Prometheus-D Pandemic

Ten days into Mission Year 2195, Planet saw its first (and thus far only) truly global pandemic. The pandemic is commonly referred to as The Prometheus Crisis or the 'Crisis'. Although lasting a total of 471 planetary days, the pandemic had far reaching consequences for the whole of Planet and the effects did not limit themselves to significant decrease in the human population; the political, sociological, and economic effects that can still be felt today.

Ironically, UN microbiologist Uri Prometheus Iolus predicted the crisis upon his discoverer of the base viral strain itself. To that point, this neurological scourge had been seen in relatively isolated cases, the original viral organism proving frustratingly elusive. Iolus determined Chiron Obscurus Tyrannoctonus as he named the virus – Prometheus became the common nomenclature for it after he published his findings in MY 2179 – was actually a collection of neurotropic viruses of nearly-identical morphologies and were, to a one, neuroinvasive and composed of negative-sense single-strand RNA chains which bore many of the same markers as Terran rabies.

Iolus successfully catalogued all known strains, placing them in Order Mononegavirales and Family Rhabdoviridae, there being sufficient similarities between their respective make-ups that the individual strains could be related.

While his work was universally hailed, Iolus was careful to note that he had catalogued only known strains of Prometheus, and noted how historically destabilizing even modest pandemics of relatively benign pathogens could prove. A planetwide outbreak of Prometheus, even if all factions coordinated their responses perfectly, would still result in serious loss of life among the infected and endanger the colonist's fragile society.

Historians and scientists have found it difficult to pin point and verify the precise structure of the killer strain that emerged in 2195. Previous cases, while equally deadly, did not approach the sheer infection rates experienced that year. There is a large minority of pathologists that theorize that it is possible the outbreak was not a natural phenomenon, speculating that the virus was engineered by an as yet unidentified faction to gain a tactical advantage over their fellow faction leaders. There is contention about this theory, the strongest argument against it being the fact that no one faction escaped high infection and death rates.

Another theory proposed is that the environmental impact of nearly a century of literally explosive population growth – the human population having gone from roughly 7,000 to nearly 6.75 million since planetfall – caused a wholly new strain of the virus to appear. Viral geneticists have generally accepted this to be the case, although it has yet to be conclusively proven.

The viral strain was not positively identified until well after a cure was discovered and distributed, which didn't occur until Day 394 of the pandemic. This was remarkably fast given the speed and breadth of the infection, never mind that the viral strain itself proved extremely resistant to both established and experimental anti-viral medication and treatments. Infection rates varied from faction to faction, the highest found among the Human Hive (47%) and the lowest among the Gaians (22%). The immediate morbidity of those infected held steadily at 26% (+/- 3%) among most populations, with an additional 10% (+/- 2%) dying within the following year due to complications.

Accounts and timelines vary widely from base to base and faction to faction. The earliest documented case of the virus, later identified "Prometheus-D", appeared inside the Hive settlement named Sheng-ji Yang Base on Day 10, 2195, with several other Human Hive communities reporting similar outbreaks the following week. It was not until a full third of his total population was stricken, around Day 57, before Chairman Yang reached out to other faction leaders for aid.

Around the same time as Sheng-ji Yang Base reported its first fatalities, the Lord's Believers began showing large numbers of cases among its handful of bases, their outbreaks especially severe due to Sister Godwinson's instinctive distaste for secular science and research, which had stunted their medical facilities. By Day 200, the once-densely populated community of New Eden was left virtually empty.

The remaining five factions all simultaneously began reporting infections shortly after Sister Godwinson reported her own. Unfortunately, the datalinks connecting the enclaves to the planetary network went offline on Day 143. Contact was re-established on Day 303, by which time significant headway had been made by various faction's researchers. The Gaians had discovered an antiviral regime that showed some success at inoculating against Prometheus-D, but it wasn't until the Peacekeepers and University researchers managed to fully decode the virus's RNA strand that a proper vaccine could be developed. Further intensive testing yielded such a vaccine, which the Morganites synthesized and distributed planetwide by Day 468.

By then however it was a case of too little, too late, and by Day 472 the pandemic was judged to have run its course, no new outbreaks being reported anywhere and the vast majority of the infected now dead. The full death toll will likely never be known, official figures putting it at 2.56 million dead, with an addition 700,000 crippled or left vegetative (over 30% of whom would expire within the next planetary year).

Aftermath – Sociological Upheavals

Devastating as these figures were, the true impact of the pandemic lay mainly in its political and social ramifications. Prometheus-D generated profound damage to the fragile social structures that held the original seven factions together, causing an already fractured colonization effort to fracture further as five new factions emerged.

Some originated more quickly than others. The Spartan Naval Corps, concentrated off the northwestern tip of the Pangaea continent reported a small outbreak of the virus aboard just two of its ships on Day 103. Generalissima Santiago made a command decision to abandon five bases, losing a full 90% of her naval power. Captain Ulrik Svensgaard took control of the former Spartan bases and took measures to isolate infected individuals. The strategy worked, in relative terms at least, and the Pirates sustained losses equaling a 'mere' 29% of their number. When contact was re-established with the sea-borne enclaves in late 2196, Captain Svensgaard immediately (and quite publically) declared them independent of the mainland and renamed his people the 'Nautilus Pirates'. The Spartans had little choice but to accept this, given their derth of naval assets and the already-stretched nature of their human resources.

Similarly, the Morganite faction had been operating a small cluster of research bases on the southern shore of Landing Bay in Elysium since 2190. Those bases were unique in that their internal datalinks were configured to maximize their processing power, making them operate as essentially a single 'super-node'. To a one, those bases went dark between Days 30 and 32, and because of his faction's historically small population, Morgan and his executive board were too busy managing the immediate crisis to notice this or concern themselves with the small staff who worked at those bases.

It was nearly a full two years after the pandemic had run its course before the bases came back 'on-line'; Morgan and company had written them off completely in the interim and lacked the manpower necessary to re-staff them. When this research cluster re-emerged, it did so under the control of the self-styled 'Data Angels', led by a former mid-level Manager named Asa Wright (better known to law enforcement back on Earth as the hacker Synder Roze). The Angels by that point had successfully infiltrated the internal networks of all other factions, even managing to slip into the Gaians 'links through as-yet-unexplained methods. Because of this extensive infiltration, no faction or coalition thereof dared move against these Angels, particularly after the latter served a couple 'object lessons' aimed at potential aggressors.

During the same time period as the Angels' consolidated their position and established their independence, a pair of Hive settlements situated near the Borehole Cluster in northern Pangea saw unprecedented rioting and a complete breakdown in the normally tight security with which Chairman Yang controlled his people. This was unsurprising given those bases in particular – ironically named "Seat of Proper Thought" and "Hole of Aspiration" – had been especially hard hit during the pandemic. While the Chairman had not completely abandoned the bases nor refused aid to them, his priorities understandably had focused on the larger, more established of his communities.

The riots within these bases was notable in that they were more focused and organized than ones in the past, with a semi-established leadership directing them. The already-weakened garrisons in both bases were eventually overwhelmed, and the 'Drones' (the slang term having particular irony in this case, given the rioters were anything but unskilled or unmanageable thugs) declared their independence from The Hive. Uniting under the leadership of the self-titled 'Foreman Domai' – originally geologist and mining engineer Arthur Donaldson; that identity and sizable portion of his original personality had been lost when his cryo-capsule malfunctioned – the newly-liberated inhabitants now called themselves the Free Drones, and subsequently seized a third base from The Hive's control. The Free Drones have since become a major economic and manufacturing power in their own right.

The University, similar to the Morganites and Hive, lost contact with several of its more distant bases early in the pandemic. One in particular, situated on the eastern shore of Mount Planet, was heavily invested in cybernetic research and reported itself lost with all inhabitants and staff infected and near death on Day 27. Provost Zarakov had little choice but to accept this. The same happened on Day 49 at a seaborne base in the Geothermal Shallows, and again the Provost could do nothing.

Both reports turned out be false, or at least heavily exaggerated. The Mount Planet base, originally called "Baikonur", in fact suffered only a 15% infection among its 2,500 faculty and staff. This deception was perpetrated in order to allow the staff there to complete a radical program of cybernetic "upgrade and enhancement" under the direction of the 'Prime Function' Aki-Zeta Seven (formerly Annikki Luttinen, a programmer and mathematical theorist who had secretly been conducting experiments in pre-sentient algorithms since before planetfall). Aki-Zeta herself had apparently been planning this move for some time, given the receptiveness of the faculty and staff to these 'upgrades'. A similar program was underway at the University's Hydrothermal Institute, situated in the center of the Geothermal Shallows southwest of Pangea. The two bases were soon renamed Alpha Prime and Alpha Basin respectively.

The Cybernetic Consciousness revealed itself to the rest of Planet in 2199, by which time Aki-Zeta Seven's faction had advanced the interface between the organic mind and the machine processor that they were virtually indistinguishable from each other. This made the Consciousness formidable researchers and dangerous opponents (as the University and Morganites discovered in time), but their devotion to pure logic had little appeal to most of the rest of Planet, thus limiting their population growth and broader influence.

The last of these new factions, oddly enough, had been in existence since planetfall. Like any society, there were malcontents and troublemakers who emerged among the colonists, mostly coming from the second- and third-generation to be born after planetfall. Theirs was a general if peculiar ideological creed to which these malcontents subscribed, that of a nearly superstitious respect and fear of Planet itself. This prompted them to engage in disorganized and rather useless campaign of "monkeywrenching" the terrarforming operations underway across the continents.

They nevertheless caused enough of a nuisance that, in 2192, the UN Peacekeepers forcefully repatriated these ecological malcontents to the Isle of Dienera, in the Great Northern Ocean. The Gaians assisted in this, even going so far to set up a 'watchtower' base there to ensure those repatriated didn't attempt to use the island as a launch point for further mischief. Communication with this base was lost on Day 32 of 2195, amid reports of Prometheus-like infections spreading through its population. Anomalous power readings registered from the base led Lady Skye to the conclusion that in the chaos of being abandoned, the base's core overloaded. With the chaos spreading with the pandemic, she had no time to worry over that distant outpost and soon forgot about it entirely.

It wasn't until 2204 that the Gaians, assisted by the Pirates, could launch an expedition to the island in hopes of recovering data stored in the bases mainframe. The Gaian troops were attacked on site and it was quickly discovered that the survivors from the watchtower base and the malcontents settlements had coalesced into an actual society during their isolation.

Styling themselves the Cult of Planet, this new faction was found to be led by what appeared to be a young boy, albeit one who could amazingly breath Planet's open air without difficulty (as could, equally amazingly, many of his followers) and who spoke with considerable maturity and charisma. Named "Cha Dawn" and obeyed without question by the Cultists, this self-titled Prophet soon opened diplomatic channels between his people and the remainder of planet, although since then relations between many of the other factions and the Cult have soured due to the Prophet's increasingly hard line concerning exploration and terraforming of Chiron's frontier.

Aftermath – Political Re-arrangments

There were two major political upheavals that resulted from the pandemic's ravages. The first was Lady Deidre Skye's election as Planetary Governor in 2205, replacing Brother Previn Lal of the UN, who had held the position continuously since the first such election in 2165. Lady Skye had to that point been a supporter of Lal's governorship, but given the UN's sluggish response to the early outbreaks, coupled with the fact it was a UN researcher who had discovered the virus and who had warned of this catastrophe, left many unfairly blaming Lal for the severity of the pandemic and its death toll. Lady Skye was elected via a narrow majority, mostly thanks to the full support Brother Lal gave her nomination.

This changeover didn't cause any radical changes in Planet's overall political equations and might have even passed unnoticed were it not for the second major event to shake the political status quo: that of the Gaian-University war of 2212, resulting in the total subjugation of the University, the dismantling of its military, and effectively ending its history as an independent nation.

Up to 2211, relations between the Gaians and University had been cordial but far from close, due in part to there being long-lingering animosity between Provost Zarakov and Lady Skye dating back to the latter's appointment to the original colonization mission (which Zarakov had protested). That year however a Gaian researcher uncovered evidence that the University had been developing a vaccine early in the pandemic, one almost identical to the one ultimately produced that decisively beat Prometheus-D. There were even notations of early clinical trials, but nothing on the results.

Armed with this evidence, Lady Skye privately communicated with Zarakov to demand an explanation. The Provost demurred, even going so far as to demand the immediate removal of all Gaian personnel from his territory. Lady Skye obliged, then ordered her Southern Army to march into University Base and put the Provost and his Board of Governors under arrest.

The University's army, while far from the strongest or most aggressive, was especially well-armed thanks to the faction's neverending R-and-D. However, even triple-plate silksteel armor and 250 watt Gatling laser cannons proved largely ineffectual against well trained and directed mature mind worm boils. The Gaian forces suffered some 40% casualties overall, but these were modest when compared to the utter rout the University suffered at the front lines. By the closing days of 2212, University Base and both its fellow campuses along the Pangean 'stem' were completely under Gaian occupation.

Mindful of the dangerous precedent she'd already set in her earlier conflict with the Morganites during the 2180s, Lady Skye quickly came to terms with Provost Zarakov whereby the University became a 'client state' to Gaia's Landing, which would monitor the research and conduct of University labs and personnel to ensure they conformed to the ethics guidelines Lady Skye set down, but would otherwise leave them to their work. The arrangement has worked out remarkably well, and is considered legal precedent should future conflicts ignite and result in other faction's conquest of their neighbors.

- A brief History of Planet, Marcus Godwinson


Day 82

Kara knew she was dreaming, because she found herself sitting in Joe's Bar, back on Galactica. Sitting at the piano specifically, although she knew Lee was somewhere nearby. For whatever reason, her eyes were locked on the keyboard before her, her fingers moving of their own accord and drawing a half-coherent rhythm from the old instrument. She didn't recognize it, even as her fingers fairly danced over the keys.

"Voice?" she asked, even though there was no sound in her ears beyond this music.

"Yes, Karamind?" the alien presence responded immediately, as gentle and earnest as ever.

"Is this your music?"

"No, Karamind. It is yours."

"But I've never heard it before."

"It is just yours."

Because she knew it was just a dream, and that she couldn't play the piano – or any other instrument – to save her frakking life, Kara simply shrugged her phantom shoulders and kept on 'playing'. It was actually a pretty catchy tune, one she could almost…almost visualize.

