sure that Lydda was under her impromptu sun-shade and then opened the door and they dashed into the building, protected by the afternoon shade.
Moving down the hall, Lydda made a noise of disapproval as they reached the Kathooni delegate’s quarters, and moved to the other side of the hall and stuck her blade into the light-fixture. It sputtered and died. “Our enemies seek to restrict our movements,” she explained matter-of-factly, and Rokk smiled as he felt an EM signal go out to the building’s repair droid.
“Those bastards. That’ll show them.” Rokk said agreeably as the portal cycled open and they stepped into darkness.
“Jath! You yet live!”
“I told you that she would drag the male back for punishment,” another voice smugly affirmed.
“And you thought the outworlder sun would be the death of her. I will have my crystal now,” another said in the back of the room.
Rokk could feel the presence of armored figures moving in the darkness, and after learning about cosmetics from Lydda, could feel the iron-laced facial-markings of a Sangti, and the traces of gold decorating the nails of the Auri. He didn’t know their names, but he could feel their Clans, based on the elements they used as decoration.
“Your hair is acceptable. Surely the male did not…”
Lydda’s voice cut through the chatter. “He is an outworlder. Outworlder males have clever hands.” Lydda punctuated her statement by taking Rokk’s hand in her own and leading him through the darkened room to another chamber, and as the portal closed, leaving the other warriors behind him, Lydda whispered. “The Ambassador holds our fate in her hands. Do not babble.”
Rokk became aware of the Ambassador, or, at least, of a figure draped in copper ornaments, but wearing no steel armor. ‘Clan Cupri,’ he remembered from his crash course.
“Jath. You will rest.” a surprisingly feminine voice declared.
Rokk felt Lydda stiffen, and her hand left his and he felt them cross across her chest as she knelt on the floor.
“Ly… Jath?” he whispered, touching her shoulder, but got no response.
“She but sleeps. My words are for you alone, outworlder.” the voice stated flatly, and he could hear the jingling of copper trinkets as the figure adjusted herself in her seat.
“You are outworlder, and Jath has made a hasty decision, as is typical for a warrior.” Rokk was attempting to come up with a retort to that, but the voice continued on, “I have no doubt that there have already been many miscommunications between the pair of you, because of her rash choice, and I will give you the choice now to walk away from this thing with no shame upon your Clan. I will inform Jath that I forbade this thing on grounds of tradition, and she will grow angry with me, but accept my authority. You will not speak to her again.”
“No wait a minute, you can’t do this…” Rokk said, bristling at the thought of being ordered away.
“I most certainly can. I see that I must educate you. Firstly, I am mortal, like you, and at times, I must draw breath to continue speaking. You are not to mistake these pauses in my words as an invitation for you to fill the air with your own chatter. I am a Seer. I bear the knowledge and wisdom of my people, and have no need to hear whatever thoughts burn behind your devil-eyes.”
As Rokk bit his tongue and did not interrupt her again, she continued, “Since we were children, Jath has been a warrior in spirit, if not in truth. One time, a building caught fire, and while true Warriors stood paralyzed with fright at the sight of the blinding fires, Jath rushed in and pulled another child out of the flames. When the Clans were forced to rally forces against the Great Beast, Jath was the one who insisted on playing the role of bait, to lure it into our blades, and hers was the first to draw blood. Ever she has seen the thing she fears, and rushed towards it instead of away. Were she a Seer, she would be deemed a fool. Were she Commonfolk, she would be called mad. But she is a Warrior, and so her nature is called bravery, and it is her gift to us all. And so it came as no surprise when she came of Age, and walked into the caves to seek out the gods’ challenge. Less than one in a hundred women of Kathoon choose to enter the caves, and of those, only one in four pass the challenges, and return with sanity, health or life intact. Upon passing the challenges set down by our ancestors, we are offered a choosing. A few choose to seek the wisdom of the past, and become Seers, as did I. The greater portion recognize, as Jath did, that their nature is that of the Warrior, and so the ancestors forge a pact with them, and lend the strength of a thousand Warriors past to their limbs.”
Rokk felt his eyebrows raise. He’d known that Lydda was strong, stronger than anyone he’d met, but this sounded impossible!
“And now, it should come as no surprise to me that she took one look at the death shining from your face and has, once again, rushed towards her fears, blades flashing.”
“I don’t think it’s just that…” Rokk began, only to be cut off quickly.
“I can not state with enough force how little I care for your thoughts. The wisdom of a hundred lifetimes whispers within my soul, and you are but an outworlder child. I see past the horror of your eyes, to that which burns within you. I see that you are unsure of your place in the world, are unsure of your feelings for Jath and that you protest me out of stubborn pride. You have not felt the sting of love in your breast, and your alien body burns with forces that have burned away much of what made you mortal. I can see you as you are, Rokk Krinn, Champion of Venegar. You are no more Braalian than I, and as your flesh fails, your will grows stronger. You are of flesh, but also of energy, and I see you as a hint of the future of us all, a thousand, thousand years hence, when the many children of Earth fly the stars on wings of spirit, and the way of flesh has long since fled the universe.”
Rokk shook his head at her words, a soundless denial frozen on his lips.
“Do not deny my words, child. You do not know me. You do not even know yourself. How can you know Jath? She is a Warrior. A thousand passions burn in her blood, and she has devoted her life to containing these feelings, to tap their ancient strength in defense of her people. It is a lonely life, the Warrior’s way, and for many generations, Clans found themselves looking the other way when the mates of Warriors were found maimed or slain by the terrible rages that burn in a Warrior soul. They hauled their broken bodies away, and selected new mates, rationalizing it as a necessary sacrifice to have the power of a Warrior standing at their side, all too unwilling to recognize the terrible cost taken by the Warriors themselves, ever to see the things they love destroyed at their own hands.”
“Are you still so sure that you would know Jath? Will you love her, even as she rages? Will your magnetic sorcery serve to defend you from her blows? Has she chosen more wisely than even I can foresee?”
Rokk had focused his awareness on Lydda, still crouched and motionless, like a statue, as he considered the Ambassadors words. For the first time ever, Lydda seemed small and fragile, all folded up and awaiting a fate that she could not contest.
He made his decision and stepped up to Ambassador Marin, stopping only when he could see the reflection of his eyes in the copper triangles descending from her ears, feeling a thrill as he heard her hiss and pull back from his approach. “I am Rokk Krinn, and I *never* lose. I will never give up on Jath. And *nothing* will stop me from being with her as long as *she* wants to be with me.”
He felt the Ambassadors many-ringed hand on his chest, but her touch was light as she pushed him back down a step.
“A Warrior choosing another Warrior. It is without precedent.” her voice softened. “I will not forbid it.” Rokk could feel her adjust again in her seat, regaining her composure as he stepped back. “Jath. Arise, but remain silent.”
Lydda got to her feet smoothly and moved to stand beside Rokk, and he reached out in the darkness to take hold of her hand, which was clenching and unclenching nervously. He massaged the back of her hand, attempting to convey silent reassurance. He felt the circuits of a datapad hum into life in the Ambassador’s hand, and, in a business-like tone, she said, “Venegar.” A few moments later he heard Queen Sarya’s voice, “Ambassador Marin. Always a pleasure.”
“As well. I seek to purchase quarters in your Embassy. As you know, Kathoon has no Embassy as of yet, and it is displeasingly crowded in these quarters.”
The Queen’s voice sounded amused, “I have a room in mind. For payment, I would ask for service of one of those delightful Warriors that serve you. I find them most impressive. The one named Jath, perhaps?”
Rokk felt the world spinning around him as he realized that the Queen had yet again outmaneuvered him.
“This is agreeable.” Marin acceded. “If Jath were to reside in the quarters you have selected, it would leave more room for my business here. It is an auspicious arrangement. I will order it so. Good hunting, Venegar.” and the communication ended.
Rokk could feel Lydda’s hand tighten uncomfortably as she absorbed the implications of this exchange.
“Jath. You are now on detached assignment. Until I say otherwise, you will follow the commands of Sarya of Venegar as if they were my own. Do not bring shame to our people, or to your Clan, by giving her reason to regret her choice. I have also secured quarters for you…,” and she paused and he heard copper trinkets jingle as she set down her datapad. “And your mate.”
“Ready your things, the detachment begins immediately. Dismissed.”
Rokk was still blinking at the suddenness of the exchange, and the Ambassador impatiently repeated. “Dismissed! That means you leave now.”
Lydda all-but dragged him to the doorway. The Ambassador’s voice came again, sounding amused this time, “Jath. Outworlder or no, remember that he is only male. They are as children. Do not grow frustrated if you have to tell him everything twice.”
Rokk’s jaw worked soundlessly, but the door opened and Lydda pulled him out of the room before he could come up with an appropriately scathing response. After the doors closed she squealed and leapt up into his arms, bringing them both crashing to the floor.
“Ow.” Rokk protested, but again was distracted by the enthusiastic kissing, until he felt the presence of other armored figures pressing around to watch and heard the exchange of crystals as they wagered on how long he would remain conscious this time…
Lydda tore through the chambers, wrapping up blades and armor and skin-suits and other strange items into a large square of cloth. Rokk had taken to waiting outside, as many of the things she was gathering contained no metal, and so were effectively invisible to him. He could feel the presence of an iron-clad Sangti hovering near him, but she seemed content simply to stand there, arms-crossed, radiating contempt.
“Jath has chosen poorly. You are small and weak.”
Another voice came from behind the sullen Warrior, and Rokk recognized the resonance of gold. “He is larger and stronger than the males of homeworld, Kand. You are just angry that Jath will not be here to arrange your hair.”
He could feel this ‘Kand,’ reaching for a blade, resting her arm on the sheath, and noticed that the gold-adorned Auri had done likewise. He backed away slightly, not wanting to get in the middle of a duel.
“See, he cringes from the threat of steel. Ha! He is no sorcerer. A male cannot be a Warrior, he offends us all by wearing metal above his station,” He could smell Kand’s breath as she advanced upon him and his eyes closed to slits as he sent a pulse of energy into Kand’s knife.
“Draw steel and find out, Sangti.” Rokk knew enough to know that referring to Kand by the name of her Clan was an insult, and sure enough he felt her strain to pull her blade. His eyes shone more brightly as he redoubled his magnetic pull on her blade, trying to hold it in the sheath against the monstrous force she was exerting. With an audible snap, the handle of the knife broke off, and Kand was left holding a chunk of ivory, the metal of her blade still securely within its’ sheath.
“Ha!” said the Auri, and then commented to the entire room tauntingly, “Kand has forgotten how to use a blade!”
Her hand shot forward in a blur, and Rokk thought she was going to pull his head directly from his body as she flung the knife-handle away with her other hand. He shot every ounce of magnetic force forward, using her armor to throw her away from him, while stabilizing himself with his Champion’s Ring. She flew across the room like a missile and clanged loudly against the wall, and yet he could feel her staggering unsteadily to her feet, growling incoherently.
Lydda came dashing into the room from behind Rokk, a blade in each hand, just as the portal to the Ambassador’s quarters whirred open.
“Cease!” came the Ambassador’s delicate voice and every Warrior kneeled in place. “Witness.” The Ambassador said sharply and each of Warrior women got to their feet. The hands of the other four Warriors in the room raised and pointed towards Kand. “Kand. Do you wish me to release you from service, so that you pursue blood-vengeance?”
Kand’s voice was made of strangled fury, “No Seer. I serve only you.”
“Then this is done,” and the Ambassador closed the portal with a clang.
Rokk couldn’t help but notice that the other four Warriors pointedly stood between Kand and them as they left, and was grateful for their silent support.
As the heavy door cycled open, the Warriors hissed and drew back as the light-fixture directly across the hall having already been repaired by building maintenance. Rokk stepped across and smashed it with his fist, satisfied when it sparked once and died. A localized EMpulse disabled the signaling device, so that the maintenance droid wouldn’t become aware of the damage for some time. As the doorway cycled shut he could hear the Auri and Ungste Warriors voices loudly proclaiming from the darkened room
Sarya made a show of welcoming Jath to her service, presenting her with a dark-green bodysuit to replace her previous black suit, and a set of jade-green tinted lenses that wrapped over her eyes, and replaced the paint-marked aviator’s goggles. Jath handed the goggles back to Garth, who accepted them with a passing attempt at good grace and then Sarya showed them to Jath’s quarters, which were half-again the size of Rokk’s room. Rokk was not surprised to note that his own belongings had been placed within Jath’s quarters while they were away, and shrugged his shoulders at the inevitability of it all.
“You honor me with these quarters, Highness.” Jath said, bowing her head to Sarya, who neatly sidestepped to avoid being struck in the face by the half-meter-high arrangement of hair.
“Ambassador Marin explained to me your requirements. I would not want to make you appear incapable of providing appropriate shelter for your mate,” the Queen said, with a grin towards Rokk before making her exit.
Lydda had finished examining the fixtures, and finally noticed the hammock, lying amidst Rokk’s possession. “I will get no rest tied up in that thing. We will sleep on cushions.”
Rokk examined the room and produced a pad, quickly sketching out his ideas. “We can compromise. You like to sleep on something soft, I like to sleep up above the ground.” He handed her the pad, showing a loft built into one corner and Jath scowled.
“Your ways are madness. There is no room for games of love.” She quickly pointed at the image of the loft. “You will lie here. I will be here,” ‘on top, obviously,’ Rokk thought, “I will arc my back like this,” she demonstrated, thrusting her armor-plated breasts into his face, “and I will strike my head on the ceiling.” She flung the pad back into the pile of possessions yet to be sorted. “We will sleep on many soft cushions,” she pointed into the corner, “there. Flung onto the floor, we shall nestle into them like puppies against their mothers’ warm belly.” That settled, Lydda turned and began arranging her weapons on the wall.
‘Home, sweet home,’ Rokk thought with a grin, moving to begin unpacking.
“So ‘Jath’ is the name her Clan gave her, and ‘Genti’ is the name of her Clan itself?” Garth clarified, as he checked out Rokk’s new quarters.
“Yeah. She has another name, but it’s a personal thing, and only family are supposed to know it, so if I sprock up and call her something else, just pretend you didn’t hear it, ‘cause I have no idea how she’ll react if she thinks I’ve told other people…” Rokk said, voice lowered, as if she might come around the corner at any moment.
“Check. No using the pet name.” Garth said, checking out the hammock in the discard box. “No more swinging from the rafters, I see.”
Rokk pointed at the enormous pile of pillows taking up the corner of the room. “’Where we shall nestle like puppies against the belly of their mother,’” he air-quoted.
“Looks cozy.” Eyeing the arrangement critically. “No blankets?”
“No, you just pull pillows over yourself until all anyone can see is a pile of pillows with two heads sticking out.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.” Garth said with a grin.
Rokk sat down on a cushion and put his head in his hands. “I have no sprocking idea what I’m doing.” Garth frowned at the sudden change. “I’m eighteen years old, light-years from the only life and home I’ve ever known, and *married* to someone I’m not sure I’ll ever understand! What the hell was I thinking?!”
“Rokk…” Garth began, only to trail off as Rokk kept talking, looking despondently at the floor.
“All my life, it’s been me, me, me. Focus, training, discipline, always moving ahead like a dune-shark, never looking back. Every tryout, every match, I saw hundreds of people desperately trying to be like me, to reach what I had, and I stepped over every single one of them without once thinking of them as people. And then life on Braal gets less fun, and I’m moving on again, my family, my career, my trainers, the corporation, all left behind to pick up the pieces, yet more wreckage in the wake of my *selfish* life.” Rokk’s fist slammed into the wall behind him in frustration.
“What if I do it again?” Rokk looked up, eyes imploring, “What if I sprock this up and run away again, and Jath becomes just another broken thing I’ve left behind?”
“Awesome.” Garth said, looking down at his friend as he folded his arms and leaned back against the wall.
“What?!”
“All these times you’ve had to pull my head out of my ass, and I finally get to return the favor.”
“I’m so sprocking happy that my total nervous breakdown is amusing you…” Rokk said bitterly, hauling himself to his feet and heading for the door.
