Good morning, good day, and a happy New Year to you all! I don't want to put a particularly long note here, just because I don't want to jade anyone's preconceptions pertaining to this story. All I will say is, please read with an open mind to theories and ideas, and if you happen to review, I'll love you forever. Oh, and I'll happily answer any questions you may have. See my bio for disclaimers.

Updated with edited version 4.12.05 - thank you, Mael, you're my favorite.

The Second Renaissance

Part One: The End of the Piscean Ideal

-

I. Deep

Renaissance: literally meaning "rebirth," the word's meaning is usually restricted to a cultural or idealistic sense; it is also specified to a period in medieval Europe between 1350 and 1550 where a series of new ideas in art and philosophy emerged, changing the views of society forever.

-

The sky of Zi darkened, roiling black clouds telling of a vicious storm to come. Across the Elemia desert, sand whipped up small twists of stinging grit; the wind crashed against the rocky cliffs, as if the tide on the beach. It was an especially difficult night for travel, but three zoids persevered in fighting their way across the stormy wasteland. At least, they were.

Now, the three machines, two Dark Horns and a Zaber Tiger, stood motionless, a jagged cliff framing their left side. No human would have voluntarily stopped in such a tempest of the elements. Lightning glinting against the machines' emerald optic lenses proved their cockpits to be empty, and the last illusions of normalcy crashed down.

The acrid smell of gunpowder tainted the air; the twin Gatling guns of the rhino-type zoids were still spinning gently to disperse the heat built up from rapid fire. The Zaber Tiger stood at the front of the trio, its head bent, as though examining something on the sandy ground. Lightning flashed again, revealing the dark stains of crimson liquid on its huge steel paws, and the zoid threw its head back, roaring a challenge to the fearsome night sky.

With that, the huge machine turned and stalked off into the night, closely flanked by its two companions. Swirling sand obscured their departure, but not the ominous clanking footsteps that heralded certain danger to come. Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the sands once again, now stained with human blood.

-

They were calling again. A million tiny voices shrieked, each calling for their messiah to lead them. A million more cried, seeking redemption for their wicked acts. Their piteous voices tugged at her, much like the undercurrent of a river, trying to uproot her feet and carry her off into the riptide of their will, promising power, and promising glory.

You need us, they whispered. You need us just as we need you... Nothing has changed. Not in all these millennia, and you know it. Do not deny it... She struggled against them, but they were infinitely stronger than she was, and able to do so much more. She squeezed her hands over her ears, trying to block their subliminal messages.

She gasped as their power wormed deeper through her hands, squeezing through the microscopic gaps in between her fingers. She tried to clutch tighter, her fingernails digging in to excavate their bloodcurdling words. She felt her mind begin to slip, her concentration start to split as the vexing voices grew within her mind.

She knew she couldn't hold on. She tried to stand her ground against the growing power, she did...she tried, at least. The anonymous intelligence seized her mind with crushing force, commanding her attention through a slamming pain. Satisfied with her helplessness, the pure, roaring power swept her away into a spiral of confusion and voices; animalistic sounds mixed with that of humans, merging as one cacophonous tumult.

Then it was there, the true power: a swirling blaze of white-hot knives, racing across her skin. This was what true chaos felt like, it would never end...a continuous cycle of pain and battle and pain and battle and pain...it was too much, too much even to bear. She almost wept with the sheer acidic power of it all...but then it began to slow.

A cooling sensation began at her toes, the sensitive cuticles welcoming the respite from the torture which was just moments ago pummeling her body. It raced across her nerve fibers, soothing tortured skin, cooling her to the bone. It finally congealed at her neck, wispy tendrils exploring her brain, numbing the peripheral senses, and passing their message through the synapses. It would be over soon.

But–no, if it was over, then something would be changed. Change was bad; she didn't want change... She began to struggle again, helpless to the firm grip of the omniscient thing. She shrieked to the void, hoping for a savior...but nothing happened, she would never win. In sheer helplessness, she slipped beneath the surface of their power. But then, warm hands gently pulled her up, raising her head above the whirlpool of raging chaos, allowing her to breathe, to escape the fate that the power desired for her.

Fiona awoke drenched in a film of frozen sweat, breathing heavily. She stared wide-eyed at the white ceiling above her, her lips parted in near-hyperventilation. The bright sunlight of Guygalos gilded the white paint gold, promising another beautiful day. The girl blinked, trying to calm herself. She made her fists unclench the sheets of her bed, and sat up, brushing a hand over her eyes.