Her right hand moved independent of the left, and her fingers felt as if they were no longer her own. She visualized the notes, but only because she was outside of herself, watching herself do something she had no conscious part of.

"You sure this isn't your music, Voice?"

"We are sure, Karamind."

"So…whose music am I playing?"

"Yours."

Kara really wished she could get angry with this disembodied Voice. Except that was like wanting to club a baby kitten - one with very soft fur and big, adorable eyes – to death with a hammer. It was just…wrong…not to mention disgusting on so many levels it made her physically ill that she even visualized it for a half-minute. The baby registered his own objections with a decidedly indelicate kick to her liver.

"Oh, hush," she growled at her unborn progeny. "S'not like I'd actually do anything like that."

"Do what, Karamind?"

"I…never mind." Kara decided to stop thinking about stupid, impossible things and concentrate instead on playing 'her' music, only to quickly realize she was repeating herself. The piece, whatever it was, didn't seem to last more than a minute. Again, she could visualize it clearly in her head: a total of eight lines of simple notes. Beyond that, she couldn't begin to describe them…

The lights overhead suddenly flickered wildly, causing her to intuitive playing to become decidedly erratic. Kara couldn't help but look around wildly at the racket that suddenly filled the air. On the one hand, it sounded suspiciously like the general comms back on Galactica…except that it was overlaid by a screeching sound that sounded like an alarm of some kind.

The words that accompanied this noise were momentarily incomprehensible…only to quickly clarify into an equally confusing call of "Ahoy, Isle of the Deep!"

"Isle of the Deep?" Kara mouthed to herself, the words striking a chord in memory about… something… important…

She closed her eyes, the lids suddenly as heavy as solid lead. Her sense of balance likewise shifted suddenly, leading Kara to find herself suddenly…prone, feeling herself laid out flat on her back…on top of something that was unbelievably soft and…and squishy…

Her head didn't hurt, but Kara found herself rubbing it anyway, her skin suddenly feeling hotter than before. She tried to rub her eyes as well, only for the back of her hand to hit…something. Outright panic erupted in her chest, the sheer pressure from it sure to be enough to blow her frakking head clear off her shoulders. Only by keeping her eyes closed was the eruption averted.

But Kara Thrace was no coward. She forced her eyes open…

…and found herself staring straight upwards into the open sky, eyes safely shielded from the mid-morning sun by her aviators. The back of her right hand abutted the glassed, stopping well short of pushing them off her face. Just as well as they were her only clothing. Mindful of her now clearly-distended stomach, Kara carefully rolled onto her side and crouched onto one knee, slowly looking around and taking in her surroundings.

She was out on the water, maybe a mile or so from shore. The four towers of Razorbeak Wood were clearly visible, although the solitary monolith, whose peninsula served as a gateway to the base's newly-build naval yard, loomed far larger. Biting her lip carefully, she looked down, breath catching at the sight of the uneven, pinkish mass under her. It was broad, forming a vaguely circular shape easily fifty feet in diameter, albeit one whose surface pulsed and breathed tiny clouds of gas here and there. Yet it was firm underfoot, and Kara felt it…adjust…its position as she shifted slightly to relieve pressure on her bad knee, ensuring her balance remained solid.

Ever since her first 'black-out' on the beach, Kara had made it a point to read all she could find on the native wildlife. If the Locusts were a rare sight, the appearance of a mature Isle of the Deep ran a close second. They kept to the open ocean for the most part, surfacing close to shore only occasionally and usually in response to the human colonist's terraforming. Yet there she was, effectively standing on one that was easily twice the size of the same monster that had sent two Pirate skimships to their graves.

Her ruminations were interrupted by another horn blast nearby. Kara couldn't help but flinch in surprise, the Isle mirroring her reaction and shifting sharply to the side, which in turn nearly sent her falling over herself. "Hey," she chided automatically. "Cool it, eh?" The Isle stopped moving, although Kara could practically feel the tense energy that had seized the creature.

"Ahoy!" an amplified voice called out, leading Kara to turn carefully towards it.

"Ah…ahoy!" she called back, seeing for the first time the approaching hydrofoil. She tried to stand, but the Isle abruptly shifting again, moving them away from the approaching ship, and her own baby registered his protest to the sudden movement. At was nearly enough to send Kara tumbling to her ass, although she managed to keep herself upright by sheer will, fueled by no small amount of annoyance. "Cut that out you," she hissed, uncertain if she were addressing her infant or her self-appointed guardian…

She frowned and shook her head. Guardian? Isles were, by all accounts, the single most destructive manifestations of Chrion wildlife known. Even the occasional Sealurk attack seemed like a manageable annoyance in comparison to an Isle surfacing and literally spitting out larval mind worm boils onto the coastline. And here she was, standing atop a nice-sized specimen that was acting more like an over-enthusiastic guard dog than a menace to life and limb.

That bizarre mental image solidified to a hardened certainty when the…her…her Isle stopped dead in the water once more. Kara knelt down and placed an open palm onto the Isle's surface. "I'm going with them, okay? You just…just cool it. Got it?" The beast remained still, but Kara got the unmistakable impression it not only understood, but would obey her directive (however reluctantly).

She made her way to the edge, slightly surprised to see how it sloped downwards at an angle, little waves licking the sides and her toes as she waited. The hydrofoil drew closer, and soon Kara was able to make out familiar figures manning its guns. One in particular, standing on the deck, was unmistakable in the fury she radiated. "Oh, frakking great," Kara muttered, wondering what the Isle's reaction would be another shouting match between her and Irene.

Thankfully, no-one said anything as the ship drew up so it was virtually on top of her and the Isle's edge. A rope ladder was unceremoniously dropped over the side. Kara looked at it critically, not at all certain she could climb it in her presently gravid state.

She must have been pondering especially clearly, as the Isle chose that same moment to shift again, although this time it did so laterally and somehow managed to lift the edge Kara stood on high enough to give her secure footing on the mid-level rungs of the ladder. Kara took the hint and transferred her bulk there, throwing a sincere "Thanks!" over shoulder. She was high enough to where Ghengis and Mara, both dressed in unfamiliar armor, could reach over the side and haul her the rest of the way over. They weren't violent about it, but it was equally clear they didn't have time to be gentle either.

"Hey, guys," Kara quipped. "What's…" Her throat immediately started burning, causing her to double over with a hacking cough. Irene was at her side in an instant, pressing a breath-mask to her face and throwing a fleece blanket over her.

"She's choking!" Irene practically screeched. "Get us back to base!"


Skyline Bar

Razorbeak Wood, Residence Tower One, 12th floor

Ten to Three Bells Low

Day 83

Irene sat at the Skyline Bar with her vodka glass pressed to her forehead, then gulped it down in one go. She would admit freely that she was avoiding the quarters she shared with Kara. The glass clattered as she dropped it onto the bar and motioned for another.

The previous day had not started well, what with her rolling out of bed with that sickly feeling she had, unfortunately, come to associate with being around Kara. They'd had yet another shouting match the previous night, ending with Kara stomping off and slamming her door and Irene fuming. She couldn't even remember what had started it this time. Upon awaking however, she'd left their quarters to go pound a punching bag until the red haze around her vision receded.

She had only just started to settle into her rhythm of punches and kicks when Genghis had torn into the room as if Cerberus was chasing him, shouting that Kara was outside the base perimeter. They both had rushed down to the armory and slapped on the most convenient set of armor that actually fit.

She sipped at her fifth vodka shot and stared at the wall thoughtfully. That whole incident seemed to conclusively demonstrate that Kara was some kind of magnet for the local wildlife, except it seemed to actually listen to her. From her (admittedly untrained) observations, the Isle hadn't just been responding to her directives, but had been proactively protecting her. It was so…weird. She'd felt the increasing pressure of old memories building behind her eyes as The Wolf had approached the Isle, yet Kara had been perfectly fine sunbathing on the creature's surface. Even with the Isle's PSI abilities on full blast – one of the younger crewmembers had had to be restrained because of the intensity – Kara was lucid and functional.

Irene had been almost hysterical herself by the time the ship reached port and they hustled Kara back inside. Kara's professing complete ignorance about how she'd gotten outside the perimeter, never mind atop the Isle, had Adrienne running her through multiple CAT scans and cross checking her MRI and EKG readings for the last several weeks. This left Irene the unenviable task of contacting Gaia's Landing herself, and was immediately treated to a rare outburst from Lady Skye who all but accused her of deserting her assignment. Not directly, mind, which only made it worse. Her Lady had apologized almost immediately, but this did little to minimize the sting.

So Irene had decided to take a little space from her nominal charge, satisfied that she couldn't go wandering again without at least tripping over the squad of Pirate Invaders that Beowulf had tapped to stand guard on their floor. That had been a nearly twelve hours ago, and nobody had come to find her; Irene took this a good sign, although part of her actually dreaded returning to their suite. Dread, in fact, seemed to be nearly-constant companion now.

Irene stared at the bar top. Atop all this was how she couldn't help but feel that she was being watched very carefully, and not by Lady Skye or Wulf and his gang. It was such an odd feeling at this point, she had very little explanation for it. Probably just nerves, given the unsettled state of things now. She snorted at the thought.

This whole frakking assignment was becoming a farce. No, it was a fiasco, worse than the Spartan's expedition into UN territory back in the late 2170s. Her student-slash-charge was able to speak and converse coherently now, and given the wildlife's apparent affection for her, Irene had to wonder why she was still there; likely as not if one of the other factions so much as got wind of Kara and tried something stupid, whoever or whatever they sent would surely run into some very aggressive Worm Boils…or worse. Irene had no idea what the hell was she and her poor skills could contribute there.

And yet the weirdest aspect of it all was…was how she still had zero desire to leave. It was more like she knew, logically, she was should want to leave at this point. At the very least, she should petition Lady Skye to allow her mother and step-sisters to visit them. That was what was quietly freaking her out the most: she had no desire to be anywhere else but right here, at Kara's side, exclusive of all others.

Looking over her shoulder, Irene felt a stab of relief to see Genghis and Mara seated at a nearby table. Mara must have dragged the 'Silent One' out by his thick hair in her latest attempt to get him socializing again, sparing Gretchen her father's poor culinary skills if nothing else. Irene had tried on several occasions to tell Mara that she was going about getting Genghis re-connecting to the outside world all wrong; it seemed like Mara was still ignoring her advice. She mentally shrugged and glanced away from the duo. Not her business and not anyone she wanted to converse with at the moment.

Irene blinked, a bit dizzy from the many shots of vodka she consumed. She was going to have to find a way to get back to her bed soon. The question was could she make it without some serious help…she shifted on her stool and felt her world spin.

Okay – so, not completely drunk, but enough that walking a straight line was going to be a chore. Hopefully Kara would be asleep again and spare them both further headaches, not to mention hearing another off-tune recitation of "All Along the Watchtower".


Desik Family Residence

Razorbeak Wood, Residence Tower Two, 10th Floor

Ten to Six Bells High

Day 86

Svetlana lay on her back, gazing up at her wife as Mara rode her; the latter's hands and arms were bound behind her, causing her generous breasts to jut forward and sway in time with her hips. Lana timed her own movements, ensuring the strap-on she wore plunged to the hilt with each thrust. Mara's face was a masque of bliss and rapture, causing Lana's own heart to flutter and breath catch in her throat. Mara Desik was rightly known to all to be untamable, a force of nature itself, unbound and impossible to restrain; yet she submitted without the smallest sound of protest to literally everything Svetlana demanded of her.

That trust, so absolute and wholehearted it should have been impossible, never failed to shake Lana to her deepest core, humbling her and often giving her fertile imagination pause.

Lana reached up and tweaked her wife's hardened nipples, hissing "Look at me!" Mara did as ordered, and the smoky gaze with which she raked Lana's prone form was enough to send her tumbling into ecstasy. Mara stilled and issued a small choking sound, something between a sob and a scream too great to squeeze out her throat. It was a sound Lana knew all too well, and one that brought her to the peak once more.

Mara shuddered one last time and collapsed, laying herself so their bodies were flush together. Without a word passing between them, Lana reached up and around, untying the leather straps with which she'd restrained her wife's active hands. Once freed, Mara's arms came around and loosely encircled her, most of her remaining energy apparently focused upon just breathing.

For Svetlana Eryn, there was no sensation more rapturous or sensual than the feel of Mara's nipples pressing into her own. The woman likely had no clue how deeply she'd carved into Lana's soul. Before meeting her, Lana would have sworn no other would know her heart, the cruelties inflicted upon it until then certain to have hardened it against all comers. Yet it took only a single look from Mara Desik's dark eyes to crack it open; a murmured, almost shy greeting later and Svetlana felt herself lost to the operative whose reputation for violence and cold-blooded calculation long preceded her.

The weeks that followed were torture on her nerves, Mara Desik offering her few words and an abundance of smiles, each one a taunt which simply drove Therapist Eryn to work her patient harder. Worse, Desik's temporary infirmity left her completely dependent upon her Lana's assistance to do anything besides eat. That Desik demanded to be returned to prime physical condition meant a long and thorough recovery.

It was fuel for Lana's darkest fantasies, and made each session with her patient a torture nearly beyond endurance. The exercises had been bad enough, but having to wash that beautifully-built body by hand daily nearly undid Lana's iron control over herself. She'd even slipped up and mentioned she was a practicing naturalist, which subsequently had Mara doing likewise and driving Lana even further around the bend (especially given Mara's further insistence Lana shave her on a regular basis so they were a "matching set"). By the end of those grueling six months, Lana was a quivering wreck of emotional and sexual frustration; not once had Desik deigned to comment on this or respond to the signals of interest being directed her way.

Lana sometimes wondered if Mara had manipulated her at that dinner in the Bower Commons, where she'd so brazenly declared herself. It had been so unlike her to speak openly and publically of such things. Certainly Mara's sly smile and curious silence that night, normally enticing and distracting, had broken Lana's calm and led her to snarl and hiss words she'd longed to just whisper. She'd been in such a frenzy she'd given Mara her "blessing" to take whoever it was that commanded her heart so thoroughly that she didn't so much as notice what was sitting right in front of her…

Lana would never forget the flicker of surprise that crossed Mara's eyes at this, nor the speed with which she'd stood and silenced her with a kiss that made every fantasy she'd held to that moment seem…tame.

