Author's ramble: YEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!! Got my A-Level results yesterday, I'm through to uni! To celebrate, here's a little something for all you guys reading this. More material's on the shelf still being modified and made fit and ready for your perusal.
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CHAPTER SEVEN:
RISING FLAMES
"Night has patterns that can be read
less by the living than by the dead."
—The Book of Counted Sorrows
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She stared at her hand.
It was purple. Her skin silky smooth, unblemished.
She blinked back a tear as flames flickered into existence about her hand. She could feel a faint heat from the flames, but they did not burn her.
There she sat, curled up into a ball, staring into the flames and the shadows within them. The shadows that danced across the conduit's wall.
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"For my next trick, a Perseid from a hat in a locked room—underwater!" Harper grinned as he removed the jack from his neck and unplugged the other end from the control panel. Beka rolled her eyes as the doors slid open.
A sigh of faint amusement came from behind them. "If you'd just asked me, my clearance codes would have opened this door in two seconds rather than two minutes."
Harper instinctively took a step back, his face a blank mask as Tarsus Augustine, his jacket and undershirt removed and a tight vest clinging to his oil and grease-stained torso, held out a key card to Beka. "I thought this might be of some use to you," he offered by way of explanation. "It belonged to my second in command, and we had equal security clearance levels."
She eyed him dubiously as she accepted the card. "Thanks. Weren't you and Rommie supposed to be working in the power core though?"
He smiled slightly. "She asked me to head back and pick up some equipment —well, I say some—" his smile broadened as he produced a flexi "—but this list's longer than the inventories of most of the black-ops missions I've been on."
Beka let loose a low whistle of surprise as she glanced over the file's contents. "I see what you mean."
"I'm definitely going to need a couple of androids and AG sleds—Nietzschean or not, there's only so much I can carry." He nodded at her as he slowly strode off. "See you later, Captain Valentine. Mr. Harper."
Beka turned to Harper, who finally relaxed as the Major vanished from sight. "You okay?"
He slowly unclenched his jaw, shook his head slightly. "Sorry boss. It's just—you know." He looked her squarely in the eyes. With anyone else, Beka might have expected this to be a sure sign of hostility or fear.
Not so with Harper. It had taken quite some time to persuade him that she wouldn't attack him or punish him for looking at her directly when speaking to her, and she knew that when he matched her gaze as he did now, he did so to show her that he trusted her completely. "I know," she gently replied.
"He—he might be High Guard. But he's still a Dragan. Still like...like them."
She smiled, a sad and sympathetic little smile. "By blood, sure. But from how Dylan tells it, I think he hates them as much as you do."
He snorted as they entered the weapons locker, tugging a pair of AG sleds behind them. "Oh, really?"
"Well, he didn't go into too much detail...muttered something about how they betrayed him before the revolt started."
Harper smiled weakly. "Hey, I'll work okay with him Beka, but...he just gives me the creeps."
She grinned broadly, wrapping an arm over his shoulders in a loose yet warm hug. "Don't worry about him shorty. He tries anything, I'll make him regret it. You hear that?"
He returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. "Thanks Beka," he replied, voice slightly choked.
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She didn't know for sure how many of her kind were capable of what she was about to do, or even if they believed it to be dangerous or not.
It didn't really matter. She knew what she had to do, that somehow this had to be resolved.
She glanced at her hand through half-closed eyelids and a web of lashes, pleased to see her flesh in the place of flames.
She closed her eyes fully, and was still.
She calmed herself, soothed her mind into tranquillity.
She blinked.
Her surroundings were chaotic, swirling clouds of raging emotion blending with what seemed like the very fabric of time and space itself. She turned, ducking as a bolt of lightening earthed itself nearby. A tear opened briefly in the substance beside her, rippling hideously before closing over once more.
She walked onwards. She didn't know exactly where she was going. She wasn't even sure what she was doing. Only her instincts—admittedly most formidable instincts, in comparison to those of any other species—guided her.
