This infernal chapter is finally done. And I still have flashback scenes to do...But we're getting there. I know I keep saying that, and I'm sure Ickabar's story won't be finished in the next chapter, but it will be soon. The 30th Chapter will perhaps make up the last of this part...
Sorry again for the lateness; three days over a week. I'm exhausted, finishing this and working on another fanfic and college work. Still going, though. I'm AMAZINGLY surprised at all the new feedback and new reviewers that have popped up, you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you so much for the support :)
Lifeforce Chapter 28
"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."
―Søren Kierkegaard
Ring around the Roses
"...I take it I'm not going to understand why."
Clank trusted Ratchet. He could never begin to think of a person he'd trust more than Ratchet. But there were some things between them, robot and lombax, that neither of them would truly understand. He likened a lot of this situation to that of the Zoni; Ratchet had outright thought him mad before accepting their existence, but even then he could never understand the connection he had to them. He found that saddening; his best friend couldn't understand one of the most important things about him...but now Clank faced it vice versa. Ratchet needed to venture to Fastoon, and something was telling Clank that this time...he could not come along.
Ratchet sat to his right, knelt beside the limp, heaving chest of Marlo the archaeologist. Ratchet looked drained; even beneath the bright amber fur adorning his frame he could see paleness and bags forming under his eyes, a horrible wakefulness that wouldn't subside until this was over. Clank felt a figurative feeling of gears churning in his little robotic body; worry clogging up his circuits. Ratchet was not doing well, and Clank could not help him. He lowered his head. "...I do not understand how the Lifeforce works, Ratchet...but I find myself unable to doubt you."
Ratchet flashed a faint grin; a ghost of his usual beams. "Yeah...I'm just glad you don't think I'm crazy." They shared the faint grin, the Zoni soaring their merry way through both of their minds for a brief moment. Then it faded away from them, leaving the two trapped in their predicament.
"I dunno, Clank, it's just something I have to do...Sorry if it sounds stupid." Ratchet said this more to Trisby; glancing over his shoulder. He briefly caught a look of the back of her head; she didn't turn to face him. He resumed his stare-down of the wall, slowly letting his body rest, for now. His mind was aching for relief, but he knew any attempt to sleep would be fruitless. He hated this vulnerability this...Lifeforce was making him go through, but he had no other option. He felt as if they were trapped in a little boat in the middle of the sea with a single paddle, and relying on nothing more than a hunch.
"We'll get to the library." Trisby's voice said, plainly. "...Don't worry about it. Do whatever is in your head."
Ratchet expected some kind of witty remark, or at least a jab at the not exactly fool-proof plan he had of going to Fastoon. He decided to focus on technicalities, of this situation, and not the giant invasion taking place, not the fact he'd be separated from Clank, and not the fact there'd be anything between him and whatever this thing wanted.
"What about the ship?"
"I'm piloting to an abandoned moon base. By now everyone will have booked it knowing Tachyon's passed the region." Trisby entered in a few keys, at last meeting his eye. "You'll get one there."
Ratchet forced his heavy head to bounce up and down in the stiffest nod he'd ever experienced. Trisby did not look at him. He found himself wondering what she was thinking, but gave up on it soon after. He was asking enough questions as it is.
Time passed. Ratchet knew that his time before he was alone, nothing but him and the Lifeforce, was ending. Clank sat beside him, petting his arm with a beaming face. Ratchet couldn't help but grin back at him. Just a little. It wasn't as if he'd be gone long; Clank was going to be safer than he was, anyway...
He could see the radar out of the corner of his eye. They were drawing nearer the place Trisby had indicated. The ship gave a soft little jostle as it came to a stop. Ratchet found himself wondering how Aphelion was doing; had she kept herself far from the fleet after they abandoned the Asteroid Base...?
He stood, shaking off his numb legs. He looked down at Clank; his head tilted and the ever-worried look still present. Ratchet forced himself to pivot his body and move to the door. It slid open, and he looked back over his shoulder once.
