Richard's Animorphs Forum

Animorphs Section => Animorphs Fan Fiction & Art => Topic started by: Aluminator (Kit) on June 07, 2013, 09:15:47 AM

Title: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on June 07, 2013, 09:15:47 AM
Alright, I figure if I don't post this now, I never will. This is the story of Salem, my character in the Galaxy's Edge Space Bar (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=7954). The finished story will likely be quite long.

Hopefully someone enjoys this. Constructive feedback is always appreciated :)

This is the prologue. Just to be clear here, this is most definitely not the Animorphs universe. That's for later ;)

[spoiler=Prologue]
Aaron

Tobias's blood pounded in his ears. His hands gripped the rail as if his life depended on it. His breathing was deliberately slow, but each time he exhaled, his tension could be heard in the way the sound shook.

He stared out the window at the receding blue orb that had been their home. Already, he'd be able to cover it with a hand held at arm's length. From this distance, the devastation caused by the Mohemians was hardly evident.

“Wave bye-bye to Earth, Aaron!” said Hannah. Out of the corner of his eye, Tobias saw her raise the boy's hand and wave it at the planet.

“Bye-bye!” exclaimed the toddler in her lap, taking over the waving enthusiastically. Hannah laughed, enjoying his energy. Tobias couldn't understand how she could still be this at-ease after the last few hours.

“Jaron,” he said tersely, frowning over at her. “His name is Jaron now, Hannah.”

Hannah made a face, “I’m never going to get used to that.” She struggled to hold on to Jaron as the boy struggled to climb down to the floor, where his toys were.

“You don’t have a choice,” snapped Tobias. “We have to be discreet.”

Hannah smirked and let the squirming toddler down, and watched for a moment as he ran over to his toys- animated, seemingly almost-living, stuffed versions of ancient Earth dinosaurs. Jaron picked up a stegosaurus and a tyrannosaurus, then shouted “Rawrawrawr!” as he threw both of them across the room. In spite of himself, Tobias managed a short laugh.

Hannah stood and walked over to him. She took his hands gently off the rail, smiling warmly now.  “There’s my Michael. Since when are you the serious one of this bunch anyway?”

“I’m Tobias now,” Tobias said automatically. He’d corrected her so many times in the last few weeks that when he said it now, it hardly registered for either of them. He glanced out the window, scanning the empty space for perhaps the hundredth time, then returned his gaze to her, concern in his eyes.

Hannah sighed and, with a movement that was almost too quick to see, darted in and kissed him on the lips. She was back and laughing at the bewildered look on his face before he’d had a chance to move. “You’ll always be Michael to me.”

Tobias grinned. She was trying to get him to stop worrying, and it was almost working.

Almost.

He stepped over, took her into his arms, and kissed her- a real, proper kiss this time. “And you’ll always be Gina to me, but we have to learn to be Tobias and Hannah now.” He let her go and turned back to the window, his hands returning to their now-familiar positions on the handrail, holding on as though his life depended on it. After a moment, he said, quietly, slyly, “Besides, Hannah’s every bit as clever and beautiful as Gina ever was.”

She smiled and turned to look outside. She always downplayed how much she loved it when he flattered her like that, but he could tell by the way she became just a little bit shyer, and a little bit redder.

As she stood looking out the window, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. He closed his eyes, trying, for just a moment, to slow his pounding heart. He realized he was probably holding her just a little too tightly, but she didn’t seem to mind.

A moment later, their ship activated its main engines. There was a very slight sensation of acceleration as their velocity kicked up to the multiple-c range, but overall the ride was quite smooth for a ship this old. The Earth quickly disappeared, and even the sun that had illuminated their home for the last few years was receding to nothing more than another point of light before their eyes.

“Finally,” muttered Hannah, echoing his own thoughts. She’d been hiding her own tension well, but Tobias could feel her relief in her posture and hear it in her voice. If the captain felt secure enough to activate their main engines, he must think they’d be able to get out of the system undetected.

“Thank goodness for stealthy ships, eh?” he asked, giving her a squeeze. He slowly let out a breath, trying to let go of the fear that had hung over him for the last few hours. They were going to make it.

She turned and looked into his eyes- the light green eyes that, as far as he could tell, were the only thing he’d given to Jaron. For the most part, the boy had gotten her features- the gorgeous, dark, shiny hair; the adorable nose; even the baby-toothed version of her dazzling smile- but those eyes had clearly come from his father. With a contented sigh she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder.

For a few moments they simply stood, holding each other and staring out the window, as their son continued making dinosaur noises from the floor. Tobias closed his eyes contentedly. Now that they were actually moving to the station, there was a possibility that they could actually open their little restaurant. They had the savings tucked away, and there’d never be a better time. They’d talked about it so many times, he could practically taste the food. Even with all the planning they’d done, though, he still didn’t feel anywhere near ready. The thing that had been holding them up recently was the name. He wanted to call it “Bonjour La Terre!” but she seemed to think that using the language of a little backwater world like Earth would be a turn-off to interplanetary travelers. He was going to win this one, though. They’d be serving a lot of French cuisine, and they’d be using it as a place to introduce...

He jumped, startled out of his daydream by the sound of a alarm blaring from the PA system.  His heart leapt into his throat. They’d been spotted.

Jaron had dropped his toys and started crying at the sound of the alarm. Hannah walked over and pressed the button on the wall to silence the PA system. She picked up her son and began bouncing him up and down, trying to calm him.

A moment later, the doorbell for their room rang shrilly. It rang again twice more before Tobias had even had a chance to reach the door. He opened it, letting the sound of the alarm into the room again from the hallway. At least out there it was kept at a more manageable volume.

“What is it?” he asked, more sharply than he’d intended.

If the shrieking alarm and the urgent ringing of the doorbell hadn’t been enough to set him on edge, the frightened look on the face of the Vondanod outside the door certainly would have done the trick. Its two compound eyes that were facing Tobias about as wide as he’d ever seen Vondanod eyes, and blinking rapidly. The Vondanod tended to straighten their necks and raise their heads in tense situations- this one’s neck looked to be about at the breaking point.

“I’m told one of you is a pilot,” the Vondanod said urgently, speaking so quickly that its dual, mouthless voices almost blended into one.

Behind the Vondanod, Tobias could see people running through the corridor. This was a small transport, and the few families aboard- mostly Radon, of course- were rushing to find each other. Aside from that, crew and non-family passengers were rushing to see what could be done.

Tobias opened his mouth to answer, but Hannah cut him off, calling over Jaron’s cries, “I am. What’s wrong?”

The Vondanod seemed slightly surprised at being answered so quickly. “You are Gina Zhang?”

“Saunders,” Tobias responded automatically, glowering a little. Then he blinked and corrected himself, “Her name is Hannah Dawn.”

With a glance at Tobias, the Vondanod lowered its voice, “We’ve run across a cruiser. We’re jamming its communications, but we can’t outrun it or outfight it.”

Hannah groaned and hugged Jaron to her chest, “Iron class?”

“Reverence.”

Hannah paused for only a second, the barest hint of worry crossing her face, but then it was gone, and she was confident once again. She shrugged, “Give me a moment.” Jaron already seemed to be calming down, oblivious to the danger they were now in. She set him down. He immediately wiped his nose on his sleeve, toddled back to his toys, and held up a triceratops, saying “revence!” excitedly a few times.

The Vondanod looked at the boy, then nodded at Hannah- a habit some Vondanod had picked up from humans. It stepped out and allowed the door to swing shut. For the moment, the sound of the alarm through the door seemed distant.

Tobias stared at her for a moment, then spoke, his voice shaking, “You can’t...”

She put her finger gently to his lips, “I have to, or everyone here dies or ends up in prison.” She stepped to his nightstand and grabbed his communicator- an archaic device he still used only because of the meaning it held for him. She stepped back and pressed it into his hands. “Call me if you’re nervous.”

Tobias shook his head, holding her hand to his chest with both of his. This was happening too quickly. This was his wife... but there was something else there, too. Someone he didn’t know. She’d always been confident, but now she seemed... sharp. Calculating. Ready.

He knew she’d been a pilot during the war, of course. He’d heard the stories. Everyone had heard those stories, but to him it always seemed like someone else. A legend. Not the woman he knew. He’d never thought he’d actually have to watch her... do what? Go into battle? Fight for their freedom? Maybe their lives? The days of fighting were supposed to be over.

He felt his heart sinking. He knew that she would go. That she had to go. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Hannah, you’re going to take a crappy fighter stolen from a junk heap out there against a cutting-edge IPA war ship?” he said, his voice rising now. He sounded angry, “You expect me to just let you...”

She cut him off again, “Michael, there are two of us from Cess’s squadron aboard this ship. If we can’t stop one little cruiser, we’re not worthy of her name.” She put her free finger to his lips once more as he tried to speak again and flashed that smile of hers, “Come on, this is me you’re talking to. I’ll be fine.”

She seemed so at ease, so strong, but he knew her too well. He could feel her tension, and see the fear in those beautiful dark eyes. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to tell her to stay, here, with him.

Instead he took her hand from his lips and said, “Be safe.”

She grinned and gave him a quick hug. “Always!” she chirped, and was out the door without another word, leaving Tobias cradling his communicator.

He turned towards the bank of windows that made up one wall of the room and started. Where before there’d been only stars, there was now the sinister approaching form of a new IPA cruiser. The design was an indicator of just how much had changed within the IPA. The alliance had once designed ships to appear friendly and inviting. This one was similar in shape to some of the more intimidating Mohemian craft, bristling with forward spikes and visible weapons, with the main command center flanked by four giant, mantis-like claws. The coloring was still the IPA’s diplomatic silver and white, emblazoned with the IPA’s blue-and-yellow insignia, but nearly everything else seemed remarkably alien.

The IPA ship... he could just make out the name “Skywolf” on the side... had flown to within visual range of their transport; it certainly must not feel threatened, even with its communications jammed. And it had no reason to. This transport was only lightly armed. If the cruiser opened fire, they wouldn’t last a minute. The transport would be disabled, and boarded, and Tobias and Hannah would spend their lives in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.

Tobias imagined the captain, up in his cramped control room, negotiating with the IPA cruiser. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, they could talk their way out of this. Then Hannah could come back the room and they could be on their way.

That hope was dashed when the world outside flickered- the transport’s force field being activated. Seconds later, a beam of green light lanced forth from one of the “mantis claws” on the front of the distant cruiser, impacting the transport. The floor under Tobias rocked, but only a little. Jaron rolled onto his back, still holding his dinosaurs, and seemed entirely undaunted. He was still at the stage, just learning to walk, where taking little falls was part of everyday life.

Tobias’s breath caught in his throat; he could feel a slight shudder through the deck as a fighter launched. Three more followed, in quick succession, and in a moment, he could see a mismatched wing of four small ships rocketing towards the sinister shape of the Skywolf. Not one of the four spacecraft looked like it could survive a fight with an angry drunk, let alone the perched, state-of-the-art cruiser bearing down on them.

It would be easy to keep track of which one was which, he saw; each ship had a distinct exhaust color. One was bright blue, one was white-orange, one was white trailing dull sparks, and one was tinted slightly red. He wished he could tell which one was hers.

It seemed almost lazy, the way the cruiser twisted slightly and fired a beam into the group of approaching ships. Three of the craft dodged away, but the one trailing sparks was too slow- half of the craft was shorn away, leaving what was left of the engines to sputter out. The edge that remained where most of the ship had been vaporized glowed red.

“No!” gasped Tobias. His knuckles were white from gripping the rail, his face now nearly touching the glass, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The cruiser fired twice more, missing the nimble smaller ships each time. As if deciding it had had enough, it unleashed what seemed like an impossible cloud of small objects, glowing the same light blue as the engines of the cruiser itself... missiles, Tobias realized. Hundreds of tiny guided missiles, headed right for the three ships flying its way. “Why aren’t you shooting?” he wondered aloud through gritted teeth. The tiny ships had been in range since they launched from the bay, but had yet to fire a shot.

As if in reply, the ship trailing the faintly orange glow launched a missile into space, visible only from the glow of its own booster. The missile easily made it through the approaching projectile swarm, but hadn’t even made it halfway to the cruiser when a stab of green light struck from the larger ship. The glow died instantly.

As they approached the swarm of missiles, Tobias could see the other two ships move closer together together. As if they were one, they began to spiral around each other, and even from here he could sense an almost imperceptible wobble in the swarm as it struggled to keep a bead on them... bunching tighter, closer together, he realized.

Then, they were in the swarm- it seemed to close in around them, consuming them. There was a bright flash, then another, and another, until a wave of light seemed to erupt slowly across the closing swarm. Tobias shielded his eyes, and when he looked back, he could see a fireball where once there had been a ship.

“No!” he whispered, now actually pressing his nose against the glass. But there... two glows could still be seen against the darkness. The blue one and the whitish-red one. One of those had to be her, right? He was so focused on them that he didn’t notice the beams from the cruiser until it was too late.

The world tore itself from under his feet. What few possessions they’d unpacked tumbled across the room. Tobias found himself lying on the floor halfway to the door, but he scrambled back up, hardly noticing the pain in his arm where it had struck the dresser. The room was filled with a panicked cacophony. A new alarm was blaring from the PA- this one signalling a hull breach and partial decompression- and Jaron was bawling. Tobias glanced at the boy- he seemed to have fallen into a pile of clothes. Scared rather than hurt, Tobias surmised. He knew he should comfort him, but at the moment all he could think about was what was happening outside.

He could see, finally, beams of light from the two fighters. They were tiny, almost pinpricks next to the massive shafts of light that had come from the cruiser itself, but they must have been doing something, because now the Skywolf was turning away from the transport, trying to bring its weapons to bear on the two tiny ships.

They probed for a few moments before one of them seemed to find purchase- an explosion ripped the tip of one of the giant ‘mantis claws’ clean off the cruiser, which couldn’t turn fast enough to target the two ships intent on staying in its blind spot. Six silver, triangular shapes drifted into space, released by the cruiser, and then lit their own engines, these glowing brilliant white.

Tobias’s heart leapt again. He recognized those. They were the new generation of IPA fighter that his wife had been affectionately referring to as “peckers.” Damned if he couldn’t remember the real name... what he could remember was her practically drooling while describing their capabilities. Most of it had been technical nonsense to him, but even he understood enough to know that just one should be more than a match for this transport and all four fighters it had launched. The fact that the cruiser had seen fit to launch all six it carried was a compliment in itself.

It took less than thirty seconds. What happened couldn’t even be called a dogfight so much as a massacre. The two tiny, secondhand ships, working together, managed to make the six agile, state-of-the-art starfighters look like a herd of lumbering cows, all without ever coming within view of the slowly-turning cruiser’s deadly front side. They both fired, again and again, and one by one, the IPA fighters exploded or disintegrated or simply died out and drifted away. The few shots that they did manage to fire at the two smaller ships seemed absurdly off-the-mark by comparison.

Within a few moments, it was over, and the two ships returned to methodically blowing up the cruiser’s weapons and engines and communications array as if nothing had happened. After the whirlwind of destruction he’d just seen, this part looked almost routine. It would probably only take a few minutes for the terrifying warship to be reduced to a useless shell. Though Tobias couldn’t see them from this distance, he imagined the crew inside standing at the windows and shaking their fists in rage. They’d be left to drift there until they could work out a way to call for help- hopefully long after the transport was out of range.

The communicator, still clutched tightly in his hand, crackled to life. “And you thought you should be worried!” Hannah’s voice said. She sounded like she was out of breath, and almost laughing. Tobias felt a wave of relief wash over him. He let out a breath, feeling faint. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it in. With one hand he reached over and silenced the shrieking alarm.

“Don’t do that to me! You could have been killed!” he shouted into the microphone over the sound of Jaron’s cries.

“Is that Aaron crying? Michael, tell your son that story he likes. The one with the boats and stuff. And we should decide what we want for dinner. For some weird reason I’m craving duck.”

“Tobias,” he corrected automatically. “I’ll see if the kitchen thought to stock some duck.” He sighed, allowing himself a small smile. He was shaking, he realized. He bent down and picked up Jaron, who was still sobbing on the floor, though far less violently now that the blaring of the alarm had been stopped. For a moment he simply held the boy, bouncing him up and down and whispering that “everything’s alright now, buddy. Shh-shh-shh. It’s alright.”

“...wanted the best ships. Like flying a junker in civilian clothes would be the same as flying a trainer in a flight suit. I told those two idiots not to come,” Gina’s voice continued over the communicator, ranting now about the two pilots from their transport that had been lost. She sounded angry. “They insisted that Special Forces training qualified them for this. Useless, incompetent bunch of sorry-ass...” she kept on.

Tobias rolled his eyes and smiled. She was definitely still herself after all that. Out of everyone he’d ever met, she was the only one who would even dream of calling IPA Special Forces incompetent.

“Gina, I love you,” he said, cutting her off.

He could practically hear her smile, “I love you too, Tobias.”

The two tiny spacecraft had finished their work and were now moving back towards the transport. The remnants of the once-intimidating cruiser drifted behind them. One instant, it looked dead, and the next, it was vaporized in a blinding flash. The shockwave expanded outwards in an instant, engulfing the two fighters.

There was less than a second before the shockwave hit the transport, rocking it and throwing him to the ground once again. As he fell, he held Aaron’s head protectively, turning so that he fell onto his back. Even so, the impact of the ground jarred the toddler, who began crying again. This was not helped by the reintroduction of the screeching alarm from the PA system.

Michael scrambled to his feet, still holding his bawling son protectively. “I didn’t just see that,” he whispered. “Please tell me I didn’t just see that.”

He looked around- the communicator was lying on the floor near the bed. He gently set Jaron down on the floor, where the toddler continued to cry, and picked up the device.

“Hannah?” he asked tentatively into the device. After a moment he tried again, his voice shaking “Hannah, you okay?”

He could feel his throat tightening. The world seemed to roll under his feet. Why wasn’t she answering? “Gina? You alright?” She was probably distracted, flying her little ship into the docking bay. “Gina, you need to answer me.” Maybe she was having a problem with her communicator. “Gina, please, I need you to answer me.” He peered out into space, searching for the two glowing engines... for the shapes of the small fighters... anything...

He felt his eyes beginning to tear up. He had to hold it together. Had to keep from freaking out. She’d be back and laughing at him any minute. He took a breath, trying to steady himself, and wiped his eyes. He managed to keep from breaking down until the alarm stopped, and he felt the transport begin to move away.

“No. Come on, Gina, don’t do this,” he said into the communicator. Real tears were beginning to run down his face. No... no, he had to keep it together. But it had been Gina who’d made him strong, hadn’t it? Before her... had he ever been able to keep himself together?

She’d been coming back. It had been finished. She’d been coming back to the ship and they were going to eat cornmeal and pretend it was duck and they were going to escape to the Coalition and open a restaurant. There was no way she was gone.

“No, Gina, don’t do this,” he pleaded out the window, towards the sparkling remains of the cruiser. “Gina, answer me,” he said, his voice rising shrilly. “No, Gina, answer me!” He was shouting now. “Gina, No!” He pounded the glass, his communicator dropping unnoticed to the floor. “Gina! No!” He pounded the glass again, harder, sobbed once, then began pounding, again and again and again, crying openly and shouting “No! Gina! No! No! Gina!” over and over again.

Jaron may have been upset by being thrown around, and the blaring alarms might have been frightening, but the to see an adult crying and pounding on the window- and his daddy, no less, not just any adult- that was downright terrifying. The boy cried now, harder than ever, tears and snot running down his face.

Being as young as he was, Jaron didn’t yet associate “Gina” with “mommy,” but he did know that mommy would make everything better. Mommy always made everything better. As he cried, he called out for mommy, hoping for some comfort, someone to put the world back the way it should be.

Tobias eventually collapsed, sobbing, against the wall, oblivious to Jaron’s cries. Jaron crawled, still crying, into the corner of the room, as far from his weeping father as possible, and picked up his tyrannosaurus. He held it, the way his mommy held him when he was scared, and whispered, “Shh. Shh. Aw right. Shh.”

Tobias continued to cry for a few more minutes, but eventually he stopped, and sat, staring at the floor, hearing only the ringing in his ears.

Finally, he turned and looked at his son, who was in the corner, cradling his dinosaur, telling it that everything was alright. The boy was no longer crying, but his face was a mess. Tobias pushed himself off the floor, walked over, and gathered the boy into his arms. He wiped Jaron’s face gently with his own sleeve. He looked so much like her. Tobias carried his son to the crib, where he laid him down. Weakly, he echoed the toddler’s own words, “That’s right, buddy. Everything is alright.” He felt a pang in his stomach. Her words. Those were her words to him.

Jaron stood up at the edge of the crib and watched as his father walked, silent and numb, out into the corridor.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Table of Contents]Chapter 1: Tobias (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg780201#msg780201)
Chapter 2: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg782233#msg782233)
Chapter 3: Jaron (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg782460#msg782460)
Chapter 4: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg782779#msg782779)
Chapter 5: Pallas (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg783566#msg783566)
Chapter 6: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg783962#msg783962)
Chapter 7: Pallas (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg784312#msg784312)
Chapter 8: Winston (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg787266#msg787266)
Chapter 9: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg788301#msg788301)
Chapter 10: Pallas (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg793970#msg793970)
Chapter 11: Winston (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg794650#msg794650)
Chapter 12: Jaron (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg795595#msg795595)
Chapter 13: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg796639#msg796639)
Chapter 14: Winston (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg797887#msg797887)
Chapter 15: Pallas (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg803462#msg803462)
Chapter 16: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg806395#msg806395)
Chapter 17: Keural (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg806396#msg806396)
Chapter 18: Winston (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg806397#msg806397)
Chapter 19: Pallas (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg806493#msg806493)
Chapter 20: Jaron (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg806937#msg806937)
Chapter 21: Winston (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg811658#msg811658)
Chapter 22: Keural (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg811660#msg811660)
Chapter 23: Domino (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg811661#msg811661)
Chapter 24: Salem (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg823038#msg823038)
Chapter 25: Tobias (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg825007#msg825007)
Chapter 26: Jaron (http://animorphsforum.com/index.php?topic=9786.msg828232#msg828232)
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: theyoungphoenix on June 08, 2013, 03:07:20 AM
Awww... You were making me tear up at the end Lumy. Great writing. Cant wait for chapter one.
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on June 14, 2013, 03:00:27 PM
Hehe. Thanks, Abby ^_^ A little bit of tearing up is what I was going for.

I'm going to possibly continue to edit these chapters in the future, and if I get far enough, will eventually put out a coherent final version of the entire story, but for now, here's Chapter 1. I'm also going to go ahead and stick a table of contents with links in the first post.

[spoiler=Chapter 1]Tobias

He paced through the little clearing, first to one side, then, after a moment, back again. In his head, he pictured, over and over again, how this conversation was going to go. He’d have to ask for supplies, at least, but it was the other thing that he kept debating with himself on.

He’d met Princes before, of course. He imagined a War-Prince would simply come across as a more stuck-up version... although after their conversation he wasn’t so sure. He was ready to deal with either self-righteous arrogance or something friendlier. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the questions that would be asked, though. He hadn’t quite worked out the details of who he was supposed to be now.

With a sigh, he laced his hands together behind his head and looked up at the red-gold sky. The light of the twin suns filtered through the trees in leaping shafts, just burning off the last of the morning mist. This really was a pretty little world. Even if the colors seemed a bit less vibrant than he remembered.

Taking in a deep breath of the fresh air, he reflected on just how nice it was to be outdoors for once. At least here there was actually some room to walk around.

He leaned back against the nearest tree and tried to still the butterflies in his stomach. This wasn’t at all like him. He shouldn’t be on edge about meeting some arrogant alien. Nerphid knew there’d been plenty of those. Even some self-important War-Prince wasn’t anything to get him worried.

No, he thought. No, the thing that had him nervous was what he wanted to ask for. It wasn’t so much that he loved these grass-eaters; he was just so unbelievably tired of living in such a cramped space. Unbelievably sick of always, always searching, scrounging, figuring, theorizing, fighting, running.

And it was so nice to feel sunlight playing off of his face for once. So nice to look out and see the flowering bushes, the alien grasses, the strange trees. So nice to breathe something other than recycled air.

He’d have to ask. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

But if that was true, why did the thought make him so nervous?

Through the thicket of weird, asparagus-like trees across the clearing from him, he could make out the shimmering silvers of civilization. What had the War-Prince called them? Academy out-scoops? That would be the direction to watch. He blinked, trying to get used to the way things looked now. So difficult to pick out details.

And his hearing... he could hear the breeze blowing through the trees, and the sound of the stream nearby, and the distant kree-caw of something living in the forest, but it all seemed so distant, somehow. Muffled, like sounds coming through a closed door. He wondered if he’d even recognize the sounds of a cloven quadruped headed this way.

At least his sense of touch didn’t seem too much worse off, he thought, enjoying the light tickle of the breeze playing across his skin.

His skin. Now that was something. He was still getting used to the lighter shade and the freckles. He ran a hand through his hair. That was new, too. Curly, and a brownish-red, so different than his own straight black. Strange to reach up and feel someone else’s hair.

Almost as strange as the sensation that he was just... entirely too tall. His arms and legs felt so much longer than he was used to. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to break his legs every time he stepped. The unenhanced skeleton that he supposed was his now just felt so... fragile.

Without the healing nanites now swimming through his system, he wondered how he was supposed to survive. This body was kind of a hodge-podge of evolutionary trial and error. How was he to be expected to use this stupid thing on a daily basis?

His thought-process was interrupted by a creaking sound in the branches above him. Looking up, he saw a creature, probably about half his size, stepping deftly out onto one of the larger branches. It was so easy to see its shaggy, dark-brown fur against the smooth yellow bark- it must not realize he was there, to be in the open like this.

As he watched, it stretched straight up on its six legs and grasped one of the vine-like blue leaves in its mouth. It pulled down with its head, and the bough bent down until the leaf snapped off, sending the bough whinging back and setting the entire tree shaking. Each individual leaf vibrated like a guitar string.

He smiled, amused at the scene- the vibrating tendril-like leaves made the tree look like a giant jiggling puff-ball, and here was this creature, sitting contentedly in the middle of it, slurping down leaves like spaghetti.

With a glance back at the compound, he made up his mind. There’d be no better time to try out his new limbs, and if he could acquire this whatever-it-was, he could practice the morphing thing on his own time.

He reached up for the largest branch over his head and tried to pull himself silently off the ground. The smooth bark offered no footholds, but there were several large... knots, he guessed, placed seemingly at random across the surface of the tree. He braced his foot against one of these to steady himself as he pulled himself up, slowly, until his chest was level with the branch. This body may be unimproved, but it made up for that by being so very young and fit. He hadn’t been able to move this freely in years. He could get used to this.

The creature pulled down another leaf- it still hadn’t noticed him. He sucked a deep breath and pushed off the protrusion on which his foot rested, but it seemed to suddenly squash under his foot so that his hold slipped, leaving him scrabbling against the smooth trunk. With a loud grunt, he managed to pull himself up and sit on the branch, his heart pounding. So much for stealth.

He glanced down at the tree trunk, and saw a thick sap dripping slowly down the trunk from what he’d thought was a knot, but now looked to have been more of a blister. The bright blue of the liquid stood out in stark contrast to the dull, canary yellow of the trunk of the tree. Above it his feet had left a series of white scratches.

After a few seconds, he saw the creature in his peripheral vision and turned to look. It seemed entirely unsurprised by his sudden presence in its tree, and sat, chewing complacently and looking right at him with wide green eyes. As he watched, it swallowed, then reached out with its long tongue and grabbed another leaf, which it slurped quickly into its mouth and began chewing, never taking those unblinking eyes off his own smaller blue ones. Slightly unnerving, that.

He reached out an arm tentatively towards the creature. It was still out of reach, and when it caught sight of his hand raising towards it, it started and skittered onto a higher branch, making a high-pitched chirping noise.

With a sigh, he sat back against the tree trunk. He wasn’t going to catch it this way, but it was quite nice up here. It was a large tree, and the dome-like area enclosed underneath the upper canopy was hung with hundreds of the vine-like leaves. It was cozy up here, and he wished he’d thought to bring his book.

He closed his eyes for a moment and smirked to himself. He shouldn’t even have been on this planet. Andalites were a notoriously xenophobic species. It was usually like pulling teeth to get them to even talk to outsiders. Being invited to their homeworld was unheard of. And now, what he was going to ask for... He must be an idiot.

It was sheer luck that he’d even managed to contact the Andalite High Command. He’d called using the name “Tobias,” hoping against hope that it might garner some attention. It had, and the series of events that followed had been... unexpected.

A big, gruff-looking Warrior had taken the transmission, introducing himself as a representative of the High Command. It was unusual for High Command to pick up an external communiqué directly; they must have been having a slow day.

To say that the Warrior had been skeptical about speaking with a Human-- and with his current genetics he had to be Human this time, he'd realized-- would be an understatement. The Warrior had seemed about to cut the transmission. It wasn’t until he’d dropped the name “Emelen” that the War-Prince had overheard.

The War-Prince had muscled the Warrior off to the side, in such a relaxed, good-natured manner that he would have mistaken the older Andalite for a civilian had he not known that face from the feeds. They’d conversed briefly, and the War Prince had invited him to meet in person. After what amounted to being a bus ride with only four other passengers and sixteen curious, glaring eyes, he’d ended up here.

He looked up again at the creature. It had gone back to happily slurping leaves from the tree, one by one. Its back was turned to him.

Slowly, so slowly, he reached out a hand and pulled himself towards the nearest branch. Now that he was up here, the branches were closer together, and he should be able to move more quietly. He stood up into a crouch, moving carefully, silently, stepping from one branch to the next, trying to get a feel for the length and weakness of his gangly limbs.

A sudden squish from beneath his feet made him jump. He’d stepped right on one of the ‘blisters,’ popping it and sending the blue sap dripping down to the forest floor. Though his sense of smell felt like it had been turned down almost to nonexistence, he could still tell the odor the sap gave off was pleasant, not unlike chocolate or coffee.

He looked up at the creature. It had paused when it heard the blister pop, and was swiveling its long pointed ears. He held his breath.

After a moment, the creature simply went back to eating. He carefully pulled his foot free of the sap and continued making his way closer to it, careful to avoid any more of the goo-filled protrusions. The sticky substance on his boot actually provided a little bit of extra traction on the smooth surface of the tree, which made climbing just a little bit easier.

From time to time the tree would creak and the creature would pause, swiveling its ears. He would freeze in place until it went back to eating, then he’d inch forward, brushing leaves aside, stretching from one branch to the next. Finally he managed to inch close enough that he might be able to place a hand on the creature’s back.

He reached out for it, but was startled by a loud CRASH! from the the clearing. He jerked his head to look, catching only the briefest glimpse of blue fur through the leaves, and when he looked back, he found his face inches from a pair of wide, startled green eyes.

The creature chirped fearfully and turned to flee, but he was too quick for it. He leapt forward and wrapped his arms around its warm, furry body. His feet found purchase- barely- side-by-side on a branch, and he hugged the creature to himself, wincing as it continued shrieking loudly.

He tried to concentrate, to begin the acquiring process, but it was difficult to do while holding a screaming, muscled mass of six flailing limbs. One of the creature’s legs pushed, hard, against another branch, upsetting his already-precarious balance. Instinctively, he threw out his arms. The freed creature darted off into the canopy, chirping, terrified, and he stepped, windmilling, backwards into thin air.

He let out a yelp and twisted as he fell, grabbing wildly for a branch. Unfortunately, he misjudged the length of his own arm, and wound up smacking his wrist directly into one of the blisters, which sprayed thick sap up into the canopy.

For a few moments he was falling, clutching desperately at the dangling blue leaves. He grabbed a bundle of them in his hand, which flipped him around , facing up into the tree, before they snapped off in his hand.

He free-fell the last two meters or so to the ground, landing on his back with a loud “Oof!” as the air left his lungs.

For a moment, he simply lay, dazed, blue leaves streaming down around him. He stared into the canopy above... was it his imagination, or was that a pair of big green eyes up there staring down at him?

He coughed once, then found himself unable to stop, descending into a coughing fit during which he never once moved from his spread-eagle position on his back. He noticed that he’d fallen into something soft- probably a patch of grass- and was thankful for that. He was sure this rib cage would have simply shattered like glass otherwise. His wrist throbbed, but he didn’t think it was broken.

After a moment, he realized that he’d been staring, unseeing, up into the face of an older Andalite wearing an expression that fell somewhere between concern and amusement. The Andalite’s stalk eyes swiveling to survey the tree and the sap and leaves now raining out of it.

The War-Prince’s thought-speak voice sounded in his head, <Are you alright?>



TSSEEEEEEWWWWWWW! The unmistakable sound of a Dracon Beam discharging. It broke into his consciousness, and he frowned. It had come from the small, dark back hallway.

He’d just seen the woman head back there, hadn’t he? The woman with the hazel eyes and the black jumpsuit? What had she called herself?


Turelek. Not her name. What she did. What she was. It was the reason she’d been watching the pretty young woman with the long blonde hair who scowled too often. It was the reason she’d followed her, gotten her alone.

There was another woman... another with the same long blonde hair... young, but not that much younger than he was now. She looked just like the first. They could have been twins, he thought with a smirk. This one sat, staring intently into the dark.
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on June 26, 2013, 08:46:38 AM
Here's chapter 2. I'm still introducing story threads here, but we'll go back and start getting to know them better before too long, I promise ^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 2]Salem

Their screams continued only briefly, then simultaneously stopped short when both of them realized that the space in front of them was now clear.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. There was too much to process. Too much to take in. And too much of it was far too painful.

Finally, Al spoke up, “How long does that stupid thing take to work, anyway? We could have died! We should start calling it the ‘hope it works this time’ drive.”

“I’ll kill Jamil!” He exploded, ignoring Al’s lame attempt at banter. “I’m going to find my way back there and I’m going to track him down and I’m going to strangle him with my bare freaking hands!”

He glared at Al, daring him to answer, hoping his companion might have some kind of snarky response to take the edge off the situation, but Al simply swallowed and looked away. He took some small satisfaction from the fact that Al was nearly as shaken as he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took some breaths, trying to quell his rage. Now that his adrenaline was wearing off, he was feeling less aggressive and more... just drained. Weak. He looked around, taking note of the unfamiliar stars, and groaned. What had just happened was beginning to hit him.

“We jumped,” he moaned. “Why the hell did we jump?”

Al glanced at him with a halfhearted imitation of his usual smirk, “Because we were gonna die. Pretty standard procedure for us.”

He buried his face in his hands, squeezing, trying to block out... everything. “I think I’d rather be dead than go through this crap again.”

Again his words were met with silence.

He blinked and looked around. No need to think about everything now. Every surface of the ship’s interior displayed a holographic representation of the space around them, but it was crossed with a series of faded red streaks, some brighter than others. Things had gotten nasty, but the Malleon should be able to handle it.

With a thought, he turned off the red marks, leaving just the view of the stars outside. It was almost like floating free in the vacuum, surrounded only by his companion and his stainless steel shelving units stuffed with the leftover junk of a hundred civilizations. So maybe not exactly like floating free. But if he were to just open the hatch...

“What’s that?” Al asked, pointing at a semi-spherical shape drifting across the ceiling.

With a sequence of thought-spoken commands, he altered the view to zoom in on the object and display it at the front of the room. A number of different filters and overlays flickered across the display in a matter of seconds, and the ship flagged a number of perceived points of interest complete with readings and annotations.

His interest perked up. It was apparently an inhabited planetoid. There was only one small wooden building on the surface, and surrounding that, a number of what were presumably spacecraft, though there looked to be no consistent signature, at least as far as he could determine.

And there... the ship was flashing another series of messages at him as it examined the area. The one that caught his interest most seemed to indicate what was probably a large interstellar vessel at the edge of the system.

So they’d been dumped into an inhabited sector. Inhabited by someone fairly advanced. He should check this out. As long as he kept moving, he didn’t have to think about what had happened, what had been said. He didn’t have to think about what would happen to his home. To Geris and Amiya. He didn’t have to think about... any of it.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed down the anger that once again threatened to overwhelm him. He ignored the feeling of helplessness, the desire to simply lie down on the spot and never move again.

Without a word, he turned the ship towards the planetoid and accelerated forward. Though there was no seam between the floor and his chair, it swiveled freely, allowing him to get a better look at the world outside. After a moment, the arms of his chair seemed to simply grow a pair of flight control sticks, which he took hold of. He moved them back and forth, taking satisfaction in the way the ship rocked when he did, and frowning a bit at the slightest shudder he felt.

“Still responsive, even after all that,” he whispered to the ship, running a hand gently along the arm of his chair. “Is your output off? Or is a sensor misaligned? We’ll get you fixed soon, I promise.” He glanced over at Al, expecting to be made fun of for talking to the ship again, but the android was skimming through the deluge of information the ship continued to gather from the surrounding area. If Al’d noticed, there was no outward indication. The only sound was the comforting thrum thrum thrum of the power system at work.

The momentary quiet was broken by the faint-yet-shrill single burst of a proximity alarm, and the ship’s display automatically changed, zooming in on the area behind them. A horseshoe-shaped battleship had appeared, painted in black and trimmed in crimson. A fireball was erupting from one side of the vessel where a Bug Fighter had been too slow to pull up, but the massive ship would barely notice.

He sat for a moment, stunned, before Al finally vocalized his thoughts for him. “What the hell!?”

He shook his head. No time to sit here staring. This was happening, now they had to deal with it. “Al, you fly,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before they make sense of things.”

Al opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the proximity alarm sounding twice more in quick succession. The ship displayed magnified, annotated representations of two smaller craft that now sat between them and the planetoid. One was tiny, shaped like an oblong oval with two triangular wings, and looked friendly, almost adorable. It was colored the black-and-red of the Light, matching the battleship behind them. The other could pass for the nightmare version of a hedgehog, every inch of it covered in giant, nasty-looking spikes. As if that weren’t absurd enough, it looked to be made almost entirely of wood.

Ikakek and Thienal.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered. “Al?”

“I see ‘em!” Al exclaimed. A hole seemed to melt out of the floor, revealing a silver compartment lined with the alloy lattice framework of the ship underneath. Its size and shape never failed to remind him of a grave.

Of course, that might also have to do with how it was used. As soon as it opened, Al jumped in and lay back, arms crossed and eyes closed.

The floor re-formed, liquid-like, over the hole and Al within, and he heard Al’s voice resonate from the walls of the craft, “Catch us if you can, dirtbags!”

It took the two hunters positioned ahead of them a shorter time to adjust to their new situation than it did the Yeerks, so that they all started moving at about the same time. The ship displayed a quick count- two hunters fore, seven Bugs, also painted black-and-crimson, aft. Unlike standard Bug Fighters, the glow of the engines of these ones was bright white, matching the glow of the battleship. Hey, maybe the hunters and the Yeerks would fight each other if he was lucky.

Not that he was counting on that. He activated the ship’s defensive systems while Al accelerated their ship towards the little planet. The quantum- and temporal-predictive data feeding directly into his brain left him gasping; even after all this time it was still a shock to suddenly be gifted with a new sense. A three-dimensional representation of the area and a graphical-and-text readout flicked on in the air in front of him.

He felt where a Dracon Beam from behind would impact the hull, and felt the shields adjust to compensate, and he felt Al dip out of the way a split second before the Yeerk had even fired. The beam lit up the space beside them- close. Very close. They could dodge a lot of what would be heading their way, but even so, he didn’t expect to be able to out-fight more than two or three of the Bug Fighters.

And then there were the hunters. Ikakek’s tiny, winged ship rocketed towards them, looking, it seemed, to use its superior speed to herd them around. He closed his eyes and streaked his hands through the display in the air before him. His own ship fired, white light lancing forth from the surface of the pitch-black hull. The other craft hardly seemed to notice, rolling out of the path of the beam in such a lazy manner that it was almost insulting.

“I’m heading for the little shack on the planet down there!” he heard Al’s voice say from the walls.

“And hope they don’t just glass the surface with that battleship,” he muttered. “Alright, do it!” The building would be their best bet, he saw- it sat in a heavily wooded area, surrounded by ships. It looked as though the building itself had some sort of basement or cellar. He ought to be able to find a place to hide somewhere down there.

Al kicked up the speed and turned, trying to avoid getting too close to the little fighter with the triangular wings that was now screaming towards them. The tiny craft unleashed a hail of machine-gun fire as it approached them, leading them expertly, forcing Al into a tight turn to avoid it. In a second the ship had blown by and begun swinging around for another pass.

“****.” The maneuver had bled off a lot of their speed, and the Bugs now gained quickly. He fired into the formation- the first shot pegged the leader, which bucked wildly, and the formation broke up, the Bugs attempting to swarm him. Behind them, he could see the Battleship turning laboriously towards them.

His next shot went wide- off-target as Al rocked the ship left, then right, then left again in rapid succession, narrowly dodging three of the spines that Thienal’s ridiculous wooden hedgehog had fired at them. The third dodge took them directly into the path of two of the Dracons from the Bugs, which raked across the hull, leaving dull reddish streaks in the shape of an X on the interior display. The streaks displayed for only a moment before the display blinked them out so that they didn’t obstruct the view of the outside.

Another burst of the proximity alarm brought with it the image of another ship emerging from behind the battleship. It resembled an engorged version of one of the Bug Fighters, perhaps five times the length, with a bulbous rear section resembling an egg that someone had tried to squash into a vaguely-rectangular shape. Unlike the battleship and the bugs, this ship was tan, with carefully-lettered black Yeerkish writing on the side. It accelerated towards them, approaching at a rate only a little slower than that of the Bugs.

“****! Al, we need to get to the planet before that gets here!”

“Easier said than done!” came Al’s voice, beginning to sound a little panicked. He could see that they were making progress, but slowly; forced into a wobbly, zig-zagging path as they dodged the repeated bursts of Dracon and machine-gun fire.

He fired steadily at the tiny winged craft as it blew by a second time, but the line he traced through space with the beam only briefly intersected the path of the barrel-rolling fighter, causing what looked like a ripple to spread across the surface. He aimed again, but was quickly distracted by the passing forms of two Bugs crossing close to the ship.

Finally, one of his shots found its mark, and a portion of the Bug’s hull was disintegrated into a vapor, which ignited in the continued heat of his own white beam, exploding and throwing the Bug, spinning, away from them. Before he could fire at it again to kill the engines, their own ship was thrown sideways by the direct, forceful ramming of the wooden craft against their hull. There was no sensation of acceleration from within, but the splotchy bright-red mark that appeared briefly on the wall to his left indicated severe external damage. They couldn’t survive this.

But the planetoid had grown, gradually, and now filled a significant portion of their view. They were entering the upper atmosphere.

“Al, I’m going to use a couple of plasma warheads!” he yelled, simultaneously punching commands into the display in front of him and yelling at the ship in thought-speak.

“Dude, you know those aren’t going to hurt them!”

He grinned manically, firing repeatedly, “I don’t have to hurt them. Just stun them for a minute. Straight down, full speed. We can take a hit or two!”

“Aw, jeeze...” he heard Al mutter. His companion turned the ship and punched the throttle towards the planet, full speed. A couple of Dracon Beams connected with their aft section as they blew past, but most missed, surprised by the sudden lack of dodging. The bulbous shape of the gunship was almost here...

He fired three glowing plasma warheads from the tube on the underside of the ship, back into the now-bunched mass of pursuing Bugs. They exploded ahead of the opposing craft in quick succession, dispersing plasma in an instant, each sending a brilliant flash of light through the sky. The flashes would have been blinding had the ship’s display not toned them down.

Unfortunately, the ships now pursuing him didn’t have the advantage of a virtual display- two of the Bugs plowed blind through the plasma cloud, miniature bolts of lightning striking from all sides, their lights and engines flickering out. To his satisfaction, he saw that the wooden ship wasn’t far behind. They’d all regain control of their ships in a few seconds- but a few seconds without shields or thrusters at that speed would be enough heat the outer hulls to a glow, and if they were able to regain control, they still may not be able to avoid slamming into the planet below them. The rest of the Bugs pulled up in time to avoid the cloud. They’d be on them again in a moment, once it had dispersed.

Ikakek’s tiny winged monstrosity stopped short and hovered above the plasma cloud, seeming to contemplate for a moment before dropping a swarm of glowing red missiles right through it. Al jerked the ship into a tight horizontal barrel roll and the missiles flew harmlessly past. Below them, the three craft that had flown through the plasma cloud were hurtling like burning meteors towards the surface, plowing into the planetoid with magnificent explosions.

He heard Al let out a prolonged yell that fell somewhere between “yahoo” and “oh ****” in tone and banked the ship. He looked at the display behind them; the missiles were circling around to try again. They weren’t going to escape like this. They needed somewhere to hide. He frantically searched the display around him.

“There!” he yelled, pointing. “It’s a lake! Land us in the lake! Now!”

Al’s ongoing yell transformed itself into a series of shrieks as they powered towards the lake, missiles impacting their aft section one-by-one, each impact sending a shudder through the hull.

He fired multiple times, turning the last few missiles into little balls of flame- just enough, it seemed, judging by the flashing red spot displaying on the aft wall. Al decelerated quickly, bringing the ship nearly to a halt above the lake. This ship couldn’t take much more, and those Yeerks would only be interested in him for now. He yelled, “I’m out!” and thought-spoke a quick command.

“You crazy!” he heard Al yell back as a hole opened above him, seeming to melt right out of the ceiling and into the air outside. He barely had time to tuck his arms in before he was propelled out through the roof, a maelstrom of cold air whipping around him.

Something tugged at his hip... Al’s stupid party cloak flapping in the wind, he realized. It had caught on the grip of his grav-pistol. He quickly grabbed it and gathered it into his arms.

He watched beneath him as the hole in the roof melted shut again, and the impossibly black ovular shape of his ship dropped into the choppy water with a deep splash.



Time seemed to pass differently here. He’d watch someone, something, try to keep track of events unfolding, of conversations held by those around him, then he’d look away, only for a moment, and when he looked back, everything was something else entirely.

He didn’t know why the
Temser hadn’t come back for him yet. Surely they should have caught him by now. Had he been here for hours or days or weeks? It didn’t seem to matter.

He’d changed his clothes. When had he changed clothes? A purple Sparkle-Be-Good suit. Impossibly expensive, made from the woven rays of light itself. Its translucent illusion of depth made it appear that one was staring into an abyss.

There’d been something... something large... he remembered it breaking the surface of the water... rising... it had been black... blacker, even, than the back hallway towards which everyone now seemed to be rushing...
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: theyoungphoenix on June 26, 2013, 11:19:57 AM
Great chapter. I like how long they are. :D And now I see how this relates to the Animorphs. ^_^
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on June 27, 2013, 09:54:30 AM
Thanks, Abby ^_^

Here's Chapter 3.

[spoiler=Chapter 3]Jaron

Shannon wasn’t scheduled to meet with the education director for several hours yet, so she’d decided to take her own self-guided tour of the station. She’d never been great with directions, so the sooner she could start learning her way around, the better.

Besides, it was a great place for people watching. The population here was a great cross-section of the Radon Coalition as a whole. There were over a thousand intelligent species represented on this station. Being in orbit in the Radonian home system, though, almost half the population was Radon.

The Radon were a familiar sight; humanoid in shape, but usually pale blue in color and crossed with “tiger” stripes in a dull reddish-brown. There was supposedly a direct genetic link between the Radon and Humans that had baffled scientists for decades, but aside from the general shape, Shannon wasn’t sure she bought it. The Radon were smaller, and broader in the shoulder than Humans, and they had six webbed fingers in place of the standard Human five. Their heads were swept back, resembling an aerodynamic helmet, and though their eyes did resemble Human eyes in patterns and coloring, Radonian eyes were far larger and placed farther apart. They had only breathing slits in place of the Human nose, which they could close at will.

She followed the paths that seemed less traveled, making her way farther and farther from the bustle of the main port. She soon found herself in a quiet side corridor where children of all species ran and played between housing units. From there, it was a short walk into a carefully-tended park, overgrown with the gorgeous purple and black fauna of the Calrin world, nestled into an open area that would almost have fit inside of her old house.

The light here, she realized, was a little different than the IPA standard that had been used on her own station. It was still the bright, multi-spectral light designed to allow the greatest number of species the greatest amount of visibility, but here it seemed slightly less blue and more white than she was used to. And while it was still ambient lighting diffused through the air itself, the general direction was definitely a greater angle than that of the light back home; maybe fifteen or eighteen degrees off of vertical, as opposed to the IPA’s eleven. She liked that, though- it gave objects more shade, more depth, and visually seemed a bit closer to a sunny day than the artificial lighting aboard her own station had.

And while the light was the easiest difference to notice, there were other variations here from the IPA. The air smelled slightly sweeter, in a way that reminded her of honey, and she suspected that the mixture of gasses, so carefully balanced to keep the greatest number of species breathing comfortably, was different. The gravity, too, seemed just a hair stronger than the 0.88 G’s she was used to.

The only reason she could see for the changes would be if the balance of species in the Coalition was different than that of the IPA.

Of course, she realized, it would be ridiculous to assume that it wasn’t. The IPA had always encouraged emigration and the homogenization of the population, but each species did tend to gravitate more strongly towards certain areas. When the old IPA had been split up, so too had those concentrations of species.

When she’d asked one of the Radon she’d met about more park-like areas, he’d smiled slyly and shown her to a back corridor. It really wasn’t anything more than a maintenance tunnel, but as he’d promised, it emerged into a large garden, grown so dense with Calrin trees that one would almost believe that they were walking in an actual forest, rather than an artificially cultivated habitat. The flowers here were in full bloom, in a dazzling array of blues and pinks and whites, swaying in the breeze and shining brilliantly when they caught the light. The trees dripped with moisture, and nearby she could hear the telltale sounds of a small stream, though she couldn’t see it through the undergrowth.

There were a few people out walking here, and she was struck by how friendly they seemed- a few smiled at her, and a young Radonian couple walking hand-in-hand even stopped to chat, and, once they found out that she was new to the station, give her their own welcome.

From there, she found made her way into a steaming corridor wherein the glowing, humming panels that controlled the nearby systems had long-since been overgrown with various vines and flowers. The ambient artificial light seemed weaker here- perhaps, she thought, the plants had obstructed some of the emitters. The lower light combined with the artificial glows of display screens and the faint bioluminescence of the plants in here to give the whole corridor the feel of a mysterious cave.

The corridor eventually ended, in a wall of hanging vines, at a neighborhood that seemed more business-oriented than the sleepy little area she’d been in earlier. There was more activity here, and she followed what felt like the main flow of traffic- both pedestrian and vehicle- through a series of turns. The traffic continued to increase as corridors joined each other. Eventually she found herself at an opening into one of the primary concourses leading to the station Center, a huge shaft that extended outwards as far as the eye could see.

The gravity in here was no longer the slightly-unsettling unidirectional variety of the smaller tunnels. Here, it pressed down evenly along all sides of the tunnel, and though the concourse was mostly rectangular, the corners were rounded to allow one to comfortably walk from the plane that formed her current ‘floor’ to the planes that formed the ‘walls’ and the one that formed her ‘ceiling.’ The people walking along the far wall and the ceiling looked ants- the shaft was huge.

Here, the energy and bustle could really be felt. Trade was the main purpose of this station, after all, and in spite of the fact that it was in a polar orbit on the outer reaches of the system, it still drew enough of a crowd to make her head swim.

The people here were in far more of a hurry than the others she’d seen. This was a world of business. The atmosphere was one of grudging courtesy, but even so, she was nearly run down by a surly-looking Vondanod in a hovercar on his way to be somewhere. She thought she preferred the smaller, quieter back neighborhoods to this constant flurry of activity and noise, but that could just be because it was so much closer to what she was used to.

A number of permanent shops stood in vague rows along the concourse. Beyond, out in the open area of the station Center, she could see a few actual structures standing or floating within the open space.

The vast majority of the traders here, however, would never end up settling in. Most would simply trade their wares and move on; the population of a place like this was constantly in flux. The shops of these traveling traders were less permanent, ranging from simple blankets arrayed with items laid out on the ground to canvas-covered booths with folding tables arrayed with objects to multi-story field-enclosed airy-looking semistructures that seemed as though they would come tumbling down had they not been built in this variable-gravity environment.

In fact, as Shannon walked into the vast, wide-open trading Center, stretching several kilometers in every direction, she almost couldn’t make out the clear upper dome, looking out into the space beyond. It was obscured by thousands of structures and vehicles standing and floating in the air. Far above, nestled comfortably right at the top of the dome, she could just see the floating diamond sphere that would house the halls of the Elite Traders’ Guild. A ways off, she could make out where the ground simply ended, dropping off into nothingness.

The ground here was covered in flowers and plants and grasses from a thousand worlds, though the vast majority of them were the chlorophyll-green color usually associated with Radon. Far away, on the other side of the Center, the ground started again. The structures that filled the space between seemed indifferent to the lack of ground- where they weren’t anchored to the deck, they were floating freely.

The din here should be deafening, but the combination of expert acoustic design and intelligent field deadeners had an interesting effect, in that all the sounds were sharp, yet quiet, except for whatever you happened to be listening for. Often the deadeners knew what you wanted before you did- Shannon found herself walking towards a pad marked for one of the floating restaurants based on nothing more than the distinctive noises of an Earth kitchen. It had been a long time since she’d had properly prepared Earth cuisine, and her stomach grumbled at the thought.

She continued to take in the overwhelming rush of sensation as she floated up towards the restaurant, her bright flower-patterned dress fluttering slightly in the pleasant breeze. Gradually the restaurant itself drew her attention. It was a cube, for the most part, inlaid with a number of windows that suggested that the ambient lighting was not continued inside, but was allowed to filter through the glass. It was a common technique used to give the impression of being indoors.

The building was most-likely constructed of the same composite polymers or intelligent metals as everything else on this station, but they’d been altered so that they very closely resembled wooden logs. The overall effect was that, from any angle, it looked an awful lot like a log cabin.

The restaurant had two wooden decks ringing the outside- the lower one, she saw as she floated up past it, would be for dining, as would the rear section of the upper one, with the front of the upper deck set aside to receive new arrivals. Above the front door hung a large wooden sign in the galactic standard language spelling out the name of the restaurant, “Gina’s.” This front patio was ringed by a wooden railing which separated it from the dining area on two sides, and from a dizzying drop on the other two. There were several wooden benches set facing into the deck with the railing as a backrest.

