It Could Be Worse
Episode 20: Miserable Victory or Sweet Defeat?
By Sulia Serafine
[Episode started: 3-20-01. Episode finished 4-8-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.
Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!
E-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay?]
It was freedom from the torture and suffering. This torture and suffering had been his life. He was not dying. He had already died when all the good things in his youth went up in flames. Since then, he was merely a ghost masquerading as alive. But he did a terrible job of pretending. His emotions had steeled themselves deep within him. All that mattered was becoming strong so he would not be hurt again like he'd been in Galla. He had to be strong to defend himself against the unjust men and women of power. No matter how much you tried to purify the system, it was always going to be corrupt somewhere. Someone took bribes or looked the other way when a man sinned against the world. That was life.
At first, the option to join some gang appealed to him. Or maybe he could be a famous outlaw, rebelling against authority. But that would only bring more people to chase after him, trying to knock him down and burn him at the stake. So, why not enroll in law enforcement? As a common thug, your purpose was what you wished. He did not wish for anything. He could care less how the rest of his life went. In the Dominion Jewel Protection Force, they chose your life for you. They promoted and demoted you accordingly. They gave you missions. They assigned you a home.
The only thing that had been of his own choice had been keeping his father's bike. It was to his own misfortune, for it was his weakness. That whole disaster in Galla with his partner Keladry proved it. He had to admit that she'd changed when he first met her. It had been a battle of wits. Both were accustomed to keeping their feelings to themselves, not allowing anything to show through. Exceptions for her included fondness towards close friends. Exceptions for him included threats of anger and annoyance, also mocking. Back to the point: if he never had the bike, she would not have bought it back for him. And she would not have had to confront him. And he wouldn't have let his humanity rise from the dead. And he wouldn't have kissed her--
It was a mistake to keep the Black Knight around.
But it was too late for regrets. It was over. The pain would end. It didn't even hurt that much any more, he told himself. So he could not feel his legs, so he could not move his head-- what did it matter? It was over. He could rest in peace, never to bare the pain of living ever again.
Joren Stone was sprawled out upon a metal table. He could feel sunlight on his face, warming his deathly pale skin. It never occurred to him that the warmth was faked by special light bulbs. He could hear birds in the distance, and the sound of animals as they moved through the trees. It did not occur to him that these were Immortals, watching curiously as Joren's assailant toyed with an odd machine in the middle of the pseudo-forest. It was better than the cold floor of the presidential laboratory, so like a wretched and lonely hospital.
"My boy," Roger smiled faintly, picking up a thin metallic feather from the ground. "You're going to enjoy your new physical prowess. You'll work for me, because if you don't, I'll go back to your hometown in Galla and make sure all those corrupted pigs live in luxury for eternity. I know you can hear me," he hissed into the prone man's ear. "Don't think I didn't look up your name when we first met. I knew you would threaten me later. It was all a matter of time, you poor son of a bitch." His voice changed. "When this is over, I think Joren Featherstone is what I'll call you." He laughed horrendously. There was a screech from the trees. A large creature with the head of a human man but the body of a bird of prey flew down to personally watch the venture. He preened his sharp silver wings.
"He's almost dead," the Stormwing whispered. "You stupid human, you'll lose him."
Roger frowned. "I will not. I can revive him with your blood, can't I?"
The winged conspirator hopped down and perched on a lower branch, spanning out his wings for balance. "True. But I'd not waste it if I were you."
"Oh, but Moonsword, you're not me. You're my puppet."
The Immortal became flustered by the lack of respect the human man was giving him. He turned his head sharply and mumbled something under his breath. He flew off, leaving Joren subject to whatever Roger chose to do to him.
~~
K.J. turned to Cleon and grabbed his collar. She glared at him through narrowed eyes. "Stop staring at me, Kennan."
He gulped. "Whoa, K.J., it's not what you think. I wasn't staring!" He tried to chuckle jovially. "Right guys?" He looked over his shoulder at his friends. They directed their gazes elsewhere. Sure his best friend would-- Faleron was whistling and admiring the fake foliage above. Cleon sighed dejectedly and faced the woman who continued to hold him by his shirt. "S-sorry."
She shoved him away from her and stalked forward. The others fell into pace behind her. He kicked the dirt in frustration while his two closer friends --who were still wet-- regarded him sympathetically. He watched the dark haired woman in front of him even though she told him to stop. He couldn't help it. He was fascinated with her.
"I warned you Kennan. Why do you keep doing that?" she yelled angrily over her shoulder. Keladry and Lalasa exchanged glances and looked back at him with the same questions on their faces.
He blushed. "It's nothing." To his self he thought, "I wonder if those things are real…"
"Are we nearing the main laboratory at all?" Lalasa whined. Her legs were so tired of walking.
"No," their mysterious guide answered. "We have to pass the ogre dwellings first. They are mostly gentle things. Don't fear them. Move slowly and don't talk so loud." She pushed back a few branches and ducked under them. The others did the same.
Lalasa fussed a moment when her hair snagged on it. She growled to herself and untangled it. "Ouch."
Roald stayed back and helped her. They jogged to catch up with the rest of their group. It wasn't long before they passed a large stone wall with deep niches carved into them. Fragments of burnt firewood were cooking fire evidence. There were also a few crude tents made out of raw leather set up beside the stone wall. K.J. paid it no attention and walked on. The others paused to observe the living space and hurried after K.J. Then they remembered her warnings to be slow, and so they noticeably decreased their walking speed.
"Where are they?" Faleron asked curiously.
"They knew we were coming and hid," she replied, yawning. "Be quiet now. They're watching us from the bushes."
"They are?" Cleon gasped and stared at the trees and shadows around the clearing. Then he saw them. Pairs of eyes in the shadows, watching cautiously, but not threatened whatsoever by the humans that walked past their homes. Blue skin, he noted with more interest. A lot of things were blue in the Immortals.