Qwark watched him like a helpless child, Clank for once without any logical words to offer. Trisby was finally looking at him, that indifferent face of hers marred with a mirth gloom that shifting behind her eyes. Ratchet didn't know what her look meant, but he hoped she felt something. He gave Clank a weary thumbs-up before trekking down the steps. They'd keep in touch. Cronk and Zephyr would probably not stop rattling in his ear. He found that oddly comforting as he rigged one of the nearby ships, not even looking for anything fancy. A mechanic like him would usually fuss over what ride to pick, but he just wanted this over with.
The engine groaned behind him, and he listened as the ship took off, and shot away from the deserted station.
Ratchet had never felt so alone in his life.
...
And just when one thought Ickabar couldn't possibly stand out more. The purple lombax was slumped in a seat, trying to hide his body as much as possible. The restaurant was dimly lit; fashionably so, by the owner's views. It was meant to look authentic; with the night bringing a dark contrast to the amber lights and red infrastructure. Leo didn't know what look they were aiming for, but it felt too hazy and crowded to him.
Maybe that was what Fergus had chosen it for; for once no one seemed to notice the blazingly purple fur that Ickabar sported. None the less, only the top of his head was visible where he slouched; his ears drooped miserably and staring at his noodles with a forlorn expression. He hadn't touched his food, and gave a small sniff, large eyes glazed over. Leo had never seen anyone so puppy-like.
Fergus was not deterred. Leaning on his elbow and sipping a can of beer in an un-mannered fashion, he looked quite relaxed, and fitted the 'slouching' posture Ickabar had retained throughout the evening. Leo sat much more respectively, and now he felt almost out of place himself. He hadn't ordered more than a glass of water.
"Why'd you even follow?" Fergus grumbled, eyeing him up from where he was practically laying his upper body on the table. Leo quirked a brow.
"Obligation...I suppose...couldn't let you handle it alone." He risked a small smile there, trying to lighten the situation. Ickabar didn't appear to be hearing either of them. He was sucking up his noodles, ears still flopped. Leo resisted the urge to tell him to eat more properly.
"...How you 'doin...?" Both he and Fergus watched him. He wished Fergus would get rid of the frown his face seemed to have been permanently moulded into, it wasn't helping...
"...I'm..." Ickabar placed his plate of noodles down. He stared at his knees, eyes wide and sliding left to right, like a cornered mouse. He closed his eyes. "I don't know..."
Fergus exhaled through his nose, turning his head away. Leo cast him a look that he didn't appear to see- and if he did he ignored it. Why bring Ickabar here if he intended to just let him continue...
Ickabar was staring at something brewing by the bar stools of the restaurant. Leo realized the immediate area around them and the bar had gone into an apprehensive hush. Even Fergus's lazy eyes slid over towards it. A man, who judging by the twitch Leo saw in his floppy ears and the waver in his deep voice had clearly too much to drink, was leering at the waitress. The peach-coloured female leaned away, her face mortified.
"I know you where lookin' at me like some kinda dolt –"
"No, I wasn't even looking -"
"Shut the f*ck!"
Fergus had stood up, slowly. He did is so lazily that Leo almost didn't see his thin fingers slink like snakes around the bottle of wine he'd ordered (now honestly he'd just had beer –) and it took all of Leo's reflexes as a Geography Teacher to spot it before it was too late. He grabbed the bottle and tugged – and he tugged back. A blur of purple trotted past them, sliding through the crowd like he was made of air, up to the commotion.
The lombaxes froze, gaping, and clinging to the now forgotten bottle. The drunken man had raised his fist and a unison of gasps washed through the air. Ickabar whipped forward and his thin arm stretched. He grabbed the man's wrist and pulled it back. The man's eyes widened, drunk and bloodshot. The on-lookers' eyes widened.
Even Ickabar's eyes widened.
Then the intoxicated man broke from the shock, red eyes turning to slits as his clenched knuckles turned to him instead. He needed someone to throw the built – up muscle in his arm. Ickabar released him and swung back, mouth ajar, he was about to –
- Not about to have his teeth knocked out. Ickabar stood, head spinning in confusion, as Fergus smashed the class bottle over the head of the drunkard. The yells of the crowd escalated.
