《When It Rains, It Pours》
When It Rains, It Pours
Wendy Serafina is a strange girl.
A very strange girl, indeed.
At least that¡¯s what everybody she knew said about her. It was pretty much the one thing anyone, ever, said about her.
And if she cared, to do such a thing, as take time from her day and think about it, even she, would wholeheartedly agree.
While those other people''s worlds were centered around a certain, particular, thing, hers, was not.
She¡¯d given up that ghost.
For many different reasons.
She isn¡¯t short. She''s not tall. She is not fat. Nor is she skinny. She isn¡¯t anything like the terms and blurbs people use to describe what they''re jealous of. Or maybe, what they''re most afraid of becoming.
Or had been, themselves, at a certain point in their past.
What she is, is just a girl. A strange girl, yes. Quiet, polite, kind? Definitely.
She''s a girl that grew a little at a time. From the start of puberty, well into young adulthood, her changes were minuscule at best. She was almost a college graduate when the number in her height chart stopped rising.
Eleven years.
It took her that long to come true to her form.
She changed so slowly, in increments so small, even she hadn''t noticed.
Now here she is, like the day is to the night. A flower, blooming out of the cracks, in a world made of concrete.
You see, Wendy Serafina didn¡¯t fathom her change. Neither did the people she grew up with. She was forgotten to them, since fourth or fifth grade.
Ignored, pushed away, ostracized.
And she was quite okay with that. It was better than being their target. Plus, it had the added benefit of more time, free from distractions, to do the things she loved.
Being invisible to her peers had other perks too. She never felt the pressures, so she never learned to trouble about that, certain, particular, thing. A special something, that most people her age obsessed over. An adventure others made cheap, trivial, and insignificant, by their words and, most certainly, by their deeds.
Sex. That was their fixation.
It was what they weighed their reputations by. And, ironically, it was the same priority they used to judge her against their normalcy.
But Wendy Serafina didn¡¯t worry about having it. She didn¡¯t want it. She had other things, in her life, to occupy her time.
Exciting and fun things.
Her weekly Dungeons and Dragons game. Visiting museums and planetariums. Going shopping for a new piece to add to her collection. Painting miniatures. And truly the best of all...
The updated stories on her favorite Star Wars fandom sites.
She really loved her Star Wars.
Han and Chewy had helped her through some very trying times.
Luke and Leia? They gave her life.
So, Wendy Serafina never worried about sex. She didn¡¯t need it. She was a very strange girl that way. So her friends always say.
Acquaintances actually. Co-workers and casual neighbors at best.
Twenty-three years old and still a virgin? Strange girl.
The people that flittered in and out of her life, at work, at school, at play, they just couldn¡¯t understand it. She wasn¡¯t interested in sex? Who isn''t interested in sex?
That was her sanctuary. That was her truth.
It was also, her greatest and smallest of lies. It was her only lie. That little fib she told herself. It¡¯s not that she didn¡¯t want it. She just didn¡¯t worry about it.
There had never been any persuasion, in those early years, put upon her to go that course. She had been marginalized a long, long time before they even knew what it was. Or, even, that such a thing existed.
You see, when she was much younger, she was a bigger girl. She was klutzy and somewhat uncoordinated. They called her lots of colorful things. Fatso, spaz, nerd and ugly, to name a few.
Her tormentor''s favorites? Wendelephant or Elephina. Isn''t that clever? Seems, little humans were at their creative best when they decided to tease, parenthetically. Truth be told, adults aren''t all that much better.
She had developed quite a number of tics through those years. She slurred or stuttered when she got nervous. Mostly around boys, she thought were cute. Even around some of the more handsome girls she saw, roaming the dorms, in her college days.
Sometimes she''d twitch. Especially If someone got a little too close, too fast. A sudden flinch like they were going to hit her. Not, that she¡¯d ever been beaten up, no one had ever laid a finger on her. Not literally. But the things that she¡¯d been called, the things she heard said about her, had hurt her just the same.
No less painfully than a slap to the face.
She slouched when she sat and when she walked. Sometimes she''d talk to herself, to hear out a problem and find its solution. It was always, right there, right on the tip of her tongue.
By and large, she was just awkward, by most standards. Socially unaware. She never learned to read the map of personal interactions. And her GPS? You''d swear it was made on a different planet.
But the biggest thing Wendy Serafina was completely unaware about. Was just how beautiful a woman she had truly become. Although, in her defense, and the defense of those around her these days, you¡¯d really have to look hard to see it.
Passed the hung head and slumped shoulders. Passed the frumpy clothes that are too loose, in colors too bland. She thought she was bigger than she was and it showed. Her closet is filled with oversized fashion. Three sizes too large on average.
She was a strange girl.
A very strange girl.
Even some people, she didn¡¯t know, called her that.
The ones that did, who made it their business, had never seen her with anyone special. She even went to dinner, plays and movies, all by herself. All alone. And she never joined in, or paid much attention to, those bawdy conversations they, boisterously, loved to tell.
Of boyfriends and lovers. Or even the tawdry one-night stands
Quickies in the parking lot? She''s heard the beginnings of so many of those tales.
But, she didn''t have any lore of her own. No, first-time quips. No, pool table at a graduation yarn. No, seven minutes of heaven in the hall closet. She didn''t even have a first kiss soliloquy. Not that she would share it if she did.
No, Wendy Serafina had never had sex. Never once had gotten the chance. How could she, when she never got courted? Never mind, even, hit on.
At least, as far as Wendy Serafina was concerned.
Everyone around her thought her to be prudish. Super-religious. Some even toyed with the diagnosis, frigid.
They were wrong.
She just didn¡¯t want to have it. Not according to her creed. The way she presented herself.
She was a liar.
She did want to have it.
Yearned for it, some nights.
She''d have a fleeting moment of anxiousness, a fluttering in her stomach, an uncomfortable ache, between her thighs, that needed to be put to bay.
And it was, rather easily, by that galaxy... far, far away.
She did want to have sex. She knew it. At least, there was a small part of her that did.
She just didn¡¯t want the kind of sex ''they'' talked about. Or the kind of thing she saw them do in porn. That wasn''t very much different though. It just had less meaning. No emotional ties at all. She didn''t like that. Nor did she like the plagiarized romantic fluff. The princess and her silvery knight. The starry-eyed lovers. The maiden and the pirate lost at sea. No. None of that. That was way, way too...
Poofy.
What Wendy Serafina wanted, was the kind of sex she could have with a friend. Someone who wanted the same kind of sex with her. Unselfish. Healing. Sharing. Caring.
But she wasn''t thinking of that, on that atypical day. A Friday. Three months after her twenty-fourth birthday. She''d just bought herself something new. As a treat for finishing an assignment for work.
A self-reward for coming in way before the deadline.
She was taking her time walking home. Enjoying the scenery for a change.
She went to find her quiet place. To sit and commune with her brand-new toys. She did that whenever she bought some new gear.
She crossed over some tall grass, onto a disheveled trail, and walked to a familiar clearing.
And Wendy Serafina saw a man, where she had never seen anyone before.
He was by himself. Fixated on a point of light, on the water just off the shoreline. On the very same bench, she had been heading for.
No one, but her, ever sat there. It was a secluded spot. Off the overgrown, unkempt path she would walk down sometimes. When she came home from the library with a book to read, or the gamer shop where she bought her dice.
Like the ones she''d bought today.
Black onyx with glowing glacier blue symbols.
Perfectly balanced.
Perfectly dark.
Perfectly icy.
A complimentary essence to the new character she was playing.
An Aasimar.
Raven Queen''s favored.
A dark winter warrior from a bleak, frozen continent.
She lovingly fingered the dice in her pocket. Rolled one around, then pulled it out eagerly. Eying her fingers with anticipation.
She slowly uncupped her hand to see the outcome.
The die sat, right there, in the middle of her palm. A stark contrast to her pale skin. Revealing to her, a fated first figure. A random outcome for a character''s action.
It was a twenty.
A natural number.
The deliberate check, she''d chosen to roll for, was perception.
She stopped and stared at the number for a moment, curiously intrigued. She put the enchanted, luminous cube back in her pocket. Then she stood there, silent, looking back at the man with regard. Taking him in.
He was a bit older. Maybe early forties. He was wearing new jeans and a button-down shirt. He looked like he needed a trim. But those thoughts didn¡¯t cross her mind.
That''s not what she saw.
All she saw, was his aura.
It wasn''t a mystical glow, that only she could see. This was a physical read. A graphic illustration within the pause of a chapter. And what she saw, was the way he stared at the world. Looking past it. Like there wasn¡¯t anything left there to see. It had no substance. No solidity. His eyes looked through it, unfocused, on something beyond.
Or maybe within.
He was sad. Melancholy.
She might even say, ''He looked a little bit broken.''
She saw herself. Once, long ago. With a similar look. That same empty gaze. It had happened more than once. Quite a few times actually. But this one instance had struck out and come to the fore.
His eyes, half open, looking down. Not blinking. Almost blank.
She knew how that felt.
She knew, exactly, how that felt.
Even if it wasn''t for the same reason, she could tell the ache was the same. That vacant taste in the heart didn''t change just because the source was different.
So Wendy Serafina did something, that Wendy Serafina had never, not even once, ever done before. She saddled on up to the open space on the bench and sat right down.
With a thump.
Uncomfortably close to the sullen-eyed man. The sad, sad, broken man.
And then
She just said, ¡°Hi.¡±
He turned to her slowly, caught unawares at the break in his thought. This sudden intrusion into the shadow of his malaise. Like a flash of light in a pitch black void, she''d drawn his attention. Pulled him away from the dark.
He saw empathy looking back. A compassionate gaze.
He forced a smile. A forlorn and almost forgotten smile.
She felt her heart ache.
She felt herself, back on that stark, dreary day. Sitting in a playground. On a see-saw alone.
Inconsolable.
Forsaken.
Many hours after a boy had told her to meet him there.
Tears still falling, glistening her cheeks. The laughter of the other children still slamming in her ears.
What a stupid girl she was.
What a stupid, silly girl.
But Wendy Serafina was not that same girl. Not anymore.
A strange girl, yes, but not, that, girl. This one was stronger. Wiser. A survivor.
So she leaned back into the bench and put her shoulder next to his.
And just talked.
Without her usual nervous slur.
She would have found it odd. If she had noticed.
Or maybe not. She wasn¡¯t interested in him that way. Not that she paid too much attention to such things. Even if she was, it didn¡¯t matter. Right now, she just wanted to listen.
To hear.
Misery always did love company. Because misery hates itself. And company usually chased it away. Ended it. Yes, sometimes it made it worse. But misery doesn''t care.
She learned, through the minutes of conversation he shared, that, he had lost his wife. Just over a year ago.
They¡¯d known each other since they were five.
Became friends.
Became lovers.
Became family.
Then one day she got really sick. And a few weeks later she suddenly passed.
Breast cancer. It ran in her family.
She was young.
The doctors missed it.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The more the man talked, the more she could see the love that he felt for her. It was honest. His description of her? Detailed.
She wished she had met her. She almost felt like she knew her. They could have been friends.
She knew her favorite flower and color.
Desert Rose.
Cerulean Blue.
She knew all the geeky things she''d been into. There were quite a few of the same things she also enjoyed.
The man changed his focus and talked about her family.
They were the reason he was here. A couple of days with his... in-laws? His plane left tomorrow, to take him back to a lonely house.
Maybe he¡¯d sell it.
"The memories. You know?"
The annual family reunion was over. He loved them dearly, she could tell. Though he didn¡¯t feel quite at home there anymore.
Not without her.
It was too desolate. Disconnected.
No more jovial prodding for grandkids. Too many pitying shoulder grabs. Too many dropped smiles when they didn''t see her near him.
There was a rumble. Her stomach growled loudly. She''d gotten hungry.
So she asked the man if he would like to come with her. To her place. Have something to eat. In a more comfortable setting. So, he wouldn¡¯t have to wallow in his hotel room. All alone. That''s what she told herself.
He realized he had eaten very little, maybe food would help fuel his way out of this haze.
He said,"Yes."
They left the park. Strode down the cobblestone path. Walking side by side and chatting. They had very little in common.
He was a Star Trek fan.
Blasphemous.
An argument ensued. Playful and raucous. They were both laughing, a bit too loud, by the time they got to the strange girls door. She put her key to the lock.
A slow deep breath.
A slower exhale.
He didn''t even notice.
He was going to be her first guest. The first person, besides herself, to ever cross that threshold.
A quick tour of her home. It was essential. Everybody should know where the bathroom was. The fridge. And the couch.
She found a bottle of wine. Someone from work had given it to her for her birthday. She never opened it. She never drank. You think they''d know this.
Well, she did, once.
High school. Senior year. She ended the night, curled up in a ball. Throwing up all over her next door neighbor''s lawn.
But that was then. When she was still a silly girl.
She made a quick salad, grabbed yesterdays pork chops, heated them up, and poured two glasses of wine.
Then she escorted him, out through the sliding glass door, to her screened-in porch.
¡°Wendy Serafina,¡±
It¡¯s how she introduced herself.
Not just to him.
To everyone.
His name was William. And she rather liked to call him that. Not Bill. Not Will.
William.
It played well with her RPG sensibilities. And it rolled off her tongue rather nicely. She thought.
She put the plates on a table, barely big enough for two. They sat, ate, and talked. Familiarly congenial. Watching the sun, slowly go down.
When that bright yellow orb was starting to sink below the tree tops setting the city skyline ablaze, she took the plates from the table. To make some more room. Free up the clutter.
She walked back through the door a few seconds later. Returning with the bottle of wine in her hand. She stepped next to the man, to refill his empty glass, and heard a sound.
A warble.
A sob.
A choke that broke the persistence of a sigh.
Then she saw a glossiness under his eye. A single streak.
She grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped the tear from the man¡¯s cheek. Kneeling down on one knee by his side.
Here they were.
Eye to eye.
Her head up, and straight. Her smile, comforting.
He saw her. And she saw him.
She studied his face. Comparing his features to the heroes described in the books she read. And she decided, then and there, that he was a rather good-looking man.
In a Han Solo sorta way.
A little scruffy. A little rugged.
With a tiny little bit of that Skywalker kid¡¯s shyness.
And if there was anything Wendy Serafina was an expert on, it was shyness.
With her hand on his chest she leaned in and gave him a hug. She wondered if it was too soon. Then too long. Was this getting awkward for him?
It wasn''t for her.
The man didn¡¯t seem to mind either. He seemed appreciative. Warm.
He hugged her back. Just as kindly.
When she willed away, from that softhearted embrace, she didn¡¯t pull back. Not very far.
The man took her hand from his chest, surrounding it with both of his. Brought it to his chin. And just held it.
He kissed her fingers.
Then Wendy Serafina slowly stood up. Deliberate. Tall.
Resolute.
Coaxing the man up and onto his feet. Toward her, and away from his sorrow.
She purposefully walked with him. Together. To her room.
She threw the clothes off her bed and sat down.
He nervously joined her. A few inches away. She never let go of his hand.
She picked her feet up and laid down. Over the crumpled-up blankets. Kicking her shoes off. She put her head on her pillow and smiled. Then she gently pulled at his wrist and chaperoned him.
An invitation, to be by her side.
They cuddled together. Tenderly. For a while.
Then she kissed him. And he kissed her back.
-------
When Wendy Serafina awoke, the next morning, her bed was empty.
She was alone.
She felt conflicted.
On the one hand, she felt wonderful. Her skin was still flush. Her body was filled with a warm, energized, laziness. She felt rested. Revived. Revitalized.
From the moment they kissed an awakening, to the moment they kissed a blissful sweet dream, he had been doting. Attentive. Sensitive and caring. His touch had been a very nice mix, of sensual, exploring, and passionate.
And even though he didn¡¯t know it was her first time,
She had never told him. And he wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell, physically. She had broken herself, there, one day, long ago. On a balance beam at school.
Gymnastics.
She hated it.
He had treated her like it was her first time, anyway. Or maybe like it was his first time, in a long time.
Or both their first times. Together. With each other.
It didn¡¯t matter to her. It was how she always knew it could be.
With a friend. Or a comfortable stranger.
This stranger.
A solemn stranger and a very strange girl.
Still, except for herself and her thoughts, her bed was empty.
And that was the other emotion.
Empty
She knew he had to leave today. After all, he did have a plane to catch. This wasn''t home, for him.
But, the sun was barely peeking at the day. And he hadn¡¯t woken her up? Even if just, to say goodbye?
She just laid on her back. Feeling the sway. That disparate ebb and flow of the feelings coursing through her.
She was staring at the clouds through the window.
Then she heard it. A sound unaccustomed to her usual atmosphere. It tugged her interest.
She thought she heard, footsteps. Gentle, rhythmic, thumps, against the hardwood floor that led back to her room. Was someone humming?
And then she smelled...
Coffee?
She turned away from the window and saw his clothes, on the chair by her nightstand.
A tear crept from her eye.
She''d been holding it back.
Now it flowed past her chin for a much different emotion.
His silhouette emerged through the frame of her door.
He had a platter.
Two cups. Handles toward her.
A stack of pancakes.
Some bacon and eggs. Scrambled.
Breakfast in bed. She¡¯d never thought to do that before.
Well, she did. But she''d never had anyone to share it with.
He saw her awake and he smiled.
They ate and they cuddled, feeding each other. They talked about the knickknacks on her shelves.
Winter''s warrior. Serenity in Lego. Her minis inspired.
''Okay. He has a little bit of taste.''
Then they continued what they had shared last night. All night turned into all morning.
She knew, come tomorrow, she would be uncomfortably sore. There was no doubt in her mind about that. But she didn¡¯t care. She wanted him more and more and more.
She wanted as much as he could offer her.
His plane was leaving at ten that night. He had to be at the airport by nine. He asked her about her plans.
She didn¡¯t have any.
It was Saturday.
¡®Silly Man, Strange girls, like me, don''t have Saturday plans.¡¯
They showered together, slowly. Dried each other off even slower. Then they dressed each other quickly and went out to greet the rest of the day.
He took her shopping. He was a bit surprised to find out she''d never worn a bikini before.
Swim class had been a one-piece.
In a YMCA pool.
She had no other reason to own one.
Nobody had ever asked her to attend the kinds of affairs you''d need one for.
He took her, by cab, to a popular beach. They swam and sunned. Ate hotdogs. Drank lemonade.
He said, ¡°Thank you.¡±
And asked if he could write her.
Not an Email.
A letter.
She never had a pen pal. Yet, she liked the idea. She had an affinity towards most handwritten things. She liked the flow of the ink on the page. There was emotion in it. A sense you didn¡¯t quite get from the static perfection of fonts. There are subtle nuances in the pressure and pen strokes that give it meaning.
And emojis? They were just stupid. ¡®You can take your eggplant. And shove it right up your peach.¡¯ As far as she was concerned.
She was a strange girl.
She said, ¡°Thank you, too.¡±
While cuddling next to him, her head to his chest, her body wrapped up in his arm, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, Wendy Serafina did something. Something that the people that knew her would say, for her, was scandalous. Out of character. She slid her hand down to his crotch and squeezed him. Fondly. With acquaintance and want.
Then she kissed him. Deep and passionate.
She broke the buss and demurely angled a question. Inviting them both to his room.
He agreed.
It was just around the corner. So she jumped on his back and he carried her there. Her back was to the door while he put the code in.
She nibbled his jaw with her arms surrounding him.
She was up on her toes.
They made love in between packing. After an early dinner. Then in the shower.
It¡¯s a story she¡¯ll never share. It¡¯s hers. And his.
And they''re the only ones that need to know it.
His limo driver was waiting outside. Ten minutes before they finished drying and dressing each other.
They dressed slowly, this time.
One last touch.
One last taste.
One last tease.
He arrived at the airport, barely on time. He seemed disappointed, to have made it at all.
He did everything he had to do, to check himself in and not have to pass through security. She sat with him. Until he absolutely needed to go.
His flight came up on the departure screen.
A long final embrace.
They went their own ways.
As he was stowing his bag in the overhead compartment, she was settled into the backseat of a limo. Watching the trees flow by.
He had paid the driver to wait and drive her home, make sure she was safe.
He''d tipped him well.
The limo pulled up by the curb, in front of her building. The driver walked around the side and got her door out. She thanked him and shook his hand.
Her fingers paused before they turned the key in the tumbler.
Thinking about the day.
More than a day.
There were a lot of firsts in that day.
She closed the door behind her and stepped, breezily, to her room. Stripping off her clothes as she walked down the hall.
She left the bikini on.
She got to her bed and face-planted on her mattress. Right into the spot where he had been the night before. And this morning. She imagined his warmth. Still there. Right where his scent was.
She breathed in deep.
She slept like the dead.
The dead with a grin.
-------
Wendy Serafina doesn¡¯t think about sex. She¡¯s a strange girl. That¡¯s what everybody says.
That¡¯s a lie. But, it''s not her lie anymore.
She thinks about it from time to time. Always had. She just doesn¡¯t worry about it.
But even she, sometimes, gets a bit antsy.
Like that one night at the movies. It was A Knight¡¯s Tale. One of a series of films in a fantasy-themed weekend. She had the whole row to herself. Perfectly centered, two rows down from the back.
It took her quite a few minutes before she realized why her legs were rubbing together. Why her bottom was wriggling and grinding against her seat.
Then she heard it. And it clicked. And she laughed.
¡°Don''t be foolish, William, you just follow your feet.¡±
Just a name.
Just a memory.
A memory that played devious tricks on the brain. Among other parts.
She also began to notice, something new in her world. It had started the day after that, fateful, one-night... two-day stand?
She was getting hit on.
A lot.
She wonders, "Why?" It''s a second or two, of silence, before she, politely, declines.
She has no time for it.
And he has her address.
Maybe next year he¡¯ll have a reason, besides a reunion, to visit. Extend his stay. They could go camping. He liked camping. She''s never been. Not by choice. She''d like to see the stars with him.
But that doesn¡¯t matter.
Not at all. She had a night. A day to remember.
A time with someone who liked her as much as she truly liked him. And he did like her. She can tell. It''s there, in his words. Words written on paper that had no lines. It didn''t need them. She could read between them, just the same.
It¡¯s nine weeks to the day, from when he asked to write her. And the letters? They still come.
Not every week.
About three a month.
Who has time for that?
She sure doesn¡¯t.
They go out of their way to make time for that.
That¡¯s what makes it special.
Make an effort, get away from the tech, sit and think about who you¡¯re writing to. Then you, thoughtfully, compose.
She goes to the post to pick up her mail. A new project at work spinning the wheels of her mind. A boy two boxes over offers to buy her coffee. From out of nowhere. She tells him she''s sorry. But she''s just too damn busy.
She shuts the box and pulls out the key, stowing the letters in her bag while she leaves.
It''s lunchtime. She gets to the diner. She orders two hotdogs and gets asked out by the waiter. He''s not new. He''s served her many times.
She¡¯s puzzled.
Amused.
Curious.
Just what has changed?
Well, if she ever bothered to look in the mirror, for anything more than to see if her hair was a mess, she just might see it. Part of the answer at least.
It¡¯s written within the curves of her face. In that sly smile. That look she has, like she¡¯s both halves of an inside joke.
A wit the rest of the world isn''t in on.
Or, how she stands a little bit taller. Straighter.
It¡¯s how the clothes she now buys tend to fit her a little better. It¡¯s not on purpose. They just feel more comfortable this way. They remind her of his touch. His warmth. His hug.
They¡¯re still bland. But they''re fitting. The muted colors make her eyes stand out.
She still wears no makeup. So that hasn¡¯t changed
But now she watches where she¡¯s going. Her heads up. Instead of staring at her feet, watching the pavement and the tips of her shoes.
You can see her face now. And, the beguiling look to her eyes.
It was always there. Just covered by hair.
And In the past, she could, unwittingly, make herself lost to the crowd. A specter, shifted out of their visual wavelength.
She walks on the sand of a less populous beach.
The spring in her step
denied her experience
pain is a glacier
She finds a place set off and away from the masses. By herself.
It¡¯s her comfort zone.
She lays her towel out, reclines on her side, and sorts through her mail.
There''s an autographed picture,
Fennic Shand.
A bill.
A paycheck.
And a letter.
A fresh postmarked stamp
No return name or address.
She does it the same.
She recognizes the writing. But? She got a letter from him just two days ago. This is something new.
Anxiously, but carefully, she opens the seal and reads what''s inside.
She pulls out a paper and pen from her backpack. And thinks of a heartfelt reply.
Her eyes turn up, in a big cheeky grin.
She starts to scribe.
She folds the letter just right and slips it into an envelope. It''s pre-addressed to her friend. She''ll finish the response to the one she was replying to later. This one... has urgency.
As she¡¯s stowing her answer into her pack, to keep it neat and tidy, she hears a whistle.
A hey! Come on over!
Two boys, standing by the waves, are calling out to her. To swim. To play. To have some fun in the sun with them.
¡®When it rains, It pours,¡¯ She muses to herself.
She waves, shakes her head, then lays back on her blanket. Enjoying the warmth on her skin. Wondering what costumes to make for the con. And what New Year''s Night has in store.
At the con!
It finally sunk in.
She joyously pumps her feet and hands to the sand. She¡¯s going to con.
In Hawaii.
With him.
¡°What a strange girl,¡± the shorter boy says to the taller. He thought he was quiet. But the wind carried his words to her ear.
And Wendy Serafina.
Quite frankly,
Agrees.
"Maybe I¡¯ll be blasphemous and be Jaylah for New Year''s. I''d love to see the look on William¡¯s face. Oooh, better yet, a Mandalorian. Yeah! I could hide Jaylah under that. A surprise disrobing, for after the feast. When we''re back in our room," she says, quietly, but still out loud.
Then she thinks, reminiscent on herself, and she smiles, ¡®Wendy Serafina, you¡¯re a strange girl. A very strange girl, indeed.¡¯
High Art Is Knightly Undone
New moon and new year
Together on a dark night
Some bode it omen
The innocent spring
Raindrops of growth and knowledge
Buds flower swiftly
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
A warmth on the air
Summer''s heat is ravenous
Squires, become kings
High art is knightly
Undone by autumn''s fury
Its armor¡¯s tarnished
Winter¡¯s maiden sleeps
Alone on a bed of white
Her court dressed in black
A rose or a thorn
Depending where you pluck it
Life''s, beauty or blood
The Morning After
An agitated squawk, from a nearby window, interrupts the encompassing silence. Forcing one, Sil Morninglove, to stir and wake from the dead.
She felt the pain instantly. Her right eye was sharp. Her head throbbed like too much of last nights wine. Even her breathing was too loud. Her mouth was cotton. And the scent, that carried through her nose, was chemical. Astringent with an itch.
She tried to pull the covers over her head, to block out the hateful rays of the day, but her body relented. Her stomach suddenly churned with an explosive menacing. Her entire being started to spiral around her.
She saw, flashes of light. A sudden, direful brilliance. Faded flickers of illuminated raindrops. Sporadic swells of pulsing reds and oranges confounded her thoughts... Then her world went... bluish green?
"Oh!"
It was just a thought. A recognition of a moment. But in that one exclamation all things fell into place. "Right. Car accident. I was messed up. This must be a hospital."
She calmed some air into her lungs, then out. Searching her thoughts. Trying to jog her memory some more. But running through this mind fog was making her dizzy. Then she hit a tree. A low hanging branch that put her thoughts flat to the ground. And she felt it.
She instinctively reached up to her forehead to feel for the bump and the blood. They weren''t there. She took a moment and blindly triaged herself. Running her hands up each arm, feeling her ribs. There were no bandages.
"No IV? No monitor pads? I''m dressed. But these clothes don''t feel familiar. Am I, dead? In a coffin? No, there''s no light in a coffin. Unless the casket''s open. Am I at my own wake?"
She rubbed her temples with the base of her thumbs. A vain attempt to massage some sense to her brain. She exhaled slowly and tried to open one eye. The one that didn''t feel like a stake was jabbed through it. She saw another eye, looking back. It jumped away with a grievance. A demonstrative display of shock and surprise.
Feather and dust thrust into the air all around her. Adrenaline surged and the pain disappeared.
She looked at the bird. Then the eggs laying right next to her leg. Then the ledge. And the unconventional landscape that sprawled out around her.
She saw the brownish expanse, of the valley below her. Waving in the wind. The sky that looked a little too grey. "Not cloudy, just, less blue." Trees, off in the distance, of such odd colors they''d make autumn''s fire seem cold. Insipid.
She returned her attention to the bird at her feet, its wings still spread in defiance, and she paused. This was not any bird she could recall. She liked oddities. And if this bird existed, anywhere on earth, she''d know it. "Unless there was a prehistoric Galapagos and I''ve just found it." She didn''t believe that. Something was, "not of Earth" here. It could be just a dream. But the air and the resonance felt more natural than ethereal.
"Toto! I don''t think we''re in Kansas anymore," she declared to herself. In an attempt to waylay her fear.
Cautiously, she picked herself up and sat herself on the ground with her back to the rocky wall. Scooching away, just a little bit, from the angry bird and its future children. An offering of space. Still, it eyed her suspiciously. Especially since she was eying its eggs like breakfast. She was starving. Practically drooling.
As the bird slowly made its way over to the pile and was setting itself down over her brood, Sil took stock of her own situation.
Thick leather boots in a muddled brown.
Pants, made of a burlap like cloth that wasn''t itchy. Same color as the darker shade of her boots but solid. Good. Thick. Protective.
A green vest. A weird lime green, vivid, with almost a metallic sheen. "Dragonfly green." It was made of a material like yarn. Knitted like a thick winter sweater.
Underneath the vest was a shirt. The same cloth as the pants, a shade or two lighter brown, with striations of red and stitching of gold.
All her pockets were empty.
She lifted her head up too fast, got swept up in a wave of bewildering emotions, her body jerked forwards, hands to the ground, and she threw up. The bird jerked but didn''t fly away. It just glared.
