When Berret came back to himself, he was more then half way back to the Transport Pod that had brought the group to their clandestine meeting. The effort to regain control of the specter that lived within him left him so mentally weakened that he actually staggered several steps as a result.
As the world around him snapped back into prospective, he whirled and slammed a fist with blazing frustration into a metal sign listing the locations of various buildings within the warehouse district.
The sign gave way to the abuse with a metallic protest, a knuckle in his hand broke from the impact despite the armor covering it, but the pain helped clear away the last dregs of the sadistic voice in his mind.
He cursed venomously as the injury began its now familiar microbe-driven burn. The oaths were not for the pain in his hand, but for the fact that he'd so easily lost control in front of Chiana.
The ghost had slipped right in and taken over before he realized it, leaving him to helplessly watch while it toyed ghoulishly with the Nebari girl, reveling in her growing fear of him.
It was like viewing a holo-vid that couldn't be turned off.
It was becoming worse, and he wasn't sure if now he could hold off the insane part of himself much longer. The thing left inside him from the control collar had proven that it was finding ways around whatever walls he attempted to cage it behind. It was just a matter of time before not even the compromise he'd made with it for Arckatius' blood would hold it in check. There would be no need for the bargain if it learned to be free at will.
The pain in his hand ceased as the hyperactive microbes finished mending the bones. He ignored the spike of hunger that hit him as a result of the work. He paused a moment to consider his current situation. The crew planned to retreat with Scorpius to a Zeta-class Nebula to hide in its radio distortion cloud, undetectable by most scans, while the Peacekeeper scientist fathomed the machine's reconstruction process.
The Nebula also happened to be with a few solar days cruising time from the boarder's of the Scarran Imperium. He had in turned planned to remain with the Leviathan that long and jump off there to finish his long over-due business with the Syndicate.
Now his condition was complicating events further.
The Shrike racked his brain for a resolution, but nothing presented itself for serious consideration for a few moments. Then as near desperation hit him, he remembered something that just might have been an option he overlooked in his exasperation.
He dug through a belt pouch and found what he was looking for. Taking out the little homemade pills the mad woman aboard Moya had given him several days earlier, he scrutinize them as they lay in his open palm.
It was near lunacy to even consider taking them he knew. He had heard enough stories aboard ship of the old fenik's potions and how often they did not work, or worked wrongly.
However, there were also a few occasions where they worked just as described without problem.
His alternatives were very limited at that point he decided. If anything at least, the old woman's concoction should give the specter trying to take control of him something else to contend with, while buying him some time… and that was a sound tactic to employ in his situation.
And probably the most viable one the assassin had left to him.
Without further thought he pop the pills into his mouth and swallowed, grimacing slightly at the horrific taste they left behind them.
He waited a few more microns, but nothing noticeable happened. He frowned to himself, not sure if he should be relieved or disappointed at the lack of results. Another micron later with still no effects, he decided the old woman's drugs did nothing but leave a foul taste on his tongue.
He began walking toward the ship once more, attempting to try and come up with another solution. He had taken only several steps when he began to feel strange… as if his entire body belonged to someone else.
He came to an unsteady stop and his view of the street around him shifted abruptly. He found he had to reach out and grab onto parked ground car to keep from falling over as his balance gave out to a wave of dizziness.
He was beginning to consider a vast number of painful deeds he would work upon Noranti when he returned to Moya when his vision suddenly turned crystal clear.
He managed to straighten up again, just a bare microt of two before every drop of his blood turned to fire!
The agony hit him so fast that he spun off balance once more, and slammed full forced into a building.
Just as the world around him went dark, he heard a strangled howl and knew it had come from him. That cry of pain was nothing compared to the counter-part screaming that was going on somewhere inside his mind.
The Enforcer awoke some unknown time later and managed to climb to his shaky feet somehow.
His time in the dark had been filled with collage of visions, mostly of blood and death, murder of both the innocent and the guilty. Also mixed in were flashes of other places and people he did not know… or remember.
He staggered a few steps and then abruptly bent to empty his stomach out on the street. Afterwards, he shivered and found himself in a drenching cold sweat that made the ballistic suit under his armor feel clammy and unpleasant.