"Hey!"
"Whoa –"
"Wish I'd have done it -"
"You'd better be ready to pay for that, Mgive!"
A chair flew over Ickabar's head. He didn't know what started it, but it had started it all right. Wasn't it off that the unrelated action of two drunks (he was very sure Fergus had had his fair share of sips) could somehow give everyone else permission/prompts to break into a bar fight?
"Yeep!" He ducked an incoming bottle, one of Fergus's bottle's brethren. Fergus seized the front of his shirt and dragged him through the chaos. Leo lifted up a chair, using it to try and shield himself from the showers of broken glass.
"Let's get out of here!" Fergus barked at them both, tugging Ickabar through the crowd. Ickabar stumbled, feeling like he'd turned into a lombax-shaped jelly, and his stomach flipped as he was jerked to his knees. Fergus was crouch-walking through the tangled legs of the fighters, Leo following behind. A small doorway, humorously hidden, was stashed at the side of the bar.
Ickabar wasn't surprised Fergus knew the escape route of bar brawls...
The three slipped away as the chaos reigned; as soon as the desert night's air hit their faces they broke into a run, sprinting away from the calamity they left behind them. Ickabar felt a grin pull his lips, and he found he couldn't stop. His head was whirling, heart pounding...but he couldn't stop grinning. He must have looked crazy; Fergus a-glare, Leo looking dumbfounded as well as horrified as he ran after them.
But for once, he decided he didn't care.
...
Ratchet didn't know how long he'd slept, but it felt like years. His whole body felt heavy and unpleasantly hot when he awakened; his face almost fused to the control panel in front of the pilot seat. The ship's radar was beeping lazily around him. He sat up, moving his jaw. His left cheek felt numb after leaning on it so long.
He peered groggily at the navigator. But the real wake-up call was right smack in front of him. There lay Fastoon; quiet and empty, a ball of dust in space. The lomax stared at it. He always felt uneasy seeing it, always felt uncomfortable. It was like being in a graveyard. He couldn't bear to do it alone.
But he had to. Heaving a slow, heavy sigh, and breathing back in, he prepared himself. He gripped the steering joysticks, and sending the ship soaring into the desert sky.
...
Living on Fastoon had been out of the question. When they had returned years ago from the dimensionator's portal, lying there in the Court of Azimuth, Ratchet hadn't needed a long time to feel like leaving. Especially after Clank had been abducted by the Zoni...he hadn't really returned, not much. Sometimes, but not for the night. Tachyon's words were like salt to a wound, but they held a despicable truth as he'd almost knew. It was empty. Nothing but the memory of what happened lingered. After he'd found out what happened here, his eagerness to return to Fastoon had evaporated.
He sat in the ship, and slowly pressed the tip of his finger against the button to raise the hood. With a hiss the hatch opened, and the amber lombax hopped out, landing with a soft thud upon the sand. The dust clouded around his feet. He raised his head. Ratchet could hear nothing but the echo of his footsteps. No trace of life or any noise that suggested it. Slowly, he began walking.
I have no idea what I'm looking for...
A breeze slid past his elbows. Ratchet turned, hair standing on end, at the eerie feeling, like a snake sliding past his arms. The air around him had gone cold in a millisecond, and...he saw blurs. The air around him seemed to shift, visibly shift.
And every time it did, something whispered. Ratchet slid a hand through his ears, telling himself not to panic, not to freak out.
But it's just so weird...
"...Okay..." Ratchet spoke slowly to the air around him, flexing his fingers. "This is how its gonna work...I'm gonna walk, and you do your thing...I need to know what I need to know to stop Tachyon..." He began walking again. The cold shifted; becoming even bitterer as he turned to the left. He shivered, but followed the coldness. Aimlessly, he walked, and hoped he would be able to keep doing so.
I'm not gonna let this break me, not after everything I've been through to get here. Clank's counting on me...everyone is...