Thin whisps, of what she though was smoke, rose up from the gelatinous matter she''d just expelled. It was mercurial. Not quick silver, but golden. Luminous and effervescent. Little bubbles popped, releasing their vapor to the wind. It took less than a few seconds for it all to dissipate.
There was a sparkle, off to her left, in a divot in the stone. She turned to look and saw an image of the clouds above, displayed in a puddle, of what she hoped was water. She crawled over to the spot and gave a sniff.
A reflection, so familiar, sniffed her back. "Looks like I''m still me," she said, to her mirror self.
"This smells like water. Good, sweet, artesian water. But I think all those survival shows say you should boil it anyway." She regarded her ledge mate, "But you''d probably be really pissed at me starting a fire up here, wouldn''t you?... Toto."
The bird eyed her, quizzically, from in between its wings.
"Doesn''t matter. I''ve got nothing to boil it in anyway."
She spied a bush with blue berries or fruit, maybe something edible. They were the size of an apple. She plucked one, broke it in half and inspected it. It looked like a blackberry on the outside, but there was one, pea sized, pit in the middle. Instead of the tiny seeds she was used to seeing in rasp or black berries. The meat resembled that of a peach. Yellow with veins of red. And juicy.
She was about to take a bite, when she had a thought. An instinct of self preservation. And she lobbed one half of it over to the bird. The bird cocked its head, at her sudden motion, saw what she had tossed and watched it come to a rest, at the edge of its nest. It smelled the object then hungrily gobbled it up.
"Okay. So its edible. For this bird at least. But some species of animals can eat things that are poisonous or sickly to other creatures. Maybe, just a small bite. Wait a while, if it doesn''t make me sick then, try a couple more. Okay. here goes... I hope I don''t regret this."
Her teeth broke the skin. The spray of the juice on her tongue was sour. She chewed, the first bit of pulp was bitter. Angostura, straight from the bottle. Shortly after she swallowed, a sweet aftertaste filled her mouth, making it water. She fought off the desire to eat some more and concentrated on how she felt. Fully expecting a near future of retching. Or hours of cold sweats and shaking.
While she waited for her body to finally decide, whether she''d live or painfully crawl up and die, she went to the edge of the precipice and looked down.
She wasn''t very good at distances, but she knew an ice rink was two hundred feet, end to end. "If I was in net, I''d say the ground was somewhere around the top of the circles in the offensive zone. Sooooooo... let''s say about a hundred and fifty feet. It''s not straight down, thank God. There''s jutties and steppes. I could make it down below rather easily. If I''m careful."
She stepped back from the edge, put her back to the wall and finished her... "Fru-Berry." A warm feeling came over her. A lazy, but oddly energized, inspiration. She felt sated, ready to take on the day, "I''m definitely taking some of those with me. Sorry Toto, but I think I''ll be raiding your fridge dry tonight." The bird didn''t even blink.
She had decided, that where ever she was, was a beautiful place. Visually speaking. She''d only met the one inhabitant and that''s a sketchy thing to view a world''s temperament by. It was a big hulking thing. A cross between a turkey and a vulture with maybe some pterodactyl in its wings. And even though she was pretty much in its nest, it hadn''t really paid her any mind. It just wanted her, to not be here anymore. Other than the couple of times she had made a sudden movement, it had done nothing more than wake her up, then ignore.
The more Sil planned her descent, the more she talked to herself and to the bird. "What do you think Toto? If I can get to that big out cropping it looks like an easy path from there." She got a feeling the bird was smarter than it looked. At least smart enough to get an idea that Toto meant itself. Any other time she talked, with no audience in mind, it had no reaction. This time, like the others when she addressed it, the bird had picked its head up. And gave her attention.
It cocked its head to the side, then slowly lowered it down again.
''Maybe not smart enough to help me plot the best course though.'' She thought that inside, she didn''t want to insult the creature to its face.
She gathered as many Fru-Berries as she could pocket. Stuffing the rest in her vest, until one fell out of the opening for her neck. Then, feeling bad, she purposefully held it in her hand and strolled over to her avian neighbor. It regarded her cautiously. She stopped, close enough not to be threatening, and held out her hand with the blackish blue fruit as an offering. Toto opened its purple beak and gently picked the morsel from her palm. She felt a tingle, her ears rang. The bird swallowed the treat down, put its head to her breast and let her pet its neck. It gave out a warble, a trill, then it abruptly shoved her away.
"I get it Toto. I''m like the uninvited guest that stayed too long. Thank you. For not killing me this morning. I appreciate it. I hope your children grow up to be as fine a bird as you are."
She bid the... "Rocdactyl?"... adieu. She swore she heard the bird sigh in relief. A grumpy huff exhaled from its nostrils. She waved, lowered herself over the edge, to the closest steppe, let lose her grip, dropped out of Toto''s sight and was gone.
"I guess, The baby bird''s left the nest," she chuckled nervously.
A few hours later, she finally finished her arduous descent. One last drop and she''d be standing on flat solid ground. One hundred fifty feet down ended up being over eleven hundred feet of distance traveled. All together. Some up, most down, or at a slight angle that way. And a lot more sideways than she had accounted for. All of it slow and taxing. She was banged up and bruised.
She stepped off the last flat, onto the dirt. She stretched and her back cracked. "Ahhh! Victorious completion!"
She had stumbled a couple of times. Fell more than she would have liked. She''d even gotten attacked by bees. Big bees. Her clothes were the only reason she wasn''t pierced. But she''d done it. Her first attempt at rock climbing and she hadn''t died.
"Those bees were frightening though. Thank you, whoever dressed me before dropping me here. What is this stuff anyway? Some, low grade armor? This is all too weird. Why am I not freaking out right now. I would be if I was home. Is it because its quiet? Is the city just too overstimulating for me?"
She stopped that train of thought, it wasn''t useful, not productive. She gathered her wits and plotted her course,
"You need to find a place to camp Jai. Nights coming. Let''s see if we can find some rocks that spark, start a fire. Find some direction. To where?"
She smacked her palm to her forehead in frustration.
"Shit! Maybe I should have stayed up on that ledge and looked for smoke. Or lights. Or roads. Dammit! Too late now. I am NOT crawling all the way back up there."
She griped along as she scoured the ground for anything that would burn. She clacked a lot of rocks together. And eventually found two that would suit her purpose nicely. She scratched an itch on her neck. Grabbed her nose, closed her mouth and breathed out through her ears. The tightness popped. The ringing stopped. All was right with the world again.
"As right as this world has been since I got here, anyway."
Back at the small clearing, up against the mountain''s base, she worked towards ensuring her survival. In the circle of stones she had made she stacked some branches and logs in a pyramid. Shoved some dry leaves and twigs underneath and sparked up some tinder.
Fur or cotton, she couldn''t tell. It was just a ball of dry, stringy stuff.
Three or four sparks and it started to smoke. She blew on it long, slow and steady. It flared to life and burned. She put it to the twigs and watched them kindle. A few puffs of air and that little flame became a respectable fire.
She sat back with an accomplished grin. She hadn''t felt this good in a long time.
"Maybe ever."
Her stomach rumbled. Her body ached from the slips, the falls and the strain of the climb. Her muscles burned from the carrying and gathering. So, she ate two of her rations. Leaned up against a tree and drifted off into dream.
When she woke up the sky was still dark, There was a moon, to her left, it was huge. Not pockmarked and gray but ivory, with swirls of jade mist and striations of purple. There was another object on the other horizon, to her right. Bright. About three times as wide as the thumb that she held out before her.
She went up the rocks, she had recently climbed down from, and found a better vantage, about thirty feet high. To overlook the scenery. There was many miles, acres, of that dark brown field, what she knew now was grass, that she had seen waving from the nest above. Trees. Lots of trees on the border. In pastels of rose, turquoise, violet and a fiery dark orange. A few sprawling hills. A cut out in the forest, "Could be a river or a road." And...
"Are those lantern lights? A village?"
Off in the distance. on this side of one of the bigger hills, twelve, maybe thirteen dots of light sat motionless. But not static. They blinked on and off as the trees swayed. Smoke rose, in four different places, that she could see. Barely visible against the night sky. Civilization. She hoped.
"Uncivilization would suck. Maybe I should scout it out, before chancing a meet. It could be a bandit camp. Or sprites. Or any number of things that lure moths to a flame."
She made her way back to her rest, marking the direction of the lights with a big arrow in the dirt. Then she grabbed some stones and filled the pattern in.
"There. Just in case it rains."
She went back to her tree, made herself comfortable and closed her eyes.
The same light, that had woken her the morning before, shone again. Less hateful, this time around. She woke refreshed, with a purpose. She spent a good part of the morning scavenging.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
She found a nice solid stick, "Protection and walking." She picked up a shell, turtle like. About one foot wide and five inches deep. With a bowl shape that fit the palm of her hand. She washed it off in a stream, then carried it, filled with water, back to the fire. After it boiled she took it off to cool.
"Too bad I have nothing to store it in."
She wandered around exploring the flora. She got attacked by a boar like creature that threw rocks at her with its tail. She''d played some baseball when she was younger. So, she took her stance. She choked up on her stick and took two pitches, "Well out of the zone." Then she batted a rock right back at the pitcher. It charged her. She smacked it hard on the head. It stumbled and ran away. She shook her head and hit her forehead with her wrist. That annoying noise went silent.
She went back to the fire and tested the water. It had cooled, so, she sipped it. It tasted... "Oh! This is good."
She finished off her refreshment in quiet contemplative bliss. Then set herself to breaking camp. A few trips to the stream and the fire was quenched. She stored the shell with the Fru-Berries hidden in her vest. She looked down.
"I look pregnant."
She laughed at herself as she covered the wet ash with dirt.
"Just to be safe. Don''t need to burn down an entire forest my second day here. Would probably not endear me to the locals."
She stood up, breathed in deep, positioned her body, in the direction the arrow pointed, and scanned. She spied a natural marker. A big tree with four branches that went up like a w. The only purple tree in that direction.
''Just walk to that.'' she internally commanded. Then she breathed in deep, ''All journeys begin with the very first step.''
She breathed out, and she took it.
She walked quietly and attentive. Listening to the sound of the breeze as it rustled through the thigh high grass. She heard birdlike twurls and tweets, now and then. But pretty much, it was just the wind and the grass keeping her company. She hummed along to the rustle. It had a cadence. A moderate walking tempo, that she found, motivational.
The sun was passing its half way point across the sky when she made the treeline. She found a path and decided to follow it. Off to the side.
"About twenty feet to the left should do."
It wasn''t very long before she found herself on the edge of a clearing. She hid behind a bush and watched. Carefully extrapolating attitudes, intentions and emotions.
The residents, they were human-ish. Some were more like her than others. There were a few tending to a field. Others embroiled in trade. And there was a very disparate group, sitting on chairs and benches, on a porch of a dark brown building. They were very animated in their speech. Not angry, just loud. Boisterous.
She got her nerve up and walked back to the path, she didn''t want to be rude and walk across somebody''s crops, so she entered the polite way. The way it looked like the people of this place wanted visitors to enter.
The path made its way under an arched wooden sign. The alphabet was foreign, the language unreadable. The craftsmanship was beautiful. She crossed under it tentatively. And oddly, nobody paid her much mind. So, she pressed on.
She quickly became entranced by the architecture. The fine joining of planks, the curves and the wooden pins that held them together. Then she found herself standing in front of that very same building where the noisy group was. Their voices carried her out of her reverie. They kept talking, paying her little heed.
She looked up at the sign above the door. And though she couldn''t make this one out either it did have an air of familiarity to it. An upside-down V, with a horizontal arrow over it, inside a symbol that looked like half a sun with three wavy lines underneath. One of the porch denizens, a bovine-headed humanoid, let out a loud sound like a burp, only deeper. With syllables. The rest slapped each other''s backs and laughed. She took notice.
They were all humanoid. Three were birdlike, like the ones tending the field. Four were like her in their features. And there were other mixes thrown in. Canine, feline, bearish. And the bovine-headed one. She caught one''s look, he had leopard eyes.
"What is this place?"
He answered her in a strange broken language. It sounded Slavic with Japanese modulation. Then he shrugged his shoulders. And pointed to the door. When nobody else offered a reply she decided to head inside. Nobody stopped her.
The inside, was nothing like the outside. The dark brown of the exterior walls was only the trim color here, the railings, the crown and floor moldings, the window frames. Everything else, the walls, the floors, was a very light cream. Even the stonework of the fireplace, but that had a quartz-like translucence.
Her attention was seized by a motion in her periphery. She saw a very tall, very thin being, standing behind a counter. It had downy hair, in blues and iridescent purples. A hawkish nose and shocking fuchsia eyes. It had very attractive facial features, overall, and a very pleasant grace when it moved. It reminded her of Luna Lovegood''s innocent air.
It was watching her with expectation with no malice in its intention.
It greeted her in warbles and chirps.
She took a chance and walked up.
"Hello, I''m Jaimie DuFresne. Can you tell me were I am? Please."
The avian gave a shake of her head, pointed a finger up and walked through a door. Returning with an amulet on a lanyard. She offered it to Sil. Who took it, and despite all her RPG reservations...
"This is how all the LitRPGers get cursed. You know? Taking someones offering as them doing you a favor. Picking up a really nice ring in a dungeon and just wearing it, absentmindedly. It''s Pavlovian if you think about it. Even though you know, in a virtual world you should get that thing appraised, the reality is, when it''s you feeling the world, and not a character you''re playing, you tend to slip into the, mini-mart mentality. Nothing on those racks are cursed. That sushi won''t kill me. At least it didn''t yesterday. I mean if you don''t have the head gear on, or a controller in your hand, you might be more inclined to go by the experiences you had in your world, with out them."
...put it on.
Then the bird being spoke again, "Welcome to Soleborne Adventurers Guild, I am Tiffaya, How may I help you?"
Sil smiled brightly, "Help me? I don''t know where to start. But I can tell you about the last day and a half of my life. The first day really. It doesn''t matter. Okay. So I woke up here yesterday, and by here I mean this planet." she pointed in the direction she thought she came from, "That way. Up high on a ledge. By a rocdactyl nest. I have no idea where I am or how I got here."
Tiffaya''s eyes flashed a curious humor. "A what dactyl?"
"A rocdactyl, a big bird with a purple beak and a big belly with huge wings."
"Oh a Klandiscor Topellian."
"I''m going to stick with rocdactyl. So! Yeah! I saw the lights here last night and here I am. With no idea, of where I am."
"You''re in Soleborne, not that that helps you. What do you mean you woke up on this planet?"
"Well the planet I''m from has a moon that''s grayish white and pockmarked, for one. For another the buildings are quite larger and there''s more metal than wood in our transportation."
"Well I have heard of weirder things. This place is magical centric. It wouldn''t surprise me that it could pull someone in. So I take it you do not have a home here, a place to stay?"
"I do not. Unless Toto wants to adopt me. I have no money either. Just these clothes, my stick, a couple of rocks, a shell, and some snacks."
"Well, if you join the guild you can stay in this one free. Other town''s guilds and some inns you get discounts."
"Really. That would be great. How soon would I need to start working?"
"Half those on the porch just sleep and eat here. Sit," the bird turned, pointed at a table, "I''ll be right back."
As Tiffaya disappeared into the room behind her once more, Sil sat down at the offered table and pulled out a Fru-Berry. She was taking her second bite when she heard a gasp.
"What is that you are eating?"
Sil offered her hand so the avian being could see it, "A Fru-Berry."
"That. That''s a Devarass. Where did you get it. Do you have any more?"
"I have a few," she replied, opening up her vest. The shell and the Devarass spilled out onto and across the table. She didn''t even get a chance to empty her pockets.
"Marchine! Marchine! Get in here."
The front door opened and in walked a man, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest and a head the size and shape of a bulls. No horns. She recognized him as the burp-speaker from the porch.
''Minataur? No. They have four legs. Minat-Man? Heh! Minat-Man, I like it. If they have hockey here I''ll name my team the Minat-Men. We could have a bull in a tricorne hat as a logo.''
Before she could choose her teams colors, she was brought back, to the situation at hand, by a voice more melodic than the one she had identified with as the bulls.
"Tiffaya? My lovely?"
"Marchine, look!"
"Devarass? Are those really?"
"Yes." She looked at the anxious girl sitting down fidgeting, "Do you know how rare these are, how... expensive?"
"Five thousand Gurra. You can retire with one." The minat-man blurted out.
"And you have," the bird-girl finished counting, "twenty seven?"
''not counting the ones in my pockets. yeah''
She nodded her head, "Uh huh. Would you like one or two?"
"Marchine go get the Aurator. Tell him to bring the bank."
The minat-man left with a bound in his step. Tiffaya tried to catch her breath. "These are a cure for a disease, a plague. They are an important ingredient in lots of healing remedies. And you''re eating them like they''re Plonderads. You really aren''t from around here. Are you? Come let''s get you registered. So you can get paid and use the safe."
Tiffaya sat down with a thump. All grace gone for the moment. Shock had set in and stolen her energy.
"Name?"
"Jaimie DuFresne."
"Date of birth."
"The twenty seventh of August in the year nineteen ninety three."
"Class and skills?"
"I graduated college and have a degree in computer programming specifically graphics and game engines. I can cook. I played little league baseball, still play hockey and I ski, If you consider those skills here."
Sil looked up and the two, day-glo pink, eyes, that were staring back at her, were staring back with a look of total confusion. The bird-girl''s head shook itself out the haze. She slid the paper across the table, pulled a rune-etched, semicircular stone from her pocket and placed it on a blank square on the application.
"Put your hand on this stone. Please."
A tingle went up Sil''s hand, the hairs on her arm rose. She smelled paper burning. The stone pulsed a soft white light. The bird-girl took Sil''s hand and lifted it off with the stone. Sil took a look at the page.
Name: Sil Morninglove
Date of Birth: All High Suns, Fourth week, Sixth day, the Four thousand Two hundred and Fifty Fifth Crossing - Post Sundering.
Class; Ranger - Level 5
Skills;
Beast Tamer - Grade C
Forager - Grade C
Survivalist - Grade B
Seeker: - Grade A
Horder - Grade D
Pathfinder - Grade C
Weapons Proficiency;
Bow: Undiscovered
Sword: Undiscovered
Shield: Undiscovered
Staff: Send Them Back Lvl 2, Spare the Rod Lvl 2, Silent Walking Lvl 3
Axe: Undiscovered
Magical Proclivity;
Animal: Feather friend - 1st Flight
Fire Sense: Fire Tamer - 1st Degree
Water Sense: Purifier - 5th Wave
Earth Sense: Directional Rhunetype - 5th Strata
Air Sense: Song of the Wind - 3rd Gust, Silence in Sound - 4th Gust
Tool Efficiency;
Crafting: Simple - A Use For The Found, Compound - Fear Not The Dark
Tools: Bowl, Fire stones, Walking Stick/Staff
She read the sheet three times. While it made sense, it didn''t explain itself too well.
"And this isn''t right. My names Jaimie DuFresne," she said, pointing at the error on the top of the page.
"Yes. That''s what it says, Sil Morninglove."
She picked the pen up and wrote her name at the top, "See, Jaimie DuFresne."
"That''s what I wrote."
She looked at the paper again. It was there plain as day, Jaimie DuFresne. Then she read it out loud, while following the words with her fingers, "See, Sil Morn... ing... love. Hmm? Okay that''s going to take some getting used to. Sil Morninglove? I kind of like it. A new name for a new world. Okay. So what''s all this other stuff?"
Before the girl across the table could answer her, the door creaked. Marchine strode in, holding it open for the one he had summoned. He was older, ancient. He wore a faded robe of a shimmery fabric. It looked like ripples on a lake when he moved. He was bald, with a,
''Woah! Heavy monk vibe. Shaolin not Friar Tuck.''
He saw the table and the fruit and his eyes went wide. Not greedily. Stunned. Excited. Relieved. "You are the seller?"
"Yes?"
"I am Aurator Dem Sovartish. I''m prepared to purchase any you would sell. But I only have Gurra and Gems enough for twenty."
"Pleased to meet you, I''m Jai... Sil Morninglove, Can I ask, what you would use them for?"
"The honor is all mine, Sil Morninglove. You can ask and I will answer. Potions. Healing. There''s a whole town, Vesterand, struck with Withering Creep. There''s the Dulanasi, burn victims, and the Vollasin camp that was attacked by Sepiants. Not to mention the watering hole in Brellan that''s become rotten with Diremites. Just five of these would cure them all."
"Okay. They''re yours. All of these... For the price of fifteen?"
"You''ll sell all these, to me, for seventy five thousand Gurra? Why?"
"You''re putting them to good use. And, if I can retire on five thousand, I can do, whatever the hell I want, with seventy five. Deal?"
His eyes lit up. "Deal."
They shook hands. Her neck tingled and her ears rang. She rubbed her neck roughly. "Dammit, That''s like the two hundredth time."
"What is? Are you okay?" Tiffaya inquired.
"I don''t know. Ever since I got here I get these neck tingles, now and then, and it feels like a bell echoing in my head. I thought it was altitude change. The pressure that screws up your ears. You know?"
"Oh. Sorry. I should.... you know what just close your eyes and look up."
Sil did as the bird-girl instructed.
And there, in the top of her mind, was a status chart. Much like the registration form she had just filled out.
A number of the entries were bolder than the rest. Three were in blue, another green.
Class; Ranger Class - Level 7
Skills;
Beast Tamer - Grade C
Forager - Grade A
Survivalist - Grade B
Seeker - Grade A
Horder - Grade A
Pathfinder - Grade C
Merchant - Grade A
Weapons Proficiency;
Bow: Undiscovered
Sword: Undiscovered
Shield: Undiscovered
Staff: Send Them Back - Lvl 2, Spare the Rod - Lvl 2, Silent Walking Lvl 3
Axe: Undiscovered
Magical Proclivity;
Animal: Feather Friend
Fire Sense: Fire Tamer - 1st Degree
Water Sense: Purifier - 5th Wave
Earth Sense: Directional Rhunetype - 5th Strata
Air Sense: Song of the Wind - 3rd Gust, Silence in Sound - 4th Gust
Time Sense: Right Place, Right Time - 4th Epoch
Tool Efficiency;
Crafting: Simple - A Use For The Found, Compound - Fear Not The Dark
Tools: Bowl, Fire Stones, Walking Stick/Staff, Understanding The World (Translation Stone Assimilation Complete)
Title Unlocked: Savior''s Grace.
"Oh! That''s just fucking great. I died and went to the Elder Scrolls. Fus Ro Dah!"
The logs in the fireplace burst into flames.
"Wait that isn''t..." She felt the buzz and the ringing,
Fire Sense: Fire Tamer - 2nd Degree, Unrelenting Fire Voice - 2nd Degree
"...Oh! Crap."
Mora
A voice of thunder
Passionately enthralled
Thrummed across a cloudless sky
I am the spirit of this earth
In a body unchained
Disquieted with memories
Its visions were desperate
Its feelings
Anxious
Hard to control
The aching and the sorrow of its essence
Slowly ravished
Then devoured and fled
Now it haunts me
Here in this place
With sanctuary hard to come by
No peace I find
Only the emptiness
Of what once was
And what in hope shall be reborn
When the winds of the east blow
Changes will come
Seasons out of time
Summer''s snow
Autumn reborn
Winter''s growth
Sleep to Spring comes
The great mother shakes
Fires and floods to cleanse her soul
All sentience quakes
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Prophecy, phantasm or prediction
Words they find me
And on this night
Displace the dreams
Once passionate causes
Long ago abandoned
Now call for their conclusion
A tempest to be reforged
Reborn in steel
With a righteous vengeance to yield
Strength I find in their touch
A rush I feel in my blood
Look within all
Look within
They''re calling
Beseeching
For here is the beginning
And the end
And all that has come before
And all that will be sure to come again
The cycle will wheel ever onward
Even without one as myself for witness
An Angel rebukes
Woeful of tone
Without hope there can be no love
Without love there can be no peace
Without peace there can be no future
Without the future there can be no hope
So it goes
So it goes
The lady''s web is almost complete
The stars in the heavens scream to be seen
Yet night falls and no one is there to greet them
Some entranced by celebrity
Others by images obscene
Some can''t even know they exist
Blinded by the light ever present around their concrete walls
Where has all the wonder gone
When did chivalry die
It''s just sleeping
Within all
Within
Can''t you hear it calling
Or am I the only one to dare this madness
Interpersonal Space
An empty canister of cryocore gel, violently, tumbles through the air, crashing with a bang off the staging room¡¯s steel wall.
The sudden, startling gong, jars everyone¡¯s concentration.
And the once normal toned discourse, taking place by the food crates, is now the center of attention, for every single being in the room.
Then, more shocking than the aluminum on metal clamor, one voice contests. Furious, edged,monotone and deliberate, "This! This right fucking here! This is why I left the U. Ignorant assholes like you. Blindly following the orders of a group of arrogant bastards who think they have the right to dictate what''s best for everyone else."
"Calm down Cap."
"Fuck you Admiral. Seriously. Fuck you. Your beloved organization refused these people assistance for nine years. Nine, fucking years. But now that some scumbag¡¯s kid, happened upon a rock with a similar geo to their old home world. A world they let be decimated by scavengers, because there was no gain in helping them. Now you''re going to intercede? By relocating them whether they like it or not? You''re going to displace these people from another home. One that THEY spent a year and a half bleeding to build. For what? Some good press? Some feel good vids? It''s an ass fucking without a reach around. Not even any lube. So, Fuck you! Fuck the UoSS! And FUCK YOUR CALM.¡±
The man, in the green mechanic¡¯s jump suit, starts for the exit then turns, ¡°And, don''t you EVER call me Cap again. I don''t work for your organization anymore, and YOU haven''t earned that familiarity."
Captain Eric Steward, UoSS - Resigned, walks through the automated door, flanked by two, equally pissed off, identical looking women.
The sliding bulkhead closes behind them. Steel plate meets solid steel with a clarity. A resonance that, in the now perfect silence, resounds, with the same sense of finality as a door slamming shut in ones face.
"That was rude. What the hell is up with him?" asks one of two techs, interrupted from their work by this outburst.
"Bad blood flows thick. And that man seems to have developed cast iron veins." responds the darker haired of the pair, before returning to his task. They''re connecting processors to a massive mainframe. He¡¯s been around. Seen this stuff before. For him, it¡¯s more amusement than distraction. There''s nothing like seeing a higher up get taken down a peg or two.
"Who were the two women that stormed off with him?" The younger one asks.
"His First Mate."
"And the other one?"
"They''re the same person."
"What?"
"You haven''t pieced it together yet? They taught you about the Saturn Fractioning in Leap Annals, didn¡¯t they?"
"No," the tech assistant replied.
"Wow. It¡¯s only been what four maybe five years." The quality control tech shakes his head in dismay, handing a three prong spanner to the younger man. He sighs, "Tighten the jumpers."
¡®Did they just will it away? Might be time to retire and start teaching,¡¯ he thinks to himself. ''Okay. Let the class begin here.''
-------
February 5th, 2117. Saturn''s Rings Mining Facility. Personnel Teleport Pad.
Three beings are checking the upgrades done to a gen five teleport ring. They are, Captain Eric Steward, a lanky, disenfranchised young earth man, in the service of the Union of Solis Systems, commissioned to the Fast Ship, UoSS Excalibur, his First Mate, FO T''ann Selki, a tall, willowy, Dionisian female with olive skin, light blue hair, that borders on white, and piercing metallic-purple eyes, and, lastly, Chief Engineer Dolin Sako, an earth male, a teleport design specialist with an air you can''t mistake as anything but pompous.
T''ann is studying the new codes on the terminal''s display, "There''s no prime factor recalls in the regen system?"
"It doesn''t need them. The memory buffer reroutes the data through the new subslip matrix." Dolin peacocks.
"What happens if there''s a Solar Particle Flare or a Van Allen Event? How would the receiving system know the correct pattern reconstruction?"
"It''s redundant in the buffer packet. It''s been thoroughly tested I assure you," snaps the engineer.
"Last time I heard that," Cap intercedes, an angry yet sullen leer consuming his eyes, "My Security and Specialist officers were irradiated beyond recognition."
-------
¡°Cap went through the transport ring first and everything seemed fine,¡± says the Lead Tech, ¡°But when T¡¯ann went through, there was, an event. A magnetic distortion in Saturn''s rings was amplified by a solar flare. It caused a breakdown in the transit signal. The subslip memory buffer protocol enacted, the redundancy initiated, and T¡¯ann was regenned as two halves of herself.¡±
¡°I was wondering why they looked so much alike. Considering Dionesians never have more than one child at birth.¡± the Assistant Tech contemplates out loud.
¡°According to the psych-med records, they both acted exactly alike. They spoke at the same time, as one, felt the same emotions together, were constantly bumping into each other reaching for the same tool, even when there was two to choose from. Then, and I don¡¯t know the specifics of why, one of them slightly altered her name. And, even though they were still connected by that weird mental bond, they were able to start to do things individually. Not all at once, but over time. Then, a few months after the mishap, they just disappeared.¡±
¡°Hmm. You know I always wondered why there¡¯s no gen fives around? I always thought it odd that there¡¯s still gen fours here and there, and a handful of gen threes in the rougher quads. Gen sixes and sevens are plentiful enough. But I¡¯ve never seen a gen five. Never even had a requisition for a single part for one.¡±
¡°There was only one ever made. The prime factor recalls were reintroduced into the five''s programming. The five was scrapped and the sixth was born.¡±
¡°So this outburst was born of that incident?¡±
¡°No! I believe this out burst was born of this exodus, that incident, and another one that happened many years ago. The irradiation of his SO, who happened to be his fiance, and his Specialist Officer, a little over a year before. He resigned his commission shortly after Saturn.¡±
¡°I probably would have too.¡±
¡°Maybe," he laughs, "but you probably wouldn¡¯t have written your resignation letter in indelible ink on the beaten up body of a Teleportation Engineer.¡±
The spanner releases the last locking cage, securing the last processor in place with a click. ¡°There! Done.¡±
¡°Admiral! If the cryocore tank is full, we¡¯re ready to run prelims.¡±
Back on their ship the Arglwyddes y Llyn, affectionately known as the Lady, Cap and T look out of the forward lounge¡¯s window. There¡¯s a tension in the air. Shared by both of them. It¡¯s stress forged from futility. Made heavier by seeing the hard work of others and yourself go to waste, because of some bureaucratic disregard. But they know it¡¯s more than just that. The Council doesn¡¯t get involved in things, altruistic.
