DISCLAIMER: I do not own Vandread or any of its characters, though I would sure like to.
Author's note: Thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming, please. This story is progressing at a snail's pace, though, so have a little patience, all right? A warning, though: this story will NOT have a happy ending, so fairy tale fans apply elsewhere.
Chapter 7
Renard stormed into the holding center, carrying a pad in one hand. Walking up to the prisoners' cell, he strode right up to the bars.
"Is there something you neglected to tell me the first time I was here? Because a few people certainly show an extraordinary amount of interest in those craft."
Gascogne raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you think I held out?"
The grim-faced commander raised the pad, punching a button. It showed what happened in the office where he and Kurtz had gone, the red light and the unnatural power the Minister used.
"Does this look familiar to you?" He surveyed the faces of the people in the cell, noting the looks. They had seen it before. His sense of worry deepened.
"Where was that?" Meia was quite obviously troubled by it.
"What was that? Is the question." Renard looked them over. "Seems you know. Tell me."
"Why should we help you?" Hibiki jumped in, scowling suspiciously.
Renard suddenly grinned. It was more unnerving than could be expected because paralyzed muscles did not move, giving his face a decidedly lopsided look.
"Why not? You're going to be stuck in there for a while. Obviously this is something that worries you. It's really none of my business except I'm fairly sure that this guy is up to no good, and because we have a debt to pay to him."
"Hold on!" Gascogne glanced at Hibiki, a look full of meaning. "We aren't going to help you for nothing." She gestured at the bars. Renard considered for a while, then finally nodded grudgingly.
"I'll let you go- but you have to help us first."
Barnette opened her eyes, then immediately tried to sit up. However, she found she couldn't- she was strapped down to a cold, metallic surface. Wires ran over her naked body, and some kind of complicated contraption was fitted over her head. She tried to remember how the hell she'd ended up there, but her mind drew a blank. She paused as she heard fiendish laughter from somewhere above her.
"Awake now? Good. I always like it better when I do this with the subject awake. I enjoy listening to screams- so soothing, you see. You'll certainly try your best to give me some good ones, won't you? Good girl."
Barnette looked up, opening her mouth to say something, but stopped when an odd sound began, a low buzzing at the edges of her hearing that was slowly but surely building itself up. Fear began to worm into her mind and she struggled frantically, but to no avail. She felt goose bumps crawl along her skin, followed by the laughter again.
"It's useless to resist, you know. You're not going anywhere and no one will come to save you. It's too late to save you anyway. You know how long it will be for someone without the proper know-how to remove all that equipment? A very long time, and that's time you don't have."
The Dread pilot struggled to stay calm and put on a brave front, but her efforts were failing, being submerged within an all-encompassing panic as the humming gradually increased in volume.
"Who are y-AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Pure agony pierced her body as coiling machinery tore into her skin, embedding itself in her systems. Wiring and systemry wrapped her limbs up in unbreakable bonds of steel. Barnette screamed and screamed and continued screaming until wires and circuitry entered her lungs, cutting off normal breathing. Oxygen tubes were embedded into her throat and torso, providing air to what body systems the machinery required to be functional. The green-haired pilot was almost insensate from the pain, but a new agony wracked the remnants of her body as a specialized machine cut into her skull, allowing multiple coils of electrodes into her brain. She jerked convulsively again, unable even to scream as the crackling wires unleashed hellish red lightning into her mind, instantly obliterating unneeded memories and brain systems and reconfiguring thought patterns.
The last thing that the true Barnette ever heard was the howling laughter coming from above, as the electrodes removed what was left of her individuality.
Parfait watched in alarm as the Pexis twisted and seemed almost to writhe, the blue undulating in shades of light and dark, shadows and light chasing each other across its surface. All around her, technicians ran and shouted at each other, trying to bring the surges of energy randomly blowing out systems over the ship under control. Her dread grew with every moment she spent watching the Nirvana's core.
"It seems like…it's in pain…"
"You're kidding me." Gascogne was staring at Renard and Kurtz across the table that separated them. The two mercenaries glanced at each other, then back at her.
"You're saying that the Minister of Defense of Meranos hired you to steal the Dreads and the Vanguard?"
Renard grimaced. "You heard me."
"Why would they do that?" The Chief of the Register pounded her hand into the table. "They were our allies!"
Conrad Kurtz let out a harsh laugh. Renard simply looked at Gascogne.
"What?"
"You shouldn't put too much faith in anything." The grizzled mercenary leader shook his head, before glancing at his second-in-command. "Even people you think you know well can pull something on you."
Renard didn't even acknowledge the comment, instead nodding to Gascogne.
"It's true. We bought the ship's layout and information from a minor Tarak official, then planned, watched, and then came in as 'deliverymen'."
Meia looked at him with hooded eyes. The black rings under her eyes emphasized her dark expression.
"We already told you what we know about the red light- or what we suspect, anyway."
"Yes. It seems we'll have to return you to your crew now…then decide what to do."
"Wait!" Jura looked up, meeting the captain's inquisitive gaze. "Where's Barnette?"