It was here that she set down out of the antigravity field, stepping gently to the host’s desk, nestled under a purple awning just to the side of the front door. There were a number of people already milling around here- parties waiting for tables, she surmised. She waited patiently while the Zong maître d' in front of her discussed something with the bored-looking, sharply dressed Radon behind the desk. Through the open door she could see that the restaurant was, indeed, kept relatively dark; the only light in the small room visible from the door was provided by hanging crystal chandeliers.

The maître d' finished her conversation and headed back inside, and Shannon stepped forward to speak to the host. He informed her that a table for one would be about a fifteen-minute wait, and she thanked him and walked over to one of the benches. She knelt in the bench, facing backwards, and rested her head in her arms on the railing, looking out over the station Center.

From this vantage point, it was easier to see how the station was laid out. The Center was nearly spherical, with a different layer of ‘ground’ placed vertically every few hundred meters, in ‘shelves’ ringing the interior. Near the equator, the shelves were nearly a half a kilometer wide, tapering to no more than a hundred meters near the top and bottom of the sphere. The shelf in the very center was ringed by nineteen large openings- the main concourses that led outward, from the Center all the way to the station’s distant rim.

The top half of the spherical Center was made of a transparent material that looked out into space, while the bottom half was mostly silver walls and well-cultivated grass and parkland. At the very bottom was set an arena to be used for public events.

As with the main concourse through which she’d walked, the gravity here was, for the most part, kept ‘outward.’ One would be able to walk from one of the grounded ‘shelves’ to the wall that formed the edge of the ‘sphere’ and up to the underside of the next ‘shelf’ and then around the edge to the top again. In a station like this, she knew, the clear dome looking into space would generally be accepted as ‘up’ for establishments that chose to stick to unidirectonal gravity, such as this restaurant.

One massive, lazy river flowed slowly through the Center, starting beside the arena below and snaking its way up the perimeter of the sphere and around the shelves of land for many kilometers. It ran wide and thin across the smooth panglass of the dome above, causing the stars behind it to dance and shudder, until it finally flowed directly behind the Elite Traders’ Guild. From there it flowed back down, winding its way along until it had completed its loop and could begin running upwards again. A large number of smaller streams flowed to and from the main river all throughout the Center, some of them quite large. She could see, in the distance, a number of yellow rafts making their way through a particularly turbulent network of these streams, most of which were allowed simply to flow off the end of one of the shelves and dissipate in the area of the Center’s interior. The fine mist they left behind shimmered beautifully, and through some trick of the light, the whole display was ringed by a faint double rainbow.

The vast interior area between the ‘shelves,’ the area that made up most of the sphere, was filled with a mind-boggling number of floating objects. Most of them were vehicles, many of those mobile trade stations complete with their own display windows and loudspeakers, but a lot of the floating objects were permanent structures like this one, some connected by taut metal cables or swaying wooden bridges or grav-shafts. In fact, when she looked again, she could see a half-dozen of the shimmering shafts of air, ready to transport people from this very deck to neighboring facilities at high speed. Literally millions of people could move comfortably within this space.

And indeed, it was the people that drew her attention most. A number of the species in the IPA had been gifted with flight, wings or jets or flaps or balloon-like organs, and they moved freely and easily from one building to another. The rest of the species could also float easily from one to the next, but were limited to the gravity lanes set aside for the transit of people. In these lanes, crossing the space in every imaginable direction, were thousands upon thousands of people from a thousand different worlds, all speeding past each other. Some of them looked excited and thrilled by this spectacle, some looked awed and humbled, some simply looked bored. As she looked out, it began to dawn on her just how many people were truly in here.

Seeing this, it was hard to believe that the IPA had been devastated by a war and torn apart by subsequent power struggles. She’d only been a little girl in the days before the Mohemian invasion, and even then she’d only ever lived in a small town on Hemtei, so she had no real basis for comparison, but this station was considered a relatively small, out-of-the-way part of what remained of the IPA. It made her head swim to think of the kind of wealth that the Alliance must have controlled at the height of its power.

She was struck by what sounded like the laughter of a Human child, and turned to look, glad for the distraction from the spectacle before her. To call this place overwhelming wouldn’t be scratching the surface.

There was, indeed, a little Human boy laughing. He was rolling around on the deck, wrestling with a young Syler who looked to be about the same age. She glanced around for their parents- if they weren’t careful, that Syler would be capable of severely hurting the Human boy.

After a few moments, she spotted an adult Syler standing on the other side of the deck. He was speaking with a trio of Radon dressed in fancy attire, but when she saw him watching the two boys protectively, she breathed a bit of a sigh of relief. At least someone was keeping an eye on them.

Growing up, she’d had a pit bull named Alan- sweetheart of a dog, he’d been- and the Syler always reminded her of him. Their heads were similar to a pit bull’s in shape, and their legs even bent opposite of Human legs, the way Alan’s would have if he’d walked upright. In place of the dog’s paws, though, the Syler had four hands with opposable thumbs and sharp claws. It was rare to see one over a meter and a half in height, but their strength and stamina never seemed to match their stature- they had a reputation for being remarkably strong.

The Syler across the deck was mostly white, with a black-and-tan pattern that ran down his back and left arm. Much of his fur was greying- he must be getting fairly old, she realized.

She turned back and watched the boys play, a smile finding its way to her lips. It wasn’t unusual to see Humans and Syler becoming close friends. In fact, it was a pretty common pairing in IPA schools, thanks to the fact that the two species matured at about the same rate. The Human boy looked to be mostly of Asian descent, judging by his dark hair and his facial features, but he had wide, bright green eyes. The Syler boy’s eyes were a darker shade of green, and his soft fur, mostly white-and-silver, still retained some of its fine blue baby fluff in tufts atop his head and at his ankles.

The older Syler must have seen her staring, because when the host called for his companions to head inside, he turned and strode directly for her. She self-consciously straightened her hair and her dress, and he sat down beside her, offering a hand, which she shook.

“I’m Aspic,” he said amiably.

“Shannon,” she offered in a way that was both friendly and wary. She wasn’t sure why he was speaking to her, but it was in her nature to be warm towards strangers.

“That’s Raicca, my grandson,” said Aspic, indicating the young Syler, who was now quite handily pinned by the shouting Human boy. “A Human runs this restaurant. The other boy is his son, Jaron.”

She nodded, “They seem like a handful.”

Aspic barked out a quick laugh, “Oh, that they are. You must be the new teacher, right?”

She blinked, then laughed, “That’s why you came over. Yes, I am.”

Aspic watched as Raicca flipped Jaron onto his stomach and trapped his arm behind his back, then looked back at Shannon, “It should be good for Jaron, having a Human teacher. He and his father are the only Humans on the station.”

She nodded- she’d checked on that before arriving. What Aspic was saying wasn’t strictly true- at the moment three Human men were here as part of a Zong Coalition trading party- but it was true that a boy and his father were listed as the only permanent Human residents. For some reason, actually seeing the boy made her a little sad.

“It’s not unusual for a family to be the only one of its species in the... the Coalition,” she said quietly, thinking aloud, “but Humans tend to group together.”

“You didn’t,” Aspic observed wryly.

She laughed, “I had my reasons. It’s the nice thing about living where we do; we can go anywhere in the IPA.” She paused, looking embarrassed, “I mean... the Coalition.”

Aspic just laughed at her. A yelp of pain came from Jaron, and Aspic shouted “Raicca, don’t hurt him!” in an exasperated tone at the two boys, then looked back at her, “It’s been years since the Radon Coalition declared its independence, and pretty much everyone around here still refers to it as the IPA. Old habits die hard.”

She nodded, swallowing. This seemed like the kind of talk that would inevitably led to discussions of politics and the corruption and fall of empires. The kind of talk that never failed to make her uncomfortable. Aspic seemed to sense this.

“So when did you arrive?” he asked her, changing the subject.

“A couple of hours ago. I thought I’d take a walk,” she said.

Aspic nodded, “What do you think of our little station so far?”

She laughed and tilted her head to indicate the endless flurry of activity behind her, “I can’t believe this qualifies as little.”

He grinned, “Ever been to the Vondanod cluster? This is nothing next to anything you’d find there.”

She shrugged, “I’m just a country girl. Closest I’ve ever seen to this is the annual Washban craft fair.”

Aspic smiled wistfully, “Now there’s something I still hope to make it to. They say the festival at the end is really something.”

She nodded, “I look forward to it all year.”

Aspic mimicked her nod, then caught sight of a clock set into a nearby floating structure. “Well,” he said, rising and stretching, “It’s about time I took Raicca to his music lesson.” He smiled at her with the Syler sharp-toothed grin, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

She smiled, “You as well. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Aspic led Raicca away, and she watched Jaron watch them leave and then wander over to the host at the desk. The host said something she couldn’t hear, then handed Jaron a large coloring book and a box of crayons. Jaron carried them over to one of the benches, where he laid out flat and flipped to a page that, from the look of it, he’d already put a fair amount of work into.

She stood up and walked over to him, standing nearby. The boy seemed very intent on his coloring book- he didn’t see her, and she noticed that his effort seemed to be directed as much towards drawing new parts for the pictures as it did with coloring them in the first place. The messy, occasionally-in-the-lines coloring of various points of interest around the station was crossed by further spires and shapes and eyes and balloons and an eclectic assortment of childishly-drawn objects.

“Jaron?” she asked tentatively after a moment.

Jaron looked at her, curious.

“Jaron, my name is Shannon,” she said, kneeling down next to his bench. “I’m your new teacher.”

“Hi!” said the little boy brightly. He thought for a moment, then seemed to decide on the most important question to ask. “Want to color?”
She smiled and picked up a light blue crayon, “Sure.”



The acrid, uncomfortably familiar smell of burning flesh now touched his nostrils. Awful thing, that, and he gagged on the stench. If it was this bad here, it must be worse back there, in the cramped, dark space that was quickly becoming crowded with people...
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on June 28, 2013, 12:23:13 PM
Language warning for this one. Enjoy ^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 4]Salem

Thienal floated gently to the ground, assisted by his antigravity boots. He looked around, getting a feel for his new situation. He found himself in a thick forest, overgrown with leafy green trees. Above, he could see the blue sky fading to black, but on every side he could see nothing but trees. Here, the red light of the alien sunset was barely able to reach him. In this forest, the sun had set hours ago.

In this forest, it may as well already be night.

Seen from a distance, Thienal could almost pass for Human, perhaps a boy in his middle-teens, but for the fact his skin was greyish-brown, and almost scaly in appearance. Taken with the muted brown-and-green jumpsuit he was wearing, he could probably stand still among the trees and be mistaken for one of them.

He had no ears, and three fingers and a thumb on each hand, each ending in a long, sharp claw. His arms and legs were both just a touch too long... or maybe his torso was just a touch too short, since, at his height, the average Human male would tower over him by nearly a head. His hair was jet-black. His wide eyes lacked whites; they were green, so dark a green that they almost looked black, save for the yellow slit of a pupil that bisected them.

Slung diagonally across his back was a large, wicked-looking blade, nearly as long as he was tall. Curved, serrated and spiked, it looked like the monster that might haunt the nightmares of a sword. The dual-grip hilt extended above his left shoulder, putting it in easy reach.

Over the top of the blade, strapped diagonally in the opposite direction, was a projectile weapon nearly as long. It wouldn’t be fair to call it a ‘rifle.’ No, this multi-function weapon was so much more than that. The complex array of inner components was covered in a smooth, dark metallic sheath, into which were embedded the grip and trigger. The result was an awkward shiny black weapon that looked too big to wield. There was a handle extending from the back end. This stuck up and over his right shoulder, which would allow him to draw it easily.

He was not happy. He’d just watched his ship, his beloved ship, plow into the ground at several times the speed of sound. If he wasn’t going to kill the Human before, he most definitely would now. It seemed this Human had no shortage of ways to rip his life apart.

Not far off, he could see the smoking crater left by the impact. More distantly, two other smoke trails led to the ground, left by the burning Bug Fighters as they fell. The trails would lead to two more smoking craters.

The three impacts had been spectacular to watch, especially from high above as he fell through the air. Debris and molten metal had exploded upwards and outwards, into the forest beyond. The two Bug Fighters had sent up even more debris than his own wooden ship. Thienal doubted the Yeerk pilots had survived. Whatever else you could say about the species, they certainly didn’t know how to fly.

He looked around- there, visible through the trees, was a run-down wooden building. Across the clearing on the other side of the building, he could make out a larger craft with what might be bodies strewn out front. Between the building and himself was a figure, a tall humanoid covered from head to toe in black armor thick enough that the shoulders sat nearly as high as the top of the head. It walked with a weapon drawn, making its way in the direction of the crater left by his ship.

Thienal snorted. So this little rock was inhabited after all. Inhabited by a violent species, from the look of things. He might have to pick a fight.

A series of sonic booms drew his attention to the sky- a black, elongated oval twisted through the atmosphere far above, making a wide S-turn. It disappeared momentarily behind a cloud bank and then reappeared seconds later when it punched through the bottom. A vapor trail formed behind the object, but its surface was too dark for him to make out any actual features, too black to discern detail or even depth. Looking at it was like looking at a hole in reality.

It was trailed by dozens of glowing red objects. As the red objects caught up to the black one, each exploded in a burst of flame and a flash of light, but the trajectory of the black object seemed unaffected. It quickly disappeared from view behind the trees.

Thienal grinned with his razor-sharp teeth. He’d seen a trail erupt from the top of the object, characteristic of the pilot’s ejection, as it had dropped out of sight.

“End of the line.”

Stealthily, he made his way through the woods in the direction the ship had been. He’d dart, quickly and silently, from one tree to the next, and then he’d stop, and watch, and listen. Best not to be seen coming where this awful Human was involved. Best to see him before he saw Thienal.

Eventually he spotted something- nothing more than a flash of movement, really. It came from far away to his right, and seemed to be headed in the direction of the building. Moving that stealthily, it had to be the man he was looking for. Already that far ahead of him.

He growled in frustration, then looked up at the sound of a distant spacecraft engine. From the clouds descended two of the Yeerks’ distinctive Bug Fighters, the small craft that had been a mainstay of the Empire for ages. Each resembled a beetle, flying with its shell closed. It was this insect-like shape that gave the craft its name. From either side of the main fuselage protruded a long, wicked-looking spike- the ship’s main Dracon Beams. Though the Bugs were common in the Yeerk Empire, the black-and-red color scheme of these was unique to the Light, this little fringe group that somehow managed to straddle the line between outcast and agent of the Council.

Behind the two Bugs, dropping slowly through the cloud bank, came the ship they were escorting. The large, semirectangular shape of the Yeerk gunship descended slowly, carefully, watching for traps like the one the Human had set for them on the way down. The long engine pods that ran along the length of the craft glowed white intermittently as it struggled to stabilize itself in this gravity and atmosphere. He knew that the Yeerkish writing on the side said, roughly translated, “The Light in the Darkness,” but from this distance even his eyes couldn’t make it out.

“I have him. The building,” he said aloud, transmitting the words to the ship above. As much as he loathed the idea of sharing this kill, he’d be willing to beat the Human while Vanress held him down. These Yeerks had been good allies. The fact that they’d all been thrown into this mess together... it was like fate. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip. He darted through the woods as quickly as he could while still remaining unseen, keeping his eyes open for any more movement.

He stopped near the edge of the clearing that contained the building and looked up at the sound of something fast flying around the area. There was Ikakek’s little fighter, a streamlined, elongated oval with large, triangular delta wings. Underneath each wing, alongside the fuselage, was a stubby engine pod, glowing the same white at the end as those of the Bugs. Unlike most spacecraft, Ikakek’s would actually be more comfortable in the atmosphere. At some point since Thienal had last seen him, Ikakek had painted the ship the black-and-crimson of the Light. It cruised around the area, trailing sonic booms. If anyone could catch this Human’s craft, it would be Ikakek.

Which didn’t matter one bit when you let the Human get to the ground. That fool was going to cost him his chance.

His lip curled in disgust. Of everyone he could choose to be stuck in this situation with, that godawful Zong was near the bottom of the list. It was true that Ikakek was a reasonably talented hunter, but no other creature had ever managed to make killing seem so... boring. To Ikakek, this was just a job- and from the sound of things, one that he’d tried to get away from once or twice. Thienal didn’t understand that. He’d always loved his work. Why would anyone stick to something they didn’t love? It was what Thienal was good at, and something that was easy enough to pick up each time the Human ripped him from his home and flung him into a new universe.

Not that he wanted to have to start over ever again. Just for once, it would be nice to live somewhere without spending every moment worrying about this Human destroying his life. Once the man was dead, and that ship of his destroyed, Thienal felt he could live out the rest of his days in relative peace.

He was distracted by a buzzer going off from within his jumpsuit- the proximity alert for his ship. Now that was surprising. It meant that not only was his ship still at least partly intact, but also that someone was trying to break into what was left. He was impressed- apparently the Kindler wood lived up to its reputation. Nothing else could have survived that crash.

He was torn, though- he’d lost sight of the Human, who he so desperately wanted to find and gut like a fish. Now the gunship was touching down, and he knew he should go greet the Commander. He didn’t want to do either one if his baby was in danger.

He sighed. If nothing else, his ship should be too damaged to go anywhere, and as much as he hated to admit it, he could probably use the Light’s help in flushing out the fugitive Human.

He strode confidently into the open field near the little building to meet the big tan Yeerk gunship, not seeing any more point in trying to stay hidden. If the Human didn’t already know they were here, then he was blind. As he walked, he made note of a number of spacecraft parked haphazardly in the open area. A lot of them looked Yeerk- he counted at least two Bug Fighters in the field. That was good. Maybe they hadn’t actually gone somewhere different this time. Though it did mean that he’d have to be careful about who got caught in the crossfire. The Empire tended to frown on the disintegration of its own people.

Although... were these the Empire’s people? He caught a glimpse of something silver and metallic standing in the doorway of the little run-down wooden structure. A robot, from the look of it. Robots like that were not something he’d ever seen among the Yeerks.

He looked away. Plenty of time for that later.

The gunship’s ramp was open and troops were on their way out before it had even fully settled to the ground, fanning out with military precision. While some of them were Human, dressed in black uniforms trimmed with red, most of them were Hork-Bajir with only black-and-red armbands to distinguish them as members of the Light.

The Hork-Bajir were always a pleasure to look at. Some of them could push two and a half meters in height, and they were simply covered in blades. Blades grew from their wrists, their elbows, their ankles, their knees- basically, they looked like perfectly-designed walking weapons. Two or three long horns grew from the forehead of each one. They had wicked-looking beaks, with heads sitting atop long, snake-like necks. Their tails ended in blades that, while not quite as impressive as Andalite tail-blades, still looked like they could do some serious damage. Their three-clawed feet were large and sharp and talon-like, the better to kick someone to death with.

Thienal had heard that the Hork-Bajir were naturally a very peaceful, even stupid species, but each and every one existed now as the slave to a Yeerk. The entire race had been reduced to nothing more than tools of the Empire. In Thienal’s opinion it was a major improvement.

Every troop, Human or Hork-Bajir, carried with them a hand-held Dracon, and each wore a display glass over one eye, which continually flashed through a readout of information about the area around them on its transparent display. Some of them had the Light’s new Dracon rifles strapped to their backs- a weapon that took the basic design of the hand-held Dracons and made it three times as awkward to use.

Commander Vanress 4144 was easy enough to spot- he wore a Yeerk dress uniform in place of the red-and-black of his soldiers. He was the last one off the ship, barking orders at his troops- it was always strange to hear Gallard, the interstellar trade language in this region, shouted with that thick Russian accent. He wore a scowl as the troops split into groups and moved off to search the area for the Human.

Of course, it was unusual not to see him scowling. His face... or, rather, the face of his host... was wrinkled like old leather, and his dark grey hair was whitening in spots. Though his face was thin, one got the impression of a well-muscled physique underneath his garish uniform. His left eye was covered in an eyepatch; Thienal figured Vanress had lost the eye in some battle. The Commander also sported a salt-and-pepper moustache that was thick and full, yet meticulously well-maintained.

Vanress had split the Yeerk forces into three search teams, which now headed off in different directions to search the area. To Thienal’s dismay, he noticed that the few troops that had drawn weapons were re-holstering them at Vanress’s command, and that the two Bug Fighters were settling to the ground. Trust Vanress to try to keep everything peaceful.

Vanress stepped purposefully towards Ikakek’s ship, which was now landing nearby. Thienal sighed and changed direction to meet him. This was going to be frustrating.

From here, Ikakek’s ship looked even less impressive. It was maybe half the length of the Bug Fighters, and sported no visible external weaponry. If he hadn’t seen it in action, Thienal might have mistaken it for a toy.

The same could not be said of the creature that climbed out once the silver bubble canopy opened. Thienal always found it ridiculous that a creature that size could sit comfortably in a ship that small. His four long, spider-like legs seemed to unfold themselves as he stepped out of the ship, raising his head and torso up to their full height. Ikakek was short for a Zong, standing at just under five meters tall.

His light brown skin grew darker near the top of his thin, vaguely-humanoid torso. His four extremely long, well-muscled arms were evenly spaced around the body at the shoulder. Atop his thin, bony neck sat his head, which was mostly ovular, tall and thin. It split into two lobes in the top, resulting in a head that was vaguely V-shaped. The lower section held his relatively small mouth, ringed with razor-sharp teeth and flanked on either side by insectine pincers. In the upper section of his head were his six small black compound eyes, all facing outward- one on each lobe facing forward, one facing back, and one to the side.

Coiled along the lower half of Ikakek’s torso were some of the appendages Thienal envied most in existence- the infamous Zong tails. The tails were long, thin, remarkably dextrous, unbelievably strong, and covered from base to tip in tiny blades. Thienal had seen Ikakek gently manipulate small objects from across the room with his tails. He’d also seen him wrap them around a tree trunk and slice it clean through. The tails never stopped growing over the course of a Zong’s lifetime, and it wasn’t unusual for sections to break off. It looked like Ikakek was down to only two tails that were really long enough to be useful at the moment.

But then, two would be enough. Thienal would have given his own arm for just one of those beautiful razor-wire whips.

Much like the Hork-Bajir, most Zong were peaceful, in spite of their fearsome appearance. Unlike the Hork-Bajir, the Zong were remarkably intelligent; their empire had been one of the most successful in his home universe, once upon a time. Unfortunately, ‘intelligent’ did not equate to ‘interesting,’ at least in Ikakek’s case.

“Welcome, Commander,” Thienal said as he and Vanress reached Ikakek’s position.

Vanress nodded curtly and greeted them both, “I believe this is the end of the line for our little fugitive friend.”

Ikakek hissed something, his Gallard difficult to understand- it was not a language made for Zong mouths. Thienal gathered that he was talking about collecting bounties at the bar.

Thienal looked around at the motley collection of spacecraft from a dozen worlds, considering. This place certainly had the feel of a little hiding-hole for fugitives. Maybe that was why the Human had chosen it.

“No,” snapped Vanress, cutting off Ikakek’s stilted speech. “You overgrown insect, we are after one thing here. If we can capture this fugitive, I might be able to convince the Council to let me move the Empire out of this dark age it’s stuck in. If you screw this up for me, I will have your ugly head mounted on my wall. You can come collect bounties on your own time." It was interesting- any normal man would have cowered in fear at the mere sight of Ikakek, but in this case, it almost seemed to be the other way around. Thienal smirked. The Zong intimidated by a Human.

Yeerk in a Human suit. Whatever.

Vanress turned away to answer several communications from his unit, now spreading out around the area. Ikakek took the opportunity to say, in the Atazin standard language, “Hello, Thienal. Still short?”

Thienal glared up at the being, at what passed for a smirk on a Zong face, and opened his mouth to deliver a really biting reply, but was interrupted by Vanress.

“You’re with me, I guess,” he said to the two of them with an air of annoyance, and began striding towards the building without explanation.

Thienal spun and followed, half-jogging just to keep up. Vanress continued to answer communications, barking orders and advice into his communicator. The team was spreading out, questioning locals, but Vanress wanted them to avoid drawing their weapons and... look nonthreatening, Thienal guessed. Vanress must either think the locals were dangerous, or that violence here would not sit well with the Council of Thirteen.

“I must come back here,” said Ikakek as he fell into step beside Thienal, both of them trailing the Commander. He kept his voice low in order to avoid interrupting Vanress. “Do you know how many wanted people a place like this will attract?”

Thienal sighed. Of course the stupid Zong wanted to chat. “I only care about our friend,” he said irritably. “He shot down my ship.”

Ikakek stared down at him, “You know better than to engage him without Serin present.”

Thienal snarled, but it was true- Thienal had never seen any ships aside from Serin 612’s that could handle the Human’s black terror in a firefight. Thienal wasn’t even sure why Serin’s ship was effective- even the old-model Bug Fighters would easily best it.

“How did we get stuck working for these slugs anyway?” he growled.

Ikakek shushed him- they’d reached the door of the building. It looked like this was some sort of... bar? Inside, he thought he could see a bar counter and possibly even a Human man using a towel to dry a large empty tankard. In fact, he could make out a number of figures- most of them looked Human, actually, which would be in line with the apparent Yeerk population here.  The Commander had stepped inside and was yelling authoritatively about something or other.

Thienal glanced over and saw that Ikakek was slowly uncoiling his two good tails. Once they were unfurled, he began using them to absently overturn rocks and leaves on the ground several meters away.

Thienal activated his hover boots. He flew up to the roof and drew the rifle from his back, hefting it in both hands with remarkable ease. One of the three search teams had surrounded the building, and now four of the Hork-Bajir moved quickly through the front door, presumably at Vanress’s command.

He sighed. This should be quick and easy with so much manpower around, but this Human had never made things ‘quick and easy.’ If... or rather, when he escaped the Commander in the bar, Thienal was ready to gun him down.

He casually scanned the area through the scope of his rifle, taking note of the rest of the Yeerks still searching for the Human. So, that meant Vanress still wasn’t sure he was in the building... but he must have had some suspicion that this was where the man was, or the Commander wouldn’t have come here himself.

Wait... what was that? A minotaur? Thienal caught only a brief glimpse as a well-built male humanoid with a large, horned head carried... something up the ramp and into one of the parked ships. Thienal would have sworn that the ‘something’ was a body covered in a sheet. One of the Light’s troops, a female Human with yellow hair, followed him up the ramp.

He was distracted by the characteristic TSEEWWW! of Dracon fire from the open area in which the ships were parked. He only found the source of the sound when he heard a second Tseeewwww and a loud crrraaaack as a tree nearby exploded in the heat of a Dracon beam. The search team that had dispersed among the parked ships was having a fight with... nothing that he could see. Maybe they just wanted to see how well those rifles blew up trees.

Wait... the air rippled like heat rising on a hot day where one of the rifles had hit something. A cloaked ship in the yard. Interesting, no-doubt, but not helpful; the Human’s ship didn’t turn invisible. That was likely a Yeerk cloak, from the look of it. These idiots were going to get themselves killed. Those ridiculous anti-vehicle rifles might be powerful, but they weren’t going to win a fight with a shielded spacecraft. He wondered for a moment if Vanress might be on to something by ordering his troops to keep their weapons holstered.

The cloaked ship returned fire, and at least two Hork-Bajir disintegrated before his eyes. He sighed. Maybe the Yeerks hadn’t learned as much from him as he thought. He dropped to a kneeling position and steadied his rifle, ready to shoot... well, since he wasn’t going to be taking out a ship with this thing, maybe he could figure out which Yeerk had given the okay for this fight.

There was a deafening boom from the bar, shaking the roof beneath his feet. It was accompanied by a flash of light, which was bright enough to hurt his eyes even after it had flooded out of the windows and reflected off the ground and trees nearby. In the seconds that followed, he could hear the tinkling of broken glass falling from every window in the building.

He cursed- the target Human had done something, and now the Commander... assuming he was still alive... would probably be in no condition to take him in. He carefully watched the area- this time it was his turn.

Two of the Hork-Bajir who’d entered the bar stumbled out the front door, blinking, apparently somewhat blinded. They were shortly followed by the other two who, in addition to being blinded, held their stomachs and gasped for breath. One of them made it a little way from the door, then stumbled to his knees and threw up on the ground.

The rest of the Yeerk searchers were moving this way now, all three teams spreading out around the bar, trying to cut off all escape routes. It looked like those who’d been in the firefight with the ship had managed to avoid getting themselves killed, and they... or at least, those of them that were left... joined the group surrounding the bar. He took note of Ikakek sprinting away and jumping into his ship, which was lifting into the air before the canopy had fully closed. Coward.

A crrrrraaaaaack! echoed across the land, and when he turned to look, Thienal saw a cloud of purple smoke billowing from the wreckage of what he guessed was an old Skrit Na freighter, crashed near the edge of the woods maybe two hundred meters away. It looked as though it had just exploded. That would be the Human.

Unless... he looked around. Nearly all of the Yeerk troops had turned and were running in that direction. The two Bug Fighters which had served as escorts for the gunship were taking off, already drifting towards the wreck. The Commander, still alive, had stepped out the door and was walking in the direction of the explosion. Even Ikakek’s little ship was going in low and slow for a pass over the freighter.

He silenced the proximity alarm going off again in his jumpsuit. These damn locals. He tried to think. While the explosions and the purple smoke were characteristic of this particular Human, there was something unsettling about the fact he’d managed to travel that far, that fast, without Thienal or any of the Yeerks noticing.

No, he thought as the Yeerk troops surrounded the wreckage and began fanning out again, searching the ship and the woods nearby. No, the Human wouldn’t be there. He was too clever for that. He could be almost anywhere by now- watching, laughing, maybe even drawing a bead on Thienal right this moment- but he wouldn’t be there. He caught sight of the Commander, standing now, watching from the middle of the shipyard. It looked as though he was having similar thoughts.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter where he was, the Human would bleed. He’d caused Thienal enough misery.

“Nice ship, Thienal,” came a voice from his clothing, “but I think you should take better care of it.”

“No!” yelled Thienal. That was the communications link from his ship!

“I think I’ll take it,” said the infuriatingly smug voice of the Human. Thienal swung his rifle around to face the crater in which his ship sat. To his amazement, his ship was already moving away, accelerating up towards space at a sharp angle. The engines were running brighter than he’d ever seen them- the Human must have done something to the systems, or the ship would never allow itself to run that hot. After that crash, it probably shouldn’t be running at all.

He fired, and the supersonic slug from his rifle lanced towards the ship with a sound like thunder. He hadn’t led enough, though, and the shot went wide as the ship picked up speed. It was out of range before he could line up a second shot. Not that his rifle would be capable of really damaging his ship anyway.

As it shot upwards, the ship was tailed by the two Bug Fighters and Ikakek’s ship, all running full thrusters. As fast as they were moving, though, Thienal could tell they wouldn’t be able to catch the Human.

Thienal re-sheathed his rifle and leapt down from the roof. He ran towards Vanress, who was shouting commands into his communicator. As he got close, he heard the Commander tell Ikakek to shoot the Human down. His lips involuntarily pulled back into a snarl- that was his baby they’d be shooting at! But then... but then... maybe better it be vaporized than stay in the hands of the Human.

He looked up and happened to see Ikakek’s ship overhead releasing a small number of missiles, each trailing a red glow. They barely seemed able to catch up to Thienal’s accelerating wooden fighter, and though each impacted with a bright flash, the ship didn’t seem to slow down at all. He shook his head. He’d seen Ikakek use most of his missiles earlier, while his own ship had been tumbling towards the ground.

“There’s no way that Zong can take down my ship with the shots he has left,” he growled at Vanress. “Stupid Human’s going to blow up my baby, running her that hot.” His lip curled at the thought of what he was about to ask. “Can I hitch a ride?”

Vanress glared at him, then turned to run towards the gunship, yelling “Come with me!” Thienal followed, joining the stream of troops already scrambling to get aboard. He raced ahead, eager to get on with this hunt. He’d had enough games.

He reached the open hatch and forced his way into the mass of Hork-Bajir making their way aboard. An elbow blade nicked his temple and, without thinking, he threw the responsible Hork-Bajir to the ground, hissing. The Hork-Bajir was up in an instant, coming after him with blades flashing, and Thienal went down on his back, hard, bleeding yellow from a gash across his chest.

He jumped to his feet and was reaching for the blade slung across his back when he heard the Commander yell “Stand down!”

He paused for a moment, considering how nice it would be to simply cut through every single one of these Yeerks, but then relented. He yelled- a frustrated, wordless moan- and dropped his arms to his sides. With a glare at the Hork-Bajir who’d assaulted him, he made his way inside and took a seat.

The bright yellow plastic chair in which he sat was far too large, having been designed for a Hork-Bajir, but the living metal restraints were still able to fasten securely over his chest and waist. The ship began to rise into the air, and the last few troops were forced to leap for the hatch and scramble their way inside as it slid shut.

Vanress took a seat beside him, “I understand that you’re frustrated, Thienal,” he said, his tone surprisingly polite. He clapped a hand on Thienal’s shoulder “But if you attack my troops again, I’m just going to let them kill you.”

Thienal snarled at the Commander, but seemed unable to find a comeback through the fog of rage that seemed to fill the very air in the ship. He was feeling a little lightheaded... though whether that was anger or blood-loss, he really couldn’t say. He rubbed the spot where the Commander had patted his shoulder.

Maybe... maybe he’d just rest for a moment...

The next thing he knew, he was being carried through one of the familiar corridors aboard the Yeerk battleship on a stretcher. Human-controllers wearing Yeerk medical uniforms held either end, and his chest... his chest seemed to have been hastily wrapped in an emergency bandage, which was already soaked clean through with his yellow blood.

“The Commander,” he said angrily, trying to sit up. His head spun, and he had to lie back down.

“Chill there, Thienal,” said one of the Human-controllers, a male with broad shoulders and brown hair cut so short he almost looked bald. Thienal felt he should recognize him... had he seen this Human before? He glared at the man and hissed.

“Whoa now. Thienal, remember me? Ardiss 454. You were teaching me to shoot.”

Thienal shook his head, slowly. How was one supposed to remember so many different Humans? With a growl he leapt up and shoved ‘Ardiss’ into a wall, sending the man at the other end of the stretcher sprawling.

He stumbled a short way down the corridor and then stopped, panting and holding his head. A shout from behind made him turn- the two men were approaching him slowly, as if he were some kind of dangerous maniac. Someone crazy that needed to be approached with the utmost care to avoid upsetting.

The thought made him angry, and he snarled at them and darted away down the corridor. He made a few quick turns and found himself entering the small, cramped bridge, surrounded by bodies under control of Yeerks- Humans, Hork-Bajir, and Taxxons. Vanress stood at the center of the room, receiving a report from his Hork-Bajir first mate.

“... casualty count to fifteen; eight confirmed lost with hosts, seven injured, one of them badly enough that we don’t expect the host to survive. Not one of our better days,” the Hork-Bajir was saying. “We detected a large ship near the edge of the system. We think it’s a Dome Ship. Mark III. We don’t think they saw us. If we wanted to engage after this is over with, this would be our best chance to finally...”

“Nobody cares about ****ing Dome Ships!” Thienal yelled, spit flying from his mouth. “Find my ship and let me kill the Human!”

Every eye on the bridge turned and stared in his direction. He felt faint. He felt weak. He felt nausea. He felt pain. But mostly, he felt rage.

“Thienal...” began Vanress, in an annoyed, condescending tone of voice.

“You think you’re so great, you Yeerks, but you can’t even catch one Human!” Thienal shouted. “If you think I’m going to just...”

“Thienal, shut up,” said the Commander, cutting him off. It wasn’t said loudly, or forcefully, but there was an edge behind his words, a coldness, that made Thienal reconsider what he wanted to say. That was the voice that made Vanress seem so much like the Visser he’d once been.

“Now,” Vanress began, calmly, “your ship left the system at high speed and entered Z-space about five minutes ago.” He glared around the bridge, and the Yeerks all seemed to decide very suddenly that they had important work to be doing. “We’ve just reached the point at which we last saw it. We are trying to trace it, but it’ll be a few minutes yet.”

He turned his one-eyed glare on the two men who’d been carrying Thienal’s stretcher as they arrived, panting. “I thought I told you to keep him sedated,” he said levelly.

“Sorry,” gasped Ardiss, “I didn’t know how resilient...”

Vanress cut him off, “Judging by the state of the ship, he won’t be jumping far. We’ll find him. And I thought,” he glared daggers at Thienal, “that I had asked you, multiple times, to bring him to me alive.”

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over Thienal, and he slumped against the wall, too weak and distracted to argue. “Yes,” he said. “Save him for the Yeerks. If he’s infested, an enemy becomes an ally. That’s...”

Wait... he’d missed something. They were out here, chasing Thienal’s ship... but that meant... that meant...

“****!” he yelled. “His ship! He left his ship!”

Vanress stared at him for a moment, then narrowed his eye as he realized what Thienal was getting at. There was an easier way to find the Human. He’d never leave his ship behind.

“Karner, bring us about,” he said to the Taxxon at the helm. “We’ll go back and pick up his ship. Then we can come back here and take our time.”

Thienal was only half paying attention as the massive battleship slowed to a halt and began to turn around. The other half of his attention was alternately feeling woozy and wondering why his shoulder ached so much. He hadn’t...

The excited, garbled speech of one of the Taxxons distracted him. Thienal always had a hard time understanding the Gallard spoken by the creatures- theirs wasn’t as bad as Ikakek’s, but it still came out mangled. From what he could gather, the Taxxon was saying that the system didn’t exist anymore.

“What?” Said Vanress, his voice still remaining level. “No, you idiot. Learn to read your instruments. I just want to go back the way we came.”

“Sir, it’s true,” supplied one of the Humans, a young woman seated near the front of the bridge. “But... I think it’s us that are gone, not the system. The stars around us aren’t the same as they were before. I didn’t know those stars. I do know these.” She paused, looking at her readout, “I think we’re close to where we were before the target transported us to that... to wherever that was.”

“That,” said Vanress, his voice finally rising, “Is not possible. You’re not making sense, Ryxil. Why don’t you check again? Star systems don’t disappear.”

There was a tense silence for a few moments before the woman spoke again, her voice wavering, “S-sir? I can’t tell where we were. We’re moving back in the direction we came from, but there’s no sign of any system.”

Thienal’s anger had only built over the course of the exchange, and now it finally broke through the surface. He screamed, loudly, wordlessly, and snatched a data pad off a nearby console, ignoring the Taxxon working there.

“****ing Human!” he yelled as he heaved the pad across the bridge to shatter against the console on the other side. Once again, all eyes in the bridge were on him.

He breathed, first in, then out, and took a moment to compose himself. He was a hunter. He would be patient. He’d get another chance. Until then, he’d wait.

“You’ve seen how slippery this man is,” began the Commander, staring straight into the face of his Hork-Bajir first officer and speaking in a tone that said I told you so. “He brings only pain and destruction everywhere he goes.” He looked around the bridge and his voice rose theatrically, “He’s evaded capture by the Empire time and again. He’s been responsible for more deaths than even the most bloodthirsty of the Andalites. He’s brought about the destruction of entire civilizations. That,” he said, with a dramatic pause, “is why I disagree with the Council on his importance. That’s why he’s a priority mission for this crew. If we can rid the universe of this plague, it is our duty to do so.”



He’d seen strange things... he could remember... just barely remember... but it was like trying to hold on to a dream that was slipping away...

There was a Hork-Bajir, drawing a Dracon Beam. There was a tall, armored humanoid, bringing up its own weapon. Mostly, though, there were Humans. Humans crowding into the dark back hallway. Humans watching from the tables. Like the woman with the long, straight dark hair and the pretty blue eyes...

One of the men he could see in the throng... the tall, good-looking one with the dark skin and the sharp, intelligent eyes... he knew, somehow, that that man had arrived with the ship... and yet he could not recall having seen the man amongst the crowd that had disembarked.

The ship... he had an image, in his head, of looking out the window, of seeing a large craft land in the dirt field... of seeing it disgorge people... mostly Humans, some of them walking freely, some of them bound and chained... maybe a half dozen in all... and there’d been an Andalite... a young Warrior... except for that, the new arrivals had trickled in by ones and twos... Humans, Andalites, and other things... unusual things... bizarre things... but so few of them remained...

There’d been a giant humanoid with broad, curled horns, so tall that it’d had to duck simply to avoid hitting the rafters with its head... There’d been a shirtless, four-armed swordsman... There’d been a half-cat, half-woman... There’d been an Andalite, normal in every respect except for its golden fur... And others. So many others...

They weren’t there now, though. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember them leaving. It was as if they’d simply faded away when he wasn’t looking..
.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: AmberKatira on June 29, 2013, 12:33:19 AM
I feel like I should post on here because you are sadly lacking comments.... and I've pretty much told you everything I think needs telling, so.... go fix that ridiculously awkward beginning of the prologue.  Eventually.  I still want new chapters.


To people who are not reading and commenting: you should!  Trust me, it gets much better than the awkward domestic bliss scene at the beginning of the prologue.  More banter with Al!  ;)
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 01, 2013, 01:49:28 PM
Hey, the domestic bliss was great fun to rip apart at the end of the prologue! Haha. And yes, I'll fix it. Eventually :P

In the meantime:

[spoiler=Chapter 5]Pallas

Xenntervii sat, staring across the room at two figures. Humans, dressed in the faded greys and greens of their secondhand survival gear. This little backwater world would be considered too cold and wet for Human comfort.

In fact, it was a little cold and wet for his own as well, he thought, looking out the tall windows. A torrent of methane rain poured down from the sky above, producing streaks and runs down the outside of the glass, and a dull roar like static from the roof. The black-and-grey fauna that covered every inch of visible land outside, combined with the dim light of the distant, setting red sun, barely visible on the horizon despite the rain and the storm clouds above, made the landscape seem forbidding and bleak. At least it served to make the little lodge here seem just a bit cozier.

And the lodge could stand to feel cozier. The grey-and-blue carpet and the grey tables and benches gave the room an aura of coldness, and the harsh white light from the ceiling overhead did nothing to ease the feeling. The outer perimeter of the big, fat-crescent shaped room was almost entirely filled with windows looking to the outside, with the exception of the small concession stand set right in the middle, manned by a young Greenite. The inner border of the crescent was textureless matte grey.

Perhaps a dozen individuals sat and lounged in the area, this little nowhere land, waiting for the next train. Nearby, a pair of Cosmain women stared out the window, conversing quietly and occasionally bursting out in laughter at something one of them said. Across the room, a Radon couple tried in vain to quiet their crying baby while its older sibling threw a fit. Everyone else was silent.

This little station was nothing more than the interchange for two gravirail lines. It sat almost exactly in the middle of the two minor spaceports on this tiny planet. The planet itself occupied an orbit that had long since taken it out of its original useful location; it was now eclipsed by the two major ports in this system, and often served as nothing more than a go-between for them.

All in all, it was about as distant as one could get from the IPA while still remaining deep within the IPA.

Verrim would be an unusual sight here, and he’d wrapped himself in a cloak to keep his face hidden. No sense in drawing unnecessary attention to himself. With the cloak on, one would only be able to tell that he was humanoid. They’d be unable to see his cat-like face, his eyes, his claws, his large, triangular ears. They’d be unable to see his dozens of little razor-sharp teeth. Unable to see his thick, bushy tail. Unable to see his hair, in its various shades of brown, save for the single black streak that evinced his distant blood connection to Zengata and the royal family.

Not that being related to the dead emperor was going to win him any favor here. Relations between the ZFD and the IPA had been strained at best, even back then. Now a Verrim in IPA space would probably be arrested as soon as they showed their face.

Hence the cloak.

The two humans sat at one of the low tables, side-by-side. The male rested his head in his arms on the table, tracing the lines of the artificial marbled pattern with a finger, and the female stared distantly out the window. They both wore expressions of exhaustion and defeat. It was hard to see on faces that young. Xenntervii had spent enough time around Humans to know that these were probably in their middle teens somewhere.

“You sure about them?” he asked quietly, though there appeared to be no one around.

“Hey, all you can do is talk to them,” Ven Dora’s voice said inside his head. Xentervii wished she could have come down with him, but a Mauselean in IPA space wouldn’t even get the luxury of capture that he would. A Mauselean would be shot on sight.

Xenntervii sighed. According to Ven Dora, these two had shown exceptional marks in school, and more importantly, a special kind of disregard for the rules. They had survived the destruction of a space station during the IPA’s capture of Radon. And now they’d gone into hiding, darting from one place to the next under the very nose of the government that would crush them if it found them. Besides which, Ven Dora said they’d be great, and he’d learned never to doubt her instincts for this kind of thing.

But it still didn’t sit well with him to spring this on such young creatures. No matter how great his need.

He rose from his bench and wandered over to the concession stand. If the Greenite working there was at all surprised to see a Verrim ordering a bagel sandwich, he didn’t show it. While Pienterre waited for his sandwich to finish toasting, he turned to examine the two Humans more closely.

The female looked like the more promising and intelligent of the two. She had brown skin and her head was covered with longer hair, dark and wavy, hanging to her shoulders. Her lips were full and her eyes were light brown, or even a gold color, depending on the angle of the light. She stared, lost in her thoughts, off into the darkness outside.

The male’s skin was lighter, and his hair was straight and black, cut much shorter than the female’s. His face was now hidden in his arms, and he looked like he might have fallen asleep at the table.

Xenntervii thanked the little green man behind the counter for his steaming hot bagel sandwich and made his over to the Humans’ table, sitting down across from them. The girl looked him up and down, frowning, but the boy didn’t move. Xenntervii wondered if he could get away with just taking the girl. Probably not.

“Crazy weather we’re having,” Xenntervii said, trying to sound unconcerned with the world.

He heard a snort from the boy- apparently he was paying attention. The girl looked like she might say something, but instead she just swallowed hard and nodded.

Xenntervii sighed. This was going nowhere.

“So did you happen to see the galactic Banterball championship? What a fiasco, eh?” Xenntervii asked with a grin.

“We haven’t really had time to follow it lately,” the girl said.

“Or in my case, ever,” came the muffled voice of the boy. She smacked him on the shoulder, and he finally sat up, smirking and blinking in the light.

This was good! They were loosening up. It was a start.

Xenntervii held out his hand, “Pleased to meet you, Mr...”

The boy took it and exchanged a look with the girl. “I’m Pallas,” he said, with his lips pressed tight.

“And I’m Threecra,” said the girl. Xenntervii had to stop himself from laughing out loud. He might have believed the boy’s name if he hadn’t already known better, but the girl had chosen the name of Nerphid’s late handmaiden. Any child in the ZFD would know that name.

“Well,” said Xenntervii, taking a bite of his sandwich, but he had to stop and glare back at the Greenite behind the concessions counter. No little out-of-the-way travel stop had any business serving anything this tasty, he thought as he chewed.

“So,” he started again, “what brings you two to a place like this?”

“We’re visiting our aunt,” the two said instantly, together. So they’d come up with a lie. That was a good start.

“Ah, your aunt. Does she live nearby?” he asked.

Threecra shook her head, “Nope. She lives on Washban.” They were engaged now, as if they’d rehearsed this conversation and were eager to deliver it.

“What’s she do there?” he asked without a pause.

“She’s a paleontologist,” said Pallas.

“And you two. You’re related?”

“He’s my half brother,” responded Threecra. They weren’t bad at this, but anyone really talking about their background would probably not be quite as quick to reveal it to strangers.

He swallowed the rest of his sandwich in two quick bites, licked his fingers, and asked, “Where are your parents?”

With a glance at Threecra, Pallas said “They’re on Earth, where we’re from.”

“And which of you is the oldest?”

“He is, by six months.”

“So you share a mother?”

“Father,” Pallas said, and he could see the frown in the boy’s features now.

“What’s his name?”

“Gene,” responded Threecra after only the briefest hesitation.

“What do you think of the invasion of Radon by IPA forces?”

That stopped them both cold, and Pallas’s blood drained from his face as he searched Xenntervii’s eyes.

“It was a great victory for us,” Threecra managed to say, glaring at Xenntervii. “Who did you say you were?”

Xenntervii shook his head and shrugged, “Nobody, really.” The smaller interior curved wall of the crescent-shaped room faded away, revealing a causeway leading into a newly-arrived railcar. Some of the people in the room rose and began gathering their belongings to walk through the door, but most simply stayed put.

“I think that’s your ride,” Xenntervii said.

The two rose without a word and walked towards the causeway, casting the occasional suspicious glare back over their shoulders. Once they were past it, the wall re-formed behind them, blocking them from view.

They were young. They were presumptuous. They’d have an awful lot to learn.

But they would do.

Xenntervii stared at the spot he’d last seen them and grinned. He spoke, his words transmitting to Ven Dora and the Esprit.

“Take them.”



He remembered ducking, sliding down into his seat, trying to sink into himself, to become invisible, when the War-Prince had walked in.

The War-Prince had been large, for an Andalite... with arms that were toned, well-muscled, so unusual for their kind. There’d been two swords, strapped across the War-Prince’s back.

You could always tell War-Princes by the way they carried themselves, he mused.

Either the War-Prince hadn’t seen him or hadn’t recognized him, so he’d breathed a sigh of relief.

There was one who did seem to know him, however... The man nobody ever seemed to notice or remember until they had need... The mute, unassuming man who now stood polishing a tankard seemed uninterested in what was occurring in the back hallway, and had instead turned a piercing gaze on him...

[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 03, 2013, 10:59:15 AM
Alright, this is the first chapter to take place in the GESB proper. I'm telling the story almost exactly as it happened in the GESB, and very nearly all of the actions and dialogue are directly from the RP. I'm taking some liberties for the sake of the narrative (flow in a story is quite different from the flow in an RP), and inserting a lot of narration and Salem's internal commentary that I didn't when I wrote my posts originally.

If any GESB folks happen to find their way here, and have any pointers as to the portrayal of their own characters or the Bar itself, I welcome them ^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 6]Salem

He watched as Ikakek and the two Bug Fighters followed Theinal’s ship into the sky.

He lay on the ground, covered in Al’s cloak. He wasn’t sure how well it would actually hide him-- they’d modified it never really expecting to have to use it in the field-- but lying on the ground in a crater with the cloak bending light waves around him and projecting the image of the ground beneath him, he ought to be pretty hard to spot.

Unfortunately, it made it difficult to get a good view of the situation, since he was reduced to looking through only the tiny gap between his hood and the ground. He thought he could see the Yeerk troops running, and he definitely heard the rising whine of the gunship’s engines powering up. It seemed they were leaving. So hard to tell lying on the ground, though.

He stood up.

The sound of an indrawn breath made him turn around. The first thing he noticed was the Dracon Beam pointed at his head.

Crap.

The second thing he noticed was the woman holding it. She had brown hair and hazel eyes, and was in very good shape, judging by the arresting curves under that semi-armored form-fitting black jumpsuit of hers. She was smirking.

Finally,” she said, speaking Gallard. That was interesting. “We’ve been looking for you.” Double crap. “Put your hands in the air and get the hell out of that ditch,” she said, motioning with the Dracon. “And don’t try anything crazy. We’re fast”

We? he thought, raising his hands slowly into the air. She was the only person he could see. He didn’t doubt that she was fast- she handled the Dracon with a practiced ease. She knew how to use it.

The Gallard. The Dracon. She was almost definitely a Yeerk. That was definitely not an Imperial uniform, though.

He stepped out of the crater, his cloak returning to flat black. ‘Hands in the air’ is not a great position to be this comfortable with, he thought. He could feel the rush of adrenaline, the all-too-familiar thrill of tension, beginning to course through his veins.

He looked around as well as he could without taking his attention from the Dracon. They were at the edge of the clearing that served as a shipyard or parking lot for the little building that he’d recently discovered housed a tavern. The Yeerk forces seemed to all have run for their transport. He could see it in the corner of his eye, a crowd of Controllers pushing their way aboard.

He didn’t know if this woman was friend or foe, but she hadn’t immediately alerted the Light. That was good. He didn’t have to stall her long. Just long enough, then he could deal with the situation here without having to worry about Sergei or Thienal or any of them trying to fry him.

“So,” said the woman, “why the hell is the Imperial army after you anyway? You piss off a Visser or something?” Her eyes quickly scanned the area, then returned to his face. She was calculating the situation, just like he was. Waiting, ready to act when whatever was going to happen... happened.

He smiled, in a way that he hoped said 'I know something you don’t.' Should keep her off-balance, at least.

“No,” he said. “The Commander there isn’t a Visser. Not anymore.” Let her sort that one out. In his peripheral vision he could see that the Yeerk gunship had lifted off and was gaining altitude.

“So, uh...” he began, trying to project an aura of innocent unconcern in spite of his hands still being over his head, “where am I?

The bemused look on her face told him she wasn’t buying it.

“You’re at the Galaxy’s Edge Space Bar,” she said. “It’s where rebels, misfits and weirdos go to relax.” She smirked, "Except relaxing never seems to happen. All hell tends to break loose in this place. I think you picked the wrong asteroid to crash on."

From the larger ship behind her came... something. As it walked towards them, he saw that it was humanoid in shape, but was covered from head to toe in what could be a green suit of environmental protection armor. It stood nearly a head taller than him, and its face wasn’t visible under its helmet. Strapped across its back, it carried... a sword? And what looked to be a number of projectile weapons- solid-matter guns, he guessed.

“So you’re the one they were after, huh?” said the thing, stepping up beside the woman. Its deep voice echoed from a speaker somewhere on its suit. It didn’t draw its projectile weapons, but it did remove a strange shaped piece of metal from its waist, handling the thing carefully. It muttered something he couldn’t hear to the woman, and she responded, just as quietly.

He swallowed. If this was their idea of intimidation, it wasn’t bad. He’d seen far better, though. Its arrival didn’t change the situation much.

“What’re you planning on doing with me, anyway?” he asked, nodding towards the woman’s Dracon.

She considered for a moment, sparing a quick glance for the swirl in the clouds above through which the Yeerk gunship had ascended.

With a sigh, she re-holstered her Dracon. He thought he heard her mutter something about “this turelek’s long list of failures.” He should know that word, he thought as he gratefully lowered his hands to his sides. The tall green humanoid followed the woman's lead, re-holstering the metal... thing that it had been holding.

“Now that we’re square,” she said, “just what the hell did those guys want with you, anyway?”

“That’s... actually kind of complicated. I’m wanted in their empire for a number of reasons.” He saw no point in enumerating them. “These guys were after me because that commander of theirs promised their...” what was it called? “High Council that he’d catch me.”

The woman laughed, “Man, that guy is screwed. The Council of Thirteen don’t like being disappointed much.”

He grinned. That much, at least, was true.