"So real," she muttered. "It's never been like that before." She clutched at her forearms, shivering, feeling the beginning of tears pricking at her eyes, and tried to steady her breathing. But...what stopped it? What saved me? After a moment, Fiona stood and picked her way soundlessly across the carpet, making for the doorway. She glanced around, then settled on her target. The bath beckoned invitingly just at the end of the short corridor...almost there... She darted past the open doorway, thinking she'd made it...when she heard her name called.

Cursing quietly to herself, Fiona backpedaled, stopping in the entrance to the kitchen, trying to look as cheerful and charming as she usually was, not shaken by a nightmare. Van sat at the curved counter, a plate of toast and a glass of orange juice in front of him. He stared at her, looking alarmed, and said, "Fiona? You...okay?"

She tried to smile, and wasn't sure if it worked. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Van frowned. "Well, for one, your knees are shaking, and I did just have to go wake you up. Sounded like you were having a bad dream." He took a sip of juice, not taking his eyes off her. After a long minute of silence, he blinked. "So...are you okay?"

Fiona flashed him a smile, this one a bit more genuine. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about me." With that, she rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Van chewed his lip thoughtfully. "But I do worry, though..." He shook his head and went back to breakfast.

Fiona flipped the bath's taps, watching hot water gush out, and steam billowing into the air. Giving a sigh, she slumped down onto the floor, her back to the tub, waiting for it to fill. "So, that's what it was...Van woke me up. Should've figured." Grabbing her bottle of bath gel, she tipped the end up, managing to pour a good portion of bubble bath into the frothing waters, and they eventually turned white and fluffy. She watched the pink gel disappear, replaced by the smell of raspberries. She smiled softly, swirling her fingertips in the water, and murmured, "I owe you another rescue, Van."

Ten minutes later, Fiona was stuffing her long blonde hair into a shower cap in order to keep it from getting too wet. She eased into the bath, gasping at first at the hot water, but then she sighed as it enveloped her body in a warm, raspberry-scented embrace. She felt the tension and worry float off, and leaning back, closed her eyes in contentment.

Once again, Van had been right...moving in together had been a good idea. It had really been just a sweet gesture on his part, considering that she didn't exactly have a family she could live with...but it was appreciated all the same. The apartment they shared wasn't exactly small, but they could afford it, considering that Van was a favorite in both countries. Fiona sighed, sinking down to her neck in suds. What had he said? Sounded like you were having a bad dream...

She sniffed. "I think that was putting it mildly. It felt more like..." She shut her mouth quickly. A vision? But why? She had no reason to have one now–she hadn't for months, almost a year. So why, why was she dreaming now, just like before, so deeply disturbed that she had to be woken up by someone on the outside? It was a troubling thought, and she shook it off impatiently. "Just ignore it for now; if worse comes to worst, you can just ask Reese."

The other Ancient Zoidian had left Fiona on relatively friendly, though a little awkward, terms a little over a year before, saying that if she ever needed help, just to call. It was a comforting reassurance, just to know that she wasn't alone. The other girl had always had more control over her mental capabilities, so she would know if something was wrong. "If it happens again," she resolved aloud, "then I'll call her." Soothed by the concrete certainty, Fiona smiled, feeling better.

The last time she had spoken with Reese was about six months before. Fiona had begun to dream strange things, terrifying battlefields soaked in blood, and endless golden desert sands. The dreams scared her, because she had never known these things; she never wanted to. In a panic, she had called Reese, who seemed more than a little surprised, but soothed the younger girl nonetheless.

After hearing the whole story, though, she had laughed. "You're just growing into it," she said. "Your mental sensitivity. You must have picked up someone else's dreams." Right after that, Fiona had shakily insisted that she and Van have separate bedrooms. He seemed a little hurt, but did not question her reasons. For that, she was grateful; she probably would not have been able to explain it. After that, the dreams came no more.

Half an hour later, she sighed reluctantly and pulled herself from the steaming water, knowing that she couldn't stay in all morning. It was already late, anyway. Drying her legs, Fiona slipped on her fluffy white bathrobe, and shook out her hair. As she opened the bathroom door, she could hear Van talking on the phone in the kitchen.

"What? Elemia? Us? Why, I–what? All of us? Oh...oh. Okay." He sighed. "Yes sir, we'll be right there." He hung up and turned around, only to see Fiona standing in the doorway, looking surprised.

