Date point: 9y 1m BV
Redemption, Cargo bay 3
Dear Journal,
I’d forgotten what bastards people, especially humans, people are.
Also, what were the chances the first other human I’d encounter out here would be completely mental?
Considering my luck, I should have assumed it was a guarantee.
You know that whole rock and a hard place people keep talking about? Yeah, I’m pretty sure those only exist for those of us who don’t want chaos to reign. See, I was in one of those situations right then, and I can tell you that hard place was only there because I let it be there. If I had really wanted to I could have just run. I already knew I couldn’t beat P2 in an endurance race through the winding corridors of a Tormix merchant cruiser, but my adrenaline was in full swing as I stood there before the oncoming giggle monster. If I took off at a full sprint, I was pretty sure I could make it to the Phantom and lock the door before he could reach me, and that was if he actually bothered to follow. Maybe he’d just let me be and go after easier prey.
But I wasn’t going to run, because that plan ended with leaving him on a ship with some blue-giraffes that – and I can’t believe I’m saying this – I care about. If I were the sentimental type I might even gush all over myself and call it familial love. Thank goodness there’s not a sentimental hair on my head or bone in my body, although sometimes I wonder if my right little finger sometimes harbors quasi-sentimental thoughts – we’ve had issues before. My right little finger’s treachery aside, there was no way I was running from this predicament.
Problem was, I didn’t think I’d live through the alternative. P2 had already shown he was a capable fighter – he’d managed to empty thirteen entire ships worth of crews with nothing but his bare hands and powered down lava weapons over who knows how long a period of time. I don’t know if I’d have been able to manage that even with my lava scimitars, let alone without them turned on. So that meant the usual strategy of a frontal assault was off the table. Unfortunately, that left the table looking rather bare, and by bare I mean completely empty. The forward charge had always worked before; why overcomplicate things?
So when his unsteady gait became the lithe movements of a hunter with the abruptness that seemed to be P2’s defining characteristic, it’s understandable that I was a little worried. Just as I’d started preparing myself for my last glorious charge, the portion of my mind that hasn’t gotten the whole puberty memo put a second option at my disposal. A grin crept over my features. Seeing it, P2’s incessant chuckling paused. Bending at the knees, I crouched ready to spring into action. Opening my mouth, I bellowed with all my might, “Tag! You’re it!” then promptly turned tail and sprinted for the nearest untoppled tower of storage crates.
My outburst had had the desired effect, and P2 stood frozen a moment too long to catch me before I reached the safety of my barricade. From there it was simple. Every child knows the drill: put some roughly circular obstacle in between you and your opponent, then it’s ring-‘round-the-rosie time. The column I hid behind reached from the floor to the ceiling – if I’d chosen something I could see over P2 would have just jumped it. But just because I couldn’t see him didn’t mean I couldn’t hear him. As I had already discovered, cargo bays had beautiful acoustics, so I heard every curse and frustrated giggle as I went first one way, then the other around the crate pile.
P2 had a foul mouth, and I decided it was best to inform him of his shortcomings. “Your Mother’s disappointed in you!” I shouted, half because it was true and the other half because he wasn’t quite making enough noise for my liking.
“You don’t know her! No you don’t, do you? How do you know she’s disappointed in me?” replied an angry cackle.
“Because she told me so!” At this point I was just along for the ride and prepubescent me was in complete control. I was playing a game of tag where remaining untagged meant the difference between life and death, ok? My witty banter tends to suffer when staying alive requires me to run. Thankfully, his replies weren’t much better in the originality department.
“Nuh Uh!” Ooh, I hadn’t seen that one coming. I still managed a nimble response.
“Yeah huh!” I shot back. Let’s see him have a comeback for that one.
“Nuh Uh!” Damn, he was good. I tried a different tack
“Yeah huh!” Take that.
“. . .”
Ha! I knew he couldn’t handle my whip-snap response – wait. Shoving five-year-old me aside I checked myself out of the moment I’d gotten far too caught up in. Not only had Kindergarten’s-best-comebacks stopped, his footsteps and snickers had also ceased. It seems the game had changed to hide-and-seek. P2 was a horrible playmate. He sure wouldn’t be getting an invitation to my next birthday party. That was, if I lived to see another. I felt that being where he expected me to be probably wasn’t the best way of ensuring such a thing would happen.
Silently drawing my lava scimitars from the double sheath on my back, I crept to a slightly smaller crate stack, walking backwards so as to keep the first column in sight. This wasn’t turning out at all like I’d hoped. To be completely honest, I didn’t know exactly how I had hoped it would turn out, but I was pretty sure that this wasn’t it. I really hadn’t had more of a plan than “Stay alive,” and so far it had worked out pretty well for me, but I knew the likelihood of my survival steadily decreased the longer I played the role of mouse to P2’s cat. Thankfully, I just had to hold out until Manthlel got himself all suited up.
Stolen Civilian Sports-ship
Valur was relieved that his sensors were still functioning properly. When they had informed him that the unidentified shuttle had flown into the cargo ship, he had thought something must be terribly wrong with them. Now, he could safely say something was terribly wrong with the pilot of that shuttle, but at least his sensors were fine. A sneaking suspicion told him that the only creature that would be insane enough to willfully drive their ship into another was the human. Following through on that assumption, it was rather easy to pinpoint the human’s location on the cargo ship, judging by the gaping hole in the third cargo bay.
For a moment, Valur had wondered how he would get there, as the breach had been successfully contained by the structural force fields; only for a moment, however. Chuckling to himself, he stopped his stolen ship a short distance above the drifting cargo ship. Grabbing the plasma cutter and fusion sword he’d stolen along with the ship, he stepped into the airlock, closed the inner hatch, and opened the outer, using the resulting decompression to fling himself towards the damaged cargo bay. He was still getting used the abilities of his new body, and the idea that even the vacuum of space was no longer an obstacle.
Though his landing made no sound to his ears, he harbored no illusions that any inside the cargo bay had failed to hear the impact of his landing propagating through the atmosphere within. Working quickly, he used the plasma cutter to outline a hole large enough for him to pass through, stopping mere bors (centimeters) before his impromptu hatch would have come completely from the wall.
Using the suit’s small kinetic maneuvering thrusters he slammed into the weakened section, momentum carrying him through the resulting force of escaping atmosphere for the few moments before the structural force fields, already taxed with the larger breach, snapped over the newest hole. He was in.
Redemption, Cargo Bay 3
I still hadn’t caught sight of P2, which explained my rising levels of panic. Being me, however, I didn’t let it show. My knees weren’t shaking – nope, not one bit. My façade of calm was shattered as a whump echoed throughout the cargo bay, startling me into making a sound of decidedly unmanly origins. I didn’t know where the whump had come from – beautiful acoustics and all – but I harbored a slight hope that Manny had finally arrived. That hope died several moments later as a section of the wall 20 meters to my right detached from its surroundings in an explosion of motion, carrying a bulky metal something in with it.
The structural force fields caught that breach too – and I was grateful, don’t get me wrong – but I doubted they’d put up with many more punctures in their containment before they were overwhelmed. My attention quickly refocused on the object that had entered with the wall section as it rolled to its feet with a grace and coordination I’d never before seen achieved by a xeno, and there was no mistaking it for anything else. Unless the newest rage in human biology is tails, four eyes, bony spine protrusions, and a body that seems to be machine with a few biological components thrown in for flavor, I was looking at a xeno that looked more than a match for me in the physical capabilities department.
