Revised.
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For thro' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
'Crossing the Bar', 1889
Lord Alfred Tennyson
Moonstruck waves laughed as they lapped against the metallic form that had invaded their shore. Their giddy fingers dragging it further down with the rising of the tides. The metal torso lay in a crater of rock and sand, everything below already swallowed by the ever rising waters. An arm lay reaching inland vainly, fingers splayed, helpless.
A silver crescent hung low in the sky; caressing the foreign creation with ethereal light till it seemed a monstrosity of perverse beauty. Beads of water that trickled down along mobile suit were turned into creamy pearls and the dim gray armor into gleaming pearlescent sheets of moonlight.
Alone, the fallen warrior surrendered to the sea like many before it.
"It landed on a small island, west of here." Mu commented, looking up from the screen. "Good thing. If Aube wasn't an archipelago, whatever it was would have sunk by now."
"That's nice lieutenant." The captain was far too busy thinking about the fate of their young crewmembers to pay any attention.
The final shreds of sunlight had already faded from an explosion of pinks and orange, to crimson and indigo, to finally the consuming darkness of night. Outside, as the world fell to inky blackness, inside the Archangel, the corridor lights flared in bright, empty contrast.
The occasional crewmember quietly shifted down the hallways, bowing to the somber mood that had engulfed the warship. Even the young hearts of their newest members had been quieted and turned inward. Nursing the wounds, which were still raw and alien to their fragile innocence. Hushed whispers were passed between friends as sad eyes turned to look outside to the sleeping land…
Fragile were those that had lost friends… even more fragile were those whose fates remained undecided. Two silent shadows hugged at the corners of their cells. Each contemplating their motives and experiences in life. Opportunities and friends lost flitted behind their eyes like ribbons of light passing through cold fingers. Destiny was taking its course and leading them to a time and place that remained unknown. Slowly, weary eyes began to droop. Sleep engulfing the coordinators till they were free once again, in a way only found in dreams.
The was nobody for Yzak to talk to. All of his 'friends' had either gotten themselves captured or killed, and his crewmates were avoiding him. Not that he needed them. He was fine by himself. But then again- the ship's halls had fallen eerily silent. Even the commander had shut himself up in his quarters and only emerged for food, which he promptly took back to his room. Creuset looked the same, but there was something different about the way he held himself. Yzak couldn't quite pinpoint it, but he seemed to be scheming. His mouth seemed to be always turned down into a thoughtful frown and a pad of paper full of random things always at his hand.
Chapter Ten Teaser
Nicol coughed back a laugh at his companion's disheveled, bleary expression. "That's what I was trying to do, but you wouldn't wake up." The blond pilot scrunched his nose. "Come on Dearka. I heard that they're investigating something. So they won't have any time to look over us." "Oh. You're sneakier than we gave you credit for Nicol. Or maybe Yzak and I just rubbed off on you." Dearka cracked a snide grin and pushed himself to his feet. The younger pilot just rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "I'm guessing it was the latter."
"Did you say something?"