Dr. Matsumoto would wake early to join on Hestamoloc on his patrol. It was quiet and cold, but there was something in the pale light and privacy of it that Dr. Matsumoto couldn't quite understand. For his part, because all romances are based on misunderstandings, Hestamoloc Shinshasabadim assumed this was the awkward doctor getting more comfortable with hybrid-kind, showing that he was actually not afraid of Hestamoloc.
Hestamoloc was assigned to the xenobiological group that consisted of Dr. Matsumoto and Icrel, he would accompany them as they were knelt in the grass collecting samples. But sometimes he would just patrol, just in case. He walked through the city with Dr. Matsumoto, they didn't say much, not quite sure what to say, but comfortable in the silence.
Hestamoloc passed a textured wall a little overgrown with moss-like foliage. He had been doing it since he was assigned the route. Dr. Matsumoto stopped to look. 'Is the gap bigger than before?'
Hestamoloc turned back. 'What do you mean?'
Dr. Matsumoto pointed to where the visible texture on the sandstone wall was visible between the large mass of flora, the moss-like substance, with few flowers in bloom. Dr. Matsumoto walked along the wall and held his arm out. Hestamoloc was a little taller than he, but the casual arch of the reach was close enough.
'This was all moss once. There's where we took a sample,' he pointed to a bald spot elsewhere. 'That's smaller too. Reasonable, I suppose, we've been here over two weeks. New predators makes them work faster at growing. But this…' He took a photograph and video of the line. 'On your patrol, do you always run your hand along it?'
'I dunno.'
Dr. Matsumoto was confused at this, but then he remembered his brain was neurologically atypical and not everyone could recall their interactions with unique textures. (You can understand him as autistic if you like, although that would be analogous, not exact.)
Dr. Matsumoto bid Hestamoloc a good morning, stiffly, and returned to the lab for further research.
Hestamoloc continued his route, taking a little more time now that he was alone. He meandered, dandered, plodded, rather than strode. The air was fresh. He started day dreaming, remembering his time as a nanny for the rich and powerful. He missed the more domestic duties he was required to do, he was actually a well-trained cook, able to make meals for a variety of dietary needs as well as some basic knowledge on how food would effect the standardised humanoid body. He missed being in a kitchen, with the quieter children napping, or when the parents are returned home and he only has an hour left so makes a quick meal. Most of all he misses the gifts and bonuses. Come gifting season he would be stocked for any number of perfumes and soaps. He still had the anytime tickets for various villas around the galaxy (the home galaxy, not this one that Kessas Aen is in).
He most certainly didn't miss the rowdy children, or the paparazzi. He recalled one time having to duck and roll from a falling hover car with the baby tucked into him, after the mother of the child deployed an EMP to wipe the digital memory. He hated the children who clearly heard the foulest of words and jokes from their parents, or parents friends and repeated them to him. Often, these parents would politely ask if he needed money or simply wanted to leave the job. They were awful people, so demanding, expecting machines, but wanting people, they wanted something that they could destroy or ruin or abuse, because it wasn't as fun ordering something designed to obey, something without pride or ego. He knew they just wanted to see how close they could get to making someone cry.
He blinked and caught his breathe. He had thought himself into a tizzy and leaned against a wall to collect himself.
It was the domed building, the black eclipse shining with the crowning sun.
He went into the building, just for air, just for some privacy.
He wiped his brow for the sweat.
He was calmed and wandered aimlessly, enjoying the architecture without the awkward company of the academics.
He scratched his head.
He wandered some more.
He found the crown on the plinth. The room was dark, but the little light that entered the gap at the top of the dome (whether by weathering or design) hit the crown and it was glowing a little.
He had almost forgotten about it. Almost. His head was throbbing, he needed something cool, he imagined the metal to be so cold and soothing on his head. He went forward and the light in the room had changed.
How long have I been here? He asked himself with no answer. The displays and time-keeping app on his many devices just told him it was late morning, not early. But of course he didn't know when Dr. Matsumoto excused himself. He didn't know how long he was wandering in his thoughts.
He ran.
He ran out of the building.
He had sense enough to run.
He fell to the ground and when he rose, trying to compose himself he found Joshua and Icrel looking at him. Icrel was holding a container with another sample.
Another bloody sample. This place is dangerous. Look at the crown. Who cares about the damn plants?
Hestamoloc was back into his tizzy. He stood, panting, like a rabid dog.
He blinked and he was looking at Joshua through the sights of his gun as whined to the highest settings. Depending on where it made contact, it could be fatal. Hestamoloc was aiming a little too close to these vulnerable spots for it to be not fatal. He moved his aim a little, fighting the urge to fire.
Joshua was aiming too. Icrel was just frozen beside him.
Joshua would have spoken, but he knew Hestamoloc was about to fire. He fired first, but not before Hestamoloc could fire. Joshua pushed Icrel out of the way and ducked. The shot missed, but his own caught Hestamoloc in the gut. It winded him.
Joshua sprinted. He kicked Hestamoloc's gun out of reach, tackled him to the ground and tied his hands behind his back with cable ties.
'Urgent call. We need Dr. Chen with a sedative. Hestamoloc's gone rogue. At the black dome.' Joshua yelled into the coms.
