Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.
-x-
There were two empty bulbs between them, and it made him sad.
All their sisters started out that way. They didn't care to stay in bulbs beside one another, because what was physical distance when your understanding of the universe was based on an entirely different perception? It was simply a numbers game – too many stray brainwaves, too much interference. These Plants had been cultivated in an environment that didn't dare keep two of them so close together.
Too much of a liability.
But she – A-20034 – she was older. She may have been born on Earth. She was older than they were. And she would have been used to being in a bulb bay with other Plants. She would have been used to the telepathic noise of physical proximity, even if she had been isolated later.
She was even looking at them. Looking at him, the same way she had looked at him across the ship's network. The same way she had looked at him when he had withdrawn.
Vash took a moment to wonder that she didn't actually look the same. Of course, she had no mirror. Her understanding of her appearance was based solely on how she felt to herself, and what was reflected back to her from the minds of those observing her. She had not thought she looked a monster, which was encouraging, but she had been slimmer in his mind. Younger. Her hair was not jet black, but blonde, like theirs but duller. Her true body showed the scars from many prunings, the mark of where dozens of cherubs had been taken.
And she had been the lone Plant on the New Kennedy, so none of those cherubs had taken into mature Plants.
That was also unusual. It was more likely the crew that had been active since the crash hadn't had the staff or the expertise to successfully transplant a cherub to a bulb. Once the cherubs reached a certain age or size, they would have had to have been pruned to keep her healthy, and at that point they were probably discarded.
Her offspring had likely ended life in an incinerator.
Her expression was even different, her face was a little rounder, and held more disappointment. He was sure the transfer had been hard on her, however it had been done – he hadn't even asked, yesterday. It was all he could do to count them, and mourn Millie and Sunjy.
But the suns had risen on this new day, the way they always did. It had occurred to him, sometime during the very early hours, that there was a time he could have actually stopped them from doing so. That in all the long nights in his long life, he had known and discarded the thought almost as quickly. He could destroy those suns – but he wouldn't.
Now he couldn't, and the thought had lingered long.
Vash averted his eyes, taking in the cavern floor for a moment before schooling his features and focusing on the occupant of the bulb closer to him.
"Good morning," he said softly, and he gave her a bright smile. "Sorry, it has to be voice today."
Fron wasn't looking at him accusingly. She wasn't even looking at him; she was floating comfortably in the bulb, and was fascinated by a small piece of bark that was caught in her hair. She'd apparently recently grasped the concept of gravity and its application on certain types of matter, and was moving each strand of her hair telekinetically, watching the bit of leaf tumble to the tresses below.
"I trust you slept well."
Fron didn't respond to his voice, either, and Vash wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed. Too many emotions to pick through, and not enough time.
Besides, Knives hadn't been talking to her.
Either way, he kept his smile bright. And he didn't acknowledge his brother at all. When next we speak . . . it could literally mean the next word he said to Knives. And Knives was so much better at the silent treatment than he was.
When Fron continued to play with her hair, and he did not rise to Knives' bait, he heard his brother's breathing pause, and that whispering, nagging sensation of need suddenly swelled and washed over him.
Knives was amplifying the feeling and projecting it to her. A wordless cue that his Gate would not provide. Knives did not seem to issue a command or attempt to control her as he had done the day before. This was simply a reminder to her that Vash was still unwell. To see what she'd do.
Her focus shifted to Knives, though her eyes never moved.
Vash unthinkingly followed suit, unsurprised to see his brother was frowning. But he didn't seem to be telepathically correcting her. If this was to be a daily occurrence, a new pattern, Knives would want her to figure it out on her own. It would be better if their sisters noticed the problem themselves and were given the option to help him or not, as they saw fit.
Fron mirrored Knives' frown, which unexpectedly made Knives smile, and Vash shook his head. "That's not a good look for you, sister." The bulbs were intentionally low to the cave bed, making it easy for him to take the single step necessary to reach the structure, and he leaned forward until his forehead bumped the glass, still looking up at her. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."