"Van? Is something wrong?"

He frowned. "No, we just need to leave really soon."

"Why? Where?" She walked over to the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee, and, not bothering with salt, just drank it straight.

He ran a hand through his dark hair uneasily. "Would you believe the Elemia desert?"

Fiona choked a little on her coffee. "B-but that's on the other side of the continent!"

"Yeah, I know. They're readying a pair of Storm Sworders for us at Inea Base now." He looked squarely at Fiona, his dark eyes serious. "Look, Fi, I think something big is going down. They've already called in Thomas."

"Oh, my." Since the defeat of the Deathsaurer almost two years before, little arose that warranted more than one Guardian at a time. To call in the entire Force...the situation was grave.

He hesitated. "I also think that we should leave Zeke behind. We don't really need him for this mission, and he would probably be bored."

Fiona's gaze focused on the organoid in question, curled up on the couch behind Van, snoring. She smiled, and nodded, then set down her mug decisively. "I guess I should go get dressed if we don't want Hermann mad at us." She turned and rushed back into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. It seemed that something very serious was surfacing, especially since Hermann was not a man known for overreacting. My dream... Fiona shook off the thought as she pulled her clothes from the closet. Now was definitely not the time for doubts. Now, they needed speed.

-

"Have you ever piloted a high-speed zoid before?" Fiona shook her head, and the technician gave her a strange look before turning back to the cockpit controls. "Okay, see these? These trigger the boosters, and can't run for more than ten minutes at a time, otherwise the engine will stall."

She nodded. "Okay, got it. No more than ten minutes at a time."

"Where are y'all going again?"

Fiona coughed, tucking her long bangs behind her ear. "Elemia."

The technician stared at her for a moment, then turned to yell across the hangar, "Hey, Mister Colonel, sir, you didn't say a thing about how far these babies are going! They cannot make it to Elemia!"

Colonel Rob Hermann stared at the man, looking irritated, before bellowing, "They can and they will! That is what they're made for!"

Beside him, Van muttered, "You know, I think he's right. They may not make it at the speeds we're supposed to achieve. What if they do stall?"

Hermann tore his gaze from the steadily blanching technician and said, "Then we'll set up a switch off halfway there. You two need to get there as fast as possible, no matter how you do it."

Van sighed in exasperation. "You're positive that you can't fill us in here?"

"Nope, sorry, no time. You'll have to consult Lieutenant Shubaltz when you arrive." The colonel scowled, turning to the front of the open hangar and yelled, "Do we have flight clearance yet?" Van winced at the tone of his voice. Something was eating at the man, something that he seemed almost afraid to discuss.

"All systems green!" came the reply, and Hermann sighed, smiling thinly.

"Okay, you guys need to go." Van nodded and waved to Fiona, then started to one of the huge silver machines. Behind him, Hermann whispered, "Good luck, Van." The younger man didn't hear him.

Fiona climbed awkwardly into the unfamiliar cockpit, and strapped herself in. She took a deep breath as the hangar disappeared from sight, the hinged cockpit swinging up to join the canopy. The world turned a faint orange color, and the dashboard came to life, illuminated in multicolored buttons, switches and indicators.

She gripped the controllers tightly, hearing the voice of Hermann echoing through the comm. link. "All systems are green; we are ready for takeoff." The two Storm Sworders stepped up to the giant doorway, wings still cramped up in a resting position. The two zoids leveled out, pointed out across the liftoff ramp that aimed straight across the Inea Bridge.

Van's voice crackled through the comm. link. "Fiona? You ready?"

Fiona closed her eyes and nodded, but then realized that the visual link was not open, and he could not see her. She shook her head and stammered, "Oh, yeah, I'm ready."

Van laughed. "Good, then hold on. This'll be a bumpy ride."

"We are ready in 5..."

Fiona half-frowned. "Bumpy? Bumpy is bad."

"...4...3..."

Van laughed again, a little darkly this time. "Just don't look down, Fi."

"...2..."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, like I'm afraid of heights."

"...1...0." Fiona gritted her teeth and gunned the thrusters, her zoid shooting down the track. Glancing off to her right, she saw that Van was right there with her; she smiled, and readied herself for the drop she knew was coming. The ramp rose up, up...then ended abruptly, throwing them both out into empty space.

Both Sworders dropped for three breathless seconds, spinning, then suddenly opened their wings, catching the morning air nicely and speeding off into the sunlight, the city of Guygalos sparkling below. Fiona faintly heard the air traffic commander say cheerfully, "And we have successful liftoff of Brightwings 01 and 02." The transmission soon faded out, though, as the distance between them and the base grew exponentially.

