(Verstand tanzt)
Dances of the Mind
Bourrée: Hot Stepping
Chapter 6:
"It is Ready"
Make it stop.
[Grunts. Moans. A female scream.]
Stop it.
[Red. Flashed of green. A deep crimson. White—hot, hot white.]
Stop.
[Shock. Fear. Hesitation. Fear. Rage. Hate. Rage. Retaliation. Rage.]
Stop.
[Power. Force. Rage. Revenge. Destroy. Rage. Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.]
Go Away.
[Heat. Heavy pulsations. Breathing. Heavy. Pressure. Pain. Fire. Energy.]
Go Away.
[The world passes. Too quickly. Is that me? What is this? What am I watching?]
Go Away.
[Where am I? Swirls and swirls of red—deep, deep, blood-red. The sky is green. A blue coolness, but it feels so vile. Fear. Fear. The blue, so comforting and cool, but...fear. Anger. Fear. Fear.]
GO AWAY!!!!!
"Tripwire!" a sudden, familiar voice shouted.
"Go away!!!" he shouted, flailing violently. He flung into sudden consciousness. The world was real. The fear was real. The reality of the world was so shocking, so utterly frightening, he wanted to run. There was nowhere to run. He was struggling but he couldn't move. He shouted, but couldn't hear himself. His senses wanted to explode.
"Tripwire," a voice called, quiet and cool, soothing and calming. Slowly, he ceased struggling. His chest stopped its furious pulsating from generating of massive amounts of energy and sending it into his system—his "breathing" slowed. The world became comprehensible. Bits and pieces of voices began to become intelligible. His vision resolved itself. He could feel his body.
"Tripwire," the voice called again, lulling him. The sound made him sigh, as if a huge weight were lifted off of him. He felt so tired. So wasted. He lay back and let his consciousness slip.
"He's very tired. Let him rest."
"But..."
"Shhhh. Not now. He's in a delicate balance."
Silence. Rustling sounds. Footsteps. Heat.
"I'll be back. Keep an eye on him."
"I will."
Sigh.
"How
long have you been here?"
"I can't leave him now. Not when he needs me."
"It's alright. There's nothing you can do."
Silence.
"Well, at least eat something. Here."
"Thanks. You should go. I'm sure there are things you have to do."
So smooth...
So familiar…
That sound. The humming… Memories…
Sweet, like the summer wind; soft as a woolen blanket; light as a feather…
"Oh, you're so silly and young, just like the rest of them!" Laughter.
"Come on, get back here!"
"You'll have to catch me first!"
Where is she off to now? "I'm coming after you!" Laughter.
"Sara! Sara?" Now where did she go?
A scream.
"Sara! Where are you!"
More screams.
Laughter. Dark, evil laughter.
Tripwire shot up as made an awkward sound, as if struggling to reach the surface of some deep ocean he was drowning in. Immediately, a wave of nausea washed over him and he fell back, drained, onto the soft surface upon which he rested. Gathering up his will, he turned his head to the left and tried to make an image resolve. It was blurry at first, but gradually the haze cleared. A small, delicate, red haired figure was lying face down on the edge of his cot. It made small, airy sounds as it heaved ever so subtly up, then down.
Looking down upon himself, he could not see much, but what he could see was not pretty. In fact he did not have to look to tell what kind of condition he was in. The pain was so bad that he'd begun ignoring the signals that came from the lower half of his body. His hands…his hands felt…heavy. It was quite awkward. They were there, but it was like they were huge blocks of cement that refused to be moved. He concentrated and flexed a finger, but immediately winced in pain.
He glanced again to his left. The small figure had shifted position slightly, as to reveal a soft-skinned, pale face. The pain and tension were beginning to ease. He could feel the thrumming of his spark calming down. Holding in the pain, he lifted a shaky finger, moved it towards the delicate face, and slowly moved the hair away from her face. His hand dropped just beside the figure, which could have completely crushed the small head, if shifted over slightly. He smiled to himself, as his vision again began to fade. She wore that pink sweater again. The features of the room had long blurred beyond recognition, but he could still see her vibrant red hair. Like a spring flower in blossom…
* * *
"Take the rest of the night off, Jack. You need it."
The security guard glanced up drowsily from his station. He scratched his head just under the cap and yawned. "Oh, hey Bruce. Here early I see. Just the same old, same old. Boy, it almost makes you wish something would happen. But of course if something happened…"
"Can it, will ya Jack? Haul your ass off the seat. You need the night off."
Jack chuckled. "Boy I wish I could, but you know, I really need the hours tonight. The lady back home is gettin pretty stern with the checkbooks. Hoo yeah…the credit card bill came in last week. Not a pretty sight. Anyway, I was actually thinking of doing your shift." He smiled up at the tall man.
"Really?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
"So you really don't want to go?"
"No siree. Wife would kill me if I took the night off early." He spun around in his chair to face the console, turning his back to Bruce.