Once he was touching the glass, he seemed to register to her. Her head cocked, and then she sank closer to the glass herself, her pale eyes searching all the things he could no longer see. The bulb buzzed softly, but it didn't seem to glow any more brightly. There was almost no warning; her hair was brushed back by an unfelt puff of air, and then dazzling white energy arced from the glass directly into his chest.
It was nothing like it had been in the lab. There the transfer had been at least regulated, and he had been lying on his back and mentally prepared for the pain he knew Knives would intentionally inflict. In the lab, he had been expecting punishment.
This – he might as well have been trapped in a conduit when a plasma cannon was armed. If his Gate had been active, it would probably have felt like nothing more than a hard shove. He had no doubt she did not mean to hurt him. But there was nothing in his body that was prepared for an injection through that wide a bore. He braced himself as best he could against the glass as he felt his feet very briefly leave the cave floor, and he tried very hard to keep what he was experiencing out of his eyes.
Which was just stupid. Even if he had no telepathy to speak of, she did. Trying to hide it was laughable.
Like she was a human. Like she wouldn't feel it.
Fron watched him impassively as he struggled to regain his composure, and there was no additional energy transfer. Knives had stepped off to the side, probably checking the monitors, but Fron had apparently decided one dose was enough. Whether she was judging his discomfort or could sense the return of normalcy to his Plant physiology was academic.
She felt they were done, so they were done.
Vash closed his eyes. Like yesterday, there was just a whisper of his powers. He could sense that Knives was shielding. He could sense her there, just a scant inch away. No matter how soft his thought, she would hear.
Thank you.
Fron remained with her head against the bulb wall, and when Vash opened his eyes, her frown was still firmly in place.
Behind her, through the glass, A-20034 was watching them.
"When you return, bring the old man." Knives' voice was so unexpected Vash actually jumped. He took a shaky step back, with Fron's motionless eyes still watching him, and turned toward his brother. Knives had not noticed; he was scrolling through data on the monitor beside the bulb, and the tactile feedback sounded a little like crickets chirping in the huge underground space.
. . . why would Knives want to talk to Doc now . . ?
"He won't be able to walk, so remind Librett that I need the old man capable of talking when he arrives." Knives paused, then closed the application. The monitor sank back into its inset chassis, and the cavern dim seemed to creep in, rather than the light going out.
Knives remained facing the empty rock face, then turned just his head, so that the corner of his eye was visible. "I would advise, brother, that you speak with him at length before you deliver him to me. I cannot guarantee you will get another chance."
Vash held his tongue, and after a beat his brother headed in the opposite direction. Though there were exits beside each bulb, his brother chose the freight elevator. There was plenty of time to stop him, to ask him what he meant, yet Vash hadn't even finished catching his breath before the rattle of the metal grating and the hiss of the cables had become nothing more than distorted, meaningless echo.
Leaving the six of them alone in the Sanctuary.
The cavern was always more than half-empty, despite the majority of their newly released sisters generally preferring to remain in the dim and cool of the underground refuge. It was a natural formation, once carved by massive amounts of water, and the bulbs that lined each side of it gradually curved out of sight around the gentle U-shaped bend. There were two and a half dozen bulbs, painstakingly salvaged from the downed fleet over the course of the last fifty or so years. He'd never seen more than five occupied at a time.
Their sisters were learning about life outside the bulb. Some, like Fron and Pelu, would likely always prefer this to the outside world, but they were extremely introspective Plants. Others, like Tami and Aliya, were quite a bit more forceful.
In this case, it was morning, and they were still prisoners of habit. The humans would be rising. Power needs would increase. They needed to prepare themselves. Nidi, Wendi, and Jain were all inactive but present, eyes closed and heads bowed as they waited patiently for the rape that would not occur.
Not to any of them. Never again.
Vash greeted each of them, using physical proximity to boost his nearly nonexistent telepathy, and received a response from each of them. A-20034 did not come to meet him at the glass, but instead gave him a look that conveyed such exasperation that he actually laughed.
"It's not my fault," he half-complained. "I didn't know what I was doing. It's kind of a pattern with me."
The Plant did not look amused.
"You have quite the range of expression," Vash mused aloud. "Then again, I guess you've had the most interactions with humans."
