MISSING SCENE FROM MOONSCAPE
The slender hand that almost seemed too weak and transluscent beside Lazarus' hesitated a last instant before allowing the contact between their two physical forms to be established. And Da'an saw everything. He saw the implantation. He saw his services to Zo'or, in this attitude of the perfect, loyal implant, so puppet-like that had never been the attitude of the man he thought he had recognized in this ghost. Could he have been wrong? For a moment he doubted; because he saw all of these atrocities, all of these young people charged with crimes that were being offered another chance that his child knew how so well would be a total mess. A lie. And how Lazarus had willingly enthusiastically participated in the creations of these lies. A mess. A lie, because at this time the programm and the implants were neither operational nor were they ready to be adapted to the Humans' fragile metabolism. But Zo'or had been eager to begin, to see what would the results be. And still Zo'or
had ordered what he had refered to these `tests' to take place. Lazarus saw it as well. He saw it again. And his disgust was even stronger than Da'an's. He had asked, he HAD asked, when he had started to doubt of his master's sanity. And Zo'or had answered that tests HAD to be done, that certain persons had to be used as test... He saw this and many things more, souvenirs, rememberance of these five first cloned form, previously implanted with a safe CVI, in which five times Zo'or had transfered his mind. In which five times he had fought the imperative so hard that he had killed himself. And Lazarus knew still today, recalled how Zo'or was there behind the glass and looked at his sufferance with this satisfied smile that made him think that he liked to see someone suffer. Da'an felt the pain, felt it in his body. But he almost forgot why he was there : to open the link between body and mind once again, this link that nobody should break - and especially not a Taelon - this
link between the body, the mind and the soul, intermingled. To give him back his memories, his mind and his soul that had been unfarily taken away from his self. He controlled himself and burried deep inside this little part of him that in a somewhat sadistic achievement wanted to know everything that had been done to him (certains might think that it was to relish this sufferance, but many others would have known that he observed in witness only, in watcher, a watcher that more he knew, more that revenge would be slow and bittersweet upon the responsibles of this incredible blasphemy). Then he showed Lazarus how he had seen this man, how through the Captain Marquette he had seen this man, how she had considered him, how had Sandoval considered him... Da'an showed him how himself he had considered him, all he had been given to understand by knowing this man, how much he had changed him, how much things he had changed his perception of... and how much he missed his presence.
Though this was not showed, but softly implied. The Taelons did not like their emotions to be seen by others. A Human much less than everyone else; and the Human that these emotions were targeted toward much less than every of his fellows. And then... Lazarus disapeared. To let place to the man under the shell. The implant seemed to waver, sent his last impulse through his host nervous system then it turned to a white color, almost as white as the skin it rested on, dead. Da'an saw the cage of glass. This cage, this thick, strong wall of glass. Because William Boone was still prisonner. And if he did not free him, it would be a conscienceless being that would be walking around, a conscienceless being that Da'an could imagine being filled by only one emotion: hatred. A desire of vengeance. This man was screaming, calling out to him for help, from behind his wall of ice. He wanted to be freed, he had to be freed. He screamed and Da'an could not hear him. But he saw the fear on
his face at the idea to return, to stay in his cade, but to be once again this blinded and mindless servant. Anger built within the usually soft and diplomatic mind. Da'an destroyed the cage, shattered it in thousands of little fragments of glass, putting at the task all of his strenght, all of his will to see this prisonner being freed. Before everything was ruined, before everything vanished, he only thought, as if for himself, that he should have done so much more, that he could have done so much more than simply witness, that he should have saved him, that he could have saved him... Not a word was pronounced between the two even if with the mental images created it would have been possible... But they simply did not wish to speak. Words were not needed. And Da'an had his answer: an immense feeling of relief, of thanking, of resignation, of sadness, of hope... Because since so long he had been prisonner within his own mind. Since so long he waited for his freedom to be