Even as they left the ogres behind, their minds were content on imagining other Immortals with all their never-before-seen brilliance. Lalasa told some of her thoughts to Roald, who put an arm around her shoulder as he listened. Cleon hummed a jaunty tune while gazing adoringly at the back of K.J.'s head. Owen, not knowing many of them personally, stayed near Keladry. Faleron limped, still refusing help. He insisted that it no longer affected him, but Keladry saw the grimaces in his face whenever he thought no one was looking. The former thief was an independent man. There was no denying it. He was a man of opportunity and risk.
"He takes risks for us," she thought to herself. Keladry glanced at her other companions. "He's the only one of us who isn't directly tied into this mess. Lalasa has her father, Roald is the Vice President's son, and Cleon and Owen are DJPF Officers."
The shorter man noticed her watching him. "Is something the matter?"
She blinked out of her thoughts. "Oh. Uh, there's dirt on your cheek."
He wiped at it with the back of his hand. "Thanks." He paused. "You know, when all this is over, I'm going to settle myself down in front of a holo screen with a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms and a bowl of sugar and say 'screw the world, I'm staying right here'."
Cleon overheard and smiled. He had to admit that his friend's mood was getting better than it had been in Scanra.
"K.J.," Cleon called gently so as not to vex the woman. "Are we there yet?"
Memories of the redhead sitting in the back of their rented car burst into Keladry's head. She could almost hear the echoes of incessant whining and questioning. But it wasn't as displeasing as then. In fact, it was calming. This could have been another day for them, out on the field. She could just picture it. They would walk out of this grove of trees and see their car. She would drive, Lalasa would sit in shotgun, and the guys would stay in back. Owen wouldn't be there. He'd be having fun in the other district, or better yet-- he could follow in his own squad car.
~~
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there… now?"
"Cleon, we've been through this. Do you want me to throw you out the window?"
"Okay, okay, sorry. Are you sure we're not there yet, Tough Stuff?"
"I should never have let you talk to Neal…"
~~
"Well? Are we there yet?"
"It's right over there," K.J. answered after thirty seconds. She smirked. "And by the way, Kennan, they're real."
"What's real?"
She stared at him, burning a hole between his eyes. He blushed. "I… I was so not thinking that."
"Sure you weren't," she murmured mischievously after watching him march ahead with his flaming cheeks. They spotted the entryway a few yards off. With the incentive that their trek was almost done, they hastened to the laboratory door, eager to sit and rest.
When they went through the metal portal, it was an entirely different story.
~~
Blood smeared into three broad definitive lines and also into a series of smudges on the gray-white floor leading out to the forest where they had just come from. Sparks flew from machinery that displayed numerous bullet holes. A fluorescent light blinked on and off above them. Loose wires and cables trailed from the ceiling. And smashed and broken tools and instruments were scattered across the floor.
Thom looked up at them as soon as they entered. He stood, his hands still holding the bars. He nudged his sister impatiently. She ignored him. Alanna had heard them, but continued to talk to Jonathan as he bore the pain of his wounds. She had to keep him conscious and calm somehow.
"Come help!" she ordered after they had been caught watching in dumb shock. "This is your President, for God's sake!"
Lalasa rushed forward, shedding what was left of her duster and tearing it into more strips to tie tightly over Jonathan's injuries. She eased the older man into a more comfortable position and began to tend to him. She bit her lip uneasily, not sure of herself. Alanna instructed her what to do and she obeyed as if she were a new nurse. Meanwhile, Owen and Roald searched the lab for any medical aides. They came up with tiny rolls of bandages and some alcohol. They brought the items to Lalasa. Then they set to work on opening the cage containing the twins.
"Hey, help me with these guys," K.J. told Cleon as she walked over to the pile of unconscious scientists still in their cage or lying out of it on the floor. She knelt down beside Daine and checked her vitals. Satisfied, she proceeded to shake her until she awoke. The brunette stirred slightly.
"What…" she weakly lifted her head and met the other woman's eyes. "Oh, it's just you."
"Yeah. Come on, Ms. Sarassri, let's get you up." She gently helped the female Council Member to her feet while Numair opened his eyes to his own accord on the floor.
He groaned and clutched his head. "Did anything drastic happen while we were out?"
Cleon opened his mouth to speak, but K.J. shot him a dirty look. He withdrew.
The other scientists became conscious and now there was a large group of people gathered in the supposedly most secret laboratory of Mithros. A couple of the men and women peered out into the habitats, talking amongst themselves on the welfare of the Immortals set free from their cages. It was obvious they wanted to leave, but the prominent importance of their safety and that of the President's beat out their insatiably curious minds. Numair and Roald fixed together a primitive stretcher using the doors of the cupboards and compartments lining some of the walls, and also the long pipes from under the sinks, since the room was to no longer be in use.
Keladry walked around the counter and discovered the two bodies. She crouched down and examined Ozorne's body. Then she did the same to Vinson's. Pools of dark red blood surrounded both of them, soaking into their clothing and hair. "This wasn't too long ago. Who did this?"
Lalasa glanced over the counter from where she was standing beside Roald and Numair's stretcher. An expression of both grief and relief appeared on her face. The grief was for her father-- no matter how bad he truly was and the relief for Vinson. He was a misguided fellow, but after all the torment he'd given her, she couldn't help feeling that way. "Uncle Thom, what happened?"
The former head scientist now freed from the cage nervously massaged his neck. "Jonathan never did get a chance to tell us when Alanna and I showed up."
The president's advisor turned when she heard her name. When she realized they were gathered around Ozorne's body and speculating on the causes, she recalled what the now unconscious Jonathan had said to her.
~~
"You did not tell me that George brought in K. J.!"
~~
She shook her head. It was all too clear to her what had happened. "Hey, you."
"Yes?" Lalasa answered. Still distraught by her father's death and the situation befalling everyone's shoulders, she felt tired and a little insecure about her own life. Still, she forced some of her vibrant personality outwards. Alanna admired that.
"You're Tasikhe's daughter, right?"
She nodded, a little ashamed, but saddened in a compassionate way by the mention of Ozorne.