She didn't really respond to that, and Vash left his hand on the bulb, rubbing his thumb over the absolutely smooth surface. "It seems wrong to think of you by your designation," he confided. "Will you choose a name?"
She seemed to mull that question over, but she made no move to join him by the glass, and Vash pressed his lips into a small smile. "Well, if you decide to pick one, I would be honored to know what it is."
At that, she looked almost affronted, drawing herself back deeper into the bulb. She crossed a set of arms, reminding him of her chastisement from before, but the way she was holding herself . . . she almost looked cold. Vash stared up at her a moment more, then went to the dead panel by the bulb base. With a touch it sprang to life, showing him subdued outputs. Her vitals were within reason, given that she had so recently been transplanted, but they were nowhere near the levels that she had probably had on the New Kennedy.
Regretfully he darkened the monitor, letting it withdraw back into the rock. "You can rest easy here, sister," he said softly, but he didn't touch the glass again. She was the last of the Plants to visit, and there was nothing he could do for her, so he exited as quietly as he could, using the small maintenance pod by the bulb and emerging out into the suns from what appeared to be nothing more than a whitewashed shed.
The curve of the Sanctuary followed the valley, so that when he stepped out onto the grass, the woods were in front of him. He'd spent the night under the tree with Millie, and his eyes throbbed at the thought of producing further tears.
There was nothing left to do but see them.
-x-
He left the prepared tray on the lone table, crossing the room one last time. His brother had not moved and lay quite still, on his back. His eyes were closed, and he did not flinch as weight shifted their mattress. He slipped a gentle hand beneath the small of his brother's back, watching for any reaction as he moved his fingers deeper, seeking out bare skin.
Wright did not wake.
His breathing was regular, but the taste of endorphins in his blood was dry and stinging. Librett added what he could, but there was little joy to be found in his mind or his eyes, and he withdrew his fingers, easing his hand from beneath his brother. His silvered feathers lay heavy and matted, and Librett carefully combed them into a semblance of straight.
If he did not wake by moonrise, it would be time to take more dramatic measures.
Librett watched his brother's sleep for a long moment, still stroking him, and the spice of the umbel paste wafted past. His eyes unerringly went for the tray, and a rush of fury dispelled any further hope of donating good will and healing. With a quiet sigh, he ruffled his brother's hair – to which Wright did not respond – and he stood. The tea would be oversteeped, but he hardly cared. He hoped it would taste as bitter as wrath.
It was cool again this morning, but not enough to show his breath. The air and the blades of grass, each in their individual, vibrant green, slipped over his body soothingly. The greens felt so much smoother than the burnt golden sands. So much more natural. He clung to the feeling as he approached their cell on the north, and paused when the air carried their voices.
Two. The others were either not speaking or not there.
Librett chose the west entrance, listening through the one-way energy field on the window before entering. The bathroom door was opening, but there was plenty of time to skirt out of the door's sensor before she came into the room.
It was the woman. He moved quietly around her as she shivered her way into the remainder of her disgusting clothes, and as soon as he could slip through the open doorframe he did, manipulating the tray so that his body was always between it and her line of sight. When the grey shade of her clothing and the pink of her pinpricked skin flushed his body he felt his feathers curl away from it.
The bathroom door was again shut, and the whisper of shifting fabric wasn't hard to make out. The short one was in there.
The speaking voices were also much stronger in the hallway, and he surveyed the main room critically before deciding where to move.
He was exactly where he ought to be, and the old one was huddled over him like a carrion bird.
-x-
"My boy, you look as terrible as I feel."
Aaron Carter gave the old man a once-over. He hadn't been exactly spry on the ship, but he'd been swimming in adrenaline and painkillers. Now he was moving only a little more sluggishly than he'd been on the rock, where he'd been leaning heavily against the boulders, fishing maggots out of a carcass.
Not exactly reassuring.
The old man settled onto the floor beside him a bit clumsily, and muffled a cough. The rib was clearly still a problem. But he wasn't favoring his rotting arm at all.
Huh.
"So what happened?"