"I claim she who holds my heart," Mara had whispered to her, followed by another kiss, and that was that. According to Theonite Code, Mara's acceptance of Lana's rash blessing constituted a legal bonding between them. Their spending the next day consummating it was just an afterthought.

Whatever gods there were – her Thelonite creed acknowledged there were as many names for the divine as there were stars in the night sky – surely had some hand in all this. Whatever their ultimate purpose, Lana was careful to offer her thanks to them each morning in her prayers. She cradled her wife close, and let her eyes drift shut, inhaling their shared scent and reveling in it.

Mara's barely-heard question brought Lana back to the present. "'M I furgivin'?" The words barely making it past her tongue. Lana nodded; she'd been beyond pleased to learn of Mara's plan to bring about Irene and Wulf's reconcilation, an event she'd been personally praying for nearly as long as their 'break' had been known. She shouldn't have been surprised that Mara took an equal interest and had even taken matters into her own hands. This latest bout of bacchanalian excess – earlier Mara had to gagged to keep her from waking baby Daniel while she was worked over with the flogger – had been her reward.

"Can I meet her?" It took Lana several seconds to realize she'd spoken, never mind what she'd just asked.

"Who?" Mara slurred.

"Thrace."

This led Mara to shift (and, wholly coincidentally, rub certain highly sensitive parts of their anatomy together) and gaze into Lana's eyes. "Why?" Lana could only shrug the slight tremble to her shoulders and hips only partly thanks to the weight pressing down on her. Mara frowned a moment, nearly leading Lana to dismiss the question, only for those same sensual lips start to turn upwards into a sly grin that always promised them trouble.

"Maybe," she drawled, eyes turning smoky-dark again. "What's in it for me?"

Svetlana closed her mouth with an audible 'clack', lips pressing into a firm, flat line. Summoning strength she previously would have doubted, Lana slid out from beneath her wife to kneel directly behind her. Mara found herself face-down and flat on the mattress before fully realizing it, instinctively struggling to all fours and preparing to spring up to her feet. Lana's hands were immediately on her hips, fingernails digging in there and focusing her attention on the hissed command of "Stay still!" Svetlana positioning herself, then plunged forward again to fill her wife's opening to capacity. Mara's back arched downwards and her toes curled tight, but otherwise held both her tongue and body in place.

"This enough for you?" Lana hissed-snarled as she settled into a steady, agonizing rhythm that never failed to rob Mara of sense and voice. The unspoken answer (naturally in the affirmative) was clear to them both, and Mara resolved to ride all that Lana might mete out. She'd thank the gods in her own way later; there were more immediate things to focus on right then…like not waking the whole damned tower, to say nothing of their son, begging and screaming for her wife's sensual torture to never, ever end.


New Jerusalem

Conclave Church of the Messiah

Private Confessionals

The Hour of Vespers

Day 88

Miriam's head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. It had been a particularly trying day – New Eden's perimeter defense had failed to stave off a small boil of mindworms and as a result, 10% of the settlement's population was either dead or dying and the rest were at risk of mental exhaustion and major starvation.

She supposed that others would have taken this opportunity to take some rest and recuperate, but her mind was restless and refused to settle. She forced herself to run through various bible verses, prayers and hymns to bring order to her chaotic thoughts, but nothing worked. Her mind would flash back to the holographs that illustrated the destruction of New Eden…and the nagging warnings from the Voice that spoke to her on a regular basis.

Miriam's head bowed in a sad rage. She had known, had been given numerous warnings from the Voice that this would happen if nothing changed and now 539 God-fearing men, women, and children were dead. Her people relied on her to guide and protect them in the hostile environment God had given them…and she refused to heed the warnings simply because of the source. She wanted to pace, to move and wanted to commit violence against something, against herself…

Penance was required of her for her sinful arrogance and pride. She allowed her gaze to fall from the room's far wall and slide over the table in front of her. Laid across was her personal Flagellant whip. Such punishments were meted out rarely, most often self selected for the particularly guilt ridden. Miriam had only participated in the practice three times prior, and felt that this penance was a mere token of what she deserved.

She picked the wicked looking whip gingerly and began whispering the Psalms. With the completion of each verse, she swung the whip across her back with as great a force as possible. Each lash mark stung in time with her heartbeat. She paused at twenty, breathing heavily and closed her eyes. The images from the New Eden incident shoved themselves to the forefront of her mind and her arm swung seemingly independent of her will.

Eyes closed, her penance continued.

Jessica Ely stood just outside Sister Miriam's private confessional. It had been hours and the steady cadence of the whip meeting flesh persisted. She had carefully counted…Sister Godwinson was nearing 200 lashes and Jessica had no doubt that her leader had every intention of reaching 539 before she would allow herself to stop. Jessica would not and could not let that happen. Not today at least…

The beginnings of her plan were interrupted by the sound of a table being shoved and a body falling to the floor. Jessica darted into the room quickly, not even waiting for permission to enter. The sight before her gave her chills for two very different reasons. Sister Godwinson's back was torn to bloody shreds. Some of the skin even torn from her back completely – it was both horrifying and…almost praiseworthy.

That the Sister could and would withstand such agony for her people…and was twitching her arm attempting to continue…Jessica shook her head and quickly yanked the whip away, tossing it into the far corner, "Enough Sister. Would you commit the sin of suicide and leave your flock to wander without your guidance?"

Jessica blinked back tears at the moan that came from Sister Godwinson, clenched her jaw and called for the Sister's personal physician, Westcott.


New Jerusalem

St. Francis Memoriam Surgery

Day 89

Miriam slowly came to, warm and comfortable. Her first thought was that she must have passed beyond. Mayhap her penance had satisfied the Lord God and she'd been allowed into Heaven?

An all-too-mortal voice removed her from that all-too-ephemeral hope. "Sister? Are you awake?" Miriam considered remaining silent for a heartbeat or three, but ultimately opened her eyes. Her gaze hardened into an outright glare at the sight of Dr. Westcott's white tunic.

"Doctor," she greeted, voice cold as the peaks of Mount Planet.

"Sister," the younger man rejoined easily, refusing to meet her glare in favor of adding notations to her chart. "Despite your attempts to the contrary, you're healing quite nicely."

Miriam frowned, thinking over how thorough she'd been in her penance. "Ha…how?"

Westcott deigned to glance at her face, "Some deep-healing gels Lady Skye included in her recent relief packages. It won't do a thing about the scarring, but at least you won't loose any mobility in your shoulders or neck."

"Skye." Miriam couldn't help but spit the name. "You used one of her vile concoctions on me?"

"That 'vile concoction' is the only reason you're still alive to minister us," Dr. Westcott stated coolly. "It was either that, or you remain comatose and likely die thanks to blood loss."

"Perhaps that would have been better," Sister Godwinson muttered.

"Self-pity doesn't become you, Sister," the physician retorted. "And unless you wish the rest of us to be overrun and enslaved by either Santiago's soldiers or Yang's Drones, you would be well-advised to accept the use of all tools at hand." The elder woman gave him a glower, but declined to argue further, so Westcott ended with a final admonition of, "Tools are neither good nor bad things, Sister. It is in their use that one judges them."

Miriam Godwinson glowered again, hating how this youngster could turn her own words against her. Then again, she'd first written them while trying to pacify the desperate survivors of the latest rounds of the Crusader Purges in Central Asia. It might have been amusing that she found herself on the receiving end of such wisdom, finding it as bitter and inadequate as her former flock likely had. It certainly did nothing to lessen the sting of either New Eden's losses nor her less-than-mature response.

But then, wisdom isn't meant to be gentle in the coming or the knowing, only in the understanding of it. Her father had taught her thus and she cringed at the thought of his sure disappointment in her.

Her pa was long dead, as were far too many of her flock. And young Wescott was correct that they were persistently under threat. Miriam actively if lightly hated the self-righteous Deirdre Skye, but she was tolerable compared to either of those mass murderers, Santiago and Yang. Uncharitable and unholy as the thought was, Miriam dearly wished the three of them would just wipe each other out in this insane war of theirs. But alas, according to her spies, Santiago was making plans to call for a blood truce between them, which everyone agreed Skye would accept without question. Once that happened, she had little doubt they'd turn their eyes southwards onto her and her small flock.

Perhaps it was time to take the self-styled Prophet Cha Dawn up on his offer an alliance. The boy was clearly mad as a hatter, but his own flock could surely be useful if they were given proper instruction…

Those thoughts and consciousness itself vanished under the sudden, crashing wave of The Voice speaking to her:

A closed system lacks the ability to renew itself.

The children of the one reborn shall find their own country.

Moguls, deposts, and intellects will make fools of us all…

The harbinger is arrived!

Yet through it all they find one another every year after year…

Mind and flower, node and worm...

Thráki, salvation's marshal.

Risks of flowering…considerable…

Growth dream soon unlock we prison...

If our society seems more nihilistic than previous eras...

Will we too catch the planetdeath disease?

Perhaps this is simply a sign of our maturity as a sentient species...

Human beware, planet is risen...

Manifold sequence re-aligned…acti…activated…

You've never flown anything like this before, so don't…don't…don't…

Fetch onward the transformation. Find…find…find…

See you on the…other…other…other…other side…

Primary, secondary, tertiary factors aligning…re-aligning to pattern…

Their shining days renounced by a multitude of dark sacrifices…

Cubits can be initialized to arbitrary values…nodes nine-four-four holds…hold…hold…

...that they live so long?

Gonna have his balls for breakfast…just see if I don't…

Reorientation of cerebral chemical processes necessary to model and mend…end string...

Can't…can't…can't choose destiny… It is no compensation that the music lives on…

And Earth abides...what is the secret of their durability?

Node nine-four-four contains recumbent DNA sequences lead…leading…leading to…

I can do this all day…follow us…please…

Every roze has its thorns, Lady…

Heaven lasts long...

Find the perfect…perfect…perfect end for the perfect planet of…of…of….

Are you ready to listen to me now, Miriam Magdalene?

End of line.


Day 91

The next time Miriam opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Westcott and a small gaggle of nurses standing over her, one of whom was about to apply defibrillator paddles to her chest. Dr. Westcott stopped the girl from doing so with a surprised "Stop! She's awake." He looked her over and asked "Are you alright, Sister?"

"Quite so," Miriam stated, feeling surprisingly refreshed and wholly awake. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days," was the answer, which took Miriam momentarily by surprise. Surprise, which she quickly and ruthlessly suppressed.

"Two…days?" she confirmed.

Dr. Westcott waved the attending nurses away before answering. "Close to forty hours, to be precise. But it's been a perfectly natural sleep, which in itself is odd."

"That Gaian concoction you used…"

"I checked with Lady Skye's people, and they confirmed there was nothing in the medical patches composition that might account for your prolonged sleep. I'm sorry, Sister, but this is something that can't be blamed on them this time." This last was said with the smallest trace of disapproval. Sister Godwinson had never been shy about her contempt for science in general, and medical technology specifically. Even the devastation of Prometheus-D hadn't changed her thinking much. At least she'd taken Lady Skye up on her offer of training a cadre of medical professionals for her flock.

Westcott put those thoughts aside and continued. "We monitored some spikes in your gamma patterns…"

"Which are what?"

"Ah, the part of your brain where, um, Empathic abilities originates."

Miriam's face took on a deliberately blank look and she asked in a deceptively quiet voice "Are you suggesting I'm becoming one of…those…people?" It was no secret that Sister Godwinson held Empaths and Thinkers in the same company as the hard sciences. Part of Westcott could understand the prejudice; the Empath Guild that Lady Skye deployed was a damned scary bunch, and the handful of Thinkers he'd encountered during his Clinical rotations in University territory always left him feeling uneasy.

He reassured Miriam "No, nothing like that. Your EKGs are all perfectly normal." He pondered his next words silently for a moment before saying "I've seen similar patterns among Empaths who have…communed with the Voice. I must ask, Sister, is that what was…?"

Miriam gave him an indecipherable look, one that both was and was not threatening, stopping his question before it could be finished. She then simply laid herself back and closed her eyes. "Please summon Sister Ely, Doctor. I need to catch up on events. Thank you."

Westcott pursed his lips, but said nothing to this dismissal. He moved away and left his Parson to her thoughts and plans. He made a mental note to keep an ear close to the ground from here on, now that she was actually listening to Voice. God Almighty alone knew what would come of that.


Desik Family Quarters

Half past Four Bells High

Day 95

"Welcome to our home, Kara Thrace," Svetlana greeted her guest, giving her a loose hug. Kara's stomach made for a slightly awkward greeting, but both parties weathered it well.

"The blessings of the gods upon you house," Kara replied with suitable gravity. She'd quizzed Irene carefully on the proper responses and had been practicing them for most of the day.

"And upon yours," Lana rejoined, completing the exchange before turning to Irene. "Professora," she smiled.

"Proctor," Irene nodded, trying hard (and failing even harder) to keep her voice steady. Svetlana was wearing her Proctor's robe that night, which was nothing more elaborate than two panels of silk joined at the shoulders with a pair of broaches and gathered around her waist with a thin chain-belt. It was blatantly obvious she wore nothing underneath that, and Irene found herself hoping Mara would behave for once lest Lana be provoked to 'chastise' her before them all.

"So formal?" Mara Desik drawled as she entered the living room, leading Irene to groan quietly. She was wearing only a silk slip that only barely reached past her hips and sauntered to embrace Lana from behind, needing to go on bare-tip-toes to lay her chin on the latter's shoulder. "I think she's still embarrassed," Mara stage-whispered to her wife, causing Irene flush slightly and Kara to grin.

"Mara, love?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Go get dinner."

"Yes, dear." Mara released her and sauntered to the kitchen area. Lana gave them an apologetic look and opened her mouth to say something. Kara however leapt into the breach.

"How long have you two been together?"

"Four planetary years, although the Goddess knows it feels like…well…" Now it was Lana's turn to blush a bit. Kara's grin widened.

"I, uh, know." She tramped down sense-memories of that last hour on Galactica, only to have one from Groundbreaking on New Caprica take their place. The baby squirmed in pleasure at the endomorphine rush, which in turn excited certain areas that were no longer in easy reach. Desperate for mundane distraction, Kara looked down and asked "Um, should we remove our…shoes…or something?"

