Summary: A slave and his captive crash on a primitive planet, far from help. He will regain the power to choose freedom, and learn the price he must pay for it. Crossover: Lord of the Rings & Escape Velocity: Nova. First fic, so constructive criticism is welcome.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and anything you recognise from Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien. Escape Velocity: Nova and anything recognisble from the game is the property of Ambrosia Software and ATMOS.
Commander Krane, the Bureau of Internal Investigation and Llyrell belong to Ambrosia Software. Ryllaen is mine.
Earth, Sol system
The trembling waves were bathed in an orange glow. Screaming sirens split the air, distant and forlorn. The long graceful arc of the Kane Band, high above the atmosphere and shining with the lights of a hundred ships, was partially obscured by the great roiling clouds of smoke and shimmering heat waves that rose from the warehouses packed upon the shore.
Ryllaen turned away from the sight, thick long mane of hair haloed by the light behind, heart heavy. The screaming had stopped, but not the fear, not the despair. The emotions of the captives rolled over Ryllaen like a wave on the shore below, intermingled with the adrenaline high and triumph of the Bureau agents. The captives were innocent of any real wrong-doing; Ryllaen knew it. They were not traitors and they did not rebel against the Federation; but the iron chains of rule that the Bureau held chafed them as they chafed Ryllaen. They had protested, as Ryllaen could not. And the Bureau had acted with its usual brutal ruthlessness, squashing any sign of discontent.
"Vell-os."
The voice held a tone of command; Ryllaen turned unthinkingly. In the shadows of the door stood a woman, all long-legged beauty and flowing blonde hair. Many were the men attracted by those wide pretty eyes and pert lips. If they were lucky they never discovered what the gorgeous surface concealed.
"Commander Krane."
Krane, head of the Bureau of Internal Investigation, smiled. "You did well. Come, let's join the prisoners and you will tell me which ones are the leaders of this little revolt."
Obeying because he had no choice, Ryllaen followed her down to the waiting vehicle. The ride to the detention centre was quick and silent. Krane did not speak to him and Ryllaen had no desire to be in her presence, much less converse with her. Not for the first time, Ryllaen wished he could kill her. But he knew he would do all he could to protect this woman, even at the loss of his own life. He could do nothing else, and the knowledge rankled deeply within him. Barely an hour later, they paced along a long line of prisoners - bedraggled planet-bound workers, sullen and frightened.
"Well?" From her tone, it might seem as though Krane asked him to choose a cake at the dessert bar of a restaurant.
Ryllaen let loose a noiseless sigh and bent his mind to observing the prisoners. They were all scared - it took no telepathy to tell that - and many avoided his gaze as if the lack of eye contact could somehow shield their minds from him. It didn't, of course. Some stared at him defiantly, brash and bluffing away their fear. One in particular seemed to plead with him, begging him to understand. Ryllaen paused in front of this one. The weaves around her were strong for a normal, almost broaching the level of control that defined telepathy. Delving into her mind briefly, Ryllaen's doubt was washed away. This was the leader, and yet... she was hiding something. Someone. A moment's careful probing told him who her co-leader was. There was nothing he could do, only one way to answer her plea for justice. He had his orders.
"These two." Ryllaen pointed them out.
The captive woman's eyes closed in resignation, her weaves radiating a sense of betrayal. She gasped and jerked back, falling to the ground. Between blank eyes a thin wisp of smoke rose from the cauterized wound. The man had only enough time to stare at her body in shocked horror before he too sprawled awkwardly amongst the white-faced and shivering prisoners.
no Ryllaen let loose a mental scream of anguish, unheard by any save his own people. Within it was contained all the despair and helpless fury of one for whom freedom was a distant dream, an almost-forgotten memory.
Spacedock V, Nesre Secundus system, ten years earlier
"Fourteen thousand credits for the lot, and that's my final offer." Ford Shirens sat back and waited for the cargo master's response. It was an outrageous price for fifteen tons of basic industrial parts, but a fuel explosion in the main shipyard and recent Auroran attacks on nearby trade lanes had left the station in desperate need of his cargo.
"Fine," the cargo master said abruptly. "Fourteen thousand, to be paid on delivery." He looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.
Ford smiled, careful to keep any hint of triumph out of his expression, and filled out the requisite forms with a happy flourish. He'd always had a knack for bargaining, but this time he'd outdone himself. After unloading the rest of his deliveries, he would finally have enough credits to buy his dream ship: a brand new Sigma Shipyards Starbridge. That cheerful thought was almost enough to make him shout for joy.