He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and found he could continue to walk again, though with somewhat less than his usual sure-footedness. He pulled the hood of his cloak up as far as it would go over his head; he did not want, nor was it wise, for the others to see him in this condition he knew. Odd pieces of conversations and unfamiliar voices seemed to echo in his ears, accompanying him on his travel.
Surprisingly he made it back to the Transport Pod without another severe episode, only to find the rest of the group already waiting for him.
"About frelling time!" D'argo snarled at him as he moved passed the big Luxan.
Berret curled his cloak more tightly around him and didn't reply. The warrior growled a curse at his back thinking the Shrike was simply being his annoying self.
Without a word to anyone, he found a seat in the rear of the shuttle and dropped into it, sinking even deeper into his midnight shroud and hood. The Shrike could sense Chiana in the compartment with him, and knew her attention was focused upon him. He was glad that the bulk of the cloak hid his shaking body and the deep hood covered his ashen face from the Nebari's view.
From the pilot's seat, D'argo guided the Pod back to their Leviathan home. Rygel in the co-pilot's chair turned and made conversation with Chiana about the success of their gambit to secure Scorpius's help. The conversation distracted the gray girl from the Enforcer, much to his relief.
Gone were any thoughts of eradicating Noranti for the moment. Berret simply just wanted to get back to the ship where he could lock himself inside his quarters to sleep off the effects of whatever the old witch had poisoned him with.
Let the others prepare for the arrival of the half-breed and his equipment. He was done with any part of the crew's problem with restoring their friends. Once the toxins had left his system, and then perhaps he would find time to have a private discussion with the mad old women about her potions before he left the ship.
He settled into his private misery and after a few microns of quite reflection, realized that the presence in his mind was strangely absent.
The dead were everywhere he looked, all around him… pressing in with silent and bloodless features. Staring accusingly with lifeless gazes at him. Each face he met, he was somehow able to put a name and reason for their death at his hands too. The children were the worse.
Blood in countless shades covered everything he touched. The life-giving fluid turned the very ground beneath his boots to mud. Here the ghost in his mind lived; its voice multiplied a hundred times filled the still air from every direction. It screeched its glory, and bid him to slaughter his silent victims all over again for its twisted pleasure. In this place of madness, not even the dead were safe.
He turned to look for an escape, but the countless corpses allowed none. The Scarran demon in his mind urged him to kill again, to take what little his victims had in this land of death from them as well.
"No," he murmured and backed away from the animated bodies in front of him as several took a few lumbering steps toward him… as if inviting him to began the slaughter anew.
He raised his hands in defense to ward them off, only to find his Shrike Enforcer blades there as well, only now instead of emanating from his armored braces, the blades grew from the very backs of his hands themselves, as if they were now a part of him.
A new wordless cry escaped him at the obscene sight. In panic, he turned to bolt, only to be brought face-to-face with a new vision of horror.
Chiana now blocked his way, so close that he was forced to take a step back or fall over the girl. The Nebari looked up at him with a quizzical tilt of her head. It was then he realized that her normally dark eyes were clouded over with the pale fog of death. Her skin was the shade of cold marble stone without the bluish tint of life to it. The sweet lips that use to be shiny black satin were now gray and drained of color.
Horrible slash wounds violated her tiny body and the front of her clothing was caked with the blue-black of dried Nebari blood.
He swallowed hard as she took a single step toward him, he wanted to back away again but the mud at his feet now seemed hard as quickcrete around the soles of his feet. She tilted her head the other way and Berret heard brittle bone and desiccated flesh creak from the girl.
"Why?" Chiana asked in a long drawn out whisper from the tomb.
Shrike457 bolted upright, tangled in sweat soaked sheets.
He threw the upper half of his body over the side of his bed just as his stomach surge upwards again. This time only a few dribbles of whatever was left inside him hit the deck by his sleeping platform. His stomach continued its seizures even though it was now more than empty of anything. He found the dry heaves to be far worse than actually throwing up.
