Fate of Frailty Chapter 24
By Karen Hart
Author's note: Just want to say sorry for the delay of this chapter. I'm having serious computer problems and I have no idea when they're going to be resolved. Also, sorry for the bad quality. I found out I'd be visiting my brother (who has Internet access) so I just cranked something out real quick. Anyway, enjoy.
Mary looked up from her work, the soft tap tap tap of approaching footsteps her only warning before a hand settled on her shoulder. Her head jerked upwards, a startled gasp escaping her lips before she registered exactly who had approached her.
The nurse shook his head at her reaction. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you. Anyway, how're you and your sister holding up?"
She shrugged. "We're fine. Getting a bit tired, but we can hang in there." A quick glance at his nametag revealed that he was "Andy Gennings".
Andy "hmmm"ed for a moment, his features scrunched. "Listen, how about running one more errand and then you and Shelley can lounge around in the cafeteria?" At the distasteful look that crossed her face, he laughed. "Look, I promise the food there's better'n what we give to patients. Just a place to relax for a bit. And it's not like you have to eat there."
Mary nodded, her loose blonde hair bouncing around. "All right, then. As long's we don't have to eat any hospital food, what do you need?"
"Thanks. Anyway, could you pick up the food trays from rooms 301 to 305 and 308 to 312? The people in those rooms got released about an hour ago. We got a new batch of injured a little while ago and we need to clear out what space we can. And thanks again. You two have been an immense help."
Mary straightened, bolstered by the compliment. "It's no problem."
---
At chaos's "NOW!", Jr. hit the trigger on the Lorant's little fire control seat, a sudden, bizarrely familiar surge coursing through him before it was shoved down again. A small sphere of energy appeared a moment later through the forward window, several times brighter than what they'd expected, though rapidly appearing to decrease in size as it was propelled towards its destination. Belatedly the three of them turned away from the scene as the sudden flash nearly blinded them.
As one, they turned back to the window, blinking away spots while simultaneously trying to get a lock on what it was they were suddenly looking at. It was a gray, elongate ship, areas of bright orange like the hazard lines of a dockside breaking up the dull color scheme. It was also much, much larger than the little passenger ship they were on.
Two jaws dropped, while the third formed an astonished O. "W-what the hell?" Jr. stammered. "What's a Federation ship doing shooting at us?"
---
"So any idea why you're being attacked in the first place?" Canaan inquired as he walking alongside Gaignun, his own long stride matching the young businessman. They turned a strangely deserted corner, heading for the shipyard.
"One or two. The Foundation was built originally as a depot for vessels opposed to U-TIC. When Jr.—Rubedo—and I took over we changed it mostly to private industry. Apparently there's still some hostility towards this place though."
"I see." Canaan scanned the area, reconnaissance habits kicking in. "So when did this all start?"
Gaignun looked upward, searching through his memory. "About a couple months ago, during the New Year's celebration. I hate to admit it, but they've caught us off guard."
"Careless."
Gaignun suppressed a retort. "Anyway, we're here." They surveyed the shipyard, a curious wasteland of metal beams and heavy machinery, a fine, dust-like powder coating the ground in areas, the scent of machine-oil permeating the air. They registered the silence before they became aware of the series of empty, unfinished hulls, each of them a vibrant shade of red and looking oddly like a gutted battalion of warships.
For a moment neither of them spoke, gold and green eyes taking in the scenery. Canaan broke the silence. "So which one of those is the Durandal?"
Gaignun began moving once again. "They all are." At Canaan's blank expression he explained, "The design Jr. came up with was too big to build all at once, so we're having it done in sections."
"I see."
---
Mary leaned against the cart as Shelley loaded another food tray, this one with its meal untouched. "Hmmm, guess they figured the food wouldn't agree with them. That the last one?"
There was a pause as Shelley double-checked, purple eyes matching trays to the rooms they'd come from. "…I think we've missed one." The two of them ran a quick check of the rooms they'd searched, before settling on 311. Within moments they had the elusive tray stacked with the others, and began making their way out of the room.
Suddenly, Mary stopped as she caught a muffled stirring coming from the adjacent bathroom, Shelley almost bumping into her. "Someone's in here?"
The older girl shrugged. "Probably one of the staff cleaning up in there."
"You're probably right." She strode over to the door, knocking twice. "Hey, it's me. Shelley and I are gonna take our break now, okay?"
The stirring ceased.
The two sisters looked at each other uneasily. "Hello?" Mary ventured. "Is anyone there?" Cautiously she turned the latch on the door. If it'd been a janitor in the room, there would've been rather more clattering as toiletries were restocked, mops in buckets banging as they were leaned against the wall. And if there'd simply been someone making use of the facilities, surely they would've received a swift request to leave that person be. So why the silence?
Carefully Mary pushed the door open, Shelley peering over her shoulder, the both of them holding their breath. They saw three things of interest as the door opened fully. The first was the portable communications equipment that littered one side of the counter near the sink, headset, connection gear and UMN phone jumbled together with other things the girls couldn't easily identify. The second thing was the collection of gun cleaning equipment, an assortment of oils and cleaners, long, slender rods covered in stained pieces of cloth.
The third thing was the man sitting on the toilet lid, carefully reassembling a large, black pistol that, even to someone inexperienced with firearms, looked as though it could do serious damage. He looked up at them and smiled, beckoning them closer with a lift of his chin.
"You mind closing the door behind you?"