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Morning sun is spilling all over the blue ocean. The character of the day is shining through, establishing unveiled, bold brightness. Charles draws his attention back when he sees a white stripe of rocky coastline far in the distance. The city is waiting for them on the other side of the archipelago.

By his side, Erik is switching off autopilot and putting down the sunscreen.

"Would you?" he addresses Charles and Charles wordlessly readjusts his seat and grabs the controls.

"Are you worried?" asks Erik.

"Yes," Charles admits quietly, as he changes the altitude to lead the flyer over the patch of dark green woodland. "I've been thinking about what I heard and I'm worried these Nova recruits might be coming after you."

Erik sneers as though they are talking about him partaking in a fun bet.

"I can't say I expected a different reaction," sighs Charles, not pleased with dismissal, but strangely soothed by Erik's current lack of gravity at the same time.

"Really? Oh, Charles. You should know me too well by now not to be surprised by these things. I've made more enemies across the living universe than any of my predecessors, which is quite an achievement," contemplates Erik mockingly. "And this peacemaking agenda is rather spectacular. And ironic. Don't you think?"

"You are proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"I can allow myself to be."

Charles knows this, so he only smiles slightly, dropping the flyer down, just below the patch of puffy clouds.

Two light patrol ships are passing by, all four guards are chatting among themselves, apparently. Their minds are brimming with lazy, subdued thoughts with occasional smudge of brightness.

Erik can't help thinking, as usual, that patrol needs to be more focused and at least pretend to scan their vessel and Charles, as usual, tries to cheer them up with a mental tap on the back. Their routine can be very tiresome. A little mood boost won't hurt in any case.

The clamor of conscience echoes even before he lays his eyes on the fine array of spherical buildings and beautiful, large, multilevel gardens.

"Well, this city is even more crowded than yesterday," notes Charles with some measure of surprise.

"Did you forget what day it is?"

He becomes aware of what is going on in the background of Erik's mind — Erik is thinking, rather distinctly and loudly, that Charles seems distracted, more aloof than usual.

Charles, who never thought that "aloof" might ever be attributed to him, feels defensive. But, well, he understands that Erik is just being brutally honest. Erik is also pinning his worry between his heated pre-investigation anxiety and a warm tickle of nostalgia, which brings him back to the days he had to use his reconnaissance skills to plot and do some deeply nefarious stuff Charles truly regrets he has glimpsed.

As for Charles, he's really forgotten that today is the Reminiscence Day. Two years ago the inter-galactic war, beginning of which he has missed, has ended. And exactly two years ago he drowned in Moira's lake. Or didn't he? That part was still very complicated.

"Charles?"

Erik's tone rings urgent. Oh my, he is extremely distracted, indeed.

Charles snaps back to the real world, suddenly much darker than before, and, for a brief instant, he can't realize what's wrong, until he can and all blood rushes from his face.

The shadow is eclipsing Harlan just from the direction they are approaching, dark disk swallowing bright tropical sun and devouring the light. A massive space station follows. The wrongness strikes Charles with electric shock, because this construction belongs on the orbit.

He peers at the flyer's control panel flashing red warning lights, while he almost automatically starts an evasive maneuver trajectory.

"Is it falling?" Charles gasps, perhaps unnecessary, and quickly calculates the odds.

Erik is staring at the ground, right at the summer terraces and lovely gardens. Charles doesn't need to look, for he is bombarded with enough confusion and dread as it is. They both think in unison: those people down there won't make it.

The idea, which lights up Erik's mind, the image of him stretching his powers to the limit resonates with Charles and he wordlessly sends Erik his yes and sends their flyer right down there on top speed, in the center of the large dark shadow. It goes without saying that Erik will need any help he can get and Charles is more than willing to do it.

Though, Erik might not think so.

"Charles, you get away—"

"Please, let's not argue about this."

What did Erik expect? That Charles would escape alone?

As they land on some random rooftop, large and small fiery fragments of station begin to rain down the city. Charles exhales through the spike of pain and panic, his and not his, fighting for the right balance. While Erik helps him out of the flyer, he feels like he is overseeing the chorus of scared and shocked, and amongst their screams he forces himself to twine his mind to Erik's.

The air he inhales burns his airways like acid. He plants his feet on the roof, tilts his head up, faces the nightmarish, burning blackness.

What's wrong?

Erik is damn shrewd, but there is hardly anything wrong, seeing as they are seconds away from being crushed to death, swept away by sheer force upon impact. Even heavens are pressing down on them with deadly pressure. It's a weird feeling that Erik and he have done this before that puts talons into his heart.