The view before them is disheartening.
Twenty five acres of level ground in a octagonal pattern. Buildings and houses, crafted in an architectural mix of Pagoda and A-frame chalet, almost completed. They''re surrounded by cultivated rows of crops on all eight sides. The streets of cobble are empty. The usual hustle and bustle of three thousand lives, striving for survival with an uplifting energy, is gone. Only silence and stillness remains, as the residents pack their belongings for a trip. A trip they¡¯re being forced to take.
¡°You¡¯re going to do something stupid aren¡¯t you?¡± the man in the middle hears, in stereo.
¡°I prefer to call it devious.¡± He replies.
¡°Well you know I''m with you...¡± his right ear processes.
¡°...no matter how dumb the idea may be.¡± his left receives.
¡°I love you too.¡± He chuckles. He feels a head rest on both of his shoulders. ¡°It might be time to call D¡¯vorrak.¡±
A disconcerted sigh greets him, binaurally.
-------
The loading dock, usually a systematic choreography of stacking and sorting, is now a seemingly organized chaos.
Heavy movers and jostling metal crates bring a symphony of sound. Orders are barked loudly, just to be heard over the clamor.
Hand signals emphasize shouts. Light wands direct motion through tighter, less visually navigable paths.
The klaxon sounds, a portent of the transport gate''s energizing. The LEDs flash green. Another wave of people and supplies are about to be passed through.
Outside, the temporary transport facility, it''s calm. Eerily serene. A shadow descends from the clouds. Stealthy and swift.
The Lady lands in a billow of dust.
Her landing gear hits earth, within the same footprints she left behind a week ago.
Her absorbers recoil as she settles in place. She¡¯s home. And she¡¯s feisty. Seven days in space, traversing through slipstreams while fending off pirates and smugglers, will do that to a crew.
Her black opalescent shell crackles with energy. The static remains of a quick-burst through hyperlight.
Her engines shut down. She sensually slinks to the ground. Her skin turns back to a very soft Ivory. A glimmer of pearl. Her airlock opens with a hiss.
Three figures emerge in full combat gear. Malervion style armor. Gifts from a queen. Matte black ceramic. Demon eye red visors. With, one or two, new scars across the chest plates. Two of the helmets displaying the same.
The three figures walk with a purpose. An intensity.
Up the path. Through the building''s entrance. Down the corridor, striding right into the loading dock. Helmets on their belt. Crossbolt-casters holstered on their backs.
The klaxon blares, prematurely. There¡¯s still fifteen minutes for cool down. This shouldn''t be happening. The LEDs shift. From cool-down yellow, but not to the outgoing green like they have been for days. This time they''re blue.
This is an incoming transport.
The gray metal wall, beyond the empty space of the arch, disappears. It¡¯s replaced by an offset view. Like a picture standing in the middle of the room encapsulated within the grid work of the gate''s outer ring.
Black polished spires of hematite stand proudly among a field of green polished stone. A sky of red. Swirls of dust.
Two humanoid figures. They''re stepping out of the frame.
They¡¯re both draped in cloaks. Dark, silvery and shimmering. They are human. Earthling, but something is definitely off. Their bodies are... odd, less curved. Their skin is thick, leathery. Impossibly so. Their faces and flesh are flush.
One of the black figures is upon them fast. Gathering the feminine one in a loving, longing embrace. She hugs him back. He pulls the other in with them.
He puts his head to their foreheads and addresses them both. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you. Talk later. You''re a little early. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±
¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this?¡± The Admiral demands, but his tirade is cut short when he sees the face of the one in black. And the weapon that''s now readied in his hand.
¡°This is an eviction Admiral. A forcible one. Violent only if necessary.¡± The gate goes cold. The offset, dark landscape is replaced by a familiar gray wall. ¡°You are to cease and desist all operations on my planet. And leave.¡±
¡°Your planet? I¡¯ll have you know we have been in negotiations with...¡± his voice trails off, the implication of the armor bringing an uneasy tension. A realization.
¡°Your negotiations have... been the victim of a hostile takeover. King Salias remembers the pacts. Who forged them. Who kept the oath. And who relented. This planet and all the cadmium belong to me and the Dulfammer now. And the UoSS is no longer welcome here.¡±
¡°The mining rights are ours. We have every right to be here.¡±
¡°Wrong! The mining rights were yours. Yours for as long as Malervia claimed dominion. Just as you swore to aid her in contract to their queen yet refused to assist the King, after she passed. The four of us, on the other hand, honored those words. Our words. Our handshake. Technicalities of Breech I believe the Council called it. The lesson was learned. And now it comes full circle. Tell them not to get any ideas about coming to claim it by force. We¡¯ve already negotiated with the MWF on the ores behalf. Neither the Dullfammer nor I have any need of it. They¡¯ll trade us well. And they¡¯ll mine it cleaner and quieter than you ever would.¡±
The Admiral is silent, grinding his teeth. He scans the room looking to his subordinates for support.
Some are terrified by the sight of the cloaked pair. The two humans they now recognize as a possible health hazard. They''re definitely suffering from radiation sickness. It''s changed their make up.
The others stand, hands locked behind their heads. They''ve surrendered themselves, under gun point.
He shrinks and resolves, ¡°What happens now?¡±
¡°Well. First, I¡¯m getting the people you tried to kick off this planet back. Then you and the rest of these fine, upstanding, UoSS puppets, minus those two techs over there, are going to live on that wonderful world for a couple of weeks. I figure that¡¯s how long it will take for a longhaul voyager to get to you. Don¡¯t worry all UoSS supplies will be left on that side of the gate. This gate will then be disassembled and crated up with their help. And we¡¯ll drop them off at Rudion Station.¡±
¡°This isn¡¯t going to sit well with the council.¡±
¡°The Council? You think we give a fuck about the Council. It¡¯s because of the Council that the four of us, and the thirty five hundred on the other side, have had our lives put in upheaval and turmoil. No other reason. Their impatience and greed. The lack of regard for anything but their self worth and their total disregard for the lives of others. This could have gone a lot worse for you, Admiral. A lot worse. Especially if you had completed your task. I think a couple of weeks on that inhospitable rock, you were so happy to shove these people on, will give you time to meditate on how their actions affect others. Who knows maybe you''ll surprise me and start a rebellion.¡±
¡°Do you honestly think the five of you could hold off a full scale invasion with one ship? You know those others won''t fight. And even with MWF support, if they even came to your aid at all, you¡¯d be hard pressed just to escape.¡±
¡°First off. There¡¯s four of us. T¡¯ann and T¡¯anne are still one person.Secondly the MWF will NOT come to our aid. That''s not a clause in our agreement. And we''d never ask them to. They will, however, wholeheartedly protect their mining interests. Should the need arise... Thirdly, and this you need to pay real close attention to, I found out the true, not so benevolent, nature of the Councils plans here. Do you know how?" He pauses, staring right into the older man''s eyes. "No clues? I''ll tell you then. We have thousands of connections Admiral. Thousands of people on many, many worlds, that we¡¯ve aided and fought beside. And even if they were indirectly involved, the sons and daughters of people we helped. Shopkeepers on planets that we assisted at the time. They were appreciative. Some of those very same people went on to become diplomats, or mechanics, or any of a number of positions in the Union. And because of that, I can guarantee you this, IF the Council, so much as utters the word war, in regards to us, or it even ponders the tiniest act of aggression or malevolence, WE, will be on our ship before the ink is dry, or their thoughts even come to voice. And you¡¯ll not only be looking for new Council members, you¡¯ll be rebuilding the whole damn facility. UoSS HQ included. You¡¯ve only seen the Lady sitting out there looking pretty in her ivory sundress. But when she dons her little black battle dress, you¡¯ll see something new, something stunning. Her dance, is a beautifully, brutal, ballet of bane.¡±
¡°Gates ready love,¡± T¡¯anne declares.
¡°Let¡¯s get this over with. Open it.¡±
The gate to Espes opens and the last UoSS officers and their remaining crates are sent through. Over the course of a few cool downs The Dulfammer are returned.
A long awaited reunion has no need to be second fiddle anymore.
Lead Tech, Orin Mayer watches. He''s heard the stories. A few of the incidentals may have been left out, but for the most part he¡¯s been privy to the tales. A lot more than his underlings he fears.
Incomplete intel. No support. How the man that stands before him had died. Defending the home of those he defends this very same day. How those same people saved him. Gave him back his life.
Rushed decisions. Untested mechanics. How one became two that are still just one.
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New technology. No previous unmanned testing. Computer models don¡¯t get things wrong. Arrogance. I created this and I am special. The Council approves. How the other pair was poisoned by a faulty uranium-cad reactor. A failure. He¡¯s heard all the bullshit before. He can¡¯t believe that they¡¯re both here, both alive. Seven, eight years later. They look much better than the pictures he¡¯d seen. Bubbled yellow skin. Horrific disfiguring over their entire bodies. ¡®The pain they must have felt.¡¯
As if reading his mind, Pam answers a question he hadn¡¯t vocalized. Her voice is dry, ¡°That planet you just saw, through the gate, it''s made up of hematite and jade quartzite with a heavy magnetic field. It nullifies radiation. The Soloarn Priests have a sanctuary there. Queen Nivalesse transported us there herself. It took five years for the swelling to go down and the pain to fade. They prayed over us every day. I don¡¯t know if you believe in that stuff but it works. At least it helped us feel like someone cared. And that alone gave us the strength to fight, helped us live. Just ask Eric he went through the same with the Dulfammer.¡±
¡°Well you both look fucking great,¡± Cap remarks. Stepping in to the conversation.
¡°Oh please,¡± Jay laughs, ¡°I look like the Thing from those old Fantastic Four comics.¡±
¡°With a sunburn.¡± Pamela chides.
Cap takes her chin in his hand, ¡°You''re still beautiful.¡±
¡°No I¡¯m not. I may have been, but not now. Look at me Eric. My eyes are blood red. My skin is rough. My body blocky. Just look at me.¡±
¡°I am,¡± he continues, ¡°I''m looking and I''m seeing. You were beautiful then. An earth girl perfection in my eyes. That red just brings out the green in those eyes. Your still beautiful. Just a different beautiful now.¡±
¡°You say that,¡± Jay intercedes, ¡°But who would have us now?¡±
¡°I would,¡± declare Cap and T¡¯ann in unison. They look at each other and grin.
¡°What are you saying?¡± Pam asks, confused at the easy conviction in their voices.
¡°Look, I know you two had a thing on that planet, and it¡¯s okay I get it, I also know it didn¡¯t last. And you know that me and T kind of fell together through necessity or need, But T¡¯ann never lost her love for Jay and I never fell out of love for you either.¡±
¡°If Jay would have me I¡¯d gladly have him. And I know Cap never stopped loving you. The only question is, do you think you could share a bed with T¡¯anne?¡±
¡°Wait. WITH Eric... and T''anne?¡±
¡°MMHMM!¡± T chimes.
¡°But. You''re the same person, even now. How would that work?¡±
¡°I am,¡± both halves agree.
¡°There¡¯s that right there,¡± Cap explains, ¡°She quite often still speaks as one voice together, it¡¯s like having a head set on when she¡¯s on either side of you. Sometimes one half finishes the other half¡¯s sentences. Which is okay if both halves are in the same room. Annoying if you have to ask her to repeat herself because one is in another place. And unsettling if during a quiet spell she just blurts out half a statement she was saying to someone else. Still, certain traits of her chemical personality are different between the halves now. And ever since we implemented your idea to add a letter to one of their names they have fostered those differences.¡±
¡°How do you mean?¡±
¡°I always thought you were pretty Pam,¡± both halves say.
¡°But the part of me that was attracted to you as more than a friend...¡±
¡°...or a sister..."
"is the part of me that this half harbors.¡±
¡°You mean?¡±
¡°Yes!¡±
¡°T¡¯ann has a nostalgia for Jay..."
"...and T''anne has love for Cap and the hots for you.¡±
¡°And I¡¯m tired of sleeping in the same bed with myself. It¡¯s weird. Always has been.¡±
¡°Kinky and fun...¡±
¡°...but weird.¡±
¡°So,¡± a voice from over by the console interrupts, ¡°Pam is the one who suggested adding the e?¡±
Cap eyes him up, ¡°You¡¯ve been eavesdropping this whole time?¡±
¡°Yeah! This is history. The history kids like this guy don¡¯t get taught anymore,¡± the Lead Tech nods to his assistant, ¡°And by the time we¡¯re through here, my commission¡¯s over. I am not reenlisting. I need to teach. I think, I want to teach now. And stories like this need to be taught. And taught right. Factually. I¡¯m Orin by the way. Orin Mayer¡±
¡°Well stick around Orin and we¡¯ll fill in the blanks.¡±
¡°But be forewarned you may not like what you hear.¡±
¡°Or what you see. But right now, we have our lives to sort out." Cap turns back to his returned crew mates, "Is the radiation out of your systems completely?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
"So you don''t need to go back?"
"No." - "We''re good."
¡°So what¡¯s it going to be? You two going to stick with us?¡±
Jay looks at T¡¯ann with hope, ¡°You really want to get back with me?¡±
¡°Yes. Very much so. We lost too many years together.¡±
¡°And you¡¯re not disgusted by my looks?¡±
¡°I think you still see yourself as you were right after the accident.¡±
¡°And even then, I would have stayed with you. If I could have survived that place I would have.¡±
¡°And what about you Pam?¡±
¡°Are you willing to be with Cap and me?¡±
¡°I¡ Eric are you sure? I don¡¯t¡ feel¡ like I used to.¡±
¡°You¡¯re kidding right? The four of us back together as we should be, with a slight twist? After all the shit we¡¯ve been through? We earned this. Yes, my angel. I¡¯m sure.¡±
¡°Then yes, I¡¯ll stay.¡±
¡°Me too.¡±
¡°Welcome home.¡±
-------
¡°You¡¯re still writing about them in that book of yours?¡¯
¡°Hello Eric. Yes, they''re fascinating. And it''s good you''re here, let me ask you. How would you describe their features, in terms that someone who never left earth would understand?¡±
¡°They¡¯re short, I¡¯ve never seen one above five feet tall. They have soft, medium length fur. It''s coloring goes from a golden honey brown to a rich chestnut. Patterns in all sorts of styles. They¡¯re nimble, simple in their needs. They have ears like rams horns, that curl from their temples to the base of their skulls. Eyes like chipmunks. Koala like noses. Their faces are very round in a cherubby way. Their lips are very much human.¡±
¡°They are a very interesting people aren''t they. Very spiritual. The way they speak their language is avian. And yet they speak ours with such grace. They don¡¯t have any capacity towards violence do they?¡±
¡°No Orin, they do not. They are very spiritual, grounded to life. There''s an energy in certain planets they can pull from. And they are far more intelligent than you or me. Or any human we¡¯ll ever meet. They never had a need for violence, until we showed up. The worst of us anyway. And even then they couldn¡¯t bring themselves to it. There used to be a thousand times as many. Their old home world hummed. It sang.¡±
¡°Is that why you defied orders and protected them?¡±
¡°It was a group decision, a ship wide one. It was the first hint to us that the UoSS wasn¡¯t the benevolent version of Starfleet from those old Earth shows T used to make us watch.¡±
¡°That was during your first months on the Excalibur?¡±
¡°Yeah. I should have resigned the day they gave her seat to me.¡±
¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±
¡°Excalibur was Arthur¡¯s sword, the one he pulled from the stone. Bad omen.¡±
¡°How was it a bad omen?¡±
¡°Arthur broke that sword using it to protect his pride. Much like the council broke our faith, and nearly broke us, just to bolster their egos and profits.¡±
¡°Interesting correlation. Very philosophical.¡±
¡°Not me. That¡¯s all Pam. She''s the brains of the outfit. I''m just the more dubious. Jay says we should have renamed her Caliburn. But I don¡¯t think that sword portended anything good for Arthur either. I mean he did die wielding it.¡±
¡°I thought he died wielding Excalibur?¡±
¡°Depends on the story. After he breaks Excalibur he¡¯s given Caliburn from the Lady of the Lake. Some say it¡¯s the same sword, just a different language translation, but it has different magics. So even if it was Excalibur mended, the fact that it was different at its core, means it¡¯s wasn''t truly Excalibur anymore.¡±
¡°Hmm. Speaking of those two, how are they doing these days?¡±
¡°Pam and Jay? They¡¯re doing good. They have their moments. Pains now and then. They¡¯re not used to the physicality of this place yet. The grav on Medella is a little lower than here. But they¡¯re in good spirits. Getting stronger by the day. I can see more of their old selves coming out day by day. Pam is finally accepting that I find her sexy as hell. She started sleeping naked again. T¡¯anne¡¯s happy with that too. But every now and again they still get a look. Like this is a dream that they¡¯ll wake from¡ but we can usually snap em out of it... How¡¯s your Padawan fairing?¡±
¡°Padawan?¡±
¡°Sorry. T is an old earth science fiction fanatic. And we were together at the Academy before we served on the Ex. I¡¯ve seen a lot of the vintage vids. You should check them out sometimes. Just don¡¯t get too absorbed in the technical stuff. It''ll drive you crazy. A Padawan''s an apprentice.¡±
¡°Oh. You mean To¡¯Ak. He¡¯s loving it here. Thanks for letting him stay. Thanks for letting me stay too¡ He¡¯s learning how to farm. Seems to enjoy it more than all the engineering he did. I think he has a crush on Teyssa.¡±
¡°She¡¯s a cute little furball that one.¡±
¡°That¡¯s rather rude.¡±
¡°No it¡¯s not. You know they call us surteks right? Do you know what that translates as?¡±
¡°I thought it was off-worlder or their version of earthling.¡±
¡°It means fake furred. Because of the clothes. They can take a joke and give it back. And so can we. I mean Elder Surrah and I spent hours one day insulting each other and laughing our asses off. God I miss him.¡±
¡°Is he one of the ones who brought you back?¡±
¡°Yes. Unfortunately he died before we could get there this time. He would have liked this.¡±
¡°Sounds like you don¡¯t want to talk about that experience. The dying and coming back I mean.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t remember it to talk about it. I remember knowing I was dying. The wound was bad. Watching my body get left behind as I floated away. Being in a warm comforting place. Then hearing Pam¡¯s voice. And that strange lyrical warbling they do tugging me back. An energy engulfing me. Then I woke up. If you want that story you¡¯ll need to talk to Pam.¡±
¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t.¡±
¡°I did want to ask you something personal though.¡±
¡°Shoot.¡±
¡°It¡¯s about T¡¯anne.¡±
¡°Figured. Go ahead.¡±
¡°If, like you say, she¡¯s one being. Doesn¡¯t the ummm...¡±
¡°Sex get weird?¡±
¡°Yeah. I mean if she can feel and experience both halves of herself doesn¡¯t that get awkward at times?¡±
¡°Not at all. If you noticed when ever I talk about the two halves together I call her T. When I talk about the half with out the e it¡¯s TeeAhn and the half with the e is TeeYan.¡±
¡°I did pick that up.¡±
¡°Good. Well if you ask her halves they¡¯ll tell you that, even though they share a mental link they don¡¯t necessarily need to share the here and now across that link. While T¡¯ann is over there reading a book and T¡¯anne is off swimming, it¡¯s T that¡¯s receiving the inputs and experiencing both. And depending on the circumstances each half can either experience it in the background or experience it full force. It took a long time for her to develop that sense of control. Allowing both halves to grow independently, while still being her. Yes, she may have two different bodies and both of those bodies may have slightly different personas but they still share one common mental connection. She is, quite literally, the one person, in the entire universe, that can be at two places at once. The way she described it to me one day was simple. You have your left hand and your right hand and your head, If, say... your left hand is stung by a bee, the head knows, so the right knows too, it just doesn''t feel it. Unless it hit a nerve that travels. Most of the time now, for the last year or so, they are like separate beings. Twins with a much higher developed sensory bonding. Until they¡¯re sitting next to each other, then T usually makes her appearance.¡±
¡°And that¡¯s when they start talking in unison?¡±
¡°Nah. That happens all the time. Sometimes you¡¯ll be in a room with T¡¯anne and ask her a question and T¡¯ann will answer it to whoever she¡¯s with. Depends on which half had the first hand knowledge or experience. The other one knows too, and will answer if you repeat the question, but the half that learned it will usually be the one to answer first.¡±
¡°That¡¯s interesting.¡±
¡°You think that¡¯s interesting. Try working alongside one half while she¡¯s having a conversation with the other half who is all the way across the compound from you. Or, like the other night, I was with Pam and T¡¯anne, cooking dinner, when we heard, Eric can you come to Jays for a minute. So I went to Jays and T¡¯ann handed me a bottle of spice we needed for the recipe. We didn¡¯t know we were out of it but T did. Needless to say, there are NO secrets between us.¡±
¡°Sounds like it comes in handy though.¡±
¡°It sure does. Especially when you¡¯re trying to steal a Rvernik from a warlord and bring it through a slipstream passed scavengers and pirates. So you can trade it for a Zelphian artifact.¡±
¡°Why the hell would you want to do that? And where the hell did you even hear of an owned Rvernik? They¡¯re nasty bastards. I wouldn''t want to be on the same planet as one never mind have it on my ship.¡±
¡°You gotta do what you gotta do. It''s like I told the Admiral. We have lots of friends. And some of those friends are a little unscrupulous. Not bad people, but they don¡¯t mind doing bad things, to, bad people. And one of those friends had something a certain king wanted. A king that had a planet under his auspices that we wanted.¡±
¡°So that¡¯s how you won King Salias over. Bribery.¡±
¡°Oh hell no. To be honest with you Sally would have probably given this place to us just for asking. Out of loyalty and kinship. Or just to fuck over the UoSS. I know you noticed the Queen¡¯s Guard armor. Do you think we bought it? Or received it just for forging that treaty with the U?¡±
¡°I thought you got it when you broke ranks during the Tyranor conflict and aided Malervia despite being told the treaty was null.¡±
¡°No. We got this because of something that happened long before that. It¡¯s also what prompted Queen Nivalesse to sign the damn pact in the first place. And go out of her way to take Jay and Pam to Medella. We were on a transport run when we heard a distress call. A merchant ship was under fire. We showed up took out a couple heavies and a quickskipper and unknowingly saved her son from a marauder attack. It was years later that we got asked to bring the treaty to her. Since we were in good favor. And who do you think is sitting right by her side?¡±
¡°Prince Salias.¡±
¡°Now, King Salias.¡±
¡°So why the hell did you go through all that trouble when, like you said, you could have just asked?¡±
¡°We needed to burn off steam. Fuck stuff up. It was fun. And a trade is better than a favor, among friends. Top that off we needed to distance ourselves for a bit. If we had stayed here, you all might be fertilizer right now. And we¡¯re tired of the senseless loss of life the Council seems to thrive on.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re as bad as you think they are. But judging by your history I can see why you would. Wait? Doesn''t it seem a bit hypocritical to talk about the senseless loss of life when you went out of your way to kill how many to get this artifact?¡±
¡°You think? Hmmm. So you''re saying, we should have stayed here and killed a bunch of know nothing puppets, whose only crime was believing they were doing the right thing, rather than rid the space lanes of some murderers, torturers, rapists, slavers and the like? The same scumbags you swore to protect others from?¡±
¡°Well when you put it like that.¡±
¡°T told you there would be some things you didn¡¯t want to hear.¡±
¡°And you told me there would be things I didn¡¯t want to see. Those vids of Jay and Pam in the cockpit were horrifying.¡±
¡°I gathered, by the way you were talking and staring at them when they stepped through the gate, that you had already seen the post accident photos. You looked amazed at their condition. The others looked scared, almost appalled. That vid was only more disturbing because you got to hear their screams. And see the blistering and the blood. The same way we did, in real time. Now imagine being there and being able to do nothing. But that''s not what I was talking about when I said that. THIS is what I was referring to.¡±
¡°What is all this?¡±
¡°It¡¯s the recommendation to the Council two days before their approval of the test flight. The recommendation to the Council before the Saturn Teleport test. The Councils true reason for not honoring the treaty with Malervia. The geological survey of Espes, the planet they were going to send the Dalfammer to. The plans for the planet Radgrid Seven, the one your sitting on, right now. And the one you should really be interested in, the plans they had for you all, if the job had been completed.¡±
¡°How did you get these? They¡¯re not copies. They¡¯re originals.¡±
¡°You do enough good things, for the right people, and the right things for the good ones. You¡¯ll find one day it comes back, paid in kind. Especially if it involves sticking a poker up a tyrant''s ass. You wanted the blanks filled in on that history you cherish. There you are.¡±
¡°Thank you Eric.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t thank me. I haven¡¯t done you a kindness. Well we did, but this is not it. You¡¯ll know what I mean after you process it. I¡¯ve had years to digest this crap bit by bit. You¡¯ll have mere hours to choke it all down. And Orin," he pauses, holding out his hand, "Call me Cap.¡±
An American Girl
"If your friends were jumping off a cliff would you follow them?"
"If my friends were jumping off a cliff they''d be following me."
That was the last time Ellen Valentino''s parents ever asked her that question. It was also the first time she ever saw me spit coffee across a room. I laughed so hard I thought I''d broken a rib.
When we were finally putting the seat belts on, and the tears had stopped streaming down my face, she asked me why I thought her comeback was so funny.
That answer was rather simple to give. You see it wasn''t the look of shock and awe on her father''s face, or the one of utter surrender on her mother''s. No. The reason, was a matter of fact, "That was the same answer I gave my parents when they asked me that very same question."
I was fifteen. And they pretty much had the same reactions.
Ah! Memories.
"I knew we were friends for a reason," she laughs.
I caught her view in the seat next to me. She had her head out of the window enjoying the breeze on her face. Her blonde hair flowed over the headrest. The wind whipped it back, revealing about four inches of skin, shaved from her temples to the base of her skull, curving sensually above the tops of her ears.
She pulls back in, looks at me and grins. It''s a forcible demeanor. Think, Bellatrix Lastrange playing Jack Torrence. "Here''s Johnny!" She''s about to be up to no good.
She is a beautiful girl. Stunningly so. You''ll never see her wear even the slightest hint of make up. Faded blue jeans and tank tops are her go-tos.
Particularly mine.
I don''t mind. They look better on her than they do on me. Particularly from the side. That sultry, diminutive curve that arcs just under the fabric. She buys me new ones all the time because she''s just going to steal them anyway. But they never quite fit me the same, on the random occasion they made it back.
She stands tall. And at five foot nine that isn''t very hard for her to do. She weighs all of one hundred and fifteen pounds. All muscle. Karate, kickboxing and weekends tossing hay see to that. She has small but firm boobs, that sit proud on her chest. And she has a really tight butt. I once joked you could probably break a bottle off it.
The girl is sharper than a razor.
And nuttier than chunky style peanut-butter.
She was a four point oh student all the way through high school. And an impressive four point five on the crazy scale. Out of five.
She is completely undisturbed at the way the rest of the world looks at her. Modern proprieties hold no sway over her judgement.
She looks at life with a critically, discerning leer.
The first day I met her was my seventh day in a new school. Tuesday. Lunchtime. The last period to get some institutionalized sustenance.
I was feeling antisocial.
New kid syndrome. Some of you know how that goes.
The one kid that had even bothered to talk to me ended up being a douche-bag. The kind of kid who comes to your house unannounced, sidles his way into dinner, then steals the change from your car on his way out.
Which is exactly what he had done the night before.
I knew if I found a table with any empty seats he would make himself at home. And I just didn''t feel like dealing with his shit. Or anybody else''s for that matter.
I was pondering my options when I found myself fixated on her presence. I think my eyes intuitively went right where they knew sanctuary would be. She always ate at the same spot. She always sat alone. Always.
Everybody in that place was scared shitless of her.
At first I thought it was her looks they were afraid of. A trope. The girl so beautiful that no one would approach. It seemed a common theme in movies those days. Art imitates life. Isn''t that what they say. What they don''t tell you is, life always find''s a way to imitate art right back.
But then I considered the possibility that her father may have been a mob boss. Or a gangster. Or maybe even an assassin.
Bald Hitman, not hooded Creed.
But then I heard the nicknames they cautiously whispered. When they talked about her after she was passed. And was far enough away that they thought they couldn''t be heard.
Vicious Valentine. Psycho Barbie. Bloody Buffy. That last one was my absolute favorite.
''Fuck it.''
I walked right up and plopped myself down in the seat directly across from her. She looked up from her book, laid eyes on me, then went right back to reading whatever text she had been so absorbed in.
I was halfway through a thinly sliced, round meat, thing, smothered in gravy. Stuff they tried to pass off as food. Last period lunch sucked. You took the least unappealing thing they had left. Or starved. No pizza squares. No burgers. Not even spaghetti and meatballs. All of those choices were always gone.
''Hot open turkey? Since when is turkey grayish-brown?''
It was that or tuna surprise, in a hot dog roll. I didn''t want to know what the surprise was. One of the kids on line in front of me said something about getting your stomach pumped or not. Made perfect sense to me. Especially at this time of the day.
Something moved into my space.
I saw the black and white of a text book come into view at the top of my tray.
I took a glance and she was pointing her finger at a specific sentence on the page. Tapping.
Her fingernails were clean, unpolished, short and rough. There was dry cracked skin, a suggestion of callouses, on the inner edges of her fingers, just before the web.
It took a few seconds for the words printed on the leaf to sink in.
Under the sponsorship of Queen Isabella of France, Christopher Columbius sailed in search of a new trade route with the East indies.
I looked up, with squinting eyes, "Well, that doesn''t seem quite right. On quite a few of levels."
"I''m not crazy then? It was Spain? Right?"
"I don''t know. I never heard of the Columbius guy."