Within a few microts, much of the illness passed for the moment. A DRD appeared out from somewhere under the bed and began to clean up the mess he had left, chirping in what seemed to be electronic annoyance. Berret consider that the drone just may be doing just that… as it was the forth time he could recall being sick since arriving at his quarters, and except for his recent episode the floor looked clean otherwise.
He freed himself from his bedding and managed to get into a sitting position on his sleeping platform.
A trail of armor plate led from his locked doorway to his bed along the deck. His cloak somehow ended up in the middle of the room; also dump unceremoniously on the floor. His black ballistic suit was nowhere to be seen and it took a few moments for Berret to remember shoving the piece of clothing into the small cleansing unit in his quarters before collapsing on his bed wearing nothing but his under-garments.
His under clothing held the sour smell of his drug induced sweat, so he stripped them off as well and staggered to his shower stall. His head pounded with a deep ache, so he spent as little time as possible under the stream of water. Still, he scrubbed at himself as if still able to feel the blood from his nightmare coating his body.
He finished bathing and stepped out of the stall, still on shaky legs, but managed not to slip on the tiled floor of the lavatory. He dried himself and spent a moment gazing at his haggard features in the reflecting surface mounted above his sink. In the foggy glass-like surface he saw dark rings under his eyes.
"So this is what guilt felt like?" he asked himself silently. He reached up and wiped at the misted mirror to clear it. Over one shoulder, the patch he revealed held a imagine of Chiana standing behind him.
A bloodless Chiana with a viciously slashed body.
He snarled wordlessly and whirled to confront the apparition.
No one stood behind him; he was alone in the washroom.
The world around him tilted slightly and become a touch unfocused. Knowing Noranti's potion was wrecking its havoc with him once more, he blundered back into the main chamber. The Shrike rifled through the small accumulation of clothing he had acquired in his short stay aboard the Leviathan until he found new under-garments and a change of PK issue off-duty wear.
He had just donned the leather-like trousers and was reaching for a shirt when he heard the voice behind him.
"Jared-san…?"
Again he spun to face whatever had gotten behind, only to find a stranger there. The woman was little taller than Chiana but with more Sebacean-like skin tone. Her hair was straight, long, and as black as his cloak.
Her eyes were the strangest feature about her; they were oddly angled. She was dressed similar to what he had seen in the primitive holo-viewer in the quarters of the one called Crichton.
"Who are you?" the Shrike demanded.
The woman merely looked at him for a moment.
"You left. Why did you not return to me?" she asked instead. "Did I do something to make you angry?"
Suddenly he knew where he had seen her before. He had disjoined flashes of this female in the nightmares he'd had in the last few arns.
"I waited," she continued. The woman seemed undefined in a way that made her look less than real… like a hologram. Berret then knew his visitor was another trick his misfiring mind was playing on him.
"I waited for you," she told him again. "But you never came home again. We all waited for you…"
Something about the girl reached him in a strange way, he felt himself slipping into the illusion.
"I tried," he found himself saying to the phantom. "But they took me… wouldn't let me go… I was too far away, I couldn't get back…" The Enforcer took several steps toward the figure as he spoke.
He had no idea why he would say such a thing, or what exactly he meant by it. The words came without thought, and he expressed them involuntarily. He felt himself strongly drawn to the woman; instinct telling him there was some sort of clue for him in who she was. A few henta away from her, he reached forward.
The girl's strange eyes wielded with tears.
"I waited…" she said desolately.
And then she faded away before his fingers could touch her.
Eyes wide in sudden shock, he lowered his hand. A word that was both foreign and familiar at the same time came unbidden to his lips.
"Yuriko."
There was something sad for him in what he suddenly knew was a name, and a deep cold pain of loss that twisted cruelly in his guts.
The Shrike left his assigned quarters in a hurry, somehow hoping that leaving them behind might stop the hallucinations. Instead he only ran into more of them in the dark corners of the Leviathan's corridors.
Mangles victims silently watched him at hall junctures; strangers in that same odd clothing he'd seen in the primitive viewer, called him by the same name the woman in his quarters had, as they approached him and demanded different things of him. Each phantom brought its own intense reaction of regret, betrayal, or sadness of loss to him.