Alanna groaned inwardly. The situation was too complex, too difficult. It was a web of trouble where everyone was caught-- some guilty and innocent. This girl obviously didn't take after her father. Something in her eyes said so. It was better to have her leave before she found out who killed Ozorne. "Um, why don't you go upstairs with the rest of the scientists and stay with President Conté? You've done an excellent job about his care so far. I know you're not like Ozorne. I trust you. You can guard him when you get to the surface. I called in for reconnaissance a while ago when my brother and I were getting here. Find them in the last hall on the first floor, near the servants quarters. I don't think Ozorne had anything else up his sleeves besides those men up there holding everyone hostage and then whatever he wanted to do with the Immortals."
"Yes, ma'am," she said and immediately joined the procession up the stairs with the stretcher.
With her out of the way, Alanna whistled to the mysterious black clad young woman that had led the others to the laboratory through the habitats. "K.J., come over here."
"Yes, Advisor?"
"You did a good job." She cleared her throat. Her voice took on an almost impressed tone. If anyone had cared to analyze the tone, they'd find the greatest DJPF officer in history a little upset. "Very good. I'll tell my husband. George is upstairs, doing who knows what." Her voice dropped to a whisper. She beckoned for her to come closer. "About Tasikhe, K.J."
"I know. I'm sorry." Her impassive face contradicted her words, though it wasn't done in spite. It was merely a professional attitude she'd taken on. "I should have been more discreet, but he was about to--"
"Yeah, I guessed. Look," she began, "Just don't… I don't know. Don't tell Lalasa Isran. And as for the identity thing, that's up to you."
K.J. paused. Then she bowed her head. "I understand. Thank you."
Alanna tapped her chin. "Why don't you go catch up with Jasson and Isran? I need Numair and Daine for the Immortals anyway. They do have qualifications that no one knows about."
The other smirked. "It's amazing how many secrets this government has. And to think, working the job I have, I know all of them. Ms. Trebond." She declined her head slightly in a goodbye and bound up the steps.
"Excuse me, Advisor Trebond." Keladry cleared her throat.
"Hmm?"
"Has Stone come down here?"
~~
And then he was shot.
~~
Alanna blinked away the memory. Instead, she feigned ignorance. "Who's Stone?"
"My partner, Advisor. You remember, in Carthak?"
"Oh, yes. I remember now."
Keladry peered at her questioningly. "Is something wrong? Does it have to do with that jerk?"
Alanna sighed. She folded her arms, staring down at the scuff on her boot. "It does," she admitted. "Your partner…"
The young woman before her rolled her eyes, letting her mask of emotions fall as she had let it do all day. "I can just guess. It was a big, manly, testosterone-filled battle and he was showing off. I see that would account for Ozorne and Vinson." She reluctantly stopped smirking. "Right?"
"You're close," Alanna said. She met her eyes with an apology already in them. "Ozorne was dead when Thom and I got here. Then it was just Jon, Thom, and I. Roger and Stone came down the stairs. I supposed Stone meant to fake an alliance with Roger for the time being. Vinson came down, trying to kill Jon. Stone shot Vinson. And then…" She trailed off faintly.
"And then what?" Keladry stared with unblinking eyes.
"Roger shot him."
A few seconds of silence seemed like hours to the retired DJPF AA officer. She never had to confront people before and tell them that a certain person was dead. She'd seen it though. Sometimes, officers she'd worked with had been forced to knock on the doors of civilians to tell them that their loved one had been killed.
Whether or not Joren Stone was considered a 'loved one' did not particularly matter. It was the fact that he was a person that they knew. That Keladry knew. That Faleron and Cleon and Roald knew. That Lalasa and Thom knew. He could have been standing right next to them at that very moment. But he wasn't.
Keladry felt something constrict in her chest. She never knew someone who'd died, not personally. It was a strange experience. Her automatic defenses went up. Her expression exhibited the utmost calm and control. "Is he dead?"
"We don't know. Roger took Stone with him before we could tell." She pointed to the bloody marks on the floor. They certainly looked something human-sized could have made them if it had been dragged along.
In the meantime, the others had listened in on the shocking piece of news that she had just announced. Faleron stared off into space, consumed in his own thoughts. He was leaning on Cleon because of his ankle, and the redhead was looking at the dirt on the floor-- as if it could answer all his questions, or at least listen to them. Thom, Numair, and Daine all hovered about the entrance to the fake forest. They looked at the blood on the floor with new meaning. It was better when they did not know whose life essence had been spilled across the floor next to the other less worthy men. But now that they knew, they could picture it.
Thom shut his eyes tightly, forcing down the bile in his throat. He'd seen everything. Vinson, then Joren… He'd seen it all, when he'd already seen enough. He raised his hand weakly. "Miss Mindelan. Your partner's gun…" He knelt down and picked up the weapon. Then he shuffled over and handed it to her. "We're sorry. Al and I were locked up. We couldn't help. We should have."
Keladry shook her head numbly. In a monotone voice, she answered him. "No, that's okay. You two couldn't do anything. But… he could still be alive." She looked at Alanna for guidance, not essentially in hopefulness. "Advisor Trebond? You said you couldn't tell if he was dead or not. There's a chance my partner is alive."
"Yes, there's a slim chance."
She nodded and ran her fingertips over the trigger of the Desert Eagle. "Well then, that's it. I'll go after him. Never leave a fallen man behind, right?" She looked from face to face in the room. They avoided her eyes. It was as if they knew that behind the façade that she was uncertain and nervous. Finally, her gaze stayed on one of them. "Owen, come with me. We can find them."
He coughed. Faleron nudged him to go ahead. Owen hesitantly came forward. "Right."
Alanna smiled approvingly. She took charge of the rest. "All right, let's do this. Thom, come with me. We'll handle the Immortals causing most damage wherever they are in the habitat. Last thing we need is the Razorbeaks attacking the Undines and the Coldfangs attacking the monkeys. Daine, can you and Numair trace all the loose Immortals-- the ones who didn't go into the habitat? And when you're done, go up top and prepare the rest of the DJPF for the onslaught. I don't think we've seen the worst of it yet. You two," she pointed and Faleron and Cleon. "You work the hostage situation with the First Lady and George."