"If you wish. You're how far along?"

"Um…" Kara threw a look over at Irene, who could only shrug.

"Almost 14 weeks, more or less."

"Ah," Lana nodded. "Ankles swelling already?"

"A little," Kara reluctantly admitted. She just hated having to admit a weakness.

"We'll give you a foot-rub before you go."

"You don't…" Kara began to protest, only for Irene to interrupt.

"Don't bother, Kara. They'll just talk you into a full-body massage before they're done."

"An offer, Professora?" Lana asked archly.

"An observation, based on personal experience," Irene replied levelly. "As you doubtlessly remember. After all, you watched the entire time." Lana raised one eye-brow, and the pair engaged in a staring contest, one that ended with both cracking up almost simultaneously. Lana reached for Irene's hands, who offered them readily.

"Its good to finally have you home, Irene. I nearly petitioned Lady Skye to recall you a dozen times."

"Glad you didn't. And Uni Base wasn't all that bad."

Whatever Lana's reply might have been, Mara's voice calling out stilled it dead. "Ready in here." Lana genially waved them to the attached dinning room, pulling out the chairs for Kara and Irene to seat themselves before sitting down herself. Mara came in bearing a steaming serving pot, which she carefully settled onto the table.

"Hope you guys like beef stew. It was all I could whip up this early."

"That's fine," Irene nodded, holding out her bowl for Mara to fill.

"It's been…a long time since I had real meat on a regular basis," Kara affirmed as Mara ladled a generous serving for her. Irene couldn't help but notice how Mara's dress rode up as she leaned over the table, just high enough to expose the undersides of her rear.

She flushed again and asked "Um, did we…interrupt something?"

Mara made a point to lean an extra couple inches as she filled Lana's bowl, causing the hem to ride higher still and expose even more flesh. Lana said "Contrary to appearances, we don't spend every waking hour in bed."

"Nope," Mara immediately agreed. "Mostly it's against the walls, me bent over the sofa, or kneeling at her…"

"Mara, love?"

"Yes, dear?"

Irene unconsciously braced herself, recognizing the tone Lana took. She hoped Kara didn't embarrass easily as it meant she was about to tell Mara to…

"Sit down and eat."

"Yes, dear." Irene couldn't help but blink in surprise as Mara did as bade, flouncing a bit in the doing, but otherwise sitting and sedately tucking into her meal.

"This is good," Kara soon mouthed as she chewed.

"Thanks," Mara replied.

Lana buttered a roll and asked "So, Captain? I understand your people are polytheistic?"

"Pretty much," Kara nodded. "It's the Cylons who believe in just one god."

"Has it always been so?"

"As long as I've been alive. I think there was a cult or fad that preached for a single god, but that was way before I was born. Dunno whatever happened to it." Kara drank some water, then asked "How about your people? Have they always believed in a pantheon?"

"Not…always," Lana answered carefully. "Even now, we have many different faiths on Planet." Mara snorted, eliciting a sharp look from Lana. "Sister Godwinson is nothing if not earnest. You have to respect that, at least."

"Godwinson," Kara mused. "That's the bunch calling themselves 'The Believers', right?"

Lana nodded. "The Lord's Believers, yes. They're very…"

"Earnest," Irene echoed. "To the point of stupidity."

"Fanatics?" Kara asked.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Irene affirmed, taking a sip of the wine.

"They are aggressive, certainly…" Lana tried to explain, only to pause for thought. "No. No, you're right, Irene. They're fanatics."

"Wif' a' capita' eff," Mara slurred around a mouthful of stew.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Lana chided.

"Yes, dear."

"Are there any of them about?" Kara asked after a few minutes.

"We have a few missionaries here and there," Lana admitted. "And Lady Skye has made a point of sending relief supplies their way for the last decade. Sister Godwinson is notoriously…parochial…in her policy…"

Kara frowned and turned to Irene. "The Believers are evangelicals, but only one-way. Any other religion but theirs is forbidden in their territory."

"Lady Skye, wisely in my opinion, doesn't wish for or need another conflict," Lana continued. "And so hasn't made a major issue of this to Godwinson. Not that the Believers are that much of a threat to begin with."

"No?"

Mara finished her own wine and stated "Their enclave is in a very resource-poor region of the continent, and their birth-rates are pretty low as it is. I'd wager a single division of Rovers could blitz straight through to New Jerusalem." She refilled Irene's glass part-way and offered the same to Lana, who demurred. Mara shrugged and grinned. "More for me." Rather than pour into the glass, she took a swig directly from the bottle.

"You're trying to provoke me, aren't you?" Lana observed with twinkling eyes.

Mara gazed at her wife for a long moment, then placed a hand over her heart and drawled "Would I do something like that?" This was followed by another long draught from the bottle.

"You are so lucky we have guests…"

"Like that's stopped you before," Mara shot back, utterly without rancor or fear. Lana's eyes narrowed and Irene braced herself again…only to have a soft cry shatter the mood. "Oh, damn."

"No, no. It's alright. I was expecting he'd wake up." Lana stood and turned to Kara. "Our son. Please excuse me."

"Can I…come with you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Lana agreed readily. "Looking for some pointers?"

"Um…yeah."

Lana smiled and ushered her guest to the back, throwing a final admonition over her shoulder. "Behave, you two."

"Who, us?" Mara smarted back, causing Irene to cradle her head in both hands. Once the pair were out of sight, she raised the bottle again towards Irene, who picked up her glass and 'clinked' it with the bottle.

"Bravo," Irene silently applauded. "You're really trying to get her going, aren't you?"

"Hey, it's a living," Mara shrugged, taking a sip from the bottle, grimacing as she did. "Damn, that's nasty stuff."

"Tastes okay to me."

"Yeah, but you've been living on commissary food. Your poor taste buds are likely withered away to nothing!"

"You've got something better to offer?"

"Mayyyy-be." Mara grinned and cradled her chin on two fists. "Whatcha planning to do after dinner?"

Irene groaned again, hiding her face behind one hand. She reviewed her options, and decided to forego the lengthy and inevitably futile protestation phase of this exchange. Making a show of looking over the table at her friend's wardrobe, she asked "Will you at least put some pants on?"

Before Mara could answer, Lana and Kara emerged from the back, the latter carefully cradling the baby in two arms. "That's right, make sure the head is supported," Lana murmured encouragingly.

"He make stinks?" Mara asked.

"No. Just peckish." The infant was clearly more than 'peckish', given how aggressively he was starting to root at Kara's breasts.

"Hey, there's nothing in there for you yet," Kara chided. She carefully transferred the baby to his mother's waiting arms. "Um, he always that squirmy?"

"When he's hungry, yes. Otherwise he's either sleeping or sitting about looking cute." Lana settled herself on the sofa, undoing the broach at her left shoulder and allowing her robe to fall away from her breast. Mara was settling herself behind her before anyone could so much as blink, wrapping a supporting arm around Lana's middle, stroking her arm and side and thigh with the other.

Lana's breathing noticeably deepened during all of this, almost from the moment the baby latched on for his dinner. Irene and Kara, who had likewise settled themselves in the living area, couldn't help but notice how Lana's breathing synchronized with Mara's ministrations. The latter settled her chin into the crook of Lana's neck, giving it light nips, which only quickened Lana's breathing further.

Irene merely rolled her eyes to all this, having seen it before. Kara watched with a more thoughtful expression. "Um, should we leave?" she whispered as quietly as possible to Irene.

Mara's roving hand dipped to cup between Lana's thighs. She glanced up their way with a grin that was pure wickedness. "We won't be long," she drawled, both her hands going to work.

"I'll bet," Irene muttered, settling back into the padded love seat and looking everywhere but the display before them. Svetlana, completely unself-conscious, threw her head back and issued a groan that left no doubt of Mara's words.

Kara just continued to watch, trying to memorize the complex ballet of Mara's hands so she could teach them to Lee when he finally got his beautiful ass back into her orbit. Hopefully she'd still be nursing by then.


Covert-Ops Section, Admin Tower

Day 91

Half past Five Bells Low

Mara munched on the green apple cheerfully as she nearly skipped down the hallway. She passed Genghis' open door and waved but didn't pause.

Genghis watched his friend pass by with a confused frown on his face. It only took a few minutes for him to decide he needed to know whatever Mara was teasing him with and pushed back from his desk to corner her in her office.

As he stepped into the hallway, he noticed Sean standing just outside his office with his tablet open. Sean was staring at what was probably Mara's strangely cheerful wake. He asked "Any ideas?"

"Adrienne and I saw them coming out of the Skyline around Nine High."

"She was out with Irene?" Sean nodded. "Don't they usually get insanely drunk?"

Sean nodded again and tilted his head in question, "I think we are going to have to ask her about it." As one they followed their crewmate to her own office, finding her sitting behind her desk, bare feet propped up and swivel chair reclining back.

"Mornin', boys," she greeted them while still chewing.

"Okay, Mara," Sean started. "What did you do with Irene?"

"Moi? What makes you think I did anything with our beloved Professora?"

Ghengis blew out a slow breath. "The fact you're sitting there like the canary who swallowed the cat, for one thing." Mara simply grinned wider.

"Are we going to need to put a call out for a new interrogator?" Sean asked tiredly.

"Doubt it," she added smugly.

"Will Gretchen need a new godmother?" Ghengis asked pointedly.

"Not in this lifetime."

Ghengis settled himself into the only available chair and stared hard at her. "Just how much did you have last night?"

"Half a bottle and no more, upon my honor."

"Let me guess: tonique."

"Yup. Let Irene do the hard stuff." Mara sobered and straightened up. "Looked like she needed it, too."

Ghengis and Sean exchanged a look. "And where did you leave her? Not with Thrace, surely?"

"Do I look stupid to you?" Mara couldn't help the smile that emerged as her crewmates came to the same, terrible, horrible suspicion about exactly where Irene Fedotov had spent the night.

"Surely not…" Ghengis moaned, voice wan and wavering.

"Well…"

"Mara, they'll kill each other," Sean put in, although not with much conviction.

The comms unit on the desk chimed, causing all three to frown as the same sound was echoed from the other two offices. Mara immediately picked up the receiver, face going instantly blank by whatever she heard; a telltale sign of Bad Things coming. Ghengis and Sean immediately braced themselves, expecting the worst.

They were nevertheless shocked at Mara's quick declaration: "Werewolf."

No code-word was more feared among their number, and no other could prompt the frenzy of action of their part. All three were immediately propelled out of the office, Mara bringing up the rear simply because she needed the extra quarter-second to stomp back into her boots and retrieve her gunbelt (Sean and Ghengis already wore theirs). Sean pulled a fourth person – a Marine regular – into the elevator with them with a terse "You're with us, Cannon."

"Aye, Sir," the Marine nodded, not taking offense to the nickname. It was immediately clear to him these Operatives, virtual legends among the Nautili, were heading into action. The fact they'd pulled him into it as well was an honor he knew he'd be mad not to accept. He was an Invader, and that meant he would always move towards the action, however insane it proved.

Sean, Ghengis and Mara exchanged neither words nor looks as they primed their weapons. "You two to Prenatal and keep with Thrace. Call in another platoon and lock the floor. Cannon and I take the residence," Sean directed. As XO of the unit, the directive was his to give.

"Aye-aye," his shipmates acknowledged.

The four of them were charging out of the elevator the instant it opened, splitting into the appointed teams and all-but screaming "Make a hole! Make a hole!"


Private Quarters, Residential Tower

Twenty Minutes Earlier...

Irene blinked against the painfully bright sun reflecting off the nearby mirror. She groaned and rolled onto her side, this simple movement enough to sharpen several thoughts to instant clarity. First of all, she didn't have a mirror in her bedroom, so what the frak was going on?

Second…her clothes were not currently on her body. This wasn't necessarily new; she'd taken to sleeping nude since being relocated to the 'Wood, partially because Kara had done likewise and partially because she was - once again - falling under the influence of Mara Desik. In retrospect, perhaps their having dinner with her and Lana hadn't been the best move as the couple's utter lack of inhibitions never failed to make their mark on her (in one memorable case, quite literally).

Irene breathed and took a mental step backwards. Okay, either she'd fallen asleep in Kara's room again…or someone had installed a mirror in her's for some reason. Her eyes squinted against the bright lights and looked out toward the windows. Both those explanations failed as the morning view was not the one to which she was accustomed. The room must have been a few levels lower, as the damnable mirror was catching and reflecting the first rays of dawn. She felt the beginning of heartburn in her chest as her alcohol slowed mind started to work up to figuring out whatever the hell was going on.

She shut her eyes and tried to mentally reconstruct the previous night. They'd had dinner…Lana and Mara were remarkably sedate through it all…although who knew breast-feeding could be such an erotic experience? Desert had been one of Lana's death-by-chocolate creations…followed by Mara escorting them home…seeing Kara to bed, even though it was just Six Bells High…Mara suggesting they go for a nightcap at the Canopy…

The groan this last bit elicited only inflamed her heartburn. And gave her a matching headache. What had she been thinking, going drinking with Mara The Irrepressible? Irene covered her eyes in a weak bid to shield against further memories. Dammit! They hadn't had just a single drink, as Mara The Untamable had promised either. Irene could recall…two…no, three bottles of…no, no. No, it was one bottle of Tonique Gin and two of Milesguard Vodka…which Irene was sure Mara Of The Iron Constitution had imbibed just…she remembered she'd had just…half? Of the gin?

And just the gin?

The heartburn receded as the headache took to the fore. Tonique barely qualified as actual alcohol, and that was all Irene could recall Mara The Oh-So-Clever taking so much as a single frakking shot of! She dry-washed her face with both hands and rolled onto her back. Righteous anger started competing with the headache, only to have the former exacerbate the latter. Irene wasn't even sure who she was more angry at: Mara The Misleading for getting her blind drunk again, or herself for letting Mara The Unmerciful get her blind drunk again.

That thought quickly, unmercifully gave way to a far more serious one: if she wasn't in her suite, where the frak was she? Sitting up, Irene steeled herself to glance back at whoever was shifting around in the bed with her, only to first notice a framed holo-shot sitting on the chest of drawers across from the foot of the bed. If she wasn't mistaken, it showed Lady Skye in an embrace with Captain Svensgaard…and…except they both looked decidedly younger…and Svensgaard was wearing an unfamiliar uniform…and were standing in a city somewhere with slate-gray skies and an ornate clock tower in the background.

