ThunderCats
Bio-Booster Armor Guyver
Eye of the Storm
Episode Six
In the tangled wildlands of what had once been the People's Republic of China, the Mutant experimental ship Warhammer sat several kilometers away from the river once known as the Yangtse. One of the most ancient civilizations, its roots reaching into the murky prehistory of First Earth, had given over to nature in much the same way as the rest of the planet. The sun set below the Yangtse and the vibrant jungles which neared its banks save for the kilometer-long stretch of trees which had been scorched to cinders to accomodate the girth of a ship which did not belong on that world.
In his quarters, Ratar-O had just finished his fourth viewing of Packhorse's A/V sensor logs and once again shook his head at the images.
"I can't believe that arrogant cock-knocker almost pulled it off," he whispered as, yet again, the robot's inputs were very suddenly interrupted. The data it managed to gain on the attack which reduced it to slag clearly indicated the Guyver had destroyed it. "I know the ThunderCats are notorious for overcoming long odds, but this!"
"It is very surprising, father," Meliz said from his position on the foyer's couch. "Personally, I had thought they would have defeated him without Guyver's assistance. Perhaps his former reputation was indeed well-earned."
"If luck hadn't turned against him..."
"He would have delivered them as agreed, and since you had no intention of paying him, you would of course have had to kill him."
"But not before sharing a good, honest drink with the man. I would have owed him at least that before slicing him lengthwise." Ratar-O ran his fingers down his right whisker. "Still and all, he served his purpose. Status?" he asked, once more all-business.
"Teams are deployed to the coordinates you specified," Meliz said. "The subterranian ruins are in far better condition than expected."
"Radiation levels?"
"Background only. The sheilding on this particular reactor seems rather strong."
"Good. Have them keep digging. I have a feeling that we're on the verge of something big."
Half a world distant from Ratar-O and under the light of the sun which did not shine over the remains of China, the ThunderCats sat in council within the largest of the available tents. More were arriving by the moment, each helping themselves to the coffee Snarf had set in an urn as they entered. Torr and Kyranna took their seats in the circle of chairs which was headed by Tygra. Myrlha was last to enter, and the near-glow on her face caused a few sidelong glances to travel between the others. Bengali was not present, having been relieved of duty until futher notice so he would not miss the birth of his and Pumyra's son. Siberias, also, was not in attendance due to the Puma's having just begun labor a few hours previous. According to the attending healer, it was only a matter of hours until Darin made his grand debut.
"Safari Joe's comeback attempt can't have been a coincidence," Cheetara said once Tygra called Council to order. "I feel it." Those three words brought the gravity of the situation to the forefront in the minds of those who knew her best. "I haven't had a vision, but I feel it's a bad omen all the same."
"He said he was being paid to deliver us to someone," Lion-O said, recalling the hunter's words. "And, not just ThunderCats. Whoever employed him wanted Sho, as well."
"Somebody wantin' a slave run?" Torr asked. "Been my experience when someone takes you down, it's to sell you into bondage. Could explain why he said we were worth more alive than dead." Lion-O understood where the other man was coming from, as well as a couple hundred others outside the tent.
"I don't think that's likely," Laheela opined. "Why only a few when ther're hundreds to take? Besides, someone with Sho's abilities wouldn't stay chained very damn long. He'd be too dangerous to keep alive."
"Decapitation strike," Panthro offered. "Take out the chain of command, you put down any effective resistance to a later move."
"Or, just some rich loony who wanted us on display," Myrlha said, her somewhat dreamy expression having cleared from the topic of debate. "Maybe even personal servants." She did not miss Laheela's shudder at those words.
"I know a thing or two about that..." she said softly. "I have to say that's possible."
"Either way," Tygra said, realizing that they had covered all the relevant angles available to them, "Mandora will contact us when CONTROL learns who hired Safari Joe. We can act more decisively from there. Next," he said, shifting to more mundane business, "we need to adjust the duty roster. We're currently two people down."
"I've put Cheetara into Bengali's slot for today," Lion-O said as he lowered his cup. "We're ahead of schedule in the quarry, and we're right on track for construction efforts. So," he consulted the data padd in his left hand, "that puts her with you and Panthro in the Depot." The Depot, as they had come to call the low-lying depression in the earth, was where the remains of the Ravager, Starsweeper, Pillager, and Bludgeon rested alongside SkyTomb and recently the Gelnika. No one called it the Junkyard in Panthro's presence.
"No problem," Panthro replied. He missed the ever-so-slight twitch at the corner of Cheetara's left eye due to it being out of his line of sight.
"I've put Cartography Duties on hold for the persent, until we can send more teams at a time. No sense in anyone getting in another ambush." Heads nodded at that. "Last, I've got Sho pulling kitchen duty in place of Pumyra's turn at it."