Bruce sighed. "Well, either way then, I'd hate to say, your wife will be disappointed."
"How's that?"
"It looks like you're staring at death at both ends."
Jack furrowed his eyebrows and scratched his head again, then spun around, raising a finger as if to speak. He never uttered a word.
Staring right back at him was the muzzle of a silenced pistol. Jack froze in shock for a few long seconds. Slowly, Bruce's lips widened into a smile. "Errr, Bruce," Jack said, trying to back up in his chair. "Is something bothering you?"
Bruce spread his arms. "Everything's just peachy. Only one thing." He leaned in close. "The name's Deepshot." He pulled the cap down over Jack's eyes, jammed the gun into the back of his neck, and pulled the trigger. Clean and efficient, he quickly covered the exit wound with thick gauze and taped it to stop the bleeding. His well placed shot should have severed the thick bundle of nerves trailing down from his brain and into the spinal cord, and perhaps even some of the brainstem. He covered the back of Jack's neck with some gauze, too, and rearranged the shirt, hiding the patches of white cloth.
Taking Jack's security ID and his own, he swiped them through the machine in sequence. He picked up Jack's hand and placed it on the scanner, which accepted his fingerprints. Then he placed his own. The security door unlocked, but remained closed. The others would have to open it themselves – a little more work on their part, but it looked much less obvious than an open door. He pulled out a cable from his pocket and plugged it into the port on the console. The other end he plugged into his shoulder. In a moment, all the security stations had been overridden to read the door as locked. Finally, smiling to himself, he scanned Jack's ID again, clocking him in for over time pay.
"Well, you're wife will be happy when the pension comes in," he whispered to Jack's unmoving figure. He walked off and voiced through his internal comm link, "It is ready."
* * *
Zenith Prime paced back and forth. Private Sam Gradsen sat nervously outside the relatively small room in the underground facility. Prime looked at the young soldier, who was fidgeting with his cap. He looked so innocent and young, so thoughtful and brave. How many young soldiers like him were they sending into battle? What was the meaning of all this, and why has this struggle gone on as it has? Sam looked up, as if sensing the watching eyes upon him.
"Did you know him well?" Prime said suddenly.
Sam flinched a little at his deep voice. "Yes, sir. He was like a brother to me. Well, more of a father I guess."
The large transformer kneeled. "Are you scared?"
Sam smiled nervously. "A little. I saw the last parts of his battle…" The grip on his cap tightened for a moment, then loosened. "I'll never forget the scream…"
"So it's true then?"
"Sir?"
Zenith Prime shifted his position. "Please, this is informal. Drop the 'sir.'"
"Yes…" Sam trailed off just as he was about to say "sir."
Prime chuckled, shaking his head. Then he looked up and away, as if looking at something in the distance. "There were stories…but I never heard it from anyone who was actually there."
Sam shuddered slightly and stared down at the floor in front of his chair. "You don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it."
Shaking his head vigorously, Sam replied, "No, no, no. I've got to get it out. To tell you truly, I haven't told anyone what I saw." He paused and licked his lips. "It wasn't quite normal. There I was, up in the third story, checking room to room. I looked out the window towards the street and saw the dust cloud. Down…down there I could see him struggling. The other guy almost had him, but…but something happened. I'm not sure how to describe it. I could almost feel the change in the air. It was like…like before me there was something…different. Something…monstrous…"
He broke off. His chest was heaving. He was biting the cap tightly in his mouth and staring forward. There was a fire in his lungs. His chest screamed out in pain. Inhale. Inhale! "Sam!"
He was jarred back into the real world. The sounds around him suddenly began to reach his ears—the humming of a far off power generator, the footsteps in the distance…the voice of Zenith Prime. Sam looked on his shoulder and saw a huge metallic finger. He smiled weakly and took a few deep breaths. "Sam, it's ok," Prime said in a soft and deep voice. The reverberations were somewhat comforting. "It's ok, Sam. He's here. I'm here. He's going to be ok."
Sam nodded slowly at first, then more surely. "He's going to be ok," he repeated to himself. "Sam," Prime said. "Take some time off. Get your mind off of your troubles. Do something active, something physical—do something you want to do."
"I…I will," he said, getting up weakly.
"Do you need help? I can take you back to your quarters."
"No, no…it's ok. I could use the fresh air," Sam said.
When Sam exited the building out into the open air, he was met by a cool, crisp evening breeze. He took a deep breath and let his muscles relax. He didn't realize how tense he'd become the past few days. Tripwire…he shuddered. Just thinking of him brought up horrendous images. His eyes were blood red, he thought to himself. Like some satanic fire. He shuddered.
A loud clanking sound brought his attention. He glanced left and right, then left again. Nothing. Walking forward a few steps, he peering past the wings of the building. Still nothing. Off in the distance, he glanced at the large security building and then towards the large doors that led underground. Shrugging to himself, he thought, If there were anything wrong, they'd be the first to know. Hands in his pockets, he continued on into the silent night.