But if there was a solution to her problem, this path would lead to it. She had felt it, knew that only two possible outcomes would arise from this course of action.
She would emerge, whole and herself once again.
Or she would perish. She would not allow her essence to be corrupted... defiled.
She owed it to herself, to all the people who had helped her, to remain who she was. She would live or die, but she would ever remain true to herself, to her nature.
She would ever remain, in life or in death, Trance Gemini.
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Alone in Command, Dylan Hunt stared at the viewscreen. The ruined station wallowed before him, shattered and spoiled.
"What to do," he muttered under his breath.
"Captain?"
He smiled faintly at Andromeda as she appeared on another screen. "Do we rebuild or do we dismantle what's left?" He waved a hand toward the structure. "The Eyrie's a magnificent piece of engineering, one of the greatest fortifications ever built. But now..."
"Now it's a wreck," Andromeda finished.
He nodded his agreement. "The Eyrie's dead in the water—the Maru as she was before I had Harper start upgrading her could defeat it."
Andromeda raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The Maru's original armament consisted of a proximity-mine launcher and a low-powered PDL system—"
"And the Eyrie has no operational weapons systems whatsoever, apart from internal defences."
"About those—my avatar informed me seven seconds ago that we now have complete control over the internal defences in all sections. They won't be using us for target practice anymore."
A grin briefly graced his features. "That is good news."
She sighed. They both knew that her visage on the screen didn't need to do so, but Andromeda found the gesture to be an effective way of conveying emotion. "If the Eyrie cannot be restored, we need to remove it and its secrets one way or another. The Drago-Kazov fleet was able to release a transmission before I...I and Rommie...destroyed them, so they will surely be amassing a force to assault the system. And they've already shown that they have a weapon that can incapacitate Trance so we are vulnerable to them."
He shrugged in defeat. "So we tear down one of the Commonwealth's greatest accomplishments and defences before they can."
"Well look on the bright side. Even damaged as the Eyrie is, that station is crammed full of things we need—ordnance, slipfighters, drones, spare parts, and there are several ships that I quite liked the look of when I analysed their specifications. We'll be putting all of it to good use, unlike the Dragans. Dylan, even in the days of the Commonwealth, less than a hundred thousand individuals knew about this station's existence. It's not as though we were launching a Nova strike on Tarn Vedra."
Dylan looked up at her, knowing she was right. "Alright," he sighed. "We dismantle the Eyrie and recover whatever material we can. Get the word out. If there are any objections, send them to me."
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Trance walked deeper still into the darkness. It enveloped her, suffocating in its totality. Every instinct screamed at her that she was in danger here, but she knew too that this path alone led to her goal.
She shivered, wrapping her tail and arms about herself, hugging herself in a futile attempt to keep warm. It was so very cold in the void, and on this level of existence physical objects had no meaning. Her life's essence, though retaining her form, was entirely unclad in this realm.
A jarring shriek echoed from behind her and she whirled about, trying to locate the source of the sound. She peered about her, scenting the air and probing time.
The darkness revealed nothing, and, she feared, hid much.
She turned back to her original path, ever warier as she walked onwards.
There! A faint light flickered ahead, and she broke into a trot, then a run. For good or ill, she knew she must find its source, that there she would find her solution.
The light grew brighter, stronger as she approached—
—she halted abruptly, staggered backwards. Desperately, not taking her eyes from the being before her, she tried to crawl back the way she had come.
Blazing blood-red eyes bore into her unpityingly, and she feared her end had come.
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Claws clicked and scratched upon the deck plates, furry feet softly brushing the cold metal.
Rounding a corner and gently propelling an active AG sled, he found himself gazing into the face of the owner of the claws, a face that at first glance could have been extracted from the very worst of nightmares. But looking as closely as he did, he saw something—someone—very different and very welcoming indeed.
"Ah, good morning Reverend."