Garth jerked forward and grabbed ahold of Rokk’s shoulder, and there was a moment when it looked like Rokk was going to hit him, but the moment passed. “*If* you were half the self-centered jerk you’ve just described, you would never have said any of that. You wouldn’t care if Jath got hurt, you wouldn’t be worrying about sprocking things up.” Garth turned him around, so that they were face to face, but Rokk was looking down now, unwilling to face his friend. “Yeah, you’ve made a choice I don’t think I’ll *ever* understand, but you’ve never backed down in your life. You didn’t ‘give up’ on Braal, you moved on because it didn’t have anything left for you. What, were you going to become a miner? Maybe live off of sponsorship residuals for the rest of your life, a washed-up has-been former sports-star, wallowing in disgrace? I don’t think so. You’re right Rokk, you’re only eighteen years old, but your life is nowhere near over. It’s just beginning, and it wasn’t going to be on Braal.”
“You said it wasn’t my fault, the choices that Ayla made, the choices that Mekt made. You were right. And it isn’t your fault that all those people you beat *weren’t good enough.* Do you really think that creep who drugged you would have felt guilty if he kicked your ass in the championships? Do you think he’s got a list somewhere of all the people he stepped over to get to that championship match?”
Rokk nodded in the negative when it became clear that Garth was waiting for an answer.
“You said that I was smarter than you…” Garth began, but was cut off as Rokk raised a hand in protest, “Oh no, I categorically deny saying anything of the sort.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s true and maybe it isn’t, but I hear your story about running away and leaving wreckage in your wake, and I think of this other guy who ran away from his home-world, and left behind a promising career and a loving, if somewhat messed-up, family. Maybe you’re not the only one who looks back and sees things he’d wish he’d done differently, but unless you’ve got a time-travel machine, we’ve got to move forward, and try not to repeat the mistakes of the past.” Garth could see that Rokk was more relaxed now, and grinned as he pointed at the regen-pack leaning against the shelf, “And what the sprock are you thinking, letting a woman who can tear steel with her bare hands touch your body? Are you nuts? I thought I was insane, dating a telepath, but you had to be all competitive and do something even crazier…”
Rokk laughed, tension evaporating out of him visibly, “Yeah, there’s a whole ‘woman of steel, man of tissue paper’ thing going on, but we’re working on it.”
“More information than I need, thanks…” Garth said, stepping back towards the doorway. “I’ve gotta meet said telepath for lunch, wanna join us?”
“Nah, Jath should be back any time now, and I should be here.”
“You’re crazy, man. If psycho-woman tears off anything important, I’m gonna be there saying, ‘I told you so.’”
“Yeah, well, your girlfriend can tear apart your *brain,* so don’t be late.”
Garth’s shot Rokk a dubious expression, “I really hadn’t thought of it that way…” and turned around to see Jath standing in the doorway.
“Uh, hi.” Garth said lamely, moving to one side and then the other, but unable to exit while Jath was blocking the doorway. “Nice to see you.”
Lydda walked past him into the room. “No it isn’t. You do not like me. I do not like you. Do me the kindness of being honest, and I will respect your honesty.” She said curtly to Garth, before pointing to the door. “Now go dine with your mate, and whisper of I am a rude barbarian. I will dine with my mate, and we shall speak of you not at all.”
Wincing at this blunt, and unfortunately accurate, description of the last few days, Garth beat a hasty retreat.
“He really doesn’t mean anything by it, hon,” Rokk began, but Lydda cut him off. “Yes he does. And it does not concern me. He is your friend, and it seems that he is a good friend, to you. That is acceptable. There is a saying among my people. ‘The louder the family protests, the stronger the pairing.’ My kin do not approve of you, and the family you have chosen for yourself does not approve of me. It is fitting.”
Satisfied that the discussion was over, Lydda produced a bag full of cheesy crab-puffs. “The hunt was successful, although the vendor was unable to adequately describe what sort of beast has such a crunchy, yet delicate, hide and such flavorful innards.”
Rokk smiled and sat down with his wife, to explain the wonders of puff-pastry.
[ March 08, 2007, 06:16 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
The writing may slow down a tad at this point. Up until now, it's been going so fast that I've had up to four chapters 'on hold' because I didn't want to post them all in a row. But I've cleared the backlog.
A hint of chapters to come (which may or may not come about as planned);
Trouble on Venegar! (aka Return of the Queen) The Mindwitch rebellion A tale of three Ranzzes (aka the missing Ranzz origin-story) Whatever happened to? (aka Themiscrya reborn) All Naked, All Gay, With Goats! (just kidding)
Sarya of Venegar had a pain in her skull from these endless arcane rituals and ceremonies that the delegates referred to as ‘diplomacy.’ She had developed a great respect for Orin Fex, of Colu, who would stand aloof and spoke only matter-of-factly. His rudeness was comforting, in it’s own way, as compared to the slippery words of Ravin of Talokk, who would say one thing while meaning another or the sickening platitudes of the Orandan Ambassador, who could sit for hours talking and talking and talking more, and never come to any decision at all.
What madness could compel a people to hold meetings to decide when they are going to hold still other meetings? To argue for days about what business they will discuss at a meeting in the future? One thing was certain, the United Planets was in dire need of the strong hand of monarchy.
Her pad buzzed with a high priority incoming message and she closed the document on Winathian crop genetics to answer the call from the SP sector chief. “Yes, Commissioner Rellos?”
“Highness.” The man said perfunctorily, clearly distracted by something occurring on another screen. “You mentioned previously that the city could call upon your Champions…” he began, clearly attempting to be diplomatic, but rushing his words in some urgency.
Sarya decided to speed him along, “I will dispatch them at once. Where do you require them?”
The man turned to actually face the pad, having apparently expected to go through an extended conversation to get to this point, “Dockside. They won’t be able to miss the… disturbance.” The image on the pad shifted as he turned it to face the image he was seeing on his own monitors. What seemed like a child’s playtoy, a metal-clad knight, was moving slowly and jerkily across an indistinct terrain, lights flashing. The scene pulled back, and Sarya could see that the machine was taller than most of the surrounding buildings, and that flying SP vehicles were being swatted from the sky by its’ over-sized limbs, or blasted spiraling into the ground by the blaster cannons affixed to its’ shoulders. She could just make out the words written in Interlac on its’ chest as it turned towards the camera.
Turning her thoughts inwards, Sarya’s mind touched the Emerald Eye and broadcast a command to her Champions Rings <<Champions! Report to the Metropolis docks, immediately. Assist the Science Police against the… Giant Killer Robot.>>
“They will arrive shortly,” Sarya promised, and then severed the connection, having noticed that the Commissioner was already attending to other matters.
“Giant Killer Robot?” Garth said dubiously as he and Imra sailed into the throne room and directly out a service hatch constructed in the crystal ceiling.
<That’s what the lady said.> Imra thought, humor tinging her mental ‘voice.’
In their chambers, Rokk was flying out the door when his forward motion was arrested by a steely grasp on his ankle.
Lydda was pulling a blade from the wall with her free arm, while casually holding him in mid-air with the other. “You will bring me to the battle.” She said, matter-of-factly, pulling a mask over her face.
“Lydda, it’s day…” Rokk warned, wondering how she could possibly be holding him in place, against the force of his Champion’s Ring. She should have been pulled off-balance, if not physically dragged along with him.
“I am prepared.” She said, sliding her new sun-lenses into place, and he noticed that the new outfit Sarya had provided covered every inch of skin.
“Hold on,” Rokk said, moving around to grab her around the waist, and then suddenly he was free and they surged forward.
With a rush of magnetic force, Rokk caught up with Imra and Garth. Fortunately, Jath’s extra weight didn’t seem to be appreciably slowing his flight, although he was concerned about expending too much of his magnetic reserves before even getting there.
Within moments, the rampaging machine was visible, a dozen meters in height, and plated in red and gold armor, with blaster cannons that could only have come from a scout ship of some sort firing indiscriminately into the surrounding warehouses. Humanoid in shape, it seemed to ignore any resistance from the SP drones buzzing around it, swatting them aside, or blasting them down, without stopping it’s relentless advance.
<<Going in,>> Garth announced through his Ring, swooping low and erratic over the ground with such grace that Rokk felt a moment of jealousy. Blasts of lightning flew up into the machine as Garth wove between its’ legs, rotating in mid-flight so that he was blasting it in the back as he soared up behind it. The blaster-cannons lacked the field of fire, and the robots entire torso pivoted, so that it was facing backwards while still walking forwards. Both cannons opened fire at the flying Champion, and his friends winced as he dropped from the air. But he had deliberately dropped before the beams reached him, and was again flying low, using the ground as cover as he moved in for another run.
“There,” Lydda pointed and abruptly let go of Rokk and plummeted to the ground, landing with a heavy impact that fractured the ferrocrete beneath her, only to stand up, fully in the shadows of a warehouse.
Rokk took advantage of Garth’s distraction to come up behind the giant machine, and unleashed an electromagnetic pulse directly into the back of its’ stumpy head. The machine pivoted again with blinding speed, completely unaffected, and a giant limb sent him flying out of control into the distance. Only his magnetic powers saved him from broken ribs as he repelled himself away from the metallic limb, and so avoided the worst of the impact, but still he floated in mid-air, attempting to regain his bearings.
<<This isn’t working, it’s completely shielded!>> Garth announced as he unleashed another blistering barrage into the creature, only serving to score the black letters on it’s torso, which indeed proclaimed it to be a ‘Giant Killer Robot.’ The returning blaster-fire caused an explosion in a fallen SP drone, and the shockwave caught the wildly veering Champion unprepared, sending him into a building with bruising force.
Imra hovered in the air, watching and feeling more helpless than ever, but observed that the robot had completely ignored Rokk, hovering in mid-air, a sitting duck, and was even now walking past Garth, stunned on the ground. She began to hatch a plan as a tiny projectile embedded in the creatures’ torso. She could see Jath, hugging the shadows and staring at the other blade in her hand uselessly. The machine hadn’t even noticed her attack.
Jath threw her blade down in frustration and turned to a freight-loading machine that must have weighed several tons. Calling upon every name of every Warrior soul she could remember, she braced her legs and heaved. Imra watched with shock as the freight-hauler slammed into the robot and nearly knocked it from its feet. While it stood reeling, Imra enacted her plan, telepathically contacting the dozen SP troopers engaged in a constant retreat, futilely sending long-range blaster fire at the armored behemoth.
<Strike here,> Imra said, presenting an image of the left-most blaster cannon, <Now.>
The speed and force of the compulsion was such that half of the SP snipers were shooting before they even realized that they had not received this command from the Commissioner over their head-sets, and the blaster-cannon quickly became a smoking ruin.
<Again!> Imra commanded, redoubling the strength of her compulsion, forcing the image of the remaining blaster-cannon into the minds of the SP troopers, and like puppets, their arms jerked and they again lay down a coordinated stream of plasma-fire at the remaining turret, until it too was a smoldering husk. She could feel that most of the SP had recognized her command as telepathic this time, but few chose to resist, having witnessed the effectiveness of her telepathic sighting.
The machine had regained it’s footing, and pivoted towards Jath, stomping towards her at speed, as the Warrior woman belted it with every single object available within her area of shadow, including several cargo crates that must have weighed many hundreds of kilos. Garth had just drifted uneasily into the sky and Rokk was flying quickly back into the fray, but neither arrived in time to prevent the massive machine from crouching and striking Jath with a blow of such force that she rocketed back through the air like a missile, limbs limply pinwheeling as her body spun, clearly unconscious, or worse.
“NO!” Rokk screamed, reaching out with all his magnetic might to try and slow her flight, magnetic forces pulling against her metal armor. Jath landed hard a hundred yards distant, and sparks screeched as she slid another ten meters before stopping in a tumble of battered armor and bleeding limbs.
The machine stomped forward, ignoring all other targets, bearing down on Jath’s still form. A dozen support beams rocketed past Garth, magnetically propelled like shot from a rail-gun, some sinking directly into the machines back. From her vantage point, Imra could see that one of the make-shift spears had penetrated deeply and saw sparks. Her voice echoed in their heads, <The shielding is breached! Now, Garth!>
Flying in just behind the projectiles, Garth placed both hands on the protruding spar and channeled every bit of power he could muster through it and into the belly of the beast, only to be hurled clear as it spun again.
He looked up at the enormous machine towering over him, holding up his hand as a shower of sparks rained down, and the breath he’d been holding finally released as he realized that the robot was dead in place, noisily shutting down with loud clanks and thuds.
Imra descended next to him and pulled him clear, thinking that it was about to topple over at any second, but it remained standing, smoking and leaking fluids, a grotesque statue.
Rokk had landed in front of Lydda and found that he had barely enough magnetic capacity remaining to lift her body and carry her back into the shadows, where he sat next to her and began trying to peel off her battered armor by hand.
Imra led Garth over to their friend, <Rokk, I’ve got a medical team on the way. She’s still alive.> she thoughtcast.
“I know,” Rokk said without looking up, removing the breastplate that was restricting her breathing, and adjusting her bracer to support her broken upper arm. “It’s my role. She brings me food and gives me shelter. I remove her armor after battle and cleanse her wounds.” he said numbly, as if reciting a child’s rhyme.
“How long must I wear this device?” Jath complained.
Checking the read-outs on the regen-unit, Rokk set his hand on the back of her neck and massaged it, “The rest of the day, Jath. You were very lucky…”
Imra and Garth sat around a conference table, across from Rokk and hover-chair-confined Jath. Sarya was at the head of the table, finishing up a conversation with SP Commissioner Rellos.
Pointing at the pad, depicting the battle, Imra had doubts, <This thing had an agenda. It knocked Garth for a loop, and Rokk, and instead of going for the kill, it completely ignored both of them and continued marching along, blowing stuff up.>
Garth was looking at maps of the area, running scenarios to attempt to determine if it had some target, but was running into no obvious targets. “Where did the sprocking thing come from, anyway? 10 meter assault mechs with the words ‘Giant Killer Robot’ stenciled on the chest don’t just grow on trees…”
The Queen had finished her conversation with the Commissioner and answered Garth. “The individual components all arrived today on different transports from all over the United Planets. The SPs have not yet found any correlation between these shipments, other than the fact that all ended up in the same storage facility, and burst free of their containers and assembled themselves into the final machine you defeated.”
Rokk turned to Imra. “The robot may have ignored me and Garth, but it definitely went for the kill on Jath. She couldn’t have been the target, could she?”
Jath cut in, “Perhaps it simply recognized me as the threat it had not been prepared against?”
<What do you mean, Jath?>
“It was a robot. Immune to your mind-speech. It was shielded against Ranzz’s skyfire. And it was shielded again against your mastery of metal,” she added, looking up and placing her uninjured hand over Rokk's.
<That sort of shielding could just have been a coincidence…> Imra began, but Garth cut her off.
“No. Jath is right. The cost to shield a machine of that size against all forms of electromagnetic disruption would be astronomical. Nobody would do that unless it was specifically designed to face that sort of assault.”
Sarya chose that moment to interrupt her Champions. “At the present, the Commissioner is quite grateful for our assistance in this matter. It would be prudent, for the time being, to not suggest that our presence has incited this incident, at least until we are in full possession of the facts.” At the matching concerned expressions, Sarya clarified. “I am not suggesting that we lie, or shirk responsibility if this theory does indeed prove to be true. I merely stress that we will find the SP less than cooperative in the investigation if they believe us to be a part of the problem…”
“The cunning hunter knows when to wait quietly.” Jath agreed.
“Okay, work with the SPs for now, ‘fess up if we find any more evidence that this was targeted towards the Embassy.” Garth conceded. Suddenly looking up, he added, “Jath should have a Ring. Rokk doesn’t have unlimited power and it’s going to cut into his effectiveness if he has to carry her around.”
Jath started shaking her head, but Sarya was the first to speak. “That would be inappropriate. Jath’s loyalties are to Kathoon and Ambassador Marin. She is a guest, and a welcome one, but I would not ask her to abandon her calling.” Jath nodded, satisfied with this explanation.