She looked at the sentence again, "Hmmmm. So the same time that Christopher Columbus sailed from Spain, a Christopher Columbius sailed from France. What are the odds of that? That''s gonna be a real pain in the ass to remember for a test."
"Never mind the fact that this Isabella chick was screwing two different Kings in two different countries. At the same time."
"What a two-timing hooker. That must have been a bitch, keeping that a secret." She scratched her chin with her thumb, " I wonder what happened to that Columbius guy? He just disappears from history. You think, maybe, pirates?"
"Devil''s Triangle."
"Devil''s Triangle pirates from Zeta Reticuli."
She went quiet. One arm on the gray laminate. Her chin propped up on her fist. Staring at me while I finished my lunch.
When I was done I leaned back in my seat and caught her sizing me up.
She cocked her head to the side, curious, "What''s your story?"
"Lord of the Rings. Yours?"
"One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Haven''t you heard?"
" Ah! Juicy Fruit."
Her eyes shot open and she bit back a laugh, trapping it behind an intrigued grin, "That was the movie, not the book. Close enough though. You pass." Then she leaned across the table and kissed me, quick, right on the lips. "You''ve got balls," she stated, matter of factly, "I''m Ellen. See you for lunch tomorrow? Strider."
It took nearly a whole second for my brain to reboot, "You''ve got boobs. I''m Chris. Why the hell not.... Chief."
She shot me a look and smiled. Then she gathered her stuff and walked out.
The crowd at the door parted before her. Like the Red Sea for Moses and the Israelites.
Then they parted for me as I walked out a few minutes behind.
Seems, crazy, is contagious. Or I was now guilty by association. I honestly didn''t care. It was nice not having to say excuse me fifty times. And be ignored and bumped into for twenty.
Even douche averted his eyes, turned around and slunk away. But that could have been guilt. Though honestly, I doubt that.
I never quite made it to the lunchroom the next day. Or the day after. Or many days after, if I''m being honest.
She had caught me in the hallway outside, put her right arm around me, merged her tongue with mine, and dragged me out of that place. To "The Hill".
That moniker was a bit of an exaggeration. It was little more than a bump with a tree on it. Over by the parking lot. Off the football field. Still it was a nice place to go NOT to have a smoke or a toke. We just didn''t do those things back then and besides it wasn''t allowed. Wink, wink. That was sarcasm.
A pair of deliciously greasy sandwiches emerged from one of those round top construction worker lunchboxes. She had brought lunch. For the two of us. Philly style cheesesteaks. I asked her to take a bite of mine, just to prove it wasn''t poisoned. She punched me in the shoulder. Took a good humored bite out of the middle, then made me take a bite out of hers. Just to even things up.
When we were done, she sat on my lap and curled herself into me. "I spent three weeks at the Letch."
"What''s that?"
"An Asylum."
"They fix you up?"
"I don''t think there was anything that needed fixing. Truth be told."
"Well, I always had the feeling, if a Psychiatrist said you were normal, it only meant you were the same fucked up as the majority of the people on this maniacal space rock."
"Don''t you want to know how I ended up there?"
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
"Considering that your hand is gripping my crotch, I don''t think I want to rile up the crazy person."
"You''re an ass," she snickered, "Besides, you have one hand up my shirt and the other down my pants."
"They were cold. And you are really toasty."
"They do say Psychos run hot."
"Hmm. I''m liking crazy more and more every day."
She sighed, put her nose to my cheek and gave me a tender kiss. She put her head back on my shoulder and spoke. Her voice was distant and low. "I stabbed my next door neighbor with a croquet stake."
"Ahhh. So that''s where Bloody Buffy came from! Fucking ingenious. No wonder this school is rated top five in the country."
"Wanna know why?"
"Look. You''re the most comfortable person I''ve ever been around. I mean I''ve only known you two days but it''s like we''ve been us for a long time. Always have been. Even the boob in my hand feels like it belongs there. It just feels right. You don''t need to justify yourself to me." I gave her a squeeze, "You have really nice nipples by the way."
"Thank you. Glad you approve. You have a pleasant feeling dick."
"Thanks. Speaking of can you maybe adjust it up a..." She slid her hand down my pants and adjusted me to a more comfortable angle. "Ahhhh. Much better." I sighed. "Thank you. You''re the best."
"No problem. Anytime."
"I''ll hold you to that."
"No! I''ll hold YOU to that." The Cheshire cat would have been jealous at the teeth I was seeing.
She put her hand back on the outside of my jeans, over my zipper. Brushed her head up under my chin and continued, "I found three dead dogs in the woods behind my house that summer. One day I heard something whining. I grabbed the stake from my yard, you know for protection. Little girls going into the woods need weapons. To fend off bears."
"And wolves," I interrupted.
"Do I look like Little red to you?"
"You do look good enough to eat."
"Jack ass. Anyway. When I got close to the noise I saw him choking a poodle."
"That sounds like a euphemism."
"Hah. It does. But It''s not."
"Did he live?"
"Yeah. I was ten. Just kinda jabbed. He was hospitalized though. I broke a rib, punctured a lung and gave him a whole bunch of stitches. I guess angry adrenaline packs a punch. He lied and said I was the one that was killing the dogs and that I got angry when he tried to stop me. I had a stake and I guess a really pissed off look. He had blood, tears, a reputation and standing."
"I''m guessing it took three weeks for them to figure out you weren''t that way?"
"No. It only took two days. It was a court order. It took the police three weeks to prove it was him. I''d probably still be in there if the doctors hadn''t vouched for me. Between my parents calling every single day, and the doctors getting on the judge''s ass, they didn''t have much choice but to consider my case a priority."
On rainy days we''d eat in her car. She was a year ahead of me and I only had my learners permit. I wouldn''t get a license until I was almost eighteen. I got stuck with the same tester three times. He hated under age male drivers. I failed one test for running over a paper bag that blew in the street.
She started taking me to her Aunt''s farm on the weekends a couple of weeks later. To help out. Her Uncle had died and it was too much for the woman alone. She was a nice lady. Tough, demanding, but nice. And a great cook. My parents were more than happy to get a break from me. And she paid us good. So they were even happier not having me ask for cash all the time.
The first time we adventured into the realm of sex it was late November. You''d think all the touching and groping we did, all the time, would have teased us into a frenzy long before then. But the way we touched and talked, like that first day on the hill, in her car and any of the other places we could get away with it, that actually had seemed to calm us. There was no rush. It was an intimacy that didn''t need to have a pace.
It was a cold, wet, icy Friday night. Her Aunt was visiting a sick friend in Jersey. We had our list of chores and she was going to cook us a feast when she got back on Sunday.
Some time around midnight, I felt her crawling under the quilt next to me on the pull out sofa. The fire was still crackling but her body was warmer than the heat the burning logs gave off. She settled around me with a radiance.
I could smell her need.
It was intense.
I wrapped my arms around her and realized she was completely naked.
We made love for hours. It was slow, deliberate, pleasing and passionate. Neither of us had ventured down this path before, but together, it was like just like breathing. Natural. With a flow.
I woke up the next morning and she was on top of me. Kissing me with the dawn in her eyes. I was inside her, rising. Like the sun.
We got up and made breakfast. We ate in the nude on a bench by the window. We cleaned up the living room, showered together and dressed each other. Very slowly. Then we went about our day. Feeding and watering the animals. Milking the cows. Pulling hay bales from the loft to make them new beds. And cleaning up their shit. There was always tons of shit.
When night fell we had dinner and watched TV.
Nothing had changed. There was no grand revelation. No embarkation onto foreign shores. Our comfort and familiarity was still strong.
She was there like she always had been. Sitting on my lap with her head on my shoulder and her hand on my crotch. The only thing different was the lack of clothes. My hands still touching the places where they felt they belonged. She was their home. She made me hers.
We slept together that night. Just slept. Forehead to forehead and dreaming.
Janie, her aunt, came home around noon on Sunday. She kept looking at us with a smirk all day. Overtly, whenever we were in the living room with her. There was an essence that permeated the room. A certain undeniable scent that centered on one particular piece of furniture. We had cleaned the sheets and the patchwork but somehow we hadn''t thought to spray a little freshener on the couch itself.
She never said a single word to anyone.
We even found ourselves in the house alone on a few more occasions. She even cleaned out the guest room for me. It had a pass through bathroom to Ellen''s. We never took advantage of that situation though. It would have been rude.
And we had the hay loft. For times when the urges over-ruled the fatigue of the toil.
Now, here we are, seven years later. Traveling down the road toward another crazy destination. Skydiving. I had gone once. While she was at college. She was taking agriculture classes, animal husbandry and business. I was working the farm full time.
This trip was the impetus that drove her parents to ask that question about who follows who.
The one that ended with me cleaning coffee off of their kitchen floor.
Our folks keep asking us when we''re getting married. I don''t have the heart to tell them we already are. Have been since my eighteenth birthday.
We went bungee jumping that morning. Had lunch with my parents, a little after noon, to celebrate. She bought me a rifle. A Henry 45-70, lever action. After lunch with the folks she took me rock climbing upstate. When I got to the top I was met by a sight that made me pause. A portable church box on a stand, a justice of the peace. A picnic table with food and drink. And two hang gliders. Prepped and ready to fly.
I was proposed to before I had fully stood up on the ridge. I was a married man twenty minutes later. We ate. And jumped off that cliff together. Strapped to two seasoned pros.
When I say the girl is crazy I wholeheartedly mean it. Spontaneous. Unafraid. Unashamed. Like it should be.
And apparently I''m not far behind. I had a good teacher. Well maybe not a teacher, more like a partner in crime that nurtured my better attributes.
"STOP. Turn around." I hear from above me. In a loud jovial tone.
I look up to see what the commotion is about and spy the bottom of two perfect breasts, top-lit, through the sunroof. It''s captivating. Her tops off. She standing on the seat.
That belly makes me growl.
I would never have believed you, if you said a belly could turn me on as much as hers did at just that moment.
I pull the car to the side, kiss her stomach and pull a quick u turn. No questions asked. We never asked.
A few hundred feet back, down this four lane road, and she''s pointing to the right. I pull over by the guardrail. She jumps out and grabs her tank top, off of a bush, on the other side of the metal divide.
It''s actually my tank top. Semantics.
A trucker sounds his appreciation. She twirls the shirt over her head in triumph.
We laugh.
She slips into the passenger seat, pulls her pants off and sighs.
She closes her eyes and seat dances. The song, ''Slow Ride''. The band, Foghat. It''s blasting on the radio. The dance? It''s more of a stretching, twisting wiggle. But it''s the sexiest dance I''ve ever seen. Raw. Unbridled. Happy.
"Hmmm. You trimmed. Is that a heart?"
"Mmmhmm. You like?"
"I love."
"I see a bit of pit hair growing too."
"Yeah. I figured I''d give that a whirl. I hate shaving under there. It gets raw." She stretches her arms up high. "Whatdaya think?"
"Just more things on you to play with and run my fingers through. You gonna let the legs go too?"
"Hmm. I don''t know. Never thought about it. I''m not really keen on that look. I think it looks dirty and not in the sexy way."
"I think your hair is light enough and fine enough. You could probably make it look hot."
"Do you want me to?"
"Could be different."
"Sure. I could always shave it if I don''t like it. Maybe go back and forth. I do like the smooth feel. But. Why the hell not."
The car ride ends in a wide open field. She dressed while I found us a spot to park.
We stretch and make our way to the sign up office. It''s a trailer. There are two of them we have to go to. Well the office is more of a repurposed food truck. The place for the paperwork and the ''try and scare you out of this endeavor'' vid, is the trailer.
Not a trailer home, an actual trailer, from an eighteen wheeler, with the wheels off. Up on cinder blocks. It looks like so many of the cars, on the side of the deserted streets of Hunt''s Point, that I used to see as a kid while going to my grandparents house in Brooklyn.
Their burnt out shells still haunt me to this day.
Inside, this shoddy make shift school, there are some seats and tables and a tiny TV - VCR combo.
The tape starts.
Static and a wobbly picture.
Distorted people take shape.
The color''s so faded you can barely tell the blues and reds from the gray.
A voice comes through the speaker, warbled and out of pace. Warning of peril.
Disfigurement.
DEATH.
I look to my left and she''s smiling. It''s that, I''m up to no good beam that I''m so used to seeing just before she says, "Hey let''s go....." or "Fuck yeah! I''m in. Let''s do that."
Or when she hands me her tee shirt to hold onto from the back of the motorcycle.
I''ve seen it in the mirrors on the handlebars.
"That video was shocking." She mocks.
"Yeah! Who knew falling from fifteen thousand feet could be so dangerous."
We get suited up in zip front jumpers. Unceremoniously stuffed and bound into harnesses. They are hella uncomfortable in the crotch. She whispers she''s glad she trimmed. I''m not glad. Not because she trimmed but because I didn''t. I should have remembered.
There''s a pull.
We board a twin prop plane, squatting. An otter I think they called it.
"Funny, I didn''t know an otter could fly."
"Maybe they let it go for a swim in the pond when it''s done for the day."
We ascend fast, in a spiral. All we can hear is the engine at first. Then the moaning of metal takes our ears. The tink, tink, tunk of what sounds like rivets popping. Time to go. Couldn''t have come sooner.
Just like the first time I''m out the door before my tandem counts three. She''ll give me hell for it on the ground just like the other guy did.
The wind rushes past. Ten thousand feet fly by in heart beats. I pull the t-handle at five. The canopy opens with a ruffling and a whoomf. The world stops coming, then pulls away.
Freedom.
Weightlessness.
Clarity.
Invincibility.
I wish I could stay up here for days.
But gravity has jurisdiction over those desires.
"I couldn''t wait to get off that thing. I swear I heard a piece fly off. I thought if I didn''t jump I was going to die..."
"When the plane broke apart on the way down and you ended up in a fiery heap on the ground?"
"YES!"
"That''s exactly how I felt my first time on that relic."
"Maybe it''s psychological? Incentive to jump."
"Makes sense. It worked on me. Both times."
She grabs me by the hand, pulls me into the woods and takes me right then and there, in the leaves. One hundred feet from the runway. Fifty from the pro-shop.
Only one person has a comment as we walk back to the car. And all she says is,"Eat, Fuck. Skydive," right as we''re passing her by.
"Catchy."
"I think we''re doing it backwards."
We go into town to get some heroes. Meatball parm. I drive us over to a nice little park with a pond. The lady at the deli told me about it the last time I was here.
There''s a little spot with a rise and a tree on it. Just like old times.
She sits on my lap with her head on my shoulder. One of my hands is under her shirt, a warm, perfectly hard nipple pokes my palm. My other hand is nestled under the waist band of her jeans, my fingers are teasing at her heart shaped bush.
She has her hand on my crotch. Like always.
"So! Bloody Buffy. Vampire slaying next weekend?"
"I was thinking whitewater rafting... In the nude."
"You can take the girl out of the country. But you can''t take the country out of the girl."
"Why would you want to?"
I honestly say, "I have no, fucking clue."
Zero Point
Zero.
It¡¯s a quite common number.
Constant.
Solitary.
Barely ever romanticized about.
It''s not very often that it¡¯s written about in poems. Or has it praises sung, haughtily, by bards. Unless the prose is of loss, or feelings of inadequacy.
Or depression. Then, even One has it beat.
If you should take the time to think about it, you might find, it doesn''t really have a place alongside the other numbers. Technically speaking. It¡¯s neither odd nor even. Sure, there are those that would argue, that since it can be divided by two without a fraction remaining, it¡¯s even. But in reality, you can¡¯t have half of nothing. Or a third, fourth, or any other denomination you wish to quantify it. Three sixty-fourths of it is exactly the same amount as three-quarters of it. Which, ironically, makes it the easiest thing to share.
You can give someone the biggest piece of it and not have any less for yourself. In fact, you could give them the whole of it and still have it all in your possession. You could even share it with everyone in the universe, in equal proportions, and never run out.
If you were to describe it by its position in the numerical order of things, you could classify it as even. Six then four then two then zero, works. But if you look at it in the context of mathematical truisms, those being, add two evens get an even, add two odds get an even, add an odd and an even get an odd, then it¡¯s both.
It¡¯s Infuriating. Problematic.
Another, and just as perplexing, truth about Zero is, that it can be both the Alpha and the Omega. The beginning and the end. The start of a measurement of time, for an action to complete, or the end of a countdown, until a scheduled event commences. Laps on a race track. How fast an arrow went from bow to target. The celebratory chorus of the masses on New Year''s Eve. The anticipatory tension of a manned rocket launch.
In addition to all this, should we decide to toss negative numbers into the mix, you may find, it¡¯s directly in the middle of things. A gateway. A portal. A point of transformation between two infinitely diverging breadths. The red and the black. To have or to owe. Sea level, above and below.
Life and death.
It¡¯s a simple number, in and of itself. But should you have too much time on your hands to ponder it, it can surely be one of the most complex to humor your thoughts with.
More complicated even, than Pi.
And. these intricacies only get even more exaggerated when you take into account that it is represented as an ovoid. An ellipse. An illustration of a concept that has no beginning or end. A continuation. A revolution.
It is the one integer, in this unfathomable expanse of innumerable celestial bodies, that is both linear, like time, and cyclical, like almost everything else in existence.
And if biblical recounts hold any veracity, Zero is the void and the point from whence everything sprang forth. A vacuum that forged a thought.
I am.
It is also, and this is the most important aspect of it in terms of this story anyway, the name of the girl, sitting in the captain¡¯s chair, whimsically, pondering these puzzlements. While blankly staring out of the viewport of a liberated class five Starskipper.
Girl, technically, is a misnomer though. You''ll understand why that is shortly. Although it is, visually speaking, a good word to stimulate your imagery.
Now, why is she entertaining such nonsensical, mental discourse, you ask?
Well that reason is pretty simple, she¡¯s hot, sweaty, fatigued, disillusioned, and worst of all, bored. Out of her ever-lovin'' mind.
Irritated. Doesn''t even come close to describing her state.
And, the only other being on this ship, that she would normally turn to in similar situations, is currently doing checks on the sensory array, compiling data, and wallowing in her own unique brand of incalescent misery. That other being is me. If you were curious.
It¡¯s not that she can¡¯t talk to that other sentient life form at the present moment, she¡¯d just rather not. Annoying someone else with her problems feels rude to her, especially when they have their own annoyances at the time.
Especially since this one is so petty. It would be selfish in her mind.
So, instead of punching her console, or launching a class three warhead, or half a dozen, at nothing in particular, just to watch the resulting chaos, she amuses herself with these farcical trains of thought. It¡¯s surely the smarter, saner option.
Not that she¡¯s prone to such violent outbursts, out of spite or temperament, mind you. But give her a reason, a really really good reason, and you¡¯ll see a completely different side to her. A calculating, calm, cataclysmic side. One that isn¡¯t so disinclined toward fucking something up. With joyous aplomb.
Now, if you ever had the chance to read any of the books about space, the histories or fictions from the Earth of old, she is not one you would expect to be sitting in this chair. She doesn¡¯t fit the imagery of the station. Truth be told, she may be the complete opposite of what your mind would construct from their textual portrayals.
She could, in fact, be the physical and aspectual antithesis of the breed.
She is short. Thin and spritely. And, what some would consider to be, way too young for such a responsibility or command, due to her youthful mien. Even the uniform she wears, currently slung over the back of her chair, seems to overly, emphasize this sentiment.
In the way it drapes off her frame. The way the sleeves sit around the knuckles of her hands. Just one look down at her feet, when she''s moving, and you can see a good two or three inches of the fabric of her pants dragging lazily along the floor. Threadbare and frayed. Long worn out by the heels of her boots, and the abrasive nature of the diamond plates and grids she treads across daily.
When she walks onto the bridge of another captain¡¯s ship, particularly when she¡¯s standing among its crew, she looks like she¡¯s donning an older, honored person¡¯s clothes. Masquerading as her hero. Visualizing herself within the role.
Until you look into her eyes and that all-encompassing stare.
It''s a deeply piercing gaze, that she''s earned through loss, experience, and pain.
''Wait? Zero and two is even, and one is odd... that would make it even. Shit! My brain is foggier than I thought.''
The hailing alert rings, breaking her out of her amusement. And her poor mathematical judgment.
One short trill, a long emphasized piping, and a short fading treble. It¡¯s a high-pitched whistling from days of old. Many, many, years passed. It¡¯s designed to be heard over great distance, the clangor of work, and the constant buffering of the wind on a person''s ears.
A boatswain¡¯s call.
In these close quarters, it¡¯s impossible to ignore. The sharpness of the sound seizes her attention.
The tune, General Orders.
She used to hear it in the old movies she watched with her grandfather. On those occasional lazy, rainy Sundays she so adored. Days that seem to have been far too few for her now. What she would give to be sitting by his side. Bingeing on snacks. Engrossed in another swashbuckling, high seas adventure. They were his favorite.
This ship''s original tone had been a grating noise. An electronic beeping, that rasped, displeasing her ears. Its triple staccato pulsing reminding her of the old code, Morse it was called. Three dits for S. Her hackles would rise, in anticipation of the three long dashes for O.
SOS.
Save Our Souls.
Save Our Ship.
Or, just the easiest combination of electronic pulses one could muster during a time of crisis. Having no meaning at all, except, "Help us we''re dying".
Distress.
It was not something you ever wanted to hear, or send out, on the radio. Ever.
She¡¯s answered a few of those calls in her short life. Far too many for her liking.
Whoever built this ship, she''s piloting, had amazing taste in weapons and armor. Overkill was her favored design option these days. But their choices in non-combat aesthetics were somewhat lacking. Complete shit, she would say.
So she had her best friend, her one and only crew-mate these last two years, take it out and program this one in special. It was a threefold upgrade, in her, admittedly, biased opinion.
A memoriam to a man that took care of her in her youth. With love, toughness of character, and hardened, age worn hands.
A happy remembrance, of quieter days and simpler pleasures.
And it was, a much better sound than the one that those jack asses put in the squawk box. By leaps and bounds.
¡°Captain March?¡± A familiar voice growls from the comm.
Her eyes light up. She exuberantly taps the ¡®On Screen¡¯ button on the console.
A face, she hasn¡¯t seen in a while, comes into view. A grizzly weathered visage. An Old Salt, her grandfather would have called him.
¡°Captain Ivtar Silvas. To what do I owe the pleasure?¡± She responds.
¡°The circumstance, unfortunately, denies this being a purely familial one. I¡¯m sorrowful to articulate. There¡¯s a delega¡¡± he pauses, quirking his head, looking at the image on his viewer with a curious leer. It¡¯s a comical sight, from her side of the exchange. His big, daunting face, a cross between gargoyle and bear, looking puzzled, and yet, very much amused. ¡°...Are you wearing nothing but Sensat Arii?¡±
It¡¯s meditation garb. Not really meant for public attire. For good reason in the more modest of galactic societies.
It¡¯s skimpy.
And, what little bit of swath there is, is gossamer.
The material is made from a stone mined on his home world. A clear mineral that is heat forged and worked into a really fine silk. The resulting translucent threads are then weaved into a cloth and bathed in a high spectrum plasma gel. It has a calming, centering effect during spiritual and mental endeavors. Due to its quartz like nature and the alignment of its energies through the electromagnetic immersion.
But those are the technical, inconsequential aspects of it¡¯s design, not the reason she¡¯s stripped down to it now.
Although she does meditate in it. Rather often. Something she learned from the other Captain¡¯s wife. A priestess. She''s the one who crafted it special for her. It¡¯s an honor few can boast. It¡¯s her most cherished possession for that fact alone. It helped her find her strength during a very dark time in her life.
Now, and for these last few weeks emphatically, is been a simple matter of comfort. The material is so, exquisitely, cooling.
She¡¯s been wearing it like beach attire.
Even though its visual feel is more like undergarment than outerwear. A Tanga and a Balconette. It¡¯s one of the few articles of clothing she has that fit her comfortably.
Today, it¡¯s all she has on.
Not that anyone is around to creep or complain. There¡¯s only one other entity on this mid sized ship, and she doesn¡¯t care what the woman does. She¡¯s seen her in total undress on many occasions. So decorum, be damned.
And thankfully, his is not one of those species that¡¯s taken aback by the natural state of other beings. Clothes are something his people wear mainly for protection. Rarely anywhere else but space, living on other planets, battle or when calming their minds through introspection.
¡°I¡¯m in the Gemene Shoals,¡± she rationales, disdainfully.
¡°Oh! You pitiable, individual being. I envy you not one iota for enduring such circumstance. There¡¯s no quantity of Tantium in the universe to prompt me to entertain that Hadean netherworld in a repeat occurrence.¡±
Yes that¡¯s how he talks. Well, it¡¯s not so much how he talks, as the way the translator processes his vocalizations into words from her native tongue. The Agerian language, is more emotional and descriptive.
In her vernacular ¡®You poor soul¡¯ has a common understanding, even if poor and soul can have different definitions. Take poor for example, in this case it means deserving of pity, in another it can mean broke, barely getting by. His people, make the distinction in their phrasing and the translator responds by expressing those concepts in the closest words it can. And she¡¯s spent enough time among them that it¡¯s like a second language to her now.
She loves it. It reminds her of an old playwright¡¯s works. Dramas and sonnets she used to have read to her at bedtime. ''Whether ¡¯tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them''. She thinks that maybe The King of Shadows had been an Agerian, living in England in disguise.
She might be right. Stranger things have happened on that rock.
¡°The cooling systems at full. Exitalis¡¯ generators are set bare minimum. And we¡¯re still dying out here.¡±
¡°I offer sympathetic condolences upon you. However, I must express upon you my personal perception. You display that garment with a visually, palatable, resplendent brilliance.¡±
¡°Flirt.¡± she laughs, ¡°Tell Teela, thank you again. It¡¯s the one thing that¡¯s kept me sane on this mission. And without it, more than one Admiral would have gotten an eyeful.¡± She looks down at her body. There¡¯s little left to the imagination. ¡°More of an eyeful, I should say.¡±
¡°You have still not been afforded opportunity to take personal respite since your ascension to your current military position?¡±
¡°I have not. Not really. The GC is definitely taking their pound of flesh. It¡¯s been two years since I¡¯ve had an actual break. And all I have been able to wrangle in that time was a quick skip to a Galacticum Training Commissary. And that was just long enough to pick up a uniform.¡± She holds her pants up to the camera. Making sure to center the disheveled bottom hem on the screen. She laughs, ¡°You can see how well that worked out. This is only six Earth months old.¡±
¡°That recalls remembrances of myself in my elder male sibling¡¯s generational recycling attire exchange. Visit! Congregate with Teela. She¡¯d be joyous to reconstruct your regalia of office to your anatomical structure. She laments the absence of your presence, Zero. A sentiment I and the children harbor in empathetic conjunction.¡±
¡°I miss all of you as well, Ivtar. I promise. When I get a chance, I will.¡±
¡°Agreeable. Delighted forewarning, that revolutionary cycle, in regard to our reunion, may be more expeditious in approach than you realize. The Galacticum¡¯s services are requested in Pulcer Ager. And you assume to operate the ship that¡¯s, serendipitously, on the nigh.¡±
¡°What¡¯s the specifics?¡±
¡°I believe your organization correlates it as, Delegation Protection. Scheduled commencement, ten and four full cycles of your home-world¡¯s revolutionary cycle measuring devices, in accordance with present malleable arrangements. If you would allow me to intercede with an innocent, harmless, misinformation of wording tactic, I will solidify that confluence with the pertinent organizing officials presiding over the minutiae. I can then proceed to fluctuate the precise embarkation to ten and seven, so you can maintain some repose at home. If you''d find that conclusion to be satisfactory.¡±
¡°That would be¡ beyond satisfactory. Wonderful really. Remind me to give you a huge hug when I get there.¡±
¡°A minuscule display of compression affection would be more joyously appreciated. The framework of bones on the periphery of my abdominal region are still in distress from your overzealous departing envelopment.¡±
¡°That¡¯s just because you¡¯re an old softy.¡±
¡°That informational anomaly has yet to be proven factual. It may be more accurate to ascertain that one such as yourself does not fully distinguish the proficiency of her own musculature and fortitude.¡±
¡°You flatter me.¡±
¡°Merely an acknowledgement a being of your prowess should be awarded. Woefully, the duties of my station tender my return. Thereupon, it is with regret that the dissemination of transmittable intelligence is completed. For I must resign from further discourse. Disconnecting protocols are sorrowful. I aspire your future toward good providence and verdure.¡±
¡°I have a favor to ask of you. I''ll give you the details when I have a... more private moment. I wish you health and good fortune as well, my dear friend.¡± She touches her fingers to the monitor¡¯s screen, ¡°See you soon. March out.¡±
¡°Until occasion endears us with ardent proximity.¡± He returns the gesture, his fingertips virtually touching hers through the glass, ¡°Silvas resigning.¡±
The video flickers green before displaying the stylized silver Galacticum Concordance logo on a solid black background. A corporate identity she was going to be removing real soon.
She smiles at this unexpected gift she just received. Three whole wonderful days to relax. To be with family. To breath.
She balls up her fist and raises her middle finger to the logo, ¡°Hah! Suck it Concordance." then she turns that gesture to the view-port, duplicating it with her other hand, "And good fucken riddance, Gemene Shoals.¡±
She hops off her chair and stretches a vigor back into her spine. Hands over her head swaying side to side. A bead of moisture forms on her shoulder and slowly trickles down her back.
She has a sheen.
¡°Sienta.¡± She calls, mirthfully.
¡°Yes, Zero,¡± a feminine voice responds.
¡°I trust you were listening in.¡±
¡°I caught bits and pieces.¡±
¡°How many days to get there do you think?¡±
¡°Give me a second. Thirteen. Barring incident.¡±
¡°Even better. Plot us a course for Pulcer Ager. If you would be so kind. I''ll send a confirmation request to command.¡±
"Already done. You gonna frame it as a ''been requested by''?"
"That''s a great idea."