As he left the cargo master's office Ford noticed a man staring at him from across the broad area. The man had the distinctive long hair of a Vell-os, and did not look away when Ford glanced at him. Vell-os were a rare sight, but not that rare, and Ford thought nothing of it. They were all telepaths and traditionally judges, able to sense lie and truth. Beyond that, Ford didn't know anything about them.
"Excuse me."
"Yes?" Ford stopped and looked at the Vell-os, who had decided to approach him after all. "Can I help you?"
The Vell-os looked at him hard, as if searching for something. He nodded sadly. "I believe so. I am Llyrell. There is a package I need delivered to New England, but I cannot take it myself. I can offer you twenty thousand credits. It will only take ten tons of cargo space."
Ford felt his eyebrows rising. New England was in the Wolf 359 system; he wasn't going there, but it was only one jump away from Sol. And twenty thousand credits could buy him some decent equipment. He readily agreed.
Earth, Sol system
Oh, he'd been naive. He had sold his freedom for twenty thousand credits. It hurt. Even after so much time, it hurt. Ryllaen watched Commander Krane casually reholster her blaster through eyes carefully blank of expression. It wasn't true, of course; once Llyrell had seen his potential for telepathy, only death could have saved him from the Bureau and slavery. But still, he should have known better than to venture onto the planet where the Bureau kept its secret headquarters. He should have guessed that what he had thought of as instinct and good luck was more than that, should have guessed what the Bureau did to telepaths. He couldn't have known; he understood that. It didn't help.
Krane turned to him after organising the disposal of the remaining prisoners with her subordinates. Her eyes held a lingering hardness, a taint of cold, calculating ambition. "I've got another mission for you," she said brightly. "Let's get you debriefed."
Obeying without thought, Ryllaen followed her like a faithful dog. He was less than that; a dog at least could bite its master's hand. A dog had a will and mind of its own.
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"To the galactic east of Federation space is Polaris territory," Krane said. She leaned casually against the table in a back room of one of the more popular bars in the Kane Band. Behind her stood a man dressed in a Federation Colonel's uniform, though Ryllaen knew him to be Krane's personal assistant and second in command.
Ryllaen merely nodded, waiting patiently.
"We don't know much about the Polaris. That lack of intelligence is disturbing, to say the least. Attempts to study their technology from afar haven't proved successful, and any ships we manage to capture seem to be living beings - they die soon after." Krane leaned forward and smiled. The expression made her look disgustingly gorgeous. "So... I want you to capture a Polaran for study and interrogation."
Startled, Ryllaen stared at her. He hadn't expected that. "Sir?"
"You will wait just outside claimed Polaris territory with a special fleet of two carriers and their escorts. Sometimes solitary Polaris ships will venture out of their defended systems. Find one, disable the ship, and take the crew. Once you have them, bring them immediately to me, no matter what. Leave the fleet if you must. Do you understand?"
Ryllaen nodded helplessly, a sick feeling in his stomach. So. He was now a marauder, no better than the pirates in the Bureau's pay. Not for the first time, he imagined what it would be like to kill Krane, even as he obediently followed the Colonel out of the room.
New England, Wolf 359 system, ten years earlier
The docking pad he'd been assigned to was on the outskirts of the spaceport, but Ford Shirens paid it no mind. It just took him that much closer to the address the Vell-os had given him. He stepped out of his work-worn Valkyrie, eyeing its hull, corroded with long exposure to radiation and coated with space grime, with familiar affection. He would leave it behind soon, trade it in for a new ship.
"Trader Shirens?" A fussy port official was at his elbow. "We've been expecting you. Step this way, please."
Ford followed him into a darkened room. Sudden, sharp pain stabbed into his arm. He had only enough time to perceive dark figures converging on him before the sedative took effect and he crumpled to the ground.
Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by an uncomfortable itch at the nape of his neck. Ford blinked and focused with difficulty on the people standing above him. One was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, two wore the uniform of Federation soldiers, and one was the Vell-os. Ford struggled to remember his name. Llyrell; that was it.
yes i am llyrell
Ford blinked. Where had that voice come from? None of the people he could see had opened their mouths.
i speak to your mind
He stared at the Vell-os incredulously. He couldn't have - yet Ford knew that no words had been spoken aloud. He didn't know what to think; before he could work out the implications of this, the woman spoke.