Sarya closed her eyes and thought aloud, “I can place a new order for Braalian mag-steel, although it will take some time to produce to specifications.” Turning to Jath, “the new armor I will provide will be as strong as your own, but also contain a powerful magnetic charge. This will be of no use to you, but will allow Champion Krinn to draw upon your armors’ reserves as well as his own.”
“He will be able to draw strength from my presence on the field of battle?” Jath asked, leaning back in surprise.
Imra had been quiet for some time as Garth traced out projected trajectories on his maps and Rokk rubbed Jath’s shoulders. She finally bit the bullet and broadcast a thought, making sure that everyone at the table ‘heard’ it,
<I’m glad you were there today, Jath, although I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m also glad you were here to add another viewpoint on the robot’s motivations.>
Jath’s face was impassive and her head tilted slightly as Imra spoke in their minds. She scowled, “I have not sought your approval, but it is welcome. You also fought well, instructing the male security forces in the proper use of their weapons.” Her head bobbed, and at first Imra thought she was nodding, but it was clear that she was starting to lose consciousness again.
“Okay, bed-time for the lovely lady in the regen-suite, I think,” Rokk said, turning Jath’s chair towards the exit, pausing only to turn to Imra and whisper, ‘thanks.’
Imra smiled, eyes closing briefly as she nodded to Rokk, and then turned to see if she could help Garth determine the robot’s goal.
[ March 08, 2007, 06:20 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 thirteen “Endings and beginnings” – wherein more questions are raised than answered
Lydda had been in a regen-induced stupor when the Kathooni delegation arrived at the Embassy that evening, having heard of the battle on the news-nets (or, more likely, through the diplomatic gossip-line, which possessed some sort of faster-than-thought network). Ambassador Marin accepted the Queens invitation to return the following evening, when Jath would be available for company.
Rokk spent the next morning watching her sleep fitfully, punctuated by fits of loud snoring that he had come to associate with the warrior-woman, while searching the commerce boards for a supply of metal wire. He managed to locate a suitable quantity, at a reasonable price, and it was delivered before lunchtime. He fed Jath, who woke only long enough to swallow three bowls of soup in rapid succession, until he could feel her stomach bulge slightly with the warm broth, and then immediately dropped right back into a deep sleep. The read-outs indicated that her bones were setting well, the regeneration procedure proceeding without incident, and the soft tissue damage from her torn muscles and ligaments was completely repaired. He made sure she was comfortable, and set a pitcher of water within arms reach, before collecting his 100 kilos of iron wire and heading down to the training area.
Seeing Imra in the training room, walking on her hands, eyes closed as she slowly placed one hand before the other while striving to maintain her balance on trembling arms, Rokk turned slowly to find another area to work.
<Come in, Rokk. I could use the distraction. It will help me practice my focus.>, Imra broadcast, her thoughts as steady and calm as if she was not currently trembling with exertion, as sweat dripped off her brow as she regained her balance after another ‘step.’
“Okay, I’ll just go over here,” Rokk gestured, realizing belatedly that she would have no idea where he was pointing, with her eyes closed, “out of your way.”
He set the box down and began feeling the currents of the dozens of meters of coiled wire. Pulling out a plasma cutter, he began measuring out lengths just under two meters, straightening them with a pulse of magnetic force, and laying them on the floor next to him while he worked.
Twenty minutes later, he had a large collection of these wires, and he waved his hand theatrically, causing them all to stand at attention, perpendicular to the floor, clustered together like a forest full of thin metal trees. Portioning sixteen wires out from the rest, while holding the rest steady, he caused them to begin looping around each other, the metal twisting and bending before his eyes as his mind imposed a new order upon the metal. Holding that batch steady, he then continued to separate out other batches and twist them similarly, until he had a dozen thick ‘braids’ of metal, interwoven among each other.
At some point Imra had finished her hand-walking, and was now running up the wall, Champion’s Ring glowing faintly as she used it to lessen the pull of gravity on herself, but not negate it, requiring her to use her leg muscles and continuous forward motion to keep herself off the ground.
She paused, fully activating the Ring and floating in mid-air, staring at the construction taking place in front of her motionless friend. His hand sat idly on his knees and his eyes had gone out of focus. Imra could tell that he was no longer *seeing* the metal with his eyes, only sensing them through his magnetic perceptions. His breathing had become shallow, as if his body was falling asleep, while his mind worked furiously.
She initiated a very light mental touch, enough to alert him to her presence without startling him out of his deep focus, and after a second he replied, “Yeah?”
<I didn’t want to break your focus. Can you talk and do this at the same time?>
“We’re about to find out.” He said matter-of-factly, the metal towers swaying slightly with the effects of his now-divided attention.
<This is an amazing display of concentration. You are holding up a dozen different items at once, and also performing fine manipulations. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I wouldn’t have thought anyone not trained on Titan would have such focus.>
“Magno-ball requires you to be able to calculate trajectories instantly, and to perform split-second micro-analysis of the currents your opponent has charged into the ball. If you don’t spot them in time, the ball could jink off in an unanticipated direction as the currents shift, and, well, you lose.” ‘and I don’t lose,’ Rokk added silently, the unspoken motto that had gotten him to the world championships, and the motto that had gotten him back on his feet.
Imra noticed that he’d slowed down his work, and the metal components weren’t moving as quickly or precisely, and knew that the conversation was taking its toll on his concentration.
With a sudden wrenching sound, all of the dozen tall twists of metal wrapped around each other and tightened in a constricting embrace, and suddenly Imra was staring at an iron representation of Jath’s towering coiffure. His eyes opened and he took a sudden shuddering breath, as if waking up, but a smile crosses his features.
<I thought you were refining your powers… You’re practicing hair-styling?> Imra said with a disbelieving tone coloring her thoughts.
“I’m doing both,” Rokk said with a grin, hauling himself to his feet and staring down at his creation. “I’m going to wash Jath’s hair with a ferromagnetic-laced conditioner, and then I’ll be able to do this.” He looked down and the wires all suddenly whirled apart with a screech of tortured metal and stood waving like trees again before reconstructing themselves perfectly in an instant into the twisted tower of wire. His hands were shaking with the effort and leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, but he seemed proud of himself.
Imra stepped forward concerned, <You just learned to do that, right now?>
“Yeah. Don’t know what you can do until you try, right?” Rokk said, wiping sweat from his forehead, but still grinning broadly at his accomplishment.
<I’m concerned that you might over-exert yourself…> Imra began, noticing that his lips were pale and the shaking in his hands had not yet subsided.
Looking done at the trembling hand Imra had started to reach for, Rokk closed his eyes and the trembling stopped, “I’m fine, Imra. You stick to the telepathy, I’ll handle the magnetic stuff.” He waved and the iron sculpture flew into the box with the remaining wire, and then the entire mass lifted and floated into his arms.
<Rokk, please, I’m just worried. Your entire body is dependent on your magnetic powers, if you overtax them, you could end up in bed again.>
Rokk’s face flushed, “Look, Imra, I know you’re just being a good friend and looking out for me, but trust me, I damn well know my limits and I know what’s at stake if I burn out.”
Ditching the wire-sculpture in a storage room, Rokk returned to their quarters to find that Jath had rolled over in her sleep again, and needed to be adjusted to make sure that she didn’t slow down the blood-flow to her arm and reduce the effectiveness of the regen-treatment. She woke bleary-eyed, looking around confused and he smiled down at her.
“Hey, sleepyhead. We’ve got company coming tonight and I need to get you into the tub.” Jath groggily let him lead her to the bath, and he spent a half hour making sure that the torn tissues in her shoulder had not stiffened up while she slept, massaging them to work out the tightness in the newly-rebuilt muscles. He then got to work on her hair, while she dozed in the warm water.
By the time Jath was fully conscious, she was back in her hover-chair, with Rokk finishing the last braids of her hair. She awoke to see the leftover silver pins flying back towards the shelf, and held a cautious hand up to check her braids. All was in order, she was pleased to discover.
She got out of the hover-chair, displeased to note that she still had a soreness in her hip and was limping slightly, and crossed over to a mirror to examine her mates handiwork.
Rokk remained puzzled how she could see her reflection so clearly when all he could make out in the dim room was a shadowy figure, but she turned her head and seemed to notice the presence of the tiny flecks of metal that sparkled in the conditioner that he’d used. “This is not iron?”
“No, it’s a blend of manganese and bismuth. I wouldn’t decorate you with the metal of another Clan.” Rokk reassured her. ‘Especially not the Sangti,’ Rokk added silently.
Ambassador Marin and four of her five remaining Warriors arrived soon after sunset. Kand, Rokk was pleased to note, was not among them, having apparently expressed a desire to guard their quarters for the evening.
The room was dark, and the Warriors talked of the battle, but the descriptions were lacking, given Lydda’s limited view of the action, trapped in the shadows of the warehouse. Rokk stood behind Lydda through most of the exchange, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and found the occasional silences to be even worse. The Ambassador had produced a pad and was displaying SP footage of the battle, and the Warriors had crowded around, making the room feel even more oppressive than ever. At the sight of Lydda hurling the freight-hauler and the giant robot rocking back unsteadily, a cheer went up, and they started arguing about whether or not this or that ancient Warrior had done something more impressive.
Distracted and having lost track of the conversation, Rokk suddenly noticed that the Warriors had gotten very quiet, and he felt their heads were turned in his direction. Looking down at the pad, he saw the image of Lydda’s body lying in the shadows, her head cradled in his arms as he pulled her breastplate off of her, and he had to look away.
The Ambassador turned off the display with a click. “We leave now, Jath. A great victory, you bring pride to us all.” On the way out of their quarters, each of the Warriors brushed his arm softly as they passed.
Imra’s head turned as she received the telepathic communication, quickly descending to the floor of the training room. She had been, unsuccessfully, she noted sourly, attempting to replicate Garth’s seemingly instinctive ability to maneuver quickly while in flight using a series of suspended hoops. No matter how she focused, she couldn’t seem to match his speed and agility on the aerial obstacle course she had set up, and he seemed to be able to do these things while exercising his powers!
She had recognized the mind-contact only as Titanian, and so did not bother to change her clothes from her sweat-soaked workout suit, knowing that another Titanian would care as little for details of personal appearance as she did. Arriving in the meeting area, her fist-sized golden psi-crystal pulsed with a rosy aura, and she placed her hand upon it, sending her thoughts threading through the psi-net to speak with her caller. The image resolved in her mind, and she could see Reyu Nataal, the young Titanian that had been rescued from the Mindfire dealers. Her mental self offered the equivalent of a hug, and Reyu accepted it, but quickly broke direct mental contact.
<It is good to see you up and about Reyu.>
The young Titanian male was still regrowing his hair, from where they had shaved it to attach their machines, and his psychic posture radiated discomfort and unease. Even by lax Titanian standards, his appearance was disheveled and spoke of his inner turmoil. As a mental projection, he could easily have faked a happier guise, but he clearly cared nothing for appearances at this point.
<Thank you Imra. I wished to contact you before I left Earth.>
Imra stifled a sigh of disappointment, <You are returning to Titan, then?>
<Yes, I’m going home. I won’t leave Titan again.> he said with conviction.
<I understand Reyu. Really, I do. But those monsters can never harm you again.>
<It doesn’t matter. There will be more. There will always be more, Imra. They sold the Mindfire, but others bought it, and those others are still out there. Someone will arise to provide for them, and more Titanians will be snatched away to be…> his mental voice trailed off, unwilling to continue the thought.
<I will not contest your choice. Your safety, both of body and of mind, are the important thing. The Commissioner says that they are trying to track down the customers…>
<The Commissioner! He says they are to be punished, and instead I hear that they are being sent to Takron-Galtos, to sit in tiny rooms with only their memories. He said this was a *punishment?* It is a respite! A *vacation!* Where is the justice? They should be peeled and their organs given to the less fortunate.>
<Reyu!>
<I will not take it back, Imra. They deserve punishment, and instead they will sit and be *bored.*>
<There is nothing I can say to make this better, Reyu. They treated you like a meat-worlder treats an animal, to be harvested and exploited.>
<There is something I would ask of you, that is why I contacted you.>
<Anything I can do, Reyu, you know that.>
<The Commissioner asked me not to speak to the press about certain details, so as not to hinder an ‘ongoing investigation,’ but I knew from his thoughts that he lied, and simply wanted to prevent a panic.>
Imra was momentarily taken aback by Reyu’s bald admission of reading the Commissioners thoughts without permission, but, given the circumstances, she could hardly fault him for being short on trust, <Go on.>
<They took from me Imra. Not just the fluids they extracted from my spinal cord. Not just the finger they severed to terrify me.> Imra winced at this reminder, that he had shown signs of having many injuries inflicted upon him, only to be regenerated back to health, so that they could do it all over again. <No, they shaved my head and cut into my skull. The doctors have confirmed that part of my psipareital lobe has been removed.>
Imra’s shock was wordless, but clear through the link.
<They took part of me, for reasons that the Commissioner could not explain. My telepathy remains adequate, I am not crippled by the loss, but still, they have reached into me and scooped away part of my self, Imra. The Commissioner knew only that the equipment necessary for the procedure was not at the Mindfire lab. Someone came there with surgical equipment, cut open my skull, took a part of my brain, and then took their equipment and left. I cannot fathom why. Do they mean to clone themselves a telepath? Or an army of them? Do they think they can insert these cells into another, to give them telepathy like ours? It is simply too horrible to consider such things. I thought Mindfire would be the worst horror that the universe could unleash upon me, and then I find that they are not only feeding on our pain, but they are feeding upon our brains?>
<I swear to you, Reyu, I will find out what is going on here. I will put a stop to this.>
<I would urge you to return to Titan, but I know you will refuse. I only beg you to be careful, Imra. I know, in my soul, that not every sentient around me is a monster, seeking to prey upon me, but the fear is too great. All it takes is one of those alien faces to be the one. Please be careful. I do not want to hear that you have gone missing…>
<I will Reyu. Please watch yourself on your return journey. I know that you will not feel safe until you are home, and hope that time comes swiftly.>
<My shuttle is boarding. Be well, Imra.>
<Be safe, Reyu.>
The rose-colored radiance faded and Imra pulled away from the crystal with a shudder, looking around wide-eyed. Her room had seemed so magnificent and spacious when she arrived, but now the walls were too far away to provide protection, and she pushed her bed into the far corner from the open doorway, cursing the Venegarian custom of open doorways, and crawled up onto her bed, back pressed against the walls, staring at the doorway.
When Garth arrived an hour later, she was in the same position. He spent the next twenty minutes tearing down the gauzy curtain and re-activating the former museum chambers security door…
Registered: Aug 2006
| IP: Logged |
Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
posted
Emerald Legion, chapter fourteen “Curiouser and curiouser” – on the disposition of allies and enemies
Ambassador Sivar Banel of Titan had been expecting this contact for some time, but was annoyed at the timing of it. Still, he raised a finger to silence his guest, and placed his palm on the amber disk of psi-crystal.
<Ambassador, have you heard from Reyu Nataal?>, Imra’s mental voice began brusquely.
<I expedited his passage home only this morning. His shuttle should have departed by now.> the Ambassador thought reassuringly, <It is good that you have contacted me, Imra, I had meant to make contact with you regarding the Nataal case.>
<That was weeks ago, Ambassador, and now I find that details regarding his treatment have been suppressed by the Commissioner.> Imra began, gathering a head of steam.
<At my request, child. There are currently six hundred Titanians on Earth, and many thousands scattered across the United Planets. It would serve nobody to create a panic, save the monster who would thereby be warned that we are seeking them.>
<The people must be warned, Ambassador. Surely, you can see that their safety is more important than the mere appearance of order?>
<Imra, you are young yet, and not versed in the ways that these things must be done. I have many considerations that you have clearly not considered. Any can look at the evening newsvids and see the Champions of Venegar flying over the docks, saving the day like the knights in some ancient tale of romantic fiction, but *I* must dwell in the real world, where it has been said that up to a dozen SP personnel may be filing complaints for unwarranted telepathic coercion.> the Ambassador stated forcefully.