Hestamoloc stopped struggling and went limp. 'Sorry. I don't know what that was.'
'Shut up and stay there.'
'It was the crown.'
Joshua paused. Conceded this and once he bound Hestamoloc's legs, he got off him and help set him up against the wall.
As they waited for the others to come, Hestamoloc's wrist itched, with all the grass and sweat and friction from the cables, he needed to itch. He scratched vigorously and Joshua had to tell him to stop. Hestamoloc protested, but Joshua aimed both guns at him.
Lt. Castillo accompanied the Doctor, she said little. The Doctor said little, she did try, every so often to be kind or a little funny, but even if Lt. Castillo smiled or laughed or used a conversational tone, there was this look in her eyes that belied her mistrust. The Doctor had nothing to offer her, she herself had not been told much but to be there and do her thing. How awful to know the Division were expecting her to do something without giving orders. The only hint was that it involved time—because obviously. She thought her presence on the bridge during Joshua's episode was it, prevent this exploration team from falling through time and causing some sort of distortion.
They were in the crown hall. The Doctor had the impression that the shaft off light that hit the crown around midday was a design choice, not merely weathering, but she couldn't be certain. As the sunlight hit the crown, it reflected and lit up the room with shimmering gold.
It was rather beautiful.
Lt. Castillo armed her stun phaser. The Doctor only coming to by the loud click.
They had been holding their breathe, they had been still. The Doctor moved back from the crown.
Lt. Castillo wasn't embarrassed when she turned the safety back on and holstered her weapon, she knew Dr. Clayton knew it was the crown.
'Your perception filter seems to be failing. Does it need recharged?'
'Maybe, but I'm cautious about checking. Especially after Hestamoloc.'
'That was a surprise. Given personnel's assessment I thought it would be Lozada or Chen.'
'Maybe, but Aumegden's been cooped up in hydroponics and Gesto already had a difficult moment that Nasti is working her through.'
The two were stood there, they hadn't moved. Not much anyway, Lt. Castillo did shift her weight and found herself closer to the crown than the Doctor and such a loud thought entered her mind that she could reach it first, but it was so loud that it sounded ridiculous and Lt. Castillo backed away.
'It's like something out of a fairytale, the crown that wants to be worn.'
Lt. Castillo gave the Doctor a look she didn't see. Lt. Castillo was always a little confused by the Doctor's infrequent romantic notions.
'But it's not protected,' the Doctor began to pace the room, her thoughts so focused on understanding the crown, its call was minimised, but even so, her pacing drew her close and Lt. Castillo was drawn in too. 'You'd think if something was this powerful it would be protected, and even at that, you'd think any crown would be protected. I'd call this place a museum, but I can't see other artefacts that survived and this room has only one pillar for the crown. If we assume it is a standard monarchy and not just an apparel for statecraft, then it could be housed here under armed protection until the next leader is decided. I know Doctor Zimorax has her methods and interest in the language, it's useful, yes, but she should be restoring the tapestries, we could see who wore it. But it's just sitting here. Unless maybe it is the security measure. Who cares about anything else in the building when you feel yourself drawn to this.'
The Doctor sucked her finger and held it up. There was a breeze coming from the direction of the door, but equally a breeze from opposite it. It wasn't strong, it could have been just wind currents moving through the room, but she couldn't think in that moment, she was too close to the crown, she needed to act.
She leapt to the tapestry covering the wall opposite the entrance. It was made of multiple sheets of fabric, she had to gently ease them aside, but even so, some were so delicate they fell from the wall, or came off in pieces.
As she did this Lt. Castillo spoke, if only to follow the Doctor's thoughts and stop herself thinking about the crown, even if she was talking about it. Talking about it felt better than thinking about it.
'Could it be a sign of authority, like military stripes or pips on uniform? None of us have actually put it on,' at that she caught herself wanting to reach out if only to gesture, but that would be putting herself closer to it, the Doctor might think she was reaching for it. 'In the military, as I'm sure you know, we vie for rank and can be jealous or bitter, but when someone is a higher rank than you, you damn well do your duty.'
'Possibly, considering it was left here. Someone must have put it here without wanting to put it on. Also, you are ignoring all the species with longer lifespans who don't fight for power in that same way: Silurians, Ood, Cheem, Martian Ice Warriors.'
'Doctor Clayton, Ice Warriors, do fight for power and glory. They invade and conquer just as much as any species.'
The Doctor sucked her teeth. She politely turned to Lt. Castillo, leaving behind the delicate work of removing the tapestries. 'Ice Warriors are isolationists, a very proud people and when allies need their help in war, they are honour bound. And given their long history and exodus, most species are their allies. But yeah, sometimes they do fight for power, there's always a few renegades. But I meant that these people who lived here before, may have seen monarchs like wise organisers, governors, not tyrants. Like Ice Warriors, the queen is usually just their grandmother.'
Lt. Castillo was about to launch into an argument like any good Pelodonian descendant with a vaguely aristocratic lineage, but the Doctor found it behind the tapestry, another door. Black stone and carved with many faces, each given a small corona around their heads. The most notable face was the half-face, the one above the mausoleum, the one for death.
'The royal mausoleum.'