He actually looked similar to a type of ape-like alien I’d seen before – Sellsy? Sellzie? Something like that – but he had obviously gone through such extensive cybernetic implantation that I wondered if there was anything biological to him at all. The normally thin body I’d seen on his kind was significantly larger, and I doubted the bulk made him any weaker. The same went for his appendages and tail (are tails considered an appendage?). His head, which already lacked a neck, was now encased in a helmet that provided as much protection as possible while still allowing transparent viewports to afford him his full 270 degree field of vision. At least, I think that was a helmet, albeit an extremely form fitting one. What was even better was when it faced me with the unmistakable glint of hatred in its oddly arranged eyes. Pointing in a gesture that could only convey condemnation, it spoke in a voice several tones lower than Darth Vader.
“You -”
I didn’t get to hear about what a wonderful person I was – I’m sure that’s where he (she?) was going with that – because P2 decided to show himself. With a cry of “Another wants to see it, do they? Do they?” he reappeared from behind a crate pile in a spectacular flying kick that sent him crashing into the breastbone of the distracted mecha-alien. My suspicions were confirmed when Mecha-Mutant was not annihilated by the aerial onslaught. He didn’t even fall down, though it looked like he had to use his tail and some fancy stabilizing force from his suit in order to accomplish that. Still, I knew I wouldn’t have remained standing if I’d taken that kick.
P2, surprised to see the object of his attacks still intact, landed right in front of Mecha-Mutant. His surprise turned to outright shock as, with a squeal of protesting servos, the metal monstrosity grabbed P2’s arm with a speed I’d only seen in humans – and fast ones at that – bodily picked him up and flung him into a small pile of containers several meters away, denting the thin metal side of the first he hit. In a rush of emotion, Mecha-Mutant spoke again in his deep, mechanical drone, this time without interruption.
“I had not known there was more than one of your kind, but I will gladly end this other’s life as well! No doubt he is guilty of crimes equal to your own!” He said that last part while looking at me, and I had to cross his name of the “Hopefully-optimistic-list-of-people-who-like-me”. That list always seemed to lose a name as quickly as it gained one. I didn’t get to respond as P2 cut in before I could think of a reply. He wasn’t look as spry as he had several moments ago, but he certainly wasn’t lacking in good humor. I don’t think I’d ever heard him laughing so hard before.
“Ooh hah ha this one’s different – he he heh – yes, oh, not like the others. wheeze He’s – ha ha – got it too I see! He he he he’s – cough – got it too! Fun, yes, fun!” Stumbling to his feet, P2 charged again, falling again into the smooth movements I’d seen him use before. Drawing a lava sword, Mecha-Mutant charged into the attack himself. I – well, I just kind of sat there and watched. I wasn’t going to run, as I’d already established, but I had no problem with these two duking it out between each other. P2 didn’t seem to care, but apparently Mecha-Mutant took issue.
“First Human,” was that what he called me? That’s even worse than Lettuce-eater “Are you such a coward that you are frightened to face me even when the advantage is yours? Are you only brave when you fight others so much weaker than yourself that you might as well be slaughtering children?” His taunts were interrupted as he took the time to dodge a high kick from P2. If the fight had been flesh vs. flesh, even toughened human hide, P2 would have been kicking some major ass, most likely to a literal degree. As it was, his kicks struck metal without any noticeable effect. Mecha-Mutant seemed to be relying heavily on his tail and stabilizers, and as such the kicks, though powerful, appeared childishly weak in their inefficacy.
The only reason P2 wasn’t already dead was because of his fighting form’s incredible agility. I don’t know what he was using, not knowing the difference between Karate and Kung Fu myself, but it was definitely some form of martial arts, one that mainly focused on kicking. P2 was using every movement to his advantage, using his kicks and Mecha-Mutant’s unmovable quality to propel himself away from the quick retaliations of the Cyborg’s lava sword. He made the Mech look like a fool swinging at air, but I knew incredible skill when I saw it. Skill that I lacked.