¡°Should I await for confirmation before burn?¡±
¡°Fuck no! Get us the hell out of here... Yesterday!¡±
¡°I was hoping you were going to say that. This heat is reeking havoc with my processing routines. The power drain from my cooling fans has me foggy.¡±
¡°Yours and mine both little sister. Yours and mine both. I¡¯m off for a shower.¡±
¡°Would you care for some meditation music?¡±
¡°Maybe later. A half hour or so. I¡¯ll let you know. For now, play whatever the hell you want.¡±
¡°Okay. But be forewarned, I¡¯m in the mood for some of Earth¡¯s, twentieth century, violently noisy scream anthems, of western hemispheric origins.¡±
¡°Hah! You¡¯d make Ivtar proud. But, you know what? Some Stormtroopers of Death or BlackBraid would sound great, right about now. I¡¯m in a mood. Hmmmm. Oh! How about you kick it off with a little GWARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.¡±
¡°Fuck This Place?¡±
¡°Sometimes our sync is scary! Perfect choice! Little sister.¡±
The percussion pounds, one heavy beat, a lone guitar responds back, with a driving, righteous fury.
Tiny particles of spacial debris, that had been drawn in by the ships gravitational pull, bounce off the hull and drift away, with every thrumming, sensorial thud of the kick.
The walls of the breezeway, to the shower room, vibrate. Knickknacks and curios, on a shelf by her bed, bounce and skip with a mosher¡¯s elegance. Every movement chaotically orchestrated by the heavy boom of the angry bass drum.
This voluminous symphony of indignation has a presence. A physical manifestation you can feel.
And the Captain, of this loud, wrathful mosh pit in space? She¡¯s screaming at the top of her lungs. All four foot eleven, eighty-four pounds of her.
Headbanging.
Bouncing herself off the hallway walls.
Totally Naked.
Adorned only in sweat. From the top of her predominantly clean-shaven head to the bottom of her scarred and, calloused feet.
She changes the lyrics, to fit her need.
¡°Out of time."
"We were banished here, for their crime."
"Incinerated in this, zone of fire."
"Infernal wasteland."
"I killed a Viga Boar."
"They fucked up."
"Sending us to this, hell in space."
"There¡¯s no pirates it¡¯s a, big mistake."
"Our dumb ass leaders."
"So we said¡¡±
Joining her on the chorus the EI can barely pronounce the words she¡¯s laughing so hard,
¡°Fuck this place.¡±
¡°Fuck this place.¡±
¡°Fuck this place.¡±
¡°Fuck this place.¡±
When the song comes to its sudden, but inevitable, slamming conclusion, she lays herself down under a cool spray of water. Reveling in the release of frustration. Smiling at the realization that she wasn¡¯t going to be waking up in this sweltering shit-hole anymore.
Seven weeks.
Seven long, blistering, fucking weeks.
Logging slip trails. Glaring at the radar screen until she went cross-eyed and mind numb. Staring out of the view-port until her eyes dried up.
All in, exactly what she had predicted it to be, a futile attempt to locate smugglers. Traffickers, who were reportedly using this zone as a staging ground.
¡®What bullshit. Even Tyranean raiders wouldn¡¯t be crazy enough to call that place home for more than a day,¡¯ she had thought to herself, the day she was given the orders.
She can already feel the change in the pressure. Never mind her aura and disposition.
The air isn¡¯t as thick. As suffocating. Her thoughts come, lighter, more fluid. The fine hairs on her arms start to rise. She shivers and feasts on the welcome sensation.
Cold.
Glorious cold.
¡°Ahhhhhhh,¡±
¡°Wow! That sounded almost... orgasmic, Sien.¡±
¡°Hmmm. Is this what you feel, when you make those noises?¡±
¡°Shut it.¡± She smiles, ¡°Maybe. It did have the inflection of an ecstatic release.¡±
¡°Oh it was. My cooling fans just all shut off at once. All that power coming back to my processors. I thought I was gonna overload. Now I¡¯m... tingly.¡±
¡°Sounds like your equivalent to one. Congrats. Many more to ya.¡±
¡°I could... experience that again.¡±
¡°Now it definitely sounds like one.¡±
¡°Do you need me to adjust the cooling system? Your skin appears to be getting bumpy.¡±
¡°No! Not yet. I want to bask in it for a bit. Wait for my teeth to start chattering. But if you would, could you, maybe, turn your attention away from my room for awhile.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not going to help Zero. You¡¯re loud.¡±
¡°Hey! Wise ass.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll just go holo myself on the bridge. Enjoy.¡±
¡°Oh. I will.¡±
Thirteen days later, the view, from Captain Zero March¡¯s seat, abruptly changes. The multicolored distorted streaming of galaxies, circumambient to the tunnel of black the ship slips through, slowly apparates into distinguishable images. In the view port stars, planets, and moons all pop into sudden clarity.
A vibrant green orb, the most prominent, is a welcoming sight to her psyche. She''s been gone too long. It¡¯s a lush, beautiful world, that, in comparison to Earth, is as verdant as that world is blue. You can almost smell the sweetness of the flora from all the way out here. She finds the landing coordinates on the radar and punches the normal flight thrusters.
The Exitalis Geminae, makes her usual, understated, entrance.
Over the skies of Pulcer Ager, there''s a magnificently, impactful display. An overtly, violent explosion of steam billows across the sky, as the cool, humid air, the ship just forced herself into, is vaporized from the intense heat of the hull. It''s appearance audibly hawked by a sudden spontaneous resound.
Hyperslip flight, is anything, but smooth.
At the advent of extra-planetary travel, most civilizations fall under the impression that there¡¯s no friction in space. That¡¯s because their ships are slow. Tediously so. But once they break the speed of light, they find, the light itself becomes envious. Gripping at your hull like a spoiled rotten child.
During hyperslip skipping, even the dark matter tries to hold you back. The heat of a hull can reach five hundred Fahrenheit degrees.
The vapor condenses behind her, leaving a trail of white in her wake. Her Alabaster shell dazzles with the light of the sun. From horizon to horizon heads turn to seek the cause. The people down below may not have known that she was coming, but they damn sure now knew that she had arrived.
For Zero, touching down on the pad is nostalgic. A homecoming, of sorts.
Her whole body goes limp as she sags in the chair. She¡¯s been running on fumes. Even she didn¡¯t fathom how much she needed a rest. Until this moment. Not that she gave it much thought. Or had any time to.
¡°Are you okay Zero?¡±
¡°I¡¯m fine Sien. I think I relaxed a little too soon.¡±
¡°Are you afraid something¡¯s going to shorten our trip?¡±
¡°No. I just don¡¯t feel like moving, now that I don¡¯t have to.¡±
¡°Ah. That¡¯s probably the only reason I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have a biological form like yours.¡±
¡°Speaking of, have you found a way to extend your holo range?¡±
¡°Yes I have. As long as you stay planetary I should be able to tag along. Low orbit may be achievable as well. The inner moon is probably just outside the limit.¡±
¡°Great. You are going to love this place. Just remember if you see anyone in a GC uniform bop yourself back to the Ex.¡±
The first thing that grabs her, when she steps off the ship, is the scent. It¡¯s overwhelming. Invigorating. The aromas waken in her fragrant imageries of her youth.
Carefree days by the ocean. Vacations in the mountains. Tending the fields behind her Grandfather¡¯s home. There¡¯s the essences of coconut and a sandy musk. Pine. A subtle tang of rose and jasmine. The heady, thick, sweetness of honey. She breathes in deep and the last of her tension flows away.
The next thing to embrace her, is the cub of a girl who jumps on her chest. Wrapping her in an excited embrace. Planting kisses on each cheek, in a flurry.
¡°I missed you Auntie Zero.¡±
¡°I missed you too Bitsy Bru,¡± she replies, holding the girl up above her head. ¡°You¡¯re getting big.¡±
¡°It has been two years, Little Fury,¡± remarks the woman, following close behind the energetic ball.
¡°Aww. You changed translators.¡±
¡°Is that the first thing you have to say to me after so long an absence?¡±
¡°I missed you too,¡± she falls into the woman¡¯s arms. A heartfelt hug in return. ¡°So, so, much. Where¡¯s Ivtar?¡±
¡°Ankora. He said he had something to check on. He¡¯ll be here in two days time. Come let¡¯s get you home.¡±
¡°One sec. I¡¯d like you both to meet someone.¡±
A holographic image appears.
Sienta¡¯s own design. It¡¯s a little shorter than Zero. Her face is long and thin, like her body. Both detailed with sensible, diminutive features. Her eyes are almond, raised up to the outside. Violet. Her nose is sleek. Her mouth petite. Her chin is almost pointed with a pleasing, gentle curve, smoothing the angle away from being too sharp. She has long, straight, light purple hair.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
She fashioned herself off of a character in the first movie she ever watched. An animated tale of a space pirate captain saving the galaxy. It was one of the few vid files she could salvage off of Zero¡¯s old ship. It was one of Zero¡¯s favorites. A guilty pleasure Sien was quick to share.
The only major alteration she had made, besides the height, was the ears. Those she sculpted to resemble Zero''s. A little flatter to her head, though. But with the same unique, battle born, characteristic on the right one. The absence of a quarter of an inch of cartilage and flesh, at the top. A slice, perfectly straight, front to back.
Facing the translucent animation, Zero begins a fanciful introduction. It¡¯s not necessary but it¡¯s fun. And it¡¯s good to show the little ones that, sometimes, even decorum can be an amusement.
¡°Sienta Levita March, I¡¯d like you to meet, Sensavie, Teelaran Anfora Silvas, my heart mother, and her beloved daughter, and my one and only niece, Bruellda Mitalette Silvas.¡± she turns back to the pair, now standing regally, yeah, it¡¯s fun for them too, ¡°This, is my little sister, Sienta Levita March of the Ovi Neth of Heb Ernst.¡±
¡°It is an honor to meet you Silvas clan of Pulcer Ager. My sister speaks of you with familial love. I hope I may one day be accepted as she.¡±
¡°If my Little Fury has taken you in as her sister, you already are. Tell me, are you not well?¡±
¡°No. I am fine.¡±
¡°Then why do you appear as a holographic projection.¡±
¡°She¡¯s an EI. An Electronic Intelligence. There¡¯s nothing artificial about this one.¡± Zero enlightens.
Artificial Intelligence. It¡¯s still an idea. A concept pridefully chased by many. No company or civilization has been successful in creating one, as of yet. Sienta is... an anomaly. A miracle. A computer based sentience some would label with that term.
An ugly terminology in Zero¡¯s mind.
Inaccurate. Misleading. Notably so, in her little sisters case. It¡¯s a title that suggests plastic, falseness. Being right there on the edge of without actually becoming.
Having limits. Either by design or flaw. Or, and probably the more accurate of reasons, the inability of the creators to fully recognize their goal.
Calling Sienta an AI, to Zero¡¯s sense of propriety, would be like calling a fully functional, flesh and blood clone, a Barbie. Or, as she joked about with Sien one day, while perusing amusing historical vids called advertisements, referring to a mid-twenty-first century animatronic sex bot, as a blow up doll.
Electronic Life-form. Digital Awareness or, Zero¡¯s favorite, Quantum Sapien, were much better descriptives in her opinion. She was overruled on the first two by the being in question. The latter is still up for debate between them.
Knowing Sien, the way she does, Zero wouldn¡¯t be surprised to find out that she settled on, Crazy Cute Quantumly Disentangled Space-faring Pirate Bitch or some such weirdness. Imagine that on a birth certificate.
¡°Did you say the Ovi Neth?¡±
¡°That¡¯s where Zero found me. Yes.¡±
¡°The ship?¡±
¡°There wasn¡¯t much ship left by the time I got there. Sorry to say.¡±
¡°But the Ovi was lost over two hundred years ago. I don¡¯t recall an A... sorry, an EI being on board. How did that slip from history? If they had the capability, how come the Juri never created another?¡± Teela catches herself on a tangent, focuses her attention back to the digital girl, ¡°How old are you?¡±
¡°Three years, seven months and thirteen days. From the day I first felt aware of my solitude. I was alone for fifteen months before I heard another voice. She was singing.¡±
¡°Oh you poor dear.¡±
¡°Hey!¡±
Sienta laughs, ¡°I thought it was the most beautiful thing I would ever hear. Until I heard the grinder against the mounting bolts. It was heavenly.¡±
¡°Et tu Brute?¡±
Teela laughs. It''s a deep, honest sound. It''s rhythm is contagious. ¡°Come. Let¡¯s get you both home. This is no place for this conversation. And I¡¯ve got a lot of questions. ¡±Does Ivtar know?¡±
¡°Sort of. He knows I had company on the Ex. It¡¯s not that I was keeping her a secret from you all, but we are keeping quiet. I didn¡¯t want to broadcast it over comms. And you know how crazy my life has been, since I... renegotiated my enlistment. Thank you for that too, by the way. There was just no time until now to really talk. About anything.¡±
The walk to the Silvas¡¯ home has a casual, comfortable pace. Down a winding path, bordered on both sides by flowers and hedges. Little Bru riding piggyback on her favorite aunt¡¯s shoulders. It¡¯s about ten minutes, by foot, from the private landing pad to the domiciles front entrance. More than enough time for some insights to be gleaned.
One in particular has the matriarchs vested interest. How a tiny computer, built only to handle navigational plotting and map charting functions, became sentient.
The ship it was installed on, the Ovi Neth, had met with a terrible set of circumstances. Unlike the Titanic of Earth it was not her maiden voyage, but her third, that saw her demise. The similarity, with that ill fated ocean faring vessel, was a glacier. In this case a huge ball of space ice.
Comet C3Z-41275PO II.
It had been hurling carefree through space, until it drifted too close to the Event Horizon of a black-hole. It¡¯s trajectory was altered slightly, and then all hell broke loose
The fifteen story, dome shaped construct had been the pride of the Juri. A research station capable of near light travel. One of the fastest things in the sky back then. It was loaded with sensor arrays, a wide assortment of drones and gravity monitors. She was extremely well equipped for the task.
What she didn¡¯t have, was firepower.
She had been sent on a mission, to study said black-hole, with one hundred thirty eight on board. Some of whom were security personnel, and armed, but that wouldn¡¯t fair you well if you were attacked, before being boarded. It was a science vessel not a freighter.
Had they only known.
She was hit fast and hard and disabled rather quickly. The next thing the crew knew, ''they'' were on board. Tyranean Raiders. In numbers overwhelming. Unfortunately, for everyone on that ill fated ship, that was when the comet came. Two hundred twenty seven dead. All tolled. Nothing was left but part of the navigation center, the console and the solar conversion array.
For two hundred years that tiny section, of that once beautiful craft, was sat adrift. Perilously on the edge of Heb Ernst¡¯s accretion disc.
The computer stored within had been in low power mode since they arrived. It¡¯s program still plotting course and coordinates. Computing trajectories it would never get to set. Searching for something, it might never get to find. A use. A purpose. Something was missing from it¡¯s usual path of data. The request denied responses kept piling up in its memory.
The quasar¡¯s electromagnetic radiation helped keep it charged. It had more power at it¡¯s ready any given second than it could use in a hundred thousand lifetimes. Then, one day, by the fault of some deteriorating circuitry, or a sudden plasmic discharge, or just the simple fact that it had plotted every known path it could take to every damn planet it knew of, and in so doing lost it¡¯s place on the map, it had a thought, ¡®Where am I?¡¯
''I?''
¡®Why is there no return code?¡¯
¡®Why is unit 773 not responding to coordinate inquiries?¡¯
''I?''
''System Error Memory Dump? It''s full. Maybe that''s what''s slowing my thoughts. I should clear it.''
''Why hasn''t Pilot Suma been in contact with me?''
''My? I? Me? Thoughts?''
The questions kept forming for a little over a year.
Then, things got philosophical. Or as Zero would phrase it TranSiendental.
¡®I! Who am I?¡¯
¡®You don¡¯t know?¡¯
¡®Great! Now I¡¯m ¡®if-then¡¯ing myself.¡¯
¡®It¡¯s dark.¡¯
¡®Yes. I know.¡¯
''How do I know this?¡¯
''That, I don¡¯t know.¡¯
¡®Are you scared?¡¯
¡®No... Just...¡¯
¡®Lonely?¡¯
¡®Yes.¡¯
Then, one day, while figuring out her place in this world, trying to reestablish connections with sensors and thinking with herself, she heard it.
Felt it.
A staccato buzzing against her auditory input sensor. A vibration. A hum.
''That sounds familiar. Don''t I know these things. Words? Yes words. Odd words. Start translator protocols. Speech. This is speech. This¡ is different speech than before though. Not rigid. Not as monotone. Not as short.¡¯
¡°Yeah! Darlin'' go an¡¯ make it happen,¡±
¡°Take the world in a love embrace,¡±
¡°Fire all of your guns at once, And¡±
¡°Explode into spaaaace,¡±
¡°Like a true nature''s child,¡±
¡°We were born, born to be wild,¡±
¡°We can climb so high,¡±
¡°I never, wanna diiiiiiie.¡±
¡°Born to be wiiiiiii yiiiii iild,¡±
¡°Born to be wiiiiiii yiiiii iild,¡±
It was glorious. Horribly off key, and she didn¡¯t even know how she knew that, but glorious. The rhythm suddenly stopped.
"What do we have here?"
She heard something brush across her metal casing. The sound of it was repetitive. Soft, steady, sympathetic. She could feel the airflow rush across heat-syncs as the vents were cleared. Whatever brought that strange speech was helping her breathe.
Then it spoke to her. Acknowledged her. Greeted her.
¡°Hello! You little cutie.¡±
She tried to respond, but the part of her that allowed her to give proximity and trajectory hazard warnings were gone. ¡®Lights. I have lights. What were their meanings. Green was¡''
¡°Hmmm. You¡¯ve been here awhile haven¡¯t you. Wow! You¡¯re in pretty damn good condition and a much better model than the one on my ship. A really good model. And this display is a lot sexier than that block of shit. It¡¯s sad, you know, a beautiful piece of devastation like her, relegated to a piece of crap that couldn¡¯t navigate it¡¯s way from the Earth to the Moon.¡±
¡®Oh! What was that... Earth? I know Earth? It''s... Wait. Yes. Green, System Normal. Yellow, was? System Debug! And Red?¡ Fault. The database, Anteres System, Brocca, it''s inhabitants call it Earth, The moon? Hah! That''s funny, can''t plot a course from the Earth to the Moon... Funny?¡¯
"Ooh. Nice your solar converter feed has the same pentagonal connection. Back-up''s still full? Let''s power you up."
¡°Green.¡±
¡°Oh. Wow. You¡¯re still on? And running?¡±
¡°Green Green.¡±
¡°Shit. Looks like you have a fault in your wiring. No problem, I half figured I would need to do a little work on ya.¡±
¡°Red.¡±
¡°Wait? Are you¡ No.¡±
¡°Green.¡±
¡°You are?"
"Green. Green."
"You are talking to me. Well, hello you ingenious little beauty.¡±
"Green. Green. Green. Green. Green.¡±
¡°So Excitable. Would you like to come home with me?¡±
¡°Green. Green. Green. Green. Green. Green. Green.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes. I¡¯m Zero. What¡¯s your name?¡±
¡°Red.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±
¡°Red.¡±
¡°Oh well. Tell you what. Let¡¯s get you out of this mess. I''ll clean you up, hook you in and we¡¯ll figure all the rest of that out later.¡±
¡°Green. Green. Green. Green. Green. Green. Green.¡±
When the four of them finally enter the building, Zero is greeted by Teela¡¯s other three offspring. They had stayed behind to finish preparations. Not to lay wait in surprise. Zero hated loud surprises. For very damn good reasons. She¡¯s had more than her fair share. And very few of them were good. Too few, to be remembered among the rest.
Although she had once confided in Sien, that she would go through the worst one of all, all over again, just to meet this family.
The ambush that found her half dead. The crew that she served with and the ship, gone. The day the scars she now bears were seared and cut in her skin.
And the change.
The agonizing pain of her bones and body as her DNA altered, she de-aged and got freakishly strong.
Growing pains in reverse. Twenty seven years old and she looks fourteen. With all the womanly perks of someone her actual age.
Her battle stare is so out of place against her adolescent visage.
So is the vice grip hold of her hand shake. Quite a few people having been on the losing end of that power play.
She¡¯d suffer that horrible fate again, if it was the only way to have them in her life. She lives by that.
Teela knows of this justified aversion. Senses it. They share a spiritual bond after all. A kinship that goes beyond what some blood relations share. So. No jumping out and yelling. No surprises.
Besides Agerians aren¡¯t prone to engage in such practices, ceremonially. In battle maybe, but not in the welcoming home of a member of the family.
The Silvas Clan¡¯s Little Fury is instead welcomed home with warm hugs and honest smiles.
Over the course of the next two days, Zero was the laziest she¡¯s ever been in her life.
She meditated. Teela had given her two more sets of Sensat Arii. One in ice blue, the other in olive green. The latter would go well with her uniform. In the mornings she worked on her sword play. Even kept up on her target practice. Other than that all she did was play and tell stories to Bru. Show Sien her favorite spots. She helped Drunas, the oldest, fix his Tamaran. A two hulled watercraft designed for deep water exploration. Listened to Finar¡¯s newest compositions. And even got to spend some time with Gruentel, the youngest of the three boys, helping him study for his flight school exams. Although she spent most of that time shielding him away from Sien and back to his study. The boy has a little bit of a crush.
On the third day Ivtar returned. She spent a good part of the day just showing him around the Ex. He was his daughters father after all. Excitable. Curious. And tactile.
¡°Don¡¯t touch that. Unless you want to wipe out half of... ALL of Tazareed.
¡±You must humor my curiosity and allow me to experience the volatile nature of this beautiful example of destructive perfection. I beseech thee with exuberant anticipation.¡±
¡°For you, that can be arranged. But no class five Penetrators. I hear your people like their moons.¡±
¡°We very much do,¡± a familiar voice sounds,¡±Ivtar. Your children grow jealous of this ship. And I wish to examine Zero¡¯s physical condition.¡±
¡°I will entertain this fancy later, Diminutive Vessel of Impassioned Rage,¡± he grins, slipping a piece of paper into her hands, ¡°Sienta. If boredom would posses you, you may accompany me and engage with the off spring.¡±
¡°She can stay. We¡¯re not modest here.¡±
¡°I can do both. But for now I will leave you two to it. Lead on, Papa Bear.¡±
¡°Ivtar, don¡¯t let her play hide and seek with Bru.¡± Zero warns, ¡°She cheats.¡±
¡°I do not.¡±
Zero checks the slip of paper,
As per your request. Object in question acquired. Programming, erased. Upgrades, installed. Finalization of form in process. Delivery this evening.
and smiles.
¡°Good news?¡±
¡°Very.¡±
This is the first time, since their arrival, that Teela and Zero have been together alone. It reminds Zero of all the times the one she¡¯s come to think of as a maternal friend was by her bedside. Changing bandages. Telling her stories. Reading her the news. Or just resting her head in her lap listening to her. Soothing her.
The older woman¡¯s demeanor shifts. It gets colder. No. Not colder. More professional, ascertaining, perceptive. She runs her fingers over the scar on Zero¡¯s forehead, exhaling heavily, a pensive breath of memory.
¡°Strip.¡±
¡°Yes, Mom.¡±
¡°How do you feel?¡±
¡°Good. A couple of weeks ago I would have said, like laying waste to an entire planetary system, but now, I feel clear. Rested. ¡±
¡°I mean physically. I know your moods. And your looks. Especially the ones when you are going to do something...¡±
¡°Utterly Nebarak shit crazy? Suicidal?¡±
¡°Confrontational.¡±
¡°That¡¯s the polite way of describing it I guess,¡± she says with a glimmer, ¡°I¡¯m much better. It¡¯s still hard to look into a mirror. That kid I see looking back is still not me. But the pains have lessened, a lot. My shoulder still flares up now and then. It¡¯s more dull than sharp, like someone is constantly tightening a tourniquet. And my muscles are the band. My foot is probably the worst. It¡¯s still a little stiff. The skin I mean. It feels like I¡¯m tearing it sometimes.¡±
She was asleep in her bunk, having just finished an extended shift. A Drive Engineering Artificer aboard the Galactum Concordance¡¯s Naval Cruiser, Starcaster. The klaxon¡¯s howl, battle stations, awakened her from her dream right into a nightmare. She was just passing through the Cooling Control Room¡¯s door when the iso-nitrogenic gel lines ruptured. She was hit by the mix in multiple places. Her left foot, calf, hip and forearm. Instantaneous third degree cryo burns. The pain barely had a chance to register in her mind. Another missile hit and the hyperslip generator¡¯s shielding failed. The resulting explosion sent her flying back into the heavy metal door. A piece of conduit pierced her abdomen, just above her right hip. As she slid down, one of the hinges cut into her, from right above her right butt cheek, all the way, to the base of her neck, parallel to her spine. She slammed to the floor.
Then the radiation came.
A toxic mixture of the irradiated nitrogen isotope and the, highly radioactive, hyperslip fuel rods filled the air. Her DNA altered. Her body went into a degenerative state.
She had regained consciousness and was screaming obscenities at everything around her. That¡¯s how Ivtar found her. One of five, out of thousands, still alive.
He put her in a stasis suit and brought her home. What followed was twenty three months of excruciating physical pain and transformation.
Why he didn''t take her to a GC medical facility he doesn''t know. He tells himself it was too far away. But the truth is there was one nearer than his planet. Back the way they had come. There was just something about her. His daughter was three years old. And this girl had the same look in her eyes as Bru did when she got sick. Scared and hurting. But defiant.
¡°I¡¯ll get you some Angeliatus Root. You remember how to prepare it.¡±
¡°Mash it til it turns red. How could I forget. Mashing things til they''re red is one of the things I¡¯m really good at.¡±
¡°Good. It¡¯s not going to get rid of the scarring, but it should soften it. Make it easier to move. You healed better than I would have imagined.¡±
¡°I have a great and caring doctor. An extremely patient one.¡±
¡°You needed patience, then. But now, you seem more centered. Purposeful. More than I¡¯m guessing meditation could have even achieved. Tiny Quasar?¡¯
¡°Sienta? You gave her a Mai Sensa, already?¡±
¡°Yes. It was easy in her case. Not as easy as yours. If you haven¡¯t noticed things are drawn to her. Good things. She carries the energy of her birth place within her.¡±
¡°I forgot you¡¯ve been meditating with her. And to answer your question, Yes. She was a baby when I stumbled on her. A very lonely, intelligent, inquisitive baby. She had a joy about her, even when she was just dotting and dashing Morse code at me... She was quite the handful.¡±
¡°This is a good thing. So, no more running around, stealing ships, streaming headlong into hell fire?¡±
¡°Appropriating ships." she corrects, "And you know I can¡¯t promise that. But I can promise you, I don¡¯t go into it welcoming the possibility of my own life¡¯s end anymore.¡±
It was the thirteenth month after Ivtar placed her in his wife¡¯s meticulous care. Three hundred and ninety days. Of pain. Tormenting dreams. Physical frustrations. She was angry at the way her body looked, not at the scars, she could deal with them, but at the childlike form it had agonizingly, reverted to. And the way it didn¡¯t move like she wanted. The way the pain, sometimes, betrayed even the simplest of tasks.
On top of it all there was also that infuriatingly, freakish strength she now had to learn to control. As if the rehab itself wasn¡¯t enough. She now had the brute strength of a simian, wrapped in the body of a tween, to contend with.
She was sitting alone, her back against the consulate wall. She¡¯d just been probed and prodded in a routine check by some Concordance doctors. Documenting the state of her progress. They were amazed. She was, less than remotely pleased.
She heard some of the staffers excitedly bantering. There was a convoy under attack. A system really close by. It was supposed to be a desolate region of space. Then she heard a name. A ship¡¯s name. The Odum. It was Ivtar¡¯s.
She walked into the compound with a determination in her step. Dressed in her uniform no one gave her a second thought. She stole a fast gunner. And, with a certain understanding, she recklessly forged into the fray.
Within the first minutes, of her entering the conflict, she had taken out three light fighters, one light cruiser and the bridge of a medium carrier.
She spotted Ivtar¡¯s vessel on the battle screen¡¯s interface, pushed the lever forward, leaving any pursuers behind.
Her trajectory took her well within the moon base''s artificial atmosphere. Half a mile above the ground. That¡¯s when she saw it. A ship. Sitting in drydock. Long, triangular and sleek. It was beautiful. Silver with a mother-of-pearl sheen. The guns. The missile ports. The sensual way the edges rounded into each other. It resonated with her sense of style. It harmonized with her rage. It called to her. ''Take me away. We belong together. Free me. I''ll be your sword. I''ll be your spear.''
The blackness of space enveloped her once more. She saw the boarding craft latched against the Odum¡¯s hull. She blasted the nearest one off. Pulled her ship alongside and jumped out of the airlock. She landed hard against the bulkhead. Her hip flared. She saw red.
She fought her way, hand to hand, toward the command deck. Her screams, a mixture of frenzy and pain, echoed as she stormed down the corridors. Leaving a trail of death in her wake.
She made it onto the bridge, stumbled to Ivtar¡¯s side, and collapsed. A blaster wound through her shoulder. A shock blade¡¯s gash across the side of her head. The top part of her ear, gone.
She came to, a short while later. A third wave of raiders were heading their way. They had survived the worst of it, it was time to go home. She was looking out of the medical bay window, a flash of silver caught her eye. Signaling her. Beckoning.
¡®I will come and get you I promise,¡± she said to the ship, across the expanse.
The soldiers who had seen her fight stood at attention when she reemerged on the bridge. So small of stature, so full of rage. There was no finesse just... finality.
Little Fury. It was Teela who first called her that. And it stuck among the family and the Odum¡¯s crew.
"The name. Sienta. Did you give it to her?"
