To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part VI

To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part VI

     The desert sky was dark and overcast with the promise of rain. The eerie silence of the surrounding landscape shimmered with tension, and the air was heavy with humidity. Electricity crackled; now and again it speared the clouds with almost visible threads of silver.
     Niko shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the biting cold. Brushing a red strand out of her face she turned away from the hill in front of her and eastwards towards the horizon. She expected to see the twin red moons of Umbriel and Yakima burning their outlines through the thick layer of clouds, but instead it was a sole, pale monolith hanging threateningly above the windswept plain. Mirroring the suroundings, its light was also eerie and silvery, nothing like the warm orange glow she had come to expect.
     Partly out of shock, partly due to the increasing bite of the wind, another shiver shook her, this time more violently. She felt sweat beading on her forehead and back, despite the freezing temperature. The air was still and heavy with the scent of rain. Great rolling clouds had gathered on the horizon in a black front -- there, where the storm already raged. It should have made some noise by now, but there was no distant howling, just a silent struggle between the thundering masses of swirling menace and the sparse vegetation.
     The same strange, suffocating silence reigned inside her head.
     "Niko? You here?" She winced at the unexpected sound of her name, unbearably loud in the unnatural silence. The touch on her shoulder was oddly familiar, though, and cherished. Fully expecting an equally familiar face, Niko turned to the green, slightly amused gaze of a blond stranger. And he didn't look amused up close -- only his lips curved ever so slightly while the expression in his eyes was challenging, both dangerous and wary.
     Judging by the way his massive frame towered over her, his chest almost touching her face in a clear territorial claim, she should have panicked -- the instant rush of reassurance his presence triggered, so contrary to her instincts, startled her.
     "I warned you. So I guess you didn't want to hear," he remarked in a husky baritone that sent tremors of recognition down her spine. He sounded only mildly annoyed, and at the same time strangely satisfied. As he raised his hand to slowly cup her cheek she stared into his eyes, mesmerized. Impossibly deep, the color in the green pools of his irises swirled like molten metal. Blond strands of hair fluttered across his forehead, mirroring the storm, and yet the air around them was completely still, impossibly icy.
     He radiated ice himself, and he smelled like the storm -- like wet air and ozone, yet the skin of his palm against her cheek was silky smooth and hot over hard muscle and bone. She felt flushed where their bodies touched -- the rest of her body was too cold to feel.
     Niko tried to think as he bent down, lips parted, but she found she was struggling in slow motion against the steel lock of his arms around her and suddenly, overwhelmingly she was being kissed. The world maintained its perfect silence around them, although the storm continued to ravage the landscape with unrestrained menace and he, once again, mirrored its actions while claiming her mouth. Like a blade of grass, Niko, too, yielded, falling into the vortex of that challenging, