Ahh, angst. Say it with me now: aaaaaaangst. I apologize--these next two chapters are the muckiest and most tedious I've ever had to write. But it's logical. Mostly. So, yes, Van is an absolute bitch. Yes, he is going to keep being an absolute bitch until about chapter seven. And yes, my heart bleeds for you.

The Second Renaissance

Part Two: Pentacle

-

II. Linger

Dear Isobel, I hope you're well, and what you've done is right
Oh, it's been such hell, I wish you well, I hope you're safe tonight;
It's been a long day coming, and long it will last,
When it's last day leaving, and I'm helping it pass–
By loving you more...

-Dido, Isobel

-

At one o'clock in the morning, Inea base was quiet and peaceful, and the only soldiers on duty were half-asleep sentries. Doctor D sat at a long, empty desk...in what was, apparently, his temporary office. He sipped coffee, a bored expression stretching across his lined features. The rushed journey from New Helic City had left him wired at the wrong time.

No one was awake for him to talk to someone other than himself. Most of the main machinery had been shut down for the night, sufficiently cutting off his access to the prime entertainment. Of course, the zoids would have been available, but no. All gone.

The old man sighed heavily, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Thinking aloud, he muttered, "Ah...tomorrow. Finally, I can talk to Fiona. She knows something important, I'll wager." He watched a spider pick its way across the tile, spindly legs delicately touching down and lifting off in a graceful dance. "This depends on the Ancient Zoidians, I just know it. If we don't have their knowledge," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Then we're dead."

He sat there for what seemed like a long time, thinking morbidly about just how many ways the zoids could destroy their weak former-pilots. Finally, a strange sound interrupted his thoughts: a...ringing. The old man's eyes shot open, and he tossed a lazy gaze around, half-heartedly searching for the source. He honed in on one of the desk's large drawers. One was humming shrilly.

D raised his eyebrows and pulled open the drawer. It slid out, squealing, and revealed a VidPhone console that was blinking an angry red. The doctor punched the receive button with a flat, "Inea." A clear glass screen slid up from the desk, and he expected it to clear into the image of his caller's face. But it didn't.

The screen blinked to an opaque black, which meant whoever was calling didn't have a VidPhone. It wasn't exactly surprising, considering that the respective militaries hadn't managed to distribute them as largely as they'd hoped. Shame, really. Doctor D blinked and shook his head, and waited a moment before frowning and saying, "Hello? This is Inea Base."

No answer.

Thoroughly aggravated, the old man hissed, "I am certainly not anyone's secretary, so–"

"Wait, no, I'm sorry, I'm here! Stupid phone..."

D raised his eyebrows. "Van? Do you know what time it is?"

"What? Oh, hey, Doc. Yeah, it's...1:09. In the morning."

The old man sighed. "What do you need?"

Van was silent a moment, but then he hesitantly started, "Um. Okay. Promise you won't think I'm a nutcase?"

Doctor D rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"Well...Fiona, ah...she disappeared." His voice shook almost unnoticeably.

D snapped to attention. "Come again?"

"She's gone. Vanished into thin air."

"When?"

"About half an hour ago. I think."

D thought for a moment, then swore softly. "It's like...someone knew..." he muttered.

Van stammered, "What do you mean? Who?"

Doctor D ground his teeth. "She is–was–the most valuable informant we had against the zoids...and now she's gone." He thought for a moment as Van fell silent, then said, "Nothing we can do about it now; try to get some sleep, Van." Like that's even possible...

"Uh...right." Sounding skeptical, he hung up.

D lowered his forehead to rest on the desk. The wood felt cool to his skin. He closed his eyes and muttered, "We never get a break, do we?"

-

"We're never going to get a break, are we?" Thomas sighed heavily. Sure, the skies were a beautiful, clean cerulean, not a cloud in sight for miles and miles...but it was hot. He pushed through the last of crowd of people at the base's entrance, and hurriedly ducked inside the door.