"Stand up."
Ford wasn't disposed to following the orders of people who had just abducted him and knocked him out. He was about to tell her so, when he found to his surprise that he was obeying her. Confused, he glanced around, panic beginning to replace fear and anger. "What is happening? What have you done to me?"
"Congratulations," the woman said with a friendly smile. "You are a telepath. Of course, everyone knows that the only telepaths are Vell-os, so you are also Vell-os. As a symbol of your newfound status, you are forbidden to cut your hair. Unfortunately, untrained Vell-os are a danger to themselves and those around them. They need a firm hand to guide them and keep them from harm. The Bureau of Internal Investigation is that hand; with the help of the device implanted into your central nervous system I will make sure you don't abuse your abilities." Her tone turned businesslike. "I am Commander Krane; you will answer to me in all things. From now on you will be called Ryllaen. You will follow the orders of all Bureau personnel, save when those orders are countermanded by someone of higher authority. You will never speak or act against the Bureau, and will report all persons harbouring ill-intent to the Bureau; you will protect yourself from harm and resist all attempts to free you with all your strength and to the best of your ability. Lastly, you will report all unenslaved telepaths immediately. If you understand me, nod your head."
Ford tried to shake his head, tried to shout denial. He wanted to fight them all, give them a few hard knocks and run for it. They were all standing there, completely unconcerned. To his horror he was passively nodding, his body ignoring his wishes.
Satisfied, Krane turned away. "Llyrell, train him and get him ready for field duty." She left, trailed by the expressionless guards.
Llyrell looked at his new kinsman, sadness emanating from him now that Krane was gone. Ford - Ryllaen - reached back numbly with one hand and touched the enslavement device on the back of his neck. come ryllaen The thought was gentle, though an order nonetheless. there are many things you must learn about your new life
east of Kania system
The bridge of the carrier was quiet, the very picture of efficient competence. They had been lurking in this system, awaiting a stray Polaran, for many days, yet the crew were wise enough to show no signs of impatience. The captain was another matter. A low-ranking Bureau operant, he saw this assignment as his chance for advancement. They had been forced to leave several systems in a hurry when confronted by a Polaris force too powerful for them to handle, and the cowardly directive sat ill with the glory-seeking young officer.
"Anything?" The negative report came back and the captain scowled.
"Patience." Ryllaen regarded the captain with concealed scorn. "There is no requirement for haste." Personally he would be glad if they never saw a single Polaris ship.
As always when the Vell-os spoke, there was a short hush of awe from the crew. They all respected the Vell-os, vigilant and untiring protectors of the Federation. Ryllaen wondered how they could be so blind. Oh, they knew their history - they had all read of the Vell-os/Colonial Council wars that had left the few Vell-os planets uninhabitable and choked with deadly radiation - but they, the victorious Federation citizens descended from the Colonial Council, never imagined that the highly respected Vell-os walking amongst them were still their slaves.
A raised shout alerted them to the presence of a new ship on their sensors; a Polaran had just jumped into the system. Striding over quickly, Ryllaen glanced at the console: it was a small ship, big enough for one or two crewmembers only, and alone. He nodded, hiding his sadness behind a grim expression.
"That one. Disable it, do not destroy it. If any other ships approach, fend them off and leave this one to me."
Ryllaen strode through the corridors at a brisk pace. All around him, he sensed the weaves of psychic energy on the carrier becoming sharper and more focused as the crew prepared for battle. He reached the docking bay and paused to gather his thoughts. Manipulating the weaves around him to form a hard shield shell that appeared shimmering blue to the naked eye was commonplace to him now and took little effort. He formed an Arrow - not the most powerful ship a Vell-os could create, but not the weakest, either. Standing motionless at the centre of the Arrow, Ryllaen caused it to rise and leave the docking bay.
The emergence into deep space was like a refreshing draught of cool water. The Polaris ship, a Manta, was close by, evading the Federation fighters with its superior speed and maneuverability. The pilot was brave, Ryllaen gave him that; he did not hesitate to attack the intruders, though he was clearly outnumbered and Ryllaen could sense his shields were dropping fast. Only a bit more left... the Manta took out several of the fighters, burning them out in an instant with its powerful capacitor pulse relay laser. The rest scattered, veering out of the way of the deadly beam and cursing wildly over the hyperlink. Ryllaen hovered nearby, waiting and monitoring the battle intently.