given to him. He had this right. And Da'an had this duty to do this. At least in respect for the memory of this fallen friend. Everything stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Da'an was used to it and though, this time, it was not like the other times. This look in these eyes, these eyes that passed from a dangerous, cold grey to this familiar and warm brown color that he had known in the past, then the grey came back again. The illusion was perfect, the vengeance would be as well. He saw his hand raise toward him, tremble slightly, almost touch his cheek, them fall back at his side as he said that he could forgive Da'an and only him for what had been done to him. To him. To him all alone. Later he would think to it again and say himself that he should have felt coldness and despise in front of such a hatred directed toward his people. But no. He had been forgiven. Even if the fault was not his. Not only his recent mistakes, his lack of judgement, his lack of precision, but
also every of his pasts mistakes, every of these beings he had betrayed, Da'an felt he was forgiven by. And Da'an for the first time in ceturies felt at this moment at peace with himself, with filling his mind the idea that this man would finally gain the access to this rest that he had longed for since long and that he would travel toward the other plane at peace with the demons that dug in his soul. It was in the only first occasion that Da'an saw himself very impatient of joining this peace himself. Anxious and impatien, but certain things had to be carried out. And he already lacked time. But his friend would go ahead him, would wait for him, and for the moment nothing was more important than that. A immense feeling of completion, fulfilment and justice then surrounded and filled every crevices of Da'an's tortured and dark soul. The feeling, that since long he had not known, to have done something good for someone else than himself. Without machinations at the back of
his mind to justify his actions. Without further reasons, further defense to defend himself in front of whatever judgement he would pass after, than his own feelings. A feeling that he promised himself he would know so many more times in the future... Fixing troubled eyes on the shape that achieved to vanish in the thin shadow of the corridors, he smiled, his first smile ever since his landing here, to watch over Zo'or's project, since he had realized what was Lazrus and more specifically who he was. A satisfied, mysterious smile. He hoped that vengence would be sweet. Because Lazare had risen from the dead and already was walking toward his goal.
The slender hand that almost seemed too weak and transluscent beside Lazarus' hesitated a last instant before allowing the contact between their two physical forms to be established. And Da'an saw everything. He saw the implantation. He saw his services to Zo'or, in this attitude of the perfect, loyal implant, so puppet-like that had never been the attitude of the man he thought he had recognized in this ghost. Could he have been wrong? For a moment he doubted; because he saw all of these atrocities, all of these young people charged with crimes that were being offered another chance that his child knew how so well would be a total mess. A lie. And how Lazarus had willingly enthusiastically participated in the creations of these lies. A mess. A lie, because at this time the programm and the implants were neither operational nor were they ready to be adapted to the Humans' fragile metabolism. But Zo'or had been eager to begin, to see what would the results be. And still Zo'or
had ordered what he had refered to these `tests' to take place. Lazarus saw it as well. He saw it again. And his disgust was even stronger than Da'an's. He had asked, he HAD asked, when he had started to doubt of his master's sanity. And Zo'or had answered that tests HAD to be done, that certain persons had to be used as test... He saw this and many things more, souvenirs, rememberance of these five first cloned form, previously implanted with a safe CVI, in which five times Zo'or had transfered his mind. In which five times he had fought the imperative so hard that he had killed himself. And Lazarus knew still today, recalled how Zo'or was there behind the glass and looked at his sufferance with this satisfied smile that made him think that he liked to see someone suffer. Da'an felt the pain, felt it in his body. But he almost forgot why he was there : to open the link between body and mind once again, this link that nobody should break - and especially not a Taelon - this
link between the body, the mind and the soul, intermingled. To give him back his memories, his mind and his soul that had been unfarily taken away from his self. He controlled himself and burried deep inside this little part of him that in a somewhat sadistic achievement wanted to know everything that had been done to him (certains might think that it was to relish this sufferance, but many others would have known that he observed in witness only, in watcher, a watcher that more he knew, more that revenge would be slow and bittersweet upon the responsibles of this incredible blasphemy). Then he showed Lazarus how he had seen this man, how through the Captain Marquette he had seen this man, how she had considered him, how had Sandoval considered him... Da'an showed him how himself he had considered him, all he had been given to understand by knowing this man, how much he had changed him, how much things he had changed his perception of... and how much he missed his presence.