"So,” he said brightly, before she could press him for any more details, “ever heard of these Yeerks?” A little feigned ignorance would make him seem less threatening, and he might get some information out of her reaction.

She laughed again, “I am a Yeerk,” she said, gesturing to her own head. “I’m just... not allied with the Empire.”

Bingo.

The tall humanoid nodded, “There are plenty of Yeerks around here.”

This was almost too good to be true. He’d managed to crash in a place that contained Yeerks-- that may even still offer access to his home-- but that wasn’t allied with the Yeerk Empire. This served as a place for... what had the woman said? Rebels, misfits and weirdos? He should fit right in.

“Yeerks are parasites that infest other species,” continued the woman. He knew that, of course, but it was interesting that she felt she should tell him. “The body you see isn’t mine, precisely. It’s Joanne’s body. She’s a Human like yourself.”

Ah. That would explain a lot.

“Yeerks actually take control of the bodies of other species? That makes a lot more sense than what I was thinking,” he admitted. If she was so willing to talk about this, he should probably get all the information he could.

“So... what are Yeerks, exactly?” he asked excitedly. Or... wait, no, better question. “Is this ‘Joanne’ of yours still... intact?”

At that, the woman’s posture slumped and her head tilted a bit.

“Nah, boyo, us hosts are still here,” she said, in a pattern of speech that was markedly different from the one she’d used so far. “It’s why the whole deal can get real creepy if you don’ like your new boss. Me an’ Kess share the body, with me gunnin’ an’ him wordin’ stuff right. An’ gettin’ us bloody jobs.”

His jaw dropped. There were definitely two distinct people in there.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Both of you, I guess. Joanne and... Kess, was it?”

“Keshin,” she corrected, shaking his hand. As she did, her posture straightened again, and he could tell that the Yeerk was now in charge again. That was... incredible to watch.

He nodded, “Keshin. I think I like you better when you’re not holding me up.” He gave a goofy grin to show that it was a joke.

“What are you, anyway?” he asked, turning to face the tall green thing beside her.

It took the thing a moment to answer. “I’m... human,” it said, in a tone that suggested that it was a little taken aback by the bluntness of the question. Or perhaps by the lack of intimidation its presence was having on him.

He nodded, relieved. Human. Not Ildari. Not something new. Another indicator that he might still be able to get home.

“Who are you?” asked the man in green, sounding just a little bit defensive.

“Name’s To... ah.” He stopped himself. That life had ended the moment he’d heard Jamil’s voice over the comm.

He smiled sadly. He knew who he had to be this time.

“Salem,” he said, sticking out his own flesh-and-blood hand to shake the man’s armored one. “You are?”

“Parker Eight-Two-One,” offered the man. A human with a numerical designation. Unusual. “Or just Parker, if you like. Nice to meet you, To-ah-Salem.”

Salem smirked. Parker was making fun of him.

“I don’t recognize that... whatever you’re wearing,” he said, indicating Parker’s armor.

“No,” said Parker, “you wouldn’t in your universe.”

Salem’s thoughts screeched to a halt. My universe? he thought. That had to be a misinterpretation on the part of his translation chip, but hearing a local ‘use’ the word this soon after his arrival was a little jarring.

“It’s impressive,” he said, but in his mind he was already lost in thought. These two seemed friendly enough. In fact, he thought with a smirk, they acted almost like receiving random, offworld visitors was an everyday thing. He had to move. He didn’t know how long he’d have before the Light realized what he’d done and returned.

“Do...” he began to ask, then paused. When he’d communicated with Al earlier, his companion had said that it probably wasn’t safe to move the ship under its own power, as the damage it had taken had allowed water to seep into some of the critical systems. If he asked these two for help, he’d be revealing his weak position, but if he could get the help of the locals, he might stand a better chance.

“Do either of you know anyone who could help me get a ship out of a lake?” he asked.

They both paused to think for a moment. Parker shrugged, but Keshin said, “There’s this really weird four-armed guy. He could lift it for you.”

Salem blinked. ‘Four-armed guy?’ That had to refer to some Yeerk-controlled species he hadn’t encountered yet.

“Alright,” he said. “Where can I find this ‘four-armed guy?’”

Keshin gestured towards the building-- the ‘Galaxy’s Edge Space Bar,’ she’d called it. “Thordon’s just inside somewhere,” she said, shrugging. “He doesn’t do much other than sit around and sleep, but he’s pretty nice. You could get him to move the ship for you, no problem.” She fixed him with a cold gaze, “And as long as your buddies don’t come back, I don’t have a problem with it either.”

Salem swallowed. If he hadn’t already been hoping to never see the Light again, that look would have done the trick.

He began walking towards the building. “Thanks. I think I could go for a drink anyway.” Parker and Keshin fell into step on either side of him.

As they walked towards the bar, Salem took a better look around the field. There were dozens of craft here, but most didn’t look functional. Interspersed among them were other piles of ship parts and machinery and debris-- it felt more like a junkyard than a shipyard.

“Yeerk ships are all around my Earth,” mused Keshin beside him. “You couldn’t be a spacefarin’ human in this area and not know what Yeerks were. You from out-universe, Salem?”

Salem stumbled as his thoughts skipped a beat. The ‘universe’ thing again, and this time in was pretty clear it was actually intended to mean ‘alternate Earths,’ so it wasn’t a problem with the translation.

“You’re aware of the existence of other universes?” he asked wonderingly. This was a first, even for him. “Where... am I?”

“No one really knows,” answered Parker. He apparently didn’t find anything odd about the question. “This place seems to exist in every universe at every moment in time.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

He was distracted as the three of them reached the front door of the bar, and Parker and Keshin followed him inside. Salem had been in here earlier, of course, briefly, so he wasn’t surprised by the appearance of the Bar, old and rundown and dirty, with wooden tables and wooden barstools and a jukebox playing oldies in one corner. He wasn’t surprised to see the collection of Humans, or the robot, or the Hork-Bajir. He wasn’t surprised by the man in the puffy shirt, or by the mute bartender, staring silently out into the bar while absently wiping down a clean mug with a dirty towel.

The Minotaur-looking creature now sitting at one table caused him to falter for a moment, but the thing that floored him was the windows. They were all fully intact, looking dingy and dirty and like they hadn’t been washed properly in years-- but he was sure he’d seen every single one shatter just a short time ago.

Salem shrugged. He’d seen weirder things. This place sort of reminded him of Marly’s, but a little more worn-in, and with more Humans.

Parker and Keshin decided to take a table near the door, and Salem excused himself to walk over to the bartender to order a water. He longed for a real drink, but he was sure he didn’t have any currency that would be good here. It was one of the most irritating parts of jumping.

He walked over to the table and set down his glass, then removed his cloak, folded it messily and set it next to the water before taking his seat.

“Hey, Parker,” said a voice, and Salem turned to see a young Human man limping over to join them. He wore a green uniform and had extremely short-cut black hair. The strange red, white and blue insignia on his sleeve matched the one on one of the smaller winged craft crashed outside. Strapped over one shoulder was a weapon that looked to be of similar design to the ones Parker wore, and holstered at his waist was yet another, this one a pistol-type weapon.

“Thanks for the help back on the CG ship,” the man said to Parker. “I reckon that if you weren’t there, I’d have probably been toast.”

“Don’t mention it, Corporal,” responded Parker. “How’s the leg doing?”

Salem sighed and looked around. It seemed like a tight-knit little community of rebels, misfits and weirdos here. Close-knit and well-armed, judging by what he could see. How could a group that walked around with this much weaponry between them justify being as friendly towards strangers as they’d been towards him?

The communicator in his pocket trilled, signalling that his ship had detected the Yeerk battleship leaving orbit. Good. That meant, firstly, that his ship was still functioning, and secondly, that he ought to have some time yet before the Light came back looking for him.

At the sound of a group cheer, he looked across the bar. The large group that included the Minotaur was raising their glasses to something. Salem raised his glass towards them because he could, and downed it all in one go. He caught the Bar’s... resident robot, he supposed... staring at him.

At least, he thought it was staring at him. It had only an orange, glowing slit in place of eyes. Its upper half looked humanoid, with a rounded head and two arms. Its lower half looked insectine, or maybe Zong, with four spindly, spider-like legs. The silver color and construction, he realized now, looked remarkably similar to a pile of broken robot parts outside, in the shipyard.

He’d seen that robot speaking to the Yeerk Commander earlier, and now, with the way it was looking at him, he got a prickly feeling at the base of his spine. It didn’t like him. He’d have to keep an eye out for that thing.

“So where’s this guy who can help me out?” he asked, turning back towards the table.

“You just toasted towards him,” said Parker, sounding amused. He pointed towards the large table at which the Minotaur sat, “Thordon’s the only guy with four arms.”

Salem had to do a double-take when he saw that one of the men at the table did, indeed, have a second set of arms protruding from his waist. Salem had apparently not paid enough attention; he’d registered the man as just another Human.

“That’s new,” he muttered. “Thanks, Parker. Excuse me a sec, guys.”. He rose from the table and walked over to ‘Thordon.’

Thordon really did look mostly Human. His skin was light-colored, but nicely tanned, a little darker than Salem’s own. He wore black jeans and a plain black t-shirt that looked pretty ordinary. Except for the extra arm-holes. His muscles were well-defined, even under the shirt. His head was topped with somewhat shaggy (though quite well-kempt) dirty blonde hair.

“Hey, I’ve heard you might be able to help me,” Salem said without preamble. He smiled charmingly.

Thordon stood from his chair and turned. The way he crossed both pairs of arms, along with the glare he wore, was anything but friendly. His eyes were a startling, vibrant bright blue. With a shock, Salem realized that he could see what looked like tiny arcs of electricity jumping across Thordon’s irises.

“You are the one that brought the soldiers here,” said Thordon.

Salem laughed. So Thordon had been put-off by the Light. It was an understandable reaction.

“Yeah, I guess I am. It was totally inadvertent, but yeah.”

Thordon glared for a moment longer, then sighed, “I apologize. Of course you couldn’t control those chasing you.” He uncrossed his upper arms, “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. Call me Salem.”.

“Thordon,” said Thordon, shaking Salem’s hand. Thordon uncrossed his lower arms and placed his upper arms on Salem’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “Now, how may I help you?” Definitely friendly.

“I managed to park my ship in a lake nearby,” Salem said, looking sheepish. “I was told you might have some way of helping me get it out.”

Thordon nodded without hesitation, “Yes, I can remove your ship. Please, lead the way.”

Salem turned to walk towards the door. Just before he left, he grabbed Al’s cloak from his table and waved a quick goodbye to the three seated there.

Thordon and Salem conversed as they walked towards the lake, and Salem learned a few things about this so-called ‘Space Bar.’ Scuffles and confrontation were apparently common here, but they were usually small and contained-- the Light would have upset everyone with their arrival. Everyone who’d found their way here seemed to have done so by accident. Thordon claimed to be a pacifist and an altruist. He also claimed to be an ‘ascended being’ with clairvoyant visions.

That wasn’t impossible, Salem supposed, but it was far more common to run into someone claiming to be clairvoyant than someone who actually was.

“Is your ship near?” Thordon asked as they reached the lakeshore.

Salem nodded, “Should be somewhere near the bank. Just a sec.” He pulled his communicator from his belt. It resembled an old Earth microphone, and was just long enough to not fit in a closed fist. It was an archaic device he still used only because of the meaning it held for him.

“Hey, Al, can you tell where you are?” he said into the device.

Al's slightly metallic-sounding voice came back instantly, "I'm underwater. That's all I know. I hope you have some way to get me out of here, because I don't think this junk heap'll start, and I know you'd hate for me to open the door and ruin your clothes."

Salem rolled his eyes, “Thanks, Al.”

He turned back to Thordon, “It’s black. Like, extremely black. Should be pretty visible, even if it's managed to slide somewhere deep.” He started walking along the bank, peering into the water for the shape of his ship.

“Thank you,” Thordon replied.

Salem turned back to ask for what? but the words stopped in his throat. Thordon’s eyes were closed, and all four of his hands glowed a bright blue. As Salem watched, Thordon began to move them in intricate patterns, first slow, then faster and faster. His hands flew and danced in circles, overlapping, revolving, sliding and swaying. He finally pushed all four hands downwards, as if he intended to push off the ground itself.

It seemed to work. He levitated upward into the air, and once he was a few meters off the ground, he folded his legs and ‘sat,’ far off the ground.

Salem blinked. Now this was unexpected. Thordon was a talented magic-user, a powerful telekinetic, or possibly a lesser Immortal.

He shrugged. So far this place had been full of surprises. Why shouldn’t there be an Immortal here?

While Salem watched, Thordon floated out over the lake, finally stopping and hovering in place a ways off. Thordon uncrossed his legs, ‘standing’ now in the air, and began another series of mesmerizing gestures. His still-glowing hands waved up, down, back, forth, left, right, again and again, circling, swirling, dancing. Again, he ended by throwing all four arms downward, but this time he curled them and made a motion as though he were pulling something upward.

For a few moments, it seemed as though nothing was happening, but then a shape broke the surface below Thordon. Salem’s ship rose, slowly, from the lake, water cascading off of the surface. As it rose, it rolled from its slightly-sideways orientation, righting itself. Soon, the ship had cleared the water entirely, floating in space above the lake. Both the ship and Thordon hovering above it began moving, accelerating towards the Bar.

As the rounded ‘fat teardrop’ shape of Salem’s ship passed overhead, he saw that the impossibly black surface was coated in a thin sheet of ice. The surface details, normally obscured by the darkness of the paint, were visible thanks to the sheen. The ship was pinched slightly at the equator, creating a small ridge that ran entirely around the craft. A number of small ‘trenches’ ran along the craft from front to rear, no wider than a closed fist. Other than those, there were no details to be found-- no windows, no external engines or weapons or even a ****pit.

He ducked his head to avoid the momentary dripping of frigid water, and then turned, jogging, to follow the ship back towards the Bar. Even at this pace, Thordon would beat him to the shipyard by a wide margin.

Thordon lowered the ship, gently, towards the middle of the shipyard. As he did, the ship’s landing struts extended, the metallic shafts carrying three rectangular sections of the ship’s hull downward far enough that, when the ship touched down, there was a visible clearance gap between the ventral surface and the dirt beneath it. The ship would likely need some time to purge the water from its systems before it could be used for flight, so it wasn’t his main defense if the Light came back immediately, but he wanted to be ready to leave this rock as soon as possible.

“I really hope that was you,” came Al’s voice from his communicator.

Salem grinned and grabbed the communicator from his belt. His voice jumped as he jogged towards the ship, “Yeah, that was a friend of mine. You’re out of the lake. Hey, set the ship to even. You’re icing over.”

Salem reached the ship just as Thordon reached the ground beside it, facing away from Salem. When his feet touched the dirt, the glow in Thordon’s hands died instantly.

“So I guess that’s what you meant by ‘ascended being,’” Salem said, still grinning. “I have an Ennish Protection Gem aboard my ship that I can offer you in payment. It’s very valuable, but I can’t use it. Since you’re a pacifist with your,” he waved a hand at Thordon’s body, “abilities, you might find it useful.”

Thordon turned towards Salem. His face was bright, as though he’d gotten a genuine thrill out of levitating a spacecraft out of a lake.

“I don’t help others for payment,” Thordon said. “I’m happy just being of help.”

“That’s admirable,” said Salem dryly, staring into Thordon’s eyes. After a moment he shrugged. He’d find out Thordon’s price sooner or later.



There were voices now, from the back... so many voices... angry... shouting...

He remembered sitting... talking... then it was as if he’d forgotten how to speak, had remembered only how to observe... those he’d been speaking with hadn’t seemed to notice, and he’d watched as they’d drifted away, drifted to other conversations...

He remembered the scowling young woman with the long blonde hair and the other, the one whose hair was wavy and brown. He remembered watching as they downed drink after drink, as they laughed and shouted and sang and laughed some more. He remembered another woman and a man that had joined them. He remembered thinking he should get up, go over, introduce himself.

Why hadn’t he introduced himself?

He remembered speaking with a young woman... pretty... she’d looked Human, but her tattooed skin had glowed and she’d claimed she had the power to bend light...

Most of the shouting voices sounded Human, he thought. But in this place there was no way to tell who was Human and who was Yeerk and who was something more...
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 05, 2013, 02:36:03 PM
[spoiler=Chapter 7]Pallas

Threecra felt herself moving, floating along, as if in a dream. Something wasn’t right. She could feel it, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something had happened, but it seemed like so much work to remember it, and it was so nice to just float along. Nice and warm. Maybe she’d just sleep a little more.

When she finally decided to wake up, she couldn’t tell if minutes or hours had passed. She opened her eyes and stared up. Weird. There was something staring down at her.

No... no, that was her, she realized. She was looking up at a mirror on a ceiling that was low enough to be within arm’s reach. She could see her reflection staring down from an upside-down bed. It was dark, and she couldn’t tell if the blankets were blue or black. Mirror-her was just lying on top of the covers. Why didn’t she crawl underneath them?

No, wait... that wasn’t a ceiling. The underside of the bunk above hers. She was in a small cabin, she realized, rolling her head to the side with what felt like great effort. The architecture was nice, a mixture of rounded shapes and wide-angled sharp edges that drew the eye through the room. Very feng shui. Every surface was the same ugly cream color, textured where it was solid and smoother where it was soft. She could see a desk set into the wall, and next to it an open doorway led into a tiny bathroom. Above, a single, round spot of light glowed dimly, casting just enough orangish light to see by.

To the other side of the desk, set high up in the wall, was a small round window. Below it sat a bench that spanned the entire width of this tiny room. Outside the window was only darkness from this angle. It was probably night. She might be able to see something through it if she walked over to it.

She sat up, but her head screamed in protest, and she had to lie back down and press her eyes shut. Gritting her teeth, she sat up again and hung her feet off the side of the bed, pressing her hands to her temples for what seemed like hours, until the pain subsided a bit.

Someone had bandaged her wrist and elbow, it seemed. She flexed her arms-- they both ached dully, but she couldn’t remember why. She was still in her olive-green survival jacket and grey, padded heatsuit. One sleeve was rolled up for her bandages.

Her cheeks stung-- that was where her tears had frozen before her suit’s heater field kicked in, she realized. She could remember... something... a blast of frigid air, and a black something, about the size and shape of a raccoon, making an arc that seemed too steep in the planet’s immense gravity outside, flying perfectly through the hole in the side of the train car, skidding to a halt, staring at her with two big, glowing green eyes...

The IPA. The thought rose into her mind like a bubble through thick mud. The Special Forces had finally caught them. A moan of despair escaped her throat, sounding inhuman through the ringing of her ears.

No. Maybe not the IPA. Her thoughts felt like they were pushing through molasses. Why would the IPA burn a hole in its own train car? Why wouldn’t they just stop it and arrest them?

She stood up, using the top bunk for support. Her legs felt weaker than she remembered, shaky, and she had to stop for a moment as a wave of dizziness rolled over her. She pressed her eyes shut, and for a moment she was in the train car, the sound of that awful methane rain falling on the plants below like static, crystal-clear through the open hole, the scene dimly illuminated by the scattered light of the blood-red sunset, the two larger figures, clad all in black, that followed the small one by seconds. She remembered the way the first had turned towards the back of the car, the way Pallas had run, the way she’d seen him, in a flash of lightning, taking a swing at the figure just before the other had lept over the seats and landed directly in front of her, its glowing green eyes, identical to those of the other figures, staring into her own...

A stab of pain made her reach a hand up to feel the back of her head. It ached, and there was definitely a bump there. Now that she knew it was there, she noticed the tingling of her healing process at work.

Who the hell were they? She didn’t know of any beings that looked like that. And Pallas...

Oh, gods, where was Pallas? She couldn’t lose him too. Not after all they’d endured. It would be too much.

A rasping sound from behind her made her jump. She turned around to look, too quickly, and was hit with a wave of dizziness. Even as she fought it off, she could see the shape of Pallas, curled into a fetal position, fast asleep on the top bunk, his face now level with her own. There was a stream of drool running down to his pillow, and he was breathing loudly. Like her, it looked like he’d been dumped onto the bed in his environmental-protection clothing.

Wait... maybe that was it. Those figures may have been wearing some kind of environmental suit. That would explain why they’d been the same color, but different shapes. The green eyes... goggles of some kind?

If she thought about it like that, the small figure might have been Calrin. The larger two... Syler, almost definitely, for the one that had gone after Pallas. The one that had come after her... Radon, maybe? It would be tall for a Radon, but she couldn’t think of anything else with that broad-shouldered humanoid shape and swept head.

Pallas looked okay. And he was breathing. She’d let him sleep for now. She could do that. She should do that... right?

She made her way to the window, hating how weak she felt. Not okay. She managed to climb onto the cushy bench and, standing on her toes, she could see out the small window.

They were high up. High enough that the red sun that had already set could be seen again. High enough, she realized with a start, that the dark shape of the storm cloud could be seen below, flashing with lightning. Beyond the edge of the cloud, stretching towards the far-distant horizon, she could see the surface of the planet. Every inch of visible land was covered with that horrible black vegetation, and it seemed to stretch on forever, all the way to a distant mountain range silhouetted against the reds of the sunset.

The reds that deepened even as she watched. They were rising. She could see the curve of the edge of the atmosphere, the planet’s surface slowly falling away. So... they were on a ship?

She could remember looking out the window at that surface, the bushes that passed for a ‘forest’ on this inhospitable rock blurring by beneath them, Pallas’s head cradled on her shoulder while she rubbed his back, trying to comfort him, unable to stop crying herself, glad of the fact that they were the only ones in the car so that no one could see. It was so hard. The pain had lessened in the months since, but it was still always there, just below the surface, and any memory of home was enough...

Gods. Home. It was gone. Everything was gone. Memories of home, of her mother and father and friends, passed through her mind, threatening to bring with them fresh tears. No. She wouldn’t cry this time. She was stronger than this. This was stupid. She’d spent too much time crying lately.

The good memories were pushed aside by memories of the rushing air, the explosions, the fires and the screaming and the screeching alarms and the smoke and the shapes of the IPA cruisers. She tightened her hands into fists, hatred building up within her. This, also, was becoming far too familiar.

Close on the heels of those memories were new, unfamiliar ones. The lights flickering out. The metal-on-metal screeching sound as the grav-lifts gave out and the train car ground along the track. The sudden, jarring deceleration that had pressed Pallas into the seatback and sent Threecra tumbling end-over-end towards the front of the car. The brief glimpse of the rest of the train, already far ahead of them. The sickening crack and the way her vision had flashed when her head had struck the wall.

She sat down on the bench, her heart pounding. What the hell had happened to them? Who were these people? She had to find out.

She stood and strode to the door, but it didn’t open. She pushed at it, but it remained firm. Locked, pretty obviously. ****.

She began to methodically search  the room for something-- anything-- that might be useful. There were no vents, no seams, nothing that could provide a potential escape. The area under the bed was clean. The bathroom was devoid even of toilet paper. In the closet, she found a number of plastic coat hangers, one of which she kept in her hand, but there was nothing else.

She turned when she heard Pallas stirring behind her. He stared at her, a muddled look in his eyes, and mumbled something.

She walked over to him and ran a hand through his hair, “What was that?”

Again, he slurred something unintelligible, blinking his eyes blearily. He pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed his eyes.
“Still couldn’t understand that,” she said, smirking a bit now.

That seemed to frustrate him. “Screw you!” he said, enunciating very carefully, and flopped his head down on his pillow.

Threecra laughed, then shook his shoulder. “Hey, seriously, get up. I need you to help me figure out what happened.”

Pallas groaned and sat, slowly, dangling his feet off the bed and pressing his hands to his head, just as she’d done.

“What the hell?” he asked, sounding very sleepy.

“I think we were drugged or something,” she said. She made her way back over to the bench and continued her search for weaknesses or something useful, prodding her way along underneath the seat. “It wears off.”

Pallas didn’t answer at first. He looked up, blinking, then shook his head, which made him groan in pain and bury his face in his hands. “Where are we?” His words came out slurred, as if he’d been drugged.

“Some kind of ship. I don’t know,” she admitted. There didn’t seem to be anything under the bench either. She sat on it, facing Pallas, and sighed.

Pallas continued to sit for a moment, then looked at her, his eyes widening. “IPA?”

Threecra shook her head, “I don’t think so.”

“Then... what?” he lowered himself shakily to the ground and stood for a moment, looking around the room. She could tell his head was already clearing. He had a bandage around his head and another around his torso, under his jacket but wrapped over his heat suit.

She just shrugged.

He walked unsteadily over to the bench and sat down beside her. His hand went around her shoulder, and he pulled her to him, somewhat awkwardly. Nice of him, she thought, but not helpful.

She frowned and looked around the room. There had to be some way out. If not, they had to come up with a plan. She didn’t know who had them, but she was beyond caring. They’d been kidnapped, and they had to get out.

The single light in the ceiling began to brighten, then to change color and flicker. A figure appeared slowly before them, projected by the flickering light. The projection sharpened until there seemed to be a solid being, glowing brightly, standing in the room with them.

It was the man from the train stop, no longer dressed in his ridiculous cloak. He was smiling.

“I told you he was Verrim,” she hissed at Pallas, elbowing him in the ribs and earning a groan in return. She winced at the pain that shot through her arm, but wasn’t about to admit that using her bandaged elbow like that had been a bad idea.

“What the hell do you want?” she asked the Verrim as venomously as she could manage.

The projection laughed, “You’re definitely spirited,” he said. “Call me Captain.”

She snorted and tightened her grip on her plastic hanger. He was way into his rank, apparently.

“You gonna let us out of here, Captain?” she asked, sarcastically stressing the title.

“One way or another, yes,” he said. He seemed pretty loose about this whole thing, but she definitely heard the threat behind his words.

“What do you want with us?” asked Pallas, speaking slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

The Captain raised an eyebrow and turned his cat-like gaze to Pallas. “Now that’s jumping the gun. We’ll get there.” He looked back at Threecra, “I know who you really are.”

Threecra opened her mouth to question that, but shut it again. That last question he’d asked... Maybe he really did know...

“You’re IPA,” Pallas spat accusingly.

The Captain laughed, “Really? You know I’m Verrim. When was the last time you saw a Verrim in the IPA?”

“Are we ZFD prisoners?” asked Threecra, then answered herself before the Captain could respond. “No, the guys in black were Syler and Calrin, I think. So not ZFD.”

The Captian nodded at her, smiling, “I’m impressed you deduced that.”

“Look, just tell us where we are,” said Pallas, his eyes pressed shut.

“Be patient,” responded the Captain, speaking soothingly, as if to a child. “Have you ever heard of the Lightning Emerald?”

They had, of course, and nodded. The legendary pirate craft had supposedly cruised the galaxy for decades, righting wrongs and doling out vigilante justice or whatever while evading major authorities. Shannon had said that half the stories probably weren’t true, and the rest were almost definitely exaggerated, but there was no question that the ship had existed, and had played a major role during the Mohemian war. It had been destroyed defending the new Erathak homeworld, and in the years since its name had become a tongue-in-cheek rallying cry for those espousing political causes.

“And you both know of the wrongs committed by the new IPA regime?” the Captain continued, as if this were the sort of thing that was just an ordinary dinner conversation.

Threecra swallowed and nodded. The Captain seemed to know that they’d experienced those ‘wrongs’ first-hand.

“This is the Esprit,” said the Captain, waving his hand to indicate the tiny room, the gesture as grandiose and his expression as proud as if they’d been standing in a grand banquet hall he’d built himself. “I am Captain Xenntervii Effel Minna Pienterre, defender of the People and former first mate of the Lightning Emerald. It’s in her name that we fly. I am asking you” he spread his arms wide, “to take a chance. I am asking you to help me right the wrongs of the galaxy. I am asking you,” he stretched an open hand towards her, as if he expected her to reach out and take it, “to join my crew.”

Threecra and Pallas stared at him for a moment, then at each other. She could tell Pallas was as impressed with the Captain’s performance as she was.

At the same moment, they both burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?” demanded the Captain, his proud grin devolving instantly into a disapproving frown.

“Nothing,” Pallas managed to choke through fits of laughter, while Threecra tried and failed to stifle her own.

The Captain sighed, “Okay, but really, you want in?”

“Do we have a choice?” asked Threecra, wiping a tear from her eye.

“What?” The Captain seemed confused. “Yes. Yes you do. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Then why are we already leaving the planet?” she asked, indicating the window and the stars outside.

The Captain grinned, “Because you won’t say no.”

She had no response to that. She looked over at Pallas, catching his eye. He stared at her for a moment, then spoke up, “Can we have some time to talk about it?”

The Captain nodded, “I’ll contact you in five minutes,” he said, and his glowing form disappeared without another word. The room seemed suddenly very dark and very empty.

“This is bull****,” said Pallas immediately, though he was still smirking at the memory of the Captain’s words.

“This is perfect!” said Threecra, looking into his eyes. “Look, we’re on the run. What are we going to do if we don’t become vigilante space pirates?”

Pallas rolled his eyes, “Are you listening to how ridiculous that sounds? The Emerald was destroyed with all hands. There’s no way these guys are who they say they are.”

She shrugged, “Maybe not, but they want to fix the IPA. We should join them either way.”

“I want to hurt the IPA,” said Pallas darkly.

She laughed, “If half the stories about the Emerald are true, we will.” She was excited now-- the prospect of being able to do something besides hiding was a good start. The idea that they’d been given a one-in-a-trillion chance to join a pirate crew, to go out and fight for a cause... she wasn’t going to let Pallas make her pass this up.

He shook his head, worry creasing his brow now. “What if it’s just the IPA trying to... like get us to say something treasonous so they can... throw us in prison or whatever?”

“I don’t think it’s the IPA,” Threecra said. “Wouldn’t we already be in prison if it was?”

Pallas swallowed, then shrugged. She knew he didn’t have a clue what the IPA did with prisoners these days. Neither did she-- it was part of the reason they’d worked so hard to avoid detection-- but she wasn’t going to admit that, and besides, her gut was telling her that this was real.

“After what they did to the station, we have to try,” she said.

Pallas stared into her eyes for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close with a shuddering sob. She wrapped her arms around him, suddenly glad there was nobody else around, tears welling up in her eyes, too.

“Alright,” he said quietly, pulling away from her and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. She pushed down the pain, as she did a hundred times a day now, and she knew he was doing the same.

He nodded and spoke with a little more confidence, “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Good? Decision’s made?” came an unfamiliar voice from the door. “Okay, cool. Captain’s got indigestion, so I’ll take over from here. I’m gonna open the door now.”

“That was so not five minutes!” snapped Threecra as the door slid open with a hiss. She would have said more, but the figure in the doorway froze her blood more effectively than methane rain.

It stood on two legs, ending in spindly, six-fingered feet. Two long arms reached up to grip the top of the doorframe with hands that were very similar. The fingers had knuckles dividing segments about as long as those of human fingers, but each finger had nine or ten knuckles, so that they ended up being far longer. The creature’s torso was absurdly tiny compared to its spindly limbs. It looked almost human, well-muscled and similarly shaped. The head that sat atop it was nearly the size of the torso itself. It lacked any visible eyes, but the short, orangish-tan fur-- rough fuzz, really-- that covered the creature from head to toe changed to black-and-white spots on the head, where the eyes would have been. Its huge mouth split the head from small, pointed ear to small, pointed ear, at an angle that naturally curved up at the ends. As a result, it appeared to be permanently smirking.

This was a member of a race that had been associated with death and destruction since before the Mohemians had invaded, since even before Hafaal had appeared. This race had threatened the peoples of the IPA since before the IPA had formed. It was a race that would evoke fear in any citizen of the IPA, and rightly so. It was the race most commonly considered the leaders of Axis. It was the race responsible for the destruction or enslavement of a thousand worlds.

She was staring at a Mauselean.



There... in the corner... the tall, well-built man with the head of a bull... he was kneeling... comforting someone... The woman with four arms knelt next to him. She was a doctor of some kind, that woman. The girl with the glowing tattoos... she’d claimed that was her father... and the woman lying on the ground... that was her mother...

He should go over there... offer to help... if he could... in fact, he had a memory in his head of doing just that... So why was he still over here?

He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t decide where he wanted to be, he thought with a smirk. There was a jukebox, smashed almost beyond recognition... but he had a memory of someone playing a song on it just a short time ago... of offering to buy a round... using his money, at that.

That had concerned him. He’d thought he had no money here. But as it turned out, this place could access his account. Funny... he’d have thought he’d be more concerned by that fact. But it hadn’t seemed to matter...

The deafening, explosive sound of a burst of gunfire from the back hallway brought his attention back to the present.
So many people crowding back there. Whatever was happening must be very interesting...
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin) on July 07, 2013, 10:45:10 PM
I must say, Scott...this made for an enjoyable evening of reading.  I might have to start actually penning some Andalite history and such as this inspires me.  ^^  Can't wait to see Salem's monologues for interactions with Ossanlin and Rathien.  :)
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 08, 2013, 07:16:14 PM
Glad I can be an inspiration ^_^ And yeah, I'm particularly looking forward to the Rathien chapters. It's going to be a pretty wild ride >:D
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 16, 2013, 01:32:58 PM
Okay, this is my third attempt at writing this chapter. For those of you who read the version I briefly posted already, this one doesn't really provide any new information, but I feel so much better about this one. And hey, it actually takes place on a Dome Ship, so there's that.

Also, I've added a small... partial-scene end-doodle at the end of every chapter thus far, if those of you who've already read the chapters wanted to go back and find them. They're not necessary to the understanding of the story, strictly speaking, but they do add a lot to the feel of the entire piece, and do a lot to help tie together what I have so far.

[spoiler=Chapter 8]Winston

He stood, blinking, at the top of the ramp. The huge, brightly-lit area into which he stepped stood in stark contrast to the small, dimly-lit metal interior of the transport that had brought him here. At the bottom of the ramp stood an Andalite, larger than the ones who had escorted him. Though this one lacked the tan patterning of the others, there was the barest hint of a greenish tint to its blue fur.

They’d turned out to be quadrupeds, these Andalites. Four legs, four hooves, and a body that resembled that of a small horse, he’d realized, after remembering what a horse was. They were covered in a fine blue fur.

Instead of a horse’s head and neck, the Andalites had a torso that looked remarkably Human. It was complete with Human-looking shoulders and a Human-looking neck. The Andalites’ two arms would have been somewhat scrawny by Human standards, and their hands each had seven fingers, but those differences were marginal at best.

Even the Andalite head looked somewhat Human, what with the positioning of the eyes and the ears. Andalite eyes were large, and always green, from what he’d seen, and their ears were pointed. The Andalites had no mouths, and in place of the Human nose, they had three slits that expanded and contracted slightly as they breathed. From the top of the Andalite head grew two thin, flexible ‘horns’ or ‘stalks.’ At the end of each stalk was another eye, which the Andalites swiveled constantly, always looking around themselves. The waving motion of the stalks reminded him of antennae on an insect of some kind.

If it weren’t for their tails, the Andalites would have looked pretty nonthreatening. Their tails were long, thick and muscular, and he’d observed a wide range of motion. The tail curved up and over the back, resembling the tail of a scorpion. The tail ended in a huge, lethal-looking curved blade.

<Welcome to the Scion,> it greeted him. Its thought-speak voice made no sound, and could be heard only in his head. Their telepathic means of communication had been a surprise. When he’d spoken to them over the communicator, their voices had been expressed audibly, but that had to be either his ship or theirs translating somehow.

“Thank you,” he replied carefully, eying the Andalite’s deadly tail.

The Andalite smiled-- something it somehow managed in spite of its lack of a mouth. Something it did with its eyes. <I am Prince-Commander Senexra-Valnikas-Melzer. I am the Flight Commander aboard the Scion.>

“I’m Winston,” he said as he reached the bottom of the ramp.

<I have been informed,> said Senexra, still smiling. <Winston of the Maltoris Kazin. I’m afraid I do not yet know the name of your companion.>

“Al,” said Al, stepping up beside Winston. Winston shot Al a glare, but Al didn’t seem to notice. He was a little shorter than Winston, with short brown hair and brown eyes. His features suggested he was of Native American descent. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Dozens of Andalites walked and worked and thought-spoke openly in this space. Behind the craft that had deposited them, through a massive opening in the wall, Winston could see out directly into space. There must be some kind of force field holding in the atmosphere. Hanging in the space outside, he could see the hazy blue shape of the little moon on which they’d left their ship.

The bay was divided down the middle by a large, empty concourse running parallel to the opening. The transport that had brought them up from the surface sat to the side of this concourse. There seemed to be spaces for several more large craft, though none of them were filled. Looking to his right, Winston could see that the concourse continued into what looked to be a second hangar bay, roughly the size of this one.

To the side of the bay opposite the opening were spaces for smaller craft, stacked two layers high. He estimated there was room for forty smaller craft there, and from here it looked as though all but one of the spaces was occupied. It was around these small craft that most of the activity in the hangar bay was centered.

A broad thought-speak announcement made him look up instinctually, in spite of the fact that it was impossible to determine direction from thought-speech. From the ceiling hung a number of idle machines that, from the look of them, were probably cranes or movers of some sort.

“Lotta ships you got here,” said Al, beaming brightly at Senexra.

<The Scion retains the capacity for seventy-two Tail Fighters, plus auxiliary craft,> said a proud thought-speak voice. Winston turned to see an Andalite-- the one that had stood, watching them, the entire ride here-- stepping out of the transport behind them. Harinkil-Lemnas-Raithil, this Andalite had called himself. <We retain most of the functionality of a Mark II, in spite of the more limited space thanks to the integration of the dome into the main hull,>

Al turned and stared at him blankly for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. “Lotta ships you got here.”

“Ignore him,” sighed Winston, turning to Senexra with a smile. “It’s impressive.”

<The Mark III dome ships are the most advanced craft in the galaxy,> said Harinkil pretentiously.

“And the most well armed?” wondered Winston.

<No,> responded Harinkil. <But it is the most efficient. Due to size and space concerns, the Mark II actually holds...>

<Warrior,> snapped Senexra, glaring at Harinkil, <shouldn’t your shift be beginning soon?>

<No, Prince,> said Harinkil. <I still have a full standard hour before I’m scheduled to...>

<I think you’d better go make sure you’re ready,> said Senexra, his voice level.

Harinkil hesitated, catching the look in Senexra’s eye, but finally said stiffly, <Yes, Prince.> He turned to trot towards the large ramp leading into the main body of the Scion.

Senexra watched him for a moment before turning both stalk-eyes to Winston. <A liaison  has been assigned to speak with you. You are to wait for him in the dome. If you’ll follow me.>

He turned to walk towards the same ramp Warrior Harinkil was now ascending ahead of them. Al and Winston fell into step behind him.

“I don’t really feel like I fit in here,” said Al, tugging at his collar and looking around at the Andalites with apparent nervousness.

Winston laughed, “I don’t think you fit in anywhere, looking like that.”

Al looked offended, “Hey, come on. Cherokee is respectable!”

“Okay, sure, but what about that?” Winston waved a hand to indicate Al’s suit. It was bright white, crossed by swatches of pink and yellow, and littered with green polka-dots. The high collar reached up past Al’s ears, and he had all but two buttons undone, so that the top was open almost to his naval. The one-piece suit continued, skin-tight, down his legs, until it ended in pointed shoes that curled up at the ends. A thick, black plastic belt sat snugly around his waist, though without belt loops, Winston couldn’t see how it did any good. The sleeves hung low from his wrists, and for some reason, the whole getup had apparently necessitated cufflinks to squeeze the long, flapping sleeves shut closer to his wrists. The cufflinks were the only part of the outfit Winston didn’t hate outright- large, diamond-shaped and silver with inlaid black stones.

“This,” said Al, turning up his nose and affecting an air of pretension, “is designer Yemlis stuff, and the most advanced suit in the galaxy. Unlike the Mark II, this suit has...”

He was interrupted by a blast of air and a loud roar as one of the small ships flew overhead on its way towards one of the empty spaces. At this distance, Winston could really see the details. The central body of the craft, much like the main body of the Scion itself, was somewhat ovular in shape, pointed towards the front. At this distance, the ****pit windows and the hatch in the side were clearly visible. On each side of the main fuselage, attached by stubby wings, was an engine pod, glowing blue at the end.

Much like the Scion, the small fighter had a ‘tail’ that arched from the rear up and over the main body, ending in a point. If the small ship was anything like the Scion, that would be the main weapon, a high-powered directed energy emitter.

As the smaller craft hovered into the empty space in the row of fighters, Winston ran some rough calculations in his head. The Scion was bristling with weaponry. Huge amounts of weaponry. More firepower than he’d seen anywhere since leaving the IPA, in fact. The Warrior had said that there was a capacity for seventy-two of those smaller ships. If each one had a similar power-to-size ratio as the Scion-- or a better one, since that ratio did tend to increase dramatically as ship size decreased-- then this dome ship could easily win wars with entire planets.

The thought made him wary. Well... more wary than he’d already been. What kind of species would build war-engines this massive? What possible need could they have of this much destructive power, especially when each Andalite already carried a weapon at the end of its own tail?

They passed dozens of other Andalites as Senexra led them through the main corridor heading away from the hangar bay. They also passed many, many closed doors and cross-corridors. Winston found himself wondering just how many hundreds of Andalites made up the crew of the Scion.

It would be tough to feel claustrophobic on this ship, Winston saw; the ceilings were high, the hallways were wide, and the lighting was more than sufficient. It was quite nice, actually.

He and Al continued to quietly discuss matters of import as they walked. The corridor eventually ended at a pair of glass doors, but Winston was so engrossed in one of his arguments with Al (no, he did not think the Andalites would be any good at surfing) that he failed to notice what was on the other side until he’d walked through it.

It was the cool, gentle breeze that made him look up.

They stood in what appeared to be an open, grassy plain. It was dark, and two moons hung in the sky amidst a backdrop of twinkling stars. By their light, Winston could make out dozens of little stands of trees dotting the plain, all of them of unfamiliar types.

The sound of running water caught his attention, and when he looked, he realized he could make out a dark, meandering stream running to a small lake nearby. On the other side of the lake, he thought he could see the stream continuing, winding off towards the distant horizon. A faint golden glow on that horizon seemed indicative of an approaching dawn.

There was a faint, distant chorus of a dozen different creatures of the night, buzzing and clicking and trilling and calling in the darkness. The one that caught his attention best was a sort of screee-clunk sound from the direction of the lake. It sounded as though there were hundreds of whatever was making that noise nestled into the trees that rimmed the bank. These particular trees reminded him of asparagus shoots, tall and thin and straight, though some of the taller ones did droop a little towards the top.

<You like it?> asked Senexra, smiling

“It’s gorgeous,” said Winston. “Are we inside the dome?”

<Yes,> Senexra replied. <The dome allows us to bring a little piece of home with us.>

“I think calling this ‘little’ might be a stretch,” commented Al, eying the light on the distant horizon.

“Yeah,” agreed Winston. “This did not look this big from the outside.”

<Most of what you see is projection,> explained Senexra. <The dome is large enough for running and sparring and eating and relaxing, but not as large as it appears. The extended environment is projected onto the perimeter walls.>

“It looked transparent from outside,” said Winston, staring up at the moons that could not possibly be moons.

<It is,> said Senexra. <The moons are projected, but the stars you see are real. If you look straight up, you can see the end of the Scion’s main Shredder.>

It was true, Winston saw- a long, thin shape pierced the darkness far above, arcing up from behind them somewhere to end in a point almost directly overhead. They were definitely looking out of the dome.

“I can’t tell what’s projected and what’s real. The way they blend together... it’s flawless,” he said, awed.

<I am glad you like it,> said Senexra. <I must return to my duty. Prince-Lieutenant Duecer will join you shortly. In the meantime, you will be allowed to wander the dome as you please, but not to leave without an escort.>

“Fair deal,” said Al, looking around the dome with his hands in his pockets.

Senexra turned and trotted back through the doors. The wall was an opaque grey near where they stood, Winston saw, but faded into the projected environment farther away.

They turned and began to wander towards the lake. The stars were slowly being hidden by the brightening sky. As it grew lighter, colors became more distinct. It looked as though the grasses in this dome existed in various shades of green and blue, rolling up and down the nearby hills. Across the lake, he could see what looked like a field of white and purple flowers blowing gently in the wind.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Winston noticed the wall of the dome seeming to disappear as they walked away from it, leaving only the two clear doors and the hallway beyond, seemingly standing in the middle of a field. That must be some trick of the light for safety reasons, to make the wall only become visible when one was near it.

Winston and Al found a patch of grass to sit in near the edge of the lake and simply sat, watching the sky change from black to yellow to red, listening as the chorus of creatures of the night slowly died away.

“So,” began Al, “you told them you were Maltoris Kazin.”

Winston swallowed and nodded, “I think I still am, deep down.”

Al smiled sadly, then changed tacks, smirking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you called yourself Winston.”

“Hey, I happen to be a fan,” said Winston defensively. “What about you? Why the hell would you give them ‘Al’?

Al laughed, “Hey, I happen to be a fan.”

They both fell silent, watching the sunrise. It seemed neither one was particularly interested in breaking the tranquility of the dome.

Twin simulated suns finally appeared on the horizon, casting a very real, very natural-feeling warmth. Winston closed his eyes, enjoying the glow of the suns and the fresh breeze and the sound of the trickling stream under the steadily-brightening red and gold sky. Oeamis would love this, he knew.

The thought of Oeamis was almost like a physical blow, and his breath caught in his throat. He had to find out how much these Andalites knew.

<You must be the aliens,> came a thought-speak voice, and Winston found himself looking around for the source. Approaching them from the direction of the door was an Andalite, larger than Senexra had been, with a series of tan streaks across his neck and chest.

They stood up and walked to meet him. As they did, he laughed, <You really are bipeds with no tails but excellent balance. All is as promised.>

“My name is Winston. This is Al,” said Winston as they reached each other. “We’re Maltoris Kazin.”

<Or at least one of you is,> corrected the Andalite, staring at Al, but still smiling. <I am Prince Lieutenant Duecer-Geigas-Landina.>

Al laughed, “And a regular detective, too. Pleasure, sir.”

<I’ve not heard of the Maltoris Kazin,> said Duecer. <Where are you from?>

“Oh... a ways away,” replied Winston.

If Duecer found anything strange about the answer, he didn’t show it. Instead, he smiled and said, <I would be interested in learning more about your people. Perhaps we could agree to a mutually beneficial exchange of information?>

At that, Winston had to grin. “That,” he said, “is exactly why we’re here.”



TSSEEEEEEWWWWWWW! The sound of a second discharging Dracon Beam finally--[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 19, 2013, 12:25:41 PM
This is one chapter I have really been looking forward to writing. Enjoy ^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 9]Salem

--shook him to his senses.

“****.” Smoke wafted from the back hallway, and the amount of shouting from the people there had only increased. The gunfire... the smell of burning flesh... this place was getting too hot for him.

He leaned closer to Al, “We need to get out of here.”

“Deal,” said Al, staring towards the back hallway with wide eyes.

Salem stood... his feet... his body... everything tingled, and he had a strange sense that he was now remembering how to... be...

He drew his neural pistol from the hidden pocket in his jacket and quickly made his way out the front door in a low crouch. Al followed, imitating his stance with dramatic relish. At least Al’s standard black tuxedo seemed right for sneaking around, for some reason. In his expensive purple suit, Salem felt like an amateur doofus by comparison.

And his memories... the way time seemed to pass... there was something severely wrong about this place...

Outside, in the cool air, he stood up straight, still holding his weapon, and walked briskly towards his ship. He was getting off this rock.

Now.

In the red light of the setting sun, he caught sight of something... someone... making their way through the shipyard. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper-colored spyglass.

Peering through it, he could see that it was Parker, the heavily armored man, jogging away from the Bar’s back door. In his arms, he carried something... no, he realized with a start. He could see an arm hanging down. That was also a someone, and this someone was no longer conscious.

Or no longer alive.

Al nudged him in the side, and when Salem turned to look, Al pointed to another figure making its way through the shipyard, heading a different direction, carrying another heavy bundle... another person. Through the spyglass, Salem could make out the Hork-Bajir he’d seen inside. When the Hork-Bajir turned to walk up the ramp of its ship, Salem caught sight of the face of the person in its arms and his heart jumped into his throat.

Joanne! Or... Keshin. He still wasn’t really sure which name to call her by.

He could really use Keshin’s help, he thought as he watched the Hork Bajir step inside and close the hatch behind itself. A plan had begun to form in his head while he’d sat, watching life in the bar race by. For the plan to work, he’d need someone like her.

More than that, though, there was the fact that she’d spared his life, had let the Light go without turning him in. He had to find some way to repay that debt. It could be that the Hork-Bajir was a friend, but if not... There was no way he was just going to let some Yeerk stun her and take her away.

Assuming she was only stunned.

He had to know.

“Well... crap,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Al, get the ship.”

Al’s eyebrows shot up. “You serious?” he asked incredulously. It seemed he’d expected to just leave and never come back.

Which, Salem thought as he stuffed the spyglass back into his pocket, they really should do.

“I’m gonna go see what happened to Keshin... Joanne... whoever.” Salem said. “I could use your eyes behind me.”

A knowing smile crossed Al’s face. “Alright, fine, I’ll cover your ass. Go rescue your princess.” He jogged off towards their ship, leaving Salem sputtering.

He was still muttering to himself as he approached the Hork-Bajir’s ship, quietly, crouched low. The craft was of an arrowhead-shaped design he didn’t recognize, maybe twice the length of a Yeerk Bug Fighter.

He looked around, and, seeing no one, strode up to the ship. He dialed a setting into his neural pistol that he hoped would knock out a Hork-Bajir, if it came down to that, and knocked loudly on the hatch.

After a few moments, hatch slid open again. Salem found himself staring up into the intimidating face of a large Hork-Bajir male. Behind him, in the brightly-lit ship, Salem could see a flickering transparent dome. Lying within it was Joanne’s unmoving form. It looked like the Hork-Bajir had dumped her unceremoniously on the floor.

On the other hand, the force field could only be a good sign. Corpses didn’t need force fields.

“Hello?” asked the Hork-Bajir in its gruff voice.

“Hi there! My name’s Salem!” said Salem, adopting a friendly smile, trying to sound as harmless as possible. He kept his weapon at his side, but did not holster it. He wanted to be ready to use it.

“Temrash,” offered the Hork-Bajir. A Yeerk name. Its eyes flicked to Salem’s weapon, then back to his face. “Why have you followed me to my ship?”

“I’m a... friend of Keshin,” replied Salem. “What happened?”

Temrash’s eyes narrowed, and he hesitated before answering, “I’m quite certain that Keshin tried to kill Terenia. I plan to question Keshin about who hired her. I have no plans to kill her, but she is an enemy of my comrades, and I may need to hold her until further notice.” He didn’t move from the doorway.

So it had been a hit. Or at least an attempted hit. Temrash seemed to think that Salem would just go away and let her be held indefinitely.

“Okay,” said Salem, nodding and affecting an air of unconcern. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to her when you’re done.” He stepped to the side and leaned casually against the hull of Temrash’s ship. “I’ll wait here.”

Temrash glared at him and seemed about to say something, but then seemed to reconsider. “I don’t see why not. I’ll be back.” He stepped inside, and then stepped back out carrying a case of some sort. Just before the hatch slid shut, Salem caught sight of movement from inside-- Joanne beginning to stir.

“****,” Salem muttered, watching as Temrash walked back towards the Bar. He stuffed his weapon back into his jacket pocket.

<<Hey, Al, you hear me?>> Salem asked, directing his private thought-speech directly at his companion; it would be heard by no one else.

It took Al a moment to reply, via the ship’s thought-speech amplifier, <<Yeah, barely. Thought you hated thought-speak.>>

<<I do,>> responded Salem. <<A Hork-Bajir just left this ship. Alert me when he starts coming back.>>

<<Aye aye, captain.>> replied Al. Salem rolled his eyes. He couldn’t see it, but he just knew Al had performed a mocking salute.

<<And see if you can tell me how to break into this thing,>> said Salem, pulling a device about the size of the palm of his hand from his pants pocket. He began pressing keys, intently eying the small display.

<<Based on the construction, technology, and materials, it’s probably Yeerk, or something close,>> said Al. That was surprising. It sure as heck didn’t look Yeerk. <<So, y’know, just pretend you know how to hack Yeerk ships.>>

“Right, cause I’ve always been so good at that,” muttered Salem. Still, he had to try.

His device began to interface with the computer aboard Temrash’s ship, looking for access... any access. Salem continually pressed keys, granting permissions, making decisions, changing settings, but for the most part the process was automated.

<<Movement from the bar... Human wandering towards you through the ships... Mmm... no threat. >> Al continued reporting on the surroundings as Salem worked. All too soon, that report was, <<Hork-Bajir approaching your position. Human with him also.>>

Salem cursed and stuffed his device back into his pocket. He’d gotten precisely nowhere. He reclaimed his position leaning on the hull and made a show of examining his fingernails, waiting impatiently.

A moment later, Temrash rounded the corner, talking with someone. Salem found himself staring at the man with the dark skin and the shining, intelligent eyes, who was walking beside the Hork-Bajir. Salem flashed a brief smile, but the man didn’t seem to see it, continuing his conversation with Temrash. Temrash nodded to Salem as they reached the ship. The hatch slid open, and Salem followed the pair inside.

Temrash sat in one of the ship’s chairs and swiveled to face Joanne, who was now sitting up within her tiny cell. The man knelt next to her force field and said something to her. Salem couldn’t hear it, but he could see the look of shock, then worry, on Joanne’s face. So this man was not her friend.

“Alright, Keshin,” said Temrash, speaking commandingly. “Explain yourself. Who hired you, and why?” It wasn’t said with any particular force, but Salem thought he could sense a definite threat behind those words.

Keshin shook her head, “I’m not telling you anything that doesn’t concern you. That’s between myself and my client.”

“Who else did they hire you to kill?”

Keshin simply shook her head.

Temrash nodded as though he’d expected that. He rose from his seat, “You will remain here while I check the prime suspects. Salem,” he snapped with the forcefulness of a drill instructor, “You may have some words with Keshin. Then we’re leaving.”

The other man rounded on Temrash, “Surely you won’t leave this creature alone here?” he asked angrily.

“I’m not going to sit here and watch him for days,” replied Temrash, sounding annoyed.

“I think you underestimate the power of this creature,” snapped the man, stepping closer to Temrash.

Temrash explained, loudly, how there was no better place to keep Keshin, and Salem realized that this argument could be just the distraction he needed. As the man shot back at Temrash-- something about how Keshin was a ‘walking timebomb’-- Salem began to look, carefully, around the ship’s interior.