Imra thought back to the moments after the battle on the docks. None of the SP personnel seemed bothered by her actions, and several had actually praised her for her quick thinking…
<No. You are lying to me now. I will discover why you would protect these monsters over your own people.>
The crystal went dark under the Ambassadors hand and he looked up at his guest. <The girl will be trouble, Commissioner. And I sympathize with her position.>
“Ambassador, we cannot afford to let this information get out. We cannot risk this predator escaping us again.”
<And if Champion Ardeen goes public?>
“If Champion Ardeen goes public, then Reyu Nataal will be asked to corroborate her testimony. And he will be unable to do so, won’t he, Ambassador.” The Commissioner said pointedly.
The Ambassador’s eyes narrowed to slits, <I like none of the interpretations of that comment, Rellos.>
Commissioner Rellos raised a hand, “I simply mean that the unfortunate young man will be in counseling, and that it would be a poor time to have press hounding him for details of the horrors he was forced to endure. Nothing sinister was intended.”
<And if she persists?>
“If were to persist, you would find a request upon your desk to have her extricated back to Titan.”
<On what grounds?>
“For her own safety, of course. Between the Mindfire dealers, the protesting SP officers and whatever enemies she has made by fomenting panic and discord among the Titanian émigré population, it would be safer for her, and others, if she were back home.”
<I was unaware that any formal protest had been lodged.>
“As of yet, only concerns have been expressed. But perceptions change over time, and the situation remains fluid.” The Commissioner settled back in his chair, satisfied that this business was resolved, for the time being. “Now, about that other matter.” he added, pointing towards the shacked and hooded figure seated behind them.
<Eve Aries is exiled from Titan. We will not take her. Treat her to your justice.>
“The iridium and rhodinium mesh will block her telepathy?”
<Correct. Even still, the mesh must encompass at least 60% of her head. Some telepaths find their abilities atrophy when confined in this manner. Others acclimate to the dampening effects of the metals, so if her guards report anything out of the ordinary, the mesh must be expanded. If needs be, her mouth should be covered, and she should be fed intravenously, and tubes inserted to provide her with oxygen. No guard with access to the release codes to her confinements should be permitted within ten meters of her person.>
“That sounds quite extreme. What if there is an emergency in the holding facility, and she must be moved quickly for her own safety?”
The Ambassadors eyes were cold, <Then remember the many dozens at the Talokkian Embassy whom she held passive and unresisting as they suffocated and felt their lives slipping away, but were powerless to even crawl to safety. If the holding facility catches fire, let her burn.>
Ambassador Banel blanched at the cold-bloodedness of his own statement and shuddered. <Please leave now, and take *that* with you.> he added, pointing at the bound Titanian.
Sarya had been called upon as a ‘neutral third party’ to arbitrate a trade dispute between Cargg and Talokk VIII, as Venegar was one of the few UP worlds that had not yet a firm trading arrangement with either power. It was to be her first official diplomatic task, and she had been interested in the nature of the arbitration process.
That was then. Now she just wanted the damn thing to be over.
Ambassador Ravin swept majestically across the floor, gesturing broadly, glistening bracers of armor decorating his slender arms, enormous night-black cloak billowing. He had foresworn his usual jewelry of gold and wore only select bits of armor, and mere scraps of cloth, showcasing his lean body. His presence was calculated to appear majestic, and yet hungry, as if he represented a proud but poor and hard-working people. Sarya had lost interest in his specific words some time ago, but made a point of every time he compared his own proud warrior-people to those of Venegar, or his own situation, as Ambassador from a less technologically savvy world, at risk of being ruthlessly taken advantage of by sophisticated inner-worlders and their Byzantine ways, to her own situation. Six times so far.
Finally he concluded, and favored Sarya with a precise courtly bow, before sweeping back just majestically to his delegation, whereupon she was certain that she saw a functionary praising his performance and kissing his hand.
Representing Cargg, Veanli Guampti shuffled into position, the picture of contrition. Her clothing was subdued, and evoked the innocence of a child, with ruffles and bows. Sarya noted with amusement that her shoulder-length hair had been cropped to a boyish length, and her bangs hung to her large and expressive eyes. She informed Sarya of how Cargg had no significant material resources of its own, and was only able to compete economically by taking advantage of the unusual stable wormholes orbiting the world at three specific points. In perpetual risk of being nothing more than a waystop, always being bypassed by the bustle of commerce, her people had ended up on the short end of many deals, and now had a surplus of unwanted cargo that they hoped to sell at spare profit to themselves. The unfair terms of the deal brokered between her naïve and unsuspecting self and the rapacious and worldly Talokkian Ambassador would only bring hardship to her people. It would be grossly unfair for her people to be punished for the unwise choices of a foolish girl, so far from home. Sarya watched raptly, wondering if the girl would go so far as to shed tears, but apparently she realized that this would be a step too far.
She finished her presentation with a curtsy, and trudged away, biting her lip and wringing her hands, looking for all the worlds like someone had just landed a shuttlecraft on her little brother.
Sarya signaled that she would review the documents, and instead chose to watch the delegations out of the corner of her vision. The Talokkians had put up a silence field, and begun arguing most strenuously. After a point, the gesticulating became effusive, and the field became opaque as well. She idly thought that if they butchered each other in there, she would not have to hand down a ruling… The Carggite delegation was quiet and respectful, the picture of control, and Ambassador Guampti chatted quietly with his daughter, heads downcast as he held her hands in his own, the very picture of a solicitous parent.
Sarya looked down at her pad, which recounted the pesky little detail that the Carggite surplus had resulted from over a decade of cheating, swindling and extorting the diverse worlds that came to make use of their unique system of wormholes for expedited transit. ‘Sometimes you fell the tree. Sometimes the tree fells you.’ She thought, recalling her childhood in Vaul province.
She signaled her readiness to decide, and the Talokkian privacy field shimmered and fell, revealing that Ambassador Ravin was now seated, and one member of his delegation had apparently lost consciousness at some point during the conversation, and was now being tended to.
Ravin and Guampti stepped forward. Guampti’s step did not betray her mood, although she did not shuffle quite so mournfully, while Ravin did not so much ‘swoop majestically’ as thunder forward gracelessly, standing with his voluminous cloak folded about himself, no longer seeming interested in showing off his ‘lean, hungry’ physique.
“Ambassador Ravin,” Sarya began. “Your presentation was equal parts fantasy and farce, and I was particularly unimpressed by your incessant attempts to evoke my sympathies by comparing Talokk to Venegar, and your own situation to mine.” Ravin closed his eyes, and Sarya could see the slightest tremor move through him as he contained some angry retort. “Young Miss Guampti,” Sarya said kindly, fingers tenting as she leaned forward supportively, “Your performance was, if anything, worse. I find for Talokk VIII. This arbitration is ended.”
Sarya stood quickly, crushing the pad in her hand contemptuously and flinging the broken shards to the floor in front of the two representatives, before striding from the meeting chamber.
Behind her, she failed to see either Guampti’s display of temper as she stormed off, or Ravin’s calculating stare at her receding form…
Registered: Aug 2006
| IP: Logged |
Garth had just completed another loop through the aerial rings that Imra had set up, having set a new personal best and veering through the rings without hitting any at breakneck speed. Rokk had just entered the room and Garth did a complicated twist in the air to show off before landing in front of his friend, who was clapping at his performance.
“Thank you, thank you,” Garth said, bowing to an imaginary audience.
“Okay hotshot, Imra’s got a new training idea, since her little obstacle course isn’t even slowing you down.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“The cruiser has been hit and is going to explode. The Queen is unconscious, and you have to carry her down two decks to the escape pod, avoiding debris the whole way.” Rokk takes off his Champion’s Ring and sets it to the side. “So. I get to play Sarya, Queen of Venegar. You get to save me.”
“Okay…” Garth said dubiously. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your Ring?”
“Nope. Imra said that *I* need to learn teamwork, and that it will be ‘good for me’ if I have to trust you.” Rokk’s look was equally dubious.
“Right.” Garth looked at his friend, trying to figure out where to get a solid grip.
“Come on, the ship’s going to explode, get with the saving already!”
“Fine.” Garth snapped, grabbing Rokk around the waist and throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Sprock! Lose some weight, buddy…”
“You’re going to tell the Queen of Venegar she needs to lose weight?” Rokk quipped.
“Oh hey, you said she was supposed to be unconscious. It would be more realistic if I knocked you out…” Garth retorted.
“Just try iiAAAAA!!!” Rokk trailed off as Garth soared into the air with a burst of speed, only narrowly swerving and missing impacting the ceiling.
“Aaaaa,” he continued to protest wordlessly as they looped through rings, barely clearing them on both sides. “Watch Oooff!” he protested as they bounced off a wall and continued through the course.
Garth completed the last obstacle and landed, lowering his friend to the ground.
“I think I’m going to throw up…”
“Hey, I got you off the exploding ship, right?”
“Yeah, except for the slamming us into a wall part.”
“I planned that. I didn’t want to lose momentum, so I just sort of skipped off.”
“So you’re saying that you *deliberately* used me as a crash cushion, because you didn’t want to slow down?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Well then,” Rokk said, putting his Champion’s Ring on his finger with a grin and holding out his hand for Garth’s ring. “My turn.”
Garth was sitting sullenly on the mats, face pale and drawn, nursing a bump forming on his head. Rokk stood against the nearby wall, massaging his arm.
“Look, I said I’m sorry, alright?”
“It’s okay,” Garth conceded, “Whose bright idea was it to put Imra in charge of coming up with insane training ideas?”
“The Queens.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Changing the topic, I notice that you guys have a door now.”
“Yeah, Reyu’s story really freaked her out.”
“I don’t blame her. I’d be pretty freaked out too if I found out that there was some sick sprock out there collecting Braalian brain-tissue…” Noticing Garth’s look of concern, Rokk tried to lighten the mood, “But hey, as a bonus, I don’t have to hear you guys anymore.”
“Oh right, like you and Jath don’t make enough noise. It sounds like she’s killing you in there!” Garth looked up and mock-whispered, “And between you and me, you scream like a girl…”
Three months had passed since Sarya had come to Earth and gathered her Champions. And now the time of Presentation had come.
“Champions. I must attend a function on Venegar. You will accompany me.” She turned to Jath, “You may accompany us, or remain here at the Embassy, as you choose. We will return in a week’s time, in any event.”
The Champions walked back to their quarters, considering what to prepare for the trip.
<I should read up on Venegar, I don’t want to embarrass the Queen.>
“Oh man, more etiquette?” Garth moaned.
A sinking feeling in his stomach, Rokk wondered aloud, “So Imra, that whole ‘the ship is about to explode’ training exercise, that wasn’t some weird Titanian precognitive dream or anything, was it?”
<I certainly hope not!> Imra thought with amusement.
After a blessedly explosion-free trip, the Venegarian diplomatic cruiser (the first and only of it’s kind) touched down on a stony field outside of the capital city of Srenath.
As they stepped out into the bright sunlight, Rokk re-adjusted the black shawl covering Lydda, and they stood to the side as hundreds of people milled around, hoping to get a view of their Queen. Sarya then proceeded down the ramp and a cheer went up. An honor guard of dozens, wearing chainmail of golden metal under green tabards, but carrying very effective-looking gauss rifles, saluted with military precision, as courtiers in fantastic and intricate robes of state bowed and curtsied.
“I still half-expected the sun would be green or something.” Garth muttered under his breath, hand shielding his eyes from the earth-standard yellow sunlight.
The courtiers fluttered about in some sort of ritualized pattern, and then split apart to clear a path for the Queen’s Mentor Barak, the former King of Venegar, who served now as Regent in her absence. Despite his age, he was a solid man, and moved with confidence, despite his intricately carved golden breastplate and fluttering green cloak. His breastplate bore the symbol of the Emerald Eye of Ekron, but on his cloak was a golden container filled with blue water.
“My child, welcome home. It is time to meet the new crop of adversaries that shall bedevil you, as you bedeviled me.”
Sarya hugged the former King, “It is good to see you again, Barak. You have not lost your subtle way of speaking, I see.”
“Ha!” the man bellowed. “I will be offending the courtiers long after I am planted in the dirt, Sarya, you know this. Let us get this old man out of the hot sun. You shall take my arm, and support my failing limbs.” He proclaimed loudly, and Sarya took his arm, and they strode back to the waiting hover-car.
The apparent leader of the honor guard stepped forward and saluted the Champions, “Hail Champions. You will ride with us.” Garth noticed that the honor guard were also older, nine men and three women, but all at least fifty years of age.
<Champions of the former King,> Imra clarified, drawing his attention to the matching emerald rings they all bore. <Their Rings no longer function, save to allow them to communicate between each other, as the Eye, and all it’s power, has passed to Sarya.>
Garth was keenly aware of the passage to the city, as the veteran Champions eyed their young replacements suspiciously.
The streets were packed with spectators, and green ribbons and banners flew everywhere. Garth couldn’t quite make up the writings or illustrations on many of them, as they were shades of green on green too subtle for his eyes to tell apart, but the crowd certainly seemed in the spirit of things.
Vehicles had been cleared from the streets, new looking ground vehicles, powered by biofuels, it seemed, as Venegar had not yet completed it’s conversion to energy-cell technology, or to the general use of the hover-transports used by the Queen and her retinue.
The buildings were an odd mix of new and old. The city was clearly old, and the buildings were built in a medieval style, with none over three floors in height, with few exceptions, such as the royal palace even now coming into view. And yet the people were dressed in fashions of modern fabrics, and the security men lining the streets, keeping them clear for the motorcade to pass, carried sonic weapons.
The enormous green crystal dome in the center of the royal palace soon took up his vision, and the vehicle stopped. Peering out, Garth could see that the Queen’s vehicle had already stopped, and that she was standing on the steps, waving to the crowd. A shimmer in the air seemed to distort his view, and Garth spotted the shield generators concealed in decorative statuary around the entrance to the palace. Apparently, not everyone on Venegar was in love with the monarchy…
The day quickly grew exhausting. Who knew that after six hours sitting bored in a cramped space-cruiser, one could long to be sitting down again? An endless succession of people spoke on all sorts of topics that he quickly tuned out. It wasn’t until the drums sounded that he looked up to see that new figures had arrived, and the Presentation had already begun.
The first group split apart at the entrance to the throne room, and a woman, approximately Sarya’s age, came forward, carrying a baby in a bassinet. He could see that the bassinet had anti-grav generators, and while she was supporting it possessively, it was weightless in her hands. Unlike the finely dressed courtiers in their many yards of silk, she wore loose-fitting pants of dark brown leather, and a loose shirt. Her boots were sturdy, if well-made, and had no sign of decoration. She had a necklace and bracers of dull iron, but they were thick and blocky, more like armor than jewelry. The only decorated item on her person was an ornate pick slung over her back, the head made of gleaming silvery metal, and wickedly sharp at one end, and with a blunt hammer on the other. The handle was composed of a dozen intertwined serpents of different precious metals, each with gems for eyes, a mixture of sapphires, emeralds and topaz.
“Metra,” Sarya greeted with a slight nod. “Welcome to you.”
“Highness, I present my ward,” she moved forward, uncovering the sleeping infant so that Sarya could see him, “I have named him San.”
“A strong name for a strong line. He appears healthy. Train him well, if you expect him to take the throne.” Sarya said brusquely and nodded her dismissal.
With that, Metra stepped backwards from the throne, until she was several paces from it, before turning and rejoining her retinue.
Sarya announced in a ringing tone, “The first challenger is San, of Gardan province. He is recognized!” and Metra raised the bassinet to the quiet applause of the court. The noise woke the infant, who began to fuss, and Metra quickly lowered the bassinet and her people closed ranks around her as she tended him.
Barak stood up from the seat beside the throne. “The Queen has traveled far, and now we have business of the realm to attend to. Leave us.” As the court bustled about, and the guards politely, but firmly, escorted the various guests out of the chamber, Sarya spoke up. “Metra. You are welcome to remain, if you do not wish to immediately return to your lands.”
Metra stepped back into view and bowed, “I am honored, but I must return. Be well, Sarya.”
Garth muttered to Imra. “How many more?”