There was a random assortment of "yes ma'am" and "got it" from the people surrounding the veteran. The group dispersed. Keladry and Owen followed the blood on the grass into the shadows of the false forest. The copper-haired twins went in the opposite direction. Numair and Daine remained in the laboratory, salvaging what was left of the computer databases while two of the three stooges marched upstairs (or rather one limped, the other marched).
It was as smooth as could be. Besides the suggestions from Owen, all of which were too asinine for her to care, Keladry held on tightly to the handle of her partner's gun. She wet her chapped lips. The stillness of the environment around them only increased her apprehension.
"Note impending doom," she mumbled under her breath with an air of sarcasm. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Then she tugged nervously on the hem of her vest. "Hey, Bonehead. What do you think Roger is going to do with all those Immortals? You think he had different plans than from what Tasikhe had?"
Owen snorted. "It wouldn't surprise me if he did. From what I've heard, the guy was poison, through and through."
She nodded. Luckily Lalasa wasn't here. She was obligated to defend her father in certain areas. He'd never abused her after all. Checked up on her. Who knew what she would have retorted to Owen that moment.
"Well, let's hope that it's almost over."
"Aww, I was looking for a jolly fight."
~~
"Okay, so Ozorne had a lot of guys outside, fighting to keep the DJPF out. That means there can't be that many guys guarding the hostage-- er, the First Lady." Cleon frowned. "Are there other hostages?"
Faleron shrugged. "George Swoop, Alanna's husband." Although they would never admit it, they took around five seconds contemplating reasons why Alanna would not change her maiden name when she became married. Then they threw the thought from their minds forever. "Anyway, you're right about the guards. It is very unlikely the numbers would be large. And there is no way that they know Ozorne is dead. He, Vinson, Lalasa, and Roger were the only ones with any authority, right? Are there any other boss men?"
"I don't think so."
They stalked quietly down the empty halls. The only sound was the air conditioning, a constant hum in their ears. The lights were dim now, and the sky was a little darker outside. Night was fast approaching. Headlights from squad cars and helicopters were seen from the windows, which they avoided. Ozorne's men could shoot them from outside. It was obvious by their clothing that they were not on the same side.
"Where are we going?" Cleon asked in a quiet whisper.
"To the ballroom. It's near the front."
"Oh. Uh, Fal?"
The former thief turned to his friend. "Yes?"
"Do we have any plan whatsoever?"
He scratched the side of his head. "I was actually going to do my best Cleon Kennan impersonation and barge in there without a plan."
The redhead narrowed his eyes. "Haha. Very funny."
"Aren't I?" Faleron smiled and continued onward with Cleon at his heels.
"So, really! What's our plan?"
"I don't have one," he admitted sheepishly.
"What do you mean you don't have one?" Cleon exclaimed. He stopped him by grabbing onto his shoulder and spinning him around. "Hey, I thought you were the brains of this whole little operation."
Faleron rubbed his temples tensely. He let out a deep breath. At that moment, Cleon couldn't help but notice how tired he looked, how haggard and worn he appeared. "Kennan, I can't think anymore. Why don't we do it your way for once? Let's just do what we feel in our nature."
"There's a good chance we may die."
"I know."
Cleon held out his hand to him. Faleron took it and squeezed. They silently spoke all their thankfulness to each other's company and friendship throughout the last few months. Whatever happened next, they would see it through together.
A few more minutes passed. Then they reached the large set of double doors that would slide apart to reveal the center of hostage activity. The hall was deathly quiet, except for their breathing. They could have been the only two people on the planet. No noise came from the other side of the doors. Perhaps there was no one there at all. They'd gotten the wrong room.
Each man stood on one side of the doorway. Faleron's hand hovered above the keypad, ready to open it. Each drew his guns, Cleon even whispering a quiet prayer though he was not the religious type.
"This is it," he whispered to his shorter companion. "No turning back, dude."
"Oh. You mean we could be horribly outnumbered and we'd double our weight in lead before we walked three steps?"
"Exactly."
"The more the merrier."
"I thought you'd say that."
The two men stared at each other for a while. Then the shorter, darker haired one spoke. "I know what I just said a few minutes ago, but… I'm having second thoughts. Maybe we could look into the room somehow before we run in."
There was laughing from the other side of the door. Cleon put his ear against hit, brows furrowed in concentration.
"I think we'll be okay. Honestly, I think we can do this. I know it's crazy, but--"
Faleron nodded, his lips curled up into a crooked smile. "On the count of three. One… two…"
"Three!" they shouted in unison. His hand slammed down on the keypad. The door slid open and they burst through, guns held up, prepared for the kamikaze attack. Actually, not as prepared as they both thought. Split seconds before they ran in, Faleron's mind had frozen time once again to analyze the situation.
Find cover. If not furniture, then a body. There had to be someone near the door. A big burly guy, if he was lucky. No, not shoot him and hold the corpse as a shield. That was be inhumane and downright wrong. You did that in the merciless battlefield when sanity has fled from the mind and desires to survive take over. No, Fal would only knock that person unconscious and then use that body as a shield.
The other men wouldn't fire at their comrade who'd been knocked out cold, would they?
Cleon's mind was on a completely different level. He knew he could hit his marks, unlike Faleron. He could take out men without worrying about their safety or his own. His shots were instinct, through and through. To cripple, not to kill: that was the motto. He raised his deadly weapons up, taking aim upon the first of Ozorne's hired goons.
"Wait!"
He froze, arms stretched out before him, aiming at a random man whose face displayed complete and utter terror. At first, he blinked. He pouted. And it was then that he realized the man he was aiming at had his hands handcuffed behind his back. In fact, a whole bunch of thugs were queued behind him. Cleon lowered his arms and turned to take in the rest of the scene.
"Eh?"
Faleron shifted his weight off of his aching ankle. He looked about him. Men and women ranging from mid-twenties (the third class officers) to late forties (experienced second and first class officers) scattered across the ballroom, apprehending the muscled lackeys of Ozorne Tasikhe. He shook his head and tucked his gun back into the waistband of his pants.
Thayet Conté and George P. Swoop sat comfortably on the floor, no longer bound in any way. There were now also a large number of frightened and trembling servants sitting with them. They all appeared unharmed and safe, much to the two young men's relief.