A particularly difficult sequence complete, Mutant started up his taunts again, “Are you so weak-”
I think I’d gotten the gist of what he was saying, so decided it was okay if interrupted him. “Look man, I get that you’re angry about something, but as hard as I try, I can’t seem to remember meeting you. And believe me when I say you have the kind of face people remember. So while you may be all pissed and bent on making me pay for whatever reason, I’m fine with sitting back and letting you fight Ol’ Batty there until the cows come home. As they were probably abducted by aliens, though, I doubt that’ll be any time soon, so I’ll be staying right here, out of your two’s way until the foreseeable future.”
“So you will not fight me because you have no qualms with me?”
“Not really the way I would have phrased it, but yeah, basically. I’d have gone more along the lines of ‘what’s my motivation.’”
The controlled anger and frustration that his movements had betrayed suddenly exploded into uncontrollable rage, and P2 went flying for the second time as a full-shouldered tackle – linebacker style – surprised him where he had expected another slash. He fell heavily, stunned and out of breath. The laughter ceased, but was filled with a roar that took me several moments to realize were words. Mecha-Mutant, rather than finish the defenseless P2, had turned towards me and was now slowly approaching, bellowing in an unrelenting stream of hatred.
“Then why did you kill him? What injury had he ever given you!? What right did you have to take his life? That battle was not yours, and yet you threw yourself against foes who could not ever hope to stand against you! You ended countless live in your thirst for blood, destroying men who only wished to have their freedom! How can you stand there now and tell me you have no reason to fight me? Do you enjoy my suffering? Do you not see what I have become? I have removed every vestige of weakness to protect those who cannot protect themselves from you and your kind, and now you tell me you do not wish to fight?! Are you so twisted the urge to kill is nothing but a passing fancy that comes and goes like hunger? FIGHT ME!”
With that final command, he leapt. I leapt as well: up. I was used to my strength in this low gravity. He was not, and while it didn’t much affect his ability to directly grapple with another being of similar strength, he grossly overestimated how far his jump would send him. While I landed on the top of my small crate pile, he smashed into a large container that had been thrown to the ground when the Fugitive had made its entrance into the cargo bay. The main thing it gave me, though, was time to think.
I know I’m not the brightest out there, but even I could connect that dots Mecha-Mutant had given me. I hate consequences, and no matter how many times I’ve thought I could escape them, they’ve always caught up to me. So why should I have thought space would have been any different? I’d come to terms with what I’d done in my time as a soldier, but that didn’t matter two shits to Mutant. I’d taken someone important, and left him to see it – from what I’d gathered – and now he wanted revenge. That was easy enough to understand. Heck, in his shoes I’d do the same. But I wasn’t in his shoes, and I guess that’s the main reason life’s not fair.
I knew it was useless – heck, it’d probably only make it worse – but I still needed to apologize. Mothers know best, right? I cleared my throat as Mutant got to his feet. “I know you won’t accept it, and I know it changes nothing, but I also need you understand this. I know what I did was wrong. I know that I had no place in that war, and that my actions cost countless lives. I know all these things, and I hate myself for them. If I could take them back, even at the expense of my life, I would, but I can’t. The only thing I need you to know is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you, and the things that pain has led you to do. I’m sorry.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he replied, “You’re right. I don’t accept it, and it doesn’t change a thing. You’re even correct in saying your death won’t bring him back. But you’re wrong on that point as well. Killing you won’t bring him back, but it will make living without him bearable, because I will know that the scum that killed him died by my hand with his name ringing in your ears.” With that, he fired his hand. Yeah, I was surprised too, but his hand opened up, charged for several moments, and discharged a kinetic pulse that struck the small, and apparently empty, crate I was standing on. From the feel of it, it was one of those anti-tank varieties.
Those weapons were usually larger than his arm, but I guess that’s why it needed a second to charge. That was the thought that went through my head as I tumble-rolled to absorb the impact of my rather less than graceful impact against the floor. In the movies you see the hero fall, roll, and pop back up in a matter of seconds. I managed the same result, after a fashion, and in a significantly longer amount of time than a few seconds, but I still got back to my feet.