Several chairs, large, probably built for Hork-Bajir. Control console. Mostly empty space and a clear line of sight between the shield-dome that held Keshin and the open hatchway.

Getting her out should be doable.

The argument seemed to be winding down already. The Human man wasn’t just holding his own, he actually seemed to be winning, and Temrash seemed about ready to relent. Standing up to a Hork-Bajir Yeerk like that-- Salem was impressed. Unfortunately, at this rate, they’d be done arguing within moments, and Keshin would be left to the man for questioning.

“Who did you say you were?” Salem asked, loudly.

Human and Hork-Bajir simultaneously turned to glare at him. He felt a tingling rush of adrenaline, and had to concentrate to keep from breaking out in a grin. Enjoying this kind of thing had to be a sickness of some kind, he knew.

The man eyed Salem up and down, seeming to see him for the first time. Finally, he spoke, angrily, “My name is Hadrin Eight-Seven-Five. I'm a soldier of the Yeerk civil resistance, and I just lost... an awful lot for the sake of the girl this thing tried to kill.  Excuse me if I think it's important to the safety and security of my people to know who else the dapsen is after.”

A civil resistance? Now that was interesting. He’d have to talk to Hadrin about that one later. For now...

“Respectable,” said Salem, nodding his head in sage-like understanding. “Commendable, even. But it seems to me that this is Temrash’s show.” Glancing over, he could see Temrash scowling at that as he realized that Salem was right.

“This may be Temrash’s ship,” growled Hadrin, “but I am not going anywhere until I have answers.”

“Impudent soldier,” snarled Temrash. “We don’t need his information. Go talk to the person you believe hired him.”

Hadrin turned to face Temrash, marching towards him angrily, “Who are you to talk to me about impudence, grub?”

Salem smirked as the two began shouting at each other again. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

<<Keshin, if you can hear this, cough,>> he said to her as the other two continued discussing her fate at an ever-increasing volume. He rubbed his temples. Thought-speech always gave him such a headache.

Keshin’s eyes went wide for a moment as she looked around for the source of the thought-speak voice. Finally, her eyes locked on his, and she let out a small cough.

Salem smiled and crept closer to the mobile generators sitting on the floor that were projecting the force field over Keshin. Either Temrash and Hadrin didn’t notice, or they were too caught up in their fight to care. Salem knelt down and began examining the generators. He kept an ear on the argument behind him. Apparently Temrash actually was a former Visser. Interesting.

At one point, Temrash put in a communication to an ‘Ossanlin’ for help in settling their argument. In fact, calling this ‘Ossanlin’ seemed to be the one thing on which Hadrin and Temrash agreed.

<<I may be able to get you out of here, but with this many people around, it’s a pretty big risk,>> he said without looking at her.

“Why are you helping us, exactly?” whispered Keshin, looking at him suspiciously.

<<You didn’t turn me in to the Yeerks when you had the chance,>> replied Salem. <<Least I can do. Besides,>> he looked into her eyes <<there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.>>

They both glanced over to the argument at a yell from Hadrin, who was now cradling a bleeding arm. There was blood on Temrash’s wrist blade. Things over there were getting hot.

“By all means, make an attempt,” whispered Keshin, looking wary and confused. “I do have an idea of my own if it doesn’t work.”

Salem nodded and briefly explained his plan to her, then moved back towards the door. Just as he started explaining his plan again, to Al this time, Ossanlin arrived.

‘Ossanlin’ turned out to be the War Prince. The one with the muscled arms and the twin swords. Salem shrank back against the wall. This time, there was no chance of the Andalite failing to see him.

The War-Prince was followed by a man Salem had seen inside. The man was dressed in an absurd way that, for some reason, had caused Al to call him a ‘regular Napoleon.’ Something about this man, the aura he brought with him, sent a shiver down Salem’s spine.

<I heard weapon discharges a while back,> said the War-Prince. <I take it that’s what this is about?> He spoke commandingly, but not harshly. Salem could feel that this situation was now under this War-Prince’s control. Even with the former Visser Temrash and the intense, adamant Hadrin aboard, there seemed to be no question that this Andalite would have the final say.

Not that it would stop Temrash and Hadrin from arguing. They both seemed intent that the Andalite see the situation from their perspective.

Salem froze when Ossanlin’s stalk eye turned towards him, but the War-Prince didn’t seem to find anything to be concerned about. Salem relaxed a little and continued describing his idea to Al while Temrash filled Ossanlin in on the situation. Al, of course, felt it necessary to raise several objections.

As he argued with Al, he did his best to listen to the discussion between the other five aboard Temrash’s ship. They mentioned several names, referenced several events, most of which Salem could only guess at. He was, however, able to follow the gist of the conversation. Ossanlin, the War-Prince, seemed to be quite understanding, the most likely of the three to let her go, and Salem found himself warming to the Andalite.

Finally, Al relented, and Salem was able to turn his full attention back to the situation at hand. It looked as though Temrash and Hadrin had just about convinced Ossanlin that Keshin needed to be held and questioned. Even though both Hadrin and Ossanlin were adamant that there would be no torture or violence involved, Salem felt the hair on his neck standing on end.

He decided that this would be an excellent time to make a graceful exit and put his plan into motion.

“An Andalite War-Prince comes to a bar, throws together his own band of thugs, and expects to terrorize and control those who won't join him," Salem muttered darkly, just loudly enough to be heard by those around him. "Typical Andalite. Arrogant. Always willing to help others by getting them killed." He leaned against the bulkhead and examined his nails with an air of unconcern. Without looking up, he continued, "Remind me to throw a ****in' parade."

There was shocked silence for a moment, before Temrash growled, “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome on my ship, Salem.”

Salem glanced at the former Visser and the War-Prince beside him, acting as though he’d noticed them for the first time. “Couldn’t agree more,” he said coldly, and turned to walk out the hatch. He smirked. He could feel all their eyes on him.

Which meant that all their eyes were turned towards the open door.

<<Now! Now!>> he yelled as he walked through the door, directing one shout at Al and the other at Keshin. At the same time, he ducked off to the side, pressing himself against the hull of the ship. A split second later, a plasma projectile flew over his head from somewhere nearby and exploded just inside the hatchway.

The weapon was extremely low-yield, meant to disperse a thin haze of plasma more than explosive force. Even so, Salem found himself sprawling on the ground. He stumbled to his feet, dizzy, and tried not to pay attention to the burning sensation on his skin. It wasn’t harmful, he knew, but it wasn’t easy to ignore.

He bent into a low crouch and started moving as quickly as he could away from Temrash’s ship. He twisted back to look inside. The oddly-dressed man, Temrash, Hadrin and Ossanlin were all struggling to get up, blinking away the blinding light. Joanne was sprinting for the exit, and the force-field dome was sputtering back to life behind her. Something, he thought, was not normal about the way she ran...

As she cleared the threshold, he could tell for sure. She was moving fast. Inhumanly fast. Almost too fast to be seen. A single flash of white light in his peripheral vision drew his attention-- there was his ship, hovering just off the ground between two of the parked craft nearby, the open ramp facing Keshin. She saw it too, and changed direction to race towards it.

Salem skidded to a halt next to one of the parked hulks in the yard. This was out of his hands now. Joanne had already covered more than half the distance between the two ships when a silver blur shot out the door of Temrash’s craft, headed straight for her. Salem caught only the briefest glimpse of it as it rocketed by.

The Andalite.

Temrash’s ship was moving now. The hatch was still open, but the ship had lifted off the ground and was gaining altitude, moving in the direction of Salem’s ship. Leaning out the door, Dracon Beam drawn, was Hadrin. He was taking his time, trying to get a bead on the impossibly-fast Joanne.

Salem reached into his pocket for his own weapon, but it caught on the fabric as he tried to pull it out. He struggled with it for a second, to no avail, and managed to choke out “H-Hadrin!” just as the Yeerk fired.

At the sound of his voice, Joanne ducked to her left and twisted, drawing her own Dracon and firing up at the rising ship without taking the time to aim. Hadrin’s beam sizzled the air where she’d been not a moment before, but Joanne’s connected. It was a one-in-a-million shot. Salem couldn’t have made that shot on his best day. Hell, Amiya couldn’t have made that shot.

Salem watched in horror as a hole appeared in Hadrin’s chest, just below his heart. He could clearly see light through the other side.

Hadrin slumped against the wall, a look of surprise on his face, before Temrash’s moving ship carried him out of view.

No...

Joanne reached the bottom of the ramp to Salem’s ship just as Ossanlin did. They both skidded to a halt, and she turned to face him, looking positively exhausted, but defiant until the end. His tail blade flashed forward, slicing the Dracon Beam she held clean in two. Even from here, Salem could see that Ossanlin had drawn his twin swords , and held them, crossed, to her throat. His fur glowed an eerie silver.

A beam of red light lanced forth from Temrash’s ship. It impacted his own near the forward section, searing the hull and rocking Salem’s ship.

The ship rolled with momentum created by the impact, driving the ship’s ramp down into the dirt behind Joanne. It accelerated backward, briefly, using the ramp as a shovel, scooping the dirt from under her feet. It then rocked back the other way, lifting her into the air.

Nobody but Al could have pulled it off.

Ossanlin had scrambled to pull his blades back, to keep from cutting Joanne’s head off as she’d been pushed towards him, but that was all the time the War-Prince got. The ramp caught both of the Andalite’s front legs, and even from this distance, Salem could hear the snap! as they both bent backwards. As the ship rotated upwards, Ossanlin fell forwards, the support gone from under him, so that the ramp caught him under his chin, bending his neck and back at impossible angles as it rose.

The ship tilted back and the ramp began sliding shut. The last glimpse Salem had of Joanne before she lost her balance and tumbled into the ship was of her eyes fluttering closed, a line of red appearing across her neck where the Andalite’s blades had been.

No!

The ramp flipped Ossanlin at an awkward angle, dumping him unceremoniously into the dirt. His twin swords clattered to his sides, and as his body hit the ground, his fur flickered back from silver to the normal Andalite blue. He didn’t move.

No! No! No! How had such a simple plan gone so terribly, terribly wrong!?

Salem sprinted towards the fallen body of the War-Prince. As he did, Temrash’s rising ship shot twice more at his own. The belly of his own craft slammed into the dirt not far from Ossanlin, and Salem could feel the impact through his legs, but in a moment it had bounced back up, and was accelerating away along the ground, into the shipyard. Temrash’s ship gave chase, firing downward repeatedly.

In the air near where Temrash’s ship had just been, there was a man. Floating. Flying, even, down towards the ground. The regular Napoleon! Salem nearly fell flat on his face. What the hell was this place, that women ran at super speed and men flew and War-Princes glowed silver?

No time for that now, though. He skidded to a stop and knelt next to the body of the War-Prince. Up close, the Andalite looked even worse-off. His front legs were both bent at unnatural angles. The white bone of one of them stuck out of the flesh, blue-green blood seeping out around it, coating the fur and the ground underneath it. Salem ran a hand gently down Ossanlin’s twisted neck and back, and cursed when he felt a few clearly broken vertebrae.

On the other hand, Ossanlin’s chest rose and fell, and Salem could see air rippling the blood seeping from his breathing slits. He was alive.

He was aware of a growing crowd. Apparently they’d drawn a lot of attention, and everyone who’d come to see what the noise had been about was now gathering around the fallen War-Prince. He could still hear the repeated, ever-more-distant sound of Dracon fire from Temrash’s ship. None of that seemed to matter as Salem knelt next to the fallen Andalite.

“He’s slipping,” said a voice nearby. Salem looked up to see Thordon. “His body is too tired to continue to function. I shall do what I can.”

Salem nodded. The Immortal would fix this.

Thordon’s hands began to glow, and he moved them back and forth over Ossanlin’s body, increasing in speed.

Salem reached into his pocket and pulled out an object resembling a little silver pill. He broke it in half, revealing a tiny needle in one end, which he plunged into Ossanlin’s shoulder, into one of his major arteries there.

“This’ll dull the pain,” he whispered. “From my War-Prince to me. From me to you.”

Suddenly, Ossanlin’s eyes shot open, and he coughed blood violently from his breathing slits. He kicked his legs, yelling in pain as his front two flailed. Salem stumbled back, but was caught by Ossanlin’s wildly-thrashing tail and thrown to the dirt. Ossanlin was ranting in thought-speak about something... giving orders to a TO... demanding that they return fire. Delirious. He settled down again as soon as the glow in Thordon’s hands died away.

Salem scrambled to his feet and looked at the faces of those around him. Any other time, it might have been funny. Every last one of them looked frightened and bewildered, Thordon included. Nobody looked like they had a clue what to do.

Damn it.

“You,” Salem snapped, pointing to the woman with the long, straight dark hair and the pretty blue eyes, “find something that I can use to splint his legs. Pipes or sticks, stiff and straight.” He pointed towards the young woman with the long blonde hair- one of the ‘twins,’ as he’d taken to thinking of them. “You, get me something flat and straight. I need to immobilize his neck, and a back board is the best way I know. Flying guy,” he said turning to the regular Napoleon, “go find that four-armed doctor. Or any doctor. Fast.”

Without waiting for an answer, he took off his jacket and again knelt down next to the War-Prince. “Let’s not wake him again,” he said to Thordon, tearing a long strip from the bottom of the jacket. As the fabric tore, it gave off sparks and tiny flashes of light. “That did more harm than good.”

“Only he can heal himself, by changing his body,” said Thordon as Salem tied the strip of fabric around Ossanlin’s leg above the compound fracture, lessening the flow of blood. “As Terenia restored her body through transformation, so too must Ossanlin.”

Salem frowned. What the hell was he rambling about?

“Morphing, I believe they call it,” clarified Thordon.

It took a moment before Salem caught the meaning. The morphing technology restored the user’s original body from their DNA. When Ossanlin morphed back to his own form, his DNA would remain uninjured, and he’d be fully healed, as though nothing had ever happened.

Now that was something that would have come in handy, had he thought of it sooner.

“Just help me keep him still for now,” he said tersely, finishing tying the tourniquet.

Thordon nodded, “I will attempt to drain the energy from his lower body, paralyzing him.” Before Salem could voice any concerns over that, a beam of light had formed between Thordon’s hands and the lower portion of Ossanlin’s humanoid back.

At that moment, Parker knelt down next to him. It seemed he’d just arrived. Parker wrapped his arms around Ossanlin’s body above his front legs. Salem didn’t know how well the armored man could actually hold a flailing, muscular Andalite, but the gesture was appreciated, and he smiled. “Good to see you, Parker.”

Ossanlin’s fur began flickering from blue to silver and back again, and he began to kick weakly, to flail his tail, to speak in delusional nonsense. A particularly violent swing of the tail nearly sent Salem sprawling again, but Parker let go of Ossanlin’s legs and blocked the tail with his arms, stumbling back. He got back up and again tried to hold the struggling Andalite down.

“Be gentle,” advised Salem. “He has blood in his airway. If he chokes, this won’t work. Dead Andalites don’t morph.”

“Salem, talk to him,” said Parker tensely. “Get him to come around.”

Salem almost laughed. “Talk to him? I think you and I went to different schools of first aid.” Then again... “Good idea,” he muttered.

<<Andalite. War-Prince. Now’s the time to morph.>> He began to tear more strips from his jacket. “From the water that gave birth to us...”

<<Come back to us, War-Prince.>> He looked around. None of the three he’d sent off for supplies had returned yet, but at least they’d all left in the first place. “From the grass that feeds us...”

<<Time to morph.>> And now he was using a Sparkle-Be-Good jacket for bandages. Ossanlin seemed to be calming down a bit, but he still spewed the occasional delusional thought-speech, and his breathing was rapid and shallow-- Salem wouldn’t have long before shock fully set in. This Andalite had better not die on him. Especially after that whole turning-silver-and-superpowered stunt he’d pulled. They really needed to have some words about that. “For the freedom that unites us...”

“How’s he doing?” asked the dark-haired woman, kneeling next to him and holding a large, flat wooden board that would serve as an adequate neck brace.

“He’s still breathing, anyway,” answered Salem quietly. “We rise to the stars...”

In the distance, he could hear a thunder of repeated explosions from whatever Temrash’s ship was firing at his own. At least that probably meant Al was still alive. For now. Some part of his brain noted the dark-haired woman leaving again. “Freedom is my only cause...”

<Here.> A number of long, straight sticks dropped to the ground next to him. <At least several should serve as sufficient splints.>

Salem looked up to see purple fur, a lithe figure, and a small tail blade. An Andalite female. He frowned. The War-Prince’s rambling had died down, and his eyes were now fluttering shut. “Duty to the People, my only guide...”

“You’re putting him to sleep,” complained Parker. “You need to jar him to reality.”

“This should jar him plenty,” said Salem, smiling softly. “Thordon, Parker? He’s going to want to move.” He placed his hands gently on either side of the fracture in Ossanlin’s broken, non-compound-fractured leg. “Obedience to my Prince, my only glory...”

He sucked a deep breath and gently, firmly, wrenched the leg back to the proper angle.

Ossanlin’s eyes shot open as he screamed in pain. He twitched wildly, desperately, but it seemed as though the two holding him were managing to keep him under control. The Andalite balled his fists and swing his arms wildly- not normally a danger with Andalites, but this one would probably pack a punch. Salem ducked to avoid one of those punches. Finally, Ossanlin’s eyes locked on Salem’s.

<Who are you?> asked the War-Prince, sounding frantic. <How do you know those words? What do you want with me?>

Salem forced himself to smile. He picked up two of the sticks and two strips of fabric, and began working to create a splint for the leg. He spoke to the War-Prince gently, alternating between verbal and thought-speech. “Just a friend, Andalite.” <<My name is Prince Tobias.>> “Call me Salem.” <<Time to morph.>>

For a second, it looked as though Ossanlin understood, but then his eyes narrowed, and he again became agitated, and began struggling against Thordon and Parker <I’ll be defenseless. Can’t morph. They’ll infest me...> rambled the War Prince. He began coughing, violently, blood spraying from his breathing slits onto Salem’s suit.

In a moment, the coughing fit had passed. Salem cursed. With his cracked vertebrae, the Andalite was going to end up paralyzed if he kept struggling like this. The Andalite seemed to be calming down a little bit, but his murmered thought-speak was becoming increasingly erratic and his breathing was still shallow. He was shivering violently now, in spite of the warm air and the heat provided by the setting sun. Shock was truly setting in.

“Ossanlin, morph something big,” suggested Parker. “Morph something that can’t be infested.” As Salem finished tying together his crude splint, he shot Parker a questioning look. Parker explained, “He’s identified you as a Yeerk. Speak to him like a Yeerk. Whatever he needs to hear to morph. We can sort it out later.” The nod from Thordon suggested he agreed.

Salem felt a flash of anger. Everybody seemed to think there was an easy way out of this. “Have any of you ever been this dazed?” he snapped, moving gently to Ossanlin’s head and again running a finger along his spine. “Morphing isn’t easy at the best of times.” He gritted his teeth as Ossanlin twitched again, still babbling. “I don’t know if he can start the process. Morphing would be so much easier than what I’m doing, but this Andalite does not get to die just because we couldn’t keep him alive long enough to morph. Hold him now.”

Salem picked up the flat wooden board and stared at it for a moment, contemplating what he was about to do. He hated spinal injuries...

He maneuvered the makeshift back board into place behind Ossanlin’s head and made sure he had some strips of fabric within easy reach. He gently, gingerly lifted the Andalite’s head in his arms, moving it slowly, so slowly, carefully into place. As he did, he spoke softly to the War-Prince, taking Parker’s advice, in spite of his skepticism about Ossanlin’s current ability to morph. “Time to morph, War-Prince. It’s the only way to escape.” <<Can’t let the Yeerks infest you. Have to morph. Have to get away.>>

Some part of his words did seem to have an affect on Ossanlin, at least, as he began thrashing again, more weakly than before, but still with enough energy to make it difficult for Parker to stay atop him. Salem gritted his teeth and put his entire body into holding Ossanlin’s head and neck steady, giving everything he had to not letting the Andalite twist from his grasp. With Ossanlin’s head in his arms, the risk of spinal injury from the thrashing motion was significantly higher.

<Human... thought speech... drugs? I’ll be defenseless... unhh... I’ll take your heads off!> rambled the War-Prince as he thrashed.

<Ossanlin!> cried another thought-speech voice, and within seconds, there was a second Andalite kneeling next to Salem. A female, he noted dully, but not the same one that had brought him the splints.

<Prince Ossanlin!> yelled a different voice, and in a moment a young Andalite Warrior was standing next to him as well. <You must morph something immediately! Everyone, please give him room!> It seemed all one had to do to make the Andalites all show themselves was run their War-Prince over with a ship.

“Either step back or find some way to keep him from killing himself,” Salem growled at the two Andalites. It came out harsher than he’d intended, and he could feel their curious, angry stares on him, but at the moment, he did not care.

As the War-Prince’s fight again died down, Salem gently, carefully laid the War-Prince’s head back on the ground, and sat back on his haunches, shaking. He noticed sweat dripping from his nose. There was no way this was going to work if the Andalite was going to continue to struggle. Both of the new Andalite arrivals had ignored him and now knelt next to the War-Prince as well, talking gently, trying to coax him into morphing. That was to be expected, he supposed.

“Here,” called a voice. “I brought a first aid kit.” Salem looked over to see the dark-haired woman jogging back towards them and carrying a red-and-white case. He smiled faintly. At least somebody here seemed to be thinking.

“Bring it here!” he called. “I need his leg cleaned, and if you’ve got any sedatives in there, give him one.”

“Roger,” she said, kneeling next to him and digging in the kit until she found a small syringe. She read the label, then said quietly, “This may not even calm him down a hair, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

“We need his mind active,” snapped Parker, sounding tense. “If he goes to sleep, he’ll die from internal bleeding.”

The dark-haired woman looked at him and shook her head, “It’s a mild anxiolytic. Shouldn’t make him tired. Just less stressed.” She looked to Salem, “Should I proceed with the injection?”

Salem was about to tell her yes, for Thaum’s sake, inject him, but at that moment, the War-Prince’s eyes seemed to focus on the female Andalite. <Aliciana?> he wondered, sounding dazed. <Alic... Where is this... Who are these people? Alic... I... I can’t breathe...>

<You cannot leave me,> pleaded the female Andalite, her voice wavering, <You must morph. Anything!>

Salem shook his head lightly at the dark-haired woman and mouthed the words, “Not yet.”

<I... I trust you... Alic...> came the War-Prince’s voice. A look of concentration crossed his face, then quickly melted into confusion. <I... I can’t... focus... I’m so tired... let me nap first... then I’ll morph...> His eyes slid shut, and his breathing slowed, a gurgling sound coming from his breathing slits. This earned him a round of shouting from the two Andalites.

“I am sorry,” said Thordon, and before Salem could ask what he meant, the beam of light that connected Thordon to Ossanlin had disappeared and Thordon had stepped back and crossed his arms.

Instantly, Ossanlin’s eyes shot open again, and he screamed-- a horrible, gut-wrenching noise that could only be heard in their heads. His weakly-flailing tail forced Salem and the dark-haired woman to scramble back, standing side-by-side just out of Ossanlin’s tail range. Parker still held on to Ossanlin’s torso, but only just.

<What did you DO to me!?> demanded the War-Prince, looking around frantically, fury in his eyes.

“Keep that ready,” Salem muttered to the dark-haired woman, indicating the sedative syringe. “This crowd still thinks we can take the easy way out, but I’m not sure he’s capable of morphing. Why are there never doctors around when you need them?”

The female Andalite Ossanlin had called ‘Aliciana’ still knelt next to him, in spite of his flailing. She placed a hand on his face, <I promise, love, I will keep you safe. But right now I need you to morph!>

Ossanlin finally, finally, seemed to get the message. He closed his eyes, and Salem saw the changes begin, the Andalite’s fur shriveling away, his hindquarters shrinking, his stalk eyes schlooping into his head.

He was morphing.

Around Ossanlin, the spreading relief was almost tangible, as he transformed, bit-by-bit, into a naked, black-haired Human man. An uninjured Human. Exhausted, barely able to move, but alive. The first female Andalite, the one who’d brought him the splints, was angrily demanding that someone tell her how Ossanlin had been injured. Salem figured he’d let the others explain that one.

His ears were ringing, and for some reason, he had a throbbing headache. Funny that he hadn’t noticed that earlier. He closed his eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath. He suddenly felt weak, his legs just about ready to give out from under him.

“Good work,” said the dark-haired woman quietly, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.

Salem turned towards her and smiled weakly. Very pretty eyes... “I’m Salem,” he said, just as quietly.

“Elayne,” she offered her hand with her own shaky smile, looking about as rattled as he felt. “What a way to wake up,” she said, nodding towards Ossanlin with just a hint of a smirk.

That managed to wring a weak laugh from him.

They watched silently for a moment as the group that had gathered around Ossanlin congratulated each other and worked to carry his now apparently-unconscious body towards the larger ship that had landed recently.

He should go check on Al.

“Excuse me,” he muttered apologetically to Elayne. “I have something I need to do.” He turned and began walking towards the woods. From here, he could still hear the female Andalite insisting that someone explain how, exactly, Ossanlin had been run over by a ship.

“Somebody tell the War-Prince not to get himself killed until I get back!” Salem called over his shoulder to the chattering group gathered protectively around Ossanlin. To himself, he muttered, “Andalite owes me a jacket.”[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin) on July 19, 2013, 09:40:24 PM
I love the trip down memory lane mixed with Salem's pov monologues.  I'm really enjoying reading these.  ^^  Seeing the GESB in story-form is a fun way to reread and remember.  I forgot how much I hammed up Ossanlin's near-death experience.  :p  Can't wait to read more of Salem and his take on the GESB.  :)
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 26, 2013, 11:39:11 AM
Yeah, I'm taking more liberties with the Bar than I'd expected-- the RP format needs work to become compatible with my narrative format-- but I think I'm being pretty loyal to the original roleplay. It makes me feel so nostalgic ^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 10]Pallas

Threecra knelt, in the bushes, looking up at the broad gate to the compound. The wall was tan, high, and smooth enough that harsh white floodlights from within the compound shone off the upper parapets like the noonday sun.

She held her scope to her eyes, trying to get a look at the two guards stationed in towers just beyond the wall. The howling wind might mask their approach, but the way it whipped the pink bushes around made it quite difficult to tell what was going on.

“You see her yet?” asked Pallas, shouting just to be heard over the wind.

“Not yet,” she shouted back. “She’s usually faster than this.”

“She’ll be there,” he said confidently.

As if on cue, a voice crackled to life inside both of their heads, “Ack. Sorry. Got caught up in something. But you know what? I’m feeling good about this one.”

There, at the base of the wall-- nothing more than two green points of light in the shadows outside the wall. That would be Lerais, she knew. Lerais was a Radon, and the newest member of the crew aside from herself and Pallas. She’d be wearing a black, environmentally-protective sneak-suit just like Threecra’s own. She’d be essentially invisible were it not for Threecra’s scope, which had been modified specifically to amplify the light given off by the sneak suits’ goggles.

“I see her!” yelled Threecra.

The two green points disappeared for a moment, then appeared again, higher up, for a split second, before disappearing again. Threecra waited, held her breath, but there was nothing else.

“Just hurry up,” said a voice over the comm. “I can’t keep this thing here forever.”

“Shut up, Chen Chen,” said Lerais, sounding somewhere between vitriolic and convivial.

“Love you too, ****,” said Chen Chen, and Threecra rolled her eyes, as the two of them broke out laughing. They always did this.

“A little less chatter, ladies,” came the gruff voice of a male Syler. Iza. Threecra could still never tell when he was and was not being serious.

“Would you let me do my job, Scruffy?” said Lerais. At least Threecra could tell when she was joking.

The appearance, seconds later, of a dark figure atop the wall, silhouetted against the lights of the guard towers, was accompanied by Lerais’s “Alley-oop!”

“Now!” yelled Threecra, and a split second later every light in the compound had blinked out, plunging them into total darkness.

“Hoo boy,” gasped Lerais, sounding giddy. “That thing was not that slick last time.”

“You’re supposed to warn me before you do that!” yelled an annoyed-sounding Iza.

“I said ‘now’,” said Threecra apologetically.

“A bit more warning before the ‘now,’ next time, please,” he said, sounding like a parent struggling to be patient with a difficult child.

“You’re fine, Scruffy” laughed Chen Chen. “Threecra knows her ****. Where you at, Peter?”

Threecra switched her suit to full night-vision mode in the absence of any light, and stuffed the now-useless scope into its place in her belt. She could now make out the screeching of alarm klaxons, their sound carried intermittently by the howling wind. They’d know something was happening, but if this went smoothly, they wouldn’t know what until it was too late.

“I hear you,” came Peter’s voice, finally. “Do you always have to ask? I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

“Right, so, can I move yet?” asked Chen Chen.

“You were ready to go ten seconds ago,” laughed Peter.

“Bastard,” growled Chen Chen, and Threecra could just see the shape of a hovercar lifting itself over the wall of the compound. It was hard to spot even with her suit’s night vision. “I’m in.”

“Aaaaannnnnd... popping the hatch... now!” yelled Peter.

“That’s us!” yelled Pallas, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, though she doubted he could hear her over the wind. She turned to follow him at a run across the cleared land between the jungle and the compound. Weighed down as she was by a large, heavy backpack, he quickly pulled ahead. “Don’t get lost this time, Pallas,” she called over the intercom.

The alarms went silent. “Hey, if they made a movie about us, do you think they’d call it ‘Raiders in the Lost Dark?’” asked Peter in the tone that suggested he knew he was being annoying.

“I dunno. Do you think they’d call a movie about you ‘Shut Up Peter?’” shot back Chen Chen. Peter just laughed in response.

“Guys, focus,” said Lerais, sounding tense. “I do not want to get shot.”

As they neared the compound, Threecra split off from Pallas, heading to the right, to her position outside the huge, locked main gate. She swung her backpack to the ground and began pulling out large, flat, silver cylinders-- explosive charges-- which she began placing at even intervals across the front of the huge gate.

“Alright, I’m ready,” came Pallas’s voice, over the comm this time.

“And... go...” said Peter.

“Right. Iza, how you doin’?” asked Lerais.

“One second...” responded Iza. Threecra could make out the sound of a distant explosion- anyone not ready for it would have just thought it was a trick of the wind. “You kids are getting too fast. Ready.”

“You got this, ****!” yelled Chen Chen encouragingly.

“Right. Here I go,” said Lerais. This was followed by a few tense seconds filled only with Lerais’s self-appeasing chant of “Oh****oh****oh****...”

Threecra, in this position, could hear the sound of three dampened gunshots, coming from almost directly overhead. They were immediately followed by Lerais’s yell of “Yes!”

“Holy... that was close!” yelled Pallas

“Sorry, hon,” said Lerais, sounding somewhere between conciliatory and ebullient.

“You are amazing,” said Iza, sounding like a father praising a daughter. “If we’d had someone like you during the war...”

“Yeah, yeah, a million dead Mohemians and an Olympic gold medal,” snarked Chen Chen. “Got it, Scruffs. You ready for this?”

“Patience, grasshoppah,” said Iza, imitating an old movie they’d watched recently. He laughed at his own wit, and Chen Chen groaned.

“Hey, guys, what was it we said about Lerais the other day?” called Peter, in a singsongy voice.

“That she ate all my Triscuits?” tried Chen Chen.

Peter sputtered for a moment before responding with, “No! That she’s got crazy flail-feet!” Chen Chen and Pallas both joined him to say “crazy flail-feet,” and then all three broke out laughing. Threecra sighed.

“Finished,” said Threecra, setting her last charge. She swung the backpack that was now half-empty up onto her back again and moved to a spot directly at the center of the gate.

“And, done,” came Iza’s voice with a grunt. “You beat me this time.”

Something large landed in the dirt behind Threecra with a sickening smack. She barely blinked. Sometimes they had to get rid of guards the easy way.

“Ding dong,” laughed Peter, and the huge door cracked open in front of Threecra, the two halves slowly, slowly sliding sideways into the wall, creaking and groaning in protest and carrying their explosive load with them. In front of her she could see the massive shape of the parked hoverdozer looming in the darkness.

Suddenly, a light flicked on in one of the tall guard towers in front of her, an eerie green glow that bobbed about as whoever was holding it moved around.

“Whoa,” she said. “We got light in one of the towers.”

“Not much we can do about it now,” said Iza. “Stick to the plan.”

Threecra forced herself to ignore the bobbing light, waiting for her signal.

For a few moments, there was nothing to be heard but the howling of the wind and the grinding of the gate creaking open. Of course, Peter felt it necessary to break the silence with “Spooooooookyyyyyyyyy” in his best ghost voice.

“Go!” came Pallas’s voice, and just like that, Threecra was off and running towards the hoverdozer across the clastic ground inside the base.

“Threecra, down!” yelled Iza, and she hit the ground without question. An antimatter pellet plowed into the clastic beside her, sending up a cascade of shrapnel. She was up and running again in a second, her heart pounding. This was new.

She reached the hoverdozer and darted around to the far side without any further shots ringing out. “You see him?” she asked nervously.

“Got him,” said Lerais, sounding somewhere between bumptious and complaisant.

“Well, that was crazy as balls,” said a voice from beside Threecra, so close she jumped and yelped.

There, beside her in the darkness, laughing, was the suited-up form of a Kyrikey, of Erathak. It was bird-like, and taller than she was. Atop its long neck sat its small head, complete with a beak and two eyes behind glowing green goggles. Its wingless body ended in a short, bird-like tail, and its long legs ended in small, webbed feet. Its two arms looked almost Human, but for the fact that each had not one, but two opposable thumbs. The hands could split down the middle and spread apart, effectively giving it two smaller hands on each arm.

Chen Chen.

“Just take it,” snapped Threecra, shoving her half-full backpack into Chen Chen’s arms with a scowl.

“If you’ll take mine,” laughed Chen Chen, handing Threecra a full backpack in exhange. She then turned and began her climb up the side of the hoverdozer.

Threecra glared for a second, then turned and ran for the front gate again.

“Guard tower light’s still on,” she said, annoyed, as she ran.

“It’s not a problem so far. I still don’t think they can see out of there. I’ll keep an eye on you,” said Lerais reassuringly.

Threecra skidded to a stop again at the edge of the open gateway and set the new backpack on the ground. She pulled a large tube of sealant out, and began to glue the door open.

“Team one out yet? They’re running late,” said Pallas.

“Hah!” came a new, high-pitched voice, crackling in over their internal radios. “They think we’re running late because they’re on time for once.”

“Welcome back, Pin,” said Iza. “I trust you secured the package?”

“‘Secured the Package?’ You sound so ex-military,” teased Pin.

“Pin... he is ex-military,” Peter said, laughing.

“We’re ready when you are. Is the area secured?” asked a slow, monotone voice, crackling into clarity. Selliss, this time. She must just be ascending from underground.

Iza started to answer, but Chen Chen cut him off, “Hell yeah it’s secured. It’s secured right up its twisted little butthole. Threecra’s got the front gate, Pallas has the back, and Iza managed the side one earlier. And I added a little something special to the ‘dozer this time.” She laughed.

“So is this base coming down?” prodded Pallas.

Chen Chen sighed, “You’re missing the whole joke. The term I use is ‘going down’ because I’m making a joke about...”

“Two minutes,” Iza cut her off.

Threecra dumped her first empty tube of sealant in the dirt-- it wouldn’t matter if it was found now-- and sprinted for the other side of the gate, wrestling to get the second tube out as she did.

Suddenly, the spotlight shone out from the guard tower in which she’d seen the light, straight down into the yard. For just an instant, she caught a flash of Vondanod, Zong and Calrin forms just crawling out of a hatch near the center of the compound-- team one.

They all managed to dive behind cover just as whoever was in the tower opened fire. Repeated antimatter explosions ripped tiny craters in the clastic ground.

Actually... Threecra pulled her scope from her belt and held it to her eyes. She could see up there, two well-muscled Syler, manning the gun. They were facing away from her, shooting at team one, and they were silhouetted as clear as day.

She reached down for her own weapon. The estimated point of impact was displayed in her scope, and she was able to take her time, to draw a bead on the head of the first, to pull the trigger...

The second one’s reaction time was faster than she’d expected. Before his fellow had even hit the ground, he’d turned his own weapon and fired three shots at Threecra. The dirt exploded upwards behind her, and she saw the poor position she was in, out in the open, framed in the gateway, too far from either side to make a run for it.

She fired back and dropped to a kneeling stance, making herself a smaller target, but it didn’t help. The Syler’s next shot caught her in the shoulder, sending her sprawling.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Iza shouted at her.

Threecra shook her head and looked up at the tower to see a dark form clambering to the top. Seconds later, the Syler inside was tumbling towards the ground, and the light had again turned off, plunging the world into darkness. “Got ‘im,” said Lerais, sounding worried.

“Hey,” said a new voice. Roman, the Vondanod. He skittered to a stop next to her and began examining her, setting his medical kit on the ground.

“Damn it,” she said, starting to sit up.

“Would you lie still?” Roman demanded, pushing her back down. “You’re supposed to be dying. Or at least writhing in agony.”

She sighed. She’d screwed up, and she knew it, but that didn’t mean he had to be a jerk about it. “Hey, Ven Dora,” she called, “can we call it quits for now? I feel like we’re screwed on this one anyway.”

The darkness around them seemed to dissolve, then re-form as the tiny training room aboard the Esprit. The harsh white light earned a collective groan from the team as they switched off their night vision.

The entire team, all nine of them that had been training, stood in close proximity. Except for her and Roman, though, everyone was far enough apart to avoid hitting each other with their limbs. Barely. Every last one of them immediately began to strip off their sneak suits.

“Next time. We’ll work together better,” said Lerais. The grumbles she got in response seemed to indicate grudging agreement.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” came Ven Dora’s voice over the speaker. Threecra turned to see her staring at them through the pane of panglass set into one wall. Even after all this time, she still never felt ready for the sight of a Mauselean.

“Good,” replied Chen Chen. “This suit was kinda starting to smell like ass. So, y’know...” she trailed off as she joined the flood of crewmembers leaving the room.

The Captain stood beside Ven Dora, his big eyes bright, his tail flicking back and forth in what Threecra had come to recognize as annoyance. After staring for a moment, he wandered off.

Threecra remained sitting. She wasn’t really feeling up to going and sitting in the common room and discussing what’d happened. Once everyone else had left, Pallas came and sat next to her. After a moment’s hesitation, he even put a hand on her shoulder. Looking over, she saw that he’d already taken his hood off. He looked sweaty and disheveled.

He also looked like he’d enjoyed that.

“Go on, Pallas,” said Ven Dora, stepping into the room. She was knuckle-walking, which she somehow managed to make look like the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” Ven Dora began as Pallas made his way out the door.

“So,” replied Threecra sullenly, refusing to stand up.

“You saw what you did wrong this time?”

“I saw it.”

“And why did you take that chance?”

Threecra sighed, “I don’t know. I’m sick of running this scenario. We’ve run this one a hundred times. I just wanted it to be over for once.”

Ven Dora laughed, “You’ve run it five times, and each one’s been a little different. There’s a lot to learn from repeating missions, and it’s something you never get the chance to do in the field.”

Threecra stood up, and was silent for a moment. “I’m sick of sitting on the sidelines,” she spat angrily. “I’m ready for a real mission.”

Ven Dora smirked, “Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m good. I’m very good, and you know it. I’m sick of simulations.”

“If you’re so good, why are you the one that ended up dead this time?”

“It doesn’t matter!” yelled Threecra. “We’ve passed this one before! I’ve shown I can do it!”

“Threecra, out there, it’s not just about what you can do, it’s about what you do. A properly executed plan is a thing of beauty. All my crew members know that. They know patience. They know to wait for opportunity. They know to think through every action before they take it. And they know,” she smirked again, “that a single mistake is the end for them.”

“We would have lost this mission anyway! Things were going wrong! We were too slow!”

Ven Dora laughed, “True. Which makes getting the team out alive your new priority. The entire team. Including yourself.”

She glared at Ven Dora’s eyeless face and growled, “I’m ready.”

“No,” came the Captain’s voice from the doorway, “you’re not.” She turned to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, a look of amusement in his eyes. “Threecra, would you excuse us for a moment?”

She hesitated for a moment, wanting to argue more, but decided against it. She mumbled a quiet “Yes, sir,” as she slipped past him into the corridor.

She wanted to go find somewhere private, somewhere to be alone with her thoughts and her frustration, but the Esprit wasn’t exactly a large ship. The only spot she’d found that she could avoid people walking in on her was the room she shared with Pallas, and she didn’t particularly want to see him at the moment.

She wandered aimlessly for about thirty seconds, avoiding the common room, before heading for their room anyway.

The room was finally starting to feel like home, she thought as she opened the door. It was the same room she and Pallas had been locked in when they’d been brought here-- tiny and cramped-- but now there were posters on the walls and clothing in the closet and even a stuffed dragon on the bottom bunk.

Threecra ordered the room to play some Bloodstar-- they seemed about right for her mood. She changed into her pajamas and flopped down on her bunk, punching the dragon with a frustrated scream. She instantly regretted it. She shouldn’t be taking her anger out on her friend. The stuffed dragon had done nothing to deserve that.

“Sorry, Ambertwo,” she said, pulling the dragon close to her and rolling onto her back. She stared up at her reflection, listening to her music and clutching her dragon tightly.

She hadn’t moved when Pallas walked in a few minutes later. He hung his jacket in the closet and made a face at her music choice, “I can’t stand this screamy stuff.”

“Don’t start,” growled Threecra without looking at him. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, “Aren’t you sick of this place?”

“No. Are you?” Pallas sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. She tensed up for a moment, but relented and allowed herself to be cuddled.

“I’m just sick of never doing anything. They’ve only done, what, two missions since we got here? And we haven’t done anything except train. And I don’t think Chen Chen likes me very much.”

Pallas stared at her, “Chen Chen adores you.”

She ignored him. “I’m sure the Captain thinks I’m dumb. Even you don’t like me anymore!” she spat, pushing at him weakly.

He looked wary, and little sad. “I love you,” he said defensively.

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Then why won’t you touch me again?”

He looked confused, and pulled her closer, “What do you think I’m doing now?”

She looked into his eyes. “That’s not,” she snarled, “what I mean,” and before he could say anything else, she’d pulled him close, and was kissing him on the lips. He resisted for a moment, but she held his head against hers and wrapped her arm around him and pulled his body close to hers.

His resistance crumbled, and he was kissing her back, pulling her hungrily towards him. It was great, so great, kissing him again, but instead of satisfying anything in her, it only made her want more. She pushed him back onto the bed and he yelped when his head smacked the wall, but she didn’t care. She straddled him and her hands snaked up under his shirt. She kissed his neck in the way she knew would wash away whatever small bit of resolve he had left. He moaned and began to tug at her clothing, trying awkwardly to keep kissing her as he did.

She sat up and pulled off her shirt, and as he moaned again, she grinned. He was not going to weasel out of it this time.
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Shenmue654 on July 26, 2013, 08:40:31 PM
XD Oh my god. Just.....the Bar and the legendary multiple-person near-death experience. From Salem's perspective. I've read just that one, but my life is totally complete. ;)

Thanks Lumy---this is an awesome trip down memory lane. Now reading in order. <3
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 29, 2013, 08:06:36 AM
I'm glad you guys are taking this stroll down memory lane with me ^_^ More memories on the way eventually, here, but for now:

[spoiler=Chapter 11]Winston

“Hey!” called Al from nearby. “This could be something!”

Winston stood back from the trash heap, feeling disgusted. An entire city, and apparently there was almost nothing of value here.

As he walked through the narrow street in the direction of Al’s call, he again stared up at the architecture of the city with a feeling of awe-- the buildings here were tall and green and traransparent and airy, tall and straight, and their sides ran almost vertical, slanting inwards ever-so-slightly until they came together in a sharp point. They varied in size, but he hadn’t yet seen a building less than a hundred meters in height, and walking the streets felt like walking through a network of slot canyons. The reflective surfaces of the buildings funneled the bright blue sunlight all the way down to the street. The structures had held up remarkably well since their abandonment, but the cracks snaking their way through them gave some hint as to the age of these ruins.

“Nope, never mind,” said Al as Winston stepped up next to him. He tossed something round that was about the color of the buildings into a heap of debris, where it shattered with a crash.

“We have better luck actually trading with the Ongachic,” sighed Winston.

Al shrugged, “They haven’t been settled in a long, long time, it sounds like. I think they took everything of value with them. You should know something about that,” he said with a smirk.

Winston rolled his eyes, “Cute.” He looked around the landscape. This was the only settlement on this planet, apparently one of the last Ongachic attempts at settling down after leaving their homeworld. Even after so much time, the desert had only just begun to encroach on the city limits.

He tried to imagine the place teeming with Ongachic. It was an interesting image. So far they had yet to run into groups larger than a few hundred of the nomadic race. The idea of so many living together seemed absurd. Even moreso, when weighed against the bleak emptiness of the city now.

Winston found himself wondering, not for the first time, which cultures predated which in this region. From what little he’d been able to gather, the Ongachic transformation from a powerful spacefaring species into the nomads they were today had gone hand-in-hand with the technological and interstellar rise of the Andalites.

The Andalites had turned out to be remarkably closed towards trade with outsiders-- getting any but the most basic information out of them had been frustrating, to say the least. After several attempts to build a relationship with them, he and Al had given up. They’d decided against heading for the Yeerk Empire-- apparently there were few things the Andalites liked less than these ‘Yeerks.’ Winston still hadn’t managed to figure out why the two species were at war, but for fear of souring what small reputation they’d built with the Andalites, they’d headed for Kelbrid space instead.

“Alright,” he said, brushing the dirt from his shorts. “We’re probably not finding anything else,” he patted his pockets, appreciating the weight of the few objects of interest he had found. “Off to...” he paused and sighed, “somewhere else.” He turned to begin the long walk back towards their ship.

“Kelbrid,” suggested Al, grinning and falling into step beside him.

“Ugh,” replied Winston earnestly. If if the Andalites were closed-off, the Kelbrid were downright reclusive. Through all contact with them, he’d only managed to actually trade with them a half-dozen times, and even after all that, he still didn’t know what they looked like.

At least this region of space seemed to be teeming with nomads and traders-- it was actually kind of like the universe had been built just for him. The Ongachic, nomads that they were, had so far proven to be quite hospitable.

The Skrit Na had also proven remarkably helpful, time and again. The entire species seemed to exist solely to scavenge and trade, and he’d managed to find more than a few useful things aboard their ships.

The Hawjabrans apparently did have their own little corner of space, but those he’d encountered assured him that, even though they were friendly here, he would not be welcome there. Even so, Winston had come to look forward to running into the rare, gargantuan Hawjabran freighters-- the Hawjabran told the best stories.

Still, this existence was starting to grate on him. Being constantly on the move, living solely to trade... it seemed so empty, somehow. Strange how different it felt than it used to.

“Maybe it’s about time we checked out these Yeerks,” he said with a sigh. They were clearing the city, now, the unyielding green road giving way to the fine, reddish, spongy sand of the desert. He could already see the silhouette of their ship atop a distant rise, nestled amongst the short, cactus-like trees

Al kicked up a red, soggy... something... from the ground and began hackey-sacking it as they walked. “Thought you didn’t want to piss off the Andalites.”

“Do you?” Winston asked defensively.

“Not even a little, but I ain’t the boss, boss.”

Winston sighed, “What else are we gonna do? I mean, is there any way they could be less friendly than the Kelbrid?”

Al laughed. “We could go find that Ongachic dude you were flirting with. Settle down. Start a family. I’ve always wanted to be Uncle Al.”

Winston laughed, “His name is Udeline, and I don’t think he’d be down.”

“Never know unless you try,” said Al with a grin as he let the now-mutilated soggy red whatever-it-was fall to the ground.

Winston began “Besides, ‘settling down’ isn’t really...” but was interrupted when the ground around them erupted upwards with a world-shattering FWWOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!

Instinctively, Winston ducked and covered his head, looking around for the source of the disturbance. Through the falling debris, he could just make out Al running for the ship. Good thinking on his part. He’d be more help there, and unlike Winston, Al would be able to make it to the ship within moments. Winston turned to sprint back for the city-- he needed a place to hide until he could figure out what had just happened.

There, standing calmly in the street from which they’d just come, was an Andalite. His tail was poised, and in his hand was a handheld version of the deadly Andalite Shredder. This Andalite’s fur was crossed by an intricate, abstract design, all in black. It reminded Winston of a fractal tattoo.

Winston ducked sideways just as the Andalite fired, throwing himself against the outermost reflective building. He scooted along until he reached an open doorway and slipped inside.

Unlike the other buildings he’d been inside in these ruins, which had been more traditionally structured with rooms and hallways, this one seemed to consist internally of one giant open space stretching to the very top far overhead. A number of partial floors rimmed the interior, connected by thin bridges and narrow ladders. Chunks of the crystalline construction littered the floor, coated in a thick layer of dust-- remnants of years of decay. His footsteps echoed dully as he ran for the nearest of the ladders.

<You’d best tell your friend not to try to enter your ship, Yeerk,> came the Andalite’s voice from outside. <I won’t kill you unless I have to, but I can’t save him if he makes it there.>

****! Winston wrestled his communicator from his pocket.

“Al!” Winston yelled into it, “Stay away from the ship!”

He stuffed the communicator back into his pocket as he reached the nearest ladder. As he hoisted himself onto the lowest rungs, he could hear a distant fwwwooooooommmmm! echoing through the building. The ladder rattled and a layer of dust shook itself loose and began drifting down from the floors above.

“Al!” he yelled.

Tzzzaaap! The beam of a Shredder struck the ladder just below his feet. The flashback was enough to turn his feet numb. It was enough to light a fire under him and send him scrambling upwards.

“Jeeze! Thanks for the warning! What the hell is going on!?” came Al’s voice from his communicator. Thank the Immortals, he was alive.

Winston hauled himself up onto the lowest of the crystalline floors as a second Shredder shot pegged his shin, numbing him from the waist down. “Ahhh!,” he yelled as he dragged the dead weight of his lower body out of view of the Andalite’s Shredder.

<Don’t fight it, Yeerk,> said the Andalite. <I am not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.>

“I’m not a Yeerk, ****!” yelled Winston. He turned around and dragged himself slowly towards the edge until he could peek over it at the Andalite, still standing in the doorway. Its eyes locked on his, and for a moment, he was sure it was going to shoot again, but the Andalite hesitated, and looked at something strapped to his wrist. From here, Winston could see a transparent, 3D image projected in the air just in front of the Andalite's left eye. The image flickered and changed as he watched.

<You... are not Human,> concluded the Andalite after a moment.

Winston’s mouth snapped shut. What!?

<I apologize,> said the Andalite. <My ARC has identified you genetically as Maltoris Kazin.> He holstered his Shredder and looked up apologetically at Winston, <You look very much like a Human. Unless Humans are on their homeworld, they’re always Yeerks.>

Winston’s mind was racing. Humans? There was no way the Andalite universe also contained Humans. There was no way the Andalites could know Humans without knowing the IPA. There was no way he could be near the IPA without realizing it. There was no way...

“What’s going on? You okay? Where are you?” came Al’s voice again, starting to sound worried now.

With a grunt, Winston managed to pull his communicator from his pocket. “I’m alive. I’m in a building. It’s an Andalite. He’s cool now.” He tried to say the last part threateningly, glaring down at the Andalite, but he had a feeling that his paralysis lessened the effect a little.

<I am Emelen-Kemexu-Forranna, of Sector Nine,> the Andalite said with a smirk, as if he were privy to some in-joke. <I hope you’ll let me do something to make up for this.>

“My name is Winston. You could start by telling me what in the world you’re doing here.”

Emelen looked abashed, <I followed you down, thinking to question you. I have been tracking you since you left Tekko Three.>

Winston frowned. Tekko Three had been a tiny, lake-dotted moon on which they’d traded with a small Hawjabran settlement nearly three days prior. He didn’t recall having seen any Andalites there.

“There’s no way you followed us for that long without us noticing,” he said.

Al appeared in the doorway behind Emelen, looking angry.

<Hello,> said Emelen warily, looking at him with a stalk eye.

“Yo, Winston, we gonna roll on this joker?” asked Al, glaring menacingly at Emelen.

Winston stifled a laugh, “Emelen, this is Al, my pilot. Al, this is Emelen. He’s apparently very sneaky, and very mistaken.”

Al looked from Emelen to Winston and back before shrugging and walking towards Emelen with his hand out. Emelen tensed when Al got close, and stared at his hand apprehensively, until Al rolled his eyes and reached out to take Emelen’s hand and shake it, beaming. “Aloha, sneaky-Andalite bro,” he said, doing a pretty respectable surfer-bum impersonation.

Emelen aimed a stalk-eye back at Winston questioningly and responded with a tentative <Aloha.>

Winston grinned, “Seriously, why would you go to all that trouble just to track down two Yeerks anyway?” he asked.

<Because,> said Emelen, <any Yeerks this far from Yeerk space are a curiosity. I had you pegged as members of the Peace Movement. I wanted a word. Besides, the only other thing I have to be doing is patrolling the Anati system again.> He sighed, as if that would have been the most tedious thing imaginable, and muttered something about twenty dome ships being unable to fend for themselves. He turned both stalk eyes questioningly towards Winston, <I’m sure I overheard you saying something about ‘checking out Yeerks.’ What would the purpose of that be if you’re not Yeerks yourselves?>

“I don’t think it means what you think it means,” offered Al with a smirk. “It means... like, examining. Or in this case, visiting.”

<Ah,> replied Emelen. <That might be an exceptionally bad idea.>

“Right, cause trading with Andalites has been such a joy,” muttered Winston.

Emelen laughed, and Winston found himself wondering how the Andalite had managed to hear him. <At least Andalites will allow you to continue to live free. Contact the Yeerks and your life as you know it will end.>

“They can’t be that bad,” said Al skeptically.

<They’re worse. At least, their Empire is. Left to the Imperials, this galaxy will become nothing more than their tool, its people nothing more than their slaves. I’m sorry my people have become so much less accessible in recent years, but given a choice, I’d rather have the Andalites fighting the Empire and being a little closed off than have them open up and crumble. We can work on the Andalites after the war. I live in this time, but I’m doing everything I can so that my little brother will grow up in a better one.> Throughout his little speech, Emelen had seemed ever-more distant, as though he were envisioning this ‘better time' in his head.