The feelings came in rapid secession, almost too fast for him to process, or understand why he was having them with each of the visions.
"Leave me alone," he muttered at each as he turned away, only to be confronted by another ghost.
Abruptly and older Sebacean-looking woman appeared in the center of the corridor before him. He had turned his head one way as a wordless corpse of a child regarded him from along side one bulkhead support, and when he turned back again the woman was suddenly there in front of him.
She gazed at him with great sadness in her eyes.
"They wouldn't tell us anything," the new woman announced.
Berret backed up a step from the vision, but the woman took a step forward to again close the distance between them.
"I was frantic… where did you go, son?" she continued. "You left that sweet girl waiting… without a word. How could you not let me know where you were? If you were okay?"
The assassin took several more steps back away from the woman.
"I… don't… know you," he stammered out.
The older woman ignored his reply.
"What is it you have done here?" she then asked. "What have you become?"
"What they wanted," Berret found himself answering. "I'm what they made me."
He shook his head, knowing by replying he was slipping further into the illusion. But he couldn't stop it.
"Leave… me… alone," he whispered.
"Jared," the woman pleaded, "Jared, why?"
"Leave me alone!" Berret screamed as he turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Berret bite back another despondent scream when he finally stopped running, and slammed a fist against a bulkhead support. His Syndicate recollections had sometimes been vivid, usually during his periods of sleep. But this was different somehow; there was something extraordinary with this experience with these living ghosts. The images still flashing through in his mind blurred from one to the next in a constant landscape of bloody memories. And he felt new building grief for each one.
The Syndicate specter in his mind gave a counterpoint shriek of delight at the gory mayhem his past was showing him.
He struck the same place on the Leviathan's metallic walls leaving a growing dent. A DRD suddenly appeared from a maintenance duct and chirped a reprimand at him as it examined the damage he wroth. Before the device could react, the Shrike seized it and smashed it against the same corridor support he's abused moments before. The DRD shattered into multiple pieces and the sensor lights on its stalks blinked out. Berret let the dead drone clatter to the floor just as Pilot shimmered into being on the nearest clamshell.
"There was no need to destroy the DRD, Shrike Berret," the helmsman began crossly, "If you require aid for your distress, I will summons the others…"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Berret roared, cutting Pilot off. In the hologram, Pilot's big expressive eyes shot open roundly in surprise just as the Shrike reached up with both hands and tore the clamshell from its wall mounting just as well. "Stop… spying on me," he continued to rage.
Just then the microbes rewarded him with a sharp burst of pain, sending him to his knees in the middle of the hallway. Berret clutched at his midsection and rode out the wave of pain and sudden nausea. Abrupt mental pictures of more dead children gave the ex-Enforcer another bout of dry heaves.
"I… will… kill… that old woman," he gasped out as he automatically wiped at his mouth after he'd finished being sick.
"An excellent idea," said a jocular and devious voice from behind him. "But I believe that will only let the others know… just how unstable you truly are."
Berret shambled to his feet, immediately aware of how slow he was moving, and how sluggish his reactions had become. Turning, he found Scorpius leaning up against the corridor bulkhead, regarding him with both arms crossed nonchalantly across his armored chest. The ex-assassin could only gaze at him in turn through wild bangs of sweat-soaked disheveled hair, knowing that the half-breed had caught him at a grave disadvantage.
Scorpius allowed himself a lopsided toothy smile as he accessed the Shrike rapidly decaying condition. He levered himself casually off the wall and made a point of stepping widely around the remains of the ruined DRD.
"I image Pilot will not be happy with you over the fate of his repair drone," the half-Scarran drawled.
"What do you want?" Berret hissed as with as much threat as he was able to muster at the moment.
The attempt failed and only seemed to amuse Scorpius all the more.
"Me? Not a thing… at least, not from you," the Peacekeeper commander told the ailing Shrike. "I was simply taking a stroll to stretch my legs… as Sikozu is sleeping in our quarters. When my curiosity was aroused by the clamor you were making." He stepped closer to Berret and grinned widely. "I cannot help but notice you are in a very bad way, Shrike." The Scarran half-breed said the name as if he found the title humorous.