I immediately dropped to the floor again as the quickly approaching sound of wheezing laughter from somewhere behind me alerted me to the flying kick P2 had aimed at my back just in time for me to avoid it. He managed one of the perfect rolls – show-off. He paid for his flashy moves, though, as Mutant, who had had to run around half the crate pile to reach me, rounded the corner of said pile in time to deliver a kick of his own to the rolled up maniac. I heard something crack, and P2 screamed, the momentum of the kick sending him rolling – this time uncontrolled – in a new direction. He staggered to his feet, clutching his side.
Spitting up blood, he looked at first Mutant then me with murder in his eyes. “You both see it. You both have it. I have it. I must keep it. Mustn’t give it up, no, that would be wrong. I’ll ignore it now, to keep it, but I’ll remember. I’ll remember both of you. I always remember who has it. Yours will be mine!” With that enlightening speech, he turned and ran for the door, staggering in a way that suggested it had more to do with his condition now rather than his mental state. He nearly ran into Manthlel and he burst into the room – about fucking time – and would have collided with him, if he hadn’t emited the most ear-splitting screech I have ever heard in my life. His bloody, rotten teeth added to the display, causing Manthlel to recoil in disgust, long enough for him to slip past and into the corridor beyond.
I’d stood and watched for too long, and nearly lost my head because of it. As it was, I lost lava scimitar number 1 as I raised it on a reflex, deflecting Mutant’s killing blow at the expense of having it ripped from my hand. He swung again, and I ducked. He raised a knee, and – well, I didn’t duck. Tasting blood, I let my body follow my head and used a clumsy summersault to give myself some breathing space.
“Should I go after him or-?” Manthlel asked, pointing back towards the doorway. “Help me! Help me!” I would have said it a few more times if I hadn’t needed that breath at the moment. I was just going to have to hope that security force field could hold against the wounded P2, because I wasn’t going to survive this encounter on my own. Manthlel didn’t throw himself into the fray, for which I was glad. He wouldn’t have lasted a moment against this guy, hulk-suit or no. It still remained that Manny still had the reflexes of a xeno, and that just wasn’t going to cut it in this fight. He was still able to help, though. The shoulder mounted plasma cannon came online, geared up, and discharged.
Learning from the last time he had tried to hit something with human-esque reflexes, Manny didn’t aim directly at Mecha-Mutant, but instead a little behind and at his feet. The results were spectacular. A flash of light, heat, and a whole lot of debris exploded behind Mutant, the concussive blast finally managing to upset his balance, mainly because it came from behind where his tail couldn’t help. He acted like a shield to me, and I survived without a scratch as he was flung over my crouched form.
I found myself laughing as I got shakily to my feet. Here I was, slayer of countless dragons, and I couldn’t manage one measly human-level cyborg. Of course, they’d always just kind of attacked me in the same way: from the front. And they hadn’t really been intelligent, just fierce. I now realized how easy it had been to mislead them with my feints, to the point where I had taken the fact that I would fool them for granted. That wouldn’t work for me here now; not against a sapient opponent. Still, I had Manny’s help now. Emboldened by aid, I met Mutant head on as he regained his feet and charged.
Thinking it couldn’t hurt to try, I used the same feinting move I’d done countless times before, attempting to strafe his side with my scimitar. It worked – kind of. His response time was slower, and I was able to easily matrix-dodge his wild arm he flung at my head. Before I could hit his side with scimitar number 2, his tail came out of nowhere and took me from my feet. So much for turning the tables. Manny saved me again from certain death, as Mutant’s killing stroke was interrupted by a large shipping crate coming once again from behind. It staggered Mutant long enough for me to roll away and regain my feet.