<Four more, one of which will be presented each day.>
“It’s complicated. They *all* challenged Sarya, but before she was Queen. The five heads of the provinces duel each other until one is proclaimed the victor. She then challenges the King. Sarya defeated each of these women, and then defeated Barak.” Rokk explained, looking over his pad to try and make sense of the complicated lineages of succession between the six clans.
“Five heads? But there are six provinces…”
“Barak was from Mair, the desert-folk, so his people didn’t get to mount a challenger. No province is allowed to hold the throne twice in a row. But Sarya is from Vaul, the great forest, which means that Mair will be able to mount a challenger when the new generation reaches twenty-five.”
“No other can challenge, just these children?”
“They are trained specifically to take the throne. It’s what they’re *born* for, conceived on the night that a new ruler is appointed. And even then, they aren’t considered suited to hold the throne until they have trained in statescraft for at least twenty-five years, *and* defeated all other applicable challengers in duels. Only *then* can they challenge the current ruler for the throne.”
“And if harm befalls these children, can no one take the throne? Must they wait a score of years to sire and train another?”
Rokk grinned, Lydda was worrying at this like a battle she must win, looking for weak points. “They’ve been doing this for centuries, hon. I’m sure they’ve got back-up plans.”
Still she kept on, “A man for King, and then all his challengers are women, and now Sarya’s challengers will all be men?”
“Yeah, they swap every generation, first a King, then a Queen, then a King again. It seems kind of artificial, but hey, it’s a culture that chooses their ruler based on who wins a sword-fight, so I guess that’s a minor quirk…”
“At least it will be decades before we must concern ourselves with their intrigues,” Lydda gruffly acquiesced, rolling over on the narrow bed that Sarya’s people had provided them.
The next days’ presenter was a short bow-legged man, with skin dark and wrinkled, a short white beard, and long white hair pulled back from his balding head. He wore riding clothes, again, plain and undecorated, and at his side carried a horn of ivory, banded in silver and studded with gemstones. He approached, bassinet in hand and kneeled stiffly, saying only, “I present Gal.”
Sarya leaned forward, “He has clear eyes. Show him the road to the truth, Kator.”
The old man muttered bitterly, “I will try to train him better than my last ward.”
Sarya’s voice was cold as she leaned forward into Kator’s face, “Kanli’s death was through no fault of training. In duels, people die. Her skills were not lacking, it was the steel of her armor that failed her, not you. I trust you to teach Gal as well as you taught Kanli.”
The week progressed, and even Sarya was looking impatient for it to be over on the fifth day.
Stepping forth from her entourage, the new arrival was bare-footed and bare-armed, dressed in loose and open pants and vest of white cloth, with bold blue sashes fluttering behind her. Across her back was slung an ornate spyglass of gold and crystal, covered with mother-of-pearl traceries and engravings. The child before her was awake and babbling, but she paid it no mind as she carried the bassinet under her arm.
“Landa.” Sarya said, smiling.
“Highness,” Landa said, with a hint of mockery to the title that caused some in the crowds to mutter, “I present Dar. Someday he shall replace you.”
Sarya smiled and got up to hug the other woman. “Perhaps he shall.” She admitted, looking down into the bassinet. “Hmm. A trifle pudgy. You shall have to take better care of him.”
Rokk looked down at his pad surreptitiously, trying to find any information on this woman, other than that she was the head of the island-realm of Lapal.
<She’s the one challenger Sarya never beat.> Imra informed him, noting his curiosity.
“What?” he whispered, “They how is Sarya Queen, I thought she had to beat all of them…”
<She had to beat all *challengers.* Landa and Sarya met the day before their duel and ended up in an argument about trade-routes and market-challenges that went long into the night. Landa showed up the next day without her sword, and declared that Sarya was the victor. Landa had already beaten all of the others with the blade, but she said that Sarya would be a better Queen, and renounced her claim.>
Rokk looked at Landa with new respect, eyes narrowing as her saw her hand slide beneath the bassinet and felt the presence of metal.
<<Knife!>> he had time to warn the others with his Champion’s Ring.
“The monarchy ends now!” Landa shouted in a dull tone, pulling a gleaming dagger out and thrusting it towards the Queen, letting go of the bassinet indifferently.
Rokk closed his eyes and exerted with the force of his powers, managing to stop the woman’s blade just as it drew blood, but before it struck deep, while Lydda surged forward and effortlessly flung the woman back, wresting her knife from her.
“Whoah, baby!” Garth exclaimed, snatching up the bassinet, spinning lazily through the air unattended. Inside, young Dar was burbling away, apparently enjoying the ride.
Landa suddenly looked up, finding herself meters away from the Queen and held in the arms of woman much stronger than herself.
“The monarchy ends now!” a member of the honor-guard suddenly declared, aiming his gauss rifle at the Queen, who had just stood up in alarm. Regent Barak smoothly stepped in front of her, but the man just stood there, eyes glazed.
<It’s a compulsion! I can’t hold him!> Imra announced, but relaxed as the other guardsmen quickly struck their fellow unconscious.
“The monarchy ends now,” a courtier in an ornate golden robe declared, surging forward, serving tray raised like a weapon. Still balancing the bassinet in one hand, Garth turned and one-punched him in the face and he swayed slightly blinking before sinking to the ground unconscious.
Regent Barak’s eyes glazed for a moment, and Rokk got ready to use his armor to fling him aside. “The… Get out of my mind!” he shouted as he staggered slightly, fists clenching.
<Whoever is doing this, they aren’t in the room,> Imra broadcast to her fellow Champions new and old, as well as the Queen. She was surprised to note that Barak also clearly ‘heard’ her announcement.
“Everyone out!” Barak shouted, and courtiers began to flee the room.
Pushing Barak to the side, Sarya stepped out, “Champions, remove your weapons. Place them to the side.”
The honor-guard immediately set down their rifles, and Rokk noticed that they had also code-locked them so that they could not be quickly activated. He heard a clang, and turned to see that Lydda had also drawn her blades and tossed them aside.
Garth thought he felt Imra’s mind-touch for a second, and suddenly found that Lydda was pinning him to the floor and Imra was holding the bassinet. Rokk was now standing with Barak, in front of the Queen, who was looking increasingly annoyed at having people jump in front of her.
“Uh, what happened?”
<You said ‘the monarchy ends now’ and pointed at the Queen. Rokk jumped to block the lightning bolt, only there was no lightning bolt, you just stood there, and then you looked confused, and then Jath jumped on you.>
“Okay, my bad. You can get off me now, Jath…”
Imra seemed to be looking in all directions at once. <Rokk and Jath are the biggest threats right now. Whatever this telepath is doing, apparently they couldn’t figure out how to make Garth use his powers.>
“Use your witchery to protect Rokk,” Lydda declared, sitting down in the middle of the floor and beginning to finger disks of metal from the loop around her belt.
<I think it’s over. I just felt something lift. Some sort of pressure I hadn’t noticed before. Whoever this is has given up, for now.>
Landa was still sitting on the floor and Sarya pushed between Rokk and Barak to help her up.
“I am sorry, Highness. I felt a voice in my mind, and then I found myself staring down a blade…” she looked up, suddenly concerned, “Dar!”
Imra walked forward with the bassinet.
<He’s fine. He’s just had a bit of a swing around the room…>
Landa’s face darkened and her arm froze in mid-air. Sarya took the bassinet from Imra and handed it to Landa. “Yes, she is a mind-witch, but she is not the one to blame for this, Landa.”
“Have there been any previous incidents of this sort in my absence, Barak?” the Queen asked impatiently.
“Nothing of this sort, but we have found several otherwise reliable men asleep at their posts of late, and now I am suspicious that someone has been moving through the palace unseen.” Barak growled and smacked the table, “I had thought it but lax discipline and ordered them rebuked.”
<Barak, you seemed to resist the compulsion?> Imra asked questioningly.
“I wore the Emerald Eye of Ekron as King for fifty-two standard-years before Sarya bested me. It strengthens the mind. I do not think that any telepath could have seized her mind today.”
<No. That’s true. Whoever it was must have been getting desperate to attempt to compel you.>
“Does your witchery give you any insights to who did this thing? Was it man, or woman? Venegarian or alien visitor?” the Regent queried.
<I’m sorry, I didn’t get any direct contact at all.>
“But others did, could you find tracks in their minds?” Sarya persisted.
<I can try.>
“Summon Landa, and that guard...”
“Tolath,” Barak supplied. “I will.” His eyes closed briefly and then opened again and Imra could see the green ring on his finger pulse, “Tolath comes, and Landa is being summoned.”
Imra turned to Garth, <Do you mind?> and Garth shook his head, “Please, find this creep. I’m not keen on being anybody’s puppet.”
She led Garth into a corner of the chamber, and sat the two of them down cross-legged. After a few moments, she opened her eyes. “Problem?” Garth said, “do I need to clear my mind or something?”
<No, I’m already done. Garth didn’t gain any useful impressions. Darkness, cloth moving, flicking flames. That’s it. I’m pretty sure there was more than one person in the room with the telepath.>
Tolath arrived, and dropped to one knee before the Queen, “Majesty…” he began, but Sarya placed her hand on his head and cut him off, “Silence Tolath. This was not your doing, and I place no blame upon you.” He looked relieved and she continued, “But I would ask that you allow my Champion to trace your thoughts, for sign of those who attacked your mind, and through you, me.”
Tolath looked up at Imra dubiously, but silently agreed.
Imra stood over the kneeling man and pulled a seat over to him. <This would be easier if you sat down. Easier on your knees, I mean.> He jumped at her mental contact, and looked up at the Regent, who gestured at the chair, “Get up already, you want the Queen to get a sore neck looking down at you!”
<Try and relax.> Imra prodded, but recognized that the man wasn’t likely to do so. She sighed and closed her eyes. A few moments later she opened them again, to see that the man was sweating, eyes wide with uncertainty. <It is fine Tolath. There is no compulsion left.> She turned to the others, <He saw even less than Garth. I think he consciously blocked it out, actually.>
Regent Barak opened his mouth, “You…” but the Queens hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to her with a look of surprise, not used to being interrupted.
Pointing at the Emerald Eye of Ekron on her brow, Sarya wagged her finger. “My turn to boss people around. We settled this already.”
Barak sat down heavily in a chair. “I never wanted to be Queen, anyway.” He muttered dourly before pointing at the golden crown, “It looked better on me.”
Sarya shot him a glare, but he had turned away to fill a goblet of water, which he then sat back and sipped. Seeing her look, he propped his feet up on the table and waved his fingers dismissively. “Go ahead then, lead.”
Smacking his boots off of the table, she turned to Tolath. “You may return to your duties, Champion.”
Landa arrived shortly thereafter, and the Queen repeated her request.
“Mind-witches are the root of the problem. Not the cure, Sarya.” Landa protested.
“This is no longer a request, Landa.”
Landa scowled and stepped directly in front of Imra, arms crossed.
‘Well, this will be fun,’ Imra thought before closing her eyes.
Images flashed before her. Many figures in pale garments, a shadowy room, walls of fitted stone, flickering torches in iron sconces on the walls. Faces in shadow, hoods raised, she could not make out features. Landa is walking up the steps into the palace, bassinet in her hand, tickling the young Dar with a bit of down. A hand touches her arm, and a knife is passed into her hand. As quickly as it happens, she forgets that it is been stowed beneath the bassinet. The warm sun fades to the emerald-tinted shadows of the throne room and she smiles to see Sarya in all her glory.
Imra steps back, eyes opening to Landa’s hostile glare.
<Many figures in a room made of fitted stones, lit by torches in iron sconces. She was given the knife on the steps, but the memory of it was removed until she was commanded to strike. Whoever it was that gave her the knife had to be a telepath. I’m not sure what the others represent, perhaps some sort of larger conspiracy?>
“The buildings of the capital city are made of enameled brick or wood,” Sarya mused.
“And what buildings are of quarried stone are the oldest and most important, and lit by phorescent vapor.” The Regent continued.
“They must have been close,” prompted Sarya to Imra.
<The telepath on the steps of the palace, certainly. The others could be anywhere. There is no reason that Landa, or Garth, should have any images of these others at all.>
Landa grabbed a pad off of the table and began flicking angrily through information, and finally thrust the pad in front of Imra. “The iron torches. Did they look like this?”
<Exactly like that,> Imra confirmed.
“The catacombs beneath the palace. The worms plot amidst the bones of our ancestors!” Landa exclaimed, tossing the pad to the table in front of Sarya.
“There are hundreds of chambers down there. I will have the guardsmen outfitted with scanning machines, and they will sweep the area.” Barak declared, but Sarya shook her head.
“They will be weapons in the hands of our enemies, unable to resist the compulsions. They will turn their weapons upon each other, or us. The group must move quickly, and have few people in it, people known to be resistant to their wiles,” Sarya added, pulling a saber down from the wall and handing it to Barak, before taking a second one for herself and favoring him with a grim smile. “We fight again, old friend, but on the same side this time.”
“My Queen,” Landa began, “I fear that I would be a liability, although I greatly desire to raise a blade at your side.”
“I wish that as well, Landa, but you may be right.” Taking Landa’s hand, Sarya encouraged her, “You are always wise in the ways of battle, when to pick up the blade, and when to pass it to another.”
“Champion Krinn, Champion Ardeen. Your skills will be required. We know they carry metal blades, and we know they have minds. Lead us to our enemy.” The Queen commanded.
<They know we’re down here,> Imra warned. <I can feel a mind in that direction, but it’s slippery...> she pointed, and they continued through the darkened corridors, lit only by the light shining from the Emerald Eye and an arc of electricity that burned between Garth’s upraised fingers.
The path grew clear, as the corridor was clearly recently traveled, and the torches on the wall showed signs of recent use. A large circular chamber opened up before them, and across the room, clearly awaiting their approach stood over a dozen figures, clad in robes of poor quality, hoods thrown back to reveal their pale faces. Most were adults, of various ages, but in the front stood a boy of no more than eight, his face as blank as the others.
“Which is the telepath?” the Queen demanded, and turned as Imra gasped and dropped to her knees, arms up-thrust as it to ward off assault. <They all are! Sweet mercy, they are gestalt!> Garth dropped to her side, bringing up one arm, eyes flashing.
Passionless faces stared at the intruders, and Rokk felt something press against his back and a strong arm around his neck. He could sense that Jath had pressed her blade against his back. <You will surrender.> came an echoing voice, stripped of all emotion, like the mechanical recording of some soulless chorus, <Attempt to use your powers, and you will die, Champions.>
Garth seemed frozen in place unable to move, his arm still crackling with electricity, but aimed uselessly at the floor, trembling with strain as he tried vainly to raise it towards the robed figures. Jath’s arm was like steel around Rokk’s neck. He could see several of the robed figures separate from the others and draw blades from the rack against the wall, advancing towards the Queen and Regent, both of whom had apparently fought off whatever compulsion was holding the others in thrall and raised their swords.
Rokk realized that this wasn’t a stalemate, they were already dead. The Queen and her Regent couldn’t possibly fight off all of them, and even if they could, it would take a thought for the telepaths to order Jath to kill them all…
He closed his eyes and felt the dozen metal blades in the rack, each a separate death. Praying for forgiveness, he hurled them violently into the grouped telepaths, shuddering as he heard them slam into flesh and cries of pain.
With a wet sound that traveled through him like a tremor, he felt Lydda’s arm move, and looked down to see the point of her blade protruding from his stomach, just below his ribs. Dark iron-rich blood began to seep out, and magnetic forces held him upright as he lost all sensation in his lower body.
<Rokk!> Imra cried out, <What have you done!>
He looked up to see the telepaths in chaos. At least six had fallen, blades of assorted sizes stuck deep in their guts, and the others were clutching their bellies as if they too had been hit. Garth suddenly regained control of his body and looked up to see Rokk, hanging in mid-air with a sword sticking straight through him. “Medics! Doctors! Healers! Whatever the sprock you people have, get them here, *now*!” he shouted at the shocked Regent who closed his eyes and concentrated.
“My Champions come, I have ordered them to bring every healer we have, and send for more.”
Lydda looked down at the blade in her hand. She had felt it slide home and now her hand seemed stuck to the handle. The Queen moved quickly to Rokk’s side and went to support him.