"He's pretty fair shakes in the kitchen," Cheetara added. During the expedition to find a suitable place for New Thundera Colony, Sho had cooked several fish he had caught when his turn to scout food came up.
"Sure surprised me," WilyKat said. Nearing sixteen, his form was more heavily muscled beneath the brown tunic and pants he wore. His sister was more lithe, her bust filling out beneath the light purple one-piece unitard. She had forgone her original outfit, much to the relief of everyone. She wouldn't have been able to walk anywhere in the colony without making heads turn had she stuck with it. "I wouldn't have thought he'd have those skills."
"I've already gotten some submissions for possible statues," Tygra mentioned, tabling the issue and consulting his own padd. "Lion-O, you remember the ones in the capital on Thundera?"
"A few of them," he replied. "I never got out into the city much. I think you should file the submissions somewhere until contsruction of the colony is complete."
"Seconded," Kyranna added. "Can't beautify a city until it's built, right?"
"I was already planning on that. Good to know we're all on the same page." Light chuckles followed Tygra's quip. He didn't make jokes often, but once in a while Council sessions needed a dose of levity. "Since nothing else is on the agenda for today, Council is adjourned." As they rose to leave, Myrlha fell in step beside Cheetara.
"I'm on Quarry Duty today," she said, "mind if I tag along for a bit?"
"Of course," Cheetara said, noting that Myrlha's face was somewhat dreamy again, though not so much as when Council began. "Something on your mind?" It was obvious what had put that look on her face.
"Whatever you told Sho while you were in the Gelnika," Myrlha said, taking Cheetara's hands in hers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"I'm glad for you," she answered, "but it was Panthro who gave it to him. I just told him to think about it. So," she said as Myrlha released her hands, "I take it he decided to 'Man Up' as the boys say?" Her face held a touch of mischief as she spoke.
"More than once," Myrlha whispered, and then winked.
"My, my..." Cheetara's voice was falsely demure, a hand over her breasts in faux modesty.
"When the emotion's there, it makes up for the lack of experience. He learned his lessons, though," Myrlha said as they began walking again.
"Oh?"
"Promise to keep this between us?"
"Naturally!"
"I was his first." Cheetara's eyes widened at that. "His first kiss, too." She shook her head at that, amazed and unsurprised at the same time. They continued to make small talk until Myrlha had to bank off to report for Quarry Duty, and Cheetara was left to mull over when Panthro would make his move to "Give her a talkin' to" as she made her way to the Depot.
"How far apart are the contractions?" Siberias asked.
"About an hour." Pumyra reclined against the raised portion of the bed and did everything she could to relax. Bengali, for his part, was practically thrumming with nervous tension.
"Then he's yet to enter the birth canal," Siberias replied. He consulted the medscaner in his hand, a circular device which used passive sensors to read vital signs. "Though he is turning nicely. You have not begun dialating yet."
"Won't be long now," Bengali said before bending down to kiss her cheek. "I don't know how you can bear it."
"Trust me," she said, "if men had to give birth, our race would've died out centuries ago."
"I am afraid I must concur with her on that," Siberias said with a low chuckle. "Some expecting fathers wish to share that experience. I happen to think them fools for doing so."
"Damned idiots, you mean." She looked over to Bengali then. "Unless you pass a kidney stone the size of, oh, say a melon or you give yourself a vasectomy with a chainsaw, you have no idea what it's like."
Bengali, wisely, chose not to visualize either example.
Pumyra, over the course of her pregnancy, had endured some of the wildest mood swings Bengali had ever seen. Given how stable Pumyra had always been, he'd sometimes caught himself wondering if she were possessed rather than with cub. At times, she was her normally sweet self, other times the slightest thing Bengali did would bring that sharp tongue of hers and it would draw blood. Sometimes, she was even overly self-conscious of her appearance. Other times she had been, to put it simply, unbelievably horny. Siberias and Pumyra had both told him that pregnancy could raise hell with her hormones, yet he'd had no idea it would be so bad with Pumyra. The shift from happy to furious to weepy left his own emotions feeling as if they had ridden a rollercoaster designed by a lunatic at times.
As such, Bengali had learned how to gauge Pumyra's emotions far more accurately than he could before. Her posture, the curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes, everything told him when the all-clear had sounded or when Hurricane Pumyra was about to blow through.
It would all be worth it once Darin was born. Bengali didn't doubt that one bit, though he would be more than happy to have the Pumyra he knew back.
Natalie stood in the center of a line of her sisters, eight women making a line in a clear patch of ground under the new sun. A small gathering of women stood across from them, witnesses to the event which was about to take place. Verona herself, regal even in a brown one-piece fur which showed her still-firm legs, stood in cool silence. Her hair was braided into a tail which hung about her right shoulder.