"Who are you?" a young man in his mid to late twenties asked the two newcomers. Amazing brown hair swept back from a widow's peak while his bright eyes hinted at a vibrant spirit. Cleon peered at him.
"Your voice. You sound so familiar."
Faleron looked from man to man. "What?"
"Do you work for Ozorne?" the young DJPF officer asked firmly. Faleron's observance noted that the guy was first class, a rare thing for a youth. But then again, there were Keladry and Owen. Perhaps they were the first of a new wave of heroes. The man narrowed his eyes. "Are you listening to me?"
"Oh! Sorry, chap, my fault," Faleron amended. Cleon snapped his fingers.
"You're Neal! I listen to Keladry talking on the com-link of her pager to you. We talked once, right?"
Nealan Queenscove's mouth dropped open, the very non-example of stateliness and refinement. He lowered his own standard issue gun and put his hands on his hips. "So, it's you! You're Cleon Kennan, right? The rookie that Kel was working with?"
The two tall men both grinned and started shaking hands, as if one of them had never charged into the room with intents on raising hell. In fact, it resembled much like the reunion of old friends. The third, shorter man, feeling completely ignored, cleared his throat. He folded his arms. "Excuse me? Uh, can we get to business here?"
"Oh, yes. You're…"
"Faleron King," he bowed his head slightly. "Anyway, what's the deal? Has the whole entire mansion been taken back?"
Neal looked to a fellow officer that was listening in. He coughed. "Um, not all of it. There are still certain parts of the estate that are still holding concentrated loyalists of the Tasikhe rebel faction." A realization crossed his mind. "How do I know you're not working for Ozorne? You could just be using good ol' Kel for an excuse!"
Before they could defend themselves, George stood and walked over to them. "Boys! Good job. I believe you're Kennan and King, right? I've heard about you."
"Really?" Cleon beamed.
His companion did not share his enthusiasm and glee. Instead, he gave George a suspicious, untrusting look. "And from where did you hear about us? Or, did someone tell you?" He paused and narrowed his eyes further into slits. "I see now."
The president's second advisor bristled. "See what?"
"That girl, K. J. She's the one, right? Your spy?" he asked casually, with hints of mocking. "She knew our names too, even though it usually would have been impossible to identify men who are never seen."
"I don't know what you're talking about," George grated.
Faleron chuckled now, completely confident in his hypothesis. "Oh, but you do. You've already let the cat out of the bag with your incorrigible greeting. Heard about us, sir?"
Cleon cuffed him in the shoulder. "What are you doing? He's a good guy!"
"With good intentions I'm sure. That doesn't make everything he does approved by the government, does it?" Faleron looked from Neal, to George. He'd apparently irritated everyone with his accusations. The only choice left was to let it go for the moment. "Oh, fine. I apologize. We can deal with this in a few minutes. Let's take care of the First Lady and the rest of the servants." His mind figured it really would be best to handle this later. After all, everything was practically over. The hostages had been rescued. The rebels had been for the most art quelled. What could possibly happen?
~~
Lalasa did not leave the President's side as he was being transported from one stretcher to another. The paramedics with Alanna's team were very professional, but they acted like she was a nuisance. She had explained to them that Alanna had specifically told her to stay by Jonathan Conté's side. They grumbled to themselves, knowing well whose daughter she was. Roald reprimanded their coldness every five minutes, and they had to submit. He was the Vice President's son.
The mysterious young woman referred to, as K.J. did nothing to interfere with the social and political tussles that occurred between Lalasa and the rest. Her attention drifted to the final skirmishes between Ozorne's men and theirs outside, and then drifted back to the young man in front of her. She was approximately two years his elder. Obvious hints of fixed obedience and politeness made her somewhat annoyed, but otherwise glad that he turned out the way he did.
A siren sounded from outside. Men cheered.
"So that's it?" Lalasa asked. Roald nodded.
"I guess so. K.J., excuse me?"
She lifted one eyebrow. "What now?"
"Is this all over? Was that it?" he asked with concern in his warm eyes. It was hard not to be nice back.
"I believe it is," she replied, her voice a little softer than before. She turned away from them to look out the window, assured that no bullets would shoot through the glass and kill her. A frightening sight greeted her.
Stormwings flew in the air, perched on the lawn, the awnings of the garden structures, and then elsewhere. Their sharp metallic feathers reflected the artificial lights posted around the estate. Their tangled hair framed their pointy-chinned faces. K.J. bit back a curse and yelled to the nearest officer.
"Damn it! What's going on? How did they get from out underground?"
A tall thin man with curly black hair squatted on the ground next to a holo-screen. He communicated with someone else on his com-link pager. With a pale face, he gulped. "Ma'am, they're taking down the squads outside. Everything's falling apart!"
At that moment, a stone crashed through the window, sending a shower of glass shards over that side of the room. K.J. twisted away, but still felt the fragments cut into her skin as they went past. Everyone else had instinctively flung their arms over their heads.
"Are you okay?" Lalasa asked her.
"Fine. It's nothing," she winced as she removed a piece of glass from her forearm. K.J. peered outside into the darkening sky. She ascertained that these Immortals had excellent night vision, otherwise they would not be out here attacking. Their speed and agility made them hard targets. And who knew what other tricks they had up their sleeves…
~~
Rikash Moonsword watched from a safe distance. He was not at all fond of Roger, but the human had struck a good deal with him, and Rikash would be cursed for all eternity if he didn't take advantage of it. He could get a home of his own, outside the cursed habitat he'd been bred in. Though most of the Stormwings were made through cloning and artificial insemination, there had never been a full adult human man to be made into one of them. He had no doubts that with major surgery and use of the highly advanced Immortal blood that it could be done. But to try it recklessly as Roger was doing… it was so very wrong to him.
He wanted to fly back and scold the evil human some more for his carelessness and lack of gentleness with the experiment, but he had been the one to storm off. Rikash had been insulted. If he returned to the table, surely Roger would mock him even more than before.