Rokk’s voice was eerily calm. “I’m fine. Help the others.” He said, and then began to wobble slightly as he lost consciousness and slumped into Sarya’s arms.
Lydda released her grip on the blade and flew back into the wall as if struck. Looking at the sight in front of her, every Warrior’s nightmare, she sank to the floor and placed her hands over her face, wishing with all her heart that this was a lie, but knowing it to be the all-too-terrible truth.
The telepathic group mind had fallen into disarray with the sudden injury to so many of its component minds, and Imra shoved them apart as quickly as she could. Some sought escape from the pain of their brethren, and she helped them, others sought to seize onto their group to help diminish their own pain, and those she had to block. Already the group-mind was regaining focus,
<They are regaining strength!> she cried out, and Sarya barked to the Regent, “Help her.” Her mentor looked at her with a questioning look, shrugging, ‘how?’ and she continued on, “You have the will of a King. Lend her your strength.” Shaking his head, he stepped forward and placed his hand upon Imra’s shoulder, closing his eyes and trying desperately to recall the calming clarity of thought that came from the whispered teachings of his ancestors.
“Jath!” Sarya barked, to no immediate reply, “Jath!” Jath’s head only shook in denial, her face still buried in her palms. Making sure that Garth had a grip on Rokk, Sarya lifted her hand from Rokk’s torso, where she had been attempting to stem the flow of blood and pulled the Kathooni warrior from the floor in a sudden motion. Thrusting her blood-soaked hand into Jath’s face she pulled her to her mate. “Place your hand here,” Sarya commanded, grabbing Jath’s hand and placing it over the wound. “Hold him, as he held you.”
Sarya looked at Garth meaningfully. “You must stop the bleeding. There is no time.” And then she turned and stepped over to Imra, to place her hand upon her Regent’s, and lend the mental strength of the Queen of Venegar to the silent battle transpiring.
“Jath, you’re stronger than I am. You’ve got to pull the sword out fast and clean.”
“He will bleed the faster,” she protested, unwilling to even look down at the blade.
“I’ll take care of that. Just do it!” he said. ‘It’s a good thing you’re unconscious buddy,’ he thought as Jath steeled herself and tore the blade from Rokk’s body, hurling it behind her with such force that the blade snapped against the wall with a sound like a gunshot. Garth gritted his teeth and stuck his fingers into the wound, delivering a sudden jolt of current, and again to the hole in his back, attempting to cauterize the bleeding.
Jath caught the edge of the current, but stood firm. Rokk’s body had jerked with each shock, but hung limply now, and she looked up, “You have stopped his heart!”
Garth put his hand to Rokk’s neck, and was reassured to feel a slow pulse. “No Jath. I don’t think anything can stop that heart.”
Long minutes passed before Garth heard a thundering sound coming down the staircase behind them, and two of the aged former Champions stumbled into the room, an even older figure clad only in a nightrobe supported between them, having not touched a single stair in their precipitous descent. Behind them, a dozen more figures could be seen, some armored, and others more commonly dressed, and often being dragged forcefully down the stairs by the rushing warriors.
Sarya looked up, her brow furrowed with concentration at the older man who had just been brought into the room. “You will tend to my Champion,” she said, pointing at Rokk. “Everybody else, tend to these others.”
The Royal Chirurgeon did not bother to acknowledge his Queen, already examining Rokk’s wound and shouting to the warriors behind him to hand him various items that they had hastily grabbed from his supplies.
“Three of the injured could not be saved, my Queen,” reported the Chirurgeon.
“Including…” she asked with a nod for discretion, nodding towards her sleeping Champion.
“That one as well, Highness.”
“And my Champion, what of his condition?”
“He will live, but the blade cleanly severed his spinal column. We do not have the science to repair that sort of damage. He will not walk again, not without alien medicine.”
Rokk opened his eyes to see Lydda asleep next to him, holding onto his hand in a bruising grip, even in her sleep. He propped one of his legs while adjusting and the doctor rushed over, “This is impossible! Your legs cannot move, your spine was severed! I but sealed it together with laser-light!”
Sarya placed her hand upon her Chirurgeon, “Clearly it *is* possible, for this Champion.”
“Where are the others?” Rokk asked wearily.
“The remaining telepaths required sedation. Champion Ardeen sits with them, and Champion Ranzz sits with her.”
“How many,” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“Three died,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What about that kid, in the front row?” Rokk asked, dreading the answer.
“Your blades struck the stomach, which is why so many lived when they should have died. The child was struck in the throat, and his death was swift.” Sarya admitted, placing her hand upon Rokk’s shoulder when he tried to get up protesting, waking Jath in the process. “You will lie still.” The Queen ordered, looking to Jath. “If he moves, he may bring injury to himself. Do not let him move.”
The Queen quickly walked away, and Rokk found that he couldn’t budge with Jath’s hand firmly planted in the center of his chest, and when he looked to her, she looked away. “Jath, let me up. I need to see.”
“No. There is nothing to see. Some have lived, some have died. That part is over.”
“Jath.” Rokk began, before looking to see that they were alone for the moment, “Lydda…”
Her face turned towards him suddenly, “You would still call me by that name, even after…” her voice trailed off as she looked at the bandages below where her hand rest.
“I don’t blame you for that!” he protested.
“’Do not blame the blade. Blame the arm that wields the blade.’” Lydda said, quoting some Kathooni aphorism.
Reaching up, he rested his hand against her face, turning it to face his own, “’Do not blame the arm, blame the *mind* that directs the arm.’” Seeing her look, “That wasn’t *your* mind. It was their mind. Minds. Whatever. They used you to hurt me. I don’t blame you.”
Lydda rested her head on his chest and Rokk was chilled to hear her murmur, “I wish you had killed them all, not just three.”
<There are too many of them Highness. We can’t keep them sedated forever, and we certainly can’t keep them sedated all the way to Titan.>
“This is the only way? You cannot have your people come here to treat them?”
<Most of my people wouldn’t leave Titan for any reason. No, they need to be taken to Titan and their minds reconstructed. They aren’t even people right now, they’re just… parts in a machine. The older ones, there should be a good chance that our psychologists can pick out their memories and remove them from the others, help them become individuals again. The younger ones, who have spent their entire lives as part of the gestalt, they will have to have lives *created* for them. Fake lives, with fake memories. They don’t have any of their own.>
“The child that died?”
Imra looked downcast. <I hate that we won’t even have the chance to try, but I don’t think he would ever be able to become a person. Even with fake memories, he would be too damaged to function independently. I doubt he’d ever had a thought of his own. He was a puppet, and outside of the gestalt, his strings cut, he’d just lie there. He’d have to be fed and bathed and cared for like, like a pet.>
“You need rest. You have been here for hours, child.” The Queen said, brushing Imra’s hair out of her face as her head sagged.
<I can’t. I have to stay here for them. They are reaching out for each other, and if I don’t block them, they will reconnect. They are so scared, so lonely. If I wasn’t here to soothe them, I don’t know what they’d do.>
His voice thundered to his assembled Champions. “Every village, every town, every tribe has a wise-woman, an old man on the hill, a clever child who always knows the answers to the riddles. Find them. We must locate every one of these mind-witches. They will hide from you, and attempt to deceive you, for they have never fared well among our people, but the Queen calls them to service now. Go, start in the towns of your birth, where your friends and families will know the local lore. Find them and bring them here.”
Over the next day, people flooded into the rooms, some old, some young, and Imra would look at them and nod, “Yes. Please sit here and hold this man’s hand.” or shake her head, “No. He is a charlatan, send him home.”
Finally, Imra was able to rest, enough of the rare Venegarian ‘mind-witches’ having been rounded up to give her a few hours of sleep. When she woke, the Chirurgeon was waiting for her, along with Garth, and they led her to the doctor’s work-chambers, where she saw a small body under a sheet. <Is that?>
“Yeah. We thought you needed to see this.” Garth said, as the doctor folded back the sheet to reveal a small incision in front of the boy’s skull, that had been hidden by his hair.
<Sweet Memories! They’ve been here, too?>
“We have examined the others. The other two who perished did not have these marks, but of the eleven survivors, five have also been operated upon in this fashion. I have peered into the boy’s skull with an imager,” the doctor said, draping the sheet back over the dead boys head. “A small portion of his brain has been removed, and your fellow Champion tells me it is this region that governs your mind-speech.”
<Garth, these people, they’re afraid. I sensed that. They didn’t want to be alone, they were *terrified* of being alone. I think that this is why. Someone, or something, is preying on them, and they’ve banded together out of self-defense. They just got lost in it, banded together so tightly that they couldn’t break apart again…>
“If you’re right, maybe we can find out if the ones that were targeted were publicly known to be ‘mind-witches.’ If the locals knew that someone was a telepath, whoever-it-is might have been able to find them. It would explain why they were hiding in the catacombs, covering their faces, anyway…” Garth theorized.
<Doctor, when was this surgery performed?> Imra asked.
“At least a year ago. His skull had grown since the incision. I will check the others as well.” he said, grabbing a scanner and heading out.
The trip to Titan was crowded, as the Queen had ordered the other ‘mind-witches’ to also make the journey, assuring them that their homes and duties would be attended to in their absence. Imra had convinced her that allowing them to remain untrained in the ways of telepathy was a major factor in the formation of the dangerous group-mind. Sarya agreed that the ‘mind-witches’ needed to be taught to use the weapons that they had been born with, and most of her subjects agreed, ‘though few were happy to be leaving their home-world for an extended period.
No amount of discretion could contain the secret, and within hours of docking at Titan station, it seemed that the entire colony knew the full story, and Imra felt a tiny twinge of regret at the possible panicked reaction of her fellow telepaths scattered across the United Planets. Still, she would rather they lose a few months of their lives safely on their home-world than suffer such an assault on some distant world.
Reyu met her as she arrived, and thanked her for not giving up on the search, and did not seem concerned that she had stumbled upon these new victims by accident. As part of his own therapy, he had negotiated to be able to assist in the treatment of these new arrivals, and while the weary Champions returned to Earth, and the Embassy, he kept in touch with Imra daily, sharing new reports of the information pieced together from many minds.
<The common image is of a male figure, always in shadows, no matter where the light source is in the room. His hand rests upon their chest, pinning them with relentless force, and it is a hand clad in cold metal. They got no mental contact through the metal hand, except for one. A young woman reported that his other hand, one that was not gloved in metal, but warm and of flesh, brushed against her, and she got a fleeting glimpse of a mind that was more like a machine than a man.> Reyu sent.
<That’s all?> Imra asked, disappointed.
<Unfortunately, yes. Whoever is doing this is keeping his thoughts, and his appearance, to himself. I do wonder, why isn’t he just killing the, *us,* after he is done? Why leave potential witnesses?>
<A trail of dead telepaths would have been noticed long before now, especially if their heads had been cut open. We know that he’s been operating for at least a year, gathering his samples, and picking on people who live in hiding, like the Venegarian mind-witches, means that no crime was even reported, until you...>, Imra thought bleakly. Reyu said his good-byes and closed the connection, leaving Imra brooding alone in the dark.
[ March 11, 2007, 07:13 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
200 quatloos to the first person who guesses who is stealing telepath brains and what he's doing with them. (Guess one, and the other should be obvious.)
Call in the next five minutes, and I'll throw in this complimentary No-Prize!
[ March 09, 2007, 12:20 PM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
| IP: Logged |
Set
There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
“Venegarian. Ha! Medicine. Ha! Two words that do not belong in the same sentence!” Dr. Gym’ll grumbled. “Cauterization! All this damage I must repair! Savages. Myelin sheath sealed with laser-fire! Did they not have a plasma rifle handy in their medical arsenal? Perhaps an electron pulse grenade? Simple bio-adhesive, and all is well, but no, all these cells are scorched away and must be regrown from scratch. My fee will be astronomical, of course.” Dr. Gym’ll held a micro-scanner in one hand, and a spray-dispenser in the other, working on Rokk’s back while his third arm gesticulated wildly with a data-pad.
“They did their best Doctor,” Rokk began, but Dr. Gym’ll would hear none of it.
“I was not talking to you, Braalian. Be quiet or I will sedate you.” Rokk quieted down, not feeling like spending yet more time unconscious this week.
Looking at his pad, the Doctor continued ranting, “Green light therapy! Superstitious spawn of apes! Back to the trees with the lot of you.”
Lydda helped Rokk walk back to their room, while Garth and Imra tagged along, having accompanied Rokk to the med-center (and all-but physically restrained Jath whenever Rokk yelped in the next room).
“Well,” said Rokk. “Thanks for tagging along guys. I’m gonna get some sleep.”
“Just once, can we end a mission without one of us needing regen treatments?” Garth muttered to Imra.
<Speak for yourself. I’ve never gotten all beaten up.> Imra teased, but looked up as Rokk and Jath both shot her alarmed looks. <What?>
“You invite disaster by tempting the gods, Champion Ardeen.” Jath said seriously.
Rokk nodded sagely, “It is the jinx to end all jinxes, Imra.”
Imra just raised her hand, <Superstitious nonsense! Get some sleep.>
She turned and Garth was looking at her with concern.
<Not you too!>
Garth smiled and looked to Rokk, “Later man,” and then to Jath, nodding towards Rokk, “Play nice. He’s fragile.”
“I’ll show you fragile. Next week, I’ll put you out like the dog you are.”
Garth shot his hands up and dashed behind Imra, “Ooh, scary man is being mean to me. Beat him up for me, hon!”
Rokk grinned, “Hey, don’t go there Ranzz, my girlfriend will totally beat up your girlfriend.”
“Hmm. Good point,” Garth said before noticing Imra’s shoulders tense as she whirled to face him, and his hand shot up in front of his mouth.
<What!> Garth put his other hand in front of his mouth, as if this would somehow help. <Oh no she can’t. Garth! Oh no she can’t!!> Garth chose the better part of valor and fell back, activating his Champion’s Ring and taking off down the hall.
<Get back here!> Imra demanded, in hot pursuit.
Lydda ushered Rokk into their room. “I have been looking forward to this,” she said with a smile.
Lydda was clad in an outfit that consisted of a sports bra and short shorts, as well as her requisite goggles. She stood arms crossed, looking bored. Imra was wearing her usual full workout bodysuit, and was shadowboxing and shuffling her feet around.
“Okay, the sun-lamps are set precisely to block Jath’s enhanced strength, but not weaken her below Kathooni normal standards. You all set Imra?” Rokk asked, checking a hand-scanner to make sure that the lights weren’t actually hurting Jath.
<<Yes,>> came Imra’s voice over the Champion’s Ring. <<The platinum-group head-gear is blocking my telepathy. No powers, as agreed.>>
“Aaaaannnd, in the green corner!” Garth announced, “Weighing just over,” he paused checking his pad, eyebrows raised, before continuing, “seventy-five kilograms, Jath of Clan Genti!” Jath just looked up, having heard her name spoken and Rokk raised his arms and cheered, wincing slightly, “Yay!”
“Aaaanndd, in the, uh, *other* green corner, weighing in at,” Garth froze as Imra shot him a glare, “some very, very small number, *much* less than seventy-five kilos, Imra Ardeen of Titan!”
“Wait,” said Jath, looking curious, “Is there some significance to these numbers?”
Avoiding certain death, Garth quickly clapped his hands and shouted, “Fight!”
Fourteen seconds later, pinned to the ground and unable to move anything but a single arm, Imra tapped out.
<<It was a lucky fluke. I’m prepared now.>>
Thirty seconds later…
<<Okay, I think I’ve got this.>>
Seven seconds later…
<<Fine! Whoever agreed to no powers! This is ridiculous, fighting a telepath without telepathy would be like fighting one of you with your eyes closed.>>
“I accept your challenge,” Lydda said promptly, reaching for her protective goggles.
<<Wait! No, you win…>> Imra conceded, pulling the helmet off of her head. <I am so done. I’m just going to lie here and see if I can find any of my pride down here in the cracks between the mats…>
“So,” said Jath, “Champion Ardeen trains you in fighting because she is best? I think *I* should train you in fighting now.”
“No!”
