Happy New Year Everyone!
After an 8 year hiatus, this story's apparently alive again. Thank you to everyone who stuck with it, or discovered it during the interim, and welcome to any new readers! I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing this.
(I also hope the transition from where I stopped writing, partway thru Tactical Error part 3, to where I started again isn't too jarring. It's been interesting getting back into the mindset and picking up all the loose threads.)
Happy Reading!
Chapter Twenty-Two: Hiiissssss.
(translation: Initiate)
Present
Check. Check. Compile…
Simulate.
…
Success, success…
…
Success.
…
Streaming glyphs slowed. Smoky symbols vanished, flicking out like rain flashing to a stop after a midnight storm. The moonlight playing across the wraith's face steadied as he stopped simulating, repackaging the code. The hijack program coiled down into the smaller device. Then the emulator, returning to its customary partition on the portable drive… A low hiss whispered against the darkening screen as the wraith surveyed the precious treason he'd finished modifying. Brilliant, burning…
Starbursts flying across a mental screen.
…
Treason.
A low chuckle replaced the hiss. Where did treason end? And where did misplaced sanity begin?
Nothing in the Universe made sense. Yet somehow… everything did.
…and Hunger…
His green eyes slipped to the floor, sliding across dark chitin, fastening on a point down and slightly to the left of his personal quarter's door. His mind slipped with it, probing through the chitin frame. Reaching, searching…
The trapped panic fluttered in its cage.
He huffed, a reserved expulsion of unease, then clinically examined it. …It was the same. No change. Nothing drastic. Nothing—
—Exiting the program with a thought, he returned it to the drive. Then told his personal station to power off. The screen darkened, and the machine's hum stopped. He withdrew the drive, lovingly caressing its shell, then dropped to a crouch, deftly removing the hijack device with a flick of a claw. It rolled into his palm. Warm, but cooling, sending soft sparks of pleasure tickling his feeding slit.
…
Nothing extra needed to be done.
He glanced to his sleeping pallet, then swept to his feet, crossing to retrieve a small utility bag resting by the blue-black wall. He strapped it around his waist, reveling. No fatigue, no tremors, smooth movements. A low, steady glow of Purpose, fueling, buoying—no highs, no lows—Purpose, balancing… fading slowly to join the imperceptible rhythm of blood and breath. Constant, yet unmonitored…
…A welcome, natural state.
Nothing like work to calm the mind…
…and body.
The wraith exhaled a long hiss of pleasurable relief.
…
He was stable.
…For the moment.
…
But there was no guaranteeing how long it would last. He placed the drive in the bag, while scissoring open a thin compartment in its lining. The device with the hijack program dropped safely into the dark chasm, nestling invisibly between thick, sturdy layers. He'd prefer to hide the larger drive similarly, but too many bulges beneath his coat, or a heavier load than daily routine required, might draw unwanted attention. He'd prefer to carry a weapon, too, but that would definitely look out of place…
…He might acquire one along the way. But only if doing so didn't bring unnecessary risk. For what he was about to do, the wraith needed to be as safe, silent, and as opportunistic as possible.
There was only one chance. No room for errors.
Errors were death.
"…hiiiissssssssss…"
He swept to the concealed compartment, fetching up against the ripped wall with a satisfying smack of coat and pattering of ivory. He peered into shadows, then slipped his feeding hand in, reaching, sliding fingertips across the wavy shell of the inner wall. Searching, finding a smooth, cylindrical bump. He sliced it open with a twist, releasing a warm rush of incubation fluid, then pried the incision further apart. Weight fell against his fingers, folding, sliding into his palm. He reached further, finding another object…
The wraith squeezed his eyes shut. It was a paranoid precaution, but if the inconceivable happened—Him, both discovered and unable to repel assault, he did not want this visual available for his interrogator.
Reaching back with his other hand, the wraith adjusted his collar, working gently open an incision in its inner lining. He ran code through his head, blotting the sensations out, recalling memories of feeding, programming, meditation, staring at ceilings, watching stars, watching his brothers—anything other than what he was doing.
When he stopped, the compartment was empty.
So were his hands, fingers resting gently on fluid-beaded chitin. He filled his mind with thoughts of reluctant destruction.
…
This was the last chance to go back.
And yet…
…there was no going. Not for him. Back had become death. And forward…
…was his only hope for survival.
…
Insanity.
…
He exhaled a chuff of disdain at the irrational logic of the illogical, then reached firmly for the concealed gel-pad. The cool semi-liquid invaded his feeding slit, coating bristles, mapping hooks, making a reflexive hiss twitch his lips. As his identity registered, he grabbed the interface with his mind, activating the compartment's self-destruct sequence. No trace. Nothing left behind to suggest something out of the ordinary had been hidden in his quarters. As he withdrew his hand, the wall was already resealing itself. The equipment inside, gel-pad, epidermal scanner, retinal scanner, incubator, the compartments themselves, all were now already entering a stage of rapid decay that would return their parts to the waste nutrient flow.
Nothing would remain.
He turned his attention to his personal work station, destroying the concealed port in its base as well. No evidence.
Then the wraith spun slowly in place, long coat swaying, green eyes sliding over the room. …His room. A room… One he'd spent much time in.
It felt… very empty.
Which was an illusion. It was no emptier than it'd been before. An echo of the future, perhaps. One of his brothers would eventually awaken to take it.
…
There was nothing left in here that specifically was his… In theory, anything he might need would be supplied by achieving success.
…
In all likelihood, a room that was much bigger waited.
The wraith's eyes slid to the dark, ribbed chitin door. They slid down to base, then to the left. Trapped panic fluttered in its mental cage.
Purpose hummed in his veins…
He stretched with his mind for the portal's interface, unlocking it with a thought. So easy… Too easy…
Eyes narrowing with dark amusement, he shifted his gaze to the right, looking further down, through the chitin. Several floors below was his first goal. Sustenance…
"Hiiisssssss…"
The wraith's pale lips twitched distastefully at the thought. He'd taken a ration recently. Not recent enough to cause immediate concern. But recent enough to potentially attract attention in the aftermath of his plan. Bizarrely enough, this might actually be the most dangerous step in what he was attempting…
The ghost of Disapproval dampened the idea's appeal.
And also…
He wasn't hungry. Not yet. …But he needed to store as much sustenance as he could. Because starvation was coming.
The thought sent Hunger blazing through his mind, banishing doubt with a snarl of resolve. Sustenance. Vigor. It would heighten his senses, banish any lingering symptoms of shock, and ensure success in physical conflict.
He must be in peak condition.
"Hiiisssss!" he took a deep breath, calming his mind, letting the burn flicker on the surface for any watchers to feel. Not enough to be distasteful, just enough to justify his presence. A bit of unnatural camouflage—
—Unnatural, wearing Hunger like a shirt. He was insane—
—The wraith straightened his shoulders and cast his mind into the corridor. It was empty. He stretched farther, slipping easily around the closest bends and intersections, mapping the paths of sparser occupancy. No need to be seen more than necessary. Perhaps even… no need to be seen at all?
That would be a fun game. And a good test.
Hooking errant strands of escaped ivory behind his ears with deft swipes of his translucent claws, the wraith brushed his hair down into its matching strokes of moonlight. If he was going to create a portrait of perfect invisibility, he may as well look the part of perfection while being unseen. After all…
"Why the Hell not."
His own voice startled him. With an uneasy snort, he glanced around, then opened the door, visually confirming the corridor's emptiness.
…
He slipped out.