A terrible, terrible suspicion came to her, leading to her carefully suppressing a humiliated groan. Goddess, she didn't think she had that much vodka. She nearly groaned again when she turned her head and confirmed her theory as to what she had done last night once her conscious memory shut down. Or, more accurately: who she had done…

The who in this case, Commander Beowulf Alastair Svensgaard-Skye, lay on his stomach on the other side of his king-sized bed. There was no missing the fat, satisfied grin he wore.

She instinctively froze, hoping that Wulf wouldn't come to anytime soon. Or at least long enough for her to sneak out. Her eyes roamed over his barely-covered form, strictly to reassure herself that he was well and truly out of it. At least that was the story she wring out of her vodka-soaked gray cells, the only one she'd swear on a stack of tech manuals to.

Satisfied there were no surprises coming from that direction, Irene swung her legs off the bed and stood, only to immediately wince and clench her teeth. Her entire pelvis felt…odd. Not bad, necessarily, but…odd. It felt loose, stretched out, like she'd just run a marathon. She walked a couple experimental steps, skin coloring as a too-familiar sensation crept through, originating from openings both in front and behind. An oddly similar sensation could be felt running the length of her jaw, with a musky taste covering her tongue.

Mother Goddess, how many different ways had they done it last night? And why wasn't the stone-cold certainty that she'd just repeated the single greatest…mistake…of her 27 years not have her racing out of the room and back to the suite in Prenatal?

Her hand flew up to her neck, and she flushed again at the realization that she was still wearing her necklace, and that It was still hanging out in prominent display. That meant there were good odds that Beowulf had likewise seen It. And that meant that her life was officially over…that any notion of independence and self-respect and simple dignity were out the window…

Oh, Mother…what was she going to tell Kara? How the hell was she supposed to explain…this…?

Irene struggled on her shirt and looked around for her underwear. Somehow, it wasn't that surprising that they weren't in sight. Neither were her damned pants. Good odds were Mara had slipped off with them sometime earlier, the frakking amazon! She could only sigh and resign herself to walking back to Prenatal bare-assed as well as barefoot. Well, this was Gaian territory and all…

She turned towards the main door when her sharp hearing picked out a gentle whoosh in the otherwise silent room, the origin somewhere behind her. Before Irene could even think of turning to look, she felt a sharp prick on her right shoulder, followed by another in her lower back, and a third in the meat of her buttocks.

This would be the last thing she felt, her muscles instantly stiffening to the consistency of titanium and causing her to topple to the floor face-down and frozen solid. Irene knew exactly what was happening by the time her nose impacted with the soft carpeting, and her thoughts took on a speed and a life completely beyond her.

Medusa venom…gotta be…can't move can't move gotta move can't can't can't…Mother!...Kara…they'll go for Kara next!...gotta move!...get up get up get up!...how did they get in here…who are they?...who cares not important gotta move gotta get up gotta run back home…Kara's alone…shouldn't have gone out gonna kill Mara!...bleeding on Wulf's carpet…gonna kill Wulf too…sleeping on the job…fucking me stupid…stupid stupid stupid fucking me!...gonna kill kill kill Mara!...GET UP YOU STUPID BITCH!...get up get up GET UP!...I can't…I can't move…I can't…I'm bleeding…Mother forgive…I'm bleeding and I'm crying…you can't start crying, you stupid bitch!...get up and get home and protect…never apologized…gotta apologize to Kara…don't know why we fight…fight this!...fight fight fight FIGHT, GODS DAMMIT!...I'm crying and I can't feel anything…what's that sound?...those sounds…something breaking?...where's…what's that?...what's happening?...somebody there?...who's there?...what's…was that a body?...what just broke?...are they after Wulf?...no no no no no!...can't move can't see can't feel…is that…what's that noise?...yelling?...who's yelling?...I'm fucking yelling and can't stop can't move can't move!...

"Irene?" Wulf's voice cut through her silent hysteria. "Irene, are you okay?" The pointlessness of his question – she was clearly paralyzed, and so couldn't answer – had the salutary effect of pissing her off badly enough that she was no longer panicking blindly. Rather she began mentally seething and envisioning all manner of bloody tortures to visit on the first available (non-pregnant) body she could get her hands on. Her peripheral vision was useless, thanks to where she'd fallen, so she could only lay there and stew until new voices were heard.

"Clear!" That was Sean, sounding like he was ready to commit murder.

"Clear!" She didn't recognize that voice. There were other sounds now: boots on the carpet, heavy things being dragged somewhere, voices kept low and saying things she couldn't begin to make out. Eventually, a new voice came and addressed her directly, one that brought relief and panic in equal measure.

"Irene? You awake, girl?" It was Adrienne Hadley, doing her best to sound matronly and affectionate. Irene found herself rolling her eyes and wanting to slap her. "Okay, turn her over," Adrienne was saying to someone else, and Irene quickly found herself being lifted and carefully rotated about to lie on her back. She caught glimpses of Wulf's apartment, which looked like it had gone through a small war, only for the very drab ceiling to take up her entire LOS.

Adrienne was soon leaning over her, shinning a light in each of her eyes. "Okay," her schoolyard chum nodded. "Visual reactivity seems unimpaired. Can't you blink?" Irene did so, dearly wishing the whole time she could crinkle her nose and hit the woman with her best scowl. "Good, good. You were hit with diluted Coil venom, but you likely already knew that. Don't glare at me like that, girl…"

"She's bleeding," Beowulf put in from somewhere nearby, beyond her sight.

Adrienne didn't look away as she dabbed a wad of gauze around her nose. "It's just a nosebleed, Commander. Nothing more serious."

"You're sure?" Was it her imagination, or did Beowulf sound…scared?

"I'm sure, but you're welcome to accompany her to the recovery ward."

"Um…I'll…I'll be there soon." His prevarication was no surprise, at least to Irene. Adrienne elected to throw a glare his way on her behalf before turning to other unseen persons.

"Okay, strap her in. Irene? I'm going to give you a mild sedative so you can rest while this crap flushes out of your system. You'll be out for the next day or so."

A whole day? Irene wanted to scream. What about Kara?

Adrienne was adjusting a hypospray and gave her a placating grin. "Mara and Ghengis are with Kara. They'll bring her along to Recovery." There was a hiss of sedative spray and the ceiling began to move as the gurney she was strapped to was wheeled off. Irene quickly found her eyes drooping shut, a pleasant darkness settling over her thoughts and soon swallowing her whole.


Razorbeak Wood

Secure Room A

One Bell High

Beowulf Skye-Svensgaard entered the room, which was well-lit and bare of furnishings save for four metal chairs arranged in a loose circle around a small folding table. He'd stripped to the waist, but still wore his gunbelt. He looked over the four figures, each one stripped naked and tied to a chair with Marigold Creeper vines. The same vines were used to hold a sizeable wads of cloth that kept their jaws open wide. This last was a guard against the standard Probe Team practice of having multiple suicide options available in the event of capture, the most common being poison in one or more artificial teeth.

Beowulf had been emphatic on the choice of bindings and had personally supervised their use; Marigolds Creepers were one of the more innocuous examples of native flora found in the Monsoon Jungle, and saw wide use throughout Gaian lands. Not only were individual vines able to survive being severed from the parent mass, sealing themselves off and surviving on moisture from the air and photosynthesis for weeks afterwards, but it retained incredible tensile strength throughout. It wasn't silksteel by any means, but Mother Goddess knew it'd take more strength than a human body was capable of summoning to break free, no matter how prime their condition.

Surveying the prisoners, Wulf was confident none of them could manage that little miracle. The double-cusp-trap-slipknots that held the prisoner's wrists and ankles were nigh-unto-inescapable, and not simply because it was one of the most elaborate pieces of ropework yet developed by human hands. Wulf had seen even mature and healthy Razorbeaks stymied in their attempts to escape such knots; the barely conscious Probe Team members stood no realistic chance of managing it.

Beyond his sidearm and ballistic knife, he brought only two other items in with him. One – a Muskcone seed – he placed in the center of the card table, then pressed himself back against the wall. Drawing his weapon and aiming carefully, he fired a single round, hitting the fist-sized seed square in its center. Muskcones were likewise ubiquitous to the Jungle, though found more often in the coastal regions, and were noted for their trademark (and repellent to human olfactory nerves) odor. Their seeds were useless in any practical sense beyond use in schoolyard pranks; their skins were tough, but the volume of methane and noxious gasses they held under pressure was considerable. The only mercy was said gasses were completely non-flammable, just very, very nasty.

As expected, those gasses shot out into the room, making a noxious cloud which succeeded in rousing the four team members with but a single breath. They looked all around for several seconds, all three heaving and blinking and momentarily panicked. Wulf didn't blame them. Even though he'd held his breath and nose when shooting, it was good odds he'd need to wash himself down with old-fashioned tomato paste – several times – before the medical staff let him anywhere near his…Irene.

To their credit, the covert team calmed in an eye-blink and slew their eyes towards him. Wulf gave them a very predatory grin and stepped forward. Confident all eyes were upon him, he reached into one of his belt-pouches and set the slender band of steel onto the table for all to see.

"What do you people know of our customs?" he opened casually, conversationally. None of them deigned to answer, at least not verbally. Just as well, as it allowed Wulf to observe their respective non-verbal answers without distraction. The dark-skinned male and both females were stoic as stone, but the occidental male was actually paying attention to him. This told Wulf he was either the most junior of the group or least trained for actual field work. He put it at 40-60 in favor of the former, which gave him the first inklings of a plan going forward.

"That ring, to my people, is a promise," Wulf continued, carefully dividing his attention between the four. Their reactions – the black male's continued stoicism, the redhead woman's continued straining against her bonds, the brown-haired woman's matching the black man's emulation of stone, and the occidental youth's careful study of the ring sitting between them – all solidified his analysis that this was a team that had been thrown together ad hoc. This suggested their 'mission' hadn't been planned much further ahead than the act itself; killing Irene didn't serve anyone's long-term strategy that he could think of. Zarakov might dance a small jig, maybe, but that was the extent of it.

"A promise that I will always put myself between the wearer of that ring and any that might harm her."

The black man wasn't the leader, Wulf was sure of it now. He was too still, feigning complete calm so completely that he must have shut himself completely down mentally; an experienced operator then, maybe, but not someone who could direct others. That left the two women.

"And, should I fail in that, it serves as a vow to…balance…whatever harm she has come to."

The redhead's struggles were too staged, too obvious, to be genuine. And the brown-haired one only looked like she was keeping still. Wulf's trained eye caught how she was subtly rolling her arms and shoulders, testing her bonds. He concluded that those two were working in concert, presumably thinking the men's more overt behavior misdirect his attention. He still wasn't sure which of them was the leader of the unit, provided they even had one. If they were an ad hoc bunch as he suspected, it was likely they were just given their target's name and location and directed to terminate her. That was the kind of half-assed planning he'd expect from say Cha Dawn or Zarakov, neither of whom he could see trying it for fear of his mother's wrath.

"The fact you four are all alive and whole means you failed in your mission. The Professora is resting comfortably under guard. I promise you won't get a second chance at her, ever. That doesn't mean you'll leave this room, however. Not necessarily alive, anyway."

He let them all stew and struggle in their own ways for another five seconds, deciding that his analysis was most likely on target, which in turn clarified his options nicely. Purely for effect, Wulf clenched his fists and brought them down, hard, on the table with a resounding 'CLAP'.

"So, here's how this will go. I now require certain bits of…intelligence from you. This intel would be useful, but it is not essential, to my current plan. Worse comes to worse, I can simply proceed without that intel and develop a new plan of action as needs dictate. I'm very good at doing that sort of thing. Relish it, in fact.

"That doesn't mean I'm prepared to simply execute the four of you, as is my legal right. The intel you can provide me will save me some time and effort. Not very much, but perhaps just enough to warrant keeping some of you…or just one of you…alive for a little longer. Honestly, I don't care that much, one way or the other."

Wulf unholstered his sidearm, but didn't aim it in any direction. The barrel pointed directly at the floor, the weapon hanging loose at his side.

"I don't have the inclination to use either drugs or physical coercion to extract that intel. Such measures simply aren't reliable."

His arm shot up in a smooth horizontal arc, firing off four shredder rounds in smooth succession. The results were immediate and impressive: the black man had lost a chunk of his right shoulder, shards of bone and muscle painting the wall behind him, while the left side of the red-haired woman's head had become decidedly redder thanks to the destruction of her ear. The remaining two fared worst, the brown-haired woman being knocked completely back as the round ricocheted – amazingly without exploding – off her scalp, but did so with sufficient force to sent her spinning and landing, chair and all, with a painful sounding 'crack'. The last round found a home directly between the occidental youth's two wide eyes, the back of his head exploding outwards and covering the sterile wall behind him with bone and gore.

Wulf counted to five again, then slammed his fist onto the table.

"I trust this establishes that I have zero respect for your lives, and that I will not hesitate to end them should it prove more worthwhile to do so. And so you understand, I don't need to hear your voices to know that boy I just vented wasn't a field-rated operative, just as I know that the rest of you aren't an established covert unit.

"In fact, I know a great deal about each of you from just standing here."

He pointed to the now-shuddering black man. "You, for example, are someone who does not operate under deep cover, but rather is a rapid action specialist. You're nothing but a wind-up toy: no patience, no self-control, and no capacity to think beyond the immediate. No wonder you just went catatonic!"

The now-literal redhead was next. "You and your partner on the floor over there are good, I grant you. Deep-cover infiltration requires the kind of discipline and capacity to improvise you've shown in here, but that's useless if you haven't got a decent plan behind it or comprehend your circumstances. I mean, did either of you seriously think you could slip out of a properly secured Marigold vine?"

He paused again to give the pair a slow, sweeping examination with hooded eyes. As he did, a pair of guards appeared without a word or sign of summoning. They marched around the table and righted the brown-haired woman's chair, ignoring her murmurs of distress and pain as they did, then turned and dragged the dead man and his chair out of the room. They did all this without so much as word or glance to the rest of the assembled in the room. Wulf waited until they were alone again, then retrieved the ring from the tabletop, setting his sidearm and ballistic knife in its place.