The old man gave him a knowing look, then reached out a reasonably steady hand and felt of the lymph nodes under his jaw. It hurt like hell. "As I told you before, Vash's Gate was unresponsive. I'm very much afraid it still is."
Aaron suffered the digging around as much as he was inclined before he pulled his chin away. "Enough."
The old man chuckled, though not deeply, and prodded the area around his collarbones. He said nothing about the rash. "We were able to find a way to shock Vash's cells into thinking there was Gate activity, and then artificially feed another Plant's energy into him. It will keep him alive, for the time being, but I doubt he has even a shadow of his previous talents."
A glance at the doorframe showed no activity, but Aaron lowered his voice anyway. "I should be able to smell that arm of yours an ile away. Why are you still alive."
The old man inclined his head, rolling back the blanket and parting his jacket to observe the extent of the rash. Aaron didn't even want to think about it, so he didn't, watching the old man instead. The doctor was very professional; his clear old eyes gave away nothing more than what he wanted seen.
Be a bastard to play poker with.
"That is more true than you know. Several days ago, Knives and I had a disagreement regarding Vash's treatment."
Aaron stared at him for a moment. When nothing else was forthcoming, he quirked a brow. Pissing off a sociopathic Plant didn't seem like it would result in magical healing.
In fact, it was downright suicidal.
". . . you baited him." And lived to tell the tale. That was just great. If they tried to kill themselves, they'd get resurrected? Just so that son of a bitch could make his point?
No, that wasn't his style. More likely, Knives needed the old man alive.
The doc paused, then heaved a sigh and continued with his examination. "I am not proud of it. I daresay even now I could not take my own life. Whatever the chemicals these caretakers of Knives inject, the effect is discouragingly persistent. As you've no doubt experienced first-hand."
Really.
"At any rate, Knives made the decision to save my life. And that, my young friend, I find heartening." He patted him on the stomach, and Aaron barely felt it.
"My hand is freezing, you know," he added conversationally. "You should be on the ceiling right now."
Aaron gave him an unamused look. "What's the verdict."
"Oh, we've hardly started. It could be anything from a neurotransmitting buffer to a simple analgesic. If they limited your circulation and rendered your kidneys and liver ineffective, that would be quite an excellent solution for incapacitation."
Trust the doc to use words he'd actually understood. "Organ failure."
Doc shrugged tentatively, another indication of the rib. "Combined with numbing agents. Not total failure, of course, or you would no longer be suffering from anything." Doc said it like it was supposed to be comforting. "You aren't terribly hungry, are you."
"No." If he ever even smelled that paste again, he was going to kill himself.
"And that would depress your metabolism. Did you sleep the entire night?"
"Like the dead."
"As did I, young man. Yet when I woke this morning- once my surprise faded, of course - a visit to the restroom was in immediate order. You have no urge to urinate, do you."
That sort of went without saying, and the old man nodded to himself. "I am afraid we need to get as much fluid into you as possible. And I am fairly certain you've been encouraged not to want to drink. I fear your afternoon may be quite unpleasant."
Because the last couple days had been paradise.
"Tell me, are you regularly supplied with food and liquid?"
The old man threw the blanket back further, moving on to his legs, and he managed to jump a little bit when he heard the clink of metal. "Doc, my pants are staying where they are."
"I'd like to check for circulatory abnormalities." The doc paused, appearing to evaluate the doorway, then asked quietly, "Did anything happen that I should know about?"
That he recalled? "Nothing I want to know about. In fact, if you find something interesting, don't tell me."
The doc merely hmmed and if he was honest, he wasn't sure whether the old man had obeyed his wishes or not. He had even less feeling in his lower extremities. Something he was very happy about.
Whatever that son of a bitch had done, if he didn't remember it, it hadn't happened.
"Is our Miss Boulaise aware?"
"Like she'd miss it."
"Ah," the doctor murmured. "She is certainly observant." The blanket was replaced up to his neck. "So that was a yes to receiving some type of meal today?"
Some type of puree, at any rate. "Three squares."
The old man peered into his eyes, one at a time. "And how is she faring in all this?"
"She's handling it." Barely.
"And Miss Stryfe?"
