A/N

Seeing Julie's...um...interesting, matter of presentation after merging with the protomolecule, couldn't help but be reminded of the hybrid of Battlestar Galactica. As in, "scantily clad female plugged into a living ship that speaks cryptically as a result of said merging."

Anyway, drabbled this up.


Plugged into the Driver's Seat

She's everywhere.

All of Eros is hers. The stars our hers. The worlds of those stars are hers. All space is an expanse, chasing infinity, from the beginning to the end, singing the music of the spheres.

They're chasing her, but they can't catch the Racetrack.

One sphere. One star. One sphere orbiting the sphere, rolling along the fabric of space. All rolling. All singing. The sphere is hers…its…original target? The sphere tries to stop her sphere, but the music does not stop, even while the notes vanish.

They're chasing her, but they can't catch the Racetrack.

Much music comes from the third sphere. The fourth sphere sings a different tune. Fear. Joy. Contempt. Intrigue. The fourth sphere and the third sphere are separate, even while music binds them. Syncopated, discordant. Major turned to minor. Third sphere fears the coda. Fourth sphere fears the encore. Spheres beyond dispatch smaller spheres. Through the black, through the expanse. Different – spheres of old appeared in flashes of light. Old spheres went to the central sphere, of light and death, around which all spheres sing.

They're chasing her, but they can't catch the Racetrack.

She's everywhere, as space and time bend. She sees the future – over a thousand spheres, with no music, cut off from each other, even while the gate is open, despite the efforts of the gatekeeper now on the third sphere. No melody here, no tune, the third sphere long since silent, made so my little spheres, hitting the third in crescendo. She sees the present, of the third sphere and the fourth sphere, while the other spheres play their music. She sees the past…sees the past…sees the past…

In in-between places, she sees her. One plugged into the space between spaces, as space and time bend. Grown by those grown by man to defeat man, to save man, to destroy man, to rebirth man…again and again…happened before…happened again…and again…and again…and again…

"Jump!" it cries.

Happened before. No. This. Happened once. Here, in the realm of eight spheres dancing around one sphere. Happened before. Life out there. Came for many spheres. Stopped the little sphere that consumed the bigger sphere. Fire. Fire. Fire.

"Jump!" it cries.

Time after, in a system of twelve spheres, and four large ones. Dance and dance. Dance and die. Die and die. Life, again at those spheres? Children of the spheres fled. Never looked back. Too far an expanse. Light, travelling thousands of years, across the black, between the spheres. Can't catch light. Can't catch the Racetrack. But in-between places, she and the other meet. Their ships, their spheres, space and time theirs. Theirs. Theirs. Always theirs.

"Jump!" it cries.

Back in the sphere. Still the chase. On and on, towards the third sphere. One within her sphere. Ever closer. Following the music. Fire, in his hand. Fire. Fire. Small fire, to the twelve spheres. Small fire, to the third sphere. Large fire, for her sphere. Enough to stop the music? Repeat music? Is the melody flowing? Does he sing?

Sing louder. Sing faster. To the third sphere.

They're chasing her, but they can't catch the Racetrack.