A massive explosion somewhere in the ship put me on the ground again, along with Mutant and Manny. It sounded as though the ship was under attack, although from who I couldn’t fathom. P2 didn’t have anything that could make that kind of punch, right? Had a Player 3 entered? I sincerely hope not; I doubted I would survive many more Players. I didn’t have much time to worry about it as Mecha-Mutant got back up and charged. Unfortunately, he didn’t charge me. Having already had victory snatched away from him twice now, Mutant decided Manny’s participation in the fight was no longer necessary
Swearing, I gave chase as the Cyborg hurled himself at my hulk-suited companion. Keeping his head, Manny turned every weapon he had at his disposal, meaning four anti-tank kinetic pulse weapons and a plasma cannon. Mutant dodged most of the anti-tank pulses Manny threw his way, but was having difficulty with the plasma canon, which the lumpy orange alien refused to fire anywhere but at the Cyborg’s feet. The heat and concussive waves from the blasts slowed Mecha-Mutant enough to where Manny managed to stay a safe distance. I didn’t make up much ground either since I was busy dodging second hand anti-tank kinetic pulses.
Frustrated, the metallic monstrosity changed strategies. Waiting until Manthlel was in the shadow of a tall crate pile, Mutant shot out several of the supporting crates at the bottom. I watched in abject horror as the tottering pile of shipping containers fell in a massive jumble of sharp edges and heavy payloads. Manny’s slow reflexes hadn’t been enough, and he was caught in the avalanche, my shout of, “Manny!” lost in the cacophony.
I tried to dodge past the hulking metal being, but he wasn’t having any of it. Reluctantly, I allowed myself to be drawn back into the fight. There wasn’t any way he was going to let me try and help Manny with impunity. I was just going to have to hope the hulk-suit had been enough protection to let him survive that.
Both of us cut loose, moving with as much speed and concentration available to us. He slashed at my right side, I parried, spinning away and diving to where lava scimitar number one lay active on the floor. Snatching it up I had just enough to catch his incoming foot on the shin with my shoulder. It hurt, but it hurt much less than it would have had his pointy toe connected with my soft gut. I retaliated with a quick slice of my scimitar, and was rewarded by removing most of his foot below the ankle.
Call it what you will, but I call it cheating when I can lop a guy’s foot off and he doesn’t even take a second to at least murmur “ow,” or some other word denoting pain. Maybe he had it so pain didn’t register. Maybe it was because his foot came off with a shower of sparks rather than a gush of blood. Either way, Mutant reacted to the amputation as though I’d merely bumped into it. He looked down, registered the damage, then kept fighting, adjusting for the height difference and newfound balance issues. As it was, I barely managed to escape from my slight victory as his sword came plunging down to get my back.
A roll saved me, and I sprang to my feet and we were at it again. Slice, backstep, stab, sidestep, tail swipe, jump and cut, parry with a punch, duck and slash, get slashed and tackle, get crushed by said tackle. That last part was me, in case you didn’t pick up on it. The guy was heavy, and having all his weight come down on me did not feel good. After I gave him a cut that would have eviscerated any biological being, he jumped into my waist, tackling me in the exact same way Hobbes tackles Calvin when he opens the door, except this tiger wasn’t stuffed – or a tiger, or imaginary – basically it hurt like hell.
I, unlike unfeeling hunks of metal, can feel it when one of my appendages suffers large amounts of damage, and my leg was registering that it was broken. I’ve heard it said that the most painful thing for a human to endure is to have the femur bone cracked in half. I didn’t know if that was even remotely true, but at that moment I could have believed it. When Mutant got up, I didn’t. It was taking all my willpower to not scream in agony, let alone fight through a broken leg, not that I could have anyway.
Mutant looked down with a smile, “You fight better without your friend to help. It’s only fair. After all, I was no help to my friend when you murdered him. It’s fitting, then, that you should have no help either.”
A new voice sounded from the cargo bay doorway, “Odd. The only one I see here without help is you.”