Muttered conversations ceased as he exited the trees and stood before Verona. His hair was black, and draped down to his shoulders. His pants were of lizadon hide, and were all he was allowed to wear for the Rite of Ascencion. For women, it was a test of archery and unarmed combat against the best in the tribe. For men, it was... this.
"Speak your name, boy."
"I am called Nall, M'lady."
He kept his hands clasped behind him, his head bowed in submission. His upper body lacked the muscle tone of the women of the Warrior Maiden folk, slender and smooth. Natalie found it tough to believe he had reached the age of eighteen.
"Today, you undergo the Rite of Ascencion," Verona said. "Today, you become a man." Without further command, Nall walked slowly forward, his head still bowed and his hands still behind him until he stood before the first Maiden. He turned to her, raised his head...
The slap echoed off of the trees surrounding the glade. Nall made no sound, no move to resist while his head rocked to the side. He lowered his head and moved to the second woman, who unloaded a backhand against the other side of his face. Another woman, another blow, this time a punch to the stomach that nearly doubled him over. On and on it went until he stood before her.
Natalie moved on reflex, leaving a hard slap against his face which by now was reddening not from shame but from repeated blows. He had been born of a Warrior Maiden, and had been raised to believe in his status as second class. Men brought in from outside the tribe, on the other hand, had some difficulty adjusting to the fact. On Nall moved, and Natalie gave him a silent apology.
He finally reached the last woman, who punched him in the jaw with a sharp crack. Not hard enough to break bone, severely injuring the boys who underwent the Rite was forbidden, but it would surely hurt for a while to come. Natalie knew this was necessary to keep males of the tribe in line, but still found herself slightly sickened at the practice. The Law of the Wood, however, was inflexible on this point. Bruised and a little bloodied, he stood before Verona, his head still down and his arms still behind him. By not objecting, turning away, or trying to defend himself (which would have done him no good whatsoever) he had proven that he knew his place in Warrior Maiden society. He was now a man.
"You have done well, Nall, and this day I proclaim you to be a man in the presence of womankind and of the Wood."
"I thank you, M'lady."
The Rite of Ascencion ended, but there was yet more for Nall, Natalie knew. That evening, when he returned to the small huts that the men and boys called their own, a Maiden would be waiting to fully make a man of him, as well as to reinforce the knowledge that obedient men were well rewarded. If a child was conceived due to it, so much the better for the tribe as a whole and Nall would be granted other such visits more frequently aside from what was expected of him.
Natalie kept dissident thoughts to herself, as she was sure others did. For the strength of the tribe, she told herself, the Law of the Wood had to be obeyed. It did not, however, mean she had to agree with all of it. The last one to show dissent had been banished by Verona herself, as well as a group of others whom she had discovered agreed with said dissident. Verona's own sister, Lily.
Natalie thought on the story told to her by her mother as the group dispersed from the clearing. Nothing would have happened if she hadn't done the one thing Warrior Maidens were forbidden to do.
She had fallen in love with one of the men.
Men were kept for their roles in caring for the boys, for preparing the meals, and for ensuring that there would be future generations of warriors. A woman could have her pick from any male who had undergone the Rite of Ascencion, and he had no say in the matter. Lily, Natalie had been told, had developed a fondness for a certain man by the name of Kestrel, and her dalliances with him had developed into love. When it was discovered that she wished for Kestrel to be hers exclusively, Verona had not been happy about it. In short, Lily believed (and this was anathema to any proper Warrior Maiden) that men should not be treated in such a way as they were. Yes, they were not on par with women, but they shouldn't be kept as livestock either. Some others had dared to speak up in Lily's defense, but they only ended up sharing Lily's banishment along with Kestrel and some of the other men who had shown a glimmer of defiance, mostly those who had been brought in from outside the Wood.
Lily was, in the end, still Verona's sister by blood if no longer in name and she had asked a younger Analee to embark with them. Though she could show no favor to her estranged sister, she did still love her.
In fact, her mother had said, the last message Verona had received from Analee was that Lily had borne twin girls from Kestrel's seed. The eldest by several minutes had been named Willa, the younger Nayda.
And now, following the news that Lily's young tribe had been wiped out and further news of this Guyver creature, most notably that it was a man named Lisker, Verona seemed colder. She was becoming more and more convinced that he was arming the outsider village Watershed against them.
Natalie, for her part, wondered exactly what she would do to censure Lisker. If Analee's message was accurate, which Verona certainly seemed to think so, then what good were bows and arrows against the power Lisker possessed? What good were any of their weapons?
Though she would not say so aloud, Natalie believed Verona to be wrong about Lisker's intentions. She thought that the Guyver had no interest in the Wood at all. She had ventured close enough to see Watershed more than once, and had noticed that the battlements along the walls seemed to serve a defensive purpose. She had not been sent in with the spies, warriors dressed as merchants and buyers, and was not privy to their reports, but it seemed Watershed was preparing to weather an attack, not unleash one.