"So, let's begin with how you received your orders to assassinate the Professora."


Outside, the two soldiers standing guard heard nothing of what was being said…beyond the occasional gun-shot, that is.

Sometime later, Commander Skye-Svensgaard stepped out of the room. Blood-splatters covered his arms and chest, but he appeared otherwise unhurt and distinctly unhurried. "Two of them are still alive. Take them to lock-down and give them medical treatment. Nothing beyond the minimum needed to keep them alive."

"Aye, Sir," the senior guard saluted. Wulf nodded his own acknowledgment and marched off towards the commissary, wondering what he'd have to barter for the two dozen cans of tomato paste he'd surely need to smell presentable again.


Tokagowa Ise Research Hospital, Recovery Ward

Day 92

Twenty-three minutes past Eight Bells Low

Irene blinked back a riot of blinking shapes and blobs as she forced her eyes open, wondering if it was the sedative or the Coil venom or both causing the miserable headache that hit her. Tempted as she was to close her eyes and just collapse into darkness again, Irene felt an immediate stab of panic as the previous day's events came rushing onto her. She meant to jerk her body into a sitting position, but only managed to list to the right, tearing an IV out and nearly falling out of bed. Her muscles were sluggish and tight, still feeling the effects of the venom and the fall. For some odd reason, her hearing was a bit off as well. Muffled and rough in her ears, but she would recognize that annoyed 'Frak' anywhere and anytime.

Kara stood up gingerly, as if she hadn't moved in a while. She glared at the squealing alarm coming from the machine Irene had upset. Her fist came down hard on it and the alarm stopped. Kara turned her annoyed gaze to her and put Irene back into bed.

Irene moved her jaw around, hoping to loosen it up, "Uuhh…uhp?"

She watched Kara roll her eyes, "Yeah, if you can tell me which button won't send a lethal dose of whatever this shit is."

Irene was saved from having to formulate some answer by a nurse rushing in, an expression of near panic on her face, "Is everything…" She paused, noticing the broken machine and the two women staring at her. "…Well, um. We have to…get a new one of those. Helps with flushing the toxin out of her system." The nurse frowned and sighed but left without any more.

Kara sighed and glanced at the various buttons, sliders, and other control mechanisms. A quick study gave her a basic idea of which thing did what. She pushed a square green button and the bed rose and Irene was able to sit up. Irene eyed Kara carefully – she was strangely quiet considering the circumstances. The truth was, Irene expected shouted insults and a grand temper tantrum.

Instead, she was just…sitting there, reddened eyes wide and apparently unseeing. Irene was unnerved and looked away, down at her toes. The silence stretched into horribly uncomfortable territory as Irene wiggled her toes in an attempt to ignore the silent woman sitting near her.

The nurse returned with a tech to re-insert her IV tube and connect it to a new machine. She tapped a few commands into the panel, glanced between the two women worriedly and quickly left.

Irene searched for some inane thing to say to Kara, hoping to break this very awkward silence. "How is the baby?"

She watched Kara blink once, gaze never moving, "Still in here." She patted the swell of her abdomen absently and fell back into silence.

"How long have you been here? Shouldn't you go get some rest?"

Kara's gaze finally met her own; she blinked several times – confused. "Since they brought you here yesterday." She seemed to hesitate, then asked "You want me to leave?"

"No, no. I was just…worried."

Kara frowned at her and blinked again. This time a tear slid from her eye and down her cheek. She brushed it absently, "I read about this poison. It attacks the central nervous system, first shutting down all but a few voluntary muscle movements. If a patient doesn't receive treatment within 25 minutes, involuntary muscle movements begin to suffer." Kara tilted her head, and for the first time – Irene realized that Kara was dazed and probably in shock.

Irene listened, bewildered as Kara went on to give her an in-depth analysis of the various treatments and uses for the Medusa venom – including its prevalence in the covert operations field. It seemed that she suddenly had a lot to say – not that Irene wasn't learning a whole lot more about the shit than she ever needed to know. But, the more Kara talked about it, the more hysterical she sounded.

"Kah…arrah. Kahhh…rah!" Her clumsy attempts to work past her slow responding tounge didn't seem to catch her charge's attention. She forced herself to yell as loud as she could, "KAHARA!"

The blonde woman blinked, more tears washing down her face. She was silent though and Irene took that to be a good thing, "Fine. I'mmm fine."

Kara shook her head, "I know. I've been here." She frowned and the dazed look came back, "I haven't left you know. Mara and Wulf were here, trying to get me to leave. Wulf even tried to pick me up." She tilted her head, "I haven't slept enough – I gave him a nose bleed. It was an accident…"

Irene felt her brow crease slightly at this very odd version of her friend. She was more out of it than even when she 'blacked out'. She watched Kara glanced down at her hands and just breath for several moments. She brought one up to pinch the bridge of her nose, "I think I need sleep. I haven't slept since I was told about the attack." Kara swallowed, "I just wanted to know that you were okay. Really okay and they weren't just lying to me to get me to calm down. I hate when people do that to me."

"Jus' fine. 'Ears offs…days. No m-more."

Kara nodded, "That's what they all said. But they all want me to be a healthy lab rat, so I didn't really believe them."

Irene shook her head, "Th-they car' about you."

Kara snorted, "Only the potential in my gametes. No – you care about me. You protect me. Wulf does it only because of you. Without you, I'm…I'm all alone." She bit down on her lip, hard.

Irene was growing tired, her head was heavy and she wanted to close her eyes and sleep. But, just as Kara wouldn't sleep until she knew Irene was well, Irene would not let herself rest until she knew Kara was…better. She forced her eyes open, "Jus' fine. Be jus' fine. Promiss'"

Kara nodded and leaned back in the chair. Her eyes began to droop, "You're my only friend. Everyone else wants me for some great breakthrough. Even Hadley, though she'd deny it. You are my friend…just a friend. You haven't even thought about that project you were going to base around my language since the third day we were thrown together."

Irene felt her eyebrow quirk, wondering how Kara had even known…she mentally shook her head. Irene didn't want to know right now. Kara was curling up and her breathing finally evened out into real sleep. Irene decided that it would be a good idea to get Kara out a bit more – it wasn't healthy for her, mentally or emotionally, to think that her only value was as a scientific oddity.

Then again, Irene reflected with brutal honesty, that isn't all that far wrong. She definitely needed to change that…

Such thoughts were abruptly side-tracked by a shuffling movement near the door. It took no imagination to guess who it was, the resultant surge of adrenaline more than enough to clear her mind and lend strength to her voice. "Captain," Irene called out softly.

"Professora," Beowulf Svensgaard-Skye rejoined as he stepped into sight. He looked unaccountably nervous, which perversely pleased Irene no end. Were she feeling just a hair more mobile, Irene was sure she'd have simply decapitated him on the spot. Privately, Irene would have preferred one of them simply decapitate the other; at this point, she wasn't particularly choosy about which of them did the deed.

But she wasn't, and that meant they had to actually talk to one another, preferably without waking up Kara. Apparently Beowulf had come to the same conclusion as he moved closer to her bedside. Irene caught a faint whiff of tomato off him, and was gratified when she could crinkle her forehead in question, which Wulf read immediately.

"I, uh, used a muskcone in an interrogation…" His voice quickly trailed off, only partially in embarrassment.

Irene swallowed her spit to moisten her throat just enough to speak. "Where's my ring?" is all she asked, eyes fixing on a point somewhere ahead of her. She knew that if she were to look at him directly, he'd see everything, something the miserable pirate hadn't earned yet. Her peripheral vision was clear enough that she could see him retrieve It out of one of his jumpsuit pockets. A part of her wished she'd just 'lost' the damned thing years ago.

She might as well wished she could have 'lost' her beating heart, which would have proven infinitely easier.

Aloud she asked "Did you have it blessed?"

"Yes."

"And you made blood sacrifice to Ares and Poseidon in the doing?"

Wulf hesitated, then acknowledged with a very quiet "Yes."

"Before you gave it to me?"

"Yes."

Irene felt like weeping, unsure if it was from relief or rage. "You…stupid…fucking…bastard," she ground out, voice cracking with each syllable.

"I…I'm sorry…" Mother Goddess preserve her, but it sounded like Wulf was on the verge of tears himself. And that just wouldn't do; at least, not until she was in a position where she could properly enjoy it.

"Give me my ring," she ordered with commendable clarity. When Wulf tried to place it in the open palm of her right hand, Irene glared and slapped at his hand. "On my finger, you fuck!" she hissed. "The proper one."

Wulf stilled at this directive, remaining frozen for several long heartbeats. Irene ultimately broke through it by raising her left arm as high as she could. The pirate took the hint and carefully maneuvered around the bed to stand at the appropriate side. Irene shut her eyes tight, the better to feel his taking her hand…sliding the ring onto the appropriate finger…and how his own hand tightened in surprise when she grasped it in as solid a grip as she could manage.

Without opening her eyes, Irene said quietly "I am your harbor, your port, and your shelter. For you are my Captain, my flag, and my fleet." Beowulf tried to extract his hand, only to have her tighten her grip. For good measure, Irene opened her eyes and fixed a death's glare upon him. "And if I ever find you with somebody else, my Captain, I swear I'll make a Yule present of her heart!"

There was no doubting the sincerity behind those words. Wulf nevertheless couldn't help but grin. "Just her heart? Why not mine?"

"I'd be pissed off, my Captain , not crazy." She squeezed his hand a last time, then let it go. "Now get the fuck out of my sight until I say otherwise." Irene knew she had little right to issue such an order, but this confrontation coming on top of seeing Kara in such a state had taxed her fragile control to the limit. She dearly hoped the tears that were about to overwhelm her weren't visible yet, otherwise Wulf would likely never leave.

The pirate commander clicked his heels and murmured "Yours to command, Professora." She then heard him turn and march away.

Irene counted to thirty before opening her eyes again, confirming he was gone. Only then did she give in to the tears that had pooled in both eyes, and for good measure she slapped a hand over her mouth to mute the sobs that were rumbling through her lest she wake Kara.

She was soon asleep herself, though it was clear it wasn't a peaceful one.


The Flowers Preach

Planet Biotech - Biology Lab

Inward Bound Project Headquarters, Conference Room F

Day 95

The Principles Team for Inward Bound – DoctorsBseiso, Zheng, Hawatt, Hadley, Jorge, and Naha – were all gathered in the project's main viewing room, watching the recording from Kara Thrace's latest bout of 'sleepwalking'. They were all present in the flesh this time, the material at hand judged too sensitive to risk transmitting anywhere.

The trouble was there wasn't that much to watch, the recording jumping over two hours between half past Three Bells Low and quarter to Six Bells Low on the morning in question. It was presumed that was when Thrace went for her nighttime 'walk' as the latter time was the first recording of a mature Isle of the Deep suddenly appearing in the bay. Precisely how she'd managed to get out of the base without being spotted, never mind onto the Isle, which itself had magically slipped past the sensor arrays, was a complete mystery to all involved.

By accounts, Lady Skye was practically hysterical when news reached 'Landing of this latest incident as well as the recent attack on Professor Fedotov; granted all she reportedly did was pound her desk and spit a few choice words at no-one in particular, which for her constituted a nervous breakdown. Captain Svensgaard simply ordered patrols of the waters around the 'Wood doubled, even going so far as to assign the newly-constructed cruiser Naiad to bolster the flotilla there, after which he apparently locked himself and Lady Skye into her quarters until she'd calmed down (nearly two days later).

The team watched as The Wolf approached the Isle, which had started to shift in a decidedly aggressive manner. It took just having Thrace kneel down and pet it for the damned thing to calm and still. She boarded the small ship, not without some difficulty, which promptly came about and jetted for the docks at full speed. The Isle kept perfect time with The Wolf, moving parallel with it, but slowed and ultimately stopped just short of the dockyard perimeter. Once The Wolf was moored and Thrace had her feet on the platform, the Isle sank from view completely, its presence once again lost to the sensors.

"Was it following Thrace or…" Hawatt mused aloud.

"Escorting her to safety, I suspect," Zheng stated. "You notice how it calmed when Thrace commanded it to?"

Hawatt shook his head. "It takes trained Empaths weeks to just contain wild Boils, never mind get them under actual control. But Thrace can do it with just a touch?" He started running his fingers through his hair, his agitation only getting worse as he spoke. "My god, do we even…is she even human?"

"She's as human as you and I, Pieter," Dr. Adrienne Hadley stated calmly. "She'd got the external and internal scarring to prove it."

"But…this…" Hawatt gestured helplessly at the screen before them.

"This just means…well, we don't know what exactly it means," Hadley admitted. "Perhaps being a non-genetically engineered Transcendi means she's more sensitive to the Planet."

"And vice versa," Dr. Zheng put in. "Clearly the wild life appears to like her; first Locusts, and a now mature Isle, both appearing and disappearing at her direction?"

"I doubt she directed anything, either consciously or unconsciously," Adrienne corrected. "Certainly she didn't 'control' that Locust swarm on the beach two months back. And here all that seems to be happening is her doing a spot of sunbathing in the bay. She hasn't shown any signs of distress or physical injury from this, so…"

"Oh, come on, Adrienne," Hawatt half-yelled. "I know you like her and all, but this…this…"

"She's physically fine. That's my point. Hell," Hadley laughed harshly. "She's in such good health now that I'm starting to wonder if the scarring in her liver and old breaks in her hands and elsewhere weren't put there deliberately, just to convince us she's…she's…" Now it was her turn to rub her forehead and look a tad agitated, muttering "Goddess, where did that come from?"

Dr. Naha broke the momentary silence, asking "Um, has her child shown any…abnormalities?"

"No. Nothing in the slightest."

"Thank the gods."

"Indeed," Dr. Zheng observed mildly. Being a diehard Taoist, she tended to take a dim view of theistic creeds, even though she would never say so aloud. That thought brought something to mind, something she'd previously dismissed as irrelevant. "Hasn't Captain Thrace been complaining of odd black-outs?"

"Yeah," Adrienne confirmed. "They seemed to be coming more regular since she…since we heard about what happened at the High Garden." It was an open secret - a least among themselves - that it had been Thrace who was responsible for the Hive army's destruction there. None of them dared speak of it aloud, if only so as not to endanger their respective clearances to the project. Both Lady Skye and Captain Svensgaard had been especially cagey about anything relating to Thrace lately; this latest incident had them both even jumpier now.