Mutant’s head – well, he didn’t have a neck, so his entire upper body – whipped around, trying to find the voice’s owner, only to receive a kinetic pulse to the head.
He recoiled, more in surprise than anything. He turned back to his attacker, only to be hit again and again with deadly accuracy. Blinded by the impacts against his eye holes, he flung his sword in the general direction of the shots. His bulk had been in the way before so that I couldn’t see, but with the throw I saw Mama dodge to the side, narrowly avoiding a projectile that would have been child’s play for any human to evade. She was too slow! This wasn’t her fight!
Fighting through the haze of pain, I shouted, “Mama, get out of here! You can’t do anything you’ll just get yourself-”
The Cyborg, released from the blinding effects of kinetic pulses to the eyes ports, quickly took aim with his own gun and fired. Twice. I could see his arm making adjustments, compensating for an apparent lack of aim on the part of its user by interpreting his intent.
One shot fried her kinetic shield. The next passed through her head.
Time stopped. Events froze as everything came to a complete halt except for Mama’s limp form as it slumped to the ground. Ages passed in the quiet of the grave.
Then a roar pierced the silence with a lance of despair that mimicked the stabbing pains that shot through my chest and leg. I didn’t realize that the roar was mine, or that I was crying, and I wouldn’t have cared. Pain and loss raged inside me, gleefully laying waste to everything I held dear.
Mama’s killer looked down at me again, his smile widening. “You asked for motivation? You wanted a reason to fight? Consider this my gift to you. I think I actually prefer this outcome more than what I’d originally planned. I’ve lost one to you, and you’ve lost one to me. Now we’re even.” Turning his back on me, he walked to the entrance hole he’d created, picking up his severed foot on the way, bending at the knee as his gut wasn’t working so well with the cut I’d given it.
Giving me one last smile, he shot the structural force field covering the breach. Made to keep the air in, not stop anti-tank pulses, the field buckled, once again throwing the atmospheric pressure out of whack for several seconds before it managed to reestablish itself, by which time Mutant had been whisked out away on a wave of force. I was pulled across the floor for several meters, resulting in new waves of physical pain. Soon after I blacked out due to blood loss, or maybe I just didn’t want to stay awake.
I awoke on a medical bed. My leg no longer hurt. The physical stuff, at least. Finished with my self-evaluation, I spread my awareness to the room I was in, and immediately became aware of a presence near my bed. “Did Manthlel survive, how is he, and how is my leg?” If they had ears they’d hear and figure out I was talking to them. My voice was a toneless drone to my ears, but it suited my mood perfectly. Silence stretched longer than I had anticipated, and I prepared to ask the question again when the answer finally came.
“Your companion survived, and is in good health, although the same cannot be said for his Exo-harness. Your leg is broken, and I set it as best as I knew how, but I doubt I did it correctly, as I’m no medic.”
“Where are Severus and Dink?” still monotone.
“I’m sorry, who did you-”
“Where are the captain and his son!”
Taken aback by my shout, the being was slow in responding. I let him take his time, knowing I could say nothing more that wouldn’t confuse him.
“Tnnxz asked to be informed the moment you woke up, which I did. I believe Vtv is with him-”
Severus stormed into the room, looking like hell and pissed to high heavens.
“What happened to her? Why didn’t you save her? What did you-” He broke down into loud sobs before he could finish his question, and I got a look at Dink as he entered the room. His face was even worse than Severus’. While his father’s face was one of despair, Dink’s expression held nothing. It was dead; lifeless eyes staring out without seeing. Dink’s visage compelled me to answer his Father’s questions.
“What happened? She was murdered. Why didn’t I save her? I couldn’t. What did I do? Not enough. What am I going to do? I will show the thing that killed her just how cruel a human can be. He’ll beg for death and damnation before I’m through, and when I’m done I’ll give him both.”
I’d not heard such heat in my voice for a long time. I had forgotten how much I’d liked it. So much for being sorry.