Winston sagged. Emelen really seemed to think that contacting the Yeerks would be a dangerous thing to do. “I don’t know where else to go,” he sighed, slumping back down defeatedly.

<You have been unsuccessful in trading with the Andalite people?> inquired Emelen.

“Less successful than I’d like, yeah,” admitted Winston, absently tracing names in the dust in front of him. Lerais. Raicca. Leslie. Gerthis. Peptos. Gina. Already, his legs were beginning to tingle as the Shredder’s stun effect wore off.

<I’ve seen your ship in action,> said Emelen, again leaving Winston wondering how he could have failed to detect the Andalite following them. <The Andalite people would benefit from a trade with you, I think. If you like, you can ask for me the next time you’re near the homeworld. I may be able to work something out.>

Winston blinked. There was no way this was this easy. Especially after so long of actually trying to open trade with the Andalites, this was just going to fall into his lap?

“Just ask for Emelen-Kemexu-Forranna of Sector Nine?” he repeated.

Emelen laughed, <Better leave out the ‘Sector Nine.’ I don’t think Sector Seven would appreciate my little joke.> He turned to leave, <I will speak with you soon, I hope.>

Winston sighed, “Let’s chat now. After three days following us, I think you can afford to stick around until I can feel my legs again.”[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Shenmue654 on July 29, 2013, 09:35:45 AM
Interesting. <3 Salem's travels have led him far indeed, if he's ended up in a variant of Animorphs space where Yeerk-kind has contacted and taken several humans. More interesting still to hear his musings on races the series only mentions in passing. Although at least this begins to explain exactly where Salem gets all the weird stuff in his ship. X)

Gotta wonder who the Andalite who says he's from "Sector Nine" is though, and what the joke-in-poor-taste means. He seems strangely tolerant of happenings that don't fit in the Andalite worldview. <3
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on July 31, 2013, 11:36:21 AM
Yeah, this is interesting, because I know where each story thread is going to end up, but the route I'm taking to get there is turning out a bit different for each one than I'd intended originally. We'll see how much we end up learning about Emelen in this story. I may wind up having to write his story at some point too-- he really is a very interesting character.

[spoiler=Chapter 12]Jaron

“Whoa!” yelled Jaron’s voice in his head.

Raicca looked around the room out of habit, almost expecting to find Jaron standing there next to him. But, of course, Jaron wasn’t in the room. “What happened?” he asked, scratching his ear. He was still getting used to the new implants. So was Jaron. They’d discussed them at length the night before.

“Nothing. Nothing. That guy almost saw me, though,” responded Jaron, sounding relieved.

“Well, make sure they don’t!” advised Raicca. Jaron mumbled something indistinct in response, and Raicca laughed.

He stood up and carried his pack towards the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. Jaron and Raicca had discovered when they were still little that there was an empty room at the Highlife Inn, and that they could get into it by crawling through the ventilation duct. Actually, Raicca supposed, Jaron had done most of the ‘discovering,’ but Raicca felt he deserved at least some of the credit. After all, if he hadn’t come up with the idea of egging the Mayor’s house in the first place, Jaron never would have been trying to hide in a rundown old hotel.

The room was tiny and dingy, and looked like it may once have been half of a hotel room. After so long as their private clubhouse, it was full of their shared stuff-- comic books and pictures and school projects and even a couch. Getting that through the narrow duct that led to the room had been tricky-- they’d had to tear it apart and carry it in piece by piece. They still couldn’t figure out why there was no door to enter the room, but it made it the perfect hideout. Even if anybody ever did learn about this place, no adult would ever fit through the duct that led to it.

Keeping it a secret had actually been pretty easy, after they’d convinced grandpa to help them hack Yooie to keep him quiet. Grandpa was the only adult who knew about their hideout, but Raicca was sure he’d never tattle.

Raicca opened the door and walked out onto the balcony, where he checked their bucket for the twentieth time-- it was, in fact, still full-- and peered out into the station’s vast, spherical Center. The Highlife Inn was nestled into the cozy little shady spot between the Equatorial Floor North below, its gravity the same as his own current gravity, and the Floor of Elegance South above, the people walking on it above seeming to hang upside-down in their inverted gravity. The Inn was stationed at a spot that put it just even with the edges of the floors. He could see the Ring of Opulence, the vertical stretch of land between Equatorial and Elegance, stretching all the way from the opposite edge of the spherical Center. The farthest part was nearly three kilometers distant, and the ring ran in a circle around him, until the nearer part disappeared from view behind the Inn. The ring of ground was broken up by the nineteen openings into the station’s main concourses. Opulence was the highest opaque ring of ground in the station’s Center-- Destiny, the next ring up above the Floor of Elegance, was transparent, looking out into space, as were all the rings above it that made up the upper dome.

The best part, though, was that the River Serene ran directly behind the Inn. Looking down, he could see where it flowed up over the edge of Equatorial, running along the ground and continuing below and behind him until it ran up Opulence. The Serene forked into two about halfway up Opulence. One half of the river continued on its slow, winding way, reappearing far overhead on Elegance to continue flowing, around to the North side of Elegance and on its way up the station. The other half turned at ninety degrees and hugged the rounded corner formed between Opulence and Elegance, picking up speed and getting rougher and rougher until it turned again and ran right off the end of Elegance and dissipated into a fine spray. The whole stretch had been created by the Sandester Rafting Company, and had become colloquially known as the Queen’s Run. A perpetual rainbow hung in the mist, which gave the endpoint it’s incredibly creative name, Rainbow Falls. There were always hovercars running out to bring back the exhilarated thrillseekers who had just completed the ride through the rapids, and who always laughed and lounged about in the zero-G while waiting to be picked up.

“Hey, I thought I saw them. Can you see them? Can you hear me? Raicca? I see them!” said Jaron excitedly.

“Hold on!” yelled Raicca, peering out into the vast zero-G space between the shelves. There were thousands of objects hovering there, from buildings to people, but he knew what he was looking for.

After a second, he spotted it-- a line of black hovercars making their way towards the Equatorial floor below him. They all parked in a neat little line right next to the river, and he could see the figures piling out. From here they looked like insects, and he could really only see the tops of their heads, but he could easily make out the small stage set with its back to the edge of Equatorial next to the river, and the podium, and the growing crowd of onlookers gathering in front of it. He hurriedly finished stuffing his parachute into his pack. This was going to be awesome.

“They’re all there!” he said.

“Good. Should I go yet?” asked Jaron eagerly.

“No, man, they’re not even set up yet.”

Jaron grumbled. Raicca knew that he’d be set up in the spot they’d found on the other side of Equatorial, almost directly under the feet of the gathered crowd below. Jaron had the more fun part of the plan, but Raicca got to actually see what was going on, so it was even. This was going to be their first attempt at coordinating with the new implants. It was going to be epic.

“Raicca, how can you even see what’s going on?” said a new voice in his head, slightly metallic and gender-nondescript. Yooie.

“I can see!” he snapped. “Just because I’m not omnipresent doesn’t mean I’m blind!”

“Didn’t you bring binoculars up here the other day?” reminded Yooie.

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Raicca. He jumped up and bounded inside. It took him a few minutes to find the binoculars wedged between the two couch cushions. He brought them back to the balcony and peered down at the crowd through them. Instead of just the tiny tops of people’s heads, he was now staring at the slightly larger tops of their heads. “Oh, this is helpful,” he muttered.

“Tell me when!” said Jaron.

“Hold on! Jeeze!” yelled Raicca, trying to determine who was who on the ground below. “Hey, Yooie, which one’s the diplomat?”

“I really should not be helping you with this...” said Yooie, sounding a little worried.

“Come on. It’s fine!” yelled Raicca.

“Yeah, Yooie, don’t be lame. We’re just having fun!” said Jaron.

Yooie hesitated for a moment, then said “Well... okay. The diplomats are the ones in the white robes. They’re by the steps of the podium now.” He paused, and when he continued, he sounded confused. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this...”

Raicca grinned. He knew why. He looked down through the binoculars. It looked like the Vondanod Mayor was standing at the podium, probably giving some kind of speech. The two humanoid diplomats stood at the base of the steps leading to the podium, unmoving.

Immortals. They’d never tried this with Immortals before. He was stoked.

“Now?” inquired Jaron.

“Man, shut up! I’ll tell you when!” shot back Raicca. He rolled his eyes, “Humans.”

“Sylers,” said Jaron, with an annoyed tone that matched Raicca’s.

“Right now it’s just the Mayor yapping away,” explained Raicca.

Jaron snickered, “I kind of want to do it.”

“Immortals,” Raicca loftily reminded him. He was so much better at this than Jaron.

In the five minutes it took for the Mayor to finish his speech, Jaron must have asked “Now?” a dozen more times. Finally, though, the Mayor stepped down, and the two diplomats took their places at the podium, side by side.

“Now?” asked Jaron.

Raicca began, “Well, they’re at the podium, but I...”

“Now!” yelled Jaron, and Raicca groaned and looked carefully through his binoculars. Flying into view from behind the ground far underneath the stage, and orbiting around the edge of Equatorial Floor and up over the podium, came the undulating, spinning shape of a giant blue water balloon. It flew harmlessly over the heads of the two Immortals, breaking in the middle of the crowd over the head of one of the Zong there. A hole quickly opened up in the crowd as people scattered.

“Too high. Less power,” suggested Raicca. Below, he could see that the two Immortals had turned to look in the direction the water balloon had come from, but the two doofuses were still standing at the podium.

“This thing is really hard to aim!” complained Jaron. Raicca watched the Immortals as they in turn watched a second water balloon, a red one this time, come up over the edge of the floor and head straight for them. It was dead-on this time.

At the last second, one of the Immortals held up his hand, as if to block the balloon now speeding towards them. The water balloon disappeared in a flash of light.

“Hey, no fair!” yelled Raicca.

“What happened?” demanded Jaron.

Raicca opened his mouth to answer, but it was then that Yooie interrupted with “And there they go!” Looking down, Raicca caught sight of the Mayor’s security detail, running around the edge of Equatorial, right towards Jaron’s hiding spot.

“Get out of there now!” he yelled, slipping his parachute on. He grabbed the bucket full of water balloons from beside himself and flung himself off the balcony. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too late to distract them from Jaron.

He free-fell for only a second before pulling the rip-cord on the ‘chute. He was supposed to go and dust the crowd with his own water balloons, then drift away into the zero-G of the Center using the fan built into the parachute pack. It would give Jaron time to escape, and by the time they organized a search, Raicca would be long gone.

Unfortunately, the parachute did not open like it should have, instead tangling and twisting together, and Raicca found himself falling through the zero-G, carried by the momentum he’d picked up from the Inn’s local gravity. He tried for a few seconds to get the fan to slow his fall, but he quickly panicked and windmilled his arms wildly as he fell towards the river below. He picked up speed as he fell into Equatorial Floor’s local gravity. His bucket of water balloons plowed into the water below him. He caught sight of the speech crowd-- it looked like every face was still turned away from him, watching the Immortals. Or... wait, no. Every face but one.

Officer Flemming! Wow... he did not look happy.

At the very last second, the station’s safety measures kicked in, and his descent slowed dramatically, but he still belly-flopped into the river with enough force to leave him winded.

He struggled his way back to the surface. The water here wasn’t moving too fast, and it was pleasantly warm-- he’d swum in this river a thousand times. This could work out. He just had to follow the river until it split off into the series of streams that fed the Elite Guild’s crystalline parks, and then he’d be home-free. He might even meet Jaron along the way. This was supposed to be his escape route, after all.

Something tugging at his shoulders made him look back. There was something thrashing about wildly in his twisted parachute! It was threatening to drag him back upstream!

“Ahh!” he yelled, earning himself a mouthful of water. He coughed and sputtered for a moment, then started flinging himself about, trying to remove the pack from his sholders, even as the thing at the other end tried to drag him into the depths below. He grew more and more frenzied , finally taking the left strap of the pack in his teeth and biting clean through it. With his claws, he tore the other strap free and flung the pack away from himself in a panic.

At the same moment, Jaron tore himself free from Raicca’s parachute with a look of fright.

The two bobbed in the slowly-moving river, staring at each other, for a few moments, until they both burst out laughing. Neither had an easy time treading water while laughing so hard, and both wound up choking several times, but it was just too ridiculous to stop.

“I thought you were them!” said Jaron, grinning.

“I thought you were them!” yelled back Raicca, splashing just a little bit of water at Jaron. Jaron, of course, was not going to take that kind of thing, and splashed back. They found themselves in a splash-fight that quickly devolved into a full-on water-wrestling war.

After a few moments, they broke apart again, treading water and gasping for breath.

“I totally won that,” choked out Raicca.

I totally won that!” shot back Jaron, coughing. For a few seconds, Raicca was sure he was going to have to win again just to prove how wrong Jaron was, but then he happened to look around.

At some point, they’d made the 90-degree turn upwards onto the Ring of Opulence. Without noticing it, they’d managed to ride the wrong fork in the river. The water was getting choppier and faster with every moment.

They were heading for the Queen’s Run.

“Ahhh!” yelled Raicca, sputtering and struggling to swim for shore.

Jaron looked surprised, then looked around and realized where they were. “Ahhh!” he agreed.

Raicca managed to make his way closer and closer to the shore. He could see Jaron beside him-- Jaron was the (very) slightly stronger swimmer of the two, thanks to his Human hands and feet, but Raicca had had a head start.

Not that it mattered. Just before they managed to reach the bank, they both found themselves being sucked back into the river by a strong current. They tumbled over a large artificial boulder.

Raicca lost sight of Jaron and found himself forced underwater by the river, spun around and around and end over end. He couldn’t tell which way was up and which way was down until he felt his leg kick out of the water and into the air.

He struggled to right himself, and came up gasping for breath, staring downstream at the rapids in front of him. Beside him, Jaron came up sputtering. When Jaron looked and saw the approaching rapids, his face, too, transformed into a look of sheer terror.

“Want me to call for help?” suggested Yooie.

“No!” yelled Raicca and Jaron together. The only thing worse than dying in the rapids was just how much trouble they’d be in if they were caught. It was a credit to grandpa’s hacking skill that Yooie hadn’t called for help already, and Raicca was glad of it.

“We...” began Raicca, getting himself a mouthful of water and coughing for a moment. “I guess it’s about time we tried this,” he choked out.

Jaron stared at him for a moment, his look of terror transforming into one of surprise, then of excitement. They’d both been rafting, of course, so they knew how to ride the rapids without a raft. At least, they knew what they’d been told to do if they ever fell out. They’d talked on a few occasions about trying to ride the rapids without a raft just because they could. It would be very against the rules, of course, but that had never stopped them before.

“Let’s do it!” sputtered Jaron, and Raicca saw him flip onto his back and start struggling to keep his feet pointing downstream.

Raicca did the same. For a few more seconds, the waters seemed somewhat calm. That is, they seemed calm until Raicca found himself plowing through the first whitecap. The water splashed into his mouth, his eyes, his nose. For a few minutes, every breath was a struggle, and his only thought was to stay afloat. More than once he found his legs jarred against an artificial boulder, and each time he found himself feeling exceptionally glad he was managing to keep his feet downstream-- this ride would have been really painful otherwise.

Finally, the water seemed to simply separate from around him and float away, and Raicca found himself floating out into the zero-G air of Rainbow Falls, surrounded by ever-finer droplets of water. Jaron was a little ways beyond him, and Raicca found himself looking at the top of Jaron’s head.

“Woo!” yelled Jaron, twisting to face him.

“Woo!” agreed Raicca, sputtering out a laugh. “That was awesome!

For a few moments, they simply talked, each detailing exactly how epic his own ride down the rapids had been, each constantly one-upping the other’s story. Raicca only embellished his stories a little bit, and only because he was sure Jaron was outright lying about some of the stuff he’d done. Raicca hadn’t seen any piranhas at all.

Finally, Jaron asked how they were supposed to get down. The friction field had already almost slowed them to a stop, and Raicca’s parachute fan had long since disappeared into the river.

Raicca looked around, hoping to find a hovercar coming out to pick up rafters. With any luck they could beg a ride back to solid ground.

He did see a hovercar, but not one of the rafting company’s cars. His heart sank.

“What is it?” asked Jaron, at the look on Raicca’s face.

Raicca pointed behind Jaron, “It’s Officer Flemming.”

Jaron turned to look. “Oh.”

The two floated to a gentle stop just out of arm’s reach of Officer Flemming’s black-and-white patrol cruiser. The Radonian security officer was leaning out the driver’s side window, glaring at them. His mirrored sunglasses made it impossible to tell which of them he was looking at.

“Hi Officer Flemming,” said Raicca, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“Hello, boys,” replied Officer Flemming. “That was a pretty daring escape.”

“Are we in trouble?” asked Jaron.

Officer Flemming nodded gravely, “I’m afraid so.”

“We were just having fun,” explained Raicca, looking away sullenly.

A smile flitted briefly across Officer Fleming’s face before devolving back into that glare of his, “I might be able to pull some strings, get them to go easy on you, but I do have to tell your parents what you did.”

“You have to?” asked Raicca and Jaron at the same moment.

“I have to,” repeated Officer Flemming. “Raicca, I think you need to learn to pack your parachute. Your grandpa’s going to have a fit when he hears you jumped out of a building.”

Raicca looked away, feeling guilty.

Raicca and Jaron climbed into the familiar back seat of the cruiser, hardly complaining at all this time. As they pulled away from Rainbow Falls, they both spun around in their seat to look out the rear window, then turned to each other, grinning.

That had been awesome.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on August 06, 2013, 10:03:56 AM
And welcome back to the GESB ^_^ I've gotten to the point where I will rearrange dialogue and minor events, and I wind up omitting quite a bit, and I'll slightly change phrasing for context, but everything that's said and done, as well as all the major events, are all still true to the Bar RP.

It's interesting. Doing this, I'm getting to know all of the other characters in the GESB far more intimately. I'm also learning things about Salem as I go. For example, apparently he's always had a bit of a thing for Joanne, but I never had any clue until I started writing this.

The nostalgia is making me want to go write up all the events that occurred that didn't involve Salem as well, but I don't know what I'd do for perspective, since I don't think I trust myself to write anyone else's characters to the level of accuracy that I'd like.

[spoiler=Chapter 13]Salem

The world seemed to consist of nothing more than Salem, Temrash, and the Dracon beam aimed at Salem’s back.

He trudged through the woods, his hand held to the bleeding gash just beneath his ribs. His blood also stained Temrash’s wrist blade. Temrash was going to ‘question’ him back at the bar.

Salem’s hopes of escape now lay with the poison-tipped Paladinian switchblade lying in the dirt behind them, and the small cut on Temrash’s arm.

“Don’t you have better things to do than herd me around the woods?” asked Salem.

Temrash laughed, the harsh, gutteral guffaw of the Hork-Bajir. “Yes, but Keshin is a problem that needs to be handled. I don’t feel like dragging you to your ship to trade you for Keshin, and the other alternative is leaving your body for your pilot to find. The sooner I deal with you, the sooner I can take a nap.”

Aha. So maybe some small amount of poison had found its way into Temrash’s system after all. An opportunity might just be a matter of stalling.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Temrash, shrugging as well as he could with his hands over his head, “Can I buy you a drink? We can talk this over in a civilized way.”

Temrash snarled, “You are indirectly responsible for murder and vehicular assault because of your little stunt.” His eyes fluttered slightly shut, and he wavered a bit.

Murder? So Hadrin hadn’t made it, then.

And the lines in Temrash’s face... the way he looked when he was weary... this was no longer a military Hork-Bajir in his prime. It looked as if he was getting old...

Temrash shook his head, seeming to focus, and jabbed his Dracon beam at Salem. “Just keep walking,” he snapped.

Salem sighed and turned towards the bar once again, going just far enough to reach a spot beside one of the largest trees in the forest. He stopped in his tracks again and looked around, memorizing the layout of the nearby trees. He turned to face Temrash. “I’m not really in the mood for this right now,” he said, innocently.

“Would you be more in the mood after I beat you around a bit?” snarled Temrash. “Don’t stop again.” To prove his point, Temrash fired a shot at the ground near Salem’s feet.

Salem seized his opportunity. He spun behind the tree, and in the same motion, he yanked an orange cylinder from his pants pocket. As he’d hoped, Temrash’s reaction times seemed dulled. He chucked the cylinder to the ground, and a thought-speech command set it to spewing an acrid, greyish-purple smoke that quickly engulfed them both. Salem held his breath and clenched his eyes shut.

Temrash roared in anger, and Salem heard Hork-Bajir blades tear into the tree between them.

A second thought-speech command activated his boots, and he found himself hovering just above the ground. He began moving away from the growing smoke cloud in a ‘roller-skating’ motion. As soon as he was clear of the smoke, he opened his eyes-- they burned and watered-- and looked back over his shoulder.

He thought he could see something moving inside the billowing cloud, followed by Temrash’s world-shattering roar of “Dapsen! Dapsen!” There was a flash of light from within the cloud as Temrash’s Dracon fired, but where it had been aimed, Salem couldn’t tell.

He turned and skated harder, his heart pounding.

After a few minutes, Al’s voice came from his communicator, “Veer right. We’re in the clearing.”

As Salem entered the clearing with the huge rain gully running through it, he saw that Al had chosen a good spot to hide the ship. It was nestled nicely down in the gully itself. The lengthening evening shadows had almost entirely hidden this ship and it would be difficult to spot from both ground and air, except from the right angle. This was where Salem had been heading when Temrash had caught up with him.

He skidded down into the ditch. At the bottom, he deactivated his hover-boots and jogged up the ship’s open ramp, panting.

“Get us in the air!” he choked out. He pressed his hands to his temples. His headache was only getting worse.

Al chucked his paddle-ball aside and activated the ship’s controls. “Good to see you too,” he said dryly. The ship lifted into the air, and the ramp slowly slid shut. Salem willed his heart to slow down, his hands to stop shaking.

After a moment, he turned to Keshin, who was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, looking, thanks to the projection of the outside within the ship, like she was sitting in mid-air, flying just above the treetops. She looked half-dead from exhaustion, but there was a bandage around her neck, and she was alive. It was a relief to see that. “You feelin’ alright?” he asked gently.

Keshin nodded and rubbed her neck, “We’ve... had worse.”

Salem smiled, “Good. And Al gave you his little personal hologram generator?”

Keshin nodded and held up the device for Salem to see. With it, she should be able to make it undetected to her own ship and leave, which apparently Al and Keshin had decided would be her best course as they waited for Salem to arrive.

“Tell them they owe you a dance for that thing,” called Al from his seat. Salem shot him a glare, and turned back to Keshin, his ears growing warm

Keshin didn’t seem to notice, and her expression grew serious, and she looked into Salem’s eyes, “Listen, now we owe you one. Nobody saves a turelek without a very good reason.”

Salem sighed, “Right down to business. Okay.” He paused, trying to decide how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I have two members of the Andalite Electorate that I need... taken out.”

“You ****ting me?” asked Al, sounding annoyed. “That’s what this is about? You know that’s both stupid and crazy, right?”

Keshin’s eyes narrowed as she looked back and forth between Salem and Al. “Are you serious?” she asked incredulously. “You do realize that’s a nearly impossible task, don’t you?”

Salem nodded and continued, “I was hoping you might be able to provide me with pointers in the way of people that might help by joining me or fronting equipment or... anything, really. After...” he hesitated, “After seeing you in action... it’s up to you whether to help out personally or not.”

Keshin sighed, “We could probably help you get what you need, but even with that it's still a suicide mission. Are you on contract for someone else?”

Salem shook his head, “This is for me. And for my... for the Andalites.”

“Hey, we got company,” interrupted Al.

Salem groaned, “How many ships?”

“Looks like just the one,” Al said as the display around them changed-- the ground and the trees displaying themselves in fluorescent green. From the direction of the bar rose something bright red-- the ship’s representation of the other craft. “It’s the same ship that nearly shot us down earlier,” said Al.

It was, Salem saw, Temrash’s ship. He’d recognize that distinctive arrowhead-shaped design anywhere.

He cursed. “Looks like Temrash is really not happy with me. This could get rough. Al” he barked, smirking, “Keshin needs a seat. Into your hole!”

Al sighed. A hole in the floor seemed to melt open, revealing the ship’s inner workings underneath. Al lay down inside, muttering something about “your face is your hole.”

“Alright,” Salem said as he and Keshin strapped themselves into their chairs, “call him. Let’s see what he wants. Al, keep your distance from that ship.”

For a few moments, nobody spoke, until a woman’s voice answered from the other ship, echoing throughout theirs. “Can I help you?” she asked conversationally.

Salem’s eyebrows shot up. He looked over at Keshin-- she wore an expression of surprise. “That’s Myitt!” she exclaimed quietly.

Myitt. Another Yeerk name.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “I thought you were Temrash. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all,” said ‘Myitt’ in a friendly voice.

Salem glanced over at Keshin and shrugged. Maybe Temrash wasn’t the owner of that ship. It could be that it belonged to this woman, and Temrash had just been borrowing it.

“There can’t be two ships like that,” he began. “Al, Keep an eye on them. If they...”

He was interrupted by a burst of Dracon fire from the other ship. It shook them violently, sending the artifacts of a thousand worlds bouncing across the floor. The ship was thrown downwards and sideways, plowing into the top of a nearby tree and bending it nearly to the breaking point before bouncing back. Al immediately began accelerating away from the Yeerk vessel.

The ship’s display instantly changed to display accrued damage as red splotches and streaks. A bright red spot on the front wall showed where the Dracon had just hit. A jagged, bright white line ran from it nearly a quarter of the way around the ship horizontally.

****.

“Sneaky ****,” muttered Salem. The ship’s weapons display flickered on in the air in front of him, and he began streaking his hands through it, issuing commands to the ship. Their two sets of shields flickered on around them. He fired three quick shots at the approaching craft.

For a second, Salem sat, confused. It must just be his worsening headache causing him to see things. It almost looked as though the first of the three shots had impacted the hull, tearing a streak clean through, and that only the second and third had been stopped by the shields.

But no, he wasn’t mistaken... the Yeerk ship bucked and fell towards the trees...

“Woo!” yelled Al, zig-zagging around the tops of the tallest trees in the forest. “This robot can dance!”

Behind them, the Yeerk ship managed to pull up, scraping the tops of the trees, and turned to chase after them.

“Look,” yelled Keshin, “I think Temrash is hell-bent on murdering both of you just to knock off one turelek. You can’t stay at the bar too long if you’re still trying to help! You’ll get yourselves killed!”

Salem shook his head, “Yeerk ships have almost no armor. We’ll be okay.”

“Salem, he’s worried about us,” said Al, his voice sounding from the walls of the craft. “Maybe we should be too.”

“No sense in busting them out just to get them caught,” snapped Salem. “I’m not worried about Temrash,” he lied.

“Crazies coming around again!” yelled Al. Indeed, Salem could see, Temrash’s ship was catching up fast.

“What’d I ever do to you!?” he shouted at the projection on the wall. “Al, hail them again!”

After a moment, Myitt’s voice crackled in through the walls of the ship again, “Now now, there’s no need to make this any more difficult than it needs to be,” she said, sounding raspy. She coughed. “We want the bounty hunter. Is he worth all this fuss?”

Salem swallowed and looked at Keshin. He’d have to bluff. “I haven’t been called a bounty hunter in years,” he said, his eyes locked on Joanne’s. “Can’t we talk this out over a drink?”

“I know that Keshin is aboard your ship,” snapped Myitt.

Salem laughed, “Keshin? Keshin the bounty hunter from the bar? She was here briefly. She got away before I had a chance to talk to her. Is there a reward for her capture?” He cut the audio and turned to Keshin, “She might not buy any of this, but it should get us a few seconds to figure out what to do.”

“Why don’t you cut the crap,” snapped the woman. “Give him up, because I absolutely will catch you.”

Salem looked around him. How the hell were they getting out of this one? She said she knew Keshin was here... but she couldn’t, right? Was Myitt bluffing when it came to calling his bluff, or did she actually know? A plan was beginning to form in his mind.

“Listen, crazy lady,” he began diplomatically, “I'll prove to you that Keshin's not here anymore. If you're willing to stop shooting at me long enough, I'll land and let you check out the ship.” Cutting the audio, he turned to Keshin, “Guys, I wanna get close to the ground. The ship yard, so it looks like we've got nothing to hide. As soon as the hatch opens, Al, you and Keshin make a break for it, using your hologram for cover. I'll stay here and deal with Miss Overzealous.”

“Oh, great, another plan from Salem. Those always go so well,” muttered Al sarcastically.

Salem opened his mouth angrily to respond, but was interrupted by Myitt. “Alright,” she snapped irritably. "You and I, we land our ships nice and easy, and you let the three of us inspect your ship. That's all we want."

“Meet you planetside,” Salem responded brightly.

“Salem, Al’s right,” said Keshin. “If this goes half as well as your last plan the Council of Thirteen will suddenly be out to get me because I accidentally shot the Emperor.” She coughed. Once, then again, and she was caught up in a violent coughing fit. Deep, awful-sounding coughs. She clutched her chest and her throat. It seemed she was doing worse than Salem had realized.

“I am open to suggestions here, guys,” he said to Al and Keshin as the ship settled into the shipyard. “As of right now, the best I’ve got is that, when that hatch opens, you both run for it. You don’t have to get far, but I sure as hell don’t want you on the ship when they get here.”

“Too late,” supplied Al darkly. Salem looked out to see the Yeerk ship already on the ground with the hatch open. Three figures strode from the ship towards his own.

Salem cursed. Did they still have time to run? Could they get away from this bar alive? More importantly, if they did leave, would they ever be able to get Keshin back to her ship?

Probably not. On all counts.

There... the personal hologram generator Al had given to Keshin. Somehow, in all the excitement, it had ended up on the floor right in front of his chair.

“Hey, guys, I just had a thought,” he said.

“I’ll alert the authorities,” said Al dryly.

Salem ignored him and stood up. He picked up the device, “The best thing to do might be to hide in plain sight. I think they might just expect myself and Al.” He held the generator out to Keshin.

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she stepped forward and held out her hand. Al had explained to her, apparently, how to use the generator, because a moment later, she flickered, and became Al in appearance, right down to the tuxedo.

Keshin’s face... or rather, Al’s face... adopted a look of shock, briefly, before changing to a pretty decent approximation of Al’s usual smirk. “Nice duds,” she said, checking out what appeared to be her new body. Salem grinned. This could work, as long as she didn’t speak with her own voice like that.

Al let out a wolf whistle, “Hey, good-lookin’.”

Salem rolled his eyes. “Just let me do the talking.”

The ship’s ramp slid open and settled into the dirt. Salem walked out and sat down, dangling his legs off the side. He pressed his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will his headache away.

“Been a rough night?” came Myitt’s voice from nearby. Salem looked around to see the woman with the wavy brown hair he’d seen inside the bar standing at the bottom of the ramp. The expression she wore fell somewhere between amusement and annoyance.

She was flanked by two other women. One was the Andalite that had finally managed to get through to the War-Prince-- the one he’d called ‘Aliciana.’ Her tailblade was poised and ready, and she held a Yeerk Dracon beam in her hand. The other was a woman with curly blonde hair that Salem didn’t recognize. She, also, held a Dracon. Only Myitt’s was holstered. All three of them looked uneasy at how calm Salem appeared.

Good.

“Definitely,” Salem answered, brushing off his suit and standing up. “I've got Hork-Bajir chasing me through the woods, bounty hunters escaping my holds, strangers shooting at me out of the blue. And earlier, an Andalite jumped in front of my ship. Poor things just freeze up when they're caught in the headlights.”

A look of anger crossed Myitt’s face, and her hand moved towards her Dracon. Aliciana’s grip tightened on her Dracon, and her tail twitched. The third woman kept her expression neutral. She was very much an unknown here. Salem would have to keep an eye on her.

“Come on in!” he said brightly, walking into the ship. It was bizarre, seeing what appeared to be Al standing there and not talking.

“I don't want to come on board your ship.” growled Myitt. “I want you to bring out that dapsen who killed my friend and threatened my brother's life. I am done playing games. Bring him out. Now.

“I can’t give you something I don’t have,” said Salem, trying to sound as though he were explaining something to a child. “I'll invite you aboard to see for yourself, but don't think it's an invitation to threaten me, Yeerk.”

Myitt glared at him for a moment. “Don’t lecture me, kid. Keshin and I have a very long history, and if you're harboring him out of good will, you hardly have an accurate perspective of our situation.” With a sigh, she trudged up the ramp to sneer in his face.

Holy crap. She didn’t look to be much older than he was now, but she was intimidating when she wanted to be. Salem found his heart pounding, the familiar, fantastic rush starting.

Myitt was followed closely by Aliciana. Salem kept a wary eye on her tailblade. <You fool no one,> she snapped. <We know you’re hiding him here, and it would do you best to give it up.> In spite of himself, Salem’s heart leapt. How much did they know?

The third woman also walked up the ramp and peered inside the ship. Salem still didn’t know what to make of her. Something about the way she kept her face expressionless, the way she never spoke, the way she occasionally cast glances over her shoulder, made Salem suspect that she knew something he didn’t. She sent a chill down his spine.

At some unspoken signal, she entered the ship first. She held her Dracon drawn and moved slowly, cautiously, as though expecting an attack. She was followed closely by Myitt, who drew her own weapon as she entered. Aliciana stayed at the entrance, within tail’s reach of Salem.

“Who are you?” Myitt snapped at Keshin.

“This is Al,” Salem explained hastily. “He said he was going to run an analysis of his programming. If he's doing that, he might not be able to speak at the moment.”

“Programming?” repeated Myitt. "A sentient android? How curious. Your version of Earth must be quite advanced, indeed.” She poked Keshin’s arm. “Hmm...” Apparently satisfied, she turned away. She reached into her jacket pocket. A glowing green holoscreen appeared in front of her face, which she began tapping at, wandering around the small, one-room ship.

Salem watched, nervously, as she made her way away from Keshin... then turned around and wandered back. “Interesting,” Myitt muttered. “Perhaps you can tell me why this android creature is reading a bio-signature...not for one sentient organism, but two.” She smirked at Salem, "One Yeerk, one Human.”

Aliciana and the other woman both turned their weapons towards the faux-Al, but Keshin was faster. She leapt forward, grabbing for Myitt’s Dracon beam, and wrapped her arm around Myitt’s neck. Al’s hologram generator clattered to the deck, and Keshin’s appearance reverted from Al’s to her own. After a brief struggle, Keshin held Myitt in a headlock, pointing the Yeerk’s own weapon at her head.

Salem froze. What the hell was he getting himself into with this woman?

“Nobody move or Myitt perishes,” growled Keshin, glaring at the other two. “Let us back onto our own ship and out of this bar, and we will let Myitt go.”

“...Don’t...” gasped Myitt, before Keshin tightened her hold. Myitt clawed desperately at Keshin’s arm, to no avail. Aliciana and the other woman both lowered their weapons wordlessly.

“I will comply with your request,” said the blonde woman, calmly, setting her Dracon on the floor. “There is no need to choke her.” Keshin seemed to agree, and loosened her grip slightly.

Myitt gasped for breath for a few moments before hissing “Get off me, dapsen filth!”

<Myitt! be careful!> shouted a thought-speak voice from nearby. <That’s the ship Keshin boarded!> Salem turned to see the War-Prince Ossanlin burst from the woods nearby. <And the one that impacted me!> Catching sight of Myitt and Keshin inside the ship, he skidded to a halt, glaring at Salem with his main eyes. He was followed closely by one of the women with the long blonde hair, and a good-looking man with shaggy dark hair, both jogging towards the ship with Dracons drawn. Ossanlin drew his two Shredders, leveling one at Salem and the other at Keshin.

****! Just what they didn’t need. Backup. Salem, once again, found himself able to do nothing but watch as the situation spiralled out of his control.

“What the hell is going on!?” demanded the woman with the long blonde hair.

<You don’t have a whole lot of options here, Keshin,> stated the War-Prince. <If you kill Myitt, you’ll die. If you keep holding her hostage, you’ll die. I have very good aim. If you let her go, you have the option of surviving.>

“I have no doubt whatsoever... that a War-Prince like you has excellent aim with a Shredder,” sneered Keshin, gasping for breath. “But... I have my finger on the trigger and Myitt's gun is pointed at her head. Are you willing to take the risk that you can kill me before I kill Myitt and Tara? Which of us is quicker on the draw, Andalite?

“Joanne and I face death every day of our lives,” she continued, glaring at Ossanlin. “I haven't been really scared of my own death for three or four years now. Even if I surrendered, there's only one place you could get what you need to save me: my ship, War-Prince. Let me go there or I will die, no matter what you do. Could you...agh...” She winced and coughed, and Salem found himself wondering how much longer she could keep this up.

She looked back up at the War-Prince with a smirk, “...hold yourself accountable for another murder by taking me in?”

“Keshin!” the man with the dark hair called in a northern English accent. “Think this one through. We’ve still got the medicine for you on the way!”

You chose to attack me, Corliss!” Keshin shot back. “I try to kill a girl no one really cares about...” she gasped, “and suddenly this whole place wants me dead?”

“She’s someone I care about!” said ‘Corliss,’ glancing at the girl with the long blonde hair, who glared at Keshin with a look that fell somewhere between fear and disgust.

“Hadrin... wasn’t even on my list...” continued Keshin, unheeding. “He was trying to stop me... so I shot back...”

“Frankly,” yelled Corliss disgustedly, “I’m not surprised Hadrin was trying to kill you!”

“Corliss,” called Myitt hoarsly, “You might want to... you know... stop provoking him!”

“Listen to me, everyone,” called Corliss desperately “I reckon we can all be reasonable here. Just let the bounty hunter get what he needs and get the hell out of here. Myitt, we can deal with him another day.” Salem thought he heard Myitt mutter something along the lines of “I hope we can...”

Keshin seemed to think that over, and nodded. “Okay, Corliss, we’ll play,” she said. She released Myitt, who fell to her knees on the deck. The woman with the curly blonde hair rushed forward to help her up.

“Thanks, Tora,” choked out Myitt as they both scrambled to move away from Keshin.

<That was a wise decision, Keshin,> said Ossanlin coldly, not lowing his Shredders. Beside him, the woman with the long blonde hair had gone from looking disgusted to looking furious.

Corliss stormed up the ramp, past Salem, Dracon aimed point blank at Keshin. “Get out of here,” he snapped at her. “Now.”

“We’re keeping the Dracon,” stated Keshin, moving cautiously towards the door. “We won’t shoot you if none of you shoot us.” She smirked, “After all, what are frenemies for?” She made her way carefully to the ship’s ramp. As she passed Salem, she shot him a small, shaky smile, “Thanks for everything, Salem.” She turned back to Myitt with a smirk. “Happy trails!” she said with a mocking salute. She turned to move down the ramp, looking almost jaunty, in spite of the way she stumbled in exhaustion.

Turelek!” came a shout from the woman with the long blonde hair. She moved swiftly around Ossanlin. “I trusted you!”

Salem watched, as though in slow motion, as her Dracon raised. He saw the look of fury in her face, Ossanlin’s look of surprise, Aliciana’s look of mild amusement...

“Terenia, no!” shouted Corliss, but it was no use. A beam of red light struck Keshin’s chest dead-center.
[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Shenmue654 on August 07, 2013, 11:52:21 AM
Interesting. This one heavily involves us, and...it's also some of the best work we do in the entire RP, it looks like. Also....I suddenly really wish Keshin and Joanne could come back to the GESB. We managed to cause enough random havoc for three people back then. XD Salem having a thing for Joanne may reflect in part the three writers, and the characters' knack for similar kinds of problems. ;)

Also, who knew Myitt was such a total badass?! XD
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on August 14, 2013, 11:11:26 AM
Yeah, Keshin has always been a seed of chaos at the Bar, and it's awesome. Which, yes, may explain part of Salem's 'thing' for her. I'm surprised with how well the rebels are tolerating her on the Tyrennian now :P And yeah, that chapter's chock full of Myitt kicking ass ^_^

Anyway, now for the chapter in which we discover that Emelen's probably a wizard :P

[spoiler=Chapter 14]Winston

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Winston, kicking aside a spongy chunk of dead purple fungus. His voice sounded echoey and distant behind his breathing mask.

“All I’m saying is that you probably should have gotten a little bit more contact information before letting him fly away,” retorted Al with a smirk. Al, of course, lacked a breathing mask of his own. He didn’t even open his eyes-- in fact, Winston thought, he looked far too comfortable for his own good, reclining there on the blue-white, furry ground.

“All I’m saying is, if you’re going to tell someone just to ask for you, you should make sure whoever’s taking the calls knows who you are,” shot back Winston. With a sigh, he sat, cross-legged, on the ground beside Al. The ground shifted slightly under him, as though there was a layer of sand or water just beneath the surface. With his finger, he absently traced patterns in the fuzz that covered everything as far as the eye could see.

“Oh, right,” laughed Al sarcastically. “So just because they’re Andalites they should all know each other. That doesn’t sound racist at all.”

Winston punched Al in the shoulder and then reclined beside him, putting his hands behind his head. The ground was soft and comfortable and strangely warm-- the fungus that covered this entire region seemed to be toxic to much of the native life from elsewhere on this moon, but he found it strangely pleasant. As did the creatures that did manage to thrive here, apparently. He’d fallen asleep briefly, earlier, only to jerk awake to find a family of greyish-orange, two-legged rodent-like animals trying to squirm into the space between his body and the ground.

He sighed, “I knew meeting that Andalite was too good to be true.”

“No worries, dude,” said Al gently. “We’re bound to hit on something nice soon.”

Winston nodded, but didn’t say anything, instead staring into the sky above. The atmosphere on this little moon was thin enough that the stars overhead remained relatively unobscured, even during the day. It was the nearest spot they’d found to set down after Winston’s remarkably embarrassing conversation with the Andalite communications bureau.

A number of shafts jutted up out of the ground at seemingly random intervals-- huge, spear-like structures, some of them standing more than a half a kilometer in height, big enough around that Winston and Al would need ten other people just to link arms around them. The base of each shaft seemed to grow smoothly from the very ground itself, the blue-white fungus of the ground continuing right up the side of each one. Some extended as a single shaft, but most branched into a series of smaller spires as they rose higher and higher.

The color of the fungus growing up along the spires changed depending on elevation. Here, on the ground, it was light blue, but the blue darkened and turned purple as the spires rose. The tallest of the spires were nearly black at the tips.
From the tips of most of the spires, there poured water mist. Some only spewed mist periodically, but most of the shafts-- and in particular the tallest among them-- constantly put forth huge clouds of water vapor that slowly sank down along the sides of the shafts, dissipating as they dropped.

The working theory Winston and Al had for the phenomenon involved the fact that this was the most geologically active area of this little moon. The fungus itself appeared to be a single organism, covering almost two hundred square kilometers of land centered right over the geological activity. The shafts seemed to be half fungus, half mineral, and as near as they could figure, each one had grown up around a geyser. The scalding water was funneled up from underground towards the top, cooling and being absorbed into the fungus as it went, until what was left escaped from the very tops of the spires. The water that was absorbed, as far as they could tell, was then distributed to the rest of the fungus, which continued to grow, slowly accumulating over the eons until the ground was covered with a layer of the stuff more than thirty meters thick.

For the most part, the surface itself was devoid of animal life, with the exception of the rodents that had accosted Winston, and the nearby herd of little lumbering grey creatures with no front legs and bulging yellow eyes atop comb-like heads, nearly as wide as their bodies were long, that used their thick back legs to push their way through the fungus with their huge mouths pressed to the ground, leaving oozing gashes across the landscape behind them. Their weird, short, trunk-like noses constantly waved back and forth in front of them, tapping the ground like a blind man’s cane, smelling, perhaps, for particular nutrients or sub-fungal life. Their splayed legs straddled the gashes made by their mouth, and often kicked their own holes in the organic ground thanks to the force with which they pushed. The result was a series of long, straight lines flanked by round spots on either side. The fungus behind them sealed itself quickly, the thick, clear liquid leaking from the wounds growing over with a yellowish film that, judging by the old tracks they’d found earlier, turned a sickly green color before eventually returning to the fungus’s original fuzzy blue.

Most of the animal life in this region that they could see, however, swarmed around the tops of the spires. Whatever nutrients and minerals were contained within the mist billowing down the side of each spire fed entire swarms of little, gnat-like creatures. Red-orange bat-like animals with absurdly oversized leathery wings darted to and fro through the swarms of insects, feeding continuously, and when they weren’t flying, they were clinging with the claws growing from their wings to the outsides of the spires. One or two of the spires were thick enough with the hanging creatures that they looked orange themselves.

Then there were the two buzzing almost-insectine animals they’d seen over the course of the day. Unlike the bat-creatures, which seemed to have no usable limbs aside from their wings, these yellow-orange monstrosities possessed four spidery legs in addition to their two giant insectine wings. They kept these four long, spindly legs folded against their bodies, except when hunting, at which point the legs would reach out with startling speed and precision and snatch their prey from the air. The first of these animals had been a shock, diving out of the mist with its wings folded back and three of the smaller bat-like creatures struggling in its claws, which it shoveled greedily into its long, sharp-toothed snout as it flew haphazardly away, buzzing its huge wings in spurts to keep itself aloft. This ecosystem hadn’t seemed hospitable enough to support larger life-forms, and they’d theorized that these creatures had flown in from the lush swamp that bordered this ‘fungal plain’ to the north.

Winston and Al’s impromptu bout of recreational research had been a nice break, and had lasted the better part of the day, but Winston’s feet were growing tired and his knees were aching. He was getting far too old for this. Once again, his frustration with the useless Andalite who’d left him nothing but a name had crept to the forefront of his mind.

“Earth’s out, right?” asked Al.

Winston nodded, “Yeah, way too far behind Yeerk lines. I’m still working out how to get there without being spotted.”

“Been working on that one for a while, Winston,” said Al.

Winston opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it, letting out a sigh. He knew ever getting to the Earth here without being accosted and ‘infested’ by these Yeerks was a long shot.

Al was silent for a moment. “We could always try jumping,” he suggested quietly.

“No,” replied Winston instantly. “We’ve talked about that. No, no, no.”

“How much would we have to lose?”

“Everything? We have no idea how that thing works,” said Winston, stating the obvious. “We don’t know if it’ll send us somewhere uninhabited or into the middle of a black hole or how long it’ll last or how much life’s left in it.”

“So far it’s always dropped us somewhere safe,” Al pointed out.

“No,” said Winston, “so far we’ve always managed to survive in spite of where it’s dropped us.”

“Because it’s taken us somewhere we could survive,” explained Al. “I’ve been thinking about this. There’s no way we should still be alive after all we’ve been through, but no matter where it takes us, we manage to survive and we always manage to find a civilization.”

Winston sighed and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the ground. “So you think it has a plan for us?”

Al shrugged, “Who knows? I do think it knows what it’s doing.”

Winston laughed, “I think you’re crazy.”

“As if that was ever in doubt,” replied Al, and Winston could all but hear his smirk.

For a few minutes they lay in silence, watching the creatures wheeling and diving high above. Winston closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink a little deeper into the ground. He could spend the whole day sleeping here, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference in the long run, probably.

<Lovely little planetoid,> said a thought-speech voice from nearby. Winston and Al both jumped about a foot in the air and yelped. Winston sat up and looked around to find the Andalite with the patterned fur, Emelen, standing there with a breathing mask over his face, not ten feet away. His main eyes were on Winston’s, and his stalk eyes were aimed skyward, towards the life teeming above. He lacked the holographic heads-up display and the Shredder he’d had the last time they met, and a black pouch hung at his waist.

“What the hell!?” exclaimed Winston, his heart pounding.

“You, my friend, are one stealthy Andalite,” commented Al.

“Nobody should even be able to enter this freaking star system without my knowing it!” yelled Winston. “How the hell did you do that?”

Emelen smiled. <Being Sector Seven does have its advantages,> he said, as though that would explain anything.

“Did you get kicked out of Sector Nine?” asked Al, standing up and brushing himself off with a smirk.

<Not that I know of,> said Emelen with a sly eye-smile. <I am the only member, and I am still quite happy with my performance, so unless I have made decisions behind my back, I am still a part of Sector Nine.> Al laughed and Winston smirked. Great. Emelen had a sense of humor.

“I thought you said all I had to do was ask for you at the homeworld,” said Winston accusingly, pushing himself to his feet.

<Why do you think I am here?> asked Emelen, idly swishing his tail back and forth.

Winston had no response to that. “A little later than I was expecting to hear from you,” he said quietly.

<I never said when I would respond,> pointed out Emelen. <So, what was it you wanted?>

Winston sighed. Okay then. Back to business. “I managed to get my hands on some stuff I think you’d be interested in. I was wondering if you’d connect me with someone who was willing to trade.”

<I saw your list,> began Emelen.

“Then why’d you ask?” muttered Winston, half to himself.

Emelen frowned and continued, <We have seen most of what you found before. The computer you were offering was actually an old Andalite model.>

“Oh,” said Winston, turning slightly red.

<But,> said Emelen, <there was an imager on your list that I didn’t recognize. Based on your description, it’s more sensitive than any sensor we have, and in a wider EM range.>

“It’s pretty nice, and it still works,” said Winston, grinning. He knew exactly which imager Emelen was referring to. “It doesn’t look like it should, but apparently whoever made it built it pretty sturdy.”

<I would be interested in seeing the device,> said Emelen.

Winston shrugged, “Alright, we can do that. My ship’s...” he started to point, but Emelen was already walking the correct direction. Winston sighed and followed. “That way.”

“So,” said Al conversationally, jogging to catch up with Emelen and Winston, “what is it you do, exactly?”

Emelen considered Al with his stalk eyes, <Whatever I can to keep the Yeerks in check.>

“Descriptive,” muttered Winston dryly. “Not a whole lot of Yeerks in this sector, Andalite.”

<One does not have to fight on the front lines to make a difference,> said Emelen.

“Dude’s a secret agent!” said Al, leaning towards Winston and speaking in a loud stage whisper.

Winston laughed. “Emelen, what were the Andalites going to offer me in trade for the sensor if it’s everything you hope?”

<Not the Andalites,> said Emelen. <Just me. This is a personal trade.>

Winston shot Al a glance, but Al just shrugged. Neither one was remotely sure what to make of Emelen’s apparent willingness to operate outside of Andalite society.

<What I have to offer you,> said Emelen, <is an Andalite technology that is worth far, far more than your sensor.> He stopped and turned to face them with his main eyes. <You see, I’ve observed you enough that I’ve begun to realize exactly what you’re capable of, and the more I see of you, the more I come to realize that you would make a valuable ally.>

Al laughed, “Dude, we’re not fighting a war for you.”

<The dramvala would not be a dramvala without every kretchet,> said Emelen. <Every ally is a blessing, and the Andalites could use all the blessings they can get right now. Even,> he stared into Winston’s eyes, <if it means seeking the help of a Human as strange as yourself.>

Winston blinked. “I’m Maltoris Kazin. I thought we’d cleared that up.”

<You’re Human,> asserted Emelen. Winston tensed up, ready to fight or run, but Emelen seemed entirely unconcerned. <You are genetically very different from the other humans we’ve encountered, it’s true. Different enough that my ARC can’t classify you as the same species. I had a friend of mine run a detailed analysis. Your genetic code appears to be considerably shorter than the genetic codes of the Humans we know, and heavily modified at that, but for all that, it is still, very clearly, Human DNA.>

That... was shocking. The Humans here... looked like him, apparently, which was why Emelen had tracked them down in the first place. But a longer genetic code... that was impossible, unless... unless they were unmodified.

Whenever a species entered the IPA, there were always holdouts, resistors to change, and the IPA had traditionally, until their latest regime change, allowed them to persist because there was no harm in that. Winston remembered Shannon’s lesson on unmodified Human colonies quite clearly, because it had seemed so ridiculous at the time. Why would anybody want a body that was inferior in every way, shorter-lived, susceptible to things like cancer and disease and chock full of an unnecessary, infinitely tangled web of genetic information accumulated by billions of years of evolution? As far as he knew, it had been hundreds of years since the last unmodified Human colony had existed.

So for unmodified Humans to define the population of the Earth, this had to be either the distant past-- which would go a long way towards explaining why Humans and Earth seemed to be so closely associated here, since Earth was the original Human homeworld, and if they hadn’t spread far yet, it would still be very central to them--  or a different reality entirely. Winston felt the world rock beneath his feet, a tingle running from the base of his spine to the top of his head. He suddenly felt dizzy... lightheaded...

Al was staring at him with an expression of concern. Emelen was looking at him expectantly. The Andalite had said something. Continued speaking. Winston hadn’t heard any of it. “What?” he asked stupidly.

Emelen frowned, but Al seemed to understand what was going on and answered, “He thinks we’re a curiosity, and maybe a helpful ally. He wants to learn more about us, basically. He was asking if we’d be willing to visit the Andalite homeworld and see what we could do to help out against these ‘Yeerk’ things.”

Winston nodded, and swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. He swallowed again and looked into Emelen’s main eyes. “You’re not much of a trader,” he said with a weak smile.

<I am not a trader at all,> said Emelen, smirking and waving his stalk eyes back and forth.

Winston rolled his eyes. “So what is this valuable technology you wanted to trade to us?”

Instead of speaking, Emelen reached a hand into the black pouch slung at his waist and pulled something out. He cradled whatever it was to his chest gently, as though it were something fragile and very valuable. At this angle, it was hidden from view by his two seven-fingered hands, so that Winston and Al had to move closer to get a look at the thing.

As they stepped up next to Emelen, the Andalte turned up his hands, holding the device in both palms. Winston was sure it was just because of the hype of Emelen’s lead-in, and the reverence with which the Andalite treated the thing, but even so, a chill ran down his spine at the sight of the smooth, blue cube.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on August 28, 2013, 12:17:33 PM
Well, this update has been a little slower than I'd like. Glad I'm not being held to any strict deadlines here :P

[spoiler=Chapter 15]Pallas

Threecra skidded to a halt and ducked into the bushes, holding her breath. She could hear the gentle breeze, rustling the trees around her, and a slow, rhythmic boom, boom, boom resonating from the nearby compound, and, of course, the loud, muffled snoring of the two drugged Cosmain officers in the security building behind her, but nothing else. She hadn’t been spotted.

She peeked up, over the top of the bushes, trying to see the gate, but the glare of the rising sun off of the compound’s gleaming silver walls was too much, and she held up a hand to shield her eyes.

“I do not feel comfortable trying this during the day,” she said, pulling her sneaking suit from her backpack and beginning to strip off her civilian clothes.