Once they had gained enough altitude to cruise safely above the clouds, which took about half an hour, Fiona decided to dare a question. "So, Van, do we even know why we're rushing off like this?"

"Actually, no. I just have a feeling that it's not good. Not good at all."

Surprised, Fiona asked, "Really? Why do you think so?" Van had never really had much of an intuition, so it was odd for him to notice the strange tension that pervaded the whole situation.

"Because Hermann was scared. That was enough for me, because not much scares Rob Hermann. There are only two things that I know of: his mother and the Deathsaurer."

Fiona let out a laugh, just because comparing the Madame President to the scourge of Zi civilization hardly seemed relevant. It was, however, probably true. My dream, that stupid dream... Frustrated, Fiona sighed. "Van, there's something I need–" She never got to finish, because her Storm Sworder suddenly twisted violently in midair, as if rocked by invisible waves.

She screamed and tried to grab the controllers, but they wrenched from her grasp, flying the Storm Sworder somewhere she definitely did not want to go: down. Freefall. Hurtling down through the clouds, emerging from them at an altitude of 40,000 feet above the ground. The mountain peaks, which had looked so far away at first, were approaching her much too fast. I'm going to crash...

This realization, crystal clear in her panic-fogged mind, overrode everything else with the language of the emotion every human being knew: fear. A strange roaring began in her ears...but it wasn't the emotion. Fiona glanced up, wide-eyed, and was startled to see another Storm Sworder, the twin to her own, completely level with hers. "What! Van, no, get away, you'll crash, too!"

The comm. link was choked with static, but Fiona could barely hear his voice, yelling something at her. What... Suddenly, the line was free, and he shouted, "Fiona, bail, now!"

It struck her like lightning. "Oh, duh." She reached for the lever that all aircraft were required to have, and found it, her fingers gratefully curling around the shaped leather grip. Gritting her teeth, she yanked it with all her might just as Van's Sworder pulled away, and the canopy exploded out into the cold mountain air. The wind was no longer beating against a protective cockpit, it was whistling against her ears. Fiona felt a rough jerk as the parachute filled rapidly with air, and watched the zoid continue on its death spiral into the Central Range. A deep boom and answering curl of smoke spoke of the obvious.

Fiona watched, shaken, as the rocky terrain reached gently up to accept her descent. As her feet touched ground, she collapsed, trembling. Moments later, a dull roar grew behind her, and suddenly died out. Crunching footsteps approached, and Van was there, an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, her eyes closed, waiting for the pounding of her heart to slow as she gasped for precious air.

"Fiona? Are you hurt?" She shook her head mutely, and Van sighed. "At least we can be thankful for that much." Gradually, her shuddering breaths stopped, and he turned her by the shoulders to look her in the eyes and asked, "What happened?"

Fiona swallowed hard. "I-I don't know. It just...stopped listening to what I wanted it to do." She shivered, squeezing her eyes shut. "It was like I was powerless against the will of the zoid."

Van looked at her with an undeniable combination of dismay and sadness in his grey eyes, and then said, "Okay, at least my Sworder is a two-seater. We should get going if we don't want to show up too late. We're already set back at least an hour with all that lost speed, and taking off from ground level won't help." He stood, glancing down to Fiona, where she still crouched on the ground. "Do you think you can bear to be in the air again?"

Fiona laughed shakily and stood, steadying herself against Van's arm. "As long as you take care of the piloting, I'm fine." She took a few weak steps, and then looked back to him. "Are you coming?"

Van laughed. "Yeah, yeah, let's get going already." He helped Fiona into the back of the cockpit, then strapped himself in, preparing for takeoff. A drop off the mountain should work just as well as a ramp. In theory, of course. After her stomach leapt to her throat in the initial drop, Fiona relaxed, the exhaustion of that particular panic taking its toll. She was asleep by the time they reached 15,000 feet again, completely forgetting that she hadn't told Van about her dream.

-

The sun was just past its peak in the sky when the Storm Sworder touched down in the eastern Elemia desert. The bright light glanced off the jagged cliff line, bathing them in gold. The sands were almost blinding, and heat rose off them in sinuous waves. Van spotted the surveillance team only about one hundred yards away, consisting of three Shield Ligers, four Rev Raptors...and a Di-Bison.