Besides, Lisker had saved her life. She knew that death had awaited at the end of the brutal gang rape he had prevented. She could not help herself, but she believed that Verona was wrong.
Not that she'd mention that.
Though power still flowed through the wires and conduits behind the thick concrete walls so far below the surface, none of the overhead light fixtures were operational. He found it astonishing that any of the computer monitoring systems functioned at all, much less as many as they had found. The words written in red along the walls were a form of ideograms, he surmised. He knew from the limited data Ratar-O had provided that this place was known as the China branch of Kronos, Xiangyou. Mu Tsu. Shan Pu. Whatever. He had no use for an extinct language.
Doctor Gireg scratched his beak thoughtfully as the Simians before him manned cutting torches to a particularly stubborn door. An Avian of the Buzzard Clan, not to be confused with Vultures, his frame was slight beneath the thin white coat which adorned his feathers and draped down to the kilt-like wrap which kept him covered. It was a symbol of his success, that lab coat, that he was indeed superior to the mental midgets which surrounded him. Gireg didn't mind that it irritated the hell out of the feathers which ringed his shoulders.
The lamps which had been carried down to this door glowed like miniature suns, yet the area they illuminated only made the darkness around the periphery stand out more, as though the shadows were alive with ancient secrets and knowledge. Despite his scientific background, Dr. Gireg still held some of Mutantkind's ancient superstitions. His disciplined mind allowed him to dismiss the creeping feeling that they were all playing with forces best left buried and forgotten.
His own desire for power and prestige, another trait of Mutantkind, urged him onward with as much intensity as his scientific curiosity. Ratar-O had not deigned to tell any of the teams toiling in the depths of Third Earth what, exactly, they were looking for. They were to download all available data from the still-functioning computers (primitive things, in Gireg's opinion) and to bring up any and all equipment and viable biological samples they could. That last part confirmed to him why a biologist whose specialty was in theoretical genetics was brought along. Why most of the technical staff under his command were biologists of one stripe or another.
As such, he thought, whatever is behind what is obviously a secutiry door must be part of whatever we came here for. How interesting... Gireg's first, and very correct, thought that it was a bioweapon of some sort. His second was that this sample, or whatever, would not be logged into the official inventory. Gireg's third thought was that this would go a long way toward having a leader put in place who was truly worthy to command. His last thought was that he'd enjoy sitting in Ratar-O's command chair. These happy fantasies played in his mind until the sounds of torches cutting metal ceased.
"We're through!" A Simian hooted.
"I see that. Now, open this door and let's have a look about."
The chamber, even though the only light was from handlamps which cast wide beams of white, was obviously a research area. The floorspace stretched for several meters to the left and right with disused microscopes and centrifuges resting curiously without a layer of dust. The air circuation had not failed in here as it had in some other areas of the subterrainian complex. The air was noticably colder, raising gooseflesh on his exposed pink skin. In the shadows was a low and steady hum, what his brain identified as a mechanical sound. Gireg shone his light over to the right, seeking out the source of the sound and moving as carefully as he could manage. There was no telling what kind of junk he might step on or trip over.
"Spooky shit..." one of the Simians said with a slight tremble in his voice.
"Nothin's down here," the other replied, yet Gireg heard the note which gave lie to those words. They were both about to start jumping at shadows, the idiots. The hum grew steadily louder and his light finally fell on the source.
The machine was shaped like a morbidly obese bullet, pointed at its top and tapering to a wide flat bottom on the floor. A single frosted window reflected like a milky eye staring implacably back at him in what was obviously an air-tight door. Gireg reached a tentative hand to the device and recoiled despite himself. It was cold, damn cold.
"Cryogenic storage?" he mused aloud. There had to be biological samples within, kept preserved by the coils which pumped cold air into the small space. The fact that it still functioned was more than amazing. It seemed to be destiny as far as he was concerned.
"Want us to torch it open?" a Simian asked.
"No, you dimwit. You'll only damage the contents. Bring the cryopack." Minutes later, as he was puzzling over the opening mechanism, they returned with the device. It was compact, flat, and had a small liquid nitrogen cooling system for sample preservation. Gireg reached out to the control surface and carressed the dimly-lit keypad. He punched in a random series of numbers and letters to see if...
Icy cold air began to hiss out of vents recessed in the storage chamber as the air pressure inside, lower than outside, sucked in a breath of relative warmth. His heart pounded, his beak salivated, and Gireg peered into the guts of the machine. On a shelf, sitting innocuously, was a black cylinder with various writings printed on it in the same language as the walls. Handling instrucions, most likely, as well as a strange marking that he found was seemingly written in Standard.
ATT-066.
"Load it into the cryopack," Dr. Gireg ordered, "and carry it directly to my lab aboard Warhammer. Do not inventory it, and make sure Ratar-O reads that this room was another empty chamber." The two left to carry out his instructions, and Gireg unknowingly released a monster upon Third Earth.