<No!>
“Honey, I’m not sure that’s a good idea…”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” said Queen Sarya, entering the room in an enormous green cloak that concealed her from view. Casting it to one side, she was again in her workout clothes, and bearing a pair of amber-hued dueling blades made of dull duraplast. Tossing one to Jath, she moved out onto the mat.
Jath caught the flexible mock-up of a sword, and whipped it through the air experimentally. “These will raise stinging welts,” she announced to the Queen.
“Avoid getting hit then.” The Queen said, raising her own blade in a fencer’s salute. “On your guard. Begin!”
Two minutes later, Jath’s body had several red lines showing where she had been hit, while the Queen’s bodysuit concealed any similar marks on her person, neither showed sign of backing down.
Rokk turned to Jath’s fighting clothes, against the wall and fished out a knife. “One blade of steel on Jath.” Garth looked dubiously at Rokk, and he added, “She won’t miss it, she’s got a million of ‘em.”
<Gambling is addictive and serves no useful function.> Imra thought disapprovingly, still lying flat on her back, head tilted to watch the duel.
“50 credits on the Queen,” Garth decided.
<Garth! What did I just say?>
“I don’t know, weren’t you listening either?” Garth asked innocently.
Finally the duel ended, Sarya the victor, ‘though she was breathing heavily by that time.
“You fight well,” Jath grudgingly admitted.
“You fight amazingly well, Jath, considering that I’ve spent decades mastering the sword, and, under these lights, I’m stronger than you.”
“The fight would have ended much sooner, had I fought you as you were twenty years ago,” Jath admitted.
The Queen shook her head. “Well certainly, I would have been but a child.” She said haughtily, stepping to snatch up her cloak.
“A child,” Jath said with a scoff, missing Rokk’s frantic hand-waving for her attention. “But you are over fifty earth-years old!”
The Queen’s eyes shot open. “Jath!” she said sharply, only to regain her composure. “Well fought.” She conceded before sweeping out a bit too abruptly.
Jath’s brow furrowed as she looked to the Champions. Garth was trying to suppress a laugh behind his hand, but looked like he was choking instead, Rokk had his head in his hands and Imra was sipping her water, eyebrows raised. “What? It is in the Embassy biography. Sarya, Queen of Venegar, born in the year of Shining Water. She is fifty-two Earth years old.”
[ March 10, 2007, 12:29 AM: Message edited by: Set ]
Registered: Aug 2006
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Rokk tossed down the pad, severing the connection to Dr. Gym’ll and ending the one-sided ‘conversation’ that had been taking place. Of all the doctors Rokk had seen in the endless parade of specialists called in to deal with his ‘unique condition,’ Dr. Gym’ll had been the first to offer a conflicting hypothesis. To the three-armed curmudgeon, *every* patient was unique, since none of his patients had a physiology or biochemistry similar to himself. Instead of looking at it from a Braalian perspective, he had seen a larger picture, and it wasn’t a pretty one.
<What does that mean? Will you lose your powers? Will you lose your…> Imra’s mental voice trailed off, but it was clear that she meant his mobility.
“He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the contamination of the ferrous hydraxaline when by spinal cord was severed is causing it to break down into ferrous annaline. He says that it *should* interfere with my magnetic powers, but he also says that I shouldn’t be walking anyway, that the ferrous hydraxaline was never enough to replace an entire nervous system.”
“But all those experts on Braal have to know more about Braalian physiology and, uh, magno-physiology, than him?”
“I asked him the same thing, when he let me get a word in edgewise, and he said that they were too close to the problem, too used to thinking in only one set paradigm.” Rokk said. “Well, he also called them all sorts of names in the process, but that’s the jist of it.”
<Is this more than a theory? I mean the evidence is that you *are* walking, and that your powers are stronger than ever. So just based on the evidence, the Braalian doctors are right, no matter how many names he wants to call them.> Imra added, clearly frustrated, and taking it out on the tactless little doctor.
“He pointed to the various studies published by the Braalian doctors. He *did* read them all, before even working with me. Not a single one of them had any explanation at all for why I could still feel pain. For why I could still see, and hear, and taste. I don’t have optic nerves. I don’t have tactile nerves. Even the sensory nerves in my nose are gone. Whatever sort of magnetic manipulation I could do to my muscles wouldn’t let me *smell,* would it? It wouldn’t let me feel pain,” he said, smacking his hand down hard on the table and flexing his fingers.
“So, it’s a mystery, but a good one, right? If your body doesn’t need this ferrous hydraxaline, does it matter what it degrades into? I mean, is this ferrous annaline stuff bad?” Garth asked.
“No. It’s pretty much inert,” Rokk conceded, “and Gym’ll says that the degradation is moving along slowly. It should take years before it’s run its course.”
“So, I don’t want to sound like I’m making light of it, but it doesn’t sound like a problem, really…”
“It just got me thinking of something that the Kathooni Ambassador said. I thought she was trying to scare me or something, but she knew a lot of things that she shouldn’t have.” Rokk said, still flexing his fingers absently, as if wondering if he would still be able to do this simple thing.
<She’s a Seer, right? They have some belief that they are connected to the minds of their ancestors, or something.>
“I don’t think it’s just a superstition, Imra. We’ve seen what Jath can do, and she insists that it’s because she’s calling on the strength of her ancestors, and that sunlight blocks her connection to them. She spends an hour or more a day going over those metal discs she wears as a belt. Each of them has the name and a poem about some long-dead Warrior, and she sits there reciting stories to herself about their exploits. She says that if she doesn’t honor them, they won’t lend her their strength when she needs it.”
<I’m not sure this isn’t simply a psychological tool that they use to help focus their abilities, Rokk. Just like how magno-ball players will point at the ball with their hand, even ‘though they don’t need to do anything of the sort.>
“In any case, the Seer definitely knew stuff she shouldn’t have. She could just be a telepath for all I know, but she told me that she didn’t see me as a Braalian. She saw me as half-flesh and half-energy, and said that I was a hint of the future, a time when ‘the children of Earth’ would ‘abandon the flesh’ and ‘sour the stars on wings of spirit.’”
“It sound poetic, but is that even possible? Isn’t your magnetic field anchored in the iron in your body, enhanced by all that mag-steel you wear?”
“I don’t know anymore. If so much of what made me able to manipulate magnetism is gone, why am I even better at it?”
Imra had fallen silent, but finally ‘spoke’ up, <Rokk, you told us that a church on your world believed that your people had somehow fused with the energy creatures that used to live on Braal. Could this be related to what the Seer said?>
“I don’t see how, Imra. It’s a neat theory, but I think it was just whipped up to cover any residual guilt over our arrival spelling the end of their species, and maybe even to make the believers feel less like intruders and more like they have somehow ‘become’ part of the world.”
Garth perked up, “Yeah, I thought of that, and it comes back to thermodynamics. Energy, magnetic or not, can’t be created or destroyed. The creatures have been gone for centuries, and new Braalians are born every day, with magnetic powers getting stronger every generation. If it was some sort of energy-fusion thing between the races, the Braalian children would have stopped being born with powers when the last of the energy creatures died out.”
<But he also said that the storms had mysteriously subsided as well. I wonder…> Imra thought and pulled a pad over the table and began working out something.
“Stand back,” Garth said, scooting away from Imra with his hands in the air, “Genius at work.”
Rokk leaned over to see what she was doing, but the columns of numbers were moving too quickly. He was pretty sure that meteorological data and census records were involved.
<There.>, she thought, pushing the pad in front of Rokk. <The numbers aren’t perfect, but the decline of the storms has shown a definite correlation with the birthrate. The more of the planetary magnetosphere is ‘bound up’ in the living Braalian population, the less is rampaging around wreaking havoc. Right now the storms have retreated to the polar regions, and over 40% of Braals surface is habitable. If the projection is valid, within a couple thousand years, Braal’s storms will be gone entirely, and *then,* Braal is going to have a problem, as the newer generations will start having weaker and weaker magnetosystems.”
“Not to burst your bubble, hon, but Braal’s been around for centuries, and I’m sure someone would have noticed this correlation.” Garth said gently.
<But this is *new* data. A thousand Braalian scientists didn’t have the example of Rokk to consider, or access to Ambassador Marin’s theory. Think about it Rokk. What if the energy within you *isn’t* as connected to your physical self as your people like to believe. What if the reason that you can walk and see and feel is because the energy is self-sufficient, and allowing you to replicate your body’s functions?”
“Okay, time out,” Garth said, crossing his hands. “One second you’re like, ‘Marin’s a fraud,’ and the next you’re like, ‘Rokk’s an energy-form.’” He shook his head. “Pick one!”
<I reacted to the idea of Marin’s superstitions being correct, and I’m still not convinced, but if there’s one thing you keep beating me over the head with Garth is that not everything in this universe needs to be analyzed and boxed up and put away. Marin’s a mystery, and I’ll leave it at that for now, but her words make sense to me. Just about everyone on Titan believes that we will eventually transcend our bodies, and become pure thought. Our ‘energy-selves’ will be psionic in nature, not magnetic, but the principle is the same.> Imra’s mental voice was excited, and she clearly found the idea appealing.
Garth attempted to lighten the situation, “So you guys aren’t going to ‘transcend into energy’ any time soon, right? ‘Cause I’d get lonely.”
Rokk smiled, “I’m for putting it off as long as possible. I’m pretty sure Jath would dump me…”
<Speaking of Jath?>
“She wanted to ‘challenge’ herself. She put on her skinsuit, sunblock, sungoggles and is out jogging. In broad daylight…”
“Won’t that kill her?” Garth exclaimed.
“No. If the sunlight doesn’t touch her skin, she’s fine. Just unable to use her strength. And with the goggles on, blocking out 99% of the visible spectrum, she should be able to see okay as well.”
<I’m surprised you aren’t with her, just in case.>
“She insisted on doing this herself, and I had the call from Gym’ll coming up, so I didn’t press it.” Rokk said, looking at the pad again and poking at it absently.
<She doesn’t know yet, does she?>
Rokk snorted. “Uh, no. ‘Hey honey, remember when you stabbed me in the back? Well, it set off a chain-reaction that’s tearing through my body and might leave me a cripple, or I could turn into an energy-ghost and haunt you, we’re not sure yet. Whadja bring me for dinner?’”
“Ouch.” Garth sympathized.
<Oh Rokk, I can’t even think of anything reassuring to say. That’s going to be a hard conversation…>, Imra folded her cloak around herself and held her arms. <Why is this planet so damn cold all the time.> she thought suddenly and got up and left.
“Okay, that’s my cue to go,” Garth said, eyebrows raised as he hurried out the door.
“Hon?” Garth called out as he let himself into Imra’s room. The telepath was huddled on her bed, holding he knees, head down. <Come in already.>
He made sure to close the security door behind him, and noticed that the room’s temperature settings were set high enough to make sweat bead out almost instantly.
“What’s wrong,” he said, sitting down and taking her shoulders in his hands. She looked up at first, and then folded up against his chest.
<I can’t seem to warm up. The walls are too far away, and I know it’s all in my head, but it just makes me feel cold. The only time I feel warm…> she paused and he rubbed her back, not wanting to press, <when your asleep.>
‘Not what I was expecting,’ Garth thought, but let her continue at her own pace.
<I sit awake, reading a pad, and your arm is over me, and I feel warm. I can turn up the heat until I’m sweating, wear all sorts of clothing and this damn Ring is supposed to keep me warm in *outer space,* and I still get chills.>
“We could put in a divider, make the bedroom a smaller sub-unit…” Garth began.
<It’s not just that. I didn’t get chills like this before the Mindfire den. And they just got worse after Reyu told me about the surgery. And now all those telepaths on Venegar? It’s like the universe is getting colder every day. I know it’s all in my head, and I’m the big telepath, with years of training at dealing with this stuff, but it’s too close. I can’t seem to shake it, Garth. I’m losing my focus.>
“Hey,” Garth said, pulling her close and looking directly into large pale-blue eyes, “We’ll find this bastard, and put him away forever.”
<Reyu said he ‘took’ from him, and I feel like he’s already ‘taken’ from me. I’m having trouble concentrating, I’m having trouble relaxing enough to enjoy even simple things like this,> she thought, stroking his face, <and Rokk is back there feeling his entire life burning away, and I can’t even keep focus long enough to help him, so scared of what *could* happen, of some unknown shadow-man that I’m losing track of what’s really happening, of what I should be concentrating on.>
Garth stroked her hair, “I’ve been kind of jealous of you two, having powers that are such a part of you. Mine just got tacked on, and I didn’t have a couple hundred years of culture or tradition or specialized training to fall back on. But now I feel guilty. There aren’t any drugs designed to make my powers work better, at a cost to my health. There aren’t any predators out there looking for the ‘lightning-people of Winath’…”
<I always saw it that way, too. I wondered if you were scared, the first time lightning shot out of your hands, and if you couldn’t turn it on, or turn it off. Then I saw Mekt, and realized that even if there wasn’t a race of ‘lightning-people’ at least you didn’t have to go through it completely alone.>
“Ayla, too. All three of us.”
Imra pulled back and looked up into his face, <Someday you’re going to tell me.>
“And spoil the mystery?” Garth said smiling, before his face turned more serious. “After all this build-up, the story itself is pretty dull. I’m just keeping it mysterious to make it seem more interesting than it is.”
<You’re not going to tell me, are you,> she said with a pout.
The figure dropped her backpack just inside the open doorway of the Embassy. “Hello?” she called out to the empty reception area. ‘Great. No doors. No door*men.*’ “Is anybody home?”
A robotic receptionist bobbed up from behind a counter on the far wall. *Welcome to the Venegarian Mission to Earth. The Ambassador, Queen Sarya, has a full schedule today, but if you would like to make an appointment, please leave your name, a contact ID and the purpose of your visit, and I’ll see when I can pencil you in.*
‘Great. The answering machine.’ She thought. “Whatever, sparky. I’m looking for one of her so-called ‘Champions,’” she said, with much sarcastic focus on the last word. “My name is Ayla Ranzz.”
Registered: Aug 2006
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There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met.
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Emerald Legion, chapter seventeen “A tale of three Ranzzes” – another family reunion, with 250% less property damage
Garth settled down onto the mattress with a contented sigh, already sinking into sleep, arm draped possessively over Imra’s slender form, his sun-freckled arm contrasting sharply with her flawless ivory skin.
<<Champion Ranzz.>> came the Queen’s crisp voice through the Champion’s Ring. <<You have a guest, please report to the audience chamber.>>
“Sprock.” Garth said as Imra’s mental voice tinkled with laughter in his mind. “No rest for the wicked,” he said with a grin, turning to steal another kiss.
<Go,> Imra thought, pushing him gently but firmly away, with a matching grin, <Don’t keep the Queen waiting.>
Garth stepped into the bathroom and freshened up, before slipping into his Champion’s Garb and heading out, blowing Imra another kiss before cycling the door shut.
He could hear voices talking in the audience chamber, and came in to found Sarya crouching next to her robot dinosaur, talking to a pair of legs belonging to someone who had crawled under it and was fiddling with the controls.
“It was built for war?” the Queen was asking dubiously.
“Not military so much, as designed for gladiatorial matches with other giant robots. It’s an annual thing they have out in the desert areas of this continent. Nevada, I think. A bunch of geeks get together and throw giant robots against each other,” the voice was muffled, but Garth was struck with recognition.
“Ayla?!?” Garth shouted, rushing over and dragging the figure out from under the machine, only to see a hand upthrust, crackling with rose-tinted electrical energies.
The Queen stepped back quickly as Ayla rose to her feet, hand still crackling with energy. Garth just looked puzzled, pushing her arm aside and folding her in a massive hug that lifted her from the ground.
“It’s so great to see you! When did you get here? How long are you staying?” Garth begin to say all in a rush while spinning around.
“Garth!” Ayla shouted in a strained voice, “Garth! Put. Me. Down!”
Garth set her down, but kept his hands on her shoulders, repeating, “It’s so great to see you.” Reaching up and brushing her cheek, so much slenderer than his own, but still having the same strong lines. “You look good,” he said softly.