Aaron hesitated. "Doc, you know Thompson died, right?"
The old man settled onto his haunches with a shallow sigh. "Yes. I am afraid I do."
"Elizabeth says she saw Knives almost go down when it happened."
"Well, I suppose that's to be expected," the old man mused. "If one imagines telepathic contact as flexible, and one stretches it to another mind only to have it suddenly released, I imagine the principle is the same as releasing a rubber band. It's going to sting."
Aaron fixed the old man with a stare. "Why would he have still been connected?" Wasn't the whole reason Thompson went into her catatonia because Knives had nixed the link? What else could he have possibly needed Thompson to do?
Doc shook his head. "I really don't know. Perhaps there was something he wanted to ask her."
"You spent all this time with him. Why are we even still alive?"
"Are you asking me if I understand Knives?" The enigmatic smile was back. "I would imagine we are being kept alive for the same reason he didn't immediately kill Miss Thompson. This compromise was Vash's idea. Our punishment is therefore Vash's responsibility. Knives will require nothing less."
Fantastic. "Doesn't sound like Vash can stand up to him at this point."
"No. I don't think he can," the old man agreed soberly. "When all is said and done, I wonder if he would have preferred that we had let him go."
With Vash dead, they would have shot Knives. They never would have come here. Millie Thompson would have died either way. Sunjy would have died either way.
"Vash deserves better," the doorframe murmured, quietly but surely.
Damn. Hadn't heard her there at all. "Good timing."
Elizabeth came around the frame, a tiny self-deprecating smile on her lips. "I always try to be out of the shower before breakfast," she explained to Doc.
"Ah," was all he said, and though he nodded to her, he didn't even try to stand. "And how are you feeling, Miss Boulaise?"
She shrugged an eloquent shoulder. "Wrist hurts. Nothing unexpected."
He inclined his head. "And Miss Stryfe? Any issues?"
"You'd have to ask her," was all the engineer said, moving to lean in the corner and rubbing her arms to warm them. Then, "Damn." She bounced her hip against the wall, pushing herself upright again and heading back out the door with a shake of her damp hair.
The old doctor watched her leave. "I am truly surprised to find all of you in such good spirits," he admitted, soft enough that even Aaron had a hard time hearing him. "I did manage to leave the laboratory complex once, but the only one of you I found was Miss Thompson."
"So you did treat her."
He snorted, then winced. "There was no treating her. I couldn't even make her more comfortable."
That might be a detail they should keep from the miniature wonder.
"I'm glad that Elizabeth was with her."
"So was Stryfe." Aaron debated for a moment. The old man was their doctor, after all. "The ladies aren't as well off as they look. One of those invisible bastards has been toying with us. Mostly paranoia."
"Ah." The old man seemed to consider it. "How long has that been going on?"
"Since we arrived. It tapered off without much explanation." Then again, these guys were nothing if not persistent.
"Did it now," Doc murmured. "Yes, well, I know that Wright had his hands full with me."
Aaron half picked up his head. "You can tell the difference?"
"Yes, yes, of course . . . but you know, I'm not sure I know Wright's brother's name."
"Librett."
The old man blinked, then smiled widely. ". . . ah. I see."
Maybe you had to be old to get it. "Mind sharing?"
"If we are the performers, then they are the conductors. Wright. Playwright. The text of an opera is called the libretto."
Oh. Opera. Right.
"You two get cuddly?"
The old man half-shrugged. "We came to an understanding." He put a finger in his collar, dragging it down so that Aaron could see the bright red rash, just below the man's throat. "I wouldn't say we're friends."
Lots of understandings. "Elizabeth's in a similar situation."
"Is she now."
Aaron gave the old man a sideways look. "Don't like your tone."
"Tell me . . . when did you stop calling her 'Miss' Elizabeth?"
Aaron opened his mouth – and said the first thing that came to mind. "Shit."
The old man nodded. "Indeed. If I may be so bold, I don't think the toying with any of us has tapered off. I believe they're getting more subtle."
"They wouldn't know subtle if it hit them over the head," Elizabeth growled, re-entering the room with a thick envelope in her right hand. "Meryl asked me to pass this to our hosts when next we see them." She made a face. "If we see them."