The cycle of night and day repeated as it had since time immemorial.
Bengali sat firm on his seat beside Pumyra's bed. Her back was flat, legs resting in stirrups for the past two hours. Her cries had echoed deep within his soul as her labor truly began, and had become rapidly more strident as Siberias knelt between her legs and Kyranna kept holding her other hand and draping her forehead with a cool cloth. Bengali kept silent as Pumyra's moans became strident screams.
"PUSH!"
"GYYAAAHH!"
He felt himself torn at Pumyra's screams. She sounded as if a legion of demons were tormenting her. Pumyra's face was scrunched in pure agony as Siberias order her once more to push. A draping blanket kept Siberias hidden from view, as well as Pumyra's lower body.
"Keep pushing! Good girl! You can do it!" the elder Tyger encouraged. Bengali found himself utterly confused. Pumyra would come close to embracing him before pushing him away. She would cry out his name before cursing him for putting her through such torment. She grasped his hand as though she would crush it from need of him before shoving it away.
"Push, that's right, almost there..."
He watched as seemingly every visible inch of her flesh tightened. A low guttural howl of pain escaped her clenched teeth, as though she were expelling the very core of herself from the junction of her legs and her clutching fingers threatened to fracture the bones of his hand. Bengali felt utterly lost in the moment, as though he were the fifth wheel, surplus to requirements. All he could do was give her his hand and look on as she suffered to bring Darin into being beyond her womb. Given his part in the event that led her to this point, he felt he should be able to do far more than sit and stare yet knew that this was indeed all he could give her. His support and the occaisional apology. He felt, all told, utterly ridiculous.
"He's crowned!" Siberias crowed from the other side of the concealing sheet. "The head is clear! One more push, Pumyra, you can do it!"
"Just one more," Kyranna said from her other side. One of her hands was occupied with Pumyra's, the other stroking her forehead lovingly. "One more, girl, come on..."
"uuuUAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" It was a roar of deep-seated pain which rended Bengali's heart. It trailed off into the otherwise empty Medical Wing and became the ultimate sigh of relief. Deeper and greater than any moan or sigh he'd heard pass her lips during and after sex, it struck him on the most profound levels just before the first wailing cries sounded from opposite the sheet.
"You both have done well," Siberias said with a broad smile as he produced Darin, still shiny from the fluids of her womb even after having been cleaned with a sterile moist cloth, and brought him to her eager arms. A small piece of tissue stuck fom his navel, the knotted end of the umbilical cord, Bengali realized belatedly. He hadn't even noticed Siberias performing those tasks.
"Darin..." Pumyra practically sobbed as she cradled the newborn. His skin was pale brown with faint patterns of stripes. He already had a short mane in the manner of Tygers, yet the coloration was pure brown with a stripe of white atop the scalp. Bengali stared at his son in complete disbelief. It was very nearly absurd how much love burst in his heart at the sight of their son.
Here was this new life recently brought into the world, shrivelled and tiny. Naked and defenseless. Yet, he already had such power over them both. They would guide him, protect him, shelter him, and love him unconditionally. This was the power of life, of love, of all that was right and good about existence. Here was the madness which his race had battled with since the loss of Thundera, here was the agony and shame his rescued countrymen had endured, here was the insanity of the Mutant War, and here was the night of passion which led to eleven months of emotional upheaval and the pain of childbirth, all vindicated and absolved in one brilliant moment of joy and wonder.
I am so not ready for this, Bengali thought. Forgive me in advance, son.
"He's beautiful..." Bengali's words left his lips without his concious knowledge.
"Darin..." Pumyra kissed the cub's forehead, her eyes still wide and unbelieving. Bengali gazed at his son, and marvelled at the sight. For an instant, he wondered how something that size could have passed through an opening so small. Bengali discarded the thought at once. It was unimportant.
"Good job, doc," Kyranna said as she came to Siberias' side.
"I must admit, this is one of the more enjoyable perks of my profession," the elder Tyger replied around a wide grin. "Here is hoping that many other women will come through those doors seeking our assistance with just such a matter. If you will excuse me a moment?"
Bengali barely heard their conversation.
"Medical Wing to Control Center."
"Control Center," Lion-O said after picking himself up from the banks of conduits beneath the mostly-assembled workstation and palming the button on the comm.
"It is my very great pleasure to announce," Siberias' voice began, "that as of ten minutes previous, the population of New Thundera Colony increased by one."
"Great news!" Lion-O said over the cheers of those currently working to get Cat's Lair's command center up and running fully.
"Young Darin is hale and healthy and... already hungry it seems."
"He's Bengali's cub, alright," he said with a wink.
"I heard that!" A round of raucous laughter filled the chamber at that, finally fading after a few moments.