The air conditioning was, of course, on full blast, but he grimaced at the sensation of sweat drying on his skin. "A shower," he muttered, walking briskly, "definitely a shower after this."

He rounded the corner into the supply room and spied what he needed right away: the medical storage cabinet. He swung it open, scanned the shelves for a moment, and then grabbed an extra first aid kit. With that, he jogged back to–he winced–the outside door.

The heat hit him like a punch to the gut, and was equally as unpleasant. Trying to be polite, he pushed through the civilians, focusing on his destination: the medical tent. His narrow shoulders were definitely an advantage, allowing him to cut through the crowd easily. Upon reaching the tent, he ducked under the flap.

The medical tent was the largest one on the base's premises, and for good reason. Rows of white hospital beds stretched down the length of the tent, and about half of them were filled. Assorted infirmary staff milled around, more than happy to help anyone who needed it.

One of them, a young male nurse, saw him and waved. "Hey, Thomas. The little terror's over there." He pointed off to the east end of the tent.

Thomas nodded. "Thanks." He took off at a light jog, and smiled as he reached his current patient, a little nine-year-old girl. She sat on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling a foot or so from the floor. "Hey, Sara. How's it going?"

She raised belligerent green eyes to his, and exclaimed petulantly, "You were gone a long time, Thomas! Where did you go?"

He dumped the first-aid kit onto the bed beside her, and mimicked, "I had to go back to the base! It's a long way!" He rummaged through the supplies absently, darting a look at the girl every now and then.

"I wanna go to the base! Can I go–?"

He stuck a thermometer in her mouth. "Shut up a minute, or it won't work."

She glared at him. "U'r mean, Thomath," she muttered, the thermometer hindering her words.

"Yeah? That's my job." After a moment, the thermometer beeped, and he glanced at it critically. "Okay, you don't have a temperature. So what did you do?"

She shrugged.

"What? You mean...you didn't really do anything to warrant a visit in here?"

She grinned. "Nope. But," she scanned her arms and legs. "I have a scratch on my arm if you want to make it look like something really was wrong." She pointed helpfully to the inch of dried blood on her forearm. "Then I won't get in trouble with my mum," she added.

Thomas stared at her for a minute, and then rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine." He located a hydrogen peroxide swab in the little metal box, and handed it to her. "Here, you get to do the honors." He waited, letting her clean the scratch herself, and then applied the bandage. "There. Happy?"

Sara looked at her new battle-wound proudly, and then launched herself at Thomas's neck for a stranglehold hug. "Yes! Thank you, Thomas!" With that, she ran off to the tent flap, presumably to go back to her mother.

"Who must be ready to kill someone," Thomas muttered, staring after her. "I know I would."

"Congratulations." It was the male nurse. "You are officially an honored veteran of our hospital ward." He smiled warmly. "Thanks for taking her off our hands. She'd already given most of our staff both bruised shins and bruised egos."

Thomas tried to smile. "I can see why. She's a handful."

"Got that right. You know, you never struck me as the type that would be good with kids."

Thomas turned back to the bed, and began gathering up the supplies. "That's the thing: I'm not. I think she was the exception." He snapped the box closed. "But anyway, I'm glad to help out. I can't do anything else until my Bison gets here." The nurse nodded sympathetically.

From across the tent, somebody yelled, "Lieutenant Shubaltz! We have a message for Lieutenant Shubaltz!"

Thomas rolled his eyes at the nurse. "You know, you guys really need a P.A. system." He jogged around the rows of beds, careful not to get in anyone's way. The doctors never minded soldiers in the infirmary, just as long as they didn't hinder activity; they wouldn't hesitate to throw anyone out.

A lost-looking Imperial soldier hovered at the edge of the tent, and seemed immensely relieved when he saw Thomas coming. He saluted and said, "There is a message from Doctor D at Inea Base waiting for you, sir."