And, as he'd dreaded but expected, his vision began to blur. The grey of the buildings and the fawn ground merged into one and an eerily familiar place faded into view.
...
Ickabar was moving through the caves. The dampness clogged up his nose and stifled his breathing; his boots where soaked through by the riverside. The tunnel surrounding him in a winding embrace grew wider and broad the further he ventured. His heart was beating with the familiar elevation that exploring brought; he had no idea what he would fine.
Then he saw it. A soft glow, as pale blue as the eyes in his skull. He came to a halt; excitement brewing in his chest. Could that be it? The thing he was searching for?
After all his studies, he thought he'd be prepared to see the blue glow...but he wasn't. It was so soft, yet so cold...
Ickabar drew closer; the cave evolved into a chamber, the ceiling had raised high and the walls curved like the inside of a pot. But Ickabar didn't look at the walls with their trickles of water gleaming in the light. Embedded in a pedestal-like rock ahead, in the centre of the chamber, was a glowing blue sphere. Smooth like glass, hollow like a Christmas bulb, with the shimmering blue energy drifting sleepily within. Around its centre he could just make out a rusted bad travelling around the ball's centre; runes lining the once-gold band.
Ickabar couldn't look away. Slowly, he came closer. The air around him had gone piercingly cold, nipping at his ears, even though the cold didn't used to bother him in such a manner. He reached out; watching the stirring blue light shift in the ball, lighter than foam.
His hands slid onto the sphere, and lightning stuck. Not from the sky, but from the smooth surface – a bright light burst from it and Ickabar felt it streak through his veins, pain zapping at his nerves and stiffening his bones. His back arched, his hands stung like he had been burnt and his legs buckled beneath him. Ickabar felt the ground meet him with a heavy slam. The chamber blackened around him as the shock dragged him into an empty sleep.
It channelled through him like a current; it pumped through his veins like blood. Stirred, but not awake. Dormant. The whispers murmured in the silence, incoherent. Their meanings where lost among the forgotten languages and words that hadn't been heard for thousands of years. But now they had been found again. The sleep was ending.
...
Is that it? Is that the artefact – the one we're looking for...? The one Tachyon and the Loki (and Nefarious) are tearing up the galaxy looking for?
Ratchet stumbled, forcing his legs to continue. He shook his head, trying to rid it of the headache settling in his skull. What did this one mean? Dormant, sleeping...He had no idea. All e knew was that Ickabar did really have the thing that caused all of this chaos. Problem was he had no idea where he put it. Wouldn't Tachyon have searched Fastoon first-hand when he found out a lombax had one possessed it?
Then again it seemed a bit obvious to use this place as a hiding one...so maybe not. Ratchet finally came to a slow halt, regarding the sand around his boots with disinterest. He'd come here for answers, but all of it just piled up. He had no idea what he was meant to do and that peeved him. Now, he hadn't always had a plan, but he'd at least had a helpful suggestion for Clank or some form of a guess or lead. Now he was just following around cold air.
He face-palmed; fingers slapping against his furry face. A groan heaved inside his chest.
The whispers rose like a swoop of howling wind, fading in, fading out. Ratchet slowly lowered his hand, no longer startled. He turned slowly in a circle as the murmurs seemed to move around him; his very good ears picking up the distorted, breath-like sounds. He scanned the area of debris surrounding him, keeping as still as possible.
Then he saw a hand print on the crumbled wall of what once was a building. Five fingered, bony, and faded...but still there. Ratchet approached, feeling uneasy. The brown hand print looked very old, and he had a good inkling of when it was formed there. He looked closer. Brown.
A horrible idea came to him and he stepped away, swallowing. Dried blood. It had to be; no mistake. Curiously, he raised his own hand and hefted it beside it; careful not to touch it by even a single strand of fur. Longer fingers, but thinner...how different yet similar all the lombaxes had been...
"Why show me this...?" He muttered, unable to look away from it. The words came out like spitting out sticky sweets. "...I know what happened." His hand dropped to his side.