Back at the operating table, Joren's body had become paler. Blood leaked out his side, and from the corner of his lips down to his chin and neck. The area around him was permanently stained with him. The sanitation was not good for operating. If Joren lived, there was a proper chance of infection. Roger growled in frustration as he reviewed the written procedures for his experiment. He could never read Thom's writing clearly. At the time, the Wizard did not even know why Roger had wanted it.
"I guess he knows now," Roger thought maniacally.
A few minutes passed. Joren's chest neither rose nor fell with his breathing. Roger reached forward to take a pulse on the wrist, anticipating the worst. A whole range of emotions crossed his face. It began with confusion, then fear, and finally anger. There was no pulse.
Joren Stone was dead.
Roger dropped the wrist so that the limp hand hit the table with an audible thud.
"Damn it! I was this close!" he exclaimed. "Where did I put that Stormwing blood?" He slapped his forehead. "It is back with the equipment, isn't it? Damn!" He stomped away, leaving the body by itself on the table. For a moment, he did not want to leave Joren alone. But then the logical part of his mind laughed at his scheming and told him that a dead body would not get up by itself and walk away.
The impetuous Stormwing took this as his chance. He flew down from his spying tree and went to Joren's side. He only had one chance to bring back this human the right way. Roger did not know what he was doing. So, Rikash perched on the edge of the table, spanning out his wings so that he could pluck one of his own feathers with his clawed feet. He then leaned over Joren's chest to reach the gaping wound in his side. That would be the easiest way.
Cautiously, Rikash drew some of his own blood with the point of the feather so a bright red drop hung from it. Then he placed it in the flesh that still gave off warmth. The Stormwing withdrew from the table. It only took a single drop of Immortal blood to affect the dying cells within and spur them back to life. Knowing Roger, he would have wasted the whole vial. Joren's body then wouldn't have been able to handle all the new organic substances entering his bloodstream from the exposed flesh and muscle at his side.
But, if Joren were alive to begin with and afterwards given the large amount of blood, he would be stronger than before-- perhaps superhuman. Rikash would love to see Joren revolt against Roger with his newfound strength and take care of the evil mortal for Rikash. Then Rikash could be free. And his people as well. He chuckled to himself and departed for the concealing shadows of the trees.
~~
The pain was overwhelming. He could have sworn that the pain should have ended. Was this death? Eternal pain-- as if one had a physical body? All the years of his life, he assumed death was peace. More importantly, it was supposed to become his salvation from pain and suffering. He was never sure if he believed in a Heaven or Hell. If there were a Heaven, his parents would be there. If there were a Hell, Ozorne would be there. And maybe himself as well. Or would he be put in the place in between the two? He couldn't remember the name, and deemed it unworthy of his attention.
Besides, it still hurt. It hurt to live.
Joren's head swam. His eyes fluttered open. The light blinded him at first. He jerked his head away feebly, only making it hang off the edge of the table. All of a sudden, something in his throat closed off. He choked on his own blood going down his windpipe. The blonde coughed hard. His chest ached from the feeling. More blood flowed out from his mouth. It trailed to his cheekbone now that his head was tilted back from the table edge.
Someone groaned. Oh, wait. That was his groan. Joren attempted to move his limbs. His right arm lifted hurtfully from the table. His finger stretched out to grasp onto anything, anything at all. Before he could test any more bodily motion, he started coughing again.
He couldn't breathe. It was suffocation. Of all the ways to die, suffocation was one of the worst. It was slow and agonizing. How much longer would he be conscious before he passed out again and died? A little wretched voice inside him that if he could bare it, then he would feel the peace again. It would be a blanket of serene silence that he could wrap himself in for the rest of eternity.
"Not like this," he thought, vision blurring. In the corners of his vision appeared little dots. Within the seconds that he suffered, he realized someone had brought him back on purpose. The least he could do was find out why and make them pay for their actions.
As if the higher powers granted a transient reprieve from death, air rushed greedily into his lungs. His muscles became stronger-- more powerful than moments before. It was ample strength needed for him to turn onto his uninjured side so that he could spit out the blood from his mouth. He gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles, shaky arms that might not support him. Gritting his teeth, he swung his legs over the side.
"Back to life, Stone. The question: after I'm done, shall I stay or shall I go?" he asked himself in a nearly inaudible voice. He wondered at it. Joren preoccupied himself from a memory of his past. He'd contracted laryngitis because of staying so long out in the snow and not properly warming himself when he got inside. Afterwards, he could not recognize his gravel-like speech. His parents chided him for trying to talk while his larynx was still afflicted.
For the first time, he regarded the world around him. The trees, the artificial sky cast over an extremely high ceiling… it reminded him a place he saw as a child, but once again could not remember for the life of him.
Haplessly, he did not know that he was being regarded as well by a pair of beady eyes that belonged to Rikash Moonsword. The highly intelligent and twice as clever creature found himself elated with the results, and flew off.
~~
Thom gulped. "I don't like Spidrens all that much, Al."
"Don't be such a baby, Thom. Come here."
The other twin ambled timorously toward his other half, taking her offered hand. They roamed through the imitation forest with its gnarled roots of ancient trees and its moss and saplings. It was a steady journey, not stealing the breath from either of them so that they gasped from exhaustion.
"You know what this reminds me of?" Alanna asked.
He scratched at the nape of his neck, where he supposed a gnat had bit him. "No, what?"
"This is like the time when we were nine. We went to Aunt Rispah's cabin for the spring after Uncle died so we could keep her company. You got lost while getting the firewood and I had to go out and search for you. Finally found you with your foot in an animal trap."
Her brother frowned at her beguiled and amused face. "Hey, that's not funny. That was terrible."
"You didn't get hurt. Sharp, cutting animal traps are archaic. The one that got you didn't hurt you. It just trapped you."
He flushed. "That's not the point! I was stuck there for hours having to listen to the animals in their stupid mating season."
She laughed. "And yet you grew up to work with animals, unfazed by the scarring experience."
"They're not animals," Thom corrected, his tone getting serious. "They're something else. And mind you, the whole country is going to put Jonathan and us through hell with their interrogations. No matter what we do, our reputations are affected forever."