The two mercenaries looked at each other.
"Who?"
The Nirvana crew was allowed to wander over the regular areas of the ship, but notably not in the engine room, armory, bridge, docking bays, or kitchen, while they were en route to the asteroid field the ambush had taken place in.
Meia made her way out of the meeting room and quickly found the nearest unoccupied corridor before slumping and resting one arm on the wall for support. She began to try and get up again when someone cleared his throat behind her. She whirled and nearly fell over, but a strong hand caught one arm, holding her up. She managed to lift her head and met Renard's gaze.
"What…what do you want?" She tried to wrench her arm out of his grip, but only pulled his arm out to the side a little bit before she slumped again, pain and nausea from her head running over her and turning her legs to rubber.
"You should go to the sickbay."
She tried her best to glare, but was relatively certain it did not come off well in the position she was in.
"It's none of your business. Go away. I'm fine." She rarely let even her fellow crewmates help her, and she certainly wasn't going to accept it from this man.
"I don't think so. You have to act tough in situations where other people rely on you, but you shouldn't be dumb enough to keep going when out of emergencies if you're injured."
"Hmph." Meia tried to stand upright, but could barely even manage that. She did manage to push away from him and lean on the wall, though.
"Don't tell me you're more concerned about outsiders than your own subordinates."
"Don't judge things you don't understand. As for you, I don't need you dying in transit. The unit has enough problems already."
"GO AWAY." Meia managed to push herself off the wall, and stood squarely in front of him, but her vision swam and he suddenly seemed huge compared to her. She stepped back again, resting her back to the wall to keep from total collapse.
"There are two options here: either you walk to the sickbay voluntarily, or I heft you over my shoulder or drag you there by an ankle. Choose now."
An arduous two-minute walk later, Meia was slumped on an examination bench while Kroeger looked her over.
"Concussion. Untreated so far, and with the variety of shocks and chemicals you've taken in since then- not a surprise the symptoms have gotten this bad."
While he was busily treating the injury, Meia saw Renard standing in front of a battered, resigned-looking Kyra. She growled at him with the remainders of her attitude.
"Someday, I swear I'm going to kick your ass."
The mercenary captain shook his head.
"Only by proxy. Hurry up and get well- you're not done mopping yet."
The girl groaned and lay back.
"Sorry, I'm injured."
Kroeger noted where Meia was looking.
"Not familiar with the regimental customs, eh? In the Valkoris military- where we're originally from, fighting ability is valued highly. Often rather than initiating institutional action like a court-martial or reprimand, an officer will simply duke it out with someone not obeying orders. Of course, the officer will only do that if they can win- but it gets respect and obedience better than a lecture will."
Meia grunted noncommittally, wondering what it would have been like if she'd simply bashed in the head of someone not following orders. Fulfilling, perhaps, but not quite good procedure on a ship like the Nirvana.
Jura was looking around in the training section of the ship, patting her sword, which had been returned to her. She spun as she heard someone approaching her.
"Looking for something? No one's using this training facility right now, so feel free."
She frowned as the Old Man walked past her.
"What are you doing here?"
"Keeping in shape. The men won't respect someone they see as a doddering old noncombatant, after all." He looked at her weapon curiously.
"I don't see people carrying swords often now. Is that some gimmick or something?"
She huffed. "I know how to use this!"
He grinned. "A sword? You seem a little ill-disciplined for such a finesse weapon." The mercenary Colonel gestured at her clothes and hair.
"Too fancy. Not becoming of a fighter."
She glared at him. "You think so? It's too bad you're an old man, or I'd teach you something."
He laughed at her. "You talk a lot! But I'd be interested in seeing what you can do." The old mercenary walked over to a wall and removed a pair of training weapons, roughly the length of Jura's sword.
"I'm not so old I've forgotten how to use one of these. Do you have the courage to keep up with your boasting?"
"I'll match you stride for stride." Jura ground out between clenched teeth.
"En Garde!"
Jura attacked first, looking to end the battle quickly and decisively. Her dulled practice sword's blade flashed as she unleashed a devastating series of quick, consecutive slashes, trying to figure out if she could pierce his guard. He stepped back, then parried each stroke with a lightly held blade, turning the blows so he didn't meet her force head on, deflecting strikes with hypnotic precision. He smiled and held up his free hand and placed it behind his back, infuriating her further. The blonde pilot charged, striking again and again, but seemingly unable to penetrate his flowing defense. With a sudden stroke, he caught her sword hand at a poor angle, twisting the weapon and sending it out of her hand. In a flash of movement, he had his blade at her throat.
She could only glare at him before he withdrew the blade and raised it in a salute.
"You fight too directly. A little more tact and precision would be necessary, as well as discipline. It's too easy to read what you're going to do."
Jura stared, openmouthed. No one had ever said anything about her technique before.
"Learn from those who can teach you- vanity is dangerous in a fighter. If this is a true duel you'd be dead."
She was about to reply when the door opened and Renard stalked in.
"Sorry to interrupt, but we're there- and there's no sign of the ship."