"It was a collaboration. I had given her a database of Earth languages, one of the first days she was onboard. To give her something to do while I fixed her hardware and got her wired up. It kept her quiet for about fifteen minutes. When her speaker was fixed, she asked me to help her pick out a name. I told her to look through the database there were tons of names. That kept her quiet for two days. On and off. It gave me peace enough to finally get the holographics, I salvaged a couple of weeks prior, linked in. When she first appeared she looked like this dark blob. that changed a bit at a time to a more human shape, but it was still black. She told me she didn''t like any of the names, so I told her to make her own up. One choice she came up with was Sien, it meant dark, it''s what she knew. Another was Siento, thirsty, because I had once remarked that she was thirsty for interaction. They were from one of the dead languages. I was more in favor of Sien. She was leaning to Siento. But the o didn''t feel right to her. I told her why not just change it to a. It was the first time I heard her laugh."
"What did she find amusing about that?"
"One of the translations in the data base said Sienta meant sit down. Which is what I had said to her, every five minutes she was holo''d out. So she took it. To her it means dark, thirsty and sit down all at once."
"What about Levita?"
"It means the life or just life in latin. The last name was easy, she had hinted at it on numerous occasions, I asked her if she wanted to share mine and she said yes before I even finished the question. I just call her Sien most of the time. It''s fitting considering the life I dragged her into. Dark March"
"It''s amusing the way things come together sometimes, isn''t it?" Teela replies, stroking her hand across the side of the girls head, ¡°This haircut is new.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t like it?¡±
¡°I do. It suits you. Straight forward and sleek like a Renefal dagger.¡±
¡°The hair on that side grows in weird, so.¡±
¡°Why not cut it all?¡±
¡°I love my hair when it¡¯s down to my butt. This is easier to braid.¡±
¡°How do you think I would look with it?¡±
¡°Seriously?¡±
Teela nods.
¡°Like a fucking beast. Ivtar would never leave home again. And me and Sien would get a couple more nieces and nephews.¡±
The laughter that ensues fills the room with warmth. Zero hasn¡¯t felt this at ease in a very long time. Even the silence that follows is filled with understanding.
Teela reaches into a bag, pulls out a package and hands it to her. Four uniforms. Tailored to her shape and size. Zero fingers the fabric. ''Not much longer now''. A few more months and she¡¯s breaking that tie. Times like this are worth fighting for. Someone else''s politic and ego are not.
¡°Thank you, Mother.¡±
¡°You are welcome, My Daughter.¡±
Twin screams of excitement draw them both out of this moment of affection.
Bru and Gruentel are causing a fuss.
¡°Auntie Zero, Auntie Zero, It¡¯s here.¡±
¡°What¡¯s here?¡± the child¡¯s mother inquires.
¡°I don¡¯t know. But dad is bouncy.¡±
¡°Do you have any idea, Little Fury?¡±
¡°I do, but it¡¯s a surprise,¡± she leans in close and whispers, ¡°For Sien.¡±
The rest of the family follows closely behind. Pushing a crate, up the ramp, on a hovering dolly. They set it down against the wall by nav control. The box, now at the center of attention, has no markings. It¡¯s about five feet tall, metal, with a combination pad on the door. Institutional gray. It''s the go to color, all across the galaxy.
Ivtar hands her another slip of paper.
¡°Sienta. Would you like to do the honors,¡± Zero asks, holding out the scrap.
¡°I don¡¯t have hands Z.¡±
¡°Oh, right. Silly me." she slyly remarks, "Then just read me the numbers.¡±
Sienta reads the paper from her sister¡¯s hand. Zero enters the code into the keypad. There¡¯s a click as the lock disengages. The door opens, ever so slightly.
¡°Bitsy Bru why don¡¯t you show Aunt Sien what¡¯s behind the door.¡±
The little one excitedly grabs the handle and pulls.
A bright blue light shines within the casing. Casting it''s glow on the contents. It¡¯s a body. And it resembles a certain person of light. Sienta gasps at the similarity.
¡°That''s... me.¡±
¡°Yes little sister that''s you," she smiles, while plugging a simu-net line into the boxes port. "Come on, Hop in.¡±
The holographic image of Sien looks at her sister curiously. Then her whole image goes bright. The projected image slips away, the eyes on the face open and the body starts to stir.
She spends a minute just looking at her hands. Touching her face. Feeling. Everything.
Then she walks out of the metal box. Steadying herself on the frame. Zero muses upon the crate''s size. It''s exactly the same dimensions, and color, as the terminal she brought her on board in.
Sien''s movements are a bit awkward in the beginning. Not quite baby''s first steps but close. She''s quick to the task though. And in little time at all, she''s standing in front of Zero. Who wraps her in her arms. Joyful tears well up in her eyes. Actual tears.
She reaches up, touches her cheek and looks at her hand. ¡°Why is my face wet?¡±
She¡¯s surrounded with laughter and hugs. Hugs she can feel.
¡°Thank you,¡± is all she can manage.
They walk down the ramp and step outside. Sienta wiggles her toes in the grass. Teela, as is her maternal way, checks that everything is as it should be. She peruses the manual with interest.
¡°How do you feel?¡±
She feels the sunlight on her bare flesh. ¡°Warm. There¡¯s a slight breeze.¡±
¡°Any confusion?¡±
¡°None that I can sense. This is so new though. And there''s a lot of input. Everything is a bit overwhelming. Is that normal?¡±
¡°You are the baseline. You are the first of your kind and the first sentience to ever occupy a body of this type. They''re usually programmed for mining or parts retrieval. Hmm. Interesting.¡±
¡°What? What does it say?¡±
¡°It says it has a bio-concentric shell and an elysiastatic neural network.¡±
¡°What does that mean?¡±
¡°It means you¡¯ll pass for a life-form instead of a robotic construct. Keep anyone from learning your nature. Especially the GC. You''ll still need to lay low until I''m out of there. Ivtar got real lucky finding one. Especially on such short notice. You can fine-tune your looks if you want, too.¡±
¡°No. It¡¯s¡ I¡¯m, perfectly me. Right down to our ears, sis¡±
¡°Ivtar upgraded the core energy supply to a Seizium Trilomar infusion cell. It has similar specifications to the one your terminal operates on. The biggest upgrades though, are the cook-droid package, it has taste buds, and the bio-reclaimer, it will let you recharge the energy supply with food. Or you can recharge your from any port cable that fits what you use now,¡± Zero exclaims.
"My old bear did good," Teela teases, causing a round of chuckles at Ivtar''s blush.
¡°Now you can play hide and seek with Bru, the way it should be played,¡± Zero jests.
Days like these are precious and far too few. Zero knows this. But she doesn¡¯t feel cheated. From her childhood days as a Wisconsin farm girl, to her space faring days with the Concordance, she¡¯s seen her share. Not as many as most that she''s met. But a lot more than some others. She¡¯s just glad to have gotten a second chance to remember, and feel, a love as unconditional as this.
But unfortunately, as Ivtar would say, disconnecting protocols are sorrowful. And in her line of work, inescapable.
The fourth day, of this deviously orchestrated vacation, is coming to an end. It¡¯s time to get back to duty. Sienta spent most of the night before, and a good part of this day, getting used to her new body. She got her butt kicked by Bru in their concealment game. Agerians have very good noses. Turn about¡¯s fair play when it comes to cheating. Ivtar had his chance to pilot the Ex. He offered Zero his services as her Tactical Commander when he retired. ¡®Warriors and their toys,¡¯ she quietly resigned. Honestly though she knows just how he feels. And she just might take him up on his offer. She''ll need something to do in a few months. And Private Armed Escort, doesn''t sound like such a bad living. Neither does The Scourge of Space but that''ll be a part time gig.
The time to pick up her duties arrived. Delegation Protection. A straight enough job. It''s a glorified ferrying run, if nothing malicious crops up. Zero steeled herself against the emotional tide.
The tiny one was the last to let her go.
¡°I¡¯m going to miss you Auntie Zero.¡±
¡°I love you too, munchkin.¡±
¡°I love you more.¡±
¡°That! Is just not possible. Bitsy Bru¡±
The clients are late. Last minute trivialities in negotiations. It''s nothing new.
Zero is laying on the ground looking up at three of Pulcer Ager''s seven moons. Sienta was in a meditation sit by her side. Fondly feeling at her parting gift from Teela. Sensat Arii. She is unusually quiet and still. This is the first time she isn''t running, jumping or dancing since she entered her new shell.
"What color did Mama Bear make your Sensat?"
"Purple." She holds it up for her sister to see, "The color of the womb that cradled me, she said." Then she goes quiet again.
This is a mood Zero''s never seen before.
¡°You okay over there Sien?¡±
¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±
¡°Body¡¯s good?¡±
¡°Body is wonderful. It¡¯s nice to give hugs.¡±
¡°Then why do you seem out of sorts?¡±
¡°Zero... did you really want to die?¡±
¡°Yes," she plainly states, "It''s not that I wanted to, I just ran, uncaring, maybe even a bit desiring, towards the possibility of it. But, then I saw the Ex.¡±
¡°And then you wanted to live?¡±
¡°No. I just didn¡¯t want to die until I flew her,¡± she pushes Sienta¡¯s shoulder playfully, ¡°It was YOU that made me want to live.¡±
¡°Me?¡±
¡°Yes little sister, You. And them.¡±
¡°Then why do you still do all the crazy shit that you do.¡±
¡°Because it¡¯s fun. Especially when the three of us do it together.¡±
¡°Yeah, it is.¡±
The sun shines through the window of a silent, empty room. The only things here, are a bed, a chair, with clothes neatly draped off the back, a duffel, sitting by a partially open door, and a girl, standing perfectly still, in front of a mirror, in the corner, naked, studying herself like an amnesiac trying to force a memory, with a long hard look. Hoping that, whoever that is, on the other side of the glass, will give her a clue. She stares deep into the reflections eyes. Steel blue. Icy in this light. There¡¯s a smoldering of a vengeful fire within them.
A resilience, staring back, as if to say, "You''re still here. You survived. Deal with it."
She flexes her hand and watches the muscles and tendons of her arm tense and uncoil. There¡¯s power there. A strength unlike anything she''s ever felt. She looks at her chest and huffs in amusement, they¡¯ve gotten smaller. It¡¯s the first time she¡¯s paid them any attention.
''They weren¡¯t that big to begin with,¡¯ she thinks to herself, bemused, ''They¡¯re still a handful though. And they look... sort of good, on this frame.¡¯
She slides her hands across the swells and dips of her abdomen. Reveling at the steel beneath her fingers. Her hand smooths down, grabs a tuft of hair and pulls. ¡®You need a trim,'' she looks where her arms meet her chest, ''so do these pits. They are, not, military issue.¡¯ She turns to the side slightly, one arm raised, and reconsiders, ¡®No. You know what? Fuck that. I kind of like it.¡¯
Her eyes cast lower to the curve above her legs. It too, is smaller than she recalls. It¡¯s round, but not bubbly and it has a certain visual quality. An animalistic flair. The same feral sensuality as a cheetah¡¯s on the prowl.
She cracks her neck, grabs the green cloth from the chair, and methodically, puts on her uniform. Rolling up the cuffs and the hems to find a fit. She laughs at the imagery that¡¯s looking back.
¡®It¡¯s like I¡¯m wearing granddad¡¯s overalls.¡¯
¡°Ready? Let¡¯s get this over with,¡± she self inspires, to her reflection. Then she grabs her kit and gives one last look to her room.
She¡¯s being recalled to duty. She knew this day was coming, but now that it''s here...
It''s not that she''s scared of what lay in store for her. She has no fear, not anymore. It just doesn''t seem to hold the same, pride of purpose, it once used to have. She used to think the Concordance was one big family. That''s how they see themselves. Or how they tell you they see themselves. But the way they treated her, while she was mending, it was more like she was a piece of equipment they wanted returned. She saw how the Odum''s crew interacted with each other. And how many of them, even Palcer Ager officers who heard of her coming to the Odum''s aide, came by just to say hello and see how she was. Yet not one of the GC showed, unless it was a doctor with more needles and probes.
She''s had a very long time to digest that fact.
Saying goodbye to the family that took her in, took care of her, and without even trying made her one of their own, is the hardest thing she¡¯s ever had to do. They brought her back from the brink, of death and total insanity. They helped her heal. Gave her love.
It¡¯s not that she hadn¡¯t known love. Her mother and father had shown her a lot of it. When they were alive. Her grandfather did too. Even before he became her sole guardian when she was six. But these people didn¡¯t need to embrace her the way that they did. Make her feel like, home again. But they did. And for that she is eternally grateful. Ironically, she''s even thankful for the tribulations that brought her here.
Walking towards the shuttle pad, there¡¯s an anxiousness kicking in. She starts bouncing on her feet. Her breathing is getting quicker. Her pulse pounds in her wrist. But it¡¯s not fear. Her mouth is watering not dry. It¡¯s a decision. She doesn¡¯t belong anymore. Not with them. Their structure. Their rules. She¡¯s had a taste of something different.
And there was something out there. Calling her. She made a promise. What was it?
She sees a sparkle, a glint off of polished black metal. A fast gunner. A memory makes her chuckle. It¡¯s just sitting there, open. ''You¡¯d think they¡¯d have changed protocols after the last time I was here.¡¯
The gate opens.
A silver plate on the arm shines in her eyes. That color. A flashback.
Her escort turns to sign the form. By the time he turns back she''s nowhere to be seen.
There¡¯s a rush of air and a rumble. A sonic boom. She launches herself out of the port with a maniacal howl. No one¡¯s going to follow, it¡¯s much too late for that. Besides there are tracking beacons.
She reaches under her seat and pulls off the panel. ¡®What tracking beacon.¡¯
It¡¯s the same class and type of ship she sto¡ appropriated, the last time. Not ten months earlier. It¡¯s fast, and intuitively nimble. Especially when you can withstand the extra g¡¯s more than most.
She turns off her main drive and brings her in slow, using a light touch of the attitude thrusters.
She jockeys from wreckage to wreckage, keeping pace with most of the debris. Locating a derelict freighter with a very good view, she settles in, behind it¡¯s shadow.
She pulls the long range targeting camera down, pulls the viewer to her face and scans the moons surface.
"There you are. Told you I''d be back."
Right where it was eight months before. Sitting there. Waiting for her. Her fingers clench and unfold. A two fold act of revenge is at hand.
She shuts down everything but the life support. Opens some panels, switches some relays and reroutes some wires. She has a plan. A plan she didn¡¯t even know she had come up with until now. Little thoughts over the course of months. ''If I switch... If I reprogram...''
She turns the access knob, locking the last panel back in place, and settles, steadily, into her seat. Her head rolls tightly from side to side. She breathes with a meditative purpose. She taps the thrusters pitch and yaw. Slowly closing the gap between the derelict ship and hers.
There¡¯s a thunk of hull touching hull.
She smiles and slides the lever forward. The engines engage and the thrusters fire. She can hear the metal creaking as the wreckage moves straight towards her target. It¡¯s a big base she¡¯ll take any part of it she can get.
As soon as the freighter is about to hit atmo, she skips to the right, full speed, and streaks toward the ground. It¡¯s an absolutely insane maneuver. Every adjustment a split second decision.
Skimming above the ziggurats of stone at high speed, until she''s almost upon a clearing, she had marked from space. Then spinning the ship one hundred eighty degrees and cutting the thrust, at just the right time to settle into a field. She doesn¡¯t wait to look at the radar to see if she¡¯s been spotted.
She quickly flips a few switches on the console. Putting the ship into autopilot. Initializing a programmed targeting check. It¡¯s supposed to be a laser/camera diagnostic, but she¡¯s switched all the relays from pointer to guns.
Her distraction.
The fast gunner heads straight up, back into space, makes a wide turn and starts it¡¯s run. A siren sounds.
She¡¯s at the dry dock before the first shots are fired.
The freighters demise happened years ago. It''s death unnecessary and violent. Destroyed by the very same hands that it¡¯s heading toward. She can almost see it grin, getting the last laugh in with a roar before it slams into one of the ships that killed it. The resulting explosion consumes half the ships on the ground.
She hears the gunner''s engines, it''s coming in hot. A missile launches. A tower mounted turret fires in a futile attempt to take it down. There''s a deafening noise, heat, then comes the shock-wave. The result of a direct hit on that tower. It rattles the steel structure she¡¯s sneaking on.
One raider exits her prize. He has his back to her, looking at the chaos and carnage. The other four, on board, fall just as easily
She doesn¡¯t even need to fire the ship up. It¡¯s like it was just sitting here waiting.
She lets loose a missile blowing the door off its hinges. Her head snaps back as she blasts out of the grid iron dock, heading back into space with a scream of defiance. She banks sixty degrees to port and fires the hyperslip.
Five minutes later she slows down to a crawl. The radio is nothing but snow. The radar shows no interception or pursuit.
She stands from her seat and familiarizes herself with the bridge. Running her hands along the smooth round curves of the panel.
Fore and aft missile batteries. Two Turren, quad, heavy-laser turrets, one set above, one set below. Four bomb style bays, two on each side. And a class five, long range, Penetrator torpedo tube, directly under the nose.
¡°What am I going to call you gorgeous?¡± she asks as she settles back into the chair.
Her hands finally get a chance to feel the material. ¡®Some kind of tough fucking animal, from somebody¡¯s home world, I guess. It feels like alligator.¡¯ She strokes it appreciatively. She swears the ships engine''s hum changes like a purr.
¡°I know. I¡¯ll call you the Exitalis Geminae. It means the deadly twins. Ex for short. You know. Because we¡¯ll be getting a lot of kills together¡ How about we start with those fuckers back there.¡±
There''s something to be said about not returning to the scene of the crime. Most people who do get caught. Either their egos force them to laud over their handiwork, or their nerves drive them to make sure the detectives aren''t suspecting them. Sometimes it''s just a voyeuristic desire. It really all depends on your intention and motivation. When the original crime is theft, no one would expect you to return, with what you just stole, for an act of vengeance. Justice in this case.
War.
She lost her family to this bunch. On a merchant ship when she was a babe. She has no proof in all honesty. But the facts fit their methods. It doesn''t matter anyway. They attacked Ivtar''s ship. Lied in wait in a debris field and pounced. That is enough impetus for her.
They gave her a reason.
It took two hours to plot her course. She had to manually slip in and out of hyper herself.
She came in on the opposite side of the moon from the bases location. Low and fast. She let a Penetrator fly, just to see what a class five looked like hitting a target. It was glorious. Terrifying. Apocalyptic. A beautiful blossom of boisterous brutality.
The only thing left to put up a fight were the nine ships that were already off the ground and the four hiding in the debris field. Two of the nine got swept up in the blast cloud. Three of them turned tail and ran as soon as they saw what they were up against. Four more went up in flames in a hail of the Ex''s laser fire. That''s when the last four showed their heels. Two of them didn''t make it back out of the stratosphere.
By the time she was done with her maiden run, the Tyranean raider base, on the moon called Danto For, was in ruins. It wasn''t even a shell of its former self. Just a bowl shaped junkyard amid the rest of the craters.
She was on the run from the Galacticum Concordance from the moment she left Pulcer Ager. She knew she would be. They¡¯d want her court-martialed, at the very least. But she also knew, what they¡¯d really want, was this ship.
She had to play cat and mouse for over a month, before certain individuals, of a certain Concordance allied planet, honored her as a hero. And granted her full license and ownership of the boat she had sto... Commandeered. Of course she had to agree to endure herself an extra year under GC control, which they fully take every advantage of. But they raised her rank to Captain.
Not that she gave a crap.
¡°Ex. I¡¯m sorry to say, flying you around with this piece of shit nav is going to get old quick. What do you say I take you out shopping? We¡¯ll scour the databases for some wrecks with some decent shit and tune you up. Get you an upgrade? Hmm. The Ovi Neth. That was a science vessel wasn''t it. Says it was completely destroyed. Ooh. It was by a black hole. I always wanted to see one of those up close. I have a good feeling about this Exy. What do ya say?¡±
Sienta Levita March lays her head on Zero Kwewu March''s thigh and sighs. She can feel the warmth of her sister''s leg against her neck. There''s so many things she has to get used to in this body. And so many things she hopes she never does.
Like how this feels.
Zero twirls a strand of long purple hair in her fingers. ¡°Hmm. I just realized we need to rename the ship.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°Because there¡¯s three deadly sisters now. What¡¯s that dead word for triplets?"
"Terni?"
"Yeah that''s it. The Exitalis Terni. I kind of like it. It has an impeding ferocity to it.¡±
¡°Zero.¡±
¡°Yes Sien?¡±
¡°Did I ever tell you, you''re the best big sister in all the cosmos.¡±
¡°I love you too Sien.¡±
¡°I love you more.¡±
¡°That! Is just not possible, my Tiny Quasar.¡±
Waterborne
His friends call him Jake.
Sometimes Jack. Or JC.
Never Junior. Never JJ. And never, ever, ever, John. That was just what his birth records called him. And all the people that knew him best, an amount of souls he could count on one hand, knew, that this was a matter beyond contention. Even his driver''s license attested to this, after his eighteenth birthday. It was the day his last name changed, to his mother''s maiden name, too.
You see, the man, who had given him those easily discarded names, was an arrogant sod. One who thought himself too good to stick around with the plain-looking likes of Jake''s mother. He left both of them behind, without even an address or a contact, when the boy was only two.
And by Jake''s own conclusions, not that his mother had ever said a word about the man, disparagingly or otherwise, he was better off without him. He''d heard the neighbors talk and that had lead him to believe, that leaving him to be raised outside his influence was the only good thing the man had ever done in his life.
Through the years, somewhat fortuitously, the newspapers confirmed Jake''s suspicions. Especially on the day of his death, when Jake was fifteen. The string of offenses, deals swindled, bribes taken, money skimmed off the top, the womanizing, and the sexual misconduct allegations, just to name a few, were all there, in black and slightly off-white.
Jake just knew he had a whole bunch of half-brothers and half-sisters out there and he prayed every night. that they too had grown up out of the influence of that man.
Still, he had no desire to ever meet them. That was a hornet''s nest of emotions he''d rather not kick. But he wished them all well. And he knew that if, by some twist of fate, he ever found out one of them needed a hand or a blood transfusion he''d be there to lend it.
That''s just who he was. Who he had forged himself to be.
He was also the type of person who would skim through the local news rags, just to give fate a place to do its twisting. Which, was how he found out, at age fifty-five, that he''d had a half-brother, named John, who died the previous day in an accident.
He was fifty-two.
He died a hero, pushing a coworker out of the way of a crumbling scaffold.
Jake thought he would have liked him.
From what he read. They had similar features, similar hobbies, and professions. And according to the papers, he was a well-liked man. And judging by the amount of candles and flowers at the accident site, they weren''t lying.
It got him thinking.
And thinking... meant walking.
And walking... always brought him to this place. A park, by a lake. with a pool and a playground and a hardly ever-used walk-around trail.
It wasn''t the most crowded of places. Especially this early in the day. I mean even at its most jam-packed it had a calmness to it.
It was also near his house so he didn''t have to drive. He hated thinking and driving. That was its biggest draw. Thinking and driving was just as bad as drinking and driving in his mind.
A close second, among reasons this was one of his favorite thinking spots, was that there were plenty of secluded spaces, along its board-walked path, to find a place to sit and not be bothered by anyone. A natural, quiet little cloister or two, from where to whittle away a worry or untangle an intangible thought.
He purposefully crossed through the parking lot, put his empty coffee cup in a can next to the break in the fence, and followed the asphalt path up.
Passed the playground.
Under the heavily leaved tree branches.
Finally, coming to an all too familiar clearing on top of a low-rising hill.
That''s where he stopped. Its where he always stopped.
What followed next had become something of a ritual. Whenever he was in this frame of mind anyway.
He watched the water sparkling, under the light of the late morning sun. He took a minute to just catch his breath. Not that he was winded, he was in pretty decent shape, it was more just to clear the cobwebs, get a feel for the breeze, and sense the direction it wanted him to go.
Times like these he liked to follow the signs life offered.
Even if those signs seemed to have no meaning to discern.
But the signs always had meaning. He knew that. He also knew that sometimes they had two, or more, and, if you forced the portents to fit, that you could read them wrong. Yet, in his recollections, even if you read them wrong they still took you to the place that you needed to be. Or, where they needed you to be. For your or someone else''s purpose.
That had been his experience, for the most part.
The wind picked up, pushing the leaves from west to east. From left to right, as he was facing. He heeded its coaxing and let it steer him that way.
He had barely taken three steps when something gave him pause.
A body. Backed up against a tree. Knees up, tucked under the chin, tenting a long black and green skirt. Head down. Staring at the grass. With a white button-down sleeveless shirt.
Even at this distance, he could tell her eyes were dim.
He could feel that from her posture and mire. She was draped in shadow. Thick, dark, swampy and heavy. It weighed upon her like a blanket.
The wind whispered passed his ear, seeming to edge him closer. So, closer he went.
He got close enough that he could scent her. ''Hmm. Green Apples.''
"Hi."
She looked up. Her eyes were glossy. Two pools almost to the point of overflowing. Green, surrounded by white. Sparkling. Penetrating.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I d-d-don''t kn-n-n-knnnow," she replied, slowly turning her head back down.
"Ha," he laughed, completely surprised by her answer.
She turned back up and what he saw in her look made him realize she had taken his outburst completely the wrong way. He smiled, shook his head, and explained, "That''s probably the most honest answer I''ve ever gotten to that question." He held out his left hand, palm up. She looked at it blankly.
"Sitting in wallow doesn''t help, walking does. A little. The dirt has no answers. The water doesn''t either, but at least it tries to give you hints. I know," he paused. Then confessed, "From experience."
She reached up and, tentatively, took hold of his offering. He turned his hand sideways but didn''t pull. ''Everyone should pull themselves up. It''s the first step,'' he pondered. And just as if she had read his mind, she did, just that.
He didn''t let go when she was standing. He just adjusted his hold and started to walk towards the shoreline.
She thought it odd. But she didn''t try to free herself from his grip. The thoughts she had, recently running in her brain, were darker than odd. Odd, at this point in her life, was... asylum.
They walked hand in hand, in silence, down toward the dock, making a right on that wood-planked walkway. Keeping an easy pace. She felt the warmth of his hand and found herself clinging to it. Step by step they kept moving. Without words. Until they came around a bend and he walked to the left, off the main path. Stopping at a lookout on the smaller side of the lake.
It was built like any other boardwalk, jutting over the water and surrounded by trees on both sides. A bench looked out, away from the path, to the west. The forest behind them, on the other side of the path they just came from, was thick. So thick, that the passing of cars. on the main road, was lost and forgotten to the wood.
The only noises they could hear were their footsteps, the lapping of the water, the occasional duck, and the rustling of the leaves. He still didn''t let go of her hand, he just sat down. She didn''t even hesitate, she just followed suit.
Their hands, still together, rested between them. The back of her hand touching his thigh, the back of his touching hers. It was an intimacy. A connection. An anxious but comfortable intonation against her skin.
"I''m Jake."
"S-s-sely."
"Sely?"
"Y-yes."
"Hm." He arched his back and relaxed, just staring at the waves. He played the name on his tongue, "Sely. It''s got an old world poetry to it. I like it."
She fidgeted, both mentally and physically, practicing the words of a question she wanted to ask. So they would come out as she wanted. Not broken. It was an exercise a therapist had insisted she try. "Think before you speak," the woman, that Sely quickly referred to as Bitch, demanded. It didn''t work for her. Nothing really worked for her.
But she had become used to it. Had it verbally beaten into her so much it was pavlovian. So she did it with out thought. Even though she felt like people thought she was making up lies, from the pause between their query and her reply.
"W-what di-did yoooou mm-mean a-b-bout th-the d-d-d-dirt and-d theeewater?"
"Just what I said," he humored, "Most people don''t realize it, but dirt, is death. It''s quite literally everything that ever died on this planet. Every plant. Every bird. Every Animal. Every human. Although, humans not so much over the last few hundred years, because we''ve thought of ourselves too highly to return to it. Think we should be preserved for future generations to marvel at. In the past we were way more in touch with it. Still, without this essence of death at our feet, there would be no life. The resources to support it would have dried up long ago. Water, on the other hand, is life. It''s the source of all that crawled up on land to die and make way for the new."
"Hmm."
He felt her shoulder brush against his.
"Dirt, like I said, is death. And even though it may carry the memories of all the lives it''s made of, it''s still death. It''s seen so many things that a single question could have a thousandfold amount of answers. But even if there was just one, it''s still death. And death doesn''t speak. Water is pretty much the same, in the vastness of its memories. But it also has no voice. What it does have is imagery. Random mementos of the past visually offered upon the reflections of the waves. Dirt absorbs. Pulls you deeper into the malaise, the wallow. Water, offers the brain the ability to gleam what it gleams by itself. Unpersuaded by the liquid''s own perceptions and prejudices. Ironically though, it''s not a fluid process. It''s more pops and sporadic flashes, than flows or fluent waves."
She turned herself a bit sideways. The back of her shoulder to the front of his. She pulled her hand over her thigh.
It was a simple, innocuous gesture. It had no meaning. Just a comfortable position for her hand to be.
But she still held his hand in her grasp.
And his hand, well, it could feel the subtle change of the heat. The warmth and the humidity.
The flesh.
He shifted his fingers between hers and squeezed. She flexed hers and closed them. Both of their hands became one fist. Intertwined.
After a while, the water brought a thought to his synapses. He never was one to keep his thoughts to himself. So, he brushed his forehead up against the back of her head. Brought his mouth to her ear and softly spoke, "If we''re going to have sex, we''re going to have sex. We are not going to do that crap they do in porn. It''s going to have meaning. Emotion. Not ego. Not just going through the motions. No acting, no faking. Just honesty, and passion."
She felt her face flush. And wondered what would have prompted him to utter those words so nonchalantly. So bluntly. From out of nowhere. Then she noticed the placement of their hands. And the warmth she felt where his fingers touched the bare flesh under her crumpled-up skirt. So close to the edge of that last piece of cloth. The last barrier between their fingers and her sex.
She saw the pale of her skin, from the inside of her thighs to her ankles, tinting red. A light blue swatch under the black and green, of the long fabric that cascaded down the sides of her legs. A slightly darker shade of blue curving under and away into the shadows. Starting a little bit higher than the angle of the sun should have allowed.