Alanna stopped and released his hand. "You're right. But we deserve it. There were some horrible things that happened. Jonathan gave too much freedom to some of the scientists working for us. We didn't know until it was too late how many Immortals they really brought to life."
"What will they do with them once this is over? Put them in a zoo?"
She couldn't answer his question in time. Three spidrens came into view, chasing a pelican with a black beak.
~~
"How much is left in the bag?" Keladry inquired from Owen, talking in a stage whisper.
"Plenty," he replied. He grabbed her shoulder suddenly, pulling her to a stop. "Hey, there's light up ahead."
She squinted. "You're right. Okay, I'll approach from this way. Why don't you go right that way and come in from there."
He nodded in agreement. "Okay, but don't reveal ourselves until we signal each other. Pager?"
"Yeah."
They split up as planned. Keladry crept through the shadows over brittle pieces of wood on the ground that was sure to make noise and give her away. While she did this, she asked herself just what she was going to do. Roger could be armed. He probably was. Maybe he had Immortals protecting him. Then what would she do? What if she could not fight him because he threatened Joren's life?
She leaned up against a tree and sighed, banishing all these thoughts from her mind. If she kept thinking that way, she would most certainly screw this up. Keladry continued forward, finally reaching the edge of a small clearing.
Various pieces of strange equipment littered the area, with an operating table right in the middle. She could see a cart that had operating instruments on it. But what caught her attention was the person sitting unsteadily on the table. Strands of his white blonde hair were matted to his damp forehead. Dried blood caked around his mouth and on one side of his face. Someone had ripped part of his black shirt away at the side to have better access to the bullet wound. As far as she could tell, he had stopped bleeding.
He was alive. Alanna had probably been wrong. The shot wasn't that serious after all. Keladry figured, if it had been as bad, then how could he be sitting up? She couldn't help it. She smiled a little. It never crossed her mind what would happen if Joren could no longer be her partner. During the course of their ill-fated adventure, they'd settled into a routine that was hard to break. It included much confusion and awkwardness, as well as snide hurtful remarks, but it worked.
Through the other side of he clearing, Roger entered. He raked a hand through his black hair, whistled as he held a small glass vial in one hand. He set it down on the cart and faced the blonde.
"How in the world did you come back to life? Zombie or something?" he asked with evil stares. Joren stared right back, never wavering though his physical health was not at its best. "Well?"
"Fuck you."
Keladry grinned despite herself. She could hear the two words clearly from where she was. She no longer felt as intimidated as she was before. Carefully, she cocked the gun that she held-- his gun-- and aimed at Roger. It was going to be terribly easy and also very uneventful. If Cleon were there at the moment, there was no doubt that he would complain of the lack of drama in the whole place.
"Aim for the heart," she chanted in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her pager blinking. It was Owen. But she had no time for that. Why did they have to spring out from their hiding places when everything could be taken care of with her next action?
Roger turned more towards her, still giving a drawn out dynamic speech to a bored and annoyed Joren. Her breath caught in her throat. By Glory, she'd actually have to kill him. It was not difficult to justify his death, though. Attempted murder of the president, plot to take over the nation, disregard for life… The list went on and on.
She steadied her hands on the gun. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of her face. She was so nervous. A part of her told her to go ahead and squeeze the trigger. End the living horror. Another part of her wanted to run away like a coward. Let someone else handle this. Owen could probably do it. He was always looking for a good fight anyway. Why not let him take the credit?
"Stop this," she scolded herself. "Just shoot."
Just as she tightened her finger on the trigger, Joren moved, blocking her target. She lowered the Desert Eagle and growled silently. She'd missed her chance unless her partner moved again.
And gratefully, he did.
Keladry reacted automatically, not missing one fraction of second. Two shots-- dead center. The body of the President's kinsman jerked in one direction, twisting as it fell. There was a dull sound as his body hit the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust. Joren had frozen where he was, gaping in disbelief. With more rapidly growing strength, he gently lowered himself off the table-- though heavily leaning upon it, and hobbled towards Keladry's direction.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
Keladry came forward, her heart racing. It was over. That was it. The villain was dead. "Stone! Are you okay?"
His expression was set in granite. "Mindelan. Where's your head huh? What are you thinking? Go check the body!"
She flinched at his loud, ungrateful voice. It sounded a little grated, and she couldn't help but stare at the blood on his cheek. Angrily, he wiped it away and pointed impatiently at Roger lying on his belly on the other side of the table. Keladry was afraid he would notice her blinking pager and put her hand over it as she crossed around the rectangular table to inspect.
It had grown oddly silent around them. Keladry relaxed when she saw that the body did not move, probably was not breathing. She took her finger off the trigger and moved her toe under his chest. With one grunting effort, she turned Roger over onto his back. Keladry frowned.
"Hmm… no blood from the bullet holes."
Joren stood straight up. "No blood! Mindelan--"
"Aaaah!" Keladry cried out as Roger opened his eyes and grabbed her leg. He threw her down. Keladry smacked into the ground painfully, gritting her teeth as she got up on her elbows. The gun had been knocked out of her hands. She couldn't see where it had gone.
Roger recovered faster than she did, kicking her in the stomach hard. Pain converged in her abdomen, making her hold her breath so as not to scream. She rolled away, allowing enough space between them for her to stand and fight back. The man couldn't be as agile as she was. Neither of them had any weapons that she could see. It was all a matter of fist fighting skills.
Joren watched attentively. He yearned to beat the crap out of his would-be murderer. The only thing he could do was stand by uselessly as his partner and his enemy fought hand to hand.
"Owen! Where are you?" Keladry shouted after getting punched in the jaw by a strong right hook. She reeled from the impact, trying to gain vengeance by attacking a blind spot in Roger's defense. She executed a high kick that found its mark. Her heel collided with his neck while his knee came up and got her ribs. They both fell.
At the edge of the clearing, Owen ran forward. "I'm here! Hold on!"
And then the ground rose up to meet him. Rikash had slammed into the DJPF officer forcefully, beating his wings mightily. He swooped down and grabbed the bag of weapons that he has carried and deposited them high in a tree, hanging by a sturdy branch.