"You examined her as soon as she was back from her, ahem, sunbathing, yes?"

"Of course."

"Did she offer any explanation?"

"No, she…" Adrienne Hadley had nerves as strong as any Spartan in the heat of pitched battle, yet she paled visibly as things came together in her head. "Kara's been complaining for weeks about occasional 'black-outs'. It never occurred to me they might be anything more than ordinary fatigue."

"I doubt it would have occurred to any of us, Adrienne," Dr. Bseiso stated gently, having come to the same unspoken conclusion.

"So where does this leave us?" Hawatt asked.


Crow's Nest, Nautali Sea Colony, Emperyon Bay

Aerospace Strip

Sounding Two Bells (Two Bells Low)

Day 102

The Spartan needlejet approached and landed smoothly, its engines muted and Pulse-armored fuselage glinting in the double moonlight. Only Ulrik Svensgaard and a few guards were there to receive these 'visitors', this meeting needing to remain as covert as humanly possible. The jet was a two-seater, but it was only the passenger who exited the aircraft. Even from a distance and with only the indirect moonlight offering illumination, Svensgaard could tell Colonel Corazon Santiago was unhappy.

Why she might be escaped him; it was she after all who requested this meeting, although she seemed to have thought it would have taken place at Gaia's Landing. That had in fact been the original plan, but the various Probe Team incidents within Gaian lands had prompted Svensgaard to change the venue and to limit the participants to just himself and the Generalissima. While Deirdre's absence from Landing would be readily noticed, he at least had the excuse of needing to check on his own people.

Plus which, he wanted the chance to sound out Santiago on his own. He could remember plenty of sharp exchanges between Security Lieutenant Santiago and Science Lt. Commander Skye back aboard the Unity, early into the voyage here. Such exchanges were more muted now, but no less sharp and had far wider consequences. Better he make the initial contact and take measure of the Spartan's thinking.

Svensgaard could not help but stand at attention as Santiago approached him. She was no longer his leader, she had abandoned he and the rest of his people in their time of need…and still, he respected her. The anger he felt at her abandonment had faded a long time ago. However, there was and probably always would be lingering resentment.

He had to figure out a way to accept this though, she may no longer be his leader but she was now one of his most trusted allies, ironic as that was. Jones had laughed so hard he nearly had fallen out of his chair when he heard about this little diversion. The younger man was old enough to remember the chaos that ensued after Santiago's initial abandonment and found it ironic that the woman now had to sneak into a base she once built.

For her part, Santiago was wrestling with a great number of conflicting emotions, chief among them was the irritation of having to operate in this manner. She just was not a woman given to a great deal of subterfuge. She was realistic enough to know it had it's place in this world, and to not have some form of covert operational ability would cripple her faction. The self-styled "Data Angels" had amply demonstrated that little lesson. But rearranging everything like this was utterly maddening. She had left Sparta Command in the dead of night for Gaia's Landing four days ago, only to be informed en route that the meeting location had changed – to a Pirate base, no less – and that it would just be herself and Svensgaard. Lady Skye would not be present, for reasons that "would be explained" later.

But underlying this anger and irritation was a strong strain of fear. Not for herself; ironically Santiago had no doubt Svensgaard and his Pirates would protect her to the last man. No, her fear was for another; two others, truth be told. Atella was due any day now, and Corazon did not want to be anywhere but with her when the time came. At least her 'Attendants' – she really needed to formalize their citizenship before this was over – were there if worst came to worst; Sun-yi's own pregnancy was proceeding acceptably, so she'd be able to council Atella through her's, and all knew Crixus would die to protect them all.

Quite the strange little 'family' she'd gathered around her; they couldn't have been more precious to her if they'd all been joined by blood, rather than simple circumstance. Santiago wondered if that was how Svensgaard himself felt about his liaison with Skye.

She set those thoughts aside and came to attention before Captain Svensgaard. "Permission to come aboard," she stated flatly.

"Permission granted, Colonel." They exchanged salutes and Svensgaard gestured for them to go inside. "How soon will your absence be noted?"

"I should return to Blast Rifle Craig within the next ten hours, if only to maintain plausible deniability. What caused this change in location?" Santiago fully expected the question to be ignored.

Instead Svensgaard stopped and turned. "A probe team attempted an extraction in my son's own home eleven days ago," he reported in a low voice. "You can imagine the stir that caused."

"I can," the Spartan leader agreed. It was a nigh-unto-unheard-of breach of the conventions that governed covert actions; direct attacks upon families were long forbidden. That it was done to a faction leader's off-spring signaled a new and potentially dangerous phase was opening in the ongoing secret war. The thought gave her a chill when she considered the implications of this…and those for her still-unborn children back in Sparta Command.

"This has to stop," she murmured. Svensgaard apparently heard this and readily agreed.

"Yes. It must." Santiago looked at him again, seeing the clear sincerity there. It had been a long time since she'd had an honest exchange with another outside of her immediate circle; even her own field commanders had to exercise extensive discretion in their communiqués these days. That she could speak freely with her former-subordinate/now-equal was…strangely liberating.

Not that she allowed these thoughts to show in her expression, which the Generalissima schooled to a stern blankness; Svensgaard might be her equal in rank, but she was the one risking far more here. Better not to give her equal and nominal ally any hints to take advantage of.

In that vein, Santiago gestured sharply towards the still-empty corridor and asked "We have strategy to discuss, yes?"

Svensgaard gave her a small bow and gestured the same way. "We do. Shall we?" The two continued on, marching side-by-side, until they were gone from sight.


Razorbeak Wood Medical Tower

Togakon Ise Research Hospital

Prenatal Care Ward, Room Five

Quarter past Two Bell High

Day 104

Kara stared at the still images of her latest ultrasound. She supposed her expectations for the level of detail were a bit idiotic; somehow, whenever they said the word she always thought of the grainy black and white images that were so familiar to the Colonial people.

What she was looking at was a crisp, clear digital rendering that could be viewed in 3d and played as video file. She tapped the three dimensional display button and bit her lip. A boy, healthy and developing normally. He had Lee's nose and the Old Man's ears. There was a little bit of Zach in his chin and his face was definitely similar in shape to the pictures of a younger Joseph Adama that she had seen in the time she had known the Adama family.

It was hard to tell what his hair or eyes would turn out to be, but Adrienne was positive that the baby would have her coloring. Her poor baby was going to need a lot sun screen if that were true. Kara's lips quirked up a bit as she remembered that trips to the beach were probably not going to be possible…but it was nice to imagine.

Her hands shook slightly as she set the tablet down. She placed one on her rounded stomach and covered her eyes and forehead with the other, shoulders shaking. She sensed/heard Irene step into the room and Adrienne standing in the vicinity of the doorway.

Kara couldn't force the shakes to stop or hold back the few tears that slipped down her cheeks. It didn't really feel fair how Irene seemed to be able to turn her emotions on and off depending on what the situation called for. Not that she actually did; Kara was fully aware of her friend's recent crying jags while in the shower, leaving her to wonder what was causing Irene to become so unraveled.

But for the last week or so, ever since Adrienne had taken that frakking' video, Kara had been a basket case of uncontrolled emotion. She'd been tearing up and started shaking at the smallest things. Frak, even crazier was how the increasingly-senseless arguments with Irene seemed to be the only time she felt calm anymore.

She heard Irene sit down silently and all three women didn't speak for several minutes. Irene finally spoke up, "You've read a lot of Earth history over the last few weeks, right?"

Kara nodded.

"There is a saying, most often associated with old Christian writings – 'God never gives his people more than they are capable of carrying'." Irene paused thoughtfully, "I am not a monotheist and neither were my parents…but my mother often said that there was a universal truth in this statement. Our Gods will never place a burden on our shoulders that we are not capable of carrying through to its end."

Irene made a motion over the still playing video, spinning it around so the baby's face was visible to Kara, "I know that you can do this Kara. Artemis and Aphrodite would not have given you this blessing if you were not capable of caring for it."

"I'm scared outta my frakking mind, Irene," Kara heard herself shoot back hotly. "I'm…I…frak…"

She offered no resistance as Irene settled beside her and drew both arms around her, pulling her close. Another glance at her son's face completely undid her, causing Kara to curl into that so-awkward embrace and – for the first time since Zak's funeral – weep openly. Her hands bunched up Irene's silk shirt in a death grip as she shook and cowered before a future she never dared imagine.


Poyet Family Residence

Day 104

One Bell Low

Adrienne laid next to a quietly snoring Sean. She couldn't stop thinking about Kara's…well, it was hardly a nervous breakdown, but she wasn't sure what else to call it. She couldn't stop thinking about how defeated and scared she looked. It was not something Adrienne had come to associate with the woman.

From the whispered stories about the circumstances of Beowulf's birth, she knew that Lady Skye had been in much the same position – emotionally petrified about the consequences of having a child and not sure if she and the Captain could keep him safe. She'd also gathered from what wasn't said that Skye might have also been abused as a child…

Adrienne rolled over, ignoring the twinge at the base of her neck and stood up. She stretched for a moment, waiting for the pressure behind her eyes to lessen. Once her head relaxed, she left the bedroom and went straight to the communications consol, before she could talk herself out of what she was about to do.

Skye answered on the first ring, "Dr. Hadley. A bit early for your weekly report, but it is nice to see you again. Headaches lessening?"

Adrienne bowed her head, "Yes Lady."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this unscheduled call?"

Adrienne suppressed a wince at the slightly pointed statement and said, "Thrace is having…mental issues surrounding her pregnancy."

Skye quirked an eyebrow but remained silent, waiting for Adrienne to continue.

"I think her situation is…very similar to your own. You might have insight that would help her through whatever issue is holding her back from really connecting with the infant."

Skye's face had gone from a politely amused expression to something bordering on icy, "To what situation do you refer Dr. Hadley?"

Adrienne couldn't really think of a delicate way of stating that her faction leader was probably physically abused by her parents and therefore might have had the same issues Kara was having…so she bluffed, "You know to what I am referring Lady Skye. Kara needs someone who has experiences similar to her own to give her some sort of counsel. As much as Irene or I try, we do not have those experiences. For the health of the child and the mother, please make time to speak with her."

Adrienne was definitely on the receiving end of one of Lady Skye's glares, but she held the Lady's gaze during her curt farewell and nearly collapsed in a nearby chair. She sighed and rubbed her head – which was aching again. Maybe she needed to look into getting her remaining implants removed…the human body had been known to reject materials after so many years.


Elsewhere.

"Kara Thrace?"

"Computer came up empty on that one – whoever she is, she's important enough that Skye was actually listening to the asset. And the Gaians don't want anyone to know about her."


Prenatal Care Ward

Thrace/Fedotov suite

Half past One Bell Low

Kara paced across the common room anxiously. Her nerves refused to settle and she couldn't figure out why. Irene was in her room, sulking about something or other. Kara was never sure anymore, it was as if their very proximity to each other caused tension. She wasn't even sure what had happened this time – they had been getting along well this morning – she had dozed off briefly and woken to an agitated Irene glaring at her computing terminal.

A single word and they were fighting again. Nearly all of their interactions these days were this way and Kara wasn't sure she could take the stress anymore. She retreated to the other side of the room to stare out across the bay.


Irene rubbed her forehead and tried to breathe normally. It was getting harder to do so and her head was buzzing with numerous…memories. To combat them, Irene fell back on the tried and true method of distraction. Ironically, the best that she could immediately conceive was the very source of her constant distress.

Put simply, Irene was not sure that she could stand to be around Kara any longer: the arguments, the constant stress, her constant singing; it was just too frakking much anymore. Irene was sure it was time. Lady Skye owed her a few favors at this point, and Irene was going to make sure she paid up. She could even claim a more familiar obligation now, thanks to Beowulf having jumped the proverbial gun. Besides, it wasn't like Kara would go unprotected; Irene had heard through her own contacts that the military build-up here was starting to get noticed by other factions. Hades, if so much as one more trooper were added to the assigned garrison, they'd literally be tripping over each other.

Most times such pondering worked to keep the more invasive sense-memories at bay. But that morning it was all she could do to squeeze her eyes shut as…things…she really did not want to remember from the past flashed behind her eyelids. Irene forced them open again, suddenly desperate to stem the deluge of old thoughts. In the back of her mind, a thought was nagging for attention but it had some serious competition, not the least of which was the massacre of Mt. Plaia and the Lab Three incident.

Her mind snapped into a moment of clarity. Lab Three was a small University research outpost on the far reaches of their borders, sitting at the mouth of the Planetnek landbridge. Isolated, technologically advanced, and lightly guarded; it had been ripe for a native incursion, especially after its terraformers started a slash-and-burn of the nearby fungal bloom. When she and her unit had arrived, the whole complex was crawling with mindworms. None of the inhabitants had survived and the worst of the waves of native life had retreated by then. They'd had to burn the structure to the ground to drive away the remaining worm boils, many of her unit needing to be sedated immediately afterwards so they didn't accidentally immolate themselves or anyone else in their psychic panic.

The discomfort and thoughts she was having now mirrored those that she had experienced then, only amplified thanks to the added layer of still more bad memories for that anxiety to play with. The center of it was, unquestionably, Kara Thrace. The woman was…overpowering, in nearly every sense. Her presence was naturally hard to miss, the energy she literally burned with easily drawing all focus and attention of all she came into contract with. But why, when Irene knew Kara meant no-one any real harm, did that same presence and energy cause her to react so…so…

Then, as if on cue, it all stopped; the incessant buzzing in her ear, the constant replay of the worst moments of her life, and the prickling along her neck simply ceased, as if someone had flicked a switch. She blinked several times, expecting it to come back immediately. Irene stood where she was, staring out her bedroom window, hyper-conscious of her breathing, the sweat beading on her forehead, the carpet under her bare feet…

Most especially, she was conscious of the source of her distraction and anxiety in the next room.

This had to stop, right frakking now, before she lost it completely and did something terminal to herself or Beowulf or godsaloneknew. Just about the only person who was absolutely safe was Kara herself, which made a perverse kind of sense as she'd somehow become the center of Irene's personal universe. Whether she was a nova-bright sun or a naked black hole, she had yet to decide.

