Ephemeral Permanence

by Ticklefish

dedicated to Barb

FOREWORD:

Eleven chapters...my word, that's a bit more than I had in mind when I started this. No wonder it's taken me so long to write.

This story may be eleven chapters, but they're not very long and they do all tie into each other. Please do read all of them before you reach the end, otherwise the ending won't make anywhere near as much sense.

I took a lot of time and care writing this and I'm fairly proud. But then, I wrote it so I'm more than a little biased. Have fun reading it and don't forget to leave a review!

p.s. Each chapter (apart from this one) is divided into two parts. For the life of me, I can't figure out how to get any decent spacing around the horizontal ruler dividing one part from the other but it's in there, I promise. Just bear with me, it'll make more sense once you read it.

I'm not sure how I got here.

I remember the heat, the noise and an overwhelming feeling of power.

I was about to finally claim my victory. They'd foiled my plans but I could always rebuild and try again. All I needed to do was to kill them.

Kill him.

Kill him once and for all.

He'd been a thorn in my side for longer than I cared to think about but now I had him.

I had him!

I was in incredible pain and not thinking straight but I knew that much.

I had him!

I bloody well had him!

Then there was a sound.

A whooshing sound.

No.

Two whooshing sounds, so close together they were almost one.

Getting louder and louder.

And then.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Until I ended up here.

Shame I've no idea where 'here' is.

A short glass is placed in front of me. It's filled almost to the top with something pale and deceptively innocent-looking.

"Drink up, Albert. You look like you could use it."

The voice is familiar as are the carefully manicured fingernails on the hand still holding the glass. I can't place either though. Something isn't quite right, my mind seems to wrapped in gauze. I can't think straight. Alcohol is probably the last thing I need right now.

The right thing would be just to ignore it.

I've never been good at doing the right thing and the spirit burns its way down my throat.

"Feeling better?"

I say nothing. Never volunteer information until you know the situation. That's what they told me and I was always a good listener.

Though I can't think who they are right now.

A gentle laugh comes from above me and the woman sits down in front of me, placing her drink on the table. The glass is tall, the liquid a transulcent green with a carmine stirrer sticking out of it. I notice that the stirrer is almost standing straight up, suggesting that the drink is very thick and that the drinker will most likely be very drunk by the end of it. I start to plan how to use that to my advantage, though I don't know why. I've always done it.

Plan ahead to keep your head.

Another mantra rising out of the mists of my mind.

The woman leans forward and I can almost feel my mind being wrenched onto a different track. Her dress is open from her neck to somewhere below the edge of the table, revealing more of her breasts than it hides. They're noticably large and firm, the skin a very pale shade of brown. I can't see her nipples but, as I look, they make themselves known through the fabric of her dress.

I can feel myself getting aroused which is a bit of surprise. I haven't been with a woman since..since..actually I don't know. I'm sure I have. I must have done. But it just seems so unimportant. I know this woman is attractive, or at least the part I'm looking at, but as I think about it, I can feel my lust fading.

No, not fading. Changing. I think again about how she will probably be drunk soon and how I can manipulate that to suit me.

Power.

That's it. That's why I can't remember being with a woman.

Women don't interest me. I'm interested in power. Control. Domination. Sex is just a physical act, partaken in by ignorant apes who don't know any better. The real fun, the real joy, comes in using the brain and bettering others.

So why do I feel like I've never really had fun?

"They're real, you know."

She's laughing at me. I'm still staring at her cleavage, although it now holds no interest for me. I can feel myself blushing and try to force it down. I don't blush. I don't feel shame or embarrassment or guilt. I do what I want and to hell with the consequences.

I blush anyway.

"I always knew you liked me." she says, looking at me through half-closed eyes. Her lashes are long and look expensive.

"That's very perceptive of you." I reply.

I was careful to keep my voice neutral. Compliment the enemy, a distant voice in my head commands. Let them think they're better than you until you've got control of the situation and you can prove them wrong.

It was good advice. Instinctively, I knew that I couldn't trust this woman. I didn't trust people other than myself anyway but there was something at the back of my mind that made me even more cautious than normal.

She rests her elbows on the table and laces her long fingers together. As she does so, she leans forward allowing me a clearer look at her barely concealed cleavage. It has no effect on me.

"I don't need perception, Albert. A woman can always tell."

"Humph."

I say nothing more, hoping to give the impression of disdainful superiority, but in truth I really have no idea what to say.

I have no idea what's going on.

I don't even know who this woman sitting opposite me is, although clearly I should. My memory is usually perfect, my brain being far superior to the normal drones.

But I just can't think straight. The brandy has cleared the cobwebs from my mind, but there doesn't seem to be anything else there.

The woman sighs and sits back in her chair. She's obviously realised that her charms are having no effect on me. As she sips her drink, I take the opportunity to take a look around. I have at least a few seconds before she inevitably attacks.

I'm in a bar.

I think I'm in a bar.

It would explain the alcohol and the table and chairs but I just can't seem to make out any details around me. Like a dream fading before the morning sun, I know that there are things here but my mind refuses to concentrate on the details.

"Why did you do it?" she asks.

A loaded question. I've done so much over the years. Until I know who she is, I can't give anything anyway.

"Because I wanted to." I reply in my most non-committal voice.

"Was it worth it?"

Her glass is now empty, a light green showing on her top lip. She takes a napkin and dabs at her mouth.

"Yes, it was worth it." I say.

Well, the chances were it probably was.

Whatever we were talking about.

"I've always wanted to know," she asks, staring at the napkin in her hands, "did you mean to do it right from the beginning?"

I hate to admit even the slightest amount of ignorance but this is going too far.

"Do what?" I demand, starting to get annoyed.

"Kill S.T.A.R.S."