"Shit!" Owen shouted. He jumped up uselessly to try and reach the taunting Immortal.
"Oh, temper, temper. What a dirty mouth for a young mortal…"
Keladry collided with the ground once again. Dirt got into her eyes. She couldn't see Roger as he pinned her down and wrapped his hands around her neck. He was going to strangle her to death.
Owen threw rocks up at the dodging Stormwing. Then he resulted to throwing rocks at the black bag in the trees high above. One hit its mark and a small handgun fell from the open pocket. He jumped for joy. "Yes!"
The gun hit the ground, gratefully not going off. Rikash dove for it, but Owen would not be beat. He skidded before it and grabbed it, aiming for the offending creature. Rikash screeched and flew higher toward the ceiling, making his escape.
"Owen!" Keladry screamed as soon as she got the air to do it. He turned and fired at Roger, hitting him in the chest successively three times. The larger man was thrown back against the table, jarring the support Joren depended on. The blonde fell unnoticed, for Roger got back up, raging with a snarl on his face.
"Bullet proof vest," she gasped. She scrambled to her feet. "Owen, bullet proof vest!"
Owen aimed for the head and squeezed off one shot. Miss. Roger charged at her again. They tumbled to the ground. Keladry kept yelling to Owen to shoot him while trying to throw her enemy off. He began to strangle her again. No matter her fighting skills, there was a supernatural strength in him that overwhelmed her skills and power. Maybe he'd experimented on himself once upon a time.
"Shit!" Owen cried, rushing toward them, determined not to fail to strike this time.
"Do something!" she yelled savagely, her teeth clenched in tiring effort. She tried to gouge out his eyes, but he knocked her hands aside. She tried to knee him in the stomach or groin, but he used his legs to pin hers. He was so heavy, she couldn't hope to shake him. "Get… off… of me!"
The young DJPF officer steadied his trembling hands. He pulled the trigger. Click.
"Oh, God, already? I'm out already!" he exclaimed frantically.
Keladry's eyes rolled back in her head, her hands that were clawing at Roger's slowly losing their grip. There was a gagging sound. Her mouth was wide open… tongue stuck out. Her face was rapidly turning crimson. Owen couldn't reach them in time. He saw himself running in slow motion to tackle.
A lone gunshot reverberated through air. The bullet entered Roger through his exposed neck, splattering blood upon the barely conscious young woman sprawled beneath him. He tottered a bit before falling back dead. Keladry coughed, gasping for air as she kicked at the corpse's legs that covered her own.
Joren was on his knees, holding his gun once again. The same weapon to have killed son was the same to have killed father. It was irony at its best. He glanced casually from her, then to the astonished young officer behind her. Coldly, with a now familiar un-graveled voice, he said, "You need to work on your aim, whatever your name is."
Owen nodded numbly, his eyes as wide as saucers.
The blonde reached up to the cart and took the vial of blood that Roger had placed there. He knew it would have an effect on him. Some weird feeling inside him told him to keep it. So, he deposited it in his pocket. Then Joren checked his side. The wound was healing faster than it normally would. Already, he could see improvement. He faced the others. "If you two are done gaping, let's get the hell out of here."
~~
Faleron coughed distractedly as he stared out the window of the ballroom.
Neal joined him, also gaping at the depressing sight. "Whoa. This sucks."
"Understatement. That was definitely was an understatement."
Cleon blinked. "What are you two looking at?"
Wordlessly, Neal pointed. Faleron spoke. "Stormwings. Everywhere."
"What do you mean the Stormwings are everywhere?" Cleon yelled. Then he saw. "Oh, that is… not good," he finished lamely. There were not any words to think of. And then he thought of some. He pounded his right fist into his left palm. "First Indiana Jones, and now, The Birds! Is this 'Live in the Movies' Day?" He yanked stressfully at his own hair.
Faleron shrugged. The whole day had been so tiring, he didn't have any energy left to be shocked or scared, or angry. He scratched his head. "So, if we get rid of the Stormwings, it'll be done? Then why don't we, good fellows?"
Cleon glared at him. Sure, he'd been happily anticipating brawls with Ozorne's men, and Roger, but he did not relish the idea of fighting things that should have been science fiction. "Fal, buddy, our mission, should we choose to accept it-- and of course we don't have a choice-- is to stay alive and haul our asses back to the land of no weird creatures running amuck. I'm thinking that us actually accepting that this is all happening (the world knows I'd rather be fighting strictly homo sapien enemies) and going out to fight this is not the best way to retain the aforementioned pansy ass!"
His best friend blinked. "I didn't know you knew the word 'aforementioned.' Let alone that you could use it in a sentence."
"Fan-freaking-tastic word, methinks. If anyone else is finally on the brink of insanity, please follow me to the nearest corner to scream his bloody lungs out. Thank you and have a nice day."
~~
Author: FINALLY! After so long, I finally found the time to finish this. (Of course, no my history grade is at stake. I blew off the weekend to write this instead of researching my group debate for ideals in history. ARGH!) Now, there's only one more thing after this: The season finale. NOTE: I did not say series finale. I said season finale. Does everyone understand?
Now, the whole fact that I got a billion death threats after I shot Joren. Well, I didn't really shoot him-- Roger did, but I was the one that wrote it. Okay. It's my own fault. I take a less than popular character from Ms. Pierce and transform him into a superstar among fanfiction, then SHOOT him? Well, I'm like that. *grins* Hey, you didn't expect it, though, right?
And besides, some girls dig scars. And he'll have hell of a scar after this. *wink* *whispering* I prefer the skin-tight uniform, myself. And the bike!
Okay, okay. Enough of that… I kind of stole a scene from a fabulous author, K.A. Applegate not from Animorphs *shudder* but his more high school type books, called Everworld. Let him take credit for the last scene of this episode.
I hope you enjoyed the entrance of Rikash Moonsword. Okay, so he's not much like his original character. That's why this is a parallel universe. Yes, I know some of my terminology of Immortals was wrong. Once again, this is a parallel universe. Give me a break.
Oh, and don't forget to review, you lovely people, you.