Thomas nodded. "Inside?" At the soldier's own affirmative, he sighed. "Okay, then, let's go."

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he pushed through the crowd surrounding Naraya base's main building. The soldier directed Thomas to a side computer room, and then left him for privacy.

Thomas eyed the blinking red button that indicated a call waiting warily. The old man would be annoyed at being kept waiting...but positively furious at being ignored. He hit the button, choosing the lesser evil, and said, "Lieutenant Shubaltz speaking."

Doctor D's face appeared on the visual link. "Thomas? How are things there?"

Thomas frowned. "Uh, fine...I guess. As well as can be expected. Why?"

The old man looked haggard, and exhausted, even. "We need you here, Thomas. Now."

"But I can't go anywhere until my zoid arrives. You know that."

"We've had a, uh...recent development."

"And that would be what? Not another attack, I hope."

D swallowed and shook his head. "No, nothing like that. The zoids are gone, that's for sure. But," he paused, collecting himself. "So is Fiona."

That caught Thomas's attention. "What? When?" Then, weakly, "Gone?"

Doctor D nodded, casting his gaze down. "She just disappeared around one o'clock this morning. Maybe a little earlier."

Thomas fell silent, staring at his hands for a moment. He groped blindly for a chair, and finally sat down, hard. She's gone. "That...that can't be good," he managed. Gone. "So...what do we do?"

"Good question. I thought that we should gather here, just to have a base of operations, if nothing else." They were both quiet for a moment, and then the old man said, more quietly, "Van's pretty torn up about it."

Thomas muttered, "Of course he is. Probably thinks it's his fault, too." He laughed bitterly.

Doctor D looked taken aback. "No, that's not possible."

"Yeah? Tell him that."

After a brief moment of silence, the old man spoke again. "Well...okay. Please call if you have any news."

"Yeah. Sure."

In the ensuing silence, Thomas leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head, and stared hard at the ceiling. "If...if Fiona's gone...then what does that mean?" He squeezed his eyes shut, and silently cursed himself. If there was ever a time when I needed to believe in the mystical, this is it.

-

The Di-Bison arrived the next evening, awkwardly deposited in one of the too-empty hangars at Naraya. The other soldiers had evidently chosen to avoid that particular area, because it was deserted. The pain of seeing a pilot with his zoid was too much for them, those who had nothing. Thomas pushed a heavy cart of computer equipment over to the zoid, and then climbed his way up to the cockpit, his muscles still aching from that little excursion the other day.

As the canopy whooshed up, he looked appreciatively at the sight that met his eyes. Everything looked just as he'd left it. The dashboard was dark, but Beke's active light was blinking insistently. He leaned further in, almost balancing on his stomach, and glanced under the dash. Nothing looked off...but something was different about his zoid. Something had to be. Otherwise, why hadn't it left like the others?

He frowned and heaved himself over the side, into the cockpit. The canopy shut automatically behind him, and the orange glass became dimly transparent, revealing a tinted view of the dark hangar. The dash came alive, but that was it. Nothing else happened. It was just waiting obediently for instructions.

Crestfallen, Thomas just stared at it all, at a loss for inspiration. He should have known, of course, that it would not have been as easy as just hopping right into the cockpit and yelling, "Ah-hah! So that's why the world's gone crazy!" There were no neon signs, no incredibly obvious clues, and no blinking notices.

Well...maybe one.

Thomas hesitantly disengaged his mobile Beke unit and rested it against its blinking drive. He chewed his lip, thinking, but finally just sighed. "Fine, fine, what harm can it do?" As he applied the necessary pressure to push it in, a little voice in the back of his mind muttered, It could cause the thing to go berserk and blow up the base, but hey...too late now.

Nothing happened for a moment, and Thomas frowned, reaching behind the seat to grab his helmet. Facing forward again, he pulled it on, and the visor was dim. Strange...no response at all from Beke. "Hey, uh...Beke?" He laughed nervously.