Irene was barely aware of her feet fairly gliding across the rug and back into the common room.

Kara felt an odd absence of sound and turned back toward Irene. The other woman was frowning, but not in anger. Now she just looked confused. Her gaze fell on Kara, "It stopped," she stated bluntly, to Kara's obvious confusion.

"Wh…what?"

"Whatever you were doing stopped. Almost as soon as I thought about…" Irene paused, not sure she needed to bring up the fact she was happily planning on abandoning Kara just a few short seconds ago. Except she wasn't 'abandoning' anything, was she? She'd done her assigned job and…and there was no earthly reason for her to stay…was there? Adrienne could look after Kara just as well…maybe even better…except Irene had no idea how they'd fit Adrienne in their suite as well, especially given there were only two bedrooms and one bath and there was no way she was giving up her room and its western view…

And she hadn't seen her family in years, not since her Da died and Mother went and remarried and she'd gotten a new sister (who reportedly idolized her) in the bargain. Harriet was sure to love Kara, especially once she learned how Kara had arrived…the girl was completely pilot-mad…plus Kara wasn't so far along that a short trip to Children-of-Earth would be a serious risk to her or the baby…

Irene shook her head sharply. Wait, hadn't she just decided to leave? Why was she planning a trip to her family with Kara in tow? Not that such a trip would be that hard to plan. They'd just have to leave early in the morning to beat the daily flight traffic that clogged the skies over the Gaian's primary commerce node…maybe she could convince Kara to fly the Raptor one more time…

"Stop it," Irene hissed, more at herself than Kara, who was looking at her more warily than ever.

"Stop…what?" Kara asked carefully

"Stop…whatever it is. This…this…crazy shite!" Irene gestured about with both arms at nothing in particular. Her agitation wasn't the normal aggressiveness, however. If anything, she looked more collected and focused than ever.

"I…you're…something about you is making me frakking insane. It's what's making me lash out…at you…every godsbedamned day…and I want…I need for it to stop." Her shakes stopped as she said this, her voice taking a kind of detached quality that sent chills across Kara's spine.

"Irene…" Kara tried speak, suitably terrified now. She'd seen a similar behavior in a second-year Cadet she'd played off-hours Pyramid with at the Academy, one who it turned out had 'emotional issues' and had to be mustered out of the Academy. There'd always been something off about how she'd stop and stare at those who apparently displeased her, and how her voice would take on an entirely different tone and pitch right before she did something – usually quite direct and violent – that racked up serious demerits. Kara later heard the girl ended up murdering a roommate before hanging herself.

While she doubted such things were in the offing here, Irene's manner quite frankly scared the crap out of her. Kara knew…at least hoped…that she could fend off anything her friend might throw at her. She made a point of moving away from the suite's bay window however, in case Irene completely lost her frakking mind and charged her with intent of taking them both over the side of the balcony.

"Irene, you're starting to scare me…" Kara half-jumped at the sharp bark of laughter Irene issued.

"I'm frakking…frakking terrified…all the godsbedamned time…an' I don't know why!" She rubbed her forehead with an open palm, her other hand clenched into a solid fist.

"What are you, Thrace?" she hissed, both fists clenched now. "What are you doing to me that I can't…I can't even think about leaving you?"

"You…want to leave?" Kara stuttered, appalled at the thought. This seemed wrong somehow. Sufficiently so that it got her back up and provided a much-needed shot of adrenaline. "Then why don't you?" she challenged, her own fists clenched.

Irene however appeared unwilling, or unable, to answer this directly. "I haven't seen my family in years…an' I can't so much as think about them without including you." She rubbed her forehead again. "You and I scream about every fucking thing on Planet…but you squirt a couple tears an' I…I'm ready to kill anyone who so much as looks at you sideways." Irene drew herself to full height and glared at her friend and tormentor. "I want you to stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop…holding me…here. Please just…just stop…'cause I'm…seriously considering blowing my fucking brains out…seriously…"

Kara's only response was to blink in shock. Irene realized as she said this how serious, and not, she was on this point. In truth, suicide was the furthest thing from her mind, if for no other reason than she couldn't envision leaving Kara to fend for herself. Unfortunately, her thinking had become so befuddled and confused that she was equally convinced there was also something lurking in her head that needed to come out…preferably by the most direct method available. Which, again thanks to her muddled mental sate, translated into putting a shredder pistol to her head.

The fact these two impulses – protecting Kara and removing this 'something' from her head – effectively cancelled each other out didn't register with her. Thankfully, Kara was more clear-headed, and so was able to react in her typical outside-the-box manner. To whit: she marched right up to stand nose to nose with her friend and delivered a very solid fist to Irene's jaw. It was enough to send Irene spinning and stumbling backwards, although she quickly righted herself and, after giving herself a quick shake, went back to glaring. Kara interpreted this as Irene getting focused once more, and therefore no likely to go grabbing a gun.

Unfortunately, this likewise meant Irene's fury was more clearly targeted…on her. Normally Kara wouldn't have minded, giving every bit as good as she got. However she was feeling more delicate than usual just then, the force she'd put behind her punch apparently having drained her reserves.

The young Empath stared at the wall gritting her teeth. Her thoughts kept circling back to her anger and frustration. "Gods damn it Kara! I know you are doing it – stop it!"

"I…I have no idea what you're talking about Irene. I wouldn't...couldn't do anything like…" She shrugged helplessly.

Irene pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to focus her thoughts past this crazed haze she was wading through. Coherent speech was always important in these situations. Otherwise, Irene had a feeling she was going to go bat-shit crazy and actually go ahead and grab a gun and…

Kara winced as Irene turned a very powerful glare on her, the Empath's chaotic roil of emotions hitting like a physical force. Fatigued, both physically and mentally as she was, Kara couldn't help but want crawl into the nearest hole, ugly memories of the Old Man's face when he called her a cancer that needed to be cut out imposing themselves on the present. Kara's gaze fell as her eyes filled with tears.

Her head snapped up when Irene let out a muffled scream. Irene was staring at her, eyes wide in horror, stumbling backwards only to trip and land flat on her ass. Kara felt "her" Locust suddenly appear and flutter softly against her cheek. As expected, the sing-song presence of the Planetmind quickly followed.

What is this noise, Karamind?

My friend, she's…

She is hurting you?

What? No. No, no. She's just…something's wrong with her.

Oh, we know this one.

You do? Kara re-focused her attention on Irene, who by now was huddling in a corner, sobbing and whimpering. The Locust was hovering just above her, its buzzing having taken a decidedly nasty tone. It was quickly clear that Irene's moans of distress were coming virtually in time with the Locust's sharp hisses and buzzes. It didn't take much imagination to figure what was happening, leading Kara to quickly step forward and cup both hands around the airborne worm.

"Hey, you! Quit that!" Kara chided. She could feel her tiny friend (the thought came literally from nowhere) continue buzzing and hissing in her hands. It however made no effort to actually free itself. "I mean it," Kara hissed in turn. "Quit scaring her."

The Planetmind replied in turn.

But Karamind, was not earthIrene causing you pain?

There's being angry with someone, an' there's deliberately hurting someone. Irene was just…angry.

But we only want…

An' I'll bet you've been scaring her so much she's gonna lash out. I mean, didn't you lash out when some humans blow deep holes in you?

But we…

Just stop it! She's my friend an' I don't want her to suffer anymore.

"Understand?" Kara heard herself saying aloud, realizing suddenly that she was 'back' from communing and, more importantly, Irene wasn't huddled in a corner anymore. Instead she was standing just a few paces away, eyes fixed on her still-cupped hands. Kara was about to step away, intent on releasing her Locust out on the balcony, when a wholly new mindvoice reached her.

Is that…singing?

Irene?

Kara? Can you…can you hear this?

Yup. Practically since I got here.

Hullo, earthIrene. We are pleased you hear us now.

You…you're the Voice Lady Skye is supposed to hear.

Yes, we speak with earthDeirdre. And now we speak to Karamind. And now we speak to you.

I…how…

Will you sing with us, earthIrene? Your song is a beautiful one.

I…I don't know how to sing.

We will teach you.


The guards standing outside the suite were initially worried by the shouting that had gone on, but had long gotten used to it. A few however were downright unnerved when they heard what sounded like a lot of off-key singing. And even more laughter intersped with it.


Gaia's Landing

Lady Skye's Private Residence

Day 105

Two Bells Low

Svensgaard entered his lover's residence as quietly as he could, fully expecting her to be fast asleep. To his surprise and private dismay, she was very awake and standing before the room's great window. In the double moonlight of Nessus Prime and Pholus, she appeared almost angelic. It didn't hurt she wore only what she was born with.

He sidled up behind her and wrapped both arms about her. There was nothing remotely sexual about the contact; theirs was an intimacy more primal than even that. "Waiting for me?" he asked, not leering nor enticing. Her distress (for lack of a better word) was clear enough when she didn't lean back into him. Svensgaard thought back over the past three decades since they'd reconnected, trying to come up with a corresponding incident to the body language she was broadcasting. The closest he could come to was her near-hysteria in telling him of Beowulf's conception.

The thought had the Captain frowning. Before he could ask the obvious, Deirdre had a question of her own. "D'you love me, Captain?"

Svensgaard adjusted his hold so his fingers came to rest on the simple metal band on her third left finger. "I swore in sacrifice to Ares and Poseidon to hold you above all others. You can choose one or a thousand others, but I'll never take another." He nuzzled her neck, seeking that single spot that always left her weak. "'Sides, I know how much you like buggering me."

In response, Deirdre shifted and carefully moved that same hand so the fingers ran parallel to the long-healed breaks along her left forearm. Ulrik murmured "I know about this." He took her left hand in his, fingertips caressing each of her four fingers. "Just as I know your fingers didn't grow naturally at this angle."

"There's more."

"I don't care."

Deirdre swallowed and whispered "You will."

"I won't," Ulrik stated, somewhat more forcefully than was his wont. "And neither will Thrace." He was gratified beyond words when she stiffened in his arms, her only sign of complete surprise and a silent admission to his implication. "I've had a feeling about her from the start, how she an' you are more alike than can be said." He tightened his hold upon the Scot who'd held his heart for nearly two centuries. "'S time to finish healing, love."

"I hate ye an' yer easy ways, my Captain." Deirdre Skye hissed venomously, relaxing into his arms, her native brogue thickening. "I hate how easy ye make the world work about ya."

"Aye," Ulrik Svensgaard smiled.


Hive Settlement Unification's Cavern

Upland Wastes, Northwest Pangea

Day 110

First Quarter, Eleventh Hour (fifteen minutes past Two Bells High)

No-one is ever alone within the Human Hive. Even those allowed to work on Alpha Level, at surface level, were ever attended by The Eyes. For Meing, this was as natural as breathing, and she had long ago ceased to think about it. More accurately, she had learned to reduce the inescapable throngs of bodies and scents to mere background noise, no more distracting than the sound of her own breathing. She had found precious, illicit privacy within her own mind that way, and used that private space in ways that would surely have her banished (and worse) should the Chairman ever so much as suspect it.

Meing was but twenty years old, and had spent fully half that time planning and preparing. The Chairman, being her primary teacher, provided all the motivation she required to carry on to her ultimate ends.

But recent events had shifted her focus, and she now turned her attention and thoughts to unraveling the mystery the Chairman himself had – possibly unintentionally – presented sixty days before. Meing had long ago recognized the dangers of direct action within the Hive, and so made no inquiries to anyone directly, all while keeping her indirect ones innocuous.

Meing knew better than to use the term "Partnership", which she took to be the overall name for whatever project or campaign the Chairman had initiated. The word was too 'loaded', and too likely to reach the Chairman's ear. The other code words used – Pact, Sect, and Endeavor – were a little easier to slip into odd conversations with those around her. She kept such 'slips' confined to those she judged most likely to be part of this "project", and thus would react (however involuntarily) to hearing them. It was through those momentary reactions that she hoped to divine the scope of whatever this matter was.

She was ever careful in her moves here, mindful of how her sister had disappeared in decades past, long before the Prometheus plague, after asking one too many questions of the Chairman's actions. Meing took no action or activity that lay outside of her normal patterns. Because she was being groomed for some niche within The Leadership, Meing had been taught from the start to use all means and methods available to her to reach a given goal. This time was no different.

Among the scientists and engineers and commerce monitors and maintenance drones, she traded in time and Bliss Tablets and work shift modifications (the Chairman had afforded her limited authority to modify schedules, an authority she rarely exercised and never without adequate justification). These trades were common enough within the Hive, Meing undertaking many herself, albeit strictly for utilitarian reasons; they provided her with necessary contacts and support she reasoned she would need someday. She did not neglect the Eyes in this, although there she made more use of her skills in combat and took advantage of the weakness her body invoked in many of the men and women who served there.

"May all our endeavors prove fruitful," she would mutter three times, each at strategic moments, among the scientists and engineers.

"I would offer a pact for our mutual efforts," was spoken in low, casual tones among key personnel in Commerce Monitoring, in the guise of expanding her personal web of contacts and contracts.

Among the Eyes, Meing was especially circumspect, their paranoia acute and honed to a razor's edge. To them, she would declare some variation of "It is only because of you that our sect is so strong."

In all cases, she watched the reactions these words elicited, taking careful note of those few whose behavior marked them. Those few, and the positions they held, told her more of the Chairman's designs than perhaps anyone realized. Meing however knew that the little she knew – while more than enough to warrant her termination – was nowhere near enough to act upon.

So she would continue to watch, and wait, and plan. And she would wonder all the while why the Chairman would need the services of a handful of geneticists, surgeons, environmental engineers, and psi-trained security personnel? More importantly, she would wonder who the Chairman had allied himself with (why else would he use the term "Partnership" as this effort's masthead), and what their ultimate goal was.

Thankfully Meing Ko-Yang, second-born child of the Chairman of the Human Hive, was nothing if not patient. She would unravel the mystery in time. This, she silently swore upon the memory of her lost sister, adding the vow to see their father's head decorate the end of a spear for good measure.

All she needed to do was watch, and wait, and plan, and when the time was correct…strike.

Until then, she would use her mind and body as her father had taught her, as tools to reach her chosen end. And if that end included her father's humbling, all the better.


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