"Let's do this," he screams through increasing noise, both for his sake and for Erik's and clasps Erik's hand.

The sirens weeping in his ears turn off, as he focuses his every straining sense on Erik and Erik's power. Which feels like rings on water. Spreading out. Charles carefully, oh so carefully steps in, and the familiarity of Erik's mind helps.

Erik's unprecedented trust lays his mindscape flat and bare, for him to tap into Erik's powers to boost Erik's potential in one single try. Precautions damned, he reaches for Erik, opening up his own reserves and fusing their energy together. It's like piloting a ship, a battle vessel. It's like being a battle ship, being Erik, feeling Erik with every fiber of his being. The amount of power it gives is unmanageable, almost out of control, and it wants to move so much, in a myriad of ways, that Charles lets it.

For him a moment stretches infinitely long. He is the one with Erik. And Erik is the one with him.

Then, everything explodes inwards, pulling his and Erik's fused consciousness into a black hole. And then — Charles and Erik disappear. Instead, the one is raising his hand to the sky and the mass of metal, coated in fire and smoke, halts.

The homeostasis formed is fragile, so the one quickly casts his mind through the station, finding dead and dying, burned out minds in its ways, their last convulsive jolts yelling of agony and assault.

The mounting strain is great, the depletion is soon to follow. Charles momentarily looks through Erik's eyes: the frigates and fighters have started arriving through dimensional void up above the space station. The skies are filling with ships coming to a rescue. Erik senses a dozen drones circling them from a distance. Charles thinks they have given them enough time. Around him and Erik, the magnetic field is twisted to the extent that Charles observes them inside of a sphere, which almost obliterated the part of roof they are standing at.

He lets their united consciousness expand and hold the metal mass above. Charles feels how Erik's reserves are getting fainter, how he struggles to maintain control with a singular plight.

Meanwhile, Charles knows that a landing party has infiltrated the station command center. They are working on deployment. They managed to revive the anti-gravitational generator just in time. Charles gently withdraws from Erik's mind and Erik instantly leans on him with all his weight.

We did it. You did it.

Charles wraps his arms around him, takes a deep breath, mentally enfolding gasping Erik in soothing emotion and gratitude. Erik is pale, seems on the verge of passing out. Veins on his temples are so prominent as though they are trying to crawl away. He fails to put up a block at once, so part of Erik's exhaustion has bled over, making his heartbeat uneven and making his head hurt as he shares a tail end of Erik's backlash.

The worst part is other, thinks Charles, watching the patrol approaching them. Why does he feel so on edge, then?

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Nobody says it out loud, not yet, but every single member of emergency rescue party is thinking it — is a new war coming? Charles is listening to clamor with one ear, for the most part he is carefully scanning the minds of paramedics, who are taking care of Erik.

They are practically on the same spot. Charles had to come down from the thrashed rood on the green terrace, before supporting Erik became harder and harder. Then, medics popped up and Charles was politely shushed away from the portable stretcher they put Erik on to commence the scanning. So he is trying to catch Erik's eyes in the gap between the medics' backs, but Erik's gaze is dull, unfocused. He overhears about changes in functional brain connectivity. The medics are worried, who wouldn't be, but they are not very alarmed about Erik's condition. It gives Charles hope.

Mobilized guards are still cleaning the area from all that rubble, which did some damage, but, thankfully didn't kill anyone. There are only a dozen injured, which is a wonder if Charles has ever seen any.

The dead mass of the station is still suspended by anti-grav up above their heads, obscuring the sun.

"Are you related?" one of them, an old woman in green uniform, turns to Charles.

"Yes," he nods and understands that he has been given a permission to come closer.

He steps up to Erik and Erik even turns his head in Charles' direction and struggles to say something.

Please, don't strain yourself. I'll handle this.

"I need your help to log his condition and identity before we transfer him to the nearest hospital."

Erik groans something unintelligible. Charles doesn't need to read his mind; luckily, he knows him well enough to recognize that as a "no way in hell" groan.

Charles takes Erik's hand and squeezes it, while subtly altering the minds of the medical team, plucking the notion of hospitalization away. Erik closes his eyes and his tightly pressed mouth twitches slightly, as though he would smirk if he could.

"The patient will need rehabilitation to restore damaged neural pathways," she reports, prompted by Charles.

"Why can't he move his left hand?"