He stumbled over the burning carcasses that had been people seconds before; his breath snagged in his throat and his hand lashed out to steady him, he'd rather lean on burning metal than fall upon the bloodied sand. And his hand smacked against a wall, standing, but standing alone, the rest of the structure was rubble. His other arm lay useless, bloodied and hanging like a broken puppet's. His shoulder ached with the wound, blood seeping out and clotting his fur...
Ickabar dragged the air into his lungs, scraping what breath he could from the momentary rest, and staggered on.
The piercing pain that came with the image made Ratchet double over, gripping his head. It was gone in a second, but it left behind a nauseating heaviness in his brain. He tried to think rather than freak out. There was no wound in his shoulder. It happened years ago – and well, not even to him. He glanced over himself just to check, and sighed when he found nothing was wrong.
Well this is getting pretty ridiculous.
He ventured onward, not really knowing where he was going. He found himself wandering inside an old building; empty. Its furniture had probably been stripped by scavengers. Sheltered from the cold the whispers had brought, he leaned against the wall and slid down into a slumping position. His eyes felt heavy. He'd grabbed a few hours sleep back on the ship, but not enough. His eyelids fell shut without his say-so.
He wished, nearly downright preyed, that if any dreams plagued him, they would be useful. Or at least happy.
...
Ickabar had awakened on the cold, damp floor of the caves. He didn't know how long he'd remained here, but it was apparently a while, as his flashlight battery was low and his whole body was stiff. He licked his lips and forced himself up. It became apparent at that moment that he was holding the shock-inducing ball in his hands.
He bolted upright, gazing down at it. But, to his disbelief, it didn't shock him. Gingerly, he rotated it in his hands. It was very light yet very big, like a beach ball really. He poked the rusted band around the middle curiously, hearing a soft tapping noise. No electrocution.
"Ickabar! Icky, Where are you?"
"Icky..."
He turned his head, feeling a lightness hop into his chest. His group had found him, it seemed. Grinning merrily, he got to his feet, wobbly since he still held the beach – ball like artefact in his hands. He trotted along to find them.
Then everything swayed. Like standing on a ship in a storm, only it made it right into his head. It felt like everything in him was sinking, his brain, his stomach, his chest...and he couldn't even cry out. The tingling, numbing sensation spread from inside his chest to the rest of his body; his legs gave out once again and he fell with a flop. It was as if gravity had suddenly dragged him down. He couldn't get up, his eyes wide and open. The only things still able to move.
That is, before his vision faded. The archaeologists, Boddo, Canter and Marlo, found him lying there. Fergus had been with them; grudgingly clad in a helmet and harness. They flocked around him like birds. Fergus was the first to kneel beside him, turning him over slightly. Ickabar appeared almost asleep, though his unconscious face held a strange look; as if he was lost. Marlo stared; bushy moustache bristled in caution, at the sphere in his hands.
"Don't touch it!" He burst, as Boddo's curious fingers reached for it. Pretty and glowing, like a little firefly...but Marlo didn't trust it. He pulled out a folded blanket they used for rest stops and bundled the ball inside, wrapping it up.
Fergus cocked a brow at it, but his attention to the thing was limited. He turned his head back to look at Ickabar, who was very still. He was breathing and no visible wounds were present.
"Let's get him back to Fastoon...whatever this is, it took him out."
...
The image vanished from Ratchet, and the suddenness was jarring. The whispers where back, but they where loud, and accumulating...distorting as they seemed to get closer. Then, they built up into a single voice, speaking as one in different tones, different pitches, creating anarchy of eeriness and contortion. Demonic, Ratchet felt was the best way to describe it.
"The Lifeforce latches onto vessels. The more it touches the stronger it gets, the more links the more connections...It is getting stronger, stronger, it began with him..."
Began with him? Ratchet scowled, pressure building in his chest. "What are you saying? Is...Is the Lifeforce some kind of infection?"
"Not an infection. But it spreads like one...through the memories, and through the emotions that mortal beings tie each other with...and through a single touch of it binds you to it forever..."
Ickabar touched it...
"Wake me up."
He hid the Lifeforce for a reason...
...didn't he?