A weak whistle answered him, and Thomas pulled the helmet back off, and studied the screen with a frown, finally noticing another little blinking red light. "Oh...the batteries?" He sighed again, feeling a headache gnawing at his nerves, and leaned his head into his hand, eyes closing. "The batteries are almost dead. Great. Now I get to go try to find a charger."

As he leapt down from the cockpit to rummage through the assorted machinery he'd manage to assemble, he couldn't help but wonder why the batteries were low at all. He always kept them charged, no matter what. It was all too screwed up... He shook his head, and went back to searching for a charger.

Thomas was up into the late hours, tweaking the zoid's system, searching for an answer. He jumped down from the cockpit so many times that his knees were beginning to ache. Every now and then, he found it especially satisfying to throw a wrench or two. It really didn't matter, since the hangar was completely empty, and he could rant and rave to himself without seeming like a total psycho to anyone else.

He was right in the middle of one such session when it hit him, really hit him. He was crouched behind the zoid, connecting a motion system cable, muttering, "Jeez, I still need two more hours before Beke is fully charged. Until then, he's not saying a word, no way." He sent a dark look at the cockpit. "Stupid Beke. Why were the batteries run down, anyway? It's not like anybody actually piloted the Bison." He stuffed the cable away and fastened the cover over it again.

He got up and stalked over to the cart, still talking to himself. "I thought Beke ran off the zoid's core anyway, and it's like that has a battery that can die. Beke's supposed to, anyway. That's how I created it, as a..." He stood as it dawned on him. "As a co-dependent system," he finished slowly.

He froze, staring at his zoid for a long time, then though aloud, "I'm an idiot. Agh, an idiot!" He wheeled and ran for the door that led to the main building of the base. I have to talk to Doctor D...

He was doing it again. Developing quite an unhealthy habit of it, actually. It was like some sort of warped ritual for him at that point. In the near-two days since that phone call to Doctor D, he'd hardly done anything else.

Van lay across Fiona's still-unmade bed, staring bleakly at the ceiling. The place brought him comfort, of a sort. Zeke had looked at him questioningly the first time, but the silver organoid was, apparently, used to it at this point. He didn't really make a sound at all, not anymore.

It still smelled like her.

Van sighed and whimsically raised a hand, as if trying to snatch the ceiling. Through his fingers, cheerful morning light dappled the ceiling and far wall. He stared at it for a moment, then let his hand flop back to the rumpled sheets.

He inhaled deeply and rolled over, burying his face into his arms and the pillows. After a moment, he mumbled to himself, "I wonder..." He swallowed. "I wonder if..." He didn't get to finish his thought, as the jangling ring of the phone jerked him from his reverie.

Groaning, Van rolled off the bed and staggered out to the kitchen, bracing himself against the head rush. The phone was practically rattling off the hook, and he reluctantly grabbed it. "Yeah?"

"Van, how many times do I have to tell you not to answer like that?"

Great. Doctor D. He sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Now, now, don't think that every time I call you I want something from you," he scolded. Then, "But...could you come down to Inea?"

Van rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

As he moved to hang up, D asked, "Do you want me to send up a transport?"

Van clipped, "No, I'll walk." Then he hung up, most likely on top of one of the Doctor's sarcastic comments.

He took a quick look at the listless Zeke, but couldn't do anything but give him a hesitant pat on the neck. The organoid didn't respond. He remained curled up in his sad little silver ball, his crimson eyes dimly glinting. Van shook his head and started for the door.

The wide streets of Guygalos were lit with golden sunlight, and the beautiful day had lured many of the citizens from their homes. The streets within the south part of the city were practically deserted, but the dull roar of vehicles was heavy on the north end, by the palace.

Van stuffed his hands in his pockets and started the fifteen-minute walk, feeling heavy-hearted. The day was wasted on him, despite the fact that it could be one of the last truly comfortable ones before real summer set in. Guygalos was infamous for its summers that made anyone who lived there want to kill and maim and cry bloody tears. Many of its inhabitants chose to summer in the Republic, known for its more temperate climate.