"The paralyses is temporary," she says with encouragement. "We have better equipment in the," she stutters, "well, all body systems are currently trying to recover and recompense for the backlash."

"Excuse me, but what power was that? You did that? He is a mutant, right?" a young nurse chimes in, the one whose trepidation and awe equal her worry.

"He is a telekinetic," says Charles, smiles pleasantly, and diverts everybody's further attention from the subject.

"I'll give him an injection to restore some motor functions," the medic says and Charles nods.

He gives her a soft nudge and she addresses one of her team.

"Fetch FMR package and bring it here quick," she smiles to Charles. "That settles it. Make sure he gets injection every 12 hours."

Charles takes a package with a thank you, slightly conscious of his manipulations. They seem like decent people, who truly want to help, but he can't have Erik's cover blown. He has already revealed enough, all but spelling his real name in the sky for those who know him well or might be looking for him.

I'm taking you back home. If I remember correctly, you've got a state of the art med pod stashed somewhere. Is it functional?

Erik sends him a yes, faint and weary.

Charles senses another patrol ship approaching, the guards very eager to talk to strange people, who have been previously noticed on the roof. He spares himself a conversation and they turn their vessel back, ready to report to superiors that people in question have already been taken to the hospital.

He asked one of medics to help him and, though, Erik can more or less stand up on his own now, Charles feels that he himself is also getting tired pretty fast.

When in the flyer, Erik leans back into his seat with immense satisfaction. Charles touches his bared forearm lightly.

"I'll be alright, Charles," he gets out, voice scratchy.

His face is still devoid of colour, yet he can speak now and that soothes Charles' worry a tiny bit.

"I observed something odd up there. Give me a minute to take one more look and then we go. Fine?"

"Whatever you want," slurs Erik as injection kicks in full force and Charles notes that his mindscape gets foggy.

Charles huffs a little, giving away his fraying nerves. However, he foresees, he can't relax yet, because they are going to reap the sprouts of their spontaneous decision and soon. He rubs tension from his temples, a simple trick, which he finds very helpful if it comes to easing muscle stiffness and the beginnings of a headache.

As he casts his powers out, he's focusing on the insides of the space station. It might be truly said that an investigative team working inside has never faced anything like that. Charles chooses to look through the eyes of Sambit, a young security officer, just recently promoted to a sergeant.

A young man is zipping up the last bodybag, which is lined up in the row next to the sliding door in the main corridor. He hates being on corpse duty, he'd rather be sweeping the city for any suspicious activities and talking to witnesses.

To make it worse, the technicians didn't bother switching off a top alert mode, so red lights are pulsing everywhere. The air inside of the station, which he breathes through a filter, smells of metal and acid. The corpses' features are all terribly twisted. The blue-skinned humanoid he's just logged in, had a dark tongue sticking out of his crooked mouth, with eyes bulging unnaturally. Nobody is otherwise injured. His guess would be a seizure or a toxic gas, but a massive group seizure seems like a bizarre idea. Moreover, dispatched probes show no residue in the air, except for little dust and perfectly healthy chemical composition.

Before Charles resolves to retreat, he does a swipe check, searching for any high-ranking officer. All this doesn't settle well with him: if they have no telepath on the team, it might take them some time before they find a major clue. In the end, he opts for a small suggestion to the lady, who seems to be coordinating everything from the bridge. He plants a suggestion to ask any telepath to double check the crew. Theoretically speaking, last moments of a recently deceased victim might be seen, even replicated for others by a skilled psionic.

Feeling that he's accomplished everything he could have done, Charles gets ready to raise his shields. Just as he tries, a sharp, raw needle all but tears through his defense. Charles recoils as though burnt — something red flashes before his inner eyes. He tries to shield himself again, this time with better success.

Reeling from the sneak attack, he comes to his senses and releases a shaky breath. That he didn't expect. However, he should have. Whoever has done that to the crew has not gone far.

On his right, Erik is striping himself to the seat. That's how it is. Charles was gone for mere seconds for him.

Void of any thoughts for an instant, he doesn't comprehend it when Erik asks him something, in a language he can't understand.

"Sorry?"

Erik trains his bloodshot eyes on him, until he curses and grimaces, as his distress hits Charles with a delicacy of an iron fist.

"Can't focus on proper words," he says very slowly.

Charles reproaches himself, instantly jumpstarting an engine and making a way to the breach in the sky. He successfully diverts the attention of lancers' pilots and slips through the blockade and revs up the maximum he can squeeze from the engine.