"Major," the Wayist politely returned, falling into step beside the Nietzschean. "I awoke early and found myself quite unable to properly meditate. In response to my enquiries, Andromeda informed me that you might be able to use some assistance."
Tarsus nodded in mild surprise and acceptance. "I'd welcome your aid. A third pair of hands in the power core will make things easier."
Rev smiled widely, teeth showing, as he leant his shoulder to propelling the sled.
"I must confess Major, I am...surprised...by you."
"Oh?"
Rev nodded. "You seem...well, astonishingly relaxed around me. I understand that you fought Magog many times in the past, and yet you have seemed to accept me with remarkable ease. Whereas others, such as Harper and even Dylan and Andromeda, took quite some time to grow...comfortable with my presence."
Tarsus smiled, a deep and honest smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "If anything Reverend, you are perhaps the best piece of news I've had since my awakening in this..." he waved a hand about the general area, "...this hell of a time frame. Tell me," he paused, and the little convoy halted, "are all Magog in this time...ah, Wayists, right?"
Rev shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. There are but a few thousand Magog Wayists like myself in all the—"
"Thousands?" The Nietzschean looked impressed. "That is surely excellent news if so many Magog can find such peace..." He stared at Rev thoughtfully. "This gives me great hope, Reverend."
The Magog chuckled. "Please, call me Rev. Everyone does. Might I ask how I give you hope, Major?"
"Without meaning to be rude Rev, Magog are by nature...well, killers." Rev nodded in agreement. "But if thousands are capable of finding peace...going completely against their nature...well, it is possible that all Magog might one day do the same. And maybe...maybe those of other species can overcome their natures."
Rev laid a clawed hand on Tarsus' shoulder. "You mean your Pride—"
A look of pain crept into Tarsus' eyes. "I renounced the Drago-Kazov Pride as being my kin in anything save by genes more than three hundred years ago. And we were at odds long before then. I am not my Pride, but..." He shrugged. "...I have hopes, Rev. Hopes that I am not alone, that others may be like myself."
He leaned heavily against the sled's handle. "If truth be told, I'm considering leaving because of them."
"Might I ask why?"
The Nietzschean smiled sadly. "I would never fit in here. Andromeda and I once met before, although she did not know me as Tarsus Augustine—I was on a classified mission, but it doesn't matter. Captain Hunt would, unless I am mistaken, welcome another High Guard officer, even a Nietzschean, even a Dragan...but he would never trust me. The mercenary, Tyr, has a just hatred for my Pride, as they were the chief instigators of the Kodiaks' massacre. Ms. Gemini I've hardly met, so I do not know her feelings.
"And Mr. Harper..." Pain bled into the Major's expression. "...Rev, he's absolutely terrified of me. I can smell his fear, almost taste it. No matter who else is with him, he cringes as though expecting me to attack him simply for being there. And Captain Valentine, quite rightly in my opinion, is very protective of him. I admire her devotion to her crew and friends...I was about to ask if you knew what it was like to have such fear directed at you, but..."
Rev smiled encouragingly. "I do. I often provoke such reactions, and truthfully it took Harper more than a year to accept me as a friend. But accept me he did, in the end. It was a long and difficult road, but he now trusts me and I trust him. At the first he was most uncomfortable with Tyr, but in the time of our greatest peril they stood by each other's side and survived the horrors of the Magog worldship together. He will overcome his fear of you, in time. Actually, it is because of the Drago-Kazov Pride that he fears strange Nietzscheans—and as you are not exactly...kindly disposed...toward the Dragans, he should come to regard you as a friend."
Tarsus' eyes narrowed. "'Because of the Drago-Kazov...' Rev, just...just what have the Dragans done to leave him with such fear?"
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A/N: Sorry it's so short, but I'm already working on Chapter Eight! Be back later.
As always, if anyone's got any ideas I'd love to hear them. If you like this or hate it, tell me why and I'll see what I can do to improve.