Though this was not showed, but softly implied. The Taelons did not like their emotions to be seen by others. A Human much less than everyone else; and the Human that these emotions were targeted toward much less than every of his fellows. And then... Lazarus disapeared. To let place to the man under the shell. The implant seemed to waver, sent his last impulse through his host nervous system then it turned to a white color, almost as white as the skin it rested on, dead. Da'an saw the cage of glass. This cage, this thick, strong wall of glass. Because William Boone was still prisonner. And if he did not free him, it would be a conscienceless being that would be walking around, a conscienceless being that Da'an could imagine being filled by only one emotion: hatred. A desire of vengeance. This man was screaming, calling out to him for help, from behind his wall of ice. He wanted to be freed, he had to be freed. He screamed and Da'an could not hear him. But he saw the fear on
his face at the idea to return, to stay in his cade, but to be once again this blinded and mindless servant. Anger built within the usually soft and diplomatic mind. Da'an destroyed the cage, shattered it in thousands of little fragments of glass, putting at the task all of his strenght, all of his will to see this prisonner being freed. Before everything was ruined, before everything vanished, he only thought, as if for himself, that he should have done so much more, that he could have done so much more than simply witness, that he should have saved him, that he could have saved him... Not a word was pronounced between the two even if with the mental images created it would have been possible... But they simply did not wish to speak. Words were not needed. And Da'an had his answer: an immense feeling of relief, of thanking, of resignation, of sadness, of hope... Because since so long he had been prisonner within his own mind. Since so long he waited for his freedom to be
given to him. He had this right. And Da'an had this duty to do this. At least in respect for the memory of this fallen friend. Everything stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Da'an was used to it and though, this time, it was not like the other times. This look in these eyes, these eyes that passed from a dangerous, cold grey to this familiar and warm brown color that he had known in the past, then the grey came back again. The illusion was perfect, the vengeance would be as well. He saw his hand raise toward him, tremble slightly, almost touch his cheek, them fall back at his side as he said that he could forgive Da'an and only him for what had been done to him. To him. To him all alone. Later he would think to it again and say himself that he should have felt coldness and despise in front of such a hatred directed toward his people. But no. He had been forgiven. Even if the fault was not his. Not only his recent mistakes, his lack of judgement, his lack of precision, but
also every of his pasts mistakes, every of these beings he had betrayed, Da'an felt he was forgiven by. And Da'an for the first time in ceturies felt at this moment at peace with himself, with filling his mind the idea that this man would finally gain the access to this rest that he had longed for since long and that he would travel toward the other plane at peace with the demons that dug in his soul. It was in the only first occasion that Da'an saw himself very impatient of joining this peace himself. Anxious and impatien, but certain things had to be carried out. And he already lacked time. But his friend would go ahead him, would wait for him, and for the moment nothing was more important than that. A immense feeling of completion, fulfilment and justice then surrounded and filled every crevices of Da'an's tortured and dark soul. The feeling, that since long he had not known, to have done something good for someone else than himself. Without machinations at the back of
his mind to justify his actions. Without further reasons, further defense to defend himself in front of whatever judgement he would pass after, than his own feelings. A feeling that he promised himself he would know so many more times in the future... Fixing troubled eyes on the shape that achieved to vanish in the thin shadow of the corridors, he smiled, his first smile ever since his landing here, to watch over Zo'or's project, since he had realized what was Lazrus and more specifically who he was. A satisfied, mysterious smile. He hoped that vengence would be sweet. Because Lazare had risen from the dead and already was walking toward his goal.