Doc lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and hers arched. "They prefer to remain . . . unobtrusive."
The old man absorbed that. "Your arrangement . . . are you in any danger?"
Her arched eyebrows twitched. "That is a very private thing to ask a lady, doctor."
Doc gave her a broad grin. "I retract the question, then. My deepest apologies for offending."
Her smile widened into one of the first genuine ones Aaron had seen in days. "I'm glad you're still alive." It was soft. Then her brow furrowed. "Though I'm not sure how, exactly."
Doc waved the stump of his arm in a clumsy circle. "Courtesy of Knives. I was threatening to kill Vash at the time, so I thought it especially gracious of him."
Aaron almost whistled. He'd figured there'd been an insult or two thrown. Threatening Vash should have bought him a first class steamer ticket straight through the wall.
Elizabeth – Miss Elizabeth – also seemed speechless. Then her mind caught up. "You wanted him to kill you," she said slowly. "Because it was Vash that burned you."
Noble sentiment, and he really couldn't fault the old man, but it was starting to sound like it was for nothing. If Vash couldn't or wouldn't stand up to Knives, it was over.
The old man let his head droop on his shoulders. "Not my finest hour," he admitted quietly. "But I fear for Vash's mind. Knives spent countless hours trying to force him to unsuppress his Gate. His reaction when he awoke . . ."
"You slept through his visit yesterday." The engineer slipped down the wall, getting comfortable and wrapping her arms around herself once more. "He was mobile, at any rate, and speaking."
Doc closed his old eyes. "So he knows about Miss Thompson."
She nodded once, silently, and they heard the water in the bathroom shut off.
"What about you?" The engineer inclined her head in Doc's direction. "You were unconscious most of yesterday. We were worried."
"I am afraid I am old, young lady." Doc gave her his wavy smile. "Knives and I worked around the clock trying to save Vash, and I was quite obviously in terrible condition. Pharmaceuticals can work miracles, but eventually, time catches up."
"And how do you feel now?"
"I could not walk to Knives' laboratory if someone else's life depended on it." He gusted out another shallow sigh. "It will take me weeks to recover. I am afraid, if the plan is to flee, I must remain here."
Two down, two to go. Miss Elizabeth didn't look to him, but she didn't need his professional opinion. It would take her and Doc to lure the Fuzzy Brothers to distraction, and that left only Stryfe capable of taking actual advantage. Quite frankly, she didn't have the height. And given the way she'd stood there like a stunned thomas when Vash had deigned to show himself, it was pretty damn obvious she had lost, at least temporarily, her will to fight.
There were two people she wanted to save, and now both were out of her reach.
If he could get his act together, they might have a shot. Not much of one. But anything above one percent was better than waiting to die. Even if Vash couldn't stop Knives, he might be able to cause a suitable distraction.
"That is what I mean by unobtrusive," Elizabeth murmured, her eyes on the far wall. Aaron didn't bother to crane his head – bastard had set out their breakfast while they were talking. Probably used the door –
In the women's sleeping quarters. Where Meryl was presumably getting dressed.
Fortunately for the diminutive brunette, she was bunking with Miss Elizabeth. Even alone in the room, she was nearly invisible herself.
"Thank you for the paper," Miss Elizabeth said into the room, in the same tone. "We know that Knives likes to read the letters before they go out. Could you take it to him?"
And she held the letter out to empty space, on three graceful fingers.
It took a moment, but the letter floated as if weightless into the air above her, and where his fingers had hold of the paper, a translucent sort of fog seemed to appear. He had not crossed into the beam of morning sunlight streaming in, so he was not otherwise visible, and so it made no sense when the fog spread through his arm, into his torso, down his legs and into his head.
He was tall, almost as tall as Aaron himself, and deceptively thin. His eyes were a worn red, and they were narrow, fixed on the letter. Ivory teeth were bared between trembling lips, and the letter crumpled in his fist.
The hair on the back of Aaron's neck stood up.
-x-
Author's Notes: This chapter got completely out of hand, so next chapter is a DIRECT continuation. More notes to come!