“It wouldn’t be possible at night,” came Pallas’s voice inside her skull.

“I know,” she shot back, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She tugged on her sneaking suit, pulling it over her head. With the hood on and the goggles protecting her eyes, she again looked towards the compound.

The ground between the sleek, silver, high wall and the forest in which she now hid had been cleared of all vegetation for more than a quarter kilometer on all sides. It would be nearly impossible to get anywhere near the compound without being spotted. Inside the octagonal compound itself, looming over the high silver walls, she could make out the shapes of two guard towers, thick with spikes and bristling with weapons that would be able to pick off anyone in the open field surrounding the compound.

She snorted. Of course. Of all the simulations they’d run, all the training they’d had, that which most resembled her first real mission was the simulation she and the rest of the crew had finally gotten so sick of that they’d insisted Ven Dora stop running it. The sprawling, gleaming walls in front of her certainly resembled the walls of that other fictitious compound.

“How you two feeling?” asked Iza. He’d be somewhere inside the compound already, Threecra knew.

“Alright,” answered Pallas. “I’m still trying to comprehend that this isn’t another simulation.”

“I, for one, am ready and stoked,” said Threecra.

Iza laughed, “Pallas, maybe you should just pretend this is a simulation. You’ve done well in simulations. Now’s not the time to change it up. Threecra?”

“Yes?” she answered, feigning sweetness. She was expecting yet another lecture on keeping her temper in check or thinking before she acted, and she was not in the mood for that. Not now that she was finally doing something to further their cause.

But Iza surprised her with, “Kick some ass.”

“Amen to that, Scruffy!” said Chen Chen, and Threecra felt something very much like pride rise in her chest. It was a good thing she was masked with no one around, because she was pretty sure she was blushing.

“A little quiet, please,” said Lerais, sounding apprehensive.

“I’m ready,” said Peter, sounding as tense as Threecra had ever heard him.

There was a moment in which nothing could be heard over the airwaves except for Lerais’s slow, steadying breaths. “Ready,” she said.

For the next few moments, the silence was pierced by instances of Peter shouting “Now!” Threecra tensed with each one, hoping the next sound wouldn’t be a yell of pain from Lerais. She counted the ‘nows’ in her head. “Now!” four... “Now!” five... “Now!” six... When she finally reached eleven, she breathed a sigh of relief. Lerais had made it okay.

“You,” said Iza proudly. “Are amazing. If we’d had you during the war...”

“They’re blind! Go!” interrupted Lerais. Threecra broke from the bushes and ran for the compound, heading towards the towering hemicircular gate in front of her. She could clearly see two other black shapes making their way towards it-- Pallas to her left, Selliss to her right. She knew that Pin was making the same mad dash on the other side of the compound-- they had an opening of only a few moments to hit all four gates at once, and their timing had to be perfect.

She skidded to a stop, pulling her miniature vibrite prybar from her belt. She used it to wrench the casing off the outside of the control panel near the door, the rapidly-vibrating material tearing through the metal housing easily.

“****,” she said.

“****,” echoed Pin. The innards of the control panel were filled with criss-crossing wires, rather than the plasma streams they’d been expecting.

“That explains why it looked like an old model using heuroplasma to our sensors,” Pallas said. “Electrical, I think.”

“Twenty seconds,” warned Peter.

“****! Guys?” said Pin nervously.

“We could just blast ‘em,” said Selliss, her slow monotone considerably faster than normal. “Active locks. Interrupt the signals, doors open. Hopefully.”

“Ten seconds!”

“****! Do it! On my mark!” yelled Pin.

Threecra wrestled her bulky antigravity pistol from its holster and aimed it at the panel, taking a step back. She remembered at the last second to crank the power setting to full.

“Ready? Mark!” shouted Pin, and Threecra pulled the trigger. There was no visible beam, but a deafening crrrrrraaaaaack! split the air in front of her. It took only a split-second burst to not only blow the control panel into chunks, but to leave a sizeable divot in the wall behind it.

Threecra jumped when the gate beside her began to creak, loudly, inching downwards into the ground.

“Yes!” yelled Pallas.

There was an audible sigh of relief over the radio from at least half the team, coupled with Peter’s chatter as he recovered from the pressure of the last few minutes. “Why does that always work?” he wondered. “I know it works, like, ninety-eight percent of the time in the movies, but I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t. You’d think they’d come up with a design where…” Threecra mentally tuned him out and pressed herself as well as she could up against the wall, covering the crater she’d blown in it with her body. She had to make sure to keep herself under the overhang formed by the wall here.

“I am not letting Peter do the research next time,” said Pin dryly, cutting off Peter’s continued rambling.

Peter laughed, “I’m liking this idea. I keep saying, I should just be in charge of snacks and entertainment.”

“Alright, kids, everybody keep your heads down,” said Chen Chen. “Enough sneaking around. This base is getting its throat punched in.”

For a few seconds, there was no sound, but after a moment, there was a BOOOOOMMMM! from inside the compound that shook the ground beneath Threecra’s feet, followed a second later by the sound of frantic weapons-fire. Chen Chen’s “Yee-haw!” was barely audible over the series of explosions that followed. Seconds later, Chen Chen’s little gunship blew backwards over Threecra’s head, over the slowly-opening gateway, firing madly into the compound. Chen Chen strafed right, staying low and hugging the wall and moving towards the north gate to fly in for another pass.

For a few seconds, the noise of the engines and the swirling dust-storm they kicked up drowned out all else, but after a moment, Threecra became aware of the team yelling over the comm. “...one main gun!” Iza was shouting. “Stay away from the east gate!”

The sound of continued explosions and gunfire from inside nearly drowned out Lerais’s reply, but Threecra could make out “...explosives didn’t go off! Someone needs to...” Threecra winced-- she could feel the heat pouring from the opening already.

“Team 2, ready!” came Pin’s voice. Threecra crouched low, glancing up to see the top of the gate now only a couple of meters above her head. She quickly checked her weapon one last time, wielding it lightly in her right hand, and shook out her other. Just another simulation. Just pretend it’s another simulation.

As the gate dropped below eye level, she could see the destruction wrought by the gunship over the course of a few short moments. A number of low-slung, gleaming silver office-like buildings were still standing, but two of the smaller ones to her left were left with gaping holes in the sides, the offices and labs within crumbling to the ground below. Guard towers had tumbled down as if they were houses of cards, and a number of flaming, glowing piles of molten metal lay in the dirt. Of the base’s eighteen anti-spacecraft Trenguns, seven were in flames, including the one just to her left, and most of the rest seemed to have malfunctioned. The only one still working was just above and to her right, swiveling ponderously to aim towards the north gate, towards Chen Chen’s agile gunship that was, even now, firing volley after volley of high-yield rocket at some of the few remaining guard towers, which tumbled to the ground with a deafening roar. Nine gunships of the same model as Chen Chen’s lay in pieces, smouldering, in the shipyard at the center of the compound, as did one larger old-model IPA freighter.

And then there were the people. Not many people-- they’d been careful to get the base as empty as possible. Certainly, there could have been more, but there still had to be dozens... far too many. Most of the people she could see were already corpses, the still-smoking remains of a dozen species, many of them in pieces. A group of bodies littered the ground to her left, in front of one of the smoking silver buildings. A small group of visiting military personnel had taken cover behind a squat bunker across the compound, and were taking pot-shots at Chen Chen’s gunship whenever they could. A pair of soldiers helped a pair of the facility’s underground workers from an overturned, burning hovercar. Once they were free, the soldiers half-carried the more injured of the two workers towards one of the still-intact offices. Glancing left, Threecra could see people flinging themselves from the burning office buildings, doing whatever they could to escape the fire there. Threecra felt sick. Those above the first few floors would not survive that fall...

“Go!” yelled Pin. Threecra hurdled gate as it lowered into the ground, still waist-high, and took off at a full run towards the squat silver structure at the center of the landing pad, the one that would lead down into the main compound, and, if Peter’s plan had worked, complete darkness and a lot of unconscious people.

FWWWOOOOOSSSSSHHHHH! A bolt of white-hot plasma lanced forth from the huge Trengun to her right, and the heat of it made Threecra instinctively cover her head. The bolt clipped Chen Chen’s stubby silver wing without slowing down, knocking a spinning piece of the gunship away and plowing into the compound’s wall behind it, which exploded and rained huge chunks down on the smaller silver structures beneath it. Chen Chen returned fire, a volley of the glowing, lightning-fast rockets, which impacted against the armored surface of the Trengun with no perceivable effect, other than forcing Threecra to change the path of her run to take her farther from the flames and heat and light and deafening noise exploding above her.

“Threecra!” yelled Chen Chen, guiding the now-smoking gunship out the gate from which she’d come, and narrowly avoiding a second shot from the Trengun, which rained more chunks of wall onto the structures below. “Change of plan! If you can get inside and take that thing out, do it!”

Threecra skidded to a halt and turned to look up at the looming silver mushroom-shaped gun, capable of punching ships out of orbit and withstanding the same fire. Its huge barrel, which would normally be aimed skyward, seemed ridiculously long when swiveling within the compound. The Trengun would be guarded and shielded, on top of the fact that the entrance was nearly ten meters up, and moving back and forth as the gun swiveled to track Chen Chen.

She could do this.

“Got it!” she yelled, projecting more confidence than she felt. “Team 2, you gonna be alright?”

“Just go!” yelled Pin, and Threecra could hear the sound of distant gunfire as a ground firefight opened up. “The sooner you do it, the sooner Chen Chen can go back to distracting them!”

Threecra steeled herself and ran for the ladder. She leapt for it, catching it several rungs up, and hauled herself upward as quickly as she could. Without the gunship raining hellfire, the remaining security forces were becoming more organized, and she could hear, distantly, orders being shouted. A number of uniformed workers had taken advantage of the gunship’s absence to run towards the bunkers, searching for better cover.

Threecra clung to the ladder as a residual explosion from the nearby guard tower sent a shockwave her way, shaking the very ground and threatening to knock her loose. She was vaguely aware of continued chatter from her own team.

“They’re flanking! They’re flanking! Pallas! Right!”

“Selliss! Down!”

“Suppressing fire! Here! Iza, north, behind the wall!”

Finally, shakily, Threecra stepped onto the circular platform that surrounded the gun and ran to her left, trying to catch up with the doorway that would lead into the gun’s interior as it swiveled away from her. It was unnerving, the way the rotating wall of the gun curved up and out, over her head. She slowed to a walk, just keeping up with the doorway. It was protected by a flickering, transparent red surface- a force field. Beyond, at the end of a hallway, she could see the chamber where normally there’d sit a guard. From here, it looked empty. Threecra wasn’t about to touch that force field, and looked around frantically for a way in. Just to the left of the door was a control panel.

Well, it had worked once before. She aimed her gun at the control panel and pulled the trigger.

It wasn’t like the panel embedded in the reinforced wall of the compound-- it appeared that the doorway of the Trengun was quite weak. The material exploded, sending fragments of metal accelerating away from the invisible beam of her weapon with a deafening crrraaaaaack! Luckily, most of the shrapnel was directed in the plane perpendicular to Threecra’s beam, but even so, she had to duck. She yelled out at a sudden burning pain in her shoulder, and looking down, she could see a jagged bit of metal, no more than a few centimeters long, protruding from just above her armpit.

She touched it gingerly and yelled again, in pain and frustration. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed it tightly and pulled-- the thing seemed to take forever to slide out of her shoulder, but once it was out, she could see that only about half of it was red with blood. She looked at her shoulder and flexed it. She’d have Roman look at it later, but for now, her suit would seal over the wound and keep her safe from infection.

She made her way through the now-larger, force field free doorway, down the short hallway that led to the room at the center of the gun, and looked around for either a threat or something that would tell her how to stop this thing. The room in which she stood was small and circular, the walls gleaming silver. There was, indeed, no one here-- she made sure to check behind the black security desk that ran along the far wall. The entire room continued to spin as the gun rotated, but she couldn’t see it anymore so much as feel it. It was a nauseating sensation.

Things were so much quieter in here, and the fight taking place outside had now been reduced to only the noises of her team, repeatedly yelling orders. They were all still alive, somehow, but it sounded like the situation was quickly getting desperate.

Aside from the hallway down which she’d come, the only ways out of the room were a pair of stairwells leading upward. Threecra made a snap decision and picked the one on her left.

She bounded up the dimly lit stairwell, taking the steps two at a time and trying not to think too hard about just how loudly her footsteps were echoing through the metallic space. She didn’t have time for stealth.

At the top of the stairwell was a door, painted white. It was open a crack, and she could hear voices coming from the other side, yelling instructions to the troops on the ground. Two, it sounded like-- one Zong and one Radon. Plus whoever might be inside that wasn’t speaking. She spoke softly to her own equipment, ordering one of the EM patches embedded in her suit to activate. It would burn bright and hot for a short period of time, preventing proper operation of most military hardware, including, she hoped, whatever was being wielded by those inside.

Threecra took a deep breath, dialed back the setting on her weapon, and kicked open the door. She’d aimed and fired at the Radon before he’d even turned- he yelled out and slumped at his panel, convulsing and gasping for breath. The circular room was dominated by a dome-shaped display screen that made up the walls and ceiling, showing a black-and-white, stick-and-line version of what was happening outside in real time. The display was annotated in color. Aside from the Radon, the only other body in the room was, in fact, a Zong.

The Zong reacted quickly, drawing her weapon and pulling the trigger. The weapon didn’t fire, of course, thanks to Threecra’s EM patch, but Threecra ducked instinctively. It was a good thing she did. She felt the one of the Zong’s razor tails breeze above her head. As the Zong swung a second time, Threecra barely managed to duck back into the stairwell with her head on her shoulders. She could feel a burning sensation on her cheek as her suit sealed a fresh wound there.

Threecra cursed and reached to her belt, drawing out a grey cylinder about the size of her closed fist. She whipped it into the room and covered her ears. A moment later, a flash of light illuminated the doorway in conjunction with the BOOOOOMMMMM! that rattled the structure.

Threecra ducked back through the doorway-- the Zong flailed wildly in her momentary blindness and deafness. Her partner, the Radon, had fallen to the floor, and lay in a fetal position with his head in his hands.

Threecra aimed for the Zong’s chest and fired with a sound like a firecracker going off. The Zong jerked, but didn’t fall.

Of course, Threecra realized-- Zong anatomy was far sturdier than Radon anatomy. She fired three more shots in rapid succession, until finally the Zong slumped, unconscious, against the far wall, with only the slightest twitching of her tails. A beeping sound in Threecra’s head signalled that her EM patch had just run out.

Threecra glanced at her gun and cursed-- one of the dragon-scale stabilizing blades necessary for directing the beam of antigravity was cracked clean through. One more shot probably would have broken it free from the gun.

“Chen Chen, go!” she yelled, disgustedly stuffing her battered weapon back into her holster. She’d deal with that when they were back aboard the Esprit.

“Woo!” yelled Chen Chen enthusiastically. “Chen Chen and Threecra, kickin’ ass!” On the wall, Threecra could see the simplified line-drawing shape that represented the gunship lifting itself up and over the wall, and the barrage of weaponry that it immediately began raining on the compound, forcing the remaining security forces to scatter and run for cover.

“Hey, Threecra,” came Pallas’s voice, “I just had a thought. Can you control that thing?”

“Let me see,” she answered. She sat down in the chair that belonged to the Radon who had not yet moved from his fetal position. As she sat, she was careful not to kick him. He was going to feel awful enough for the next few hours-- no need to add insult to injury.

“Oh, hey, good idea, Pallas!” chimed in Lerais, sounding somewhere between bubbly and aggressive. “Recoup some of our loss on time! You’re always thinkin’!”

“Yeah, got it,” said Threecra. As she worked the controls, the entire room began to move, and the huge reticule positioned in front of her swept across the compound wall. “You want me to take out the underground shack thing, right?”

“If you can, love,” said Lerais gently. Threecra rolled her eyes. She could not believe how endearing she’d come to find Lerais. Granted, their now-traditional late-night girl-talk get-togethers had helped a lot in that regard.

Threecra continued to move the painfully-slow reticule until she had it centered over the small shack at the center of the compound. It took her a moment to figure out how to fire, but when she did, the effect was immediate. A fwwwwwoooooooommmmm resonated through the entire chamber, and the little stick-and-line drawing of the building exploded and disintegrated.

“Aha!” she said, pressing one of the buttons on the console. The display immediately changed into a real image of what was happening outside. Now she could see properly-- Chen Chen’s gunship hovered menacingly in the center of the compound, faced towards the largest concentration of remaining security personnel, who were huddled protectively behind one of the squat, bunker-like structures, pressed up against the side wall to better avoid the debris raining down, the remnants of the building Threecra had just obliterated.

“Can you cover us, Threecra?” asked Iza. She looked around-- the door still stood wide-open behind her, and the still-conscious Radon, who had crawled some distance away and now sat propped up against one of the panels with one hand to his stomach and the other to his temples, stared into space with a glassy look in his eyes.

She hesitated before turning back to the controls. “I can cover for a minute,” she said, “but if they rush this thing I’m cut off up here.”

“Nobody on the way yet,” said Lerais reassuringly. “I’ll watch out for you.”

Threecra nodded, but didn’t say anything. Sitting here, no longer being in the thick of the action, with the battle unfolding around her, her eyes were once again drawn to the bodies strewn about below.

There, on the ground. A group of people… bodies… two Vondanod, two Radon, one unidentifiable humanoid, and one Human. They weren’t dressed like military personnel or security or even workers. They were dressed like civilians. There weren’t supposed to be civilians here.

With a start, Threecra realized that the Human was moving... crawling… Her dark hair and dark skin and emerald-colored dress… she looked like a woman out for a day in the sun, and was probably only a few years older than Threecra herself. From this distance, she reminded Threecra of her sister. Threecra punched some controls and zoomed in on that portion of the display.

Her stomach did a flip. One of the woman’s legs was twisted at an unnatural angle, and this she dragged on the ground behind her. Her dress was torn and streaked with dirt and soot and blood, and what might once have been a luxurious hairdo was scorched and matted with blood. Her face, which might have been beautiful in other circumstances, was red with blood and streaked with tears. Her eyes, however, glinted with anger, and fierce determination, as she made her way as quickly as she could on her hands and knees towards the bunker behind which most of the soldiers were hiding.

“Threecra!” snapped Iza, shaking her back to the moment. He’d been yelling for her.

“Yes!” she responded, sharply.

“What happened?” yelled Iza, then plowed ahead without waiting for an answer. “Threecra, can you see Lerais? Right wall?”

Threecra zoomed in on the right wall, on the walkway that ran along the top of it, where Lerais would be now if all was going according to plan. She couldn’t actually see Lerais, but she could see the stack of plasma conduits, covered in a large white canvas, that had two pairs of security guards approaching it cautiously, one on either side. That must be where she was hiding.

Klumka!” yelled Chen Chen. “I can’t get a shot without exposing myself to the soldiers! Threecra, this one’s on you!”

Threecra swung the gun’s reticule towards the wall, its response agonizingly slow, then stopped, staring. The security guards were close to the canvas, now. With as large of a blast as the gun created, how was she supposed to hit them without also blowing up Lerais?

“****, ****, ****!” came a yell from Chen Chen. Threecra looked over to see the gunship smoking heavily, and a group of soldiers emerging from the hole in the ground that she’d opened moments before, firing repeatedly. A volley of rockets flew from Chen Chen’s gunship into the hole, exploding with a series of brilliant flashes.

“Threecra?” said Lerais, sounding somewhere between terrified and authoritative. Threecra forced her attention back to the stack of conduits.

“Hold on to something, Lerais!” she yelled, dropping the gun’s reticule to aim at the wall below Lerais. She squeezed off a shot.

A huge chunk of wall exploded outward, flinging molten debris back into the compound, some of it raining onto the largest concentration of soldiers, who scattered and covered their heads. The four security guards approaching Lerais fell to the floor, and before they’d scrambled back to their feet, Lerais had darted out from underneath the canvas and thrown herself from the edge of the wall. Threecra’s heart stopped.

Lerais’s descent slowed slightly, and she swung in towards the wall. Rope, Threecra realized. Lerais was holding onto a rope dangling from the canvas. Threecra watched as Lerais turned her momentum into a half swing, half run along the wall, not far above the ground. She let go of the rope at the bottom of her swing, retaining most of her forward momentum as she fell the last several meters. She hit the ground with her hands first, using her entire body as a spring and turning the impact into a roll. She came up on her feet. Unfortunately, the maneuver had thrown her weapon through the air, and it landed some distance away. Lerais took one look and ignored it.

“You are amazing,” said Iza proudly, as Lerais sprinted across the open field towards the nearest cover, a large chunk of wall blown off by Threecra’s shot. She dove behind it just as fire from the largest group of soldiers began pelting it with weapons-fire.

“Center! I can’t get a bead!” said Pin, and Threecra turned to see another Vondanod soldier scrambling out of the hole in the center of the compound, an anti-vehicle rocket launcher in his talons. He knelt and swung it up to face Chen Chen, who quickly backpedalled through the open gate. Threecra began moving the Trengun’s reticule towards the center of the compound.

“Hold on, Threecra. You’ll collapse the passage. Let me see if I can get a shot,” said Selliss.

“Abort,” came Ven Dora’s calm voice over the network. “We have a Reverence-class cruiser entering the system. Estimate twelve minutes until it reaches us.

“Never mind,” said Selliss. If an unsabotaged ship had entered the system, Threecra knew, the Esprit would have to either fight, hide or run, and none of those options would work until the team had returned. Fighting required more than two crew members aboard, and if the Esprit were to hide or run without the team, the extra forces brought by the cruiser would be more than enough to overwhelm the nine of them down here, so they’d be forced back into the jungle. It was either risk hiding in the jungle for an indefinite period of time, or get back to the ship inside of twelve minutes.

Threecra fired a shot at the center of the compound. She lost sight of the lone soldier that had crawled out of the already-partly-collapsed tunnel in the ensuing eruption of earth and steel.

“Come on out, Threecra, I’ll pick you up,” said Chen Chen.

“Alright,” sighed Threecra. She knew a successful first mission had been too much to hope for.

Wait, there! Movement! One of the soldiers, a Cosmain, had broken from behind the building when Chen Chen had retreated and was helping the Human woman in the emerald dress to her feet. He wrapped one arm roughly around her waist. The woman grimaced, but didn’t resist. His other hand held a gun, which he held pointed at Lerais. From that angle, he had a shot at Lerais!

Threecra swung the reticule towards the pair-- only a short distance, really, and the reticule was centered over them quickly-- but she hesitated. The woman in the dress was an innocent civilian… she’d done nothing wrong!

Threecra’s heart nearly stopped. Even as she watched, the woman’s broken leg jerked itself back into place, the flow of blood ceased. The soldier gasped and staggered, and the woman’s eyes, black as night, turned to stare at Threecra...

There was a purple flash from the muzzle of the soldier’s gun. Lerais shrieked, a sound that fell somewhere between agony and rage, and fell to the ground. Threecra tensed up on the controls at the gut-wrenching sound of Lerais’s scream, and a shot from the Trengun tore a new crater in the planet’s surface where the soldier and the woman in the emerald dress had been standing.

Threecra stared, aghast.

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn. She threw herself to the side as an ion beam exploded the instrument panel in front of where she’d been sitting. The Radon! The one she’d left conscious, sitting against the wall! He’d recovered enough to reach for his weapon, raise it, and pull the trigger!

Threecra snarled. She was beyond caring. She drew her weapon from its holster and fired. The Radon’s eyes bugged out and he choked as the wind was again forced from his lungs. Threecra fired again, and the stabilizing blade of her antigrav pistol, which had cracked earlier, finally broke free, shooting away at the speed of a bullet and embedding itself in the wall, inches from the head of the still-unconscious Zong. Threecra fired a third time. Without the stabilizing blade, the shot went from being a needle-thin beam of antigravity to being a broad pulse of antigravity. The dazed Radon was thrown back, his head knocking against the wall with a heavy thud. He slumped, unmoving, and Threecra dropped her ruined weapon to the floor.

She turned back to the display to see the gunship hovering just above the dirt next to Lerais’s body.

No. No! Not her body! She was alive! She was moving! It looked like her legs may not be working properly, but she was alive! Threecra breathed a huge sigh of relief.

As she watched, Roman, the Vondanod doctor, jumped from the gunship holding his medical bag and knelt next to Lerais. As Threecra watched him examine Lerais, she found herself wondering, not for the first time, why he seemed to be the only member of this crew she was unable to get close to. He seemed to get on just fine with everyone else, but for some reason she couldn’t understand, there just seemed to be a gulf between them.

Maybe she’d start by thanking him for saving Lerais when they got back.

“Roman! Down!” yelled Pallas, but it was too late. A group of soldiers had seen the gunship land and flanked them. The first shot threw up dirt and smoke in front of Roman, but the second vaporized his head.

Threecra watched in horror as Roman’s body fell to the ground, smoke wafting from the end of his neck where his head had been only seconds before. His four spidery legs kicked wildly, no longer under any kind of control, and his body flopped over and over in the dirt. One of his flailing legs sent Lerais sprawling with another cry of pain.

A series of explosions rocked the group of soldiers, knocking two to the ground and forcing the rest to scatter. Seconds later, Threecra spotted Selliss rushing towards the gunship, hefting her huge rifle in two of her hands. Iza followed close behind.

“Selliss! Get on! I’ve got Lerais!” yelled Iza. Selliss complied, leaping aboard the gunship and flinging her rifle to the deck at the feet of Peter, who stood and stared as though in shock. Threecra watched as Iza scooped up Lerais, and winced at the heart-wrenching groan of agony that Lerais made in response. Pallas arrived on the scene just as Selliss and Peter helped Iza and Lerais aboard.

“Alright, Pin, can you make it to the base of Threecra’s tower?” asked Chen Chen, as the gunship lifted off again, leaving Roman’s body behind, his four spider-like legs still twitching.

“On my way,” replied Pin. “Meet you down there, Threecra.”

Threecra wandered down the stairs and out the door in a daze. Fortunately, she didn’t run into anyone along the way. She was only vaguely aware of the two shots fired by Pin at security personnel who had targeted her as she climbed down the ladder. She found herself climbing aboard the little gunship beside Pin.

Lerais, she saw, was worse off than she’d thought. Through the flurry of activity of Peter and Iza tending to her, Threecra could make out that Lerais no longer seemed to have a left leg below the knee, that there seemed to be no end to the torrent of red Radon blood flowing from that wound, that her breathing was short and shallow, that she seemed to be mumbling incoherently…

Threecra stumbled to the corner and threw up on the floor.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Terenia on August 28, 2013, 08:49:50 PM
ahhh, this has me wanting to bring Terenia back to the bar and she isn't even in most of this so far!!!! God, that was a fun time in the GESB. :)

Great writing, Scott! I'm loving it!
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Myitt on August 30, 2013, 10:59:58 PM
Scott.

You the effing man.

I love this. And I want to LARP now.
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on September 11, 2013, 02:48:28 PM
Sorry for my delay here. The next chapter is again set in the Bar, and as such, it requires a lot of filtering of posts and editing to get the tone right. Almost satisfied enough with it to post.

ahhh, this has me wanting to bring Terenia back to the bar and she isn't even in most of this so far!!!! God, that was a fun time in the GESB. :)
You should! The Bar has far too few Terenias in it lately >.<

I love this. And I want to LARP now.
This really needs to happen. I want to LARP always :P

I'm glad you guys are enjoying this ^_^
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on September 12, 2013, 06:21:01 PM
Bar chapter! I may wind up redoing part of this one later, but for now, I'm fairly satisfied. Enjoy ^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 16]Salem

A scream! An endless scream of agony! Moaning of the most horrific kind. Darkness, and something, or somethings, almost-seen, writhing within. The feeling of unease, the nagging sensation that one should just turn and walk the other way, in the face of an unnatural, alien unknown.

That,” said the pale blond man, withdrawing his hand, “appears to be my actual name.”

Salem slumped in his chair, suddenly out of breath and staring at the dirty, worn wooden floor of the bar. “That,” he gasped, “is even harder to pronounce than ‘Regular Napoleon.’”

After a moment, he sucked in his breath and looked up into the man’s face. Amazing. Looking at that face, at the man’s light skin and hair, at his expressions, one would never suspect him of being anything other than human. Salem straightened his hat, quickly regaining his composure.

“What was it you said your… verbal name is?” he asked.

“To be honest,” said the man with a shrug, “I have no idea. I’ve been calling myself Mar.”

Salem nodded hastily, “Okay, let’s stick to Mar.” He smirked, trying not to let show how shaken he really was. “I think it might have been more appropriate to ask what you are.”

Mar was silent for a moment, staring at the ground, before responding, “As to that, I think I am something called a ‘Highest.’ A being that exists in more than four dimensions. Something with great power in a place far away.”

“You’re… an Immortal,” translated Salem.

Mar nodded briefly, and waved his hand dismissively, as though that wasn’t a relevant point. His gaze wasn’t on Salem, and his thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. Biting his lip, he said “The longer I stay mortal, the less I understand.”

“Why would an Immortal want to become mortal?” wondered Salem.

Mar took a drink from his tankard and gave Salem a funny look, “Highest do not change bodies, as you mortals do, but nearly any Highest can form a mortal avatar.”

“So is that what you are, then?” asked Salem. He thought he was following, so far. That was something he’d always wondered about. Immortals would need some way of interacting with ordinary, three-dimensional beings that they could comprehend.

Mar again nodded distractedly, “Ordinarily the avatar must be born to an existing mortal, and loses all memory of having once been Highest.” He grinned, locking eyes with Salem, “But I do it more frequently than almost any other entity I know.”

“So you know who you are,” supplied Salem, nodding slightly.

Ignoring him, Mar continued, his expression again growing distant, “Even so, this bar is the only place I’ve been where it’s possible to form an exact mortal copy of the Highest. While I’m busy in the bar, the rest of me is no doubt working somewhere.”

It seemed Mar’s ‘true self’ would fall more towards the upper-end of the Immortals’ power spectrum. Or… at least far higher on that spectrum than anyone Salem had ever met.

“You said the longer you’re mortal, the less you understand, so…” Salem paused, trying to phrase his question, “you’re saying that the longer you exist, the farther you get from the… Highest that… um… spawned you?” He frowned, “What does that make you? Are you you? Or are you him?”

Mar groaned, looking as though this were the last thing he wanted to talk about. “I don’t know anymore,” he said, his gaze elsewhere. “I no longer understand half of my memories, and I cannot use any power that would draw directly from my… Mass.” He said something-- some word that Salem wasn’t sure he understood, or even heard-- before the word ‘Mass,’ and Salem felt a cold hand gripping his heart. It had instantly given him the feeling that dealing with Mar would be dangerous even at the best of times.

Mar swallowed, a hint of sadness crossing his face, “I know that if the situation demanded it, I would lose my newfound humanity in an instant. The question is whether I want to keep this state of mind.”

Salem nodded, “If you ask me, what you’re calling ‘humanity’ is overrated.” Something clicked in his head, “That’s why you can fly, isn’t it? You’re indirectly drawing on your ‘Mass.’”

Mar rolled his eyes, “I have no idea why you humans make such a big deal out of it. It is really one of the easier magic spells to perform.”

Now that was the opening Salem had been hoping for. He feigned an expression of contemplation, “I take it there’s no chance you could teach me?”

Mar swallowed another mouthful from his glass, a greedy look flashing in his eyes. “I could teach you,” he said with a grin. “Or… at least I could teach you the basic principle behind it. But… I never do something for nothing.” His grin widened.

Salem didn’t like that look. “I have… a couple of magical artifacts,” he began. “Ennish stuff, high quality…”

Mar cut him off, “What I want primarily is energy. Food.” He eyed Salem hungrily, “For that, I’d need to give you something more than just a flying lesson.” He smirked, “For some reason, I’m not willing to completely rip you off. Maybe it’s the drink.”

“Taking some of your base mana would work,” continued Mar, thoughtfully, “but it’s painful. I generally deal in… greater prizes.”

Salem opened his mouth to respond, but Mar’s eyes suddenly flashed red, a look of concern crossing the Highest’s face. “What is it?” Salem asked.

“Someone has died,” responded Mar, calmly, his eyes locked on Salem’s. “Someone dangerous. There will be a reaper.” His expression was distant. “Someone I know let loose a torrent of pain as a result.” The Highest smirked and stood, walking for the door. “I should see what happened. Shall we discuss your proposition outside?”

Salem shivered and looked around the crowded little bar. In one corner sat the minotaur and his crew, drinking and talking. At a central table, Al was noisily playing an ancient Human game called ‘poker’ with a squadron of soldiers. This place had almost begun to feel like home, and a shiver went up his spine at the idea of walking into the blood-red twilight with a being, so clearly a creature of darkness, that had just sensed a death and was eagerly moving towards it.

On the other hand, though, a chance to deal with an Immortal like this…

“Alright, I could go for a walk,” he said, and followed Mar out the door.

They wandered back and forth for a while, talking little as Mar searched for whatever it was that he’d sensed. Before long, Mar stopped and stared ahead into the woods. He stepped out again at a quicker pace, and Salem found himself scanning the trees ahead to find what Mar was after.

Terenia, Salem realized with a start, his hand inching towards his weapon. They were following Terenia. He couldn’t imagine she’d be happy to see him. In order to get Terenia to avoid killing Keshin after stunning her, Salem had made Al use the ship’s thought-speech communicator to send a brief burst of intense imagery directly to Terenia’s brain-- intense enough to send her to her knees, in fact, and to instantly raise a fair amount of animosity between her and Salem. Terenia and Ossanlin had both considered it a psychic attack of some kind, sent from Salem. In fact, Ossanlin had all but accused him of being a psychic soldier from the distant future. Salem: Psychic Warrior had a decent ring to it, he thought with a smirk.

Terenia was walking slowly, unheedingly, lost in thought. “Ah, so our dear Tamora has departed,” Mar leered, approaching Terenia. This ‘Tamora’ must have been very dangerous, for a being as powerful as Mar to be this happy about her passing.

Terenia turned to look at Mar, her eyes flicking to Salem only briefly, and Salem found himself hanging back, following from a distance and giving the pair some space. Terenia’s expression didn’t change-- her thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Obviously something very heavy was on her mind, for her to simply ignore Salem like that. She’d been pretty livid with him last he’d seen her.

“And what a sorry sight this is,” Mar continued, exuding an aura of… glee, if anything. Wordlessly, Terenia turned away and continued walking in the direction she’d been heading.

Undaunted, Mar followed, his voice and expression bright. “Her quest to rescue her bratty sister has ended in that sister’s death. The poor, worthless fool has finally realized that all her attempts to do good end in failure.”

Terenia’s head turned, slightly, and it looked as though she might respond, but then continued walking, her air of utter defeat following her. This was getting hard to watch. Mar might be happy to be rid of a threat, but gloating about it to the dead girl’s sister was going overboard.

“So what are you after now?” crowed Mar. “Are you just going to waste out your days in the bar?” He seemed to be growing more energized, giddy even, from each moment he spent around Terenia.

“I’m leaving,” Terenia responded. Funny how even her monotone, mechanical response somehow managed to sound defensive. “Going back to Visser Three.”

Mar stopped in his tracks, a look of surprise on his face. So, being spawned from an Immortal didn’t exactly make him omniscient. He recovered quickly and stepped quickly to catch back up to Terenia, chuckling. “So… after everything we have done for you… after Ossanlin was brutally injured because of you…” Mar trailed off and shot a glare at Salem, “after people have died for the sake of your sister’s freedom… you are just going to go right back to your master, to where this all started?” He grinned.

“What else is there?” responded Terenia, her tone still mechanical and emotionless. “I warned them how this would end. They chose not to listen.”

Mar danced after her, eying her face and practically purring. “Mmm. If you really think there’s nothing for you to live for, I could kill you right here.” He sneered, “It would be a waste of such a delicious feeling, but it would get rid of a few of my problems.”

‘Delicious feeling?’

Terenia hesitated, and for the briefest moment it seemed to Salem that she was actually considering Mar’s offer, but then she continued walking. “Not interested.”

Mar followed once again, but Terenia, it seemed, had finally had enough. She heaved a sigh and planted her feet, turning to face Mar. It was only then that Salem realized that they had been approaching the edge of the lake, and what appeared to be a hastily-dug grave.

“Your Visser will kill you now, you know” Mar said to her, in a tone that Salem might have mistaken for sympathy, had he not seen the smirk on the man’s face. “Things are not the same as they once were.”

“He won’t kill me,” replied Terenia immediately, almost as though she were quoting something. “That would be merciful, and Visser Three doesn’t do mercy.”

Mar shook his head, “I understand something about people like Visser Three. He only kept you around because you were a source of amusement.” He looked at her with a frank expression, “If you are at last broken, then the game is over.”

Terenia’s brow furrowed, and she looked uncertain. “You’re wrong,” she began, but was interrupted by a crashing sound from the nearby woods. Salem turned to see Myitt barging from the underbrush towards Terenia and Mar, walking quickly and looking angry. Salem’s hand again inched towards his weapon, but Myitt seemed unconcerned by his presence, casting him only the briefest glance.

“What are you doing here?” she sneered at Mar.

When Mar turned and saw Myitt, his face broke into a nasty grin. “Enjoying myself, Precious. This girl reeks of regret and emptiness and things unsaid, and I have not feasted like this in ages.” At that moment, the world seemed to shift under Salem as things fell into place. Mar wasn’t simply taunting Terenia because he was glad to have her sister out of the way. He was taunting her about something that hurt her in order to make her miserable. The being was actually drawing energy from her pain.

“Have you come to comfort her?” asked Mar in a taunting tone.

Myitt opened her mouth, as if to reply, but then her eyes quickly flicked from Terenia to Mar to Salem and back again. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed, “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve come to protect her from making another foolish mistake.”

Terenia snorted, “And what mistake would that be? I don’t think there are any siblings left for me to kill.”

Whoa. Salem’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized that the death of Terenia’s sister had been Terenia’s own handiwork. Based on the things he’d seen and heard about Terenia since arriving at this bar-- and there seemed to be no shortage of stories about her-- there were quite a few things he’d expect from her. Murdering a sibling was not one of them.

Terenia sagged, “I’m going back to Visser Three.”

Myitt replied, “Don’t. As terrible as it is to kill a sibling, there are worse mistakes that can be made, Terenia.” She caught Salem’s eye and smiled sadly, and Salem realized he’d been unintentionally nodding in agreement.

Terenia raised an eyebrow, “Perhaps, but what is killing a sibling to you, when you have hundreds?”

Myitt stepped forward with her fists balled, and Salem felt sure that she would take a swing at Terenia, but she restrained herself and snarled in the blonde woman’s face, “You know as well as I do that the death of a sibling I care about would cause me pain. There are worse things than grief, Terenia.” She jabbed a finger at Mar, “Just don’t listen to that thing.”

Mar frowned, looking annoyed, but said nothing, and Salem found himself wondering what the hell the relationship between the two was. Myitt seemed to abhor Mar, but Mar called her ‘Precious’ and actually seemed to enjoy this dislike… except now, when it was potentially interfering with his dealing with Terenia.

“Why?” shot back Terenia, “He’s the only one who’s making any sense around here!”

Myitt sighed and took Terenia’s arm, leading her away from Mar and Salem, back towards the shipyard. To Salem’s surprise, Terenia followed with little resistance. Salem strained to listen as their voices dropped. It seemed they were discussing the merits (or lack thereof) if Terenia were to return to Visser Three, but Salem couldn’t make out details.

Mar watched them leave with a smirk on his face. “You can come out now, Ossanlin,” he stated cooly.

Salem started when a Hork-Bajir dropped to the forest floor between Mar and the lake, landing in a crouch. Salem rolled his eyes. The War-Prince had been in morph, in the trees above them. Up. He had to remember to look up.

Ossanlin walked to the edge of the fresh grave and stared at the mound of dirt with a hollow expression. He turned to look back at Mar, and Salem realized that this Hork-Bajir’s chest and arms and face… they were coated with blood. Red blood. Human blood, still not completely dry. What the hell had happened out here this evening?

“Why!?” came a shout from the woods. Mar, Salem and Ossanlin glanced over to see Myitt storming away from Terenia while Terenia shouted. “Why are you trying to help me!?” Myitt turned and stormed back towards Terenia, shouting something in return, though Myitt’s words were not loud enough to make out from here.

With a grunt, Ossanlin turned towards the lake, wading out from the shore and diving. Mar followed, and when Ossanlin surfaced again, Mar called from the bank, “Are you…” he paused and chuckled, “upset about Terenia and the dead girl? They’re not worth your time, old friend.”

Ossanlin simply dove again, responding from underwater in thought-speak. <Had I simply removed Terenia from Efaen, as so many other Andalites would have done, things would have turned out much better.> He surfaced, rubbing his chest and arms, the blood beginning to wash away.

“You aren’t so bad,” stated Mar, “but what I’d like to know is why, exactly, you’re dressed in that shape now.”

“My Andalite body wouldn't have very well been able to carry Tamora kicking and screaming to her execution,” stated Ossanlin bitterly, before diving a third time. <Perhaps I wanted to escape. Perhaps I wanted her blood on a different body. As if that would make a difference.> He surfaced and stared at Mar, his eyes looking defeated, staring out from behind his bloodstained Hork-Bajir face. <Never before have I had a mission fail so horribly. All this time I thought I was progressive, thinking more clearly than my Andalite brethren.> He slumped, <Perhaps I merely have not grown up.>

Salem shook his head. Seeing Mar drawing strength from Terenia’s pain was bad enough, but seeing a War-Prince falling into self-pity was almost too much to bear.

“Andalite,” he called, his voice cracking a bit from how long he’d stood silent, “I don’t know what happened out here tonight, but nobody can know the future. No mortal, anyway,” he amended, glancing sidelong at Mar. “Everyone will make mistakes. Even you. Even me. The pain doesn't go away. You just push it down. Striving for anything more'll leave you disappointed. All you can do is use the regret, Andalite, and grow from it. Don't fight it.”

“I’ll find you later,” he said to Mar. He turned on his heel and walked away without another word, lost in thought, while the Highest and the War-Prince continued to speak quietly behind him.

Wasn’t that the type of being so many cultures had stories about? Dark creatures who reveled in pain? Double-dealing agents of darkness who wreaked havoc and destruction? And now he was thinking of dealing with one?

It would probably be smart to learn a bit more before going through with it. Unfortunately, it seemed that his best source for information regarding Mar would be none other than Myitt.

Salem hesitated, sighed, and set off in the direction Myitt and Terenia had gone.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on September 12, 2013, 06:28:36 PM
And, as long as I've got another couple of chapters written anyway, I may as well stick them here ^_^ This is my shortest chapter yet.

[spoiler=Chapter 17]Keural

“--leaving me behind! If you were…”

“Where’d he go!?” he shouted, cutting Al off. Then, as he looked around, “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” said Al, sounding more annoyed than anything.

He sighed. Al was in a heck of a mood. As he looked at his instruments and at the space around them, it became increasingly clear that they were no longer where they had been, and that the threat had passed.

“You see him from up there?” he asked.

“No,” responded Al flatly, followed a moment later by, “No, I think he’s gone. Why would you lead him to us anyway?”

He sighed.  “Look, if anybody asks from now on, just tell them that my name is Keural,” he said, sounding, he thought, a little less annoyed than Al.

Al laughed mockingly, “Keural? You’re getting away from the Greek mythology?”

“You see something wrong with that?” shot back Keural.

“It’s your middle name, isn’t it?” asked Al.

“I…” Keural started, but couldn’t think of a good way to finish. Al simply laughed, and Keural sighed, checking his instrument panel. “Seriously, where are we?”

“I don’t have a clue,” said Al, then after a few moments of checking his own instruments, he responded with a far more venomous-sounding “I don’t have a damn clue.”

Keural had the computer run through likely star charts, comparing them to what it could now see. When this found nothing, he started the computer cross-referencing all known star charts. He was starting to really regret what they’d just done.

“What the hell?” wondered Al. “You ****. Even the deep field is unfamiliar. Wherever we are, it’s a very, very long way from where we were.”

I’m the ****?” shot back Keural. “You’d better be glad you have your own ****pit, or I would rip you a new one right now, you selfish prick!”

“Right,” said Al, in an infuriatingly calm tone, “I’m selfish. I’m not the one who’s taking people who just want a ride home, and then flinging those people into new galaxies on a whim.”

“You were there!” shouted Keural, fuming. “You know what happened! You know I didn’t have a choice!”

“I don’t remember all that well,” admitted Al, “but what about this time? What was the point of dragging me along for this ride?”

“You think he’d let me get away without coming after you?” asked Keural angrily. “He’d kill you without blinking if he thought it might help him find me. I just saved your life.”

“Next time, don’t,” growled Al, and Keural was shocked at just how angry the usually-upbeat android sounded. He’d never heard him use that tone before.

“I wasn’t just going to leave you there!” he said defensively.

“Like I can’t take care of myself,” replied Al, his normally good-natured sarcasm now biting and harsh. “I know you think you’re the only competent person in the entire universe, but I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, Human. He wouldn’t be the first one failing to kill me.”

Keural blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” spat Al. “I’ve been around the block before, kid.”

Keural sat for a moment in stunned silence. Someone had tried to kill Al? Al? The vapid robot had never struck him as much of a target for assassination. “I didn’t know…”

Al sighed. “Maybe,” he replied in a gentler tone, “you should have asked.”

For a few moments they sat in silence, until finally Keural spotted something on a gravity scan-- one of the nearer stars, a main sequence yellow affair, had planets. He narrowed his scan field, bringing the planets into detail. Four of the planets were large enough to hold an atmosphere, but only one looked to be in the star’s habitable zone, albeit very much towards the warm side of it. The planet looked to have a thick, nitrogen-heavy atmosphere, and a large amount of water moisture. Should be survivable, at least, but from here he couldn’t tell if there was actually life on the planet.

“Think I see something,” he said, relaying the coordinates to Al.

Al didn’t say anything at first, and Keural found himself swiveling uncomfortably in his seat, trying to get a look at the robot’s ****pit above and behind him. Was Al mad at him? How could you tell if a robot was mad?

“Let’s check it out,” Al said finally, still sounding a bit disgusted. “It’s not like there’s anything else out here.”

“We could jump again,” suggested Keural, turning the ship towards the star system and hitting the thrusters.

“Not for at least a couple of weeks, right?” responded Al. “So we might as well have a look at that planet in the meantime. Besides, who knows where we’d end up?”

Keural had no response to that, and for a short while, they rode in silence, no further voices traversing the subspace radio that connected them.

Finally, Keural quietly suggested, “You should go by something else too. How about Squee?”

Al laughed, and responded in a way that was somehow equal parts kind and harsh, “I’m not changing my name, kid, but what I will do is tell you where you can stick that idea.”[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on September 12, 2013, 06:44:32 PM
Winston. Emelen. Morphing. Should be fun.

[spoiler=Chapter 18]Winston

Winston carelessly tossed the ARC he’d received into the corner, where it landed on top of a pile of random stuff, sending the artifacts of a hundred worlds sliding down in a mini avalanche as the ship’s ramp slid shut behind them.

“Why are they always like that?” he asked disgustedly, not particularly caring if he was answered.

Since Emelen had used his blue cube to give him the ability to ‘morph,’ all he had to do in order to take in the DNA of any animal was touch that animal and concentrate on it, a process Emelen called acquiring. According to Emelen, he would then be able to become any acquired creature at any time in the future. Their trip to the Andalite homeworld had technically been successful, in that he’d managed to acquire a number of morphs. It had been less successful in that a day of being looked down upon and belittled by the quadruped grasseaters had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

<I apologize,> said Emelen in response. His eyes were wide as he scanned the contents of Winston’s ship. <The Andalite people are prideful and seclusive for a reason.>

“They can be all that without being ****s about everything, too,” muttered Winston bitterly, plopping onto the floor and beginning to untie his shoes.

Al sighed, a smirk on his face, and looked to Emelen. “So, which thing did you want him to turn into?”

<Traditionally, our cadets will morph the djabala for training purposes, but I believe Winston may be more suited to the kafit morph,> responded Emelen. <Forgive me, but I have never seen a collection of technologies like yours, and your ship itself is… incredible.> He eyed the pile of junk, then quirked a stalk eye at Winston. <May I…?>

“Knock yourself out. Just put everything back where you found it,” said Winston as he pulled off his shoes and tossed them haphazardly across the room. “It’s a very precise system of organization.”

Emelen laughed and moved easily towards the largest pile. He began picking up one item at a time, examining each carefully, and then setting each back down before moving methodically to the next.

“You sure I have to be naked for this?” wondered Winston.

Emelen turned a stalk eye towards him, <I think so, yes. Andalites require specially-designed weapons harnesses for use while morphing. I believe it would be difficult or impossible to morph without ruining your artificial skin.>

Designer artificial skin. I have got to teach you Andalites some fashion sense,” muttered Al.

<What?>

“Nothing. Which one was the kafit? That was the bird thing, right?” asked Al.

<Yes,> said Emelen. <Many arisths see the morphing of the kafit almost as a right of passage, the point at which one becomes a professional morpher.>

“Well, I’ve never wanted anything more than to become a professional morpher,” muttered Winston, pulling off the last of his clothes. He stood, unselfconscious and unclothed, and looked at Emelen with his hands on his hips. “Okay, how do I do this?”

Emelen began, <It’s actually very similar to the acquiring process, in that...>

“So he’s got to pretend he’s not doing anything suspicious while a bunch of Warriors each keep three eyes on him because he’s the offworlder?” interrupted Al, in a tone that was mockingly innocent. When Winston and Emelen turned to look, he folded his hands in his lap and fluttered his eyelashes.

Emelen smirked at him before continuing, <The concentration you need is very similar. Oh!> he pulled a contraption that appeared to be essentially a tangle of wires and rubber balls from the pile and began untangling it. <Just choose one of the creatures you acquired. Picture it in your mind, concentrate, and you will be able to become that creature.>

Winston nodded and swallowed. In spite of how exciting this was, he found himself nervous at the prospect of losing his own body, even temporarily. It was, after all, the only body he’d ever known, and he was very tense.

“Dude, relax,” said Al, drawing out the word ‘relax’ in a way that suggested that he himself was, in fact, quite relaxed. “He said it doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m not worried about it hurting,” snapped Winston, then winced-- he sounded very worried. He closed his eyes and mentally considered the four animals he’d acquired. He decided he agreed with Emelen-- the kafit bird, with its six pairs of wings, would definitely be the one that suited him best.

As he held the image of the kafit in his mind, he felt the changes begin-- the first and most noticeable of these was that he began shrinking. It was a jolting sensation, a little like falling, and he yelped an opened his eyes. The shrinking slowed and stopped, leaving him maybe two thirds as tall as he’d been, but still otherwise fully human.

“Wow. I think we should have tried this years ago,” said Al, grinning in amusement. “You’d be much more manageable at that height.”

“Shut up,” muttered Winston, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this situation.

“Being short makes him angry!” Al whispered to Emelen in a stage whisper, intentionally loud enough for Winston to overhear.

Emelen laughed, his strange stringy contraption dangling forgotten from his right hand, and then trained his main eyes on Winston again expectantly. Winston sighed and closed his eyes, trying to regain his concentration. Almost immediately, his nose began to bulge outward, carrying his cheeks and chin and mouth with it. His bones lengthened and stretched, and his skin hardened as it became the serrated, spear-like beak of the kafit.

“Ugh,” Al supplied insightfully. Winston opened his eyes and shot him a glare, and found himself staring over the top of an impossibly huge beak, a beak that was now shrinking with him. Along his sides and back, he could feel flaps of skin lifting, and muscle and bone beginning to worm its way inside of these flaps, turning them into wings

<An estreen is one who has a talent for making the morphing process beautiful,> Emelen said informatively, wearing that smirk of his, <but the Andalites do not yet have a word for the opposite of that.>

Winston tried to return a witty reply that would really put them in their places, but it turned out a giant beak wasn’t really meant for speaking, so all that came out was a high pitched “Shrah-kawp,” more bird than Human.

His skeletal structure needed to change almost completely in order to become that of the bird, and his bones shuffled around under his skin, jostling for position even as they changed shape and size, some of them simply melting away into nothing. His entire body sounded like the gurgling of an upset stomach, but somehow the process wasn’t painful. By this point, the shrinking was all but complete, and Winston found himself staring at the world from about knee height. The ship seemed much larger from this angle. His legs shriveled to the legs of the kafit and his posture bent forward without his thinking about it, a tail lengthening out behind him just slowly enough that he couldn’t keep his balance, and fell onto his face as his arms disappeared. He struggled back to his feet using his head and beak-- an easier task than he’d have expected. He weighed so much less now than he was used to.

Finally, the kafit’s brilliant plumage erupted from his skin, beginning from the top of his head, replacing his hair, and then cascading down his body, covering the heretofore-featherless wings and flowering across his torso and continuing on down past the end of his fleshy nub of a tail, stretching into the kafit’s impressively long tail-feathers.

“Okay, that was actually pretty cool,” said Al.

Winston looked around-- the kafit’s eyes had replaced his own, leaving him seeing the world in a different set of colors than he was used to. His sense of smell had all but disappeared, but his hearing seemed to be drastically improved- he could hear Emelen’s every breath.

What he really wanted to do was to hunt, to go out and find a nice tall tree and spear the small creatures that lived inside with his beak and snap them up, but there were no trees here, and he found himself looking around boredly.

Suddenly: movement! The four-legged creature to his right was moving slowly towards him, and there was a sound in his head! It was going to attack him! He had to fly! Had to fly away!

Winston unfurled his many wings and flapped for his life, struggling to gain altitude in the stagnant air. There was something blocking the sky! He couldn’t go up! He flew frantically around the outer edges of the little area, but there seemed to be no way out, no way to reach the sky!

There was a second one of the creatures, a two-legged one, and this one was making a loud noise as well! It was coming after him! These two things would kill him and eat him and that would be the end of him! His hearts beat faster, pumping more and more blood into his rapidly-flapping wings, and he shrieked fearfully and flew, high, low, around and around, looking for any way out. No sky! No sky! He was trapped! Trapped in a little box with two huge things that would surely kill him and eat him!

Well then, if he couldn’t find a way to escape these things, these things that wouldn’t stop making loud, threatening noises and coming after him, he was just going to have to fight his way out of here. The two-legged creature didn’t have the huge, threatening blade that the four-legged one did. He’d take out that one first.