"We'll stop by as soon as we get the chance."
"I understand. Medical Wing out."
The news of Darin's birth brought a light to Panthro's thoughts as he and Cheetara inventoried the contents of the Gelnika. He had kept his tally of usable components automatically as his conscious mind wrestled with how to broach the subject he wished to discuss with her. Tygra was absent, finishing the catalogueing of SkyTomb. Despite himself, Panthro recalled the remains of human men and women frozen into the wall of Chilla's quarters and his stomach churned. He'd never fully appreciated until that moment the Lunattak's unbelievable streak of cruelty. Panthro found relief in the word from his fellows that she had been murdered by Grune.
"Say, that's great to hear," he said casually, facing across the bridge to where she sat accessing engine schematics.
"It certainly is."
She's expecting this, Panthro thought with a mental sigh. Sixth sense or no, Cheetara had a way of reading people like open books. In some respects, it made things easier. In others, it made things nigh impossible.
"So," he began and forgot all pretenses, "have you made any plans for the future?"
"What kind of plans?" she replied calmly.
"You know what kind. The kind that result in what's going on in the Medical Wing."
"I don't see how that's any of your concern." He noticed her muscles tensing, knew that he was treading a minefield. Panthro did not want to offend his friend, and to be honest he knew he would likely piss her off to the moon, but this needed to be hashed out.
"Look, I don't want the details. I just want to know if you plan on wedding him or not."
"Is now really the time?" Cheetara turned in her seat, and Panthro clearly saw the smoldering anger in her bright eyes. "There's the oh-so-small matter of building a home for our people to deal with, not to mention the nagging details of helping him become an effective king."
"Kings need heirs..." Panthro realized his mistake just a half-second too late.
"Oh, so that's all I'm supposed to be?" Cheetara snarled the question, and Panthro braced himself. He was not disappointed. "Just so long as I take the oath, spread my legs, and pop out future kings for our people, things will be right as rain around here?"
"That's not what I meant!"
"Just to clear the air in here, I'm not with Lion-O just as a shot at being called Queen Cheetara, got it? I love him, and I'll be with him because of that! Our relationship is not about prestige, or power, or even satisfying my own biological needs! I want what's best for him, for us, and for our people."
"Love and honor don't always go hand in hand," Panthro said, his own ire rising. "What if what's best for him is to leave him?"
"If it comes to that, then I'll do it. Even if it shatters my heart into a thousand jagged shards. Is that what you wanted me to say? Are you satisfied now?"
"I'm not saying you should!" Panthro shouted. "Damnit, this is turning into a real Plun-Darr firedrill. Look, all I'm saying is that the sooner you two are joined, the sooner neither of you will have to risk... well... any accidents." As soon as the words were out, Panthro wished he could take them back.
"I can't believe this," she growled. "Do you honestly think we don't know the first thing about being careful? What, do you believe that all we do in our tent is screw like mad? Well? DO YOU?!" Panthro recoiled at the anger and hurt in her voice. "Aside from the fact that all the work has put one serious wet blanket on our sex life, I know my own fertility cycle! I know when horizontal aerobics will result in getting knocked up and when it won't!" Panthro rarely heard Cheetara use such coarse words and knew his earlier thought wasn't entirely accurate. Cheetara was now pissed off well past the moon, probably into the sector of the galaxy Thundera had once been.
"As far as loving him," she continued, "I do. Where marrying him is concerned, I want to. We both do, but now isn't the time. Had it ever occurred to you that we might have talked some about this?" It hadn't, in fact, but Panthro didn't need to say it.
Yeah, I fucked this one all the way up, Panthro thought sourly.
"I'm..."
"No. Don't say anything to me. Not now." Her words were cooler, downright icy in fact. Cheetara rose from her seat and left without so much as a backward glance. Panthro knew it would be a long while before she cooled down enough to even consider accepting an apology. Right then, she was hot enough to set off a Geiger counter.
The torch cast dancing light in the rapidly deepening shadows which reached across Watershed as night got into full swing. It sat in an iron bracket above his head and the door before which he stood guard. On the other side were new weapons, blades made from that new metal and the thundersticks Lisker called muskets alongside the gunpowder used to set them off. Metal that was lighter and stronger than iron, and kept its edge one right good patch, imagine that!
Though not overburdened with learning, Benjamin was far from stupid. His family had come to Watershed when his pappy was a stripling, and they had raised and harvested grain from the first day they threw seeds at the ground. Benjamin himself had taken up the family trade, until the Clutch came. He loved this town, his neighbors, and he knew that if a man didn't fight for what he loved, he never loved it at all. If his part right then was to make sure no one got into the armory who didn't have good reason, then he'd do his part with a smile.
Beneath that, however, Benjamin was still a man. He still had vulnerabilities and flaws like the next man.