But...as far as Van was concerned, it could have been dumping buckets of rain. He saw mothers herding their laughing children into cafés and various boutiques, and marveled at how they still had the ability to laugh. Especially with the worsening situation concerning the zoids and their disappearance. He shook his head and walked on.

The guard at Inea knew him on sight and saluted, opening the door. Van nodded at him and headed to the computer room. Doctor D practically lived in computer rooms, especially the ones in the bigger bases.

As predicted, D was hunched in a swivel chair, talking loudly to one of his computers. Hermann stood nearby, a hard expression on his face and his arms crossed. Van went to stand beside him, and they traded glances before staring at Doctor D.

Who was not, in fact, yelling at a computer. He was yelling at Thomas, over a comm. link. Or, rather, they were yelling at each other.

"Thomas, I don't think that's even possible!"

"It is! It's the only solution possible, considering the evidence. It has to be right!"

Van murmured to Hermann, "What are they talking about?"

Hermann, for a man of his stature, looked lost. "I have no idea. This started about ten minutes ago, and it seems that they haven't really...gotten anywhere." He shook his head. Van raised his eyebrows and returned his gaze to the old man, who seemed to have calmed down a bit.

"Thomas, we don't even have enough information about the natural organoids to draw such a conclusion, let alone an A.I."

"But why not? Beke is a simpler system than Zeke is, and I know how he works. Please just trust me on this."

Doctor D sighed and folded his hands. "Okay. Fine. But could you just run that by me again? The whole thing?"

Thomas's voice brightened. "Sure thing. Okay. As our records indicate, the only zoids that did not run off are my Di-Bison, Zeke, and presumably the other organoids." Doctor D nodded wearily. "The reason why the Bison didn't leave was previously unknown, but after I have examined it, I found the cause to be Beke, my artificial organoid, and his ability to handicap the core's activity."

Van blurted a soft, "What?" but neither Hermann nor Doctor D paid him any attention, their attention on Thomas.

"Beke had managed to keep the zoid in line, but the batteries were worn down very quickly because of that. To run Beke continuously, he will need a tremendous energy source. But we'll deal with that later." Van could practically hear the grin that must have been stretching across the Guardian's face.

Doctor D nodded, finally saying, "Okay. Not that I totally agree with your theory, but I would like for you to come down here so that we can run some more tests."

"Got it. I'll be there in a little while–it could be tomorrow, with Beke eating batteries like this." A beep and a hiss ended the conversation as Thomas signed off.

Doctor D turned wearily, and caught sight of Van. "Oh, there you are. How much of that did you catch?"

Van shrugged. "Enough, I guess. Was there anything else other than Beke keeping the Di-Bison under control?"

"No, not really. But this does mean," he looked ready to burst into song, "that I get to run some tests!" He took another look a Van. "Say, do you think you could bring Zeke in so I could–"

Hermann cleared his throat.

Doctor D jumped, and then twirled the chair around to face the colonel. "With, ah, your permission first, sir, of course."

Hermann looked irritated. "Yeah, sure, just don't do anything to wreck my base, okay?" He turned and strode purposefully out of the room without really waiting for an answer.

Doctor D nodded cheerfully after him, and then turned back to Van. "So, what do you think? Would Zeke mind?"

Van shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't think so...but he isn't looking too hot right now. I don't think he'd be up to many tests." He shrugged. "Maybe he'll get better, I don't know."

Doctor D frowned. "That's odd...how long has he been like this?"

Van scowled. "Since about one o'clock yesterday morning," he looked meaningfully at D, "if you know what I mean."

"Oh."

"Yeah." After an awkward silence, he said, "Is there anything else you need?"

"Uh...no, I don't think so. You can go on back home if you want."