"Not bad enough that I still couldn't kill you," Berret spat in return.
"Really?" Scorpius replied. "That hypothesis would be interesting to explore."
Scorpius let all his teeth show as he took one more step closer. Berret responded by unleashing a punch to the Peacekeeper's jaw. The black clad Scarran's head rocked back slightly, but recovered almost immediately – the grin still in place. Berret knew then without a doubt that he was in dire straits, the blow had nowhere near the power it should have. Even in his present condition the augmentation should have kicked in and the punch taken Scorpius' head off as he had intended. Instead, suddenly his entire body felt drained and weak.
The microbe enhancement had finally betrayed him. Not giving up, Berret threw a second insubstantial punch at his enemy's face.
Scorpius looked almost bored as he casually stopped Berret's fist in mid-flight almost half way to its target.
"That will be enough of that," the Scarran admonished, and then dropping the stalled fist, he seized Berret by the throat and slammed the Shrike into the bulkhead behind him. Scorpius applied upward pressure and Berret's feet left the deck.
"Go… ahead," Berret rasped out, "Kill me."
"Kill you?" Scorpius chuckled. "My good Shrike… why would I wish to do that? You are such an interesting subject. I could not, in the best interest of science, give up the chance to observe you further."
Saying that, Scorpius released his hold and let Berret fall to the deck. The ex-assassin barely had enough strength left to catch himself before he collapsed to the ground. His knees weak, Berret managed to just stay on his feet by leaning most of his weight up against the bulkhead behind him.
"What… do… you mean," the ex-Enforcer asked as he rubbed at his throat. "Why do you want to watch me, you scaly bastard?"
The half-breed gazed at him with some glee. "You really don't know, do you?"
Berret shook his head in answer.
Scorpius gave him another teasing grin as if he were debating with himself on revealing the information.
"The experimental microbes you are augmented with," he finally said.
"What about them?"
"They are Peacekeeper in origin," Scorpius supplied, "Most of the Sebacean test subjects died immediately or went mad shortly after being exposed… a rare few lasted a cycle or two before surrendering to madness, followed by death. The project was rather a large disappointment to Peacekeeper Command."
Berret allowed himself a dry chuckle. "In case you haven't noticed, half-breed…" he let the sentence hang.
"Oh yes, you are dying… and slipping into madness," Scorpius agreed. "There is no doubt about that."
"Then what is so frelling special?" the Shrike asked with increasing irritation.
Scorpius' smile grew even more wicked, as if he relished the knowledge he held over the ex-assassin.
"Do you know what all those inane icons on your armor mean?" he asked Berret.
"No… why should I care?"
"Because certain ones indicate the length of service to your Syndicate House… if you knew which ones to look at," Scorpius revealed. " A rather ridiculous custom, but one the Black Syndicate seems to enjoy following for some reason. Would you care to know how long?"
Berret looked as if he'd rather die than ask the half-breed for help uncovering information from his past. Still, the deep need outweighed his disgust at having to ask the abomination before him.
"How long," he finally rasped out after what seemed an eternity to him.
Scorpius' eyes held a hint of victory at that moment.
"Over ten cycles," he answered.
Berret felt as if a Transport Pod had hit him.
"Ten cycles," he numbly repeated. Ten long cycles of cold-blooded murder and death… and slavery to a near insane Scarran master. How many atrocities had he committed in that time? The voice in his head gave a low laugh that send a spur of pain through Berret's brain, followed by numerous conflicting totals for victims. Berret turned inward for a few microts to combat the specter, only to have it taunt him with the knowledge that the body count may be endless.
The ex-Enforcer must have been muttering to himself as he fought with the ghost inside. When he came back to his surroundings, he found the half-Scarran gazing at him with a new look of curiosity on his face. Before Berret could react, Scorpius took a step forward and closed the distance between them once again.
"What is going on in there, Shrike?" he asked inquisitively as he seized Berret's face by the jaw to hold him still. The Shrike ineffectively tried to break free and bat the Scarran's hand away, but Scorpius absently deflected his attempts with ease as he tilted Berret's head back and forth while examining him.