He noticed the form as it neared the edge of torchlight, seeming to glide just above the cobbled street of the alley which led to the door. This time of night, not many folks were up and his hand almost made it to the hilt of his fine new sword when the soft giggle reached his ears.
"Can't let ya in here," he said unsteadily as she came closer, just enough for him to see. Her midnight hair cascaded over her shoulders, barely covering her breasts.
Naked, his mind thought, stunned. Naked as the day she was born, and if that ain't the most come-hither stare I've ever seen, I'll have my boots for breakfast. He looked down at the pressure mounting on his groin, and boy-HOWDY what a tent he was pitchin' in his front yard! He cast his eyes back upward, drinking her in without realizing it. Torchlight wavered and flickered about her, shifting the shadows and he missed just how toned her legs were as they sauntered up to him, almost near enough to reach out for those firm breasts but not quite there.
"C'n I... help you?" he asked numbly. He'd known a woman or two, but he'd never seen one so damned ornery that she'd walk up to him raw in the middle of the street! Alley... Clear and concise thought was getting tough to manage. She smiled at him, a teasing twist of the lips which very nearly shut down everything in his head that didn't involve banging her like a screen door in a windstorm. As such, he only barely registered the thought that the two women he'd bedded, or who'd bedded him depending on how you looked at it, hadn't had taut stomachs like this one did. He'd never seen a woman so... fit... before. She stepped back slowly, those bedroom eyes still promising him the ride of his life as she turned about. She looked at him over her shoulder, and without a word she'd told him exactly what she wanted.
Inside Benjamin's brain, some part of himself which cared about duty in general and his own in particular, tried to shout that he was seriously considering leaving his post to bag some tail and that logic dictated this was not a Smart Thing. She began to saunter away, drawing his eyes to her rear, and this part of him found itself quited toot-sweet. He followed her lock-step, already having forgotten about his post...
Neva's come-hither stare turned to disgust as the guardsman fell in a limp heap from the blow to the back of his head. Two of her sisters from the Wood, a statuesque blonde woman named Wrin and a willowy brunette called Sevo, had kept hidden in the shadows which she had lured the hapless male into.
"Remind me why I agreed to be the one to do this," she nearly groaned as Wrin handed her pants and vest back to her. The material was thin, gossamer along the legs and arm, and blue as afternoon sky. The trio had posed as dancers to gain entrance to Watershed, though the dances they performed were in truth excercises to hone one's battle skills and the dullards hadn't noticed.
"Because it was your idea," Sevo pointed out. "Who better to strut about in the nude and preen for this dolt?"
"I have his keys," Wrin said, taking them and the sword from his belt. Without another word, they entered the armory and the acrid smell of the strange powder hit them all at once. Minutes later, the three emerged each carrying a sword made of the new metal, and Neva cradled one of the long musket things against her chest. Their exit the next day was unhindered.
"Right then," Gireg said as he placed the vial of viscous, milky liquid into the slot of the analyzing computer, "let's uncover your secrets, hmm?" The machine rose from floor to ceiling in the south portion of his laboratory, various lights winking on and off around the periphery of the large screen which dominated the center of the device and the glossy smooth control surface. Buttons and knobs had been forgone in favor of touch-sensitive lights beneath the cool material. The biomatter in the vial reminded him uncomfortably of semen, and he repressed a small shudder before initializing the process.
"Hmm... Unknown cellular structure... I've never seen DNA coding like this!" Gireg, despite his ambitions, found himself in awe at the discovery of an entirely new life form. He watched the strand of adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytokine twist and shift, altering their configurations seemingly with a will of its own. "Hyper-mutagenic DNA... Could it replicate other genetic profiles?" he asked himself as he watched the process accellerate.
It's still alive, he thought incredulously. Fuck me with a plasma rifle, this damn thing is still kicking! His taloned fingers tapped instructions into the computer, giving him a cellular-level view and found himself astonished at first, and was soon to be terrified.
"Cellular mytosis..." he breathed. "They're dividing!" Gireg looked closer. "That can't be right!" he cried. "Cells don't divide this rapidly!" He checked and rechecked the data and found that the cells were dividing at roughly ten to the power of eighty faster than any normal organism. Gireg looked again and what had once been a relatively small cluster of cells became a blanket as mytosis shot up to ten to the power of four hundred times normal.
Get that damn thing back on ice! He screamed at himself, yet he found his eyes glued to the monitor. Gireg forced himself to move, grasping the tongs with which he'd inserted the sample and grasping the vial before tearing it free. The cryopack was still on the table at the far end of the room, and he made a mad dash for it. Halfway, though, it happened.
The vial itself began to pulse and crack just before the semen-like substance erupted from its shattered container. All of it splashed against Gireg's chest, warm and sticky and just plain foul. For a moment, he found himself puzzled at how all of it seemed directed at him rather than in a radial pattern before a giddy thought occurred to him.