He flipped the switch that lowered the cockpit, and unbuckled his seatbelt. He spared a glance at Fiona, still asleep, and decided not to wake her. She was curled on her side, hair almost covering her face. It just seemed like such a shame to destroy what little fragile peace she had managed to find.

Van leapt from the cockpit, and was immediately bowled over by the overpowering heat of his homeland. He shivered for a moment, and then took a deep breath as he tried to get that heat tolerance that he'd had for the first fifteen years of his life back. It didn't work right away as he up mopped his forehead, the sweat coming from nowhere all at once. He grumbled unintelligibly and stumbled on, blinking in the bright sunlight. He saw someone break away from the cluster of people at the zoids' feet and run towards him...Thomas.

The older man met him about halfway between the Sworder and the scene. "Hey, Van, what took you guys so long? We were expecting you almost two hours ago." He shaded his jade-green eyes with a gloved hand, and Van took a moment to wonder incredulously how he could stand to be so fully dressed. It had to be at least 95 degrees, and it would probably get even hotter. He did notice, with a little self-righteous satisfaction, that Thomas wasn't entirely at home, his skin beginning to glisten in the early-afternoon sun.

Van shook off the thought and answered, "We...had a little difficulty." He rubbed at his neck awkwardly before adding, "One of the Storm Sworders went berserk and crashed itself."

Thomas froze, and what little color his cheeks normally held drained from his face. He narrowed his eyes, staring hard at Van. "It...crashed?"

Van nodded, frowning. "I don't even know why, it seemed very spontaneous."

Thomas was still staring at him, as if he was missing an important piece of information. "It crashed." Van nodded again. "If...it crashed, then...where..." Thomas looked like he was going to have a conniption, as it finally dawned upon Van.

He laughed. "Oh, Fiona's fine, she's in the back of my Sworder, asleep." He noticed that the Imperial lieutenant looked like he was about to injure him, and stepped nervously away, searching for a change of subject. "So, uh...what exactly is going on? Hermann wouldn't say."

Thomas lowered his fist and sighed heavily, turning back to the cluster of zoids behind him, and started walking. "Why don't you come and see?" was all he tossed over his shoulder.

Van frowned and started after him, momentarily blinded by the sun glancing off canopies and metallic parts. He trudged after his fellow Guardian, feeling something beginning to root deep within him, something dangerously similar to fear. But then, he was weaving between the legs of assorted zoids, following Thomas's bright hair.

At the center of all the zoids lay three bodies, all covered by one large white sheet. Van looked at Thomas uneasily. "Do I have to see them?"

Thomas frowned. "Well, I'd really like for you to, just because the only conclusion we can come up with is incredibly illogical, though not impossible. I want to know what you think before you're influenced by what we know." He nodded to two military doctors who stood nearby, and they both pulled back the sheet simultaneously.

Van grimaced. All three bodies were bloated from the sun's heat, bloody, and studded with bullet holes. All three looked like a herd of wild animals had trampled them. All three looked like they were taken by surprise. He shot a glance at Thomas, who just raised his eyebrows. The answer was unmistakable. You tell me.

Van took a deep breath and started to walk the perimeter of the three bodies. Finally, he knelt down, resigning himself to his duties. Biting his lip, he unconsciously reached out a hand to the bloody wounds peppering the men's bodies. "There are...too many of them for at least three machine guns to hold that much ammo, aren't there?" Thomas didn't answer, and Van rolled his eyes, searching his mind for more possibilities. "Too many attackers wouldn't be able to take them by surprise...but...I don't know." He rubbed his forehead. "Something's wrong with this whole thing."

Van stared levelly at an expressionless Thomas. "There isn't enough to go on. It's like looking at just a corner of a picture...there just isn't enough evidence, proof, information, whatever."

He stood, dusting off his pants. "I don't...understand. Something's just...wrong." He thought for another moment. "How did they get out here? There's just desert for miles and miles." Thomas just looked at him, letting him stumble on blindly. "Zoids. Okay, let's just say they got out here in zoids. How's that?"

Thomas was still silent, and Van finally exploded. "Fine! Don't tell me anything! We're supposed to be working together on this, and you are refusing! Again!You want to know what I think? Fine! The zoids killed them, and then they left! It's the only possible solution! You satisfied?"

Thomas's shoulders sagged, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away from his furious partner. "Congratulations, Van, you've come to the exact same conclusion that we did after a long hour of surveying the scene...and now we're back to square one."