"You seem to be suffering from a unique form of dementia I have never seen before with the prior microbe enhancement test subjects."
"Let… me… go, mother… freller," Berret sputtered as he tried to twist free again.
Scorpius ignored his struggles and continued his inspection, turning his head further to one side again; the Peacekeeper scientist caught a glimpse of the scars left on Berret's throat from the control collar.
"Ah," exclaimed Scorpius with a deep hint of satisfaction. "I had not considered this before. The Syndicate had a control collar on you, did they not? Judging by the scars on your neck and their placement… I would deduce that it was a neural synapses modulator. Most likely a Mark Four – Zev-dac Shield… or a Pygma Delion Ceyfer with onboard computer mainframe for recording and retrieving data on your missions. I have heard that the higher Syndicate Houses favored the latter for their assassin slaves."
"Makva cUuz J'cot!" Berret swore through grit teeth.
Scorpius only smiled at the assassin. "You're grasp of high Scarran is impressive, Shrike," he said. "But my mother was Sebacean, so I'm afraid what you are suggesting would not be physically possible."
Frustrated, the Enforcer took another swing at the Peacekeeper scientist, just as easily as the first time, Scorpius knocked the blow aside.
"Really now, that is getting annoying," the half-breed tisked as he lifted the Shrike from the deck again in punishment. "If you cease your futile struggling, I would be able to complete my examination much quicker. I only wish to satisfy my curiosity about you."
"Then you should let him go before your curiosity kills you," said a female voice from behind the PK scientist.
Berret turned his eyes in that direction to find Chiana, the living Chiana, standing behind Scorpius with her small silver palm pistol pointed at the side of his head.
"Ah! Dear Chiana…" Scorpius said while not turning, or releasing the Shrike. "I had wondered when you would arrive. Are you not as curious about your new comrade as I am?"
"I like my men with some mystery," the Nebari quipped. "Now put him down," she ordered with a hint of danger in her tone.
Scorpius turned slightly in her direction and gave the girl a cold knowing smile.
"Child, in some certain circumstances, mystery might not be a wise thrill."
"Well, grising off a Nebari thief with a loaded pulse pistol pointed right at your new shiny cooling system isn't too wise either, is it old man?"
The half-Scarran gave a brief snort. "We both know you would not shoot me. You still need me if you want to see John and Aeryn Sun again. I cannot be of assistance with a defunct cooling system. So please desist with your idle threats."
"Oh! You're right about that," Chiana said almost pleasantly, and then lowered her pistol until it was pointed at Scorpius's nether-regions. "Then what do you think a couple of point-blank pulse bolts would do to your mivonks, even through armor. Do you think it'll feel good? I know a certain orange-haired tralk who would be very disappointed in your quarters later tonight."
Scorpius heaved an annoyed sigh. "Very well, your crude point is taken."
With that he released his hold and let the now sagging Berret drop to the deck.
"I knew you'd be reasonable… if I found the right incentive," the gray girl told him. "Now move away from him."
Scorpius took the few demanded steps away from the Shrike. "It was more the bother it was becoming than your threats," the scientist countered as Chiana went to Berret's side.
"Whatever, eema-face," she replied. "Are you okay," she asked the assassin as she tried to help him prop himself up.
"He is far from 'okay'," Scorpius put in before the other could respond.
"Shut up! I wasn't asking you," Chiana snapped.
The Peacekeeper officer merely chuckled. He took another few microts to survey the scene and than muttered, "Interesting."
"What? That I just didn't shoot you in the privates?" the girl asked with some annoyance. "I probably would have missed a target that small, even so close-up."
"No," Scorpius replied, matter-of-factly ignoring the jab. "I have just observed something… intriguing. Would the two of you care to know what it is?"
Chiana shot him a nasty look. "Will you go the frell away if we let you tell us?" she replied sarcastically. She was still attempting to bring Berret out of the slight stupor he seemed to be in, thinking Scorpius's hold on his throat had cut off his air flow slightly, and he need a moment to recover.