It just came on me, he thought and wanted to laugh at that. Whatever this is just busted a nut on my chest. How about that shit?!
It was one of the last rational thoughts Doctor Gireg would ever have.
His body seized, and had he time later to reflect on it, he would have realized sooner what was happening. His chest continued to draw breath, though his brain was becoming starved of oxygen. As though, and this would have been a head-scratcher had complete madness not bloomed in his mind in the manner of a mushroom cloud, the air his lungs continued to draw in were being diverted to another dominant organ.
Gireg felt it gathering, seeming to displace him as his chest still heaved yet his brain drew no fresh oxygen. A curious sensation arose from his right shoulder as the flesh bubbled and grew and began to rise. A wide, jagged deformation appeared as it took shape, a ragged hole ripped itself into his own flesh with narrow strips of skin still connecting the sides before snapping apart. A pair of eyes, both glowing a faint violet, seemed to boil into existence in the rapidly developing face.
Eating me... he thought as the darkness swelled up, It's eating me alive...
"There's not much to you," the head which grew from him said and all sensation vanished, "but you're a lifesaver all the same. Guess I should thank you, stranger. Whatever you are." Gireg's arm, his own everfucking arm!, reached up to grasp his head and the Mutant's last sight was of his own limb shoving his head downward into whatever this creature had turned his body into...
"Bleeechhh," Aptom spat as the DNA emulation completed and the strange being's body became his own. Another of the tens of thousands which had preceeded him. The labcoat stretched across his powerful frame, and the strange kilt hung to just mid-thigh. He took a halting, stumbling step as knowledge washed through his brain like a tidal wave, memories, loves, hates, desires...
"Mutant...?" Gireg's knowledge became his own, images of associates, underlings, a place called Plun-Darr... He forced it back, slowed the rushing torrent of experiences that were not his own.
"WhaFUCK?!" This had never happened to him before, despite all the zoanoids he had eaten. He'd gotten their powers, their forms, but never their minds and memories. Then again, he mused, I've never eaten one of these Mutants before. Aptom stared down at himself, feeling curiously weak. His skin rippled as he tried to form something simple, a Ramotith type. Bright purple fur began to peek from his skin before shrinking back.
"Must've been kept chilly for too long," he said to himself. "Need to get my strength up." The only problem he could determine was that these so-called Mutants provided jack-shit for nourishment. He searched Gireg's memories, repressing a shudder at the thought of another's life being in his own head, and knew that there were hundreds of them on board this ship. Weak as he was, if he was discovered, they could overpower him with their strange weapons. Aptom searched further, recognizing much of what he saw there as Kronos technology.
Aptom strode over to the lone stool opposite the long table on which a familiar canister with a quite familiar production number rested and stared at it for a while. ATT-066. Aptom shook his head at that, he was far from another one of their failed experiments. The presence of these strange aliens confirmed that Kronos had gone the way of the dinosaurs, tits up... He stopped himself before he could continue raving. Something had happened, and now these Plun-Darr people were unearthing Kronos installations.
Several possibilities and a few certainties came to him in a rush, and Aptom was coming to appreciate how he had absorbed Gireg's knowledge as well as his body. One Ratar-O, Mutant Grand High Potentate et al, had uncovered the remains of Kronos, and wanted to get his hot little hands on some Zoanoids. Aptom threw back his head and laughed heartily at the notion.
That numbfuck doesn't know what kind of fire he's playing with, Aptom thought, almost giddy, and when this one burns him, he'll go up like a Roman candle on the Fourth of July! Aptom froze for a moment, lost in thoughts not quite his own.
He slapped the flat, sterile tabletop. While far from an expert, he had been part of Kronos, and Valkus' twisted experiments, long enough to pick up the basics of the optimization process. After rebelling against them, he had managed to infiltrate other Kronos sites and glean data from their systems here and there. With the knowledge he'd gained, it was entirely possible that he could assist this Ratar-O in his efforts to bring back zoanoids or, more accurately, his food supply. A few of these Mutants would have to contribute to the cause, both as raw materials and as ready meals, but he thought Ratar-O had planned on the first and would not notice the second until it was too late. And then...
What?
It was a disturbing notion. What could he possibly do after that? The most dangerous lifeform on the planet, and absolutely no purpose to his existence. Conquest and domination over what sentient beings existed on this planet Gireg's memories called Third Earth? Aptom waved the notion off. He decided to table the issue for the time being. Aptom was, if nothing else at the moment, the ultimate survivor. That would be enough.
For now.
Once more among the world, the being known as Aptom poses as Doctor Gireg in his effort to enable Ratar-O to manufacture Zoanoids from the compliment of Mutants beneath him. Will his decision not to reveal the existence, or necessity, of zoalords help or ultimately hinder their efforts?
Stay tuned for the next episode of Eye of the Storm.