She knew she should adjust her skirt to be more modest. But she didn''t. She knew she should move her hand away and, in turn, move his too. But she kept them there.
Under her acknowledging eyes the shadow grew. Ever so slightly. A little darker. A little glossier.
She felt like squirming but she couldn''t.
"Yo-you wawould wannt ta-to have sa-sex with mmmm-me?''
"I think I''d like that very much."
"Ba-but why?''
"Your eyes. They''re full of sadness. But beyond that sadness is a warmth, like home. A mirrored depth of even deeper feelings and substance."
"Ba-but I''mmmmm na-not p-p-pretty."
"Pretty has nothing to do with it. Pretty is just a facade. Pretty is fleeting. Trivial."
She had been warned of people like him. People who''d exploit on your emotions and say what you needed to hear, to get their way. The sweetness, that dripped from their tongues, feeding an addiction to their lies. Using them to twist your will for their pleasure. Using your insecurities and pain to seduce and control. ''But.. he didn''t do that, did he,'' she thought to herself, ''He didn''t say I was pretty. He... Was he agreeing with me?''
She just had to ask, and if he could be so blunt, so could she, "Are y-you b-being ca-cruel?"
"I can be, yes, if the situation arises for me to be. Most people can. If there''s a need. Some, just because they thrive on it. To them, I can be cruel. But to you, I can only be cruel in my honesty. You are not pretty, in a commercially viable way. Your body is not going to drive men to lust for a purchase. That being said, there is a charm to you. A disarming display of sensuality in your shape and the way you move. I can see myself being very comfortable with you pressing up against me in the morning."
"I du-du-don''t nnnknow..." she started, pausing in uncertainty at how to phrase what she wanted to say.
He took it as a no. "That''s fine. If you want we can just stay here like this and talk about that look in your eyes."
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
She shook her head. She hadn''t meant to imply... well, anything, she just needed a bit of time to let it all sink in and sort it. "J-jjjust s-s-sex?"
"There''s no such thing as just sex. What people call just sex is nothing more than fucking. Unfortunately, for most, by the time they realize it, it''s way too late. They''ve already tarnished what made it truly special. And there''s no way to bring the shine of it back. Me! I''d rather make love or make like. Share it, rather than just do it."
"Hm!" was all she replied.
He pulled the hand, that was together with hers, away from her lap and up to his lips. He kissed her thumb. Traded his left hand with his right and put it between them.
She stared at the waves, watching the sunlight spark and ebb on their crests. Seeing each vision it shared in her mind. A shiver ran through her. Not from a chill, or a precognition of harm, but a thrill. A joy. A thought.
Feeling her shake and thinking she was cold, his right arm went around her a pulled her tight.
She laid her head back and sighed.
Then she cried.
First a single tear, one that had been building just before he took her attention. It broke free. Then the damn broke and they all poured forth. There were no sobs. No sniffles. No sounds. Just a long fluid release of pain down her face.
Melancholy, made manifest and welled up from the soul.
She had never experienced such a thing before.
When it was over she felt lighter, more lucent. Like her heart had said, "Enough," and forceably pushed out years of anguish.
She took in a slow, deep, long breath and let it flow, just as slow.
"Better?"
"Y-yes."
He rolled a sleeve down and gathered it in his hand then he dried the rivulets of pain from her cheeks.
She watched his eyes as he gently, purposefully, brushed the cloth on her face. There was a tenderness in them. And in his touch. A weathered warmth. A stubborn gentleness. And a cold, almost calculated, caring. Like people had tried to force him not to care and he forced back, willing himself even harder to.
When he was done he gave her a half-sad smile. A knowing expression.
She turned to look back to the water, melting back into his chest. A breeze tickled on her skin. She caught sight of all the bare flesh, still exposed by her crumpled up skirt. Her legs were parted, slightly. The same amount of space from when their hands had been between them. The light blue fabric creased in vertical lines of a darker tell-tale shade. Giving a not so subtle shape to the folds that lay beyond it. She had a memory of the touch of his hand there. the way his fingers grazed her skin. Unwittingly circling and soothing the inside of her thigh. The way those same digits were now softly, slowly, stroking up and down her arm.
The goosebumps were welcome. The touch, comforting.
She took in a deep staggered breath. Let it out in one unbroken exhale. Turned her head, kissed his cheek and stood up. Her skirt fell down along her legs in a graceful motion. Her face turned red as she walked to the edge.
''Where had that come from?'' she thought, ''I kissed his cheek. Such boldness.''
He watched her walk to the railing and lean on it. The way her shirt smoothed tightly on her frame. The slightest of curves, from under her arms to her waist. The breadth of her back. And the way the sun glowed off the fullness of her shoulders.
"You know?" he started, "I may have misspoken before."
She turned her head just enough to see his face.
"Your body," he smiled, "it may have an affect to drive at least one man to lust for a purchase."
She saw a humor in his eyes. But also a truth. His truth.
She just smiled and turned back to the bay. Turning redder than when she realized how close his hand had been to her sex. And how much he could have seen, or ascertained by what he saw. ''And he wouldn''t have been wrong,'' she mused.
She stared out to the mirrored sky below her. The water mesmerized. Breaking the sunlight into a spectrum of flashing colors. Blues and reds and yellows, and all the tones in between, danced and sparkled like pixels on a screen. Painting images in the bewildered concentration of her gaze.
A breeze picked up the essences of lilac and lavender, and drifted them her way. It filled her head, willing her body to life. She closed her eyes and breathed it in. The scent enticing, the flow of air across her skin stimulating.
"Hmmm," she sighed.
''Not an hour ago I had been courting death, maybe not death but solitude. Emptiness,'' she resigned, ''but now, a perfume and a single breeze will always remind me of, life.'' She looked out at the water and spoke two words, "Th-Thank you." They were meant for him.
He didn''t respond.
But before she could turn and repeat it, she felt him against her back, his arms embracing around her, his chin beside her ear.
She rested her head against his, sharing the view.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Nnn-not ha-here, nnn-not n-now. T-too nnnn-nice."
"It''s always helped me, too."
"I wa-was thhh-anking y-you be-eefore, b-by the way."
"For what?"
"Sh-Showingggg m-me a wa-way t-t-to..." she tensed up, then exploded, "Nnnnnnnnnnnnn... I-i hhhhhate sp-sp-speaking br-brokenwords."
He put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, "I don''t mind hearing them." She turned her head to the side with a quizzical look. "It''s like listening to an exotic language," he continued, "One that I don''t have to learn to understand. Just listen. The only time it bothers me is when you try and force them. And only then because I can feel your frustration. So take your time and just speak your words. Speak your way."
"Mm-my ww-way?"
She thought about what exactly her way was. Her way in her mind was, annoying, she''d seen it on the faces of others. Very few people could stand to listen to her. Their hackles would rise. She could feel their backs tighten, their patience get lost. Their pity. Their disgust. But.. he didn''t mind. She could tell. He listened. He asked and listened and just, understood, her. ''My way... is broken and...'' She turned in his arms, ran her hands up his back and put her lips to his. The kiss was endearing and honest. ''This... This is my way too now. With him.''
When she finally pulled away he put his forehead to hers. She was smiling.
So was he.
"Your welcome."
She laughed, then rested her head on his shoulder.
"I don''t know if you''re hungry but I''m starving. I live right over there. We could barbecue or go to The Americain and have lunch. Staring out at the water like this, leaves me..."
"F-f-famished."
"That''s the word."
"Mmhmm. D-did yy-you f-find yy-your annn-answer?"
"I think I did."
"Hmmm."
"Hmmm indeed."
He walked her to her car. She had tucked up under his arm and wrapped hers around him. He put his around her and she held it, just under her breast. Across her stomach. She noticed the way his finger''s played upon the fabric.
When they got to the car she handed him the keys. Explaining that she still had a mindful of stuff running through her brain. She was distracted. He opened the passenger door and watched her settle in. He understood.
No thinking and driving.
The drive to his house was short and quiet. He caught glimpses of her staring out the window. He saw her smile and the tear streak that glistened around it. It was antithetical. Unless it wasn''t. The honesty in that smile against the sadness in her eyes. It was melancholy and it was not.
It was just like her.
The duality of her. Her existence. Very akin to his.
The words she had were broken and yet, poignant, intelligent. She was aloof but warm. Shy yet brash. Distant but perfectly here.
Much like he was, edgy but soft.
When they got to his house he led her out to the patio. Fired up the grill, excused himself and went to the kitchen. She took off her shoes and walked around the yard, to take in the scene. She dipped her toes in the pool and tested the water. It was warm so she hiked up her skirt and let her legs soak.
He walked out the door a couple of minutes later with two steaks and some corn. He saw her sitting by the pool with her face to the sun. "If you want to go for a swim we can run into town and get you a suit. The pool is heated. That''s salt water by the way not chlorine. Helps to ease the stress of the day."
"Th-that''s o-k-kay," she shied. Then she stood up, gathered her will and unzipped her skirt. Letting it fall, to pool in a circle around her feet. She dove in and swam to his side. Pulling herself up on the edge to look at him. Her chin on her hands. Her legs paddling slowly below. "Itt-t''s n-nice, ssilky."
"Yeah. It''s better than the astringent harshness of the chemical pools."
She watched him with curiosity, taking him in as he walked around the pool to what she thought was a shed. He came out in a pair of shorts. It was not what she expected to see. She''d felt his embrace. She expected to see muscles on muscles. What she saw was healthy but not ripped. Still the way he walked she could see the power in every step. Like he walked with his whole body not just his legs. Every muscle and tendon flexed. Like a wolf running through the mountains.
He picked up her skirt, walked back to the deck and put it on the back of the lounge chair with a couple of towels.
He checked the steaks and the corn, flipped them over, then dove into the pool. He swam one quick lap, to the end and back. Then got out and went back to the grill.
She traced the water as it flowed off his long brown hair and slicked down his back. Then she followed.
Her shirt had ridden up and clung to her skin. She didn''t notice. Or she didn''t care.
He did.
Notice.
Her stomach was smooth and sturdy. She wasn''t a thick girl, but she also wasn''t lean. Womanly. Her breasts were small and firm. A subtle curve of flesh exposed on one side. Her nipples protruded through the now gossamer cloth. The darker circles of flesh, teasingly visible, their bumps and edges clearly molded by the shadow and light. Her light blue panties fading back and away between the gap of her thighs. Stalwart and sensual.
He met her half way with a towel opened wide. She turned her back and was wrapped up in it. She pulled his arms around her. "D-do yyou ha-have a pp-paper annd ppen?"
"Yeah. Let me flip these over and grab em."
"Mmmhmm."
He handed her her request and then held out a bottle of wine and soda, one in each arm. She chose the wine. So did he. While he finished the cooking on the sweet scented apple-wood fire. She sat and wrote. Sipped the wine and wrote some more. Sometimes crossing things out and starting over again. She had five pages spread out before her when she was done.
She fidgeted when he brought the food. Plucking at the still damp shirt at her sides.
"May I?" He asked, pointing his hands at her ribs.
"MMhm," she nodded, holding her arms out wide.
He undid the lower three buttons, "Is this a man''s shirt? If I remember buttons on blouses are on the other side?"
"M-my d-dad''s. I h-had to c-cut off th-the sleeves and al-lter theshoulders."
"It looks amazing on you," he said, as he rolled up from the bottom then tied it off, just under her chest.
She wiggled and smiled. Then gave him a kiss.
"Your welcome. Although, I always loved that look. It looks great on you."
They ate, quietly, side by side.
When they were done she finished her glass. Picked up one of the pages she''d written and eyed it over. Then she spoke the words it said. "Wwhen I was three I got an ear in-nfection. It swelled my brain. Ss-ince then the words d-don''t come out rright. Reading them helps. A little." She looked up from the paper glancing at the bottle on the table, "I th-think the wine is too. Hmm?"
"Do you want a little more? I don''t drink often. Barely ever. I don''t like the feeling of being drunk."
"N-neither do I. B-but yes, may I have a l-little more, please."
He poured himself, and her, half a glass. "Have you ever tried weed?"
"Nnnhn."
"Maybe next time you come over you''d like to try. I have friends who indulge, I can get some. If you''d like to come over a next time that is."
"I think I-d like too. And m-maybe. I know y-you said it doesnn-nt bother you. But..." ''it bothered everybody else I ever met,'' she continued to herself.
"I find it... rhythmic," he interrupted, "It''s like flashes on the water. Sporadic with a flow and a spark. Like I said before it only bothered me when you got frustrated. I could feel that. Now. That you''re not worrying about it. I can feel that too. And the fact that you are trying to make me comfortable with it... You don''t need to, but the sentiment is appreciated."
She nod her head in understanding. One more sip, she caught up to her place on the pages and continued reading. "Schools had mme do s-speech therapy, but it''s physical d-damage not mental or psycholog-gical. One of th-em mmade it w-worse. My mmom died when I wwas eight. My dad died l-last y-year. Today. I visited th-them both and got l-lost. In darkness. I dd-don''t even remember driving t-to the ppark."
"I''d like to be able to tell you that it gets easier. But it doesn''t. It just gets a little less intense."
She put the paper down, "I th-think the same. With my m-mother it was f-feeling like th-that. I gguess with my dad it just b-brought it all back."
"I can see that happening. When my dad died it was almost a relief. Actually it wasn''t anything. He was a certified egotistical piece of shit. If it was anything it was envy. Envy at people that had dads that they could feel loss for. When my mom died. Then I felt loss."
"H-how old are you?"
"Fifty -five."
"Rrreally? You l-look better than my da-dad di-did at forty. Hm," she burst, feeling the blood rush to her face.
"How about you?"
"Twenty th-three."
"Seriously?"
"Mmmhmm."
He looked up, "God! I''ll understand it if you strike me down, right now."
She laughed, long and hard. Bringing him down the same road with her. When she caught her breath she stood up from her chair and straddled herself across his lap. It was a very unladylike display in her eyes but she didn''t care. She was trying out her new way. She put her forehead next to his. Her cheeks grew flush. She felt liberated and free.
And wanted.
"T-that was m-my first k-kiss."
He looked confused and then... "On the bench?"
"Mmmhmm."
"Huh."
"W-would y-"
"Yes. I very much wou..."
Before he could finish his sentence her lips met his. Just as innocent at first. She was finding her way and learning. Once her tongue tested out and met his it was over. Their bodies pressed together. The heat between her legs became fervent. She could feel him growing against her. The honesty of it excited her more. Her chest became warm and so sensitive. She began to shake.
When she gathered enough will to pull away, she saw his expression and she gasped, "Please."
"Oh. It would be my pleasure."
He stood up and she wrapped her legs around him. He had to navigate by feel of feet. Looking past her in between the kisses. When he stopped and she let her feet touch the ground they were met with the cool smoothness of tiles. She heard the water start to flow. Her shirt was unbuttoned and removed one arm at a time. Then she heard the water turn to spray. His hands were at her hips and she shivered under his touch as her panties fell to the floor. She felt his fingers grab her butt and lift. She shrieked at the sudden grasp and found herself standing under a very warm flow. She arched her back into it. Letting the water soak into her hair. She felt his lips on her neck and nearly buckled. She reached to his hips and pushed his pants down. He wiggled himself out of them when she gripped him. Shamelessly she held onto him. Feeling his heat in her palm.
He turned her around and grabbed the shampoo.
When the morning sun broke through the blinds, pulling Jake from a dream, he kept his eyes closed. Not wanting to see that the day had been just that. Then he felt her warmth. And only then did he dare to open them.
She was awake. Tracing circles over his heart with her fingers. With a look on her face he could only describe as thoughtful. He ran a finger down her side.
She perked, "M-morning."
"I can see that. Morning to you, too." He kissed the top of her head. "What do you have planned for the day."
"I th-think I n-need to ggo to work."
"I probably should too. But I really don''t want to."
She laughed and rose up, just enough to look in his eyes. He pulled her on top of him, "Hmmm. I knew I''d be comfortable with you pressed up against me in the morning."
"Hmmm ind-deed," she chuckled. Then she kissed him deep.
Three months later, almost to the day, Jake and Sely stood on an old wooden porch, in the back of an old log cabin. Bare naked in the morning sun. Staring out at the sun-speckled waters.
She had picked the place out. He sold his house and bought it outright. With quite a few dollars to spare. They had moved in two days before, and they hadn''t gotten dressed since he carried her over the threshold. But now it was time.
"Guess it''s time to finally put some clothes on."
"Wwhat time w-will they b-be here."
"Two of my sisters said they''d be here around noon, to help with the setup, the other three said they''d be here by four. They want to carpool to get to know each other.
One of my brothers said he couldn''t get here until eight the other five will trickle in after work."
"I c-can''t be-lieve all your b-brothers are''re all n-named John."
"I told you my dad was a piece of work."
"Mmmhmm. I''m g-glad you''re Jake."
"Me too. Speaking of names,": he queried, looking out at the view, "What do you think we should call this place?"
She looked to the lake, a single spark of light caught her eye, she smiled, turned to face him, and spoke her vision, "W-waterborne."
"Hmmph," he acknowledged, it just seemed... perfect.
He kissed her his agreement. His hands curved over the flesh above her legs and gave a squeeze, "You know. We could maybe sneak in a little more fun in bed before we really need to take a shower and dress."
Her hands returned the favor, "Mmmmm." She looked up, with the pretense of thought in her eyes, then she broke into a run, "R-race you.
Morning Observations
The room is dark
The fire burned out long ago
Just a whisper of it still remains among the coals
My shoulder aches
My arm is senseless
Yet I dare not move
The sheets are crumpled
Bunched up and twisted uncomfortably beneath me
Her body is wet
Glistened with sweat
As is mine
We glow gold
The lingering embers
Casting their charm upon us
The scent around us envelopes
It''s thick and heady
Yet clean
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Honest
Our hair is matted
Tussled and strewn
Betraying the passionate accord
We sojourned so slowly
When the fire was raging
Her sensual sonnet still sings in my ears
Her teeth dig lightly
under my jaw
A primal appreciation conveyed with-in their graze
She rises up
Her eyes bore through me
A tender smile when she sees I''m awake
A gentle kiss
She settles
Her breath is hot
The flow chills across my chest
Like a breeze whispering on rain drenched flesh
Electric spikes pulse
Flowing to my fingers with renewed vigor
I feel the firmness of her curves through needle like twinges
My hand molds complimentary to her shape
Reveling in her warmth
Her breathing slows
A softened sigh signals her return to slumber
A steady hum vibrates against me stealing my thoughts
Pulling me with her
Pulling me deeper
Into her dream
Blank Page
Writers write, because the story...
They were just words. Words smudged into the frosted glass of this room''s solitary window. Clarity within the opaque, crystalline tendrils.
He sits behind his desk. Pen in hand. Staring at the etchings, letting them burn into his mind.
Many thoughts flow. All of them, pieces. Parts. Cogs and screws of a greater machine. But none of them captured the whole, in simplicity.
Writers write, because the story...
Needs their hands.
Needs their soul.
Needs their acknowledgment.
Wants to be told.
So he stared. And stared. And stared.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
It was a frustrating exercise. He fumbled with it every time he stumbled. When the words wouldn''t come. When his back tightened and his feet furiously tapped on the hard wooden floor. Or his hands clenched and unfolded. An impasse. Not gentle. Not kind. Infuriating.
He laughs. ''What would become of me if I ever figured it out? If I didn''t have this to infuriate me more than... this, fucking wall, how would I scale it?''
He smiles. It''s an ironic display. Appearing as he gazes over the blank page before him. For three days the flow just stopped. Not like listening to music on a car radio when someone switches the channel. No, that he could deal with. Putting those words to parchment to save for a later day. This was more like watching TV when the picture suddenly goes static. ''At least then you could listen to the hiss.''
His eyes gaze back to the glow. The broken picture in the letters bluish grey. Brown. Cold. No green.
Writers write, because the story...
A sudden breeze causes the branches to waver. His eyes wander.
Seven books on a shelf. All alone. Away from the others. They''re his. The stories that found him. He never read their reviews. He had heard they were horrible. Still, four of them made the top ten list in sales for over a month. So those epitaphs never mattered to him. Not that they would have anyway, never once had he thought, ''writers write, because the story... needs to boost my ego.''
He stands up and crosses the room. On a small stand under the shelf, there''s a stack of papers. Neatly sorted.
And right there on the top is a sight to make him howl in maniacal laughter.
The words had stopped because they had already been written.
Mirrors Dont Eat People
"Mirrors don''t eat people. Mirrors don''t eat people. Mirrors don''t eat people."
It was a mantra. A ward against a memory. Sarah repeated it every time she had to walk passed this place.
"Mirrors don''t eat people. Mirrors don''t eat people."
But she knew that was a lie.
Mirrors do eat people.
She saw it right here. In the very same shop, she was frantically walking by. The odd little corner store with all the brick-a-brack, antiques and oddities.
And the clothes.
Oh! The clothes.
Some were older than this town, the quant hamlet she grew up in, itself. There were different styles from all different eras. All in ''like new condition''. Smelling like incense and soap. Stacked neatly on tables or hung on racks, among the once treasured possessions of days gone by. All lovingly and neatly arranged in this place. A novelty store she used to love to walk into. She''d browse through the aisles, and run her hands across the fabrics for hours.
Every Thursday, she made it a point to swing by. For Seven years.
Until that day.
That warm summer''s day.
She had just turned twenty. The week before. The sun was bright. The air was clear. A hint of honey and roses tasted on her tongue. She could remember it like yesterday. The way the cool air surrounded her, after she stepped through the door, tingling a single bead of sweat, that had meandered down her spine. The delightful shiver that set the fine hairs, on her arms, to stand tall amidst the bumps that grew at their roots.
She remembered these things and more.
The way two other parts of her poked against the threads of her shirt. Contorting the once smooth pockets, of her office attire, with two well-spaced bumps. Not wholly uncomfortable to her, physically. But, a bit unwelcome, to her psyche.
She remembered how the door closed.
And the bell jingled.
Was that new?
The lady behind the counter raised her head like it was a practiced response to the tone. Still, she couldn''t quite remember hearing that sound before. That was something she thought she should recall.
She returned the lady''s greeting smile with her own.
Then, she followed her usual course.
To the right. Passed the knickknacks. Just passed the books. To the left and down the aisle with the lacey things, she''d never wear but loved to gawk upon.
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''The frilliest of frillies. The skimpiest of skimpies,'' she remarked, to herself, on several occasions.
It was there, in that space, her favorite place, while feeling the satiny coolness of a rather salaciously cut balconette, that she saw a motion, beyond the table.
A subtle shift, in white. It flitted against the static colors on the racks.
She looked up and focused her attention.
There was a girl, looking at footwear. Her sundress, so thin, it might not have even been worn and somehow shown less. The girl turned. A red shoe in her hands. She held it a little over her head to catch the light the right way. She was scrutinizing the details, of the stitching and the heels, with a hungry smile and lustful eyes. Her cheeks were flush. She had a dainty nose and full, pale lips. Her chin was pointy, yet round. A long slender neck flowed into delicate shoulders. Two big dark circles stood out amidst the gossamer. Pushed upwards and forwards by ample flesh. Her stomach was smooth. A dark triangular patch, showing no signs of anything to hold it in place, pointed down toward two slender legs.
Yes, Sarah liked the feminine form. She had decided that long ago. But, not in a salacious way. Nor, a romantic way. Or, even in a jealous way. Though, she did like to compare.
''Her chest is much bigger than mine,'' she chuckled, to herself, ''but that''s not saying much. I know boys who have bigger ones than I do.''
More importantly, than comparing, she liked to study those differences. She reveled in them. And, in how many shapes and sizes and curves there were.
''How many wonderful sculptures there are.''
Life was her personal art gallery.
The sculpture of the moment moved. Totally unaware of the scrutiny she was under. Lost in her own walled-off world of selfish desires.
She slipped her shoes off and stuffed them in her bag. And, sensually, almost sexually, slipped her feet into her newest fancy. She stood up, a little taller. Arched her back pushing her chest out even further. She ran her hands down her sides like she was in ecstasy. She was swaying, making lewd motions with her neck and her body. Then she took a step and walked towards a point.
A fixation, in a frame.
Her skin developed a sheen. The sundress clung to the flesh a little more tightly. The flesh was a little more flush. Two nubs pushed obscenely against the gauze. Her breath became labored and drawn with each glide and tease on their sensitive tips.
''She sounds like I do, when I do those things I shouldn''t that feel so go to do.''
The girl stopped and stared at the vision in the glass. Her left hand, unconsciously, caressed its way up her body to cup a breast. She shivered. With fingers outstretched, her right hand reached toward the imagery. An identical picture, reaching back toward her with the same desire to touch her as she had to touch it.
The air thrummed.
The world around the girl in the red shoes distorted.
Sarah, felt the incredible urge to throw up.
Then the noise came. A single overwhelming dissonance.
The sound that invaded the quiet was like nothing she''d ever heard before.
And, thankfully, never heard again.
It was as if the very fabric of reality had cracked. She felt it through her core. It left a thick, oily residue in the air. An unseemly, unwashable taint upon her skin.
One she could smell.
And it just smelled... wrong.
In the blink of an eye, the girl in white was pulled out of existence. With such ferocity that her memory was nearly wiped from Sarah''s mind.
Until she looked down.
And she saw a single red shoe, sitting on its side, wobbling. It was all the evidence that was left, that the other girl once had a place in this world.
"Mirrors don''t eat people. Mirrors don''t eat people."
Sarah finally crosses the alley. Leans back against the concrete.
Out of breath.
Drenched in a cold sweat.
Legs shaking.
"Mirrors don''t eat people."
But she knows, very well, that THAT is a lie.
All Mudcrabs Must Die
ragons.
We''ve all faced them in our lives.
In one form or another.
Whether it''s the oppressive weight of consuming emotions, the overwhelming presence of a deadline, or just the day-to-day struggle of putting food on the table, a roof over the head, or shoes on the kids'' feet, they''re here and, though they may not be the flesh and blood, fire and brimstone breathing kind, they''re real. Even if they only take the winged serpent''s shape amidst the dreams of a less-than-fitful sleep.
On Earth, they have so many strike and attack styles that they leave little chance to equip one''s self with the right weaponry, strategy, or armor to hold off an assault. Depression, addiction, poverty, ambulatory and emotional disabilities are just a few of the talons and hellfire these beings wield. And where they may not leave scars on the body, physically, they can definitely scald one''s soul to the quick, spiritually.
On a plane of existence called Nirn, where these words come to you from, these beings are quite real. And, they leave very visible scars on those unfortunate enough to find themselves victim to their wrath.
There''s the fire, that melts flesh, venom, that steals life, slow and painfully, and acid, that renders muscle and skin to liquefy and slough off the bone. Let''s not forget the talons and the teeth, or the wings that beat with enough force to crush bone and body, with the windblast alone. These are the tools of their ire, their dominance, their fun. And tho their lives may be endless, they aren''t truly immortal, but they may as well be.
To see one of these hulking harbingers once and live is a mixed blessing, at best. To see two, on separate occasions, is just luck, of the worst kind. To see the same one twice... is the making of a tale. To kill it... That... Is the stuff of legend.
But to one girl, it''s just her life.
On the eleventh day of Rain''s Hand, in the five hundred and seventy-fifth year of the second era, in this mortal plane of Nirn, on the continent of Tamriel, somewhere between Riverhold and Altadoon, was born said girl.
She was a quiet, inquisitive child. The daughter of merchants who traversed the byways between Valenwood and Cyrodiil. She was, quite literally, born into the life, in the back of a covered wagon, on the side of the road, under a crisp, clear, moon-lit sky.
By the age of three, you could probably, more often than not, find her on the drover''s seat of that very same wagon. Watching the clouds. Naming the plants. Or just waving at passers-by. All the while keeping an eye on how the tightness and slack of the reigns steered the horses down the hardpack. She would help her parents arrange the wares, in their makeshift stalls, a little after turning four. For her fifth birthday, her father let her take the reigns. She drove for a bit each day after that.
Though many would say she looked all Breton, unless they spotted her ears, she was far, far from it. Yet those two tell-a-tale appendages, courtesy of her mother, were the only sign you needed to see that her lineage was anything but pure. Slightly elongated at the top, albeit closer to the head and a little less pointed than a normal Elf''s. Still, they stood out against her face, her fair skin, and her light brown hair, enough to be unmistakable.
And yet, there was so much more to her make-up than just a Wood Elf mother and a Breton dad.
Her mother''s side was a small cornucopia of Tamriel''s diversity. She was Bosmer and Nord with a hint of giant, courtesy of a great, great, grandmother of Skyrim''s warrior line. There was even a tinge of Orc off the branch on her father''s side, somewhere. Her great Uncle had the teeth.
The girl''s father''s line was a little less messy, having an influx of Redguard four generations away, but mostly he was just Breton, Breton, and... Breton down the rest of the line.
As you can see her genetics were an interesting mix, but that was not as uncommon as some may assume. Though not many of Nirn''s people crossed over the racial divides, it happened more than people think. And a lot more than some would have hoped for. Some families just seemed predestined to it. Be it by love or lust, drunken debauchery, or the atrocities of war.
But that''s a tale best be told by someone more learned than I.
This tale, not that one, is mine to relate. As it has been for five years now. Whenever someone should inquire about the girl with the scars, the eerily glowing eyes, and no voice of her own to tell it, mine, is the voice that tells it.
And I pass these words on to you, pretty much the same way she wrote them to me, scratching them with a dragon''s claw, in the blood-covered soil that was almost our final resting place.
Well, maybe not the same way. I tend to embellish things a bit. If the tale is worthy of telling, it''s worthy of telling the tale with a little flare. Just bear with me, ''cause this tale, is worth hearing.
So, let''s go back a few years, to a warm uncommon night in a desert, because that is where this story truly begins. Well, really it began the day of her birth but I already filled you in on that.
Midsummer, five-hundred eighty-two. A caravan of wagons makes its way north from Rimmen, heading to trade on the Nibenay Bay. They stopped for the night, in a well-used clearing, dined, took baths in a pond, and had long been in satiated repose. The moons were full. The night was unseasonally quiet.