Ayla’s hand had stopped glowing and she looked angry and confused, “I’ve commed and commed, and you never sprocking answer,” she pulled away and smacked Garth on the shoulder, “And now you’re all, ‘I’m so glad to see you!’ like nothing happened! Like you never left us! Like you never left *me!*”
Garth was suddenly aware that Rokk, Jath and Imra had flown into the room.
“Uh, no emergency, just family stuff,” Garth said, hands in the air, stepping in-between Ayla and his friends.
“I called them when I saw the lightning.” The Queen said dryly. “The last Ranzz family reunion set fire to the Talokkian Embassy…”
“Yeah, we should probably take this somewhere else.”
“An excellent idea,” agreed the Queen, “Perhaps your quarters,” she suggested, “assuming that you still remember where they are after all this time.”
Garth flinched slightly, and turned to a distracted Ayla, who was staring at the new arrivals. “Hey, how about we go somewhere a little more private before you kill me for being a rotten brother?”
“Huh?” Ayla said blinking. “Yeah, sure.” Pointing to Rokk, she asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Kid Cosmos?”
Rokk smiled, and raised his arms in triumph, mimicking the most famous image of him, after his second victory as planetary champion. “Yeah. I get that a lot. Want an autograph?”
“You *are* him!” Ayla said. “Wow. I had your holo on the wall.” Her face darkened, and “Well, until the scandal, and then Dad said that you weren’t an ‘appropriate role-model’ and made me change it.”
Garth took her arm. “We have to leave now, before you tell my best friend that you had a crush on him.”
Ayla took her arm back, “Who said ‘had?’ He’s still hot.”
Rokk grinned and stepped to the side, “Nice to meet you, Ayla. And this is my wife, Jath.”
Ayla snapped her fingers, “Darn. The good ones are always taken.”
Rokk looked to Jath, who was fingering a short sword-sized blade idly, “She doesn’t mean anything by it, honey.”
Jath shot him an impatient look. “She admires you. What of it? She pays me a compliment by praising my choice. If we on Kathoon, I would make you wear less clothing and have you accompany me everywhere.” Rokk’s eyes shot wide as she finished. “I would get many compliments.”
Garth said from behind his hand, “Can we please leave now, before the trauma becomes irreversible?”
“Yes, please,” added the Queen, who had settled herself back on her throne and was reading a pad. “That wasn’t a request.”
“So,” Ayla said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This is your room.” Smacking her hand on the bed and bringing up a small puff of dust, she grinned, “And that’s what the Queen meant about you not remembering where it was…”
Garth just shook his head. “Yeah, I’m staying with Imra, the one who isn’t married to Kid Cosmos.”
“Not with the Queen? I was wondering…” Ayla commented.
“Sprock, no! She’d kill me.” Garth said, before walking up behind Ayla, who was running her hand along the shelf, picking up more dust. “Let’s stop saying useless stuff. I screwed up, Ayla. I got scared, and I ran away and left you deal with all sorts of crap that I should have been there to help you deal with.”
“Yeah, we agree on that, at least.” Ayla muttered angrily. “I didn’t even know where you sprocking were until I saw the newsfeeds of you and Mekt blowing up the Talokkian Embassy.”
“We did not ‘blow up’ the Talokkian Embassy. It was only a few small fires and they put them out pretty fast,” Garth began. “And I’m changing the topic, again,” he muttered.
“Yeah, well, that’s what you do best, isn’t it, Garth? Run away.” Ayla demanded, “Is that what you’re going to do to your new girlfriend? Bail on her the second it gets tough? The second she isn’t exactly who you want her to be?”
“Look, I know I screwed up, and I don’t want to mess up again. Can’t you just give me a sprocking chance here?”
“Give you a chance? Right! My life is going sideways, we’ve got lightning shooting out of our hands, Mekt is sprocking nuts, ranting about how the weather control service is unnatural and must be destroyed, and you’re *gone!* The farm’s totaled, our folks are freaking…” Ayla ranted, not hearing Garth’s intake of breath.
“What do you mean the farm’s totaled?” Garth demanded.
“What? You don’t even know? It’s gone. We had to move to Chaba province…”
“Why is it gone? Are mom and dad okay?”
“Yes, they ran out of the house when the lightning started flying. Mekt was on one of his tears, and he blew up the silo. We lost the second harvest, and I tried to distract him while mom and dad got clear, but we both ended up destroying the house, and shutting down the power-grid over the county.”
Ayla had leant against the wall, arms folded and Garth wanted to go to her, but knew that she was still too angry to accept any comfort from him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. He was just too strong. He kept trying to convince me that we were the avatars of the storm or some crap and that it is was our sacred destiny to free Winath from the weather control service. He said the storms would bless only the righteous with rain, and strike down the unworthy, as nature intended. He knocked me out and bailed. Mom saw him drive off. Dad had gone for help, and mom ended up running into the house to pull me out before it collapsed.”
“Chaba province? What’s there?” Garth asked.
“A farm that isn’t burnt to the ground. The government resettled them, called it ‘disaster relief,’ and gave them some land that had been left behind by a family that had resettled off-world.” Ayla looked up, eyes veiled. “But Chaba province is in the boonies. It’s all naturists and their damn religion. Turns out they think that changing your gender is unnatural and defying the natural order. So we couldn’t get any hands to help us with the harvest, because they didn’t want to be seen around me.”
“I’m sorry, Ayla.”
“No big deal. Same sort of attitude I had to deal with from you,” she said bitterly.
“It’s not the same at all!” Garth shouted, getting right in her face. “You didn’t trust me. The biggest thing *ever* is going on with you, and I had to find out with everyone else, when you got caught sneaking Pro-fem! Yeah, I messed up, but you didn’t even give me a chance to get it right!”
“Maybe I knew you’d freak!” Ayla shouted back. “*I* was freaking out about it, the last thing I wanted to do was try to talk *you* ‘through it! It’s not enough that we shared everything, I could tell that you weren’t like me anymore, and that you’d never feel what I was feeling. We couldn’t share this, Garth!”
Garth again resisted the urge to hold her, putting his hand on the wall next to her and leaning close. “So why come here?”
The anger drained away and Ayla lowered her head. “Because I didn’t know where else to go.” After a deep breath she continued, “You left. Then Mekt freaked out and destroyed everything, and we didn’t hear anything from him until we saw the news-reports. By then we were trying to start all over in Chaba, but the naturists were making it hard, and I realized that I had to go. Mom and dad would never be able to hire enough hands to run the farm with me there, so I just followed the family tradition and ran away.”
Garth finally reached out and placed his hand on the side of her face, turning it to face his. “No. I ran away. You ran to me. That’s way smarter than what I did,” he smiled, pointing at the disused bed. “I happen to know a place where they’ve got an extra room…”
“I don’t think your Queen would approve.” Ayla said doubtfully.
“Please. She’s spent a star-cruiser worth of money outfitting Rokk with mag-steel and Imra with psi-metal. I totally rate an extra room,” with a grin he added, “And, if you program her pet dinosaur to attack people that piss her off? You’ll be her best friend.”
Ayla looked up, resting her hand on her brothers chest. “You know we aren’t square right? I’ve never felt so, so lost. I always felt bad for Mekt, all alone, but I never in my worst nightmares thought I would know what that felt like.”
“I screwed up real bad.” Garth admitted. “And you’re gonna have to give me the rest of our lives to make up for it, okay?”
“So you also throw lightning, like your brothers?” Jath asked matter-of-factly, around a mouthful of kabba fruit.
“Yeah.” Said Ayla, feeling vaguely uncomfortable sitting with Garth’s friends.
“A useful talent.” Jath grunted, spitting out seeds and reaching for another fruit.
“So,” Ayla said towards Imra, hoping to stave off another uncomfortable silence, “You and Garth, huh?”
<Yes,> Imra thought with a smile. <We complement each other well.>
“So, a Titanian telepath, a Braalian sports-star and a, uh, Kathooni was it?” Jath just nodded. “Warrior woman. I guess that makes Garth the odd-man out, since you guys all naturally have powers…”
Rokk cut in smoothly, “Jath also received her abilities later in life, but there are hundreds of Warriors like herself back on Kathoon.” He looked sideways at his friend, biting his tongue.
Looking around at the Champions, Ayla noticed the matching wary looks of curiosity on Rokk and Imra’s faces, and how Garth was avoiding meeting them. “He hasn’t even talked about it, has he?” she said, and Garth shook his head as the others perked up. Even Jath looked up, curiosity overcoming the slow torture she was inflicting on a kabba fruit with a smaller knife. “Let me guess, ‘oh, some things are better left a mystery.’”
Garth just threw his hands up, “Fine. But I get to tell it.”
The others leaned closer.
“I had just finished flight training, and I wanted to show off, so I rented three orbital ‘burners for me and Ayla and Mekt, figuring I’d lead them out on the training loop around the second moon and back.” Garth began. “Everything was going good, and Ayla had managed to hot-rig the comm and control systems so that that I could slave all of the controls to mine, in case one of them was having some problem with something. We circled around to the dark side of the moon,”
Ayla cut in, “Mekt complaing the whole time how sprocking boring it was.”
“Yeah. Anyway, we were just at the apogee, and turning back to the planet when some sort of energy discharge came up from the moon’s surface. We were too close, which was completely my fault, I wanted to skim close to make it more interesting,”
“We insisted, Garth. You were being a wuss. And it’s not like it would have mattered, the energy surge went well into the safe zone, anyway.”
“Anyway. It shorted out our systems and Mekt and Ayla both crashed into the surface. The slave controls totally fritzed out it was all I could do not to crash my own ship.”
“I made sure my suit was sealed, and went out to check on Mekt and Ayla. All three ships had landed soft, and nobody was hurt,”
“Not that you could tell, from all the complaining Mekt was doing,”
“Can I finish?” Garth said, shooting Ayla a glare. She just glared back, and he continued, “And then we determined that the fuel cells were completely drained. We couldn’t even break lunar orbit, let alone land safely back on Winath. And, of course, the emergency transmitters were burned out. It was like everything that could possibly have gone wrong, had.”
“That’s when we saw that the energy column was still active on the horizon, and moving towards us.” Ayla cut in. At Garth’s look she shrugged. “You were taking too long.”
“Right, the energy column swept over us like a wave, and the only thing I remember is lightning lashing over me and something pounding in my skull. I saw these creatures, and they seemed to be moving around us. Ayla and Mekt were also on the ground, thrashing around under the creatures lightning attack, and I saw them catch fire and die. I felt myself die. My suit was breached, my skin was black and cracking and I think the last thing I felt was my eyes explode.”
“Ow.” Rokk exclaimed sympathically.
<Was it some sort of hallucination? Oxygen deprivation from the suit malfunction?>
“No idea.” Garth shrugged. “I have these fuzzy memories of getting up, suit all repaired, no damage on me and jerking around like I didn’t know how to walk. Lightning shot out of my hands and recharged the fuel cells. Mekt and Ayla were there, too, and we fixed up the ships and launched into space. The next thing I remember is waking up on Winath in the med-center. They told us we’d landed on auto-pilot, and that there was no sign of injury or damage to the ships. That we’d been unconscious ever since the mysterious energy discharge on the moon’s surface.”
“The only thing they couldn’t explain was that our ships were almost fully fueled when we landed. It’s like we’d gotten to the moon without expending any of the fuel cell’s charge.” Ayla added.
“The authorities were baffled, because our stories didn’t match up. I told them about the creatures I saw, orange skinned quadrupeds with tentacles on their faces that the lightning came from. Ayla described them as humanoid stick figures, made out of lightning bolts, and said they lashed at us with whips of energy. Mekt said they were clouds of energized particles, shot through with static discharges, and that they enveloped us.”
“He also said they talked to him…” Ayla said derisively.
“Yeah. I felt a weird pressure in my skull, and even during the worst of it, I never felt like they were trying to hurt me. Ayla said it felt like some sort of mathematical progression, like they were trying to communicate. Mekt had this whole story about the fury of the storm, and us being chosen to return Winath to the forces of nature or something.”
“The authorities ruled that we had just hallucinated, and Garth seemed to accept that. He nearly lost his piloting certification, because of the altered flight-plan, but they let it slide because of the energy surge. There was no record of anything like that, anywhere, and they couldn’t explain it. They just sort of buried it, and while Mekt and I insisted that it was something else, everyone else was happy to forget it.”
“I just didn’t see how it mattered. We discovered our lightning powers that day, and spent the next few weeks being poked and prodded like lab animals.” Garth shrugged, “Mekt’s ‘theories’ to the contrary, we didn’t have any special insight to offer, and I didn’t want to spent my life trying to figure out why it happened, or *what* had actually happened. I just wanted to go home and get my life back…”
Ayla nodded, “I get that. But Mekt needed something to feel special, and I wanted it to mean something too, because I couldn’t deal with the crap I was going through. I just wanted to focus on something else. Garth thought I was crazy…”
“No, I thought you were right. But as much as you wanted to poke at it, I wanted to ignore it and make it go away.” Garth admitted.
<Didn’t you have a theory of your own?> Imra asked curiously.
Garth looked up, as if he’d forgotten that the others were still in the room, so wrapped up in this moment with Ayla. “Uh, no, not really. Mekt had a theory, and it was insane.”
“Like Mekt,” Ayla added.
“Yeah, and Ayla had a theory that made more sense than anything I would have come up with, so I didn’t even think about it. I was trying to find a piloting job, and nobody wanted to hire me after the accident because of the whole ‘lightning’ thing, so I was annoyed that these powers had messed up my life. I didn’t want to sit around thinking about it, or have Ayla and Mekt reminding me of the accident all the time…”
“What was your theory, Ayla?” Rokk asked. “Please tell me that you guys are transcending into energy beings, because then we can collect the whole set…”
“Uh, no.” Ayla said, looking at Rokk like he had grown a second head, “My ‘theory’ is that the energy surge was a probe, from another dimension entirely. One of energy. It crippled our ships, and the beings we saw were energy creatures. They wouldn’t have material forms, especially not any forms that we could understand, and so our minds just made up images to fit over them. They hurt us trying to communicate, and then they fixed us and sent us home.” Ayla turns to Garth, “Did it sound this lame when I was telling it to you?”
“Pretty much, yeah. But I liked the ending better than Mekts,” he grinned.
Jath had long since finished tormenting fruit and was sitting back with her legs on the table. “Will the changes pass on to your children?”
Both Garth and Ayla looked surprised, but Garth was the first to respond. “I don’t think so?” he shrugged, “The researchers couldn’t find *anything* different about us. No genetic changes, no extra electrolytes, no increased neural energy, nothing. But when I want lightning, I get lightning. They couldn’t figure out where it comes from, or how I make it appear, or how I make it stop. They did brain-scans and bio-electric stuff, but my body didn’t change at all. I can be standing pointing at a wall, or I can be shooting thousands of volts of current at the wall, and my heart-rate doesn’t change or anything.”
“I’d guess no, since our DNA hasn’t changed.” Ayla concurred. “But who knows?”
“So anyway, I’ve been saying it’s kind of a mystery, and it is. We don’t really know what happened, or even *if* there were other beings present, or much of anything. I kind of prefer it that way. It wouldn’t really change anything if we did know one way or the other, would it?”
“I don’t know, it would kind of change my feelings about the whole thing if it was invaders from an alien energy realm and they tried to kill us or something…” Ayla said with a grin.
The Queen had agreed that Ayla could stay in Garths room ‘for the duration.’ She left it unclear exactly what ‘the duration’ meant, but proclaimed that she too knew what it was like to be many light-years from home, and the comfort of having family near.
In a shadowed chamber, a humanoid hand rests gently on an enormous curved bicep, the sound of slow breathing coming from the mountainous form before him.
“It is time, my son, time to meet your mother.”
His hand reached back to press a button on the console behind him, and a signal travels out from the secluded base, reaching through the endless twilight of space. On ice-bound Titan, a woman clutches her head and begins to silently scream.
[ March 13, 2007, 03:36 PM: Message edited by: Set ]
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I'm closing down the exhibit while I work out some problems. It might be awhile but I will reopen it tonight. Sorry for the inconvenience.
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