A sudden flux in the weaves caused Ryllaen to dodge away, out of the path of another Manta. Turning quickly, he saw several ships jumping in on the heel of the new Manta, ominous in their biological designs. He knew at once that this force, though numbering the same as the Federation fleet, would easily defeat them. Polaris technology was far more advanced than anything the Federation had managed to achieve. Ryllaen glanced back at the first Manta; it drifted, weapons damaged and the ship stunned. He opened a hyperlink to the carriers.
"Hold them off," he said tersely. Without waiting for a response he shut the link and flew over to the disabled Manta. A moment's search was all it took to find the access hatch and gain entry. Once inside he dissolved the hard blue shell of his Arrow and looked around curiously. It was truly an organic ship; he could feel its awareness, stunned though it was. Its intelligence was somewhat akin to that of a dog. Shutting the battle that raged at a decreasing distance out of his senses, Ryllaen concentrated on the Manta. Somewhere, there was another psychic signature, a distinctly different pattern of weaves. There was only one, which meant that either the pilot was alone or the other crew were dead. Ryllaen hoped for the first. He searched the ship cautiously, steps soft, senses as finetuned as he could make them.
The living ship confused him and masked the other's signature. A sudden warning twist in the weaves behind him caused Ryllaen to duck and turn out of instinct. He glimpsed a swirling grey cloak before the thrown knife grazed his shoulder, causing him to gasp in pain. He began to lash out as he had been trained with a killing blast of energy, remembering just in time that he had orders to keep the Polaran alive. The effort to modify the outpouring of energy so that the Polaran was only stunned was enormous; Ryllaen staggered as the excess energy backlashed into his own body. It took all his strength to stay conscious. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wall for several precious minutes.
It was a moment's work - a longer moment than it should have taken - to manhandle the unconscious Polaran to the access hatch. Ryllaen formed a Dart around them both; he was almost too exhausted to form even that smallest of Vell-os ships. He flew from the Manta into the middle of a fierce battle. It took a bare second for the situation to register. The Federation fleet was losing badly. One carrier was fatally crippled, more than half its crew dead and the rest about to die; the other was fast losing shields as the remaining Polaris fleet concentrated their fire on it. Ryllaen sped away from the battle as fast as he could take the Dart.
"Vell-os!" The voice on the other end of the hyperlink was desperate. Ryllaen recognised the glory-seeker. "Help us! Our jump drive is disabled. You must draw some of them off and give us more time!"
Ryllaen felt as if a knife twisted cruelly in his stomach. "Hold them," he said harshly. "Those are your orders."
He cut the link, screaming curses in his mind. For sure, he did not like the captain, but that did not mean he wished for his death and the death of his crew. But he could not help: he had his own orders. Ryllaen let out an involuntary yelp as needles of fire hammered against his shield, sending pain lancing through his mind. It was all he could do to dodge away from the Mantas hounding him from all sides. And then he could not do even that.
The knife edge was cold and sharp; it brought Ryllaen's senses spiralling from the wide range of the Dart to a much more personal focus. Statue straight in the pose of a piloting Vell-os, he stiffened further.
"Surrender now, Vell-os." The Polaran's words were weak, heavily accented Federation Basic, but determined.
"Kill me, and you will die yourself," Ryllaen replied evenly. He prepared to say more when a direct blast sent the Dart spinning out of control.
Surprised, the Polaran tumbled back against the far wall; the knife left a thin line of red across neck as it fell to the floor. Ryllaen grimaced as the assault continued. He could feel himself losing control. If he could no longer hold the Dart's form he would die, unprotected against the vacuum surrounding him. With strength born of desperation he hyperjumped wildly, grasping for a jump path without thought for destination. On the threshold of hyperspace multiple lasers caught his Dart. Ryllaen screamed, twisting and straining against the immobilizing grip of the hyperspace threshold that held him helpless in the burning laserfire. He crossed the threshold and was wrenched sideways across hyperspace as his struggling pulled him out of the jump path. It felt like a million crystal shards cutting through his mind, and though it lasted for but an instant, it drove Ryllaen to near unconsciousness.
He could not hear his own screaming, or the shouts of the Polaran behind him. He could not sense where he was, could not feel anything but agony. He only saw the planet rushing towards him through a darkened haze. It took all his remaining will to slow his entry so that they were not burnt up in the atmosphere. The jolt as he hit the ground hard, the brunt of the impact borne by his shields, was enough to make him lose sense of everything.