specialdelivery.2
SUCH BELOW IS AN AUTHENTIC SLICE OF FANFICTION.
ANY DUPLICATE DISPLAYED NOT HERE WILL BE FOUND TO BE PIRATED.
specialdelivery.2
"ARASHU'S DEPARTED"
specialdelivery.2
An Assignment At Stop-X, Skyllia
The drone deposited in contact with the flooring of the inn, blasted into chunks through the agency of an ably set shot directed toward its engine—yet the cargo was in possession of its giftees…
In every part of the promenade—the margins, the eating homes, down the narrow piece as concerned the tourists (blokes, members of the fairer sex, young ones)—all were inert there, unconscious on the decks. Without warning of the attack, drones had released neurotoxins through the agency of the gadgets deployed by someone outside the mêlée up above, dropping payloads among the unwary masses.
Thane arose to his feet, collecting the drone's remains and feeling these in his fingers. ("She's still alive,") Casnar detached his from Chelse's eyelids, having tested her breathing in addition to sensing for her pulse, ("…Knocked out like the rest—for whatever someone has in mind for them, poor lot…")
He straightened from his crouch before her in the middle of the bar…Sagged against it and a stool, she had been found so by the counter.
Along with making a gesture toward the rest of the still patrons, Casnar rounded the bar's termination to head to Thane—himself upright within the boundaries of the bar's exterior deck and shading, glancing upwards from the drone's shell to the boardwalk's guests and visitors all about them, silent—but for the most part breathing.
("Why would they be doing this—right here,") Casnar murmured, ("…under the Alliance's noses….") He gazed left and right…The sight was disturbing. At one point, there had been so much activity. Now—all were left aground and sleeping.
("Spite,") Thane replied hoarsely and spit some salt out of his mouth, missing a few forms on the ground deliberately, ("…their pride, indignation…Anyone would know that to host such a site in the Terminus's more volatile sectors could only be asking for such troubles…Almost daring them,") he hissed, ("…Now these people will be collected by those who planned the distraction there,") he raised his face with Casnar's to the Stop-X station—small dots of fighters and flashes of lightning swarming like a crazed wasp's nest, ("…The Alliance will be unable to prevent it—more or less,") he added morosely, ("…Come, my lord, we should go before someone notices us.") Their attire drip-dropped water from the hems, fresh as they were still from the sea, leaving a trail from the ladder beyond the boardwalk to where they stood in the bar.
("We can't just leave them—")
("There is nothing we may do for these people, Casnar,") Thane slowed to a stop, turning to see him.
("We can't leave them—")
("We must—")
("To be taken, just like that,") Casnar motioned toward the space, ("…We need to do something.")
("We have one mission, my lord.")
("I can't just leave…At least,") he leapt on top of the bar, ("…Take her with us, or somewhere…One, Thane.")
("What is she to you?") Thane challenged.
Casnar shrugged, ("…Well, she was nice to talk to…")
Thane suppressed an eye roll, trudging—thoughtfully—among the pronate figures on the floor for the back exit, ("…The jungle is this way, east of the housing…Hurry.")
("Wait,") he picked up Chelse, loose as a marionette enclosed by his arms, ("…What if we left them a surprise?")
Thane detected the smell of smoking motors and perceived a low level whirring sheltered within the draft allowed through the egress over his crests, ("…There are ships,") Thane plead urgently, negotiating his route via the bodies toward Casnar bearing the blond female, ("…Leave her, there is no time to set up anything remotely helpful for these people—Lord, we must go now or we will be caught!")
The banging knocked her away from another memory, encompassed in what she witnessed of the drell's mind: the scene of a disappearing sunset, dwindling over a château spotlighted only within vids to her recollection…Zeniths overlooking a wen, beneath the heel of those towers, hemorrhaging into a vague ruffle of distant light—the screens atop glass panes within the bungalow appeared.
A voice dulled by walls, "…Hukim mabi fatem ahomibidi (Why's this one not been opened)!"
"Clupea det haffat (Knock it down), aketa de'sinos betad redatas (I've got a signal inside)!" Somebody near at hand answered.
Move…Her power was warning her, …Move quickly…Recognizing the gravity of her situation, Braith endeavored to rise and react to her power's impetus. Must get up…Her power was striving to help, …Get out now—They have come for you.
By inches, in the company of peace and quiet—between waders smacking deals as well as strands, racing back and forth starting with the door toward someplace or another—Braith dragged herself from the kitchenette, drawing her form using her hands. She inched to the inside of the bedroom, discerning the outline of an elevated bed.
The slams kicked off, booming as well as quaking the walls.
Braith twined herself among the covers, rolling toward the far half of the bed below its frame. She stretched out and drew breaths in deeply, permitting her power to fill her mind.
The door broke open.
specialdelivery.2