"I can prompt your mind to shut down. It will start healing itself," he offers, his tone much more composed than his thoughts.

A few long moments pass until he perceives Erik's silent agreement.

On the way back, with Erik soundly asleep, Charles has nothing to do but think and debate with himself whether he was right to leave like he did. While an unknown menace was lurking in the shadows. But he absolutely has to take care of Erik, to take measures to protect him. Who knew that their morning trip to the city would turn into a monstrous disaster?

When he and hybrids have safely transported sleeping Erik inside the house, Charles uncovered the med pod in the spare room no one of them has ever used. He got hang of the panel's workings fast, although, as for the medical proceedings, Erik has also been the one to take care of that. In this frame of doubt, Charles has started musing whether or not he should wake up Erik, but one look at his still face awashed in blue light was enough to reconsider.

"When will Master wake up?"

The hybrid peers inside the pod and barely manages to snatch away its limb, when it slides shut with a whoosh.

"I don't know," answers Charles frankly. "I'm afraid, to recover from this he'll need more time than we have."

"You need help, Master's friend?"

All nine of them have gathered in the house, a jolly band of Erik's remaining genetically modified servants who somehow fell on his tail when he fled from Valkar. So, there are their lot and Charles, who feels particularly dumbstruck right now. Perhaps, this is because he has just arrived at a realization that he has a new family now, has had for two years and was thick-headed enough not to realize it in time.

Well, then. Having made a decision, Charles straightens up, feeling all eyes on him.

"We are going to leave the planet, guys. Please, pack Erik's equipment, be especially careful with the items he keeps protected by reinforced glass. In my study there is a tablet and a spherical contraption on the table — get them, the rest is optional. Also, you may fetch whatever you think you might want to take with you of course. But, please, no animals. And birds," he adds after a meaningful pause.

Charles dared think his words would cause certain effect, yet what he said was met with an unspeakable consolidation.

"Someone, please, stay with Erik in case he wakes up or, say, you notice any weird change on the display," Charles points to the panel displaying vital signs on the side of the med pod. "If you see or hear something strange, call me on the hangar's intercom immediately."

"And you?" asks one of them smartly.

"I must check all systems and verify whether the ship is ready for take-off or not. It'll take some time."

Filled with determination, he spares a look at Erik's sleeping form before marching out. Deep inside, he hopes, that the quickly approaching and threatening current he can sense is just a product of his overactive imagination.

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At first, Charles failed to understand what was Max, now Erik, thinking — commandeering an entire cruiser. Charles fancied himself as a person who would have chosen something more elegant and compact. Because this ship, even automatized to the brim to minimize the crew, was just two hundred meters too long for a man, who wanted to disappear.

However, it must be said that some technical genius has turned it into a completely independent wonder.

Charles recalls the very first time he stepped on the fancy bridge with Erik in tow. It occurred to him then how far behind he was: the sleek control panel had a different design, obviously serving a different purpose, all systems modified to be controlled from the bridge. The array of scanners looked nothing like it did before. And he didn't miss that much time, thought Charles dryly. Even though, it seemed he has been gone for forty years or so. If only Erik knew how tempted he was. All these modifications he could test were within reach.

"I didn't notice any guns, missile bays or turrets, but I see that you actually have them there," said Charles, sidestepping the pilot's seat and avoiding Erik's penetrating eyes.

"McCoy really overdid himself this time."

"Hank build it for you? I mean… Really?" that got Charles' attention and he turned to Erik in pure disbelief.

"In light of my redeeming actions, what can I say? He became an easy target of my insistence."

Charles found himself just staring speechless.

Encouraged by his attention, Erik smiled, radiating mischievous joy — Charles looked away, for something in him started clawing at his chest if he spent a moment too long focused on this man. There was a fracture inside him and every time he turned to his old friend he saw it sneering back at him with pointy teeth.

"I, hm, I'm glad you agreed to take a tour," Erik sounded unsure all of the sudden.

"Wait a minute," Charles narrowed his eyes. "Even a non-psionic would sense an uncomfortable topic approaching. So you brought me here to talk? Here I thought we've already talked a lot."

"I couldn't talk with your… with her around," stated Erik awkwardly, though the word he wanted to use rang deep and Charles couldn't help overhearing it.

"I can't believe it," he crossed his arms, "you dare claim you've changed. You claim you're a different person. I grant you that: you do a convincing imitation of a reformed human."

"I believe you're not ready to hear me out now," Erik said.

The calmness of his tone gave his words additional point.