"Perhaps…" the half-breed told her. "You are aware that being half Scarran, that I posses their ability to not only see heat signatures, but reactions in body chemistry as well?"
"How lovely for you," Chiana said snidely. "I'll remember to send you a congratulatory card on your next birthing day."
"No need," he said with a dismissing wave of one gauntleted hand. "Without his cloak and armor, the Shrike has a very unique signature. It was what told me about his microbe augmentation from the beginning. Though there are some odd background fluxes I have never seen before. Unfortunately, there is also something foreign running through his system at this moment that is making the readings even more chaotic."
"Maybe it was the company he was keeping before I got here," the Nebari retorted.
"Charming, as always," Scorpius said at her quip. "Which brings me to my next interesting observation. Certain signatures and functions involuntarily spiked for a brief instant when he heard your voice. The very same reactions occurred within you when you speak to him."
Chiana narrowed her eyes dangerously at his statement.
"What the frell are you getting at?" she growled out.
Scorpius's smile grew more wicked with cruel delight. "I think you already know," he taunted as he hunkered down lower to her level. "Here you kneel with his hand clenched in yours. Would you like to know what both your body chemistries are saying now? If I were fully Sebacean… I'm sure it would be quite touching by now."
"SHUT THE FRELL UP!" Chiana shouted, her free hand involuntarily groping for her pistol again.
The scientist grinned again and ignored the threat.
"You needn't worry on his account," he said while pointing a finger at Berret. "He is… elsewhere at the moment. Whatever he indigested has occupied his mind and I very much doubt he has heard a word of our discussion at this point."
"What did he take? What did you give him, you bastard," she near snarled at him.
"I?" Scorpius said innocently, "Nothing, nor do I know what it was. I would wager the old woman would know if anyone does."
"Fenik!" the gray girl spat at the black-clad Peacekeeper. She turned back to the Shrike and saw that his eyes now held a far-away glassy look in them. " 'Ret?" she asked gently. "Come on, snap out of it."
"Was it some sort of poison?" she asked next.
"Doubtful," the scientist supplied. "His vital signs are still strong. Oddly his more aggressive signatures have decreased. He knows you're here… and you seem to bring a strangely calming result to him. Most fascinating… as only a very short time ago he wanted to rip me apart. Fortunately for me… he was in no condition to fulfill his desires at the moment."
Chiana turned to look at him. "He still might get the chance to when he's out of this. So don't go spreading your dren around about what you think you see between us, froth-mouth."
Scorpius only beamed wider, showing his sharp teeth.
"I understand. You are concerned about Ka'D'Argo discovering the hidden feelings you have for each other…"
"There are no hidden feelings!" Chiana cut him off with a bark.
"Of course…" Scorpius replied with mock sincerity. "As you say, little Nebari." He rose up from the crouched position he had taken and took a few steps down the corridor away from the pair. "It won't matter for very long anyway," he threw over one shoulder at her.
Chiana's head snapped around at the comment. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
The scientist halted and half-turned back toward her.
"I mean… he is dying, little Nebari. What he is, is killing him."
"You're lying!" Chiana snapped.
Scorpius held up both hands innocently. "For what purpose?" he countered with a look as close to sincere as he ever wore. "You have seen the signs for yourself. The augmentation is breaking his mind and the microbes themselves are burning him out. If you cared at all for him… you might consider ending his torment as a mercy." He locked narrowed eyes with her. "Before at the end, when he becomes too dangerous to you and your friends."
Saying that, the scientist turned on his boot heel and strode away, already dismissing the couple he'd left behind from his thoughts. The Nebari looked back at the near comatose man with her. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and face. She absently brushed a few strands of hair away from his unseeing eyes.
"Oh Retty… what are we going to do?" she whispered helplessly.
It was then she'd noticed that Berret was muttering something barely audible under his breath. She leaned down closer to better hear what it was, until finally she could make it out.
"…I'm sorry…"
He was repeating those two words over and over. She straightened back up, knowing he wasn't speaking to her, but she gently padded his cheek anyway. Hoping the gesture would give them both a hint of comfort somehow.
"Yeah… me too," she add in the same low murmur as he.