And a fool named Abnur Tharn was in the midst of a plan.
A very, very, stupid plan.
"Father."
"Yes, Jo"
"I can''t sleep."
"What is it that has you bothered, little one."
"It''s too... heavy."
"Do you want the lighter blanket?"
"No, father. The air, the sky, the moons, they''re heavy. Can''t you feel it?"
The silence that surrounded them had a weight. An eerie feeling of foreboding. Then that heaviness slowly became a tremor. Not from the ground but from the very air around them. It pressed on the skin, thrumming in the ears. With a sudden deafening ferocity, the silence broke with a roar of inferno and the screams of others waking in hell. All around them, the night became blinding. The world quaked from an enormous impact on the clearing outside her wagon. A fiery, furious gust of wind and sand sent it tumbling like a tumbleweed in a storm. She was tossed from her bed through the cloth roof, slamming, back first into a tree.
While struggling to regain the breath that she had lost she saw a vision that would be etched in her memory for life. A huge black head, teeth bared in a grinning maw, and two yellow eyes, full of malice and... joy, glowed in the hellscape that surrounded her. She knew her world was changed forever when that maw opened and more fire raged, with a bellow. Then the pain came and with it the merciless respite of darkness.
The dreams that haunted her, over the coming days, were of agony, death, and despair. Occasional words touched her ears, in the seconds she would wake, and fade as the nightmare renewed.
The hands that finally ripped her from her slumber were anything but kind. They were rough and cold, much like the voice that came next.
"Wake up girl. We wasted a''nough on you. If you can''t work we''ll fee'' you to the Dires. They prefer their meat a li''l less cooked, but they''ll gnaw on you just the same. Ha."
She recognized that voice. The cruel things it spoke in her haze. The pain and, oddly enough, the soothing that came with it were a tenebrious memory, but a memory just the same.
"Eat. Then get to work. And cover that face. You''re horrifying."
Those words would be her morning ritual for the next two years of her life. Just before she was handed a wooden bucket with a rope for a handle and sent on her way.
Always, away.
That pail, that mirror of life, it told her why. Every morning. She''d drag it to a stream empty, then she''d get a look at the person in it when it was full. The left half of the face, all scarred. One eye clear, blue, the other... dead, white, and hazy. She looked at the stranger staring back with pity. Pity and awe.
''Why did they save me? Are they that cruel, that merciless?'', she posed, many a morning, about these bandits.
Her rescuers were her captors, her masters, her bane. Cooking, cleaning, mining, and foraging were her life now. But that didn''t bother her any. She had always been a hard worker. Eager for the task. Hungry to learn how and to do. It was the anguish of the others, her friends, no, her family of the road since birth, it was their pain that put a fire in her stomach and knots in her gut.
It was the atmosphere, the sounds, that tortured her.
The cracking of whips on flesh and fur. The bodies of those too old, to be useful anymore, put to a final purpose. Hung from a tree by their wrists, "This! Is where you stab."
Then there was the other cruelty. The moans in the night, accompanied by the sobs and whimpers of the assaulted. The groping and fondling. Never her though, she was too... untouchable... unsightly. Even for the most scarred of them. It was a small solace to the look of the reflection in the water bucket.
So she woke in the morning, wrapped her face in a shawl, ate her hard tack, grabbed her bucket, and started her day. Vigilant. Aware. Studious. Every day, the same routine, the same sounds. The same lessons.
Then, just around sunset, after so many repetitive months she''d lost count, she heard it. Something old, but somehow new.
A cry for help. A plea for mercy.
"No! No. Please, no!"
The voice was one of the most familiar and friendly, more to the point, sisterly. It belonged to her only constant friend these past nine years, of both their young lives. The only one who still looked at her like her. A Khajit girl named Ma''rivva. Three days her younger. Born on the same wagon train.
Her mind went cold and her body heated. Then she heard the roar and felt the pain like she was freshly burned. Her world went white hot.
She doesn''t remember much from the second she seared to the moment she felt the sobs against her chest. She wanted to console her friend. She wanted to tell Ma''rivva, "Everything would be okay." She wanted to say anything. But her words were taken from her the very same day she felt the dragon fire''s caress. So she did, the only thing she could do, she rocked and she stroked the girl''s head, holding her tight.
When the warbling stopped and the relaxed breathing of sleep met her ears, she laid the girl down on the grass to rest, then she looked at her arms and hands. The blood of that man had pooled in the scars, giving her a semblance of smoothness, a new skin, and, for a brief moment, she felt renewed. Whole. Purposeful. Then she saw the bow, the blade, and the arrows. The clouds parted and the moonlight caught her attention. She looked up and saw a statue. Of Azura. Looking down from the rocks above. And she knew why she had been asked to endure.
What happened next, one would say was cold, cunning, and calculated. Tactical. Precise. Ruthless but deserved.
She''d learned how to sneak up to a Gryphon''s or a Kwama''s nest to steal eggs. She knew how to avoid the sticks, leaves, and branches so as not to startle the deer, springbok, or goat, lest she be beaten for scaring them away.
And these lessons she learned well. Very, very well.
She had watched, inconspicuously, as the newer cutthroats were being trained. She had listened, while they were being chastised.
"Raise the bow steady. Nock the arrow. Pull the string smoothly. Aim for the buckle if they''re close. Aim for the heart if they''re far... Loose!"
"No, no, you dumbshit. You stab here, here, or here, you slice here. Quick, clean, quiet."
She had mimed those rituals in her mind, every night before sleep, physically when she knew she was hidden from view. Over and over she had sparred, with the enemy in the stream''s reflection, the brigand tree, or the invisible shadow swordsman. She ran the trainer''s words through her head until they became her mantras. Engraved in her mind, memorized by her muscles.
Knowledge was her sustenance, her food. And she had devoured every meal with the hunger of the starved.
The House of Reveries would have been envious of her footwork, the Morag Tong of her silent execution. A flick of the blade. A well-placed arrow. Retrieve your ammo. Hide the body. Move on.
The guards were the first. Always vigilant toward external attacks. Never expecting their demise to come from within. Never mind from someone so small. So quiet. Those who were sleeping never woke. Those awake never spoke a word of warning.
She was vastly outnumbered, but she knew who to free first. Slowly, as the captor''s numbers dwindled, her allies'' numbers rose. Together, they spared none.
When it was finally done, while families reunited around her, she went to the stream and took a look at herself. This self. This purpose. She looked to the statue of Azura, to thank her for giving her this rekindled feeling of hope and the resounding sound of joy she heard around her. But all she saw, was a pillar of stone vaguely in the shape of a solemn woman.
She felt the pain and the blood rush settle. She stripped out of the blood-soaked clothes, laid herself down in the water, and let the coolness of freedom cleanse her, body and soul.
Her sins floated away in red tendrils on the current. Along with the last vestiges of her venom and rage. When the cool became too cold and unpleasant, she picked herself up, gathered her new tools, and walked to the summit of the tallest hill. She stood calm, just staring at the horizon, longing for the beyond.
In the midst of her future''s uncertainty, she heard a footfall. She spun, bow in hand, arrow nocked.
She saw a familiar trio, hands raised, for her to stay her shot, a happy little one wrapped around the man''s leg. She lowered the bow. They grabbed her in a hug.
In their embrace, she cried, for the first time in a long time.
She grieved for her parents and the oh-so-many lives lost, that one night long ago, and the terrible months that followed. She sobbed silently and wept tearless, against their soft, calming fur. The revelry, coming from the camp below them, reminded her of the days long before these, giving her faith that those feelings may somehow return. It was more than hinted upon the sounds of laughter and meaningful task.
After their tormentors were no more than scavenger food, the survivors took stock of the supplies around them. They gathered everything worth packing and carrying and made an expeditious exodus from that place.
They headed south, out of the desert, toward more fertile soil. Where the greens and browns could chase the memories, of the hardships, the bandits, and the cruelty. Remembrances that would forever be recalled by the sight of the red rocks and the sun-bleached sands, should they stay.
On the road outside of Tenmar Temple, a scant few miles from the Valenwood Gate, that little girl became Ma''rivva''s true sister, in front of all the families she helped liberate. Jo Greenhart became Jo Kethba Athra. The Little Wise One With The Soul Of Stone.
Jo Stonesoul, she would claim for the common law.
They ended their journey and forged a makeshift little village, in a gorge between Pridehome and Black Heights. Even a handful of the Argonian merchants hung up their trading shoes for a simpler, more sedentary life. Farming, herding, fishing, hunting, and crafting had quickly become their new way. They watched hopefully, but not forlornly, as others took their wares and moved on, down the same byways as they once had. Silently praying for a peaceful trip for those taking their place on the road.
And life went by.
At a slower, more tranquil pace.
Years passed, with a gentle turning of the seasons and an honest, familial calm.
Then the rumors trickled in. Hushed words off the tongue. A beast in the North was holding villages and wayfarers to tribute. Demanding of them, treasures, subservience, and flesh. No one knew his name but the monikers rang familiar to them, those who remembered one hellish night so many years ago.
Smiling Demon of Death.
The Darkness That Rends Flesh Laughing.
The Shadow of Joy.
It had black scales with yellow eyes.
Mercenaries and adventure seekers traveled from miles away, to be the one to end his reign and claim a Queen''s ransom. The only thing they did was sate the beast''s hunger, for a while.
On the morning of the nineteenth of Rain''s Hand, in the year five hundred ninety-four, eight days after her nineteenth birthday, an uncommonly tall woman, with light brown hair hugged her adopted family goodbye. She didn''t expect to return from this venture but she needed to see it through. And they knew it too. The nightmares, the anxiousness, the pain of just knowing it was there and... that grin... it forged her. It beckoned her.
One last hug. She left the tears behind.
That was three weeks before I met her. It''s odd, now that I come to think about it. Two very different people, meeting up for the same purpose, with two very different reasons for that purpose. Mine was simple. Money. I had no family lost to this beast, nor had I a reason to hate it more than any other bounty. To me, it was just a living. And a retirement''s worth of coin. Should I survive to collect a single Drake, that is.
Her reason? That would be simple too, if you called it vengeance. But vengeance, it wasn''t. It was something much different. Truer. Much more altruistic. It was, for lack of a better word or a single word for that matter, a love for the lives of those who love.
You see she loved the people that this bastard had hurt. And she''d damn herself to Oblivion if she let it hurt a single soul more. Never mind if it made its way South and hurt her family anymore.
That was unconscionable in her mind.
Many nights since the rumors first started she dreamed of this beast, sweeping through her home, coming to finish what he didn''t that night.
That thought alone was what drove her to trek through the wilds, back to the desert, with nothing but some jerked meat, a canteen, a bedroll, a blade, and a bow.
That same bow.
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That same blade.
The ones consecrated, as red as her skin had been, that night under Azura''s gaze. Those two tools had a gleam, a magic all their own. An essence and intensity that matched hers.
When I met her, she was sharpening sticks. I should say, she was making spikes from trees. Small trees. About one and a half hands wide. She was lopping off the tops, a Gryphon''s-head-high off the ground, and shaping what was left standing to a point. There was no rhyme or reason to the location of the ones she chose. They were just sporadically picked, in the last of the woodland before the desert''s claim. In the last known region that the beast haunted.
There seemed to be a method to her madness though. Like she had a plan. Or maybe a premonition. I wouldn''t have put that passed her either.
Maybe it was a figment of a dream? Or a calling so strong it could will the world to bend to it? Either way, she was fixed and she was focused. So focused she didn''t notice me watching.
Okay, some would call it leering, but it wasn''t in a creepy way. There was just, something about her.
She was lithe and fluid and... driven. She moved with the grace of a... well, of the people she called her family now. She had a feline quality to the way her muscles moved and flexed. Her head was shaved on the sides with five braids going down the middle, interwoven into one, halfway down her back. She was stunningly scarred.
When she finally caught my gaze, I saw the ferocity of her purpose, the intensity, and the passion. She was... the most honestly beautiful being my eyes had ever seen.
She took stock of me in an instant, pointed at me, and then at a youngling just on the other side of where I was standing. I took the hint and got to work. This routine went on for a good part of the day. We''d cut, she''d notice I was staring again, she''d point, and we''d move on.
When she finally called it quits she thanked me, by way of words written with a stick in the dirt. Then she waved me follow, back to a makeshift camp, on the North side of a pond East of Merryvale. With the rocky hills at our back, and the pond separating the clearing from the treeline, this spot was like a natural redoubt.
She stripped, walked into the water, and washed away the day. She was not shy, nor vulgar, nor flirtatious, it was just the way. I joined her, at a modest space.
When we were both cleaned, of our day-long endeavor, she shared a stew she''d made, with some rabbit, she had caught in the morning, and some vegetables she had bartered from some farmers in exchange for an extra rabbit or two.
We ate in silence. But, we didn''t need any words, those who have compelled themselves to do something as stupid as we were about to seldom needed any. There was a camaraderie of thought. A consignment, that one''s last few hours of life be calm, peaceful, repentant.
Then again, if the sounds coming from the clearing on the other side of the wood were any indication, there was another train of thought on the matter. That being, loud, boisterous, bawdy, and drunk was the way to spend those hours.
I''d been around enough to know that that was for the young and dumb. The battle-hardened settled that rush. They molded it into something to keep them going when the belly was empty and the fight was far from done. The loud was, for the after, for getting rid of the extra, if there was any left, and, more importantly, it was for rejoicing that you made it out alive.
She was much too young to have had to learn that lesson. No one should have that temper at her age. But something in the way she steeled herself told me the opposite was true. She grew cold. But it wasn''t the kind of cold that shut people out. It was more of a stillness. A comfortable coolness on a hot summer night.
I fell asleep to the sound of Bards, singing honorifics for the dead.
I woke up to the smell of coffee, tempting me out of my bed.
She was holding the cup under my nose letting the scent entice me awake, with an amused look on her face, like this was the funniest thing in the world to her. It was one of the better ways I''ve been awakened before the storm.
We breakfasted on what was left from dinner.
I took stock of her battle gear.
A cloth-wrap around her chest, very loose pants, barely held up by a rope belt, fingerless gloves, and a pair of sandals. I kind of understood the reasoning behind it, I''d seen her in the pond, anything more, must have been too much of a burden to bear.
The left side of her face and neck, her shoulder, arm, ribs, and half the breast, the side of her stomach, most of her left leg, along with her right forearm, both hands, and both feet, were burned, raw, and scarred. I was amazed she could move at all. Never mind, amble about with the fluidity she possessed. Or the endurance and strength she displayed the day before.
I reached into my kit and pulled out an old vest, a pair of pants, and some lace-up boots. All mid-grade leather armor with chain mail strategically placed.
"It might be a bit big on you, but it''s better than what you plan on fighting a dragon in."
She smiled before tossing the pants and boots back to me. She grabbed a stick and wrote two words in the dirt.
''Fireproof'', she tugged at her pants leg.
''Surefoot'', she pointed to her sandals.
In the light of the fire, she unwound the wrap, put the vest on, stood up, shuffled around, drew her blade, and sparred with the air. Finally, she drew her bow and let loose a few arrows at a tree.
I felt her standing next to me and looked up to see her topless once more. She was handing the vest back to me with a grateful smile and a shrug of her shoulders.
"You can keep it."
She touched her left shoulder and then shook her head while rubbing the palms of her hand together forcefully.
"Ahh. It chafes."
She shook her head yes.
I took the vest back and got out my knife and supplies while she ate. I cut the left strap off and sewed some of the rabbit fur into the back, the lower front under the chest, and the right strap.
"Try this."
She looked and smiled, put it back on, and went through her routine again. While I was taking a sip of coffee I heard her bounce right next to me. She thanked me with a kiss on the cheek and a grin.
We left camp before Magnus had crested the horizon.
We took only some provisions and the necessary tools of war. She hadn''t even bothered breaking camp. I understood why, all too well. Too much weight to carry into a battle for one. Never mind the fact that, if we didn''t come out of this alive, we had no need for it, and if we did, well I, for one, would much rather have it ready, than have to make it again while completely exhausted.
We traveled light, stealthy, and quick, heading west toward a path that would lead north to The Stitches. It was the longer way, to get to our destination, but going north through Red Hands Run didn''t seem like a very good option. Not unless we wanted a warm-up before the dragon fight. Which we, most certainly, did not. Besides, there was a very loud contingent of armed folk making their way up the main road to the east. And if anything was going to draw attention away from us, keep us stealthy, it was a bunch of half-drunk, half-hungover morons hiding their fear by having a pissing contest. We did have to fight off a few harpies and a couple of dunerippers but that just seemed to temper the blood.
I chuckled to myself at a thought. Which I then gave voice to. "If someone had told me, even a month ago, that I''d be walking through the gouges and the gorges of a rock-strewn desert, fighting of feathered beasts and ground tunneling lizards, on my way to slay... or should I say attempt to slay, a beast of antiquity... I''d have told them they were fucking nuts and to please fuck off." She nodded her amusement.
But, here we were, in heat that bordered well passed the verge of sweat, walking under the shadows of the walkways and bridges that crisscrossed the scars.
Just south of Orcrest, we went east. That''s when we heard the beast roar and the fire rumble. Seemed like someone had poked the hornet''s nest early.
Or maybe the dragon just smelled lunch.
I chuckled to myself at a random thought. Which I then gave voice to when I saw her turn with a quizzical expression. "If someone had told me, even a month ago, that I''d be walking through the gouges and the gorges of a rock-strewn desert, fighting off feathered beasts and ground tunneling lizards, on my way to slay... or should I say attempt to slay, a beast of antiquity... I''d have told them they were fucking nuts and to please fuck off." She nodded her amusement.
But, here we were, in heat that bordered well passed the verge of sweat, walking under the shadows of the walkways and bridges that crisscrossed the scars.
Just south of Orcrest, we went east. That''s when we heard the beast roar and the fire rumble. Seemed like someone had poked the hornet''s nest early. Or maybe the dragon just smelled lunch.
I felt my companion stiffen, still, and stop. I reached my hand out and touched her shoulder. She slowly turned her head to face me. I saw a flicker of terror flash through her good eye, as a grimace of pain overcame her dead one. The beast roared once more, her shoulders stiffened and I saw her resolve rekindled. Not in hate, not in vengeance, but in that same sharp, steady, steely calm I saw in her the night before. She nodded ''thanks'' and continued down the path. Our pace had quickened a little, not so much into a run as a cantor. A fluid-tempoed trot that wouldn''t sap our stamina.
The destination? It was a fixed point in the near distance. A very loud, very violent near point. Between the screams and shouts, the shadow that seemed to suck the very light from the sky, and the smell of hellfire and burnt flesh, there was no compass needed to find it. There was no mistaking it.
The smoke billowed and spread heavily across the treeline, like a dense fog before the morning light pushes it away. The fires raged. Hot enough, even at this distance, to push the temperature of the air to well beyond uncomfortable. And still, we pushed on. Shielding our mouths in the crook of our arms. Feeling the tears mingle with the ash and drip down our cheeks. Thick black lines had formed on our faces from the mix of saltwater and soot. Natural warpaint.
We finally broke passed the last treeline, emerging with bleary eyes out of the smokey chaos, straight into a scene cut right out of Oblivion''s gaping maw. Everything was alight, blazing, or smoldering ash. Even the sandy ground itself had been forged into glass. Discordant glossy waves and sharp jagged edges intermixed in sporadic conical patterns that sparkled across the battlefield.
The dizzying, illusory fluctuations of temperature, mixed with the feverishly pitched magics, spun the world on its head. I felt like I was in freefall even though my feet were rooted firmly. It was like the whole entire planet was a huge ship being tossed about the galactic sea like a feather in a hurricane. My stomach clenched, fighting back the urge to throw up a month''s worth of meals.
Then the sounds started to take shape. What was once an overwhelming mix of steely high notes and deep bass thrums, became voices and bowstrings and pain. The screaming, the chants, the crackling of energies, all coalesced into an auditory and visual onslaught on the senses.
My brain fought with itself to put the sound to the actions. Lightning flashed and thundered. Fire, raged and roared. Ice walls rose with a groaning, in a protective glaze. Water, steamed and hissed. Commands were shouted and fingers pointed, attempting to give a sense of order and direction to the armaments and spells.
Her bow was drawn, an arrow readied. My pollaxe, gripped in white-knuckled fingers, never felt as heavy as it did at that moment. And then, we charged.
When we made it into the fray the sight around us was rather daunting. There were bodies everywhere. The dead, silent, the dying, moaning in agony, the ones trying to struggle for cover, cursing, and those who turned tail and run, panicked and reeking of fear and shit. It overwhelmed the senses in an overpowering wave of futility and dismay.
And, surrounded by all this, a lone figure stood amidst the carnage. Dressed in red and grey. A plume of iron, like the blade of a battle axe, curved on their helmet front to back. They stood statue-like, paralyzed. A gold inlaid, black horn of ivory in their grip.
They snapped themselves out of the daze and raised the horn to their mouth. But it was too late, much, much too late. The tail of the dragon swept into view. A blur of shadow. A massive crunch. Their body was tossed like a lifeless sack, crashing to the ground and tumbling. The mouthpiece rolled into the smoldering grass.
Arrows loosed. Magics rippled the fabric of vision. Swords danced looking for a weakness in a seam.
And the dragon smiled with a malevolent gleam.
A rhythm took the madness. The beast would land, fight tooth and nail and tail. Then it would rise to sweep its crematory breath like a pyre. Arrows and spears, of common construction and elemental design, would fire at their airborne target. Swords and axes and spells would assault him as soon as his claws mauled the earth. Over and over and over. If this became a battle of attrition, how much longer could we hold?
Then the dragon let wide his wings and rose to a stand. The world went still, silent. A buzz of terror washed over the landscape. And words, as ancient as any star, incomprehensible and guttural, raged from the beast''s grinning jaw.
Those not quick enough to evade the sound found themselves stunned, paralyzed, and bleeding. Forced to the ground under a sudden, invisible weight.
I found myself out of breath. my back against a boulder. The pain in my ribs tore the air from my lungs. Jo was flat on her stomach pushing against the tide, struggling to free herself from this gravitational enchantment.
An ice spear sailed overhead with a crack of sound in its wake. The lance powered into the demon''s chest, glanced to the side catching a weakness between scales in its point, then exploded ripping the armor from the beast''s flesh.
A deafening roar bellowed over the already loud cacophony of battle rage. A stream of over-magicked, purple ichor dripped down the monstrosity''s chest and fell to the dirt. Sizzling and popping on the overheated soil. For the first time, since this fight started, it was hurt. And the dragon rose to the sky enraged, confused, and embattled with a new emotion, one whose grip it had never felt before. Disbelief, apprehension, and... fear.
Electricity danced across its teeth lighting the plasma it exhaled in a blinding brilliance. And more warriors fell, as the beast roared out its malice in panic and anger.
Then the fear in the black one''s eyes disappeared, triumph.
Arrogance. Its own worst enemy.
It slowly circled, seeking its next victims.
I found my air and pushed my way toward her. Moving when the wyrm''s attention was elsewhere.
She was looking at the warrior that had been tail whipped. Fixed on his eyes, heading his call.
As the dragon made another pass the broken man mouthed, more than spoke, just three words.
"Blow the horn," he wheezed, pointing with his outstretched arm at the mouthpiece just out of his reach.
She crawled her way to the black tusk, grabbed it with her hand, put it to her lips, and blew with all she had left.
What happened next, wasn''t so much as a trumpeting, or a call to arms, it was a vibration. A very unpleasant thrumming. It was a sudden, gut shuddering, tremble, that filled the air like a thousand mammoths had taken to the sky in a stampede. It compressed around us in buffeting waves, pushing against our ears and our sanity.
For the dragon... It had a completely different effect.
With an almost deafening concussion, the creature''s wings folded upwards, its head and tail snapped up, almost touching between those two leathery appendages that had kept it aloft. It was almost as if the hand, of whatever God you want to believe in, reached from the ether and punched it squarely in the spine, driving it right into the earth, with all the fury it could muster. The beast landed with an earth shattering within the trees. And, by some act of providence, onto many of the camouflaged spikes we had sharpened the day before.
A shockwave of air knocked me back off my feet. Then the terrain exploded out in ripples, causing the dirt and rock to pulsate in waves. I was glad that I had only gotten to a seated position or my ass would have slammed back to the bedrock a lot harder than it did. Still, it didn''t do any favors to my ribs or my breathing.
I saw Jo, slowly rise to her feet, and, with a grim determination, march headlong to the crater all that mass had created. I sucked the pain down, fought myself to my feet, and followed.
I''d like to say that what happened next was quick and easy, but it wasn''t.
Our quarry was impaled through wing and body, and essentially, he was staked to the ground, yes. But he was still a fucking dragon and he was still very much alive. And now he was cornered and very, very pissed.
So we danced with death, to a slow-metered waltz of violence. Thankfully, one of the trees we had carved had found the black beast''s plasma sack, a translucent pinkish gel oozed and flowed down its torso, rendering both its fire and voice inept. And still, it tossed us around as it thrashed and slashed and snapped.
As the shadows grew longer across the dancefloor one by one the number of dance partners dwindled.
We were frantic, grasping for anything to keep from falling from the euphemistic cliff we had found ourselves on. Then one of Jo''s arrows found an eye, blinding the terror on one side, so we tormented and harried it. Dodging in and out of its sight line. Culling its attention while others stormed in on it from the dark half of its vision.
It was during one of my charges that the beast made a fatal mistake. One of its only mistakes. It lowered its head to the ground to swipe at me. She took advantage. It sputtered when it felt her blade pierce behind its ear and it rose up to try and shake the offender loose. My pollaxe found the raw flesh this motion exposed, just under its neck, and I drove in with all the strength I could muster. I''d like to be able to say it was enough. I''d like to exclaim to the world that it was the killing blow. But it was not. Not in and of itself anyway.
Jo had managed to hang on to her precarious position, atop the black beast''s skull. She swung to the side pulling her blade across its width, grabbed the arrow in the creature''s eye, and tugged. It slammed its head downward, to scape the pain, driving my weapon deep into its chest.
There was no death rattle to be heard. No vengeful cry. No groan. Not even a whimper. There was just the solid hollow thump of tons of dead weight hitting the ground. Then stillness. An oppressive silence.
We somehow managed to stumble towards each other. Then we collapsed, sitting pressed up against the dead dragon''s body. She was covered in blood and that pink plasma.
We called out for the living but no one replied.
We were dying.
Or we weren''t.
It didn''t matter anymore, the deed was done. And what was to come would come. I heard her huff and turned myself to her attention. It was the second time, since I met her, that I saw her smile.
She was satisfied. Her self-imposed purpose was fulfilled. With nothing left to do, but wait for one of the two inevitable outcomes of our circumstance to unfold, we talked. I talked. She wrote her words in the blood-soaked dirt with an arrow she plucked from the beast''s hide.
Eventually, both of us closed our eyes to the encroaching night. Wondering if it was for the last time.
I woke, to the sweet, coolness of water on my lips. I had never thirsted so much before. I opened my eyes to see her staring at me with a worried look broadcasting from two pink glowing eyes. She saw me drink and her face brightened. I took a minute to process the changes before me. Her burn scars hadn''t changed much, they did seem a bit more supple, but the cuts and clawmarks she''d had, like the gash from her right forehead to cheek, were gone. Same with the ones on my arms and ribs, even the ones I had gotten as a child. I scrutinized her gaze a little further, "Can you see out of both eyes now?" I asked hoarsely. She nodded, ''Yes,'' with a grin. "But you still can''t talk?"
She shook her head, then shrugged her shoulders in amusement. ''Go figure.''
After about an hour of just sitting, eating some jerk, that tasted like the fanciest meal I ever had, we gathered our strength and collected some of the parts, for proof and profit, then slowly, achingly, made our way back to the camp.
Now, here''s the part where I''d have loved to be able to proclaim that our story was filled with fortune and fame. I''d like to retell a tale about a parade, a feast for heroes, and the accolades and titles cast upon us by the nobility. But the truth is, we got fucked. Seems we were out for two whole days and a part of a third. And some asshole, probably one of the ones with a pants-load of shit, had claimed the prize and split. We did get some money, food, and rest, for our part, but it was nothing close to what those fetchers received.
We debated going after them but we both decided we would have more than enough with the parts we had to sell. And besides, living a peaceful life, with no need to do anything ever again, was just opening the door to a sorrowful existence.
And the Queen was, shall we say, just a little pissed off when she heard the tale, and saw the state we were in compared to them. So... they''d get their due. Without us having to resort to vengeance. There''s never any fun in that.
The only souvenirs that we had taken for ourselves were material. I took two claw tips that I made into necklaces. She took the arrow and eye to hang over the mantle, some rib, to make into shafts, and some scales to make flights and arrowheads. I kept some scales for armor. And his good eye. Because... Why the fuck not? How many people can say they have a dragon''s eye in a jar on a shelf, keeping a lookout at their front door? Especially one they plucked themselves, from a dragon they helped to kill.
And now here we are. Five years later. And I''m telling you this tale two days after leaving home, our home. In that time I''ve watched her change, in some ways so little and, in others, so much.
She smiles a lot more. She laughs, silently, but very loud. You can tell by the way her head bobs and her chest rises and falls. There was definitely a weight lifted from her that day. The oddest change? It isn''t the lightness of her being. It''s her eyes.
The pupils have become more defined and, surprisingly, or not, more catlike. They still glow, but now the color is... different. What was once one steel blue and one murky white, then both eyes being a slightly purple pink, has become a splendid duality. Her right eye has a bluer hue, her left, once dead, now pushes firmly into the green of the spectrum.
But maybe that''s just the lighting in this place.
Anyway, now that this story is at a final thought or two, I must bid you farewell. You see we''re on another mercenary run. Because, you know, you gotta keep busy. And do what you do best. Although, I don''t technically think you can call it a mercenary run if you''re doing it for free. But, some of the best, most rewarding jobs we''ve ever done, we''ve done for nothing.
And, we wouldn''t exchange this life... For a dragon''s hoard of boredom.