"Oh? So it's up to you to decide it now — I thought it should be mutual. As for me, I'm all ears. Speak up. Please."

A force of subdued emotion flowing through Charles pushed any rational thoughts away from him. He was, probably, blackening Erik's character on purpose. He saw a struggle in Erik, he saw that he had something of the old attitude left, but he saw, with frightening clarity, that he wasn't the same. Charles did not know why he said what he said.

"You are hurt," Erik stated with unnerving, stoic face. "Believe me or not, I don't want to see you like that. Moira is your friend, so I apologize. Damn, she saved your life. I told her she can ask for anything. I'd give her anything. But I catch myself thinking that sometimes. Old habits die hard, or don't die at all, I guess."

"Good point," Charles deadpanned.

He didn't want to let it go. He felt a shadow of annoyance brushing Erik's mind, and he stood his ground.

"Come on," Charles insisted. "You've piqued my interest. There is no way back now."

"I want to ask you to come with me."

Shock was not quite an accurate word, but it was the closest to what Charles felt at that moment. He also felt his ears ringing, as if he couldn't bear listening.

"Say no more," said Charles.

Erik did not listen.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I'll say it again. And again if needed. And I know you can tell that I mean it. After you were gone, all I could think about was getting revenge. I wanted to use the Demolisher to blast their star to pieces and obliterate the system. And I was this close from actually doing it."

"Stop."

"I didn't understand then. I kept on doing what I thought would make it easier. Until I was dragged there. To that plane, astral or not. And I let myself grieve. I let myself realize what I have, what I used to have. Life. My people. You. How precarious everything was."

"Very well. You've learned it by heart," Charles said at last, but where he expected indignation in response, he saw concern and sadness.

"Never mind," Erik spoke. "I'll respect any decision you make. Though, I think you should consider my offer, regardless of our argument. We're far away from central worlds and trade routes, so the least I can do is drop you off on the planet of your choice. I won't bother you anymore if you don't want me to."

When the doors closed behind Erik, Charles stumbled back and sagged into the pilot's seat. His presence of mind was hanging by a single taut thread.

Greater than his shame was only his pain. It was wrenching. It finally broke him down, so he hung his head and sobbed until he ran out of tears.

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Charles watches as his breath fogs his visor from the inside. He waits for an instant until an extremely feature-packed military suit balances out temperature difference and his vision becomes clear. Perfect visibility is crucial. Should he get clumsy inside the reactor chamber, he might trigger quite an explosion. Might bid an island goodbye.

As seconds tick by, he observes an elliptical shape with a silver tint in the center of the chamber. It's vibrating slightly. This is what he noticed when he initiated a system check. And this is what shouldn't be happening.

The tricky contraption circling the reactor is an infamous D-drive. The tech that helps ships jump at any distance in space. Charles swings his feet over the railing and lands on the grid, circling the reactor. He opens his hand, clutching a mini-drone and the sphere springs up as soon as he lets go of the button. The drone is chirping the stream of data in his comm. Charles listens with half an ear, watching the scanning device project blue light on all visible surfaces. Until it chirps louder and the light turns red. It's right there, at the bottom of the reactor. Charles sighs and lies down. The damage is not visible for human eye. The sensors in his helmet detect it though.

Judging from the pattern, it's the overpressure issue, which is, well, not good.

While he is waiting an allotted three-minute interval before coming out into an actual engine compartment, he is thinking that there is a question he wants to ask Erik about the ship. Although, he suspects, he already knows the answer.

Charles decides against taking off spacesuit, and, as he reaches out, for the sixth time during an hour, he feels Erik waking up.

Erik's mind is lethargically slow, shaking off the remains of a pleasant dream. Charles' heart leaps. Relief floods him from head to toe, that's why he cannot resist leaning mentally onto Erik, wrapping himself around him in a spontaneous gesture.

I'm on my way.

Outside, stars and moons come out in the sky. The night is going to be glorious and peaceful. He thinks, in passing, that regret hurts. He loathes leaving this place, but unfortunately they don't have much choice.

He finds Erik in his workshop, just as he is giving himself an injection. White lights are on; therefore, it looks like an operation theatre. The med scanner is laid on the messy table of the room which walls are almost bare now.

"Are you okay?" Charles stutters for some reason. "Do you feel alright?"

He searches for the answer on Erik's haggard face, in his pale eyes with shadows under them.

"I can't lie to you. So, I don't feel good, but it's not as bad as before," Erik shrugs and uses the back of the chair to prop himself up. "I walked here on my own. An accomplishment in itself. We're leaving?"