He turned his beak towards the thing’s eyes and powered forward, all wings flapping full-tilt. The thing shrieked in rage or fear or surprise and ducked out of the way at the last minute, and he found himself circling around, the four-legged creature coming into view.

With a shriek of rage, he powered forward, aiming for its big, green eyes, but the blade! He’d forgotten the blade! It flashed forward, turning sideways at the last second and slowing, cancelling most of its momentum, but it still impacted him, hard, and sent him spinning to the ground, where he lay, dazed.

After a few moments, he became aware of a voice in his head. It was saying, <Are you okay? I’m sorry I had to do that. Are you okay?>

He groaned and tried to speak, to answer, but all that came out of his mouth were the garbled squawks of a bird.

“Try the thought-speech thing,” suggested a voice. Al’s voice. That was Al speaking. How had he forgotten that the two in here with him were Emelen and Al.

<So that’s what you meant when you said I’d also get the animal’s mind,> he said dryly, trying to focus on something… anything… but his vision still swam. On the upside, using thought-speech while in morph proved to be remarkably simple.

<Yes,> responded Emelen. <I’m sorry. I should have explained better. It’s necessary to have the animal’s mind and instincts in order to coordinate with the animal’s body, but sometimes those instincts can be a little… overwhelming.>

<Yeah,> agreed Winston. In his mind, he could still feel the kafit’s panic, but he had more control over it now. He tried to stretch his wings, but a horrible pain shot through his left side. <Aaaugh!>

“Looks like you’ve got a couple broken wings,” said Al, leaning down next to him. “So much for the kafit morph.”

<It will be whole again next time he uses it,> said Emelen, staring down at Winston with concern, <but for now I think it would be best for him to demorph.>

Winston groaned again, <Same as morphing?>

Emelen smiled with a mixture of concern and warmth, <It is the same process, yes. Just picture your Human self.>

Winston did, and three minutes later he stood, whole and wholly Human, flexing his left arm. It was hard to believe that that arm had been several broken wings only a short time ago.

<I think you’ve got the hang of it,> said Emelen.

“Sure,” muttered Winston, but even though his tone was gruff, his face was bright. That had been exhilarating.

<Only a few more things. Firstly, I think you should acquire an Andalite. The Andalite shape is remarkably useful and well-adapted for a number of situations.>

“Oh, I get it!” chirped Al. “Does he get to acquire your badass tattoos, too?”

<My… what?> wondered Emelen.

“Your thingies,” said Al helpfully, waving a hand to indicate the black pattern that crisscrossed Emelen’s fur.

<Oh, my luanga,> laughed Emelen. <Unfortunately, no.>

Winston rolled his eyes and placed a hand on Emelen’s shoulder. “May I?”

<Of course,> responded Emelen, and within moments, his stalk eyes had drooped, and it looked as though he were almost asleep. He’d entered the acquiring trance. That had also happened to every creature Winston had acquired on the homeworld. Emelen’s DNA flowed into him. Moments later, the Andalite’s alertness returned, and the pair smiled at each other briefly. After a moment, Winston cleared his throat and looked away.

<Secondly, if this is what I think it is,> Emelen said, holding up the stringy contraption he’d found. It seemed to have been mostly untangled, so that it formed a net-like structure composed of short lengths of reddish-gold wire held together by tiny orbs, <I would like to offer to let you keep the Escafil device in exchange.>

Winston frowned at the thing. Where the hell had he picked that up again? “That depends,” he responded carefully, “What do you think it is?”

<I think you’re getting the better end of this deal,> responded Emelen with his trademark smirk.

Winston sighed. He’d never been able to figure out what the stringy contraption did anyway, and the prospect of actually owning the morphing cube was too sweet to pass up. This Andalite was unlike anyone else he’d ever dealt with. “What’s the catch?”

<No catch,> replied Emelen, in the tone that Winston had heard a thousand times before. The tone that said ‘there is definitely a catch.’ <I do have a favor to ask, however.>

Winston snorted, “Yeah, I thought you might.”[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on September 13, 2013, 02:38:03 PM
[spoiler=Chapter 19]Pallas

Threecra groaned in frustration and forced herself off her bunk. Just lying there, staring at her reflection, was driving her insane. She couldn’t stand the waiting, the anticipation. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from running rampant, and thinking too much was making her feel sick to her stomach. Better to get up and go do something to occupy her mind.

With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet. She could feel the exhaustion to her bones. She’d hardly slept at all in days, even with the draught Peter had given her, and when she had slept, it had been anything but restful. Too many dreams.

Shaking her head, she wandered out into the corridor. She could hear raucous laughter echoing from the ship’s mess hall, which, at this time of the evening, was probably where most of the crew would be gathered. Normally she’d have joined them, but over the last few days she simply hadn’t been able to find the energy. Instead, today, she avoided it by taking the back entrance to the kitchen.

There was a large pot of something on the stove, and judging by how greasy it looked and how sweet it smelled, it’d been the Captain’s turn to cook again. It was still warm, so Threecra helped herself to a bowl of the brown soupy stuff, which was thick with vegetables, and to one of the rolls. The bread wouldn’t last much longer, after all. She also grabbed a leftover piece of Selliss’s unbelievable pot roast, which she figured she could use to make the roll into a mini sandwich, and a bag of the dried snack chips she hadn’t been able to stop eating for the last month, especially for the great nutritional replenishment they gave after training sessions. For good measure, she also threw in a glass of the Regrundian Ale they’d stashed away-- she needed a drink-- and a slice of the fabulous cake from Pallas’s recent birthday.

As she struggled to balance her pile of food so that she could take it back to the room and eat, she could hear the sound of Peter’s distinctive voice as it rose and fell in pitch-- that would be him telling one of his ridiculous stories. Occasionally it was interrupted by the loud laughter of the rest of the crew. This must be one of his better ones.

Threecra sighed and set her food back on the wooden counter. It looked like she’d have to either make two trips, or choose something to leave behind.

“Hey,” came a soft voice from the kitchen’s front door, and Threecra turned to see Pallas standing there. The sound behind him had returned to the normal mess hall chatter-- it seemed that Peter had finished his story.

She smiled, in spite of herself. “Hey.”

“Sure you don’t want to join us?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Still not feeling well.”

Pallas laughed. “If you eat all that you’ll feel worse,” he said, nodding at the food she’d laid out on the counter.

Threecra rolled her eyes, “You sound like my mother.”

Pallas’s face looked like he’d been punched, and Threecra immediately had to fight back tears. That had been the wrong thing to say. How could it still do that, after all this time?

“Sorry,” she muttered sincerely.

Pallas smiled sadly, “It’s alright. So you’re just gonna spend another evening alone?”

Threecra swallowed and nodded.

“You know Ven Dora and Chen Chen are worried about you,” he said, wearing a look of concern.

Threecra snapped, “Yeah, they made that pretty clear.”

“Okay, okay,” said Pallas, holding up his hands in a gesture of ‘not my fault.’

“I’ll be fine,” she said, glaring at him, daring him to disagree.

But he didn’t disagree. Instead he gave her that winning smile she loved so much and said, “You always are.”
Why did he have to choose now to know exactly what to say to her?

“Hey, Pallas?” she began.

“Hm?”

“You ever think about leaving the Esprit?”

He smiled at her knowingly, “I used to, all the time. But this is my family now.”

She swallowed, and couldn’t bring herself to match his smile. That had been exactly the answer she’d been hoping he wouldn’t give, and she had to blink away a sudden onset of tears. “Yeah.”

Pallas gave her a concerned look and stepped forward, putting his arms around her easily. He kissed her forehead gently, and she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, not wanting to ever let him go.

“Hey, you playing this game or not?” called Chen Chen from the mess.

“Coming!” Pallas yelled back, and tried to turn away. Threecra squeezed him tighter and they both very nearly tumbled to the floor. He laughed, “Come on, Threecra, Chen Chen’ll eat me alive if I don’t take my turn.”

With a sigh, she reluctantly let him go. As he bounded out into the mess hall, shouting a backhanded apology to Chen Chen, Threecra moved into the doorway and leaned against the doorframe, looking out at the crew.

She was struck by a sudden sense of jamais vu. These people, these familiar people, had become her friends and confidants, but now all she could see was how different they all were. She’d lived her entire time on this ship, and her entire life before that, with scarcely a thought spared for a person’s species, but now everything she saw seemed so… alien.

There was Chen Chen, the Kyrikey, with her long bird-like neck and her small bird-like head and her thin bird-like legs, and her two arms, the left of which was split in half down the middle, so that she could hold her drink and her chit at the same time while still performing the game’s gestures with her right. Her bright blue plumage made her easy to pick out, and her big, blue eyes were alternately considering her chit and eying those around her. She wore the exaggerated smile that meant she was bluffing-- Chen Chen could not bluff to save her life, which, if anything, only made her more charming, considering her outgoing personality and her utter lack of a sense of propriety.

Beside Chen Chen sat Pallas, Threecra’s friend since childhood, and now her lover as well. She’d never met all that many Humans, and now the shape of her own species seemed strange and foreign to her. The gangly limbs and the soft pink flesh and the little tuft of hair that sat above the Human face that was all squashed together in the middle of the Human head seemed so absurd that she wondered if someone had designed the Human body as a joke on the universe. She loved Pallas. If she knew anything, it was just how much she loved him, but now, looking at the bizarre thing that he really was, she felt a growing pain in her heart.

Behind Pallas, just watching the game, sat Selliss. More and more often, lately, Selliss had been sitting alone in her room rather than joining the crew for entertainment, so Threecra was happy to see that she was here and participating. Selliss was a Zong, tall and slender and dark brown, her exoskeletal flesh just textured enough to not be shiny. Her insectine mouth and her six eyes were bent into a sly smile, and some part of Threecra knew she’d just made some kind of underhanded insult that probably wouldn’t hit its target until much later, but looking at her now, all Threecra could see was a snarling five-meter-tall insectine beast with too many eyes and too many limbs. She seemed too big to fit into the cramped room, and everyone else seemed squeezed in around her.

The Captain walked up next to Selliss and punched her lightly on the leg, as high as he could reach, making some underhanded comment of his own, his long tail switching back and forth mischievously. He always seemed perfectly in tune with Selliss’s extremely dry sense of humor. His shape was humanoid, but his features were not. His fur was brown, striped with tan, with a single streak of black running above the left side of his face that he never let anyone forget evinced his connection, however distant, to the royal bloodline of Zengata himself, though when he spoke of his heritage he always used a tone and wore a smirk that made it clear that he placed no value on it himself. His royal ancestry was a bit of a running joke amongst the crew, and it was a joke that the Captain himself embraced wholeheartedly. His big, triangular ears, too-large mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth, little pink nose, and big yellow eyes divided by black slits made up a face that she could now see fell somewhere on the line between adorable and terrifying. His fingers ended in wicked claws, and she knew that inside his thick boots, his feet did as well, and Threecra wondered how she’d ever felt safe around such a creature.

At a groan of dismay, Threecra looked to the other side of the table to see Pin slamming her chit down in mock frustration. She delivered one of her clever one-liners in her quick, high-pitched voice, and then laughed, a rapid-fire tittering sound that Threecra had come to find comforting, but now could only find intimidating. Pin was a Calrin, the species known throughout the former IPA for their gift of planning and foresight, and Pin in particular always managed to take that to the next level, which was why she was usually the mission coordinator. She was the smallest member of the crew, resembling a raccoon with three joints in her longer front legs. Instead of fur, her translucent skin was covered with hundreds of rubber-like growths that changed color with her mood. Right now, she was a pale orange, but that may not mean much in a game like this-- Pin was part of the elite class of Calrin that had learned to change color at will regardless of actual mood. Most Calrin wouldn’t have the physical capacity to bluff, but Pin had become an expert. Still, Threecra thought the tilt of her head and the bright smile she wore gave her away. Pin’s beady eyes and long snout seemed so alien to Threecra at that moment that she had to look away.

Iza’s laugh drew her attention, and she found herself looking at an aged Syler, the ‘father figure’ of their crew who had survived more battles during the Mohemian war than he could remember. He always seemed a little spacy and disconnected, but if even half of the gruesome war stories he told were even half true, it was a wonder his mind still worked at all. His long, reverse-jointed legs and powerfully-muscled arms and extremely fit torso were covered with his thick, shaggy fur, which was naturally a bluish-silver with a dark gray splotchy pattern running from the top of his head on down his back and chest. The Syler were known for their ability to focus single-mindedly on any task at hand, and it seemed that Iza had gotten into his head to beat Pin this round. He didn’t notice Ven Dora coming to stand behind him until she’d placed a hand on his shoulder, at which point he started, giving a very dog-like yip.

Ven Dora laughed and said nothing, ‘watching’ the game with interest. Ven Dora rarely played these games with them, but when she did, she had a tendency to win by a large margin. Ven Dora’s tiny, almost-humanoid body seemed to be nothing more than a juncture for her four too-long many-jointed thickly-muscled limbs, each limb ending in an oversized hand with too many fingers, each finger with too many joints. She was covered with a coconut-fuzz orangish-brown fur, and her head, almost as large as her torso, was split nearly in two by her huge mouth, with its bright red tongue and sharp teeth. Between her huge, pointy ears was a pattern of black and white spots that Threecra might have mistaken for a pair of huge, lopsided eyes had she not already known that Ven Dora had no eyes at all.

Ven Dora leaned down to Peter and whispered something in his ear. Threecra knew Ven Dora wouldn’t help Peter cheat, but she would make it look like she was helping him cheat in order to put Pallas on edge, and sure enough, when Peter’s eyes flicked towards Pallas, Pallas scowled back. Peter was Ennish, and even after a lifetime of living in the former IPA, Threecra still wasn’t sure whether that meant he was a member of a particular species that could use magic, or a particular culture centered around the use of magic and made up of many different species. She’d always suspected the latter, but Peter seemed to lend credence to the former-- he could change his shape at will. At the moment, he was dressed in his favorite form, a broad-shouldered gargoyle-like creature with leathery greyish-purple skin. He could stand as tall as her chest, but Peter usually stood hunched over when he was in this form, making him seem much shorter. His smiling, pig-like face seemed at once friendly and frightening, and the large bull-like horns atop his head gave him a very fierce appearance. His two thick bat-like wings were folded along his back at the moment, but when unfurled they spanned nearly twice as wide as he was tall, allowing him to actually fly short distances.

The chair nearest Threecra was conspicuously empty, and looking at it, Threecra felt a stab in her heart as she pictured Roman sitting there, but somehow even her memory of him seemed unfamiliar. Roman had been a Vondanod, the race widely considered to be the founders of the IPA. The Vondanod consisted of of a central body the shape of a sand dollar, from which extended their four identical limbs-- long, spider-like and spindly, covered in an exoskeletal chitin that was as light as foam and as strong as steel. From the end of each limb, the Vondanod could extend their three long, talon-like claws for use in the holding and manipulation of objects, or they could pull their claws back into their legs for protection when walking on them. The underside of the Vondanod body contained the mouth, a large opening rimmed with tiny, razor-sharp teeth. The mouth could stretch out a short distance to reach for food, negating the necessity of lowering the body to the ground to eat. From the middle of the back extended the long, flexible, fleshy Vondanod neck, the only part of the body that wasn’t covered in an exoskeleton. Atop the neck sat what passed for the head, a bulbous, flat-topped extension maybe half the size of Threecra’s own head that served as little more than the housing for the main eyes-- four large black compound eyes spaced evenly around the head-- and half of the brain. Smaller eyes were placed seemingly at random across the body. In dangerous situations, the head could be drawn into the body cavity for protection, with the flat top of the head comfortably blocking the top of the opening. Roman’s body had been crossed with a series of reddish streaks, and his head had faded to a redder color than the rest of his pastel-orange body, so that when he’d drawn his head all the way in, it had looked as though he had a red spot in the center of his back.

Most Vondanod used two of their limbs for walking, and the other two as hands, but Roman had preferred to walk on all fours, and to use them as hands only when necessary. Remembering Roman’s little quirks, Threecra felt tears stinging her eyes. Roman had been the most serious member of this crew, and his short temper had resulted in he and Threecra shouting at each other more than once. She’d gotten the impression that he didn’t like her, but even so, he’d always been protective-- on occasion overly protective, telling off Chen Chen more than once when the Kyrikey had crossed a line in insulting Threecra-- and she’d really come to appreciate his bedside manner whenever she was injured during training. He’d been efficient and to the point, not gentle but not rough, and he gave the impression that his entire world consisted of making sure she got better each time. She’d come to feel safe in his practiced care.

Maybe it was the memory of Roman that did it, but the sense of unfamiliarity passed as Threecra watched the crew joke and play. The rest of the crew hid their pain at his absence well, but Threecra knew these people. She could tell that he was on all their minds, by the way the jokes seemed a bit more desperate, the laughter seemed a bit more forced, and by the way everyone’s eyes carefully avoided looking at Roman’s empty chair.

Threecra found herself staring once again at the crew she’d come to know since arriving on this ship. No longer did they seem like a gang of monsters and aliens. Pallas was right. This collection of misfits was her family now. How could she leave this behind?

Stifling a sob, Threecra turned and made her way back through the kitchen and out into the corridor, her food forgotten. She wandered for a while, lost in her own thoughts, until she found herself standing outside the infirmary. Biting her lip, she opened the door.

There, in the bed, was the crew member whose shape was most familiar to Threecra. Lerais was a Radon, as tall as Threecra, and almost Human in shape, but her overall build was broader and tougher. Threecra’s stomach turned as she lowered herself gently into the familiar chair next to Lerais’s bed-- even under the blankets, there was no question that one of her legs was missing entirely, its shredded remains having been amputated at the hip. Lerais’s light blue skin was crossed with jagged maroon ‘tiger stripes’ that continued up her neck and to her swept, streamlined head. There were bandages wrapped around portions of her head and neck, but at least these were clean. The first time Threecra had been in here to see Lerais after the mission, those bandages had been soaking through with red blood. Lerais lay on her back, her head to the side and her face turned towards Threecra. Lerais’s face seemed almost Human, save for the fact that she had only nasal slits instead of a nose, and that her eyes were larger and farther apart. The bandage covered one of Lerais’s eyes, but as Threecra sat, the other eye fluttered open.

“Hey,” said Threecra gently, smiling.

Lerais blinked a few times, and then smiled back. “Hey, you,” she said, her voice raspy.

“How’re you feeling?” Threecra asked, unable to keep the quavering out of her voice.

“Better than yesterday,” said Lerais. “They told me I’d be up and about in no time.”

“We’ve gotta find you a new leg first,” Threecra reminded her, fighting back tears.

Lerais waved a hand dismissively, “Psh. Details.”

Threecra found herself chuckling at that, but she still cast a doubtful glance at the spot where Lerais’s leg should have been.

“Hey,” said Lerais gently, reaching up for Threecra’s chin and gently drawing her gaze back. “Hey, girl, I’ll be fine, really. Captain knows a place where I can get a new one.”

“I just hate seeing you like this,” choked Threecra.

“I think I feel better than I look,” said Lerais, and her tinkling laugh was enough to lift Threecra’s spirits ever so slightly.

“I wish we had a real doctor for you,” said Threecra.

“Hon, Roman wouldn’t want you mourning him. He’d want you remembering the good times.”

Threecra swallowed,  “Still, I wish this hadn’t happened.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Lerais said gently.

Yes, there was, thought Threecra, looking away and blinking back tears.

“Come on, girl, keep your chin up,” said Lerais. “Peter says I’ll be mobile again within a few days, even without a new leg.”

Threecra forced her best attempt at a smile.

“That’s better,” laughed Lerais. “So, any news on the thing with Ven Dora and Peter? I am gossip-starved down here, girl.”

With a laugh-- a genuine laugh, this time-- Threecra began recounting what she’d seen in the past few days, which led to their shared thoughts and theories, which led to lots of giggling and speculation, which led to more and more absurd topics, and soon the two were doing less gossiping than they were creating an imaginary world in which their own imaginary versions of the crew lived, and they talked well into the night. At one point, Peter stopped in to check up on Lerais, and a few minutes after he’d left, the Captain stopped by. The two bit their tongues until the Captain had left and shut the door, and then burst out laughing-- neither had been able to help picturing the version of the Captain they’d just been talking about, proudly bragging about his royal lineage and wearing only a crown and a tiny speedo while he barked out absurd orders

Eventually, though, Lerais needed to sleep and continue healing, and Threecra made her way back into the hallway, her emotions conflicted. She looked in on Lerais one last time and turned away, yelping in surprise when she nearly plowed into Pallas coming around the corner.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked angrily.

“With Lerais,” said Threecra simply.

“I was worried about you,” he said.

“How many places can I possibly go on this ship?” she asked him, her temper beginning to rise now. What right did he have to police her every movement?

“I didn’t…” he seemed taken aback at her sudden anger. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed. She didn’t want to be mad at him. Not tonight. She wrapped her arms around him, “Me too.”

She allowed him to take her hand and lead her back to the room, and soon found herself enjoying a quiet argument with him over whether Tentek Nine or Greeza would be a better vacation spot, an argument that continued until they were sitting side by side on her bunk. When she finally thought she had him on the ropes, he countered with a sloppy kiss. She pushed him away, laughed, and then pulled him close and kissed him back, and before long they found themselves making love so loudly that Chen Chen called them over the com and asked them to shut the hell up because some people were trying to sleep around here, which left them both laughing and making as much noise as possible for the next few minutes.

Later, Threecra gave one last look around the room. Pallas lay on his back in her bed, snoring loudly, wearing nothing and covered only by her sheets. She smiled sadly and cinched the waist strap on her backpack, straightening her clothes and her hair as best she could. The warm glow she felt looking at him wasn’t nearly enough to counter the sadness at the thought that she’d never see him again, and she found herself no longer caring that she was unable to wipe away the tears that flowed unceasingly down her cheeks.

Closing the door and turning away, she activated her communicator. “Everyone’s asleep. I’m ready.”

There were a few seconds of silence before the voice of a confident young man spoke to her through her communications device, the sound uncharacteristicall y broken by static. “Okay. Are… you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” she said. If she started second-guessing herself now, there was no way she’d go through with this.

“And you’re sure you can’t bring him with you?”

“Raicca, this is his family now. I can’t ask him to leave all of this.”

“If you’re sure,” the voice said, sounding uncertain. “Okay, we’ll meet you there.”

“Meet you there,” agreed Threecra. As she made her way through the ship, she kept expecting… or hoping? That she might run into someone, that an alarm would go off, that something would happen to give her away, but she saw no one, and the Esprit gave no indication that an unauthorized docking with a second ship was in progress. This crew had taught her well.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on September 17, 2013, 01:38:13 PM
[spoiler=Chapter 20]Jaron

“Mom, don’t worry,” Sasha said. “I’ve got Yooie. I won’t get lost.”

Her mother set a heavy box on the grav-lev cart with a groan, and sighed. “I don’t know. What did your father say?”

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her father was out of earshot. “He said it was okay,” she lied.

Her mother frowned, “Yooie, tell me if she gets into any trouble.”

“Of course,” replied Yooie, sounding formal, even cordial, inside Sasha’s head.

“Sasha,” her mother said, staring her in the eyes, “be back in time for dinner.”

“Okay!” said Sasha, and took off down the corridor before her mother could say another word, weaving through the thick crowd as only a child can. By the time she heard an exasperated shout of “Sasha, wait a minute!” she was far enough away that she could pretend not to hear.

“Your mother is concerned that you haven’t dressed warmly enough. She wants you to go back,” said Yooie within her head.

“I know,” Sasha replied conversationally, making her way into the main square and quickly clambering up the fountain there. There was so much to take in-- there must be a thousand people in here, of a hundred different species. There were buildings and shops and stalls set up haphazardly throughout the plaza, some stretching all the way up to the ceiling above, which someone had thought to paint with a mural that faded through the skies of a dozen of the Coalition’s more prominent worlds. Merchants shouted deals, struggling to make their voices heard above the constant murmur of conversation and the noise of communications devices and hovercars scooting by overhead and the deep, ever-present rumble of the station’s power systems.

“And you’re not going to listen,” sighed Yooie.

“Nope.” This was almost overwhelming, compared to the sleepy town she’d grown up in. She could smell a hundred different things in the air, some more appetizing than others. And there was no sun. The light was just kind of there.

“I could have station security bring you back to her,” said Yooie.

“Please don’t,” said Sasha, suddenly afraid, looking around for anyone who might be security personnel. She saw on uniformed Radon across the plaza. Catching sight of him, she hopped down and started pushing through the bustling crowd in the opposite direction.

“Sasha, I want to be your friend, but I do have a responsibility to your parents, too.”

“Don’t you have other personality settings?” Sasha asked, annoyed. There, to her left-- there was a hole in the wall that led directly into one of the huge concourses that led to the station’s center. That’s where she wanted to go.

“I… yes…” began Yooie, cautiously.

“How about something nicer?” As she walked through the hole in the wall, she could see that the concourse was wider than the entirety of the plaza she’d just come from. There were many more people here, but it seemed less crowded, since things were more spread out. People walked across all the walls and the ceiling in here, Sasha saw. Excitedly, she immediately ran for the wall.

“I’m more fun like this,” Yooie said, his voice sounding different now. More informal. More like her brother, Sasha thought. “But you’ve still gotta go back to your mom.”

Sasha felt dizzy, marveling at the way the entire world seemed to shift above her as she walked along the contour between floor and wall, and suddenly the wall was the floor.

“Whyyyy?” wondered Sasha, and even to her, it sounded whiny. “They’re just moving boxes into the new house. I’m no good at moving.”

“She wants you to set up your room,” said Yooie.

“Can’t I do it later? Or tomorrow?” There, ahead, was a wall of hanging vines, and behind it, from the look of things, was a dimly-lit corridor overgrown with plants. That was really cool.

“You’ll be in school tomorrow,” Yooie reminded her.

“Not all day,” she said in disgust. “When am I going to explore?”

“After school,” suggested Yooie.

“How about I explore now, and set up my room after school,” Sasha said, in her best ‘businesswoman’ voice, imitating her father.

Yooie was silent for a few moments, then he sighed. “Your mom’s okay with that, but she’s not happy. You owe me.”

Sasha groaned, pushing her way through the vines. “Can I just turn you off?”

“Technically, no,” Yooie said, sounding pretty proud of himself, Sasha thought. “You can turn off my voice, but I’d still be…”

“Sh!” Sasha shushed him and held up a finger, the way her mother did when she was busy and didn’t want to be interrupted. She could hear voices echoing down this little hallway, but they were coming from around a bend. She couldn’t make out the words, but the one she could hear was yelling, and it sounded upset. “Yooie, who is that?”

“That? That’s nobody. There’s nobody down there,” supplied Yooie helpfully.

“Yoooooiiiiieeeee,” groaned Sasha, “I thought you weren’t supposed to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” lied Yooie.

Sasha rolled her eyes and made her way quietly down the corridor until she could make out the words.

“Come on, babies, it’s not that big a deal,” said one of the voices tauntingly. Vondanod, she thought, judging by the dual high-low tones. It sounded maybe a little older than she was.

“You’re trying to get us in trouble!” shouted a voice that might belong to a Syler boy around her age.

“Hey, if you don’t think you can do it…” A second Vondanod.

“We’ve pranked better than that,” spat the defiant voice of a Human boy.

“Then why won’t you do it this time?”

“It’s stupid! We’d get caught!”

“And really mean.”

“Hmm,” one of the Vondanod said, in mock contemplation. “Well, Lancer, we have the stuff, we might as well use it.”

Sasha peeked around the corner. There, backed against the wall, were two boys, one Human and one Syler. A pair of pastel-green Vondanod kept them cornered-- though the young Vondanod were smaller than the two boys, they used their spindly limbs to cover a wider area. Each held an aerosol canister of something in the two talons they were using as hands.

Simultaneously, the pair let loose with the cannisters, which sprayed a yellow stream of something at the Radon and Human boys. Wherever the stuff touched the boys’ clothing, the clothing began to dissolve. The Human and Radon boys yelled and tried to back away, but the Vondanod pair kept coming, laughing contemptuously and prodding at them with their long legs.

Sasha ducked back behind the wall, fuming. If there was one thing she hated, it was bullies. She’d dealt with her fair share. But what could she do?

There, on the wall-- one of the light emitters was loose, having been shoved aside by one of the vines as it grew. It was a big, clunky, blue-and-white metal thing, a little bigger than her fist. With a grunt, Sasha wrenched the thing off the wall and held it in her hand for a moment.

At a yell from the Syler boy, she ducked out from behind the wall and hurled the thing at the nearer of the two Vondanod. He saw it coming, of course-- too many eyes facing too many directions to miss something like that-- but he didn’t seem to realize what was happening until it’d almost hit him. He ducked his head, catching the thing on the top of it, rather than in the eye, but the force was enough to send him stumbling backwards, dazed.

The other Vondanod stopped spraying the boys, distracted by Sasha, but with his attention on her, he forgot to block when the Syler boy lunged for him. Instinctively, the Vondanod drew his head into his body, trying and failing to skitter away as the Syler rained blow after blow on his armored body, yelling wordlessly. Taking a cue from his friend, the Human boy rushed the Vondanod Sasha had stunned, tackling him to the ground.

With a shout, the first Vondanod managed to throw the Syler boy off, and was running full-tilt towards Sasha before she’d had time to think. She stumbled backwards, not sure where to go, and the Vondanod brought up one of his aerosol cans that he’d somehow managed to hang onto and aimed it at her chest.
With a shriek, Sasha stumbled to the floor and covered her head with her hands, but the thick stream of yellow liquid… it didn’t seem to be doing anything other than getting her sweater a little damp. She frowned and looked up at the Vondanod, who looked as confused as she felt.

Their eyes met for only a second before the Vondanod was flipped onto his back by the Syler, who’d gotten back up and charged after him.

“Truce!” yelled the Vondanod.

“You’re a jerk, Piyee!” shouted the Syler, glaring down at him with his fists balled and his clothing hanging off of him in shreds.

“Okay, okay, get off me!” came a shout from the other Vondanod. “Truce! Truce!” Sasha scrambled to her feet and looked over to see the other Vondanod on his back with his hands in the air, the Human boy standing over him, his eye already beginning to blacken and swell shut.

“Leave the stupid cans and go away!” yelled the Syler, his lips curled back into a snarl, revealing his intimidating teeth.

Sasha had never seen Vondanod move so quickly. It wasn’t until they were out of sight down the corridor that Sasha turned to look at the two boys, who were now regarding her curiously. They were trying to look threatening, but with their ruined clothing barely hanging onto them and their new bruises, they were more silly than anything.

“Hi,” said the Human, cautiously stepping forward. As he did, his pants finally dropped to the ground, leaving him standing there in his underwear.

Sasha giggled as the boy turned bright red and struggled in vain to cover himself. “Hi.”

The Syler boy finally gave up on trying to fix his own shirt and turned to her, “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep. My family just moved here. I’m Sasha,” she said, sticking out her hand and giving the Syler a very professional business handshake.

“I’m Raicca. This is Jaron,” said the Syler, mimicking her professionalism.

“Nice to meet you,” said Sasha. “How’d you know I was new?”

“Him and Shannon and his dad and Feng Juan are the only Humans here.”

“Except my family now,” said Sasha proudly.

“Why didn’t that stuff dissolve her clothes?” wondered Jaron bitterly. He finally sighed, realizing his pants were a lost cause, and stood up, wincing at the welts on his legs that would soon form fresh bruises.

“I think it might be because mine are made of wool,” said Sasha thoughtfully. “My mom told me that the clothes on the station are all made of recycled polymers.”

“That’s stupid,” was his only response.

“At least I’m not half-naked,” she laughed, and Jaron reddened again.

“Sasha,” Yooie broke in, “you’ve got a bump on your head. I’m going to call for medical personnel.”

Sasha groaned in exasperation, “I wish I could turn you off!”

The boys looked at each other knowingly, and then Jaron asked, “Yooie being annoying?”

“Yes!” she spat. “How do you guys live with him? He’s so annoying!”

The pair sprouted matching grins, and then at the same time, said, “We can fix that!”[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on October 04, 2013, 02:32:45 PM
^_^

[spoiler=Chapter 21]Winston

“It’s not,” sighed Yaflish, speaking slowly, as if to an imbecile “all that great.”

“But it is!” replied Audran. She was getting much better at forming words in Galard with this tongue of hers. “Seeing, senses, the ability to move around without requiring the assistance of others… it’s everything I imagined having a host to be, and more!”

“You’ve not stopped going on about how wonderful it is to see in all directions for two days,” grumbled Yaflish. “Taxxon hosts aren’t exactly considered cream of the crop anymore.”

“How much better can your Hork-Bajir be? You only have two eyes!” shot back Audran.

Yaflish sighed and refused to respond, laying his head in his arms on his console. They’d had this same argument a dozen times over the last day and a half, mostly as a way to kill time, but it seemed to finally be getting to Yaflish.

Audran took a moment, as she’d done so often these last days, to admire her new host body. She’d been given a Taxxon host. The Taxxons resembled Earth centipedes grown to gargantuan proportions, with skin in a color (color was still an incredible concept to her!) that she’d been told was called ‘dark yellow’ and ‘red.’ Her own body was probably twice as long as an adult Human was tall, and wide enough that the same adult Human would be unable to touch hands if they decided to give the Taxxon a hug.

Not that most of the notoriously-squeamish Humans would want to hug a Taxxon, Audran reflected. The lower two-thirds or so of her body was held off the ground by dozens of cone-shaped legs. The upper third of her body was usually held erect, and there, the spindly legs were replaced by a number of small crab-like claws. The Taxxon’s long, tube-like body ended in a huge, gaping hole of a mouth rimmed with razor-sharp teeth. Arrayed around the body, situated just below the mouth, were the Taxxon’s four huge, red, jelly-like compound eyes that Audran had come to love. She could literally see a full three hundred sixty degrees around her.

Having a body of her very own was worth even the Taxxon hunger. The Taxxon race was afflicted by a constant, insatiable, all-consuming hunger that even Yeerks found difficult to control at times. The presence of meat or blood would send Taxxons into a feeding frenzy. Luckily, Audran had been able to keep her host’s hunger contained so far. Even now, though, she could sense it, always there, just beneath the surface.

“Hm,” commented Yaflish. He’d stopped looking quite so bored, and was now sitting up and staring at his console with interest.

“What is it?” asked Audran, making her way across the cramped cabin of their Bug Fighter to her own console.

“Thought I saw something,” muttered Yaflish, sounding unsure. “It’s gone now.”

Audran stared at her own console intently, looking out the front window at the same time (no way a Hork-Bajir host could do that!). Both the display showing the ship’s scan and the view from the window seemed to indicate that there was nothing outside but empty space for light-years in every direction.

“I think you may be going space crazy,” she said. “A day and a half of waiting to intercept Andalite communications and you’re already losing it.”

Yaflish frowned at her, muttering something about ‘being stuck with the new recruit,’ then continued to stare intently at his screen.

Audran sighed. He was being paranoid, she had no doubt. There was nothing out there. This Bug Fighter was part of the Visser One’s new Interception Array, which meant that it was equipped with the best the Yeerk Empire had in the way of sensors and stealth technology. They’d spot anyone approaching long before they were spotted.

Wait, no! There… the stars outside the window… one blinked out, for just a split second. It was followed almost immediately by another, and then another, in a straight line, as if something was moving in front of them, but Audran’s console still showed nothing on sensors. She must be imagining it…

“Eh, maybe I am losing it,” muttered Yaflish, completely missing the white spot of light, growing in intensity, outside the window.

“Um…” began Audran, but was interrupted when the white spot flashed and their little ship rocked violently, throwing Yaflish to the floor and causing Audran to stumble to the side, barely catching herself on her many legs.

“We’re hit!” shouted Yaflish, scrambling back into his seat and strapping himself in. “Computer, identify source!”
Audran watched as Yeerkish words scrolled across her screen-- whatever was out there gave off very little energy, and appeared on sensors as a much smaller object than it really was, but the computer had gotten a good read on the thing when it had fired. It looked like it was larger than their ship, but not by much. It looked to be moving under its own power, but was not leaving a detectable trail behind it.

And whatever this thing was, it had seen right through their cloak.

She scrambled to try to tell where the thing was. Even with its new data, the computer was only detecting whatever was out there intermittently, so objects would only appear on her screen briefly-- there’d be something to their left, then to their right, then to their left again. How many of these things were there!? They were fast, whatever they were. Very fast, but judging by the flashes she saw, they may not be fast enough...

“Yaflish, get us out of here!” she screeched, her Taxxon tongue slurring her frantic speech. “I think we might be able to outrun them!”

Yaflish nodded and hit the thrusters, and the Bug Fighter accelerated with such force that Audran found herself stumbling backwards, in spite of the inertial precautions in place. The state-of-the-art engines installed on this Bug Fighter significantly outperformed those of the previous generation.

Yaflish rolled the Bug left and right, keeping its forward speed but flying in a pattern that would make them hard to hit, should these things decide to shoot at them again. Audran continued frantically searching, trying to spot the things so she could fire on them, but by the time she’d get weapons trained on one of them, the sensors would have lost track of it.

There, a flash of one of the things behind her! She fired, using the Bug’s less-powerful rear Dracon cannon. Nothing. She’d missed.

Another flash, closer this time!

She fired! Missed!

Flash!

Fire!

Miss!

Flash!

Fire!

Miss!

The flashes… they kept coming, in a mostly-straight line, closer and closer. It almost looked as though she was only seeing one object. If that was the case, though, it was catching up and catching up fast.

There! Not on the screen, but through the window, the stars overhead blinked out all at once-- instinctively, Audran aimed and fired with the Bug’s more-powerful fore-facing Dracon cannons.

She felt as though her world froze. The twin red beams of high-intensity energy connected with whatever it was dead-center, causing a red glow to spread across its entire surface as the Dracon energy was dissipated almost-harmlessly around the thing. Through the glow, she could finally see the object. It was ovular, or maybe teardrop-shaped, but beyond that, she could make out nothing.

It was black, a black so dark that it was as though she was looking at a hole in reality. It was darker than the space it moved through. It was darker, even, than a Visser’s Blade Ship, too dark to make out detail or texture on its surface. Audran felt as though her host’s blood had curdled...

In an instant, the glow had died and the thing had become all-but-invisible in front of them. A full-power Dracon shot hadn’t left so much as a scratch on that dapsen thing! What was it!?

Audran was so shocked, It took her a moment to notice the cloud of ionized particles that seemed to blossom out of nowhere in the space in front of them.

“Turn! Turn! Dapsen!” She shouted at Yaflish. Yaflish saw it too, and yanked hard on the fighter’s controls, pulling them into a tight turn, but it was too little, too late. They plowed into the cloud at nearly full-speed.

The Bug shuddered as a thousand tiny, blindingly-blue lightning bolts struck them from every direction, and every light in the cabin and the consoles suddenly flickered out. Audran found herself floating into the air, her dozens of legs scrabbling wildly to find purchase on any surface. The blue, strobing light from the continued flashes of lightning outside provided the only light, illuminating the cabin in brief, eerie flashes that made it look as though Yaflish was moving in fits and jerks, and left Audran blinded, jagged bolts of purple floating across her vision.

The lightning subsided as their momentum carried them through the cloud, and Audran struggled to see anything in the cabin as her eyes adjusted to the light provided by the stars outside. She managed to pull herself to the floor, and held herself against her console as best she could.

“I can’t do anything!” shouted Yaflish. “The ship’s dead! I can’t even get emergency power online!”

Audran started to respond, but stopped when she felt a definite shudder through the deck. She could feel their momentum changing, their ship’s spin slowing gradually. Something was moving them.“Yaflish?”

“I feel it,” he said, unclipping his safety restraint and pushing himself through the zero-gravity air towards a compartment in the fore-most console. “We’re being boarded.” He opened the compartment and pulled out two hand-held Dracon beams.

“Those have any power?” she asked. Her voice was trembling. She’d never realized how overpowering fear could be, and she wasn’t sure how much of the fear she was feeling now was from her host, and how much was her own. They certainly both had plenty to go around.

Yaflish checked the Dracons, then smiled grimly. “They’re working,” he said, and tossed one to her gently, so that it spun slowly towards her. “Whatever’s out there, it won’t know what hit it.”

Audran snatched the weapon out of the air and turned her attention towards the craft’s side hatch, trying and failing to steady her breathing.

As the minutes ticked by, Audran found her apprehension growing. She did her best to squeeze herself in behind her console, while Yaflish tried to hide behind his own chair. He looked as scared as she felt, which only made her more afraid.

Without warning, the ship began decelerating. It wasn’t much of a deceleration, maybe only three or four G’s. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have even felt it, but their dead ship lacked any sort of inertial compensation system, and they found themselves pressed painfully against the front glass. Yaflish blade left a gash in his own side, which now oozed blood.

Her Taxxon mind smelled the blood, and its hunger flared up. It wanted that blood. It wanted to eat! It wanted to feast! She turned her mouth, ready to bring it down on the wound and eat, eat, eat!

<<No!>> shouted Audran in her own head, clamping down with all her Yeerk might on her host’s mind. <<See the blades? The Hork-Bajir would cut you into ribbons! This is why nobody likes Taxxons!>> she complained to her host. Her concentration was so centered on keeping the Taxxon hunger in check that she forgot to reach for her Dracon, which had slid into a gap between consoles.

Creeeeeeee!!!!! A horrible screeching sound emanated from the hatchway as the ramonite was re-shaped against its will. Audran groaned and struggled to raise herself to her feet, to meet whatever was coming head on, but all she could see through the opening was blackness. No stars. No light.

No invaders.

No, wait… something tumbled out of the opening, tumbling down the deceleration-induced ‘gravity’ within the Bug to land next to her. It was an orange cylinder, about the size of a human fist.

She felt a sinking feeling in her gut. An explosive. Less than three days with a host, less than one feeding cycle of being able to move and hear and most of all to see, and she was going to die. She braced herself for the explosion, silently giving thanks that she’d at least been given the opportunity to experience the world before she died. So many of her brethren would live their entire lives without ever leaving their pools.

The cylinder exploded with a deafening BANG and a blinding flash, but the end was not as Audran had expected. She found her vision gone, washed out with purple, and her hearing wrecked, ringing. She could still feel her host’s body, its brain was still functioning. She could still feel her host’s fear and bewilderment.

A flash of blue light illuminated the cabin briefly, and through her swimming vision, Audran thought she could make out a beam of light striking Yaflish’s host.

At a second flash, her world went dark.

The next thing Audran knew, she was lying on her side in the Bug Fighter, the world slowly coming into focus around her. The cabin lights were on, and the ship seemed to be running again. She was lying on the deck, no longer plastered against the front console. She sat up.

Or rather, she tried to sit up. Her host’s body didn’t respond. What was wrong with her host? She searched its mind.
Unconscious, she realized. Her host was still unconscious, or at least extremely dazed. She was receiving sensory input from the brain, but she’d be unable to make the body respond until her host had recovered a bit.

She looked out through her host’s eyes, trying to make sense of what she saw. That shape, lying beside her… that was a Hork-Bajir! Yaflish! He looked dead!

No, she realized. His chest rose and fell. He was alive. Just unconscious, like her.

There… there were two pairs of legs, standing at Yaflish’s console. Human legs, from the look of them. She was at an angle such that she couldn’t see all of whoever was there, but Humans had to be a good thing. The only Humans in deep space were Yeerk hosts.

She was hearing noises, she realized. Though her hearing was still fuzzy, she could make out voices. Definitely a pair of male Human voices, speaking Galard.

“No… no… no…” one of them was saying, its tone bored. The console, she realized. It was flipping through files on Yaflish’s console, and rejecting them one by one.

“Wait, that one. That’s information on their cloak. Take that,” answered a second voice. Audran felt her hopes slipping away. These were obviously not friendly Imperials, if they were looking to steal files from the computer. The only thought that came to her mind was the traitorous Yeerk Rebellion, the ones who valued their hosts’ freedom more highly than their own people’s lives. The Rebellion was an offshoot of the growing Peace Movement on Earth, but unlike the Peace Movement, the Rebellion was not opposed to using force against the Empire. At least members of the Peace Movement weren’t awful enough to murder their own kind.

If these people were from the Rebellion, why hadn’t they killed her? Confusion fought with fear, and a growing sense of hatred, for space in her head at the moment.

“Hoping to spot Emelen next time?” responded the first with a sarcastic chuckle.

“You can’t tell me he didn’t freak you out.”

“I could tell you he didn’t, but I’d be lying.”

“It’s probably not even the same technology, but it can’t hurt to have the information. Maybe we can find the next one on more than just blind luck.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to fight a war for him.”

You said that,” said the first voice, in a tone that was mockingly angry.

“Oh yeah.”

“I agreed.”

“Not very loudly.”

“In my head. This is not our fight.”

“You made it our fight when you took his magical box.”

“At least we’re doing something now,” snapped the first voice. “Would you rather just putter around trading with Skrit Na until I grow old and die?”

There was no verbal response to that, but judging by the smack Audren heard and the laugh that followed, there’d been a gesture of some sort. After that, the pair ceased speaking for a few minutes.

“Yeah, dude, I don’t think these guys have much that he’d find interesting. I’m taking these ones.”

That one might help us find others.”

“You think?”

“Shut up.” Audren watched as one of the pairs of feet turned to face her. She still couldn’t see a face, but she could tell that whoever this was wore a fancy purple suit that shone like nothing she’d ever seen when it caught the light, and gave the impression of staring into a deep pool of cloudy purple liquid when it didn’t. Far too fancy for the type of precision operation that had just taken place, and not anything like she pictured from the Rebellion. Who were these people?

“So which one’s the Yeerk?” asked one of the voices. Audran’s thoughts ground to a halt. They didn’t even know what Yeerks were?

Definitely not the Rebellion.

“No clue. I’d guess both of them.”

“Yeah, but this one looks like how he described a Taxxon, and that one’s probably what he called a Hork-Bajir.”

There was a brief pause. “Oh yeah! Huh…”

“What’d Emelen say about them? They use the bodies of the races they conquer or something?”

“That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

“So what’s that mean? They copy the bodies? Or they kill them and raise them?”

“I don’t think they’re zombies, dude.”

There was a moment of silence. “Think I can morph them?”

What!? Morph? Morphing was an exclusively Andalite technology. Were these Andalites? No, they couldn’t be. Not only would Andalites have killed them faster than the Rebellion would have, but these two appeared to have difficulty understanding the very concept of Yeerk infestation.

“Won’t know unless you try.”

The figure in the purple suit knelt down next to Yaflish, resting a hand on his shoulder. From here, Audran could only see the short, straight dark hair on the back of his head. It wasn’t until he’d turned to her that she could make out his face. It was funny, she thought as his hand settled onto her host body’s side. His green eyes didn’t seem to fit the rest of his features…

By the time she came out of her trance, the pair had moved away from the console, and stood in the doorway. It looked as though they were leaving.

“You know, Emelen would want you to just take them out,” commented one voice offhandedly.

“I’m not doing that. They’re helpless, and Emelen’s an ****.”

“This is why I like you,” laughed the first voice.

“Thought you and him were best buds now.”

“Do I sense jealousy?”

“Seriously, you seemed like you liked him.”

“Of course I like him, but he’s tail-deep in this war of theirs. The guy could use some outside perspective.”

“Did you just use one of their colloquialisms?”

“Did you just use a word that was more than two syllables?”

There was another smack, and then the laugh that followed was cut short by the whiiirrrrr that signalled the ramonite hatch melting back into its original shape, sealing the two intruders out.

By the time the Yeerks’ two hosts had regained consciousness, and enough motor function to check the sensors, the blacker-than-black ship and its impossible inhabitants were gone. There was no damage to the hull, no trace of the explosive, no sign that the computer had been accessed. Except for the now-healing gash in Yaflish’s side, it was as if the whole incident had never happened.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on October 04, 2013, 02:43:48 PM
:angel:

[spoiler=Chapter 22]Keural

Plunka plunka plunka. As Al’s paddle-ball count topped four hundred and seven thousand, he grinned. Getting close to his record.

There was surprisingly little to do in the little cramped rear ****pit of Keural’s ship. The kid wouldn’t even let him fly. Didn’t trust him as a pilot, or didn’t trust him piloting his precious ship, or something goofy like that, so Al was stuck paddling. He sat up slightly in his chair so that he could see Keural’s ****pit, below and in front of him, and stuck out his copper tongue.

Oh yeah. That’d teach him.

“How close are you to your record?” came Keural’s sleepy voice from the intercom.

Al laughed. He hadn’t realized Keural was awake. “Getting there. Shouldn’t be long now.”

“Think you’ll break it before we land?” asked Keural, with the sound of smacking lips, followed by a heavy yawn.

“Probably not,” admitted Al.

“That’s a shame,” said Keural, and Al couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic.

Al opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as he realized that Keural hadn’t said anything about the paddle ball bothering him for a while now, which was a pretty drastic change from earlier in their journey. Maybe Keural was growing up. Or maybe he was just sick of fighting.

“Shut,” Keural had said, much earlier in their journey, “up.”

Al had cut his operatic mashup of pop songs short in surprise. “Who are you talking to?”

“The magical space fairies,” Keural replied sarcastically. “I’m talking to you, you self-centered juvenile jackass! There’s nobody else on this damn ship!”

“Hey, you can choose not to receive my speech constantly,” Al reminded him.

“No I can’t,” said Keural. “The circuit’s stuck in the open position.”

“Sure it is,” Al replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Admit it, you have an appreciation for popera.”

“Nobody,” growled Keural, “has an appreciation for popera.”

“Unless they’re cultured,” Al said, smirking.

“Would you stop with the paddle ball, too? You’re driving me nuts,” said Keural.

“But I just passed three hundred and twenty seven thousand paddles in a row!” objected Al. “I might break my record today!”

“I’ll break more than that if you don’t stop it,” muttered Keural

To which Al replied, “Man, eating nothing but space rations makes you crabby, doesn’t it?”

“Wish I’d never told you how much I hate space rations,” said Keural.

But tell him he had, although not in so many words.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate space rations?” had been Keural’s question, much earlier in their journey.

“Thrice now,” replied Al, “but we don’t have a whole lot else to discuss anymore, it seems, so why don’t you tell me again how much you hate space rations?”

“Man, I hate space rations so much,” replied Keural. “You’re lucky you’re a robot, so you don’t have to eat these stupid things.”

“Yeah,” replied Al, wistfully counting past two hundred and thirty thousand on his paddle-ball game, “but I can’t taste any of the things you squishy organics eat, and sometimes you make it look so nice.”

“If you ask me, what you call nice is overrated,” said Keural.

“Can’t blame a guy for wondering,” said Al philosophically.

“Wait,” interjected Keural, “so you can simulate drunkenness, but not a sense of taste?”

“That’s not that weird,” said Al defensively

“Aaagggh!” Keural responded thoughtfully.

“Cramp?” guessed Al.

Keural affirmed with “Aaagggh!”

“Did you eat your space ration earlier?” Al inquired. He suspected that Keural had simply let it sit in the microwave.

“No!” replied Keural, “It’s still just sitting in the microwave!”

“What about what you said?” wondered Al.

“What was it I said?” wondered Keural.

“I’m going to eat a space ration now,” was what Keural had said, much earlier in their journey.

“What about how much you hate them?” asked Al.

“I hate them so much!” complained Keural.

“Then why don’t you just wait until we land, and eat something better?” wondered Al.

“I’ll probably have starved to death by then!” snapped Keural.

“Probably not all the way to death,” guessed Al with a grin.

“And I’ll be cramped to no end,” complained Keural. “We squishy organics were not meant to sit in one chair for this long.”

“And the space ration matters because…?” wondered Al.

“They’re designed to prevent muscle cramps and clotting and all that good stuff that comes from being squishy,” replied Keural bitterly.

“Huh!” exclaimed Al, counting past a hundred and fifty one thousand in his game of paddle-ball. “Learn something new every day.”

“Do you?” wondered Keural.

“What?”

“Do you learn something new every day?” asked Keural.

“I’ve never actually kept count,” admitted Al.

“How many days old are you?” Keural asked.

“A lot,” replied Al.

Keural snickered, “And how many things do you know?”

“A lot,” replied Al.

“That’s one thing per day,” responded Keural.

“Oh yeah, I guess it is. By the math,” Al laughed.

“I wish I could be a robot,” said Keural.

“Yeah, you said that earlier,” said Al dryly.

“Oh, yeah,” said Keural, remembering.

“I wish I could be a robot,” was what Keural had said, much earlier in their journey.

“Why’s that?” Al asked.

“Because then I wouldn’t have to eat space rations,” Keural said.

“Why do you hate space rations so much?” wondered Al.

“Because they’re disgusting!” Keural shouted.

“They can’t be that bad,” said Al gently.

“I hate them so much! I wish I was a robot so I’d never have to eat them again!” Keural replied.

“If you ask me, what you call being a robot is overrated,” Al said.

“Can’t blame a guy for wondering,” shot back Keural.

“I’m dispelling that wonder now,” said Al.

“At least you don’t have to eat space rations!”

“Yeah,” said Al philosophically, “but that’s balanced out by my inability to eat space rations.”

Keural sighed, “Would you stop with the paddle ball? You’re driving me nuts!”

“But I just passed sixty thousand paddles in a row!” Al objected. “I might break my record today!”

“See, that’s another thing. You can paddle sixty thousand times, no sweat. I’ll get a cramp just from sitting in this chair for too long.”

“Because you’re squishy!” Al said.

Keural sighed, “Yeah, because I’m squishy.”

Al grinned. It seemed they were starting to get along. It was nice, especially after what had been said much earlier in their journey.

“You’re an ****!” was what Keural had said much earlier in their journey.

“It’s not really my term. A lot of artificial beings call organics ‘squishies,’” Al replied.

“Oh. I thought you were referring to… something else,” Keural replied.

Al laughed, “Man, our fight from earlier is over. Let’s not keep it going.”

“Yeah… sorry…” Keural replied, sounding sheepish.

“You hungry? Some people get crabby when they’re hungry,” said Al.

“It’s eating nothing but space rations that makes me crabby,” said Keural bitterly.

“What’s wrong with space rations?” asked Al, shuffling through his duffle bag of random stuff. Hey! His paddle ball game! He picked it up and started paddling.

“I hate them,” pouted Keural. “Also, what is that noise?”

“Paddle ball,” replied Al, matter-of-factly. “I think I might break my record today.”

“Doubt it,” responded Keural offhandedly.

Plunka. “Ha!” Al shouted, much later in their journey, cutting short their popera duet. “Five hundred thousand and one! Told you I’d break my record today!”

“What?” asked Keural, stopping his own singing a few moments after Al.

“You told me you doubted I’d break my record today, but I just did it!” said Al.

“I did?” said Keural, sounding confused.

“What’s wrong?” wondered Al.

“I just realized, you stopped paddling. I’ve heard nothing but that paddling over the intercom for an eternity now. It’s like it’s ingrained in my brain.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’d have stopped days ago, but you said you doubted I’d break my record today, so I had to.”

“I did?”

“Yep.”

“But you didn’t break your record on the day you started. It’s been days and days and days and days...”

“Days mean nothing in space,” stated Al assertively.

“Hey, wait,” said Keural. “You just broke your record by one? Why wouldn’t you keep going?”

“We’re about to land on planet boring,” said Al, “and I figure I’ll want to look around. Besides, it’s a rule of mine. I never break my record by more than one. Makes it easier to break the next time. I hold the record for most records broken ever.”

“You,” said Keural, “are nuts.”

“Thank you,” replied Al with a grin.

Sreefeech! was the ship’s response, as the landing struts settled into the dirt of the alien world.

“Finally,” said Keural. “It’ll be nice to get out and walk around a bit. Getting a little cramped here.”

“Because you’re squishy,” Al reminded him.

“Shut up,” said Keural, but Al could hear that he was smiling. So maybe the kid could learn to loosen up a bit after all.

Al watched as Keural’s ****pit opened and he climbed out, down the ship’s ladder to the ground. The air was a little high in Argon, but breathable, so Keural was unmasked. As he stepped off the ship, his black boots sunk a ways into the greenish-brown mud.

“Ugh, muggy,” said Keural. “You coming? You said you wanted to look around”

“Nah,” said Al. “I take that back. I think I can see just fine from here.” And indeed he could. He could see the greenish-brown ocean off to their left, and the greenish-brown mud of the beach leading up to the greenish-brown, sparse vegetation to their right. He could see the greenish-brown sunlight filtering through the greenish-brown clouds that hung in the greenish-brown sky, thick with greenish-brown haze.

As Keural wandered off, the two continued a discussion they’d been having earlier involving Keural’s childhood friends, and whether he’d ever find them again. The talk seemed to be going fine until Al made an off-color joke. Keural didn’t respond.

“Get it?” Al said, grinning. “Because Humans don’t have tails? And…” he paused. “Yeah, I guess that was pretty tasteless.”

There was no response.

“Aw come on, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” said Al.

There was no response.

“What? Did you find something interesting? More interesting than talking to me?” asked Al.

There was no response.

“Alright, alright, I’ll come look. Where are you?” wondered Al.

There was no response.

Al sat up, feeling worried now, and checked the ship’s sensors. Keural had been displayed on them moments before, in spite of his distance from the ship. Now, there was nothing showing up.

Keural was gone.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on October 04, 2013, 02:49:58 PM
:o

[spoiler=Chapter 23]Domino

“Noooo!” He shouted. He punched his main console, hard, and the display flickered, but he didn’t care.

“No, no no no! Damn it, no!” he said as he stared at the starry emptiness in front of him where there’d been an open cavern moments before. He frantically punched controls, and the ship’s systems came to life, powering themselves on, the vibration reaching him through the seat.

He booted up the ship’s sensors first. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t gone far. Maybe, just this once, the jump had left him a chance to get back.

He scanned the area nearby. Nothing. Empty space.

**** **** ****. He had to get back, and he had to get back now.

“Come on come on come on…” he muttered, punching the controls, widening the scanner’s range. “Something Maltoris Kazin. Something Kazin, at least. Come on come on…”

Nothing. There was nothing. There was what might be a ship at the very edge of his sensor range, and what might be an inhabited planet a few parsecs away, but there was nothing at all that looked remotely Kazin.

“Damn it, no!” What was he going to do!? That ****. That naive ****! How could she do this!?

“Take me back,” he said, punching the one button he’d sworn never to push again, the one that was set up on its own little makeshift console to his left. The one he’d pushed mere minutes before. He felt a strange tingle run through his body, from his chest down through him to the base of his spine. Yes!

“Gerthis, here I come!” He said, grinning, willing the ship back to the base. He’d get back. He had to get back.

Nothing changed.

Maybe he’d just missed it. Maybe he’d jumped and missed it. He scanned the area.

Nothing had changed! Damn it!

“Please, please, please,” he murmured. “I can’t leave Al there. I can’t leave Renor to deal with that.” He punched the button, “Just this once, come on!”

Nothing. Not even a tingle this time.

“****. Come on, please,” he said, punching the button again. Nothing. He punched the button, biting back tears. What would they be doing? They’d get out. They’d been in worse situations than that before. They had to get out. He had to get back and make sure they got out.

“Seresica! Pisin! Come ON!” He slammed the button.

Nothing.

“Work, Damn you!” He slammed the button again, harder this time. “Come ON!” He slammed it again, “Worthless piece of ****!” He leaned back in his seat and slammed the button with his foot, “AL! I’m coming!” he kicked it again, harder this time, “COME ON!” He leaned all the way back in his seat and brought up both feet, slamming the forwards onto the button.

The console broke free from its makeshift base, flopping flimsily to the side, its indicator lights flickering out.

“No!” he yelled, jumping forward and grabbing it. He tried to stand it back up, but the casing was bent and the lights were out.

He fumbled with it for a few moments, flipping it over, but his hands were shaking too badly to handle the cables and conduits there. They were ripped, anyway. No way to put them back. He dug around frantically inside of the upturned console, looking for… looking for…

For something… there was no way… How could that happen… Pisin… Al… Oh Gods…

He sat back and pressed his eyes shut. While he was out here, drifting safely, they would be… they wouldn’t… he had to help them… how… how!?

He sat, for minutes or hours or days, it didn’t matter, trying, TRYING not to imagine what was happening to the Maltoris Kazin at this very moment. But he couldn’t help it. They’d be slaughtered, or imprisoned, and that would be it. The last resistance, crushed in an instant. He might not have been able to do much if he was there, but it would be better to die beside them than to be safe out here knowing that… that…

Later, he found himself feeling weak. He opened his eyes. He’d been crying, a lot, and had barely even noticed, but now he felt weak. Drained. There was no fight left in him. He’d slept or half-slept or zoned out, but he felt more exhausted than he had in ages.

Tears were again starting to flow freely down his cheeks as he realized: by now it would be too late. There’d be nothing left of the base. Gerthis… maybe even Fernir… they’d be captured or dead. Al… what would those bastards do with Al? And he was here… he’d never see them again… any of them… they were gone by now and he’d done nothing to help them, had run when they’d needed him most.

Hands shaking, he reached down, beneath his seat, and pulled out his gravity pistol. There was no point now. If he couldn’t get back, there was no point to anything. He cranked the power on the gun to full.

Without even bothering to snap the stabilizing blades into place, he aimed the weapon at his right temple. The tears wouldn’t stop now. This would be painful and messy, and no less than he deserved. Best to just end it now, save himself the pain of imagining, again and again, the slaughter of his family, each new image flashing through his brain more horrific than the last.

He clenched his eyes shut.

He drew a breath.

His finger tightened on the trigger...[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on January 19, 2014, 01:10:34 AM
Delay? What delay?

[spoiler=Chapter 24]Salem

Salem groaned in frustration and leaned against a tree, shutting his eyes. Myitt was nowhere to be found in these stupid woods. He’d been unable to find her in the bar, and she wasn’t hanging out in the shipyard. His plans with Mar hinged on a conversation with her.

He sighed. Oh well. It wasn’t like this was one of his better-laid plans anyway. More like a vague idea of direction. A distraction. Maybe it was about time gave up on that one and started looking for a way to deal with the reality of his situation.

Wait. There was someone sitting on the ground nearby, in a small clearing. How had he not noticed before? The long blonde hair… that had to be Terenia, facing away from him, staring up into the canopy. She either hadn’t seen him yet or didn’t care that he was there. She probably wasn’t likely to be in a talkative mood. Understandable, considering what she’d apparently been through today.

Still, she was his best chance of finding Myitt.

“Rough day?” he asked gently as he neared her.

Her eyes flickered to him only briefly. With a sigh, she unwrapped her arms from her knees and stretched out her legs, leaning back on her hands. “You could say that,” she responded, equally quietly. Salem thought he could see the faintest ghost of an ironic smile on her face, but it was gone in an instant, and he wondered if he’d only wished he’d seen it. It was funny how much sympathy he felt towards this girl, who’d been effectively his enemy only a short time ago.

Funny how much of himself he saw in her.

Salem swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned against a tree, crossing his arms and trying to affect an air of unconcern. “Know what I do when I have one of those?” he asked, his smile falling somewhere between sad and encouraging. At least, he hoped it had some element of encouragement.

Her eyes found him again for a brief moment before wandering back to the trees. He took that to mean she was listening. Her gaze, strangely enough, wasn’t flooded by tears, or sadness, or anger or, really, any emotion at all. It was merely… distant.

“I do something to get my mind off of it,” he said. “At least until the memories aren’t quite so fresh. Rolling it over and over in your head is rarely productive.”

Terenia didn’t respond.

Salem leaned his head against the tree and followed her gaze to the reddening patch of twilight sky visible through the treetops. “I usually go for menial repair tasks. A friend of mine would recommend drinking and dancing. Just something to lose yourself in for a while.” He ****ed his head and looked back at her, considering. “You seem more like the dancing type.”

Again, that ghost of a smile crossed her features as she looked back at him. “Can’t say I’ve ever been.” She rubbed her arms against some nonexistent chill and looked out into the treetops, and for a few minutes, neither of them spoke, watching the sunset in silence.

Salem sighed. She might know where Myitt had gone, but after what she’d been through tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to ask her, for some reason. He turned to leave.

“It’s strange. I don’t think I need to keep my mind off anything,” came Terenia’s voice from behind him. Salem hesitated only briefly, then turned back and resumed his position, leaning against the tree.

“You’d think I’d be in hysterics, you know?” she continued, speaking as much to the trees as to Salem. “What was it Myitt said? Blinded by guilt and rage. But I’ve been sitting here thinking about it for a while, playing it over in my head, and no matter how many times I look at it, I can’t see another option.” She turned and met Salem’s eyes, searching his gaze for… something. “I don’t feel guilty. I know I should. I know I should be reacting. But I… I can’t…”

It was Salem’s turn to stare distantly into the treetops. “I know that feeling,” he said quietly. “That distance between event and emotion. Sometimes there are no other choices, and it’s better not to second-guess yourself. The hard part,” he said, forcing his eyes back to hers and smiling sadly, “is not losing sight of who you were, once you start down that road.”

Terenia said nothing. She picked a twig and began absently tracing lines in the dirt and leaves of the forest floor.

“About earlier,” Salem said, suddenly finding his voice scratchy. Apologies had never been his strong suit. He paused, searching for words. “Sorry for the whole ‘psychic warrior mind flood’ thing. I… um...”

Again, the barest hint of a smile flittered across Terenia’s face. On some level, he realized, she was laughing at him. He felt his ears growing warm.

“Did you happen to see what direction Myitt went?” he asked, hastily changing the subject.

“I think she went that way,” said Terenia, gesturing in a general direction that included the bar without meeting his eyes.

Salem nodded once, “Thanks.” He turned and began walking away, but something made him stop and turn back. “Terenia…” he began, but couldn’t find the words to say whatever it was he’d been hoping to say. “Good luck with… with whatever happened out here tonight,” he finished lamely. He again tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat as he turned and practically fled.

After a short distance, Salem stopped walking quite so fast. He pressed his eyes shut and leaned against a tree. He hadn’t been just talking about Terenia. He hadn’t been simply thinking about her situation.

After a few moments, he steadied his breathing, wiped a hand across his eyes, and set out for the bar. Screw finding Myitt. What he really wanted now was a drink.

He yanked open the door, eager to get inside, and very nearly plowed down the very person he’d now given up on finding.

“Whoa!” he yelped. “Myitt!” Insightful, that. She simply crossed her arms, raised an eyebrow, and managed to look remarkably annoyed. It was an expression that said get out of my way or I’ll hurt you.

She didn’t look that annoyed, however. Salem sighed. This was probably the best opportunity he’d get.

“I… uh…” he began. He really should have thought through what he was going to ask before he ran into her. “You have a minute?”

“What is it?” she snapped. “I haven’t got all day.”

Salem smirked. So she was always like that. “I’ll cut to the chase, then,” he said, indicating an empty booth and taking a seat after her. “I’ve a deal in the works with Mar. You seem to know more about him than anyone here. I guess what I’m asking is… what do I need to know about him?”

Myitt hesitated, her eyes wandering towards the door. Salem followed her gaze to see Mar himself walking into the little bar. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered. He missed the way Myitt quirked her eyebrows at that, and continued in a low voice, “I’d be willing to offer something in exchange for the information, of course.”

Salem didn’t like the look he got in return.

“I…” she began, then hesitated, and the look on her face… It was part disdain, sure, which he’d expected, and there was a touch of what he’d call fear, if he’d seen it on anyone else’s features, but the rest… concern? Or something like it. He found that unsettling, to say the least.

Myitt seemed to remember that she needed to breathe, and sucked in a breath. “I have…” she began again, then again, stopped. She swallowed. “Listen, Salem, I do not dream. The way my people sleep is completely different from…” she sighed, apparently frustrated with her lack of ability to say what she wanted to say, and pressed her hand to her chest. “I don’t know how I have these fragmentary memories, but I’m horrified at what he is and I…” her voice lowered to an uncharacteristic whisper, her words became a quick rush of confession, her expression one of true fear, “I feel as though something is missing. Something which I have no right to…”

Myitt pressed her eyes shut, then opened them and stared into Salem’s own eyes. “Do not trust him,” she said quietly.

Salem sat for a moment, taken aback by Myitt’s display. He might have expected her to urge caution, at least, but this… He looked away, finding some nondescript portion of the rafters to stare into.

“What he’s offering is very tempting,” he said quietly, “mostly because of what he is.”

He looked back to find her staring at him with a look that fell between amusement and incredulity. “Of course it’s tempting,” she scoffed, “that’s not the point. The point is, what does he want from you in return?”

“Oh, don’t be so presumptuous, Precious,” said a voice from beside the table. Salem and Myitt both turned with a start to see Mar himself standing next to the table, a smirk on his face. “And it’s incredibly rude to speak about someone behind their back.”

“You should be flattered,” said Salem dryly. “You’re interesting enough to speak about. Immortal, we were just talking about our deal. What’s the price? More appropriately, what’s the catch?”

Mar chuckled and gave Salem an appraising look. “Over time, a sort of… coating forms between the soul and the outside world. If I were to eat some, it would cause you to be… vulnerable emotionally. For a short while. Of course,” he smirked at Salem, “a strong fellow like yourself would be able to fight such probes, now wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t,” hissed Myitt, and Salem looked back at her to see her eyes clenched shut. She held her hand to her forehead as though something was causing her great pain.

Salem swallowed, then put on his most charming expression and turned back to Mar, “I’m going to have to put our deal on hold until I know more,” he said brightly. He turned away from the indignant look Mar gave him, back to Myitt. “You were on your way out, I believe, when I ran into you,” he said. “Would you mind company as you walk?”

Myitt stood abruptly, her eyes snapping open. She glared at Mar as she sidled out of the booth. “Yes, I would appreciate that.”

Salem followed her out the door, tipping his hat and smirking a bit at the expression on Mar’s face as he left.

“Thanks,” murmured Myitt as soon as they’d stepped into the cool air. She walked towards the forest at a brisk pace.

“I feel like I should thank you,” Salem responded. “You didn’t have to tell me what you did. You’ve validated my suspicions, at least.” He hesitated a moment, “I can offer you… something in exchange.”

“Nah, don’t mention it,” said Myitt dismissively, staring at the ground.

“You sure?” prompted Salem. “I’ve collected stuff from all over.” Myitt looked as though she’d object again, but Salem interrupted, “We can call it a peace offering after… after earlier.”

Myitt looked him up and down, as though finally really seeing him for the first time. “You wouldn’t happen to have any single use Kandrona generators hanging around, would you?”

Salem laughed, “Is that a Yeerk thing? No idea what that is, actually.” He grinned, “I might be able to track one down for you though.”

Myitt sighed, “Don’t bother. I’ll survive.” She looked into Salem’s eyes as though searching for something, then frowned and turned in the direction of the shipyard. “Temrash’s ship is this way. I think it’s time to recover my friend’s body“

Salem paused and stood, staring after her. He knew who she meant. Hadrin. There didn’t seem to be any malice in her voice, but he didn’t know whether he should follow. After all, he was at least partly to blame for the Yeerk’s death.

He was saved from his awkward moment of indecision when Myitt turned and called over her shoulder, “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to. I know humans are often loathe to be around the deceased.”

Salem shook off the feeling and stepped to catch up. “I might as well,” he offered offhandedly. “I’m not exactly a stranger to the deceased.

Myitt gave him a wry smile, “I know we didn’t exactly get off on the best of starts. What were you running from?”

Salem smiled and did his best to keep his tone light, “Lately, mostly, these rebels who seem to have it in for me. Though I keep expecting an Imperial Yeerk or an Andalite to melt out of the shadows and shoot me.”

“Sounds like it’s a wonder you’re still alive,” Myitt replied with a smirk.

“I’m not sure why I’m still here, actually,” Salem confided. “Normally I’d just pick up and move on when a place started to get too hot, but this place…” he paused. Why was he still here? “Once you get past the shooting rebels and the double-dealing Immortals and the constant threat of death, it’s not so bad.”

Myitt quickly looked at the ground, but Salem could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a smile on her face. “Yeah, some place for a pit stop, huh?”

For a moment, the walked in silence. Finally, he sighed and said wistfully, “I guess all my time on the Andalite homeworld really was just a little vacation before going back to what I do best.”

If the news of Salem having lived among the Andalites surprised Myitt, she didn’t show it. “What I don’t get is, why would a human be living among Andalites? Why would a human even be involved with the Yeerk Empire? Maybe your universe is substantially different than mine, but where I come from humans don’t just partner up with sentient androids and go flying about the galaxy.”

Salem laughed, “Yeah, ‘substantially different’ is probably an appropriate way of describing it.” He sighed, “It’s kind of a long story. I grew up in the remnants of the IPA. It’s…” he paused, “sort of a homogenous society of many species. If I hadn’t spent so much time traveling, the concept of species living in isolation on their own worlds would be… strange.” He stared at his feet, “It still is. It seems like a very lonely way to exist. I can’t imagine having only Humans for company. It sounds awful.”

He heard a definite chuckle from Myitt this time. “You should try having only Yeerks for company,” she said quietly as they stepped up to Temrash’s increasingly familiar ship. Myitt punched a code into the hull, and the hatch slid open. “Ladies first,” she said with a smirk, gesturing inside.

Salem rolled his eyes and stepped inside, looking around the interior as the lights turned on. There, in the corner, covered in some sort of black emergency blanket, was what could only be a body.

“Poor Justin,” said Myitt quietly, stepping up beside him. “He and Hadrin… They were good men. Good friends.” Her voice cracked a bit as she said friends.

“Justin…” said Salem. “That was Hadrin’s…” What was the word? “Host?”

Myitt nodded, never taking her eyes from the shrouded shape. “And his friend. They were together a long time.” She seemed to gather her resolve and stepped forward, “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

She stepped forward and knelt next to the body, pulling the sheet back gently from his face. “Poor kid,” she whispered, running the back of her hand across his pale, cold cheek. “I brought him on this stupid mission. This is my fault.” Salem felt a lump catch in his throat. It wasn’t her fault. It was his.

Drops of something fell on Justin’s collar, and with a start, Salem realized that Myitt was crying. She looked at the tears for a moment, wiped her eyes irritably, and covered his head again. She repositioned herself, looped her arms under his shoulders, and began dragging him across the floor, grunting at the effort.

Wordlessly, Salem moved forward to take hold of Justin’s legs. The body was already cold. As the pair carefully stepped out of the craft, he asked, “You two were close?”

Myitt grunted and adjusted her grip. Her response was quiet, carefully measured, “Yes. He was a good friend. Hadrin, too.”

Salem nodded, “I’m sorry I didn’t know them better. Hadrin seemed… like a bit of a jerk, honestly,” he said with a smirk that somehow still managed to convey sympathy. “I was just starting to like him.”

For a few moments, they walked in silence. Salem’s arms began to tire. He had the easier part of this carry, he knew. He glanced at Myitt, who had her arms looped under Justin’s shoulders. Perspiration beaded up on her brow, but she continued, uncomplaining, and the pair made their way across the shipyard, the only sound the shuffling of their feet.

“Computer, decloak,” Myitt said a few moments later, and a Bug Fighter shimmered into view in front of them. “Open exterior hatch.” The Bug’s ramp detached itself from the ship’s circular hatchway and settled to the ground.

“Myitt?” came a voice from inside the ship, and Salem twisted around to see a woman emerging from the ship. It was the quiet woman with the curly blonde hair that accompanied Myitt in her search of Salem’s ship. Her eyes flickered to Justin, then quickly away again. She caught sight of Salem’s face, and recognition dawned, her eyebrows shooting up in concern as she looked questioningly at Myitt.

“Tora,” acknowledged Myitt, her voice finally beginning to show signs of strain.

“Do you require assistance?” ‘Tora’ asked Myitt, still avoiding looking directly at the body. Her words were meant to sound like an offer to help with the carry, but Salem could hear the question behind them. Are you alright? What is Salem’s part in this?

“The door, please,” replied Myitt. She nodded towards Salem as Tora moved towards the back of the cramped ****pit and punched a panel in the wall. A doorway slid open, revealing the tiny rear room of the fighter, which was filled with equipment and crates of supplies.

“The human has decided to help,” Myitt explained to Tora as they carried their burden into the fighter.

“Ah,” was Tora’s only acknowledgement, and she moved to open a clear box of some sort that took up nearly half the floorspace in the room. That size and shape… Salem realized, with a bit of a jolt, that it would be Justin’s temporary coffin.

Tora helped to lower Justin’s body gently into the box. Salem straightened, and for a few moments, no one spoke, all their eyes fixed on the lifeless form of the handsome, dark-skinned man before them. He seemed… shorter, smaller, somehow, without Haviss’s presence.

“Didn’t you think to grab a mag-lev stretcher?” asked Tora quietly.

“It seems better, this way,” replied Myitt with a sad smile. She drew a shuddering breath and turned to Tora, “Will you be heading home as well?”

“I was not authorized to come here in the first place,” was Tora’s response, seeming, Salem thought, grateful for the change of subject. She cast another glance at Salem, her brow wrinkling slightly.

Myitt smiled, her composure quickly returning. “Tora, when am I ever authorized to come to this place?”

“You’re part of the same rebellion, right?” asked Salem suddenly. “A group against the Empire?” He had to know. “I just realized I don’t even know your cause. I figure I should have some idea of what…” he nodded at the body, “Of what your friends were fighting for.”

Both Myitt and Tora turned to him. Salem wasn’t sure he liked the calculating, appraising look Myitt gave him. When she responded, her tone was pedantic, almost bored, “I suppose you could say it's something as trite-sounding as freedom.  Freedom of races enslaved by our people.  Freedom of our own people from an outdated and hateful dogma.” She sighed and looked back at Justin, her words becoming more heartfelt, “Most of us just couldn’t stand making others suffer for our benefit.”

Salem nodded, his mind buzzing with possibilities. “That seems to be the problem with the Empire,” he said, almost without thinking about it. “Their willingness to take what isn’t theirs. A fight’s not worth it unless there’s an ideal worth striving for.”

The smile that Myitt gave him fell halfway between amused and impressed, but Salem hardly noticed. “It’s much better to fight for something you believe in,” she agreed, “than it is to fight, and to watch your friends die, in the name of slavery and greed. Come on,” she said, turning to Tora, “let’s go take care of your ship.”

Salem turned to leave, Myitt and Tora trailing behind him. As he reached the hatchway, he turned, intending to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Thanks,” Myitt offered with a small smile.

“Of course,” was all the response Salem could muster. He turned and walked towards the bar without a backward glance, his mind racing.

The Yeerk Rebellion. The hidden, secretive faction in this war. The faction that opposed the Yeerk empire, that operated independently of Andalite control, that abandoned their race and their home to fight for a cause they truly believed in. The plucky, determined underdogs fighting to throw off oppression and better life everywhere. Something about this seems familiar, he thought, a grin spreading across his face. I think I’ve found my new future allies.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin) on January 19, 2014, 05:07:36 PM
Yay, new chapter!!  ^^  And a time-traveling Aetheas...sounds interesting.  ^^  However you want to do it man.  I can change the reference if you want.  :)
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on January 20, 2014, 12:14:42 AM
Nah, keep the reference. I think it actually fits quite well ^_^
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Shenmue654 on January 22, 2014, 05:09:31 PM
Myitt's epic speech about rebellion is seriously awesome. ;)

Although granted it does feel like it was written in an earlier time, before we all ran into so many real-life  problems. Hell, even Mar's statements show both his own naivete and mine.

But man, that stuff is pretty infectious. I'd like to think we can bring a bit of it back. <3
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on February 07, 2014, 04:29:20 PM
Me too ^_^ The Bar was so much awesome fun back in the day. Heck, this whole story is just sort of an offshoot of my desire to be doing that. Need more time in the day >.<

And I love diving into our older dialogue ^_^ So much amazing nostalgia

Anyway, who's ready for the first chapter set at the Andalite Academy? Heck, there are even crossover characters from Paragon Prince (Ossanlin's origin story).

[spoiler=Chapter 25]Tobias

Gemiga found himself drawing a breath as the lev-shuttle crested the last of the rolling hills surrounding Cendorus, and finally they looked out across the entirety of the settlement. The grid of residential scoops and graceful, curving academy buildings was tightly packed, with only a few parks between to make up for the almost-claustrophobic closeness.

The network of artificial grass and streams that stretched away from them covered a much larger swath of land than it had the last time he’d been here; a result, he supposed, of the increased recruitment in this time of war. The Academy was seeing more cadets now than ever before-- the generation of second and third sons that had been born when the Electorate had begun allowing larger families was just now coming of age to enter the Academy.

Then there was the issue of the ever-growing enrollment of females. That, Gemiga thought, was something he never thought it would come to. It was that, more than anything else, that really spoke to how desperate the war had become.

The Human called Tobias, who was standing at the window, made a noise with his mouth that Gemiga would later learn was called a ‘whistle.’

“Pretty snazzy-lookin’” commented the other, who also appeared Human. This artificial construct called itself ‘Al.’

<It is,> agreed Gemiga with a smile. His stalk-eyes traveled from the overwhelmingly large, crystal-domed Electorate building to the iconic dome-topped spire that rose from the very center of the Academy, which towered over the huge orbit-defense Shredders that dotted the landscape, and even the five spires of the Electorate Hall itself. Cendorus had grown considerably, and yet this really did feel as though he were returning home.

“That’s a mass driver,” commented Tobias, staring into the distance. Far away, nearly invisible through the last light of the setting suns, was the shape of a miles-long rail-launch system that curved smoothly up from horizontal to vertical, the very tip aimed almost straight up at the red-gold sky. Following the line of the mass driver upwards, Gemiga could see the magnetic booster-rings that hovered in the atmosphere at regular intervals. The whole launch system was far more impressive in person than any of the simulations had made it seem.

From here, it looked as though the launch system had fully recovered from the accident a few years earlier that had sent one of the rings to the ground in a blaze and destroyed a dozen outlying scoops. Though Gemiga had not been to Cendorus since before the Cyrenk shipyard and launch facility had been constructed, he could vividly remember watching the feeds of the ring crashing down onto the outskirts of the settlement, feeling as though his hearts were tearing into pieces.

“Two mass drivers,” said Al after a moment. Gemiga nearly corrected him, but then he realized: the construct was right. A second mass driver, barely half the length of the first, sat a little farther away, in a newer portion of the shipyards. It didn’t look as though it’d been completed-- the track ran perhaps halfway to vertical, and the support structure that rose out of the ground under the uncompleted track seemed jagged and uneven in places. Gemiga frowned. Strange that he’d not heard about that.

Though, he supposed, he’d had enough to worry about these last years without concerning himself with every happening at Cendorus. He knew why it would be there, of course-- the larger of the mass drivers was intended to launch parts for Dome Ship construction. As the Yeerk fleet had grown, even the new Mark III Dome Ships were feeling the strain, often unable to locate themselves where they were needed in time to do any good. There were murmurings in the military that the Electorate would have to allocate more resources towards the construction of a smaller, more versatile fleet, but this was the first evidence Gemiga had seen that any such action was being taken. Indeed, it was encouraging to see the Electorate responding to anything in such a timely manner.

This shuttle contained several other Andalites; new recruits, future cadets headed for the Academy. Most seemed disinclined to speak in the presence of a War-Prince-- including, Gemiga thought with a smile, the pair of bawdy twins towards the back of the car, who’d been boisterous and confident until they’d noticed his presence. One young recruit, however, had inched closer and closer to Gemiga and his off-world guests. The recruit was doing his best to look nonchalant, but his stalk eyes seemed to be continuously trained on either Gemiga or Tobias.

<Have you ever been to Cendorus before?> Gemiga asked the youngling, smiling.

The recruit’s main eyes turned towards Gemiga, and when he realized that the War Prince was, in fact, addressing him, the color drained from his face. <Um…> he managed to choke out.

Tobias’s laugh startled Gemiga, and he glanced around the compartment. He hadn’t realized that every eye had turned to him and the recruit. No longer were any of the other recruits even attempting to hide their curiosity for the War-Prince and his two alien companions in this corner. The recruit he’d addressed looked as though he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner and disappear.

“They actually do find him intimidating,” Tobias whispered to Al with a smirk.

“Amateurs,” he heard Al mutter under his breath. The construct shot Tobias a glare, then smiled warmly at the recruit. Whatever instinct told Al to hide his teeth was a good one, since teeth tended to be unsettling to Andalites. Sentient creatures with mouths always came across as so… alien.

“It’s our first time here,” Al said to the recruit in flawless Galard. “We’re a little nervous. Do you know of any places that’d be good to visit here?”

The recruit drew a deep breath and focused all four eyes on Al, shutting out the rest of the world. <Um…> he began again, his gaze flickering to Gemiga, who did his best to only keep one stalk eye on the recruit. <I was here once. A long time ago. I was little.>

“Not exactly an adult now,” Tobias muttered, smirking again. Al punched him in the arm.

“I’m worried we’ll make some kind of cultural misstep,” he conferred to the recruit in a conspiratorial tone, leaning closer.

The recruit laughed, <I wouldn’t worry about that,> he offered, also leaning in, in spite of the fact that it wouldn’t affect the sound of thought speech. <Andalites are pretty open-minded.> The way Al continued nodding, Gemiga gathered that the recruit was saying something to him in private. The pair both glanced at Tobias, then Gemiga, and Al motioned for the recruit to come closer. When he had, the construct leaned in and said something in his ear, so quietly that Gemiga couldn’t make it out. Strange… he’d never considered that it would be possible to speak privately with audible speech.

Al leaned back again and grinned at the recruit, and at the same moment they both burst out laughing. Gemiga caught the indignant look on Tobias’s face and smiled himself. <<Your friend is quite impressive,> he said to the Human privately.

“Right,” muttered Tobias without taking his glare from the back of Al’s head.

“My name’s Al, by the way,” said Al, offering his hand to the recruit.

<I am cadet Geris-Helin-Perimana,> said the recruit, smiling now. After a few seconds, Al gently reached out and grabbed Geris’s hand with his own, moving it up and down in what Gemiga presumed was a Human greeting.
“Doofus here calls himself Tobias,” said Al, gesturing to the Human. “Mr. Intimidating is War-Prince Gemiga-Zelit-Fennsa.”

In spite of his nerves, Geris managed a respectful lowering of his tail towards Gemiga.

<I believe you’ll enjoy the Academy, Geris> said Gemiga. <I know I did.>

<I… I hope so, sir,> replied Geris. Gemiga couldn’t help noticing the way the recruit’s stalk eyes continuously drifted towards Tobias even as he spoke.

<These are guests, and my newest recruits to the Academy,> Gemiga explained. <I believe they may have much to teach us.>

Geris nodded, though his confusion showed clearly in his face. Gemiga noted, with some amusement, an almost-identical expression on Tobias’s face.

<What… are they, sir?> asked Geris, clearly not sure if the question would come across as rude or not.

Gemiga laughed, <This one is Human,> he said, gesturing to Tobias, whose look of confusion was quickly becoming a glare. <The other is an artificial construct.>

<Really?> asked Geris, turning all four eyes to Al, and finally the last bits of his discomfort had begun to melt away.
<Wow. That’s… you look so much like him. Did… did Humans create you, or…>

“Not by a long shot,” laughed Al. “I was actually…”

Gemiga missed the rest of whatever Al was saying to the recruit, however, as Tobias grabbed him by the elbow and led him, somewhat forcefully, to an empty space nearby.

“I thought you said I was going to be giving survival lessons or whatever,” hissed Tobias. “You said nothing about me being a recruit at the Academy.”

<The Academy has never seen a non-Andalite member. They will want confirmation that you are capable of passing all the basic courses before they will allow you to instruct,> explained Gemiga with a smile.

“Instruct?” replied Tobias, aghast. “Like, as a job? Not doing it. I don’t have any desire to be breaking cultural norms and pioneering open-mindedness in your society. That’s not what I asked for.”

<No,> confirmed Gemiga, <what you asked for was a vacation.>

“Still can’t believe you agreed to that,” interrupted Tobias, gingerly rubbing the back of his head and wincing. He caught sight of the look on Gemiga’s face and waved a hand, “Continue, sorry."

<What you asked for,> Gemiga continued once he was sure Tobias wouldn’t interrupt again, <was a chance to get away from what you considered the drudgery of your day-to-day existence. I don’t believe relaxing would do you any good, based on what you’ve told me.>

“Probably right on that count,” muttered Tobias, staring out the window at the scoops that now whipped by on both sides. They’d slowed to in-settlement speed, and would be arriving at their destination shortly, a platform near the Academy’s central spire.

<I believe this to be a good opportunity for both you and for the Andalite people,> explained Gemiga. <You get to do something you’ve never done before, something that should prove challenging and satisfying. We, in turn, gain an outside perspective.>

Tobias snorted, “You could get that anywhere.”

<Ah, but you come highly recommended.>

“By Emelen,” guessed Tobias. “He shouldn’t even know my name.”

<How many humans with black ships and android companions can there be in this sector of the galaxy?>

Tobias groaned, “I hope he’s not spreading that to everyone.”

Gemiga laughed, <No, I don’t believe he is. He and I converse frequently.>

“What a coincidence,” said Tobias dryly.

<Really? Wow!> came a shout from Geris. Tobias and Gemiga both glanced over briefly to see he and Al engaged in what was apparently an enthralling discussion. Some of the other recruits had even begun to drift their way.

<Emelen was one of my brightest students when I taught here,> said Gemiga. <He and I have become friends since I was called back to the front.>

“Uh huh. And what brings you here now?”

<Retirement. I am getting too old for space combat, but the Electorate has decided that I might still be useful here,> Gemiga said with a smirk. Technically, that was the truth. There was no need to reveal the whole story to this Human.

Tobias sighed, bracing himself slightly as the shuttle came to a halt at the platform. Gemiga was impressed that the Human didn’t tumble to the ground. He really was far more stable on those two legs than he looked.

<There is Prince Raigar,> said Gemiga with a smile, indicating the eldest Andalite on the platform. Most of the others were higher-year students who had been assigned to show the new recruits to their scoops and orient them on the Academy’s policies. Indeed, as the shuttle’s doors opened and the recruits made their way out, all thought-speaking loudly, each of the older students gathered two or three of the recruits to himself and led them away.

Al and Geris laughed loudly at something as they said their goodbyes, and Geris waved as he slung a pack over his shoulder and made his way towards the only female student picking up recruits. He was joined, Gemiga noticed, by a female recruit, and responded to something she’d said by blushing and stammering as he was led away.

<Hello, my friend,> said Gemiga, stepping up to Raigar as the students cleared the platform and the noise died down. Al and Tobias followed.

<It’s been a long time,> responded Raigar, raising his tailblade and gently crossing it with Gemiga’s own. <There is much to talk about.> Switching to private thought-speech, he said, <<Your timing could not be better. I do all I can, but sometimes one voice at the Academy is not enough.>>

<Our discussion will have to wait,> said Gemiga regretfully. <I will be expected to check in at the Electorate Hall. In the meantime, this is Al, and this is Tobias.>

“‘Sup,” offered Al by way of greeting.

<Ah, hello,> said Raigar. <So you’re the ones Emelen spoke of.> If he hadn’t been watching for it, Gemiga would have missed the way Raigar spoke quietly, so that Emelen’s name should not be overheard.

“Psh,” said Tobias. “Right. Cause that punk kid’s sure to sing such high praises of me.”

Raigar looked slightly confused at that comment, but turned away from the platform anyway. <If you’ll follow me, we can get you both settled in. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.>

Al stepped to keep up with Raigar, and immediately began a conversation by pointing to the spire at the center of campus, which towered over them and pierced the sky from this vantage point, and asking some question about it. Raigar responded only too happily.

Tobias groaned. “Okay.” He turned to Gemiga. “Okay, fine, I’ll test out of a few basic classes and see how things go. But I’m telling you, Andalite,” he said, locking a steely gaze on Gemiga’s main eyes, “once I start to get sick of this place, I’m gone.“

<I’ve no doubt that you’ll be up to the challenge of doing what it takes to stay,> said Gemiga, and, with a smirk, turned towards the Hall of the Electorate. Tobias glared after him, then turned to follow Raigar and Al towards the domed central common, and to the lift within that would take them to the top of the towering spire.

Gemiga’s old joints rejoiced at the chance to stretch and run across the fields of the homeworld-- even the artificial fields of the Academy-- and he found himself sighing with pleasure and breaking into a gallop, taking a roundabout route to the Hall of the Electorate, and enjoying the fresh air and the real breeze far more than the thought of the meeting he was headed for. Here and there cadets and instructors wandered to and fro, talking or playing or training. The Academy hadn’t changed a bit, he thought, except for how much it had grown.

As the suns set and the sky darkened, he found himself stopping at the front door and staring up into the familiar sky that he’d not seen in so very long. Every new star that appeared was like an old friend in the night. Two of the moons now rose on the horizon, even as a third followed the suns down in the west. And there, almost directly overhead, the shape of the Sky Garden was becoming visible, no longer hidden by the diffraction of sunlight through the atmosphere.

Gemiga stood and watched for a while as the Sky Garden grew ever brighter, its lobes catching the setting sun at just the right angle. Its geostationary orbit kept it steady overhead, like a four-petalled flower, large enough that its overall shape could be made out even from here. It stood in the sky, like a beacon of hope to all the Andalite people.

And what they needed so badly right now was hope.[/spoiler]
Title: Re: Salem's Story
Post by: Aluminator (Kit) on February 21, 2014, 02:49:07 PM
If you're not confused by the names yet, I promise, you will be soon!

[spoiler=Chapter 26]Jaron

NOT ACCEPTABLE! boomed the psychic voice, exploding into Tobias’s consciousness as waves of sound and light and color and pain. This was just what he needed, on top of the headache he’d already had.

“Please don’t shout,” he pleaded with the greyish, rubbery creature seated at the table.

THERE IS NO FRESH VANTLIA ON MY SALAD!

Looking around, Tobias could see that he wasn’t the only one being affected. The customers at the other two occupied tables had pained looks on their faces, and were glaring in his direction.

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Tobias replied as calmly as he could, “I’m sorry. We ran out. If there’s something else I can do…”

THERE HAS ALWAYS BEEN VANTLIA BEFORE! shouted the creature, laboriously swiveling its huge head and staring at Tobias with eyes that weren’t eyes, with sight that could see what wasn’t there. I HAVE FREQUENTED THIS PLACE FOR YEARS AND NEVER BEEN SHORTED VANTLIA! NOT ACCEPTABLE!

“Look,” said Tobias through gritted teeth, “I appreciate your continued patronage, Larry, I do, but you shouting isn’t going to make vantlia appear. Is there some way I can make it up to you?”

NO! shouted the creature, standing up and flipping its table with one of its gigantic hands. Bread and salad and silverware tumbled to the floor with a terrific crash. It stood and waddled angrily out the door, its skinny, flimsy body secreting rage pheromones as it went.

“Great,” muttered Tobias as he watched the other two tables clear out and run for the door without paying, covering their faces and looking half-sick. He wrinkled his nose as the pheromones reached him. “And now it smells like a dumpster.”

“Would you like me to talk to him?” asked Yooie.

Tobias sighed. “If you wouldn’t mind. You may want to wait til he’s calmed down a bit first, though.”

“I wasn’t built yesterday,” said Yooie indignantly.

“See if you can’t apologize to the other customers for me, too, Yooie. Thanks.”

“They have no hard feelings towards you. The Syler already paid for his family’s meal from outside. Left you a decent sympathy tip, too.”

“Hm.”

“What was all that about?” came a voice from the kitchen. Tobias turned to see Frea, his newest Radonian chef-in-training, standing in the doorway, gently drying one of the last pots to be put away with a dish towel.

“No vantlia,” said Tobias with a shrug. “Grab the air freshener, please.”

“How come? It doesn’t…” Frea finally caught a whiff of the lingering pheromones, and her face turned slightly green. “Ugh. Coming up.”

Tobias stood for a moment, hands on his hips, trying not to breathe through his nose, then bent and picked the overturned table back up with a grunt. A moment later, Frea re-entered the dining room and let loose with a liberal spray of air freshener.

Once the air was reasonably breathable again, the pair returned to their normal cleaning routine, which, Tobias noted with some satisfaction, Frea seemed to be learning quite well. What little speaking they did was mostly to joke about annoying customers. Frea was trying to keep things light, Tobias could tell, but his heart just wasn’t in it tonight.

Finally, Frea couldn’t find anything else on the checklist that needed to be cleaned. “So… we’re done, right?” she asked, looking over the clipboard at him hopefully.

Tobias smiled weakly at her from across the dining room. “Yeah, we’re done. Good work tonight, Frea. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied, returning his smile. She turned and took her coat and hat off the hook, then turned back to him as she put them on. “You coming?”

“I won’t be long. You go. Have fun doing whatever you kids do these days,” he replied.

“That would be studying,” she said, rolling her eyes. “See you tomorrow!” She turned and walked through the door into the station’s bright outdoor lighting, almost- but not quite- concealing her concerned look back at Tobias as the door swung shut.

Once he heard the latch click, Tobias finally allowed himself to slump against the wall. If his headache had been bad before, it was horrible now, between the psychic shouting and the stench of pheromones and the plain old everyday stress.

After a few minutes of quiet, the headache had repaired itself and Tobias had gotten his thoughts settled a bit, so he stepped out onto the restaurant’s main deck to leave, squinting in the bright daylight. He stepped over the the gravity-lane, and Yooie picked him up off the deck and sent him through the air in the direction of home.

When he’d first arrived at the station, every commute through the bustling, busy station Center had been an exercise in sensory overload, but now he barely noticed the activity buzzing all around him as he flew through the air and then walked across the floor towards home. He powered all the way back as though on autopilot, through corridors that became smaller and less crowded as he went.

In fact, he was so absorbed into his own thoughts that he almost bumped into Jaron, who was on the way out the front door.

“Hey dad!” said the boy offhandedly as he made a move to sidestep Tobias.

“Hey, Jaron,” answered Tobias automatically. He stepped in the opposite direction of Jaron, then thought better of it, and gently grabbed the boy’s shoulder. Jaron stopped, but not without rolling his eyes. “Where is it you’re headed?” Tobias asked.

“Raicca’s,” answered Jaron with a shrug, and tried to move past Tobias. Tobias stepped to the side, partially blocking Jaron’s escape, and was answered with a groan. “Dad, come on.”

“You finished your homework then, right?” asked Tobias, keeping his face stern.

“Most of it,” Jaron responded, looking impatiently past Tobias, but no longer physically trying to escape.

“Jaron…”

“I’ll do it when I get back! What’s the big deal?” Jaron asked shrilly.

“The big deal is that we agreed that you need to finish your homework before you head out,” said Tobias. “Yooie’s supposed to be monitoring that for me.”

“He’s a good kid,” responded Yooie happily.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Tobias snapped at Yooie. To Jaron, he said, “Did you clean up like I asked?”

Jaron groaned again. “Not all of it, but I can finish it when I…”

“Jaron, we had a deal, right? You need to do that before I can let you go out.”

“Dad, there’s nothing to eat here!” whined Jaron. “Aspic’s making dinner, and then we’re gonna do our homework at the clubhouse!”

Tobias sighed, “Right. Like I believe that this time you’ll actually get your homework done. Fact remains that you agreed to clean your room before you went out tonight. Back inside, please.”

“You’re such a jerk! I can’t clean when I’m this hungry!” shouted Jaron, and with that he stormed back through the door and to his room. The door slammed shut, and from behind it Tobias could hear thumping and crashing noises that he hoped signified angry cleaning.

Tobias sighed, feeling weary and drained. He wandered to his own room and changed into more comfortable clothing, then sat at his desk and buried his face in his hands. Breathe. Just breathe. The restaurant. He never could seem to get the restaurant right. These years of running it, and there was always still something wrong, something not prepared correctly, something they’d run out of.

He heard the front door slam shut. That would be Jaron, taking his opportunity to leave. Tobias knew he should get up, go to stop him, but he didn’t want this to turn into a fight with the boy like the other night. He didn’t have the energy for that. It was beginning to feel like Jaron was a stranger, someone Tobias didn’t know at all, and he was at a loss for ways to reconnect.

“Yooie, would you please stop him?” he muttered without raising his head or opening his eyes.

“Stop who?” asked Yooie innocently.

“You are so useless when it comes to that boy…”

And then there was the offer Jansheian had made him the other day, still weighing on his mind. “Just something to take your nerves off,” the Calrin with the slicked-back green furgrowths had said. “You seem stressed.”

Tobias had turned him down, of course, had waved off the vial of Eidrazine-laced water that Jansheian had held out to him. He was off the stuff, he’d told the Calrin. Recovered. He had a son now. A family. He couldn’t afford to risk a relapse.

At this moment, however, he found himself wishing he’d kept the vial, wishing he could just sink into the cool unconcern offered by the Eidrazine. It would only last a few hours, but while it did last, he knew, it would be beyond bliss to just allow his concerns to melt away.

You’d rather sink back into your addiction than put forth the effort to fix your life, he thought bitterly to himself.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he responded aloud. He knew he couldn’t do this, couldn’t allow himself to sink into the pits of self-pity, that this was a waste of his time. But really, then, what was his time worth to begin with?

He shuddered and pressed his hands tighter to his face. He was falling apart, and he knew it. It was as though his world had been coming apart at the seams for years. Ever since… well, ever since moving to this station. Ever since Gina…

His thoughts were interrupted by a ringing trill. He jerked his head around. What…?

Oh. A call. That was the communications system trilling.

“Ugh,” he said, sitting up and wiping his eyes. He drew a shuddering breath. “Yooie, who’s that?”

“Iris Rodriguez, returning your call,” replied Yooie. “You want me to take a message?”

The thought of Iris brought a small smile to Tobias’s face. “No, thanks, Yooie, I’ll take this one.”

A figure flicked into being in the center of the room, just off the corner of the bed, and Tobias swiveled in his seat to face it. There, seated in a royal blue Taigomite desk chair, was a rail-thin woman of around Tobias’s age. She had smooth, olive-colored skin and long, wavy, jet-black hair. Had she stood, she would have been almost of height with Tobias. She wore a light blue tank-top and loose-fitting grey pants. She sat with her legs pulled up and crossed on the chair. More lines and creases crossed her face than he remembered… but then, he supposed, she’d probably be thinking the same of him. It’d been a while since they’d spoken.

She looked tired, but when she saw Tobias, she smiled warmly, and the years seemed to disappear from her features. Her dull brown eyes lit up, again becoming the ones he remembered from so long ago. Her sharp features seemed so very softened by the presence of that smile.

“Good to see you, Iris,” he said, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face as well.

“You too, Michael,” she said. “It’s been too long. You look exhausted.”

“You’re sure this call is secure?” he asked.

“I hope so!” she said. “It’s not cheap.”

Tobias smiled. Iris’s word was good enough for him. “How’ve you been?” he asked.

“Good. Tired,” she replied. “The twins are getting to be a handful.”

“That’s right!” said Tobias. “I knew you were going to have twins. You were nearly due the last time we talked.”

She blinked at him. “They just turned two.”

“Has it been that long since we talked?”

“I think so,” she said tentatively, as though unsure.

“What was it you named them?” he asked. “I’d like to meet them.”

“Oh…” she looked over her shoulder. “That’ll have to be another time. I just got them to bed.”

“Fair,” admitted Tobias.

“Their names are Sherry and Gary,” she said.

“I knew it was something ridiculous,” Tobias teased. “You just had to go for the rhyming twin names, didn’t you?”

“Their names are adorable,” she replied timidly. “I love them both.”

“Iris, they’re your kids. I’m sure there’s a lot to love about them,” said Tobias, still wearing his ‘I’m teasing you’ smirk. “But you know they’re going to get picked on every day for those names.”

“Well…” Iris said, then paused. “A lot of it is that Hander wanted to call them that…”

“Right,” Tobias said, rolling his eyes, then working to push down the weird pang of jealousy he’d felt at the mention of Hander. There was no reason for that. “How’s the ol’ husband doing these days anyway?” he asked, keeping, he thought, almost all of the resentment out of his voice.

“He’s good!” she replied, then thought for a moment. “Busy a lot. But we all are, right?”

“Too right,” sighed Tobias.

“He’s making more time to spend here with us lately, though, so that’s been nice.”

“Mm.”

“I think he still wants you to come visit,” she said, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

Tobias laughed, “Iris, I’m a fugitive from the IPA now, remember? I’d be arrested if I got within a thousand lightyears.”

“I know,” she said, her face falling… though her smile never quite left it. “It’d just be nice to catch up. In person for once.”

“Some day,” he promised. “By the way, have you heard from my mom lately?”

“Mmm…” Iris paused to think for a moment. “Not really. She and Hiro were doing good the last I heard.”

“Hm. How about my grandma?”

“Vivian? She’s good. My mom sees her sometimes,” answered Iris. “Why don’t you call them?”
“It’s risky enough calling you,” he answered, the same answer he’d given her a dozen times before. “I can’t be letting the IPA see that I’m still alive. My family would be the ones in trouble then.”

“They miss you,” said Iris softly.

“Some day…”

“So how have you been?” she asked.

“I’ve been…” he paused, searching for the right words. “Not great.”

“Are you still having trouble running the restaurant, or…”

“Yeah,” said Tobias. “It shouldn’t be all that hard, but there are so many details and so many little things, and I always manage to miss something, and for some reason I just can’t wrap my head around everything, and there’s always somebody unhappy, and a Greslican farted at me tonight, and I…”

Iris stifled a laugh, and hid her smile behind her hand. Tobias groaned, “Iris.” After a moment, however, his annoyance gave way to his own smile at just how ineffectual she was in hiding her amusement.

“I’m sorry,” she said after she’d taken a few seconds to compose herself.

“No, it’s okay,” he said.

“How’s Jaron?”

“He’s…” Tobias paused. “He’s turning into a teenager a bit too fast for my taste. We fight about everything, and I never know what to…” he sucked back a sob. “Iris, I wish Gina was here. She’d know what to do with him. And she was the one with the eye for detail. The organized one. She was supposed to help me. That’s why we were doing a restaurant. It was supposed to take both of us. It was…” he stopped talking, on the verge of tears again.

“You still miss her,” Iris observed quietly.

“Every day,” he admitted.

“Haven’t you met anyone there?”

“Well…” how to phrase this. “Yes. Sorta. There aren’t that many Humans here,” he said. “Kurt and Trini keep trying to set me up with everyone who comes along but so far…”

“Maybe you just need to give the next one a better chance,” she offered.

Tobias sighed, “Maybe.” Then he smirked. “But the one they have for me next week is someone named… what was it… Bianca, or something like that,” he said in his teasing tone of voice. “Have you ever known anybody nice named Bianca? I might as well just call this off now.”

“Oh… hush,” said Iris, looking slightly appalled.

“Kidding. Kidding,” he said, holding up his hands in an exaggerated gesture of innocence. “I’m sure she’s very nice. I’ll be sure to…”

He was interrupted when Iris turned to the side and spoke to someone, the sound muted by the system. A moment later, she turned back to him. “Hander’s home. I’m sorry. I have to go for now. Can we talk again tomorrow?”

“I’d like that. Talk to you soon,” he said.

“Bye!” and with that she disappeared from the room.

With a sigh, Tobias stood up. He managed to make it as far as the bed before he flopped down and rolled over, staring at the ceiling. “Hey, Yooie, you know that picture of Gina I really liked?”

“The one you found the other day?” asked Yooie.

“Yeah. Can you put that on the ceiling for me?”

There was a delay of a second or two as Yooie looked up the picture, and then the light diffusing through the room muted and changed until Tobias found him looking straight up into the face of an unbearably beautiful woman of Asian descent, whose features so closely resembled those of the son that had stormed out not long ago. The picture had been taken less than a month before they’d left Earth, near a tiny ghost town known as ‘Chicago’, on their first outing after Aaron’s birth. Gina sat atop a black stallion, which was tossing its head and bucking. She wore what she’d insisted was a ridiculous riding outfit-- tan pants and high boots, with a riding jacket, helmet and gloves. In spite of how much she scoffed, though, she looked gorgeous, as Tobias had told her repeatedly.

She’d never ridden before that, and her horse had chosen to misbehave, shaking and tossing its head in a way that it must have known a beginning rider wouldn’t like. Seconds after he’d snapped the picture, Tobias could distinctly remember dropping his imager, handing Aaron carefully to the owner of the horses, and running over to help her. He needn’t have worried, of course- this was Gina. In the picture, her head was thrown up into a wild laugh. She’d managed to stay on the horse, and had even playfully chided Tobias for calming it.

Thinking about it, Tobias found himself laughing, but within moments he was on the verge of tears again, and could do nothing but lie on his back and stare, wide-eyed, at the picture. “Gina…” he whispered, feeling as though all the strength had drained from his limbs. She looked so young… she’d been so young...

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but at one point he heard the door open and shut as Jaron snuck back home. Late. It must have gotten very late.

Finally, he reached a point where he could no longer physically stay awake, and he drifted into a restless sleep.[/spoiler]