Author Topic: Salem's Story  (Read 20070 times)

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Offline Luke Skywalker (Ossanlin)

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #15 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.  :)
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Offline Aluminator (Kit)

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #16 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]
« Last Edit: September 11, 2013, 04:08:51 PM by Kitastrophe »

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Salem's Story

Offline Shenmue654

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #17 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

Offline Aluminator (Kit)

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #18 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]
« Last Edit: July 30, 2013, 09:12:47 AM by Arch Kit »

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Salem's Story

Offline Shenmue654

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #19 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
« Last Edit: July 29, 2013, 09:37:17 AM by Shenmue654 »

Offline Aluminator (Kit)

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #20 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]
« Last Edit: July 31, 2013, 01:08:17 PM by Arch Kit »

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Salem's Story

Offline Aluminator (Kit)

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #21 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]
« Last Edit: August 07, 2013, 12:25:22 PM by Arch Aluminator »

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Salem's Story

Offline Shenmue654

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #22 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

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #23 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]
« Last Edit: August 14, 2013, 11:41:51 AM by Arch Aluminator »

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Salem's Story

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #24 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]
« Last Edit: September 11, 2013, 02:42:58 PM by Kitastrophe »

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Salem's Story

Offline Terenia

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #25 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!

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Offline Myitt

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #26 on: August 30, 2013, 10:59:58 PM »
Scott.

You the effing man.

I love this. And I want to LARP now.


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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #27 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

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Salem's Story

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #28 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]

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Salem's Story

Offline Aluminator (Kit)

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Re: Salem's Story
« Reply #29 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]

Marie and Abby are my wonderful RAFsisters ^_^
Salem's Story