"Yes," Charles confirms. "I thought it would be best. Do you mind?"

"Are you joking? Relocation is the only logical solution. I thought you would mind."

"I just want us to be safe," Charles mutters. "Erik, about the reactor —"

There appeared a distinct disturbance on the periphery of his reach, so Charles cats his awareness out. There are five people in the ship coming from the west. Charles briefly scans their minds: one feels like a lump of pure raw aggression, another man has a mind of an assassin. He touches a quiet mind of a seasoned mercenary. This one is easy — his name's Madrox and he muses that he has nothing to fret about because he has been doing this all his life. But, in fact, since he was fifteen.

The only girl has a particularly bright and energetic mind — she is nervous, but she covers her unease with forced cheerfulness.

Mutants, all of them.

Charles can't quite focus properly on the fifth person, because something in him repels his attempts to go all the way in.

"What if he isn't in coma?" asks the girl.

"That's exactly why you're here, darling."

Charles forces his attention back and tells frowning Erik.

"Five bounty hunters on six o'clock high. They have an old model of corvette, reconnaissance type. We have about two minutes at best. Erik, do you want me to stop them?"

"No. I want you as our secret trump card," he grabs the scanner and makes a wry face, meeting Charles' eyes. "Sorry."

"I see. Hm, I too think it makes sense. And you don't need to apologize for your strategical approach. But, I'll give us a tiny head-start. They won't even notice," as he does that, Erik presses the button on the edge of the desk and when the secret compartment opens, he calmly takes out five thermal grenades.

"They were in the house this whole time," observes Charles flatly, experiencing a strong urge to add a sincerer remark.

"Can I ask you to position them around the place?" Erik asks and it comes out almost sheepishly.

"No, Erik," starts Charles firmly. "I'm merely saying that no matter who these people are, I'll not be the one to assist you in blowing them up."

"It's not about that. Readjust the detonation time as you see fit. I really don't want them snooping for leads around our house."

"Oh, well. Fine, I guess. Just hurry up to the hangar."

Charles really can't say no to this exhausted, worn out Erik, who has done the impossible this morning. Therefore, he lets himself be talked into setting up explosives — what else does he live for, anyway. And, besides, he thinks, as he continues building up his rationalizations: there is an undeniable rational kernel in Erik's words and action.

The scene of detonation, that unfolds behind his back as he crosses the threshold and runs up the cargo hatch, causes seismic vibrations. Charles wordlessly shushes hybrids inside and draws up the hatch, opting to speaking to Erik telepathically instead of via intercom.

Everyone's on board. Wing it, but, please, don't use the drive yet. I have —

The world tilts and Charles slams into the wall, a pained yelp torn from him echoes in his own head. He is brought back upright by a rough force that then tears his helmet off.

Charles looks into the wide eyes of the white-haired boy, whose projected overconfidence gets muddled as he gapes at him, with a tide of hot indignation rising inside his mind. His thoughts are moving faster than lightning — whothehellagainnottheguydamnhelmetdamnspiderpeopleIknewitwouldnotbesosimpledumbanimals.

Charles hardly ever does it, but that screwed, ancestral part of him roars up and he bolts this superquick character with every bit of psionic energy he has.

After the body hits the floor, he rolls on his side and just breathes with his eyes closed, while the deck tilts a tiny fraction in the moment of take-off and Erik's startled voice breaks through a static void in his helmet's transmitter. It feels like a lifetime has passed before his ears also pick up angry hisses made by hybrids and that makes him open his eyes.

Upon discovery that they have their long robes tied together in a bizarre manner, that puts them all in a piggy-back line: a children's tail of a whangdoodle jumps into his mind.

Grateful that he shouldn't stand up to reach for the helmet, he stretches out a hand and hooks it with fingertips, pulling it close.

"Erik," he rasps. He isn't surprised that his voice is so strangled.

Thankfully, the static stops. It gets very quiet in their grey hatch bay surroundings.

"We've got a guest onboard, whom I've turned harmless. Please, could you tell your servants not to tear him apart? I'm afraid, they might ignore my request. Putting you on the loudspeaker. Over."

Erik falls into empathetic silence, while Charles is trying to hold in his panting.

He demonstrates his evident indignation by speaking to hybrids in their native tongue, so that Charles can't understand a word. That sign affects Charles despite his best intentions not to be affected.

Heavy feelings aside, Charles ponders, he will deal with explanations after he is able to peel himself from the floor.

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