Doctor D stared after his retreating back for a moment, then muttered to himself, "I need to give him something to do. Anything to keep him busy." Shaking his head, he went back to his computers, preparing for Thomas's arrival.

-

As dusk fell over Guygalos, Van sat on his apartment's balcony, leaning on his crossed arms. The Central Range was just barely visible, the sun sinking slowly behind it. The moons had already risen, pale, golden ghosts hanging in the sky. A cool breeze wafted down, ruffling his hair.

Van buried his face in his arms, thinking. She's gone. She's gone, and Zeke is sick. Zeke's sick, and I don't know what to do for him, because she was the only one that could truly understand him.

Somehow, it was the last part that hurt the most.

He stood to go inside, but then paused as his gaze caught the sky and the first star of the night. As he watched, it seemed that more and more stars appeared, until full night had fallen, and the sky was full of twinkling pinpoints of light. He shook his head and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

The apartment was almost totally dark, faint twilight casting even fainter shadows onto the carpet. Zeke lay still, like a piece of furniture. Van sat down heavily and leaned against him, the warm metal comforting in its own special way.

"Hey, Zeke?"

No soft growl answered him, not even a whine.

"We're in a bad way, buddy. Both of us."

At this, a grunt did reverberate through the organoid's body, almost in agreement.

Van sighed and stood after a moment, and patted Zeke. "I'm going to bed. Just, uh...roar if you need anything, okay?" With that, he turned and walked to his room and shut the door. Pulling off his shirt, he collapsed onto his sheets, exhausted, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep, his body spent.

-

It was the sudden feeling of presence in the room that startled Van, way too early in the morning. He shot up in his bed, eyes darting futilely in the dark. There was only empty calm; it was silent enough to drive someone mad, that horrible quiet that made you hear a shrill ringing, whether it really existed or not. He had almost convinced himself to go back to sleep when it came: the soft rustling that betrayed another's presence in the pitch black.

Gasping, he ducked down, fumbling for his handleblade. Just as his fingers brushed it, a soft whisper made him freeze.

"Van."

He choked. "F-Fiona?" He squinted, but could discern nothing but darkness. Suddenly, he felt very alone and lost. "Is that...you?"

A giggle. "You really are night-blind, aren't you?"

Van felt his breathing quicken. "Fiona." He smiled in drained relief, running a hand over his eyes. She really was there with him. It had been a dream. Nothing had changed. In his sudden release of tension, he heard himself say, "I don't have much night-vision...I've never had to see in the dark."

A soft creak betrayed a slight pressure at the end of his bed. "What if you had to?" Her soft voice had the undertone of laughter to it.

"I don't."

"But what if you had to?"

His sleep-fuzzed mind stumbling behind her words, Van said, "Why would I have to?"

Somehow, her voice seemed closer. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. "Because. Maybe you have to see something. Something else. Maybe you need something else. Something that you can't see otherwise."

Van thought for a moment. "I-I don't think that I need anything else." He paused, then said quickly, "I think that as long...as long as I have y-you, Fiona...then I'm happy." He felt himself blush, and briefly wondered about her night-vision.

She laughed softly, and edged a little closer. "Van, you're sweet. But..." Closer. Much closer than before. He could feel the heat from her skin, could practically pick out her form in the darkness. "But Van," he felt her breath next to his ear, and goose bumps rose slowly on his flesh. "What if you could see..." Her voice was suddenly quieter. "...And no one was there?"

Then she was gone.

Van's eyes shot open, and he half-rose unsteadily from the bed. No one was there, the same way it had been when he'd gone to sleep. He took a shuddering breath and turned his gaze outside. It had to have been morning...but dawn was nowhere to be found. Maybe tomorrow would never come. Maybe the world had died without him realizing it. Sighing, he rubbed his temples and slowly laid back down to the cooled sheets of his bed, trying his hardest to shake the too-real dream from his mind.

It wasn't real...Fiona's gone.

She's gone.

I lost her.