Fate of Frailty Chapter 17
By Karen Hart
Author's note: No, chaos isn't going to become a regular part of this story's cast. Sorry about that, chaos fans.
It was silent as Jr. carefully picked his way through the unfinished corridors of the Durandal, carefully moving to avoid the detritus of mechanics. Night had fallen over the Foundation like a blanket, eventually bringing much of the colony to a halt, though some establishments remained open. So he'd found it very easy to sneak into the construction area, when at any other time he might be mistaken for a stray child and told to stay clear.
He sat down on the edge of a piece of heavy machinery, cautiously avoiding anything that looked like a power switch, and let his mind drift for a while, though he retained the good sense to keep Gaignun blocked—not that his thoughts would've disturbed the man any.
It'd been a slightly trying two months since he'd come up with the Durandal's final design. Objections had risen over the idea of a warship being run by a twelve year old boy, though they'd been quelled for the most part by some persuasion from Gaignun and his own blunt personality. Not that it mattered at the moment, though. He'd been rather taken aback when he'd found out the Durandal would take the better part of a year to complete, likely more.
With a yawn he leaned back and stared up at the overhead, eyes starting to remain shut for longer than a blink.
---
"I see you've settled in nicely," Helmer commented to Gaignun, whose image was again fixed to the communication screen in his office. In the background he could see the accouterments of offices the inhabited universe over, a clear sign that Gaignun had taken to his new role. Privately Helmer was glad Gaignun had been able to make the transition, though he admitted to himself that he missed the company.
Gaignun smirked. "It's been interesting. Anyway, what was it that you wanted to speak to me about?"
Helmer straightened slightly, making the change from old friend to politician, his face turning grave. "I don't know if you've heard about this, but there's been some talk about the U-TIC Organization trying to get its hand on the Emulators that Mizrahi left behind."
"Some talk? You mean rumors?"
"Give me more credit than that. This is news I've gotten from a few of my field agents."
Gaignun nodded his understanding. "I see. At the moment we don't have the ability to stop them, as the Foundation isn't mobile at this point. However, I'm fairly sure that they won't be able to collect all of them that quickly."
"You're probably right," Helmer agreed. "However, my warning was less for U-TIC and what they might stir up."
"You mean the Gnosis?"
"Indeed. You'll remember where they were drawn to when they appeared six years ago."
Gaignun's eyes narrowed as he recalled the horrible event. "Towards the Song of Nephilim…and the Original."
"I figured you might want a heads up. I'd be surprised if the commanding members of U-TIC aren't away of the Foundation's current—beg pardon—vulnerability." Helmer's expression was apologetic.
"I appreciate it. I'll see what measures I can come up with." Gaignun's image vanished as the screen thinned itself into nothingness.
---
Despite the lull in activity, the docks were still fairly busy, as incoming traffic rarely showed concern for local hours. Crews and docking techs wandered about in a seeming chaotic order, searching out amenities and work, respectively.
"Yo chaos!" chaos looked upwards from the terminal he'd been servicing, wincing as the dock manager's harsh shout all but echoed off of the deckplates. "How many times do I have to call you? Your shift's over, go home already."
A half smile crossed chaos's face as he returned to the terminal for a final tweak. "I must've lost track of the time."
"Yeah, right," the manager—whose namebadge said he was Chris Russell—grumbled in mock complaint. 'You just want the overtime, admit it."
"Whatever you say," chaos replied with a grin, having gotten used to Russell's comments. Packing up his toolkit, he stopped by the warehouse to drop them off, not without a parting "So how much do you owe me this week?" to Russell.
As he walked to his apartment he reflected over the past couple of months. It'd been rather fascinating watching the two URTVs trying—and succeeding—to run the Foundation, while the general public had no idea about the truth behind the young directors. So he'd decided to find employment on the colony, though he'd been careful to choose an occupation that wouldn't ultimately strand him in one place. And he'd felt the strange need to verify their safety. Perhaps it was simple instinct.
---
Jr. woke a short while later, suddenly aware that he'd dozed off. Rotating a neck gone stiff, he looked around, disoriented for a moment. That's right. I decided to take a look at the Durandal. Damn it, what time is it? Bleary-eyed and yawning, he hopped off of the machine. It wouldn't do for someone to catch him napping in a construction zone, no matter what rank he might've held in the Foundation.
As soon as the fog cleared from his mind he heard Gaignun's voice. I'm glad you're finally awake. We might have a problem on our hands.
Jr. grimaced. 'Might have a problem' as in you're being cautious or 'might have a problem' as in we do have a problem?
The former.
Oh thank god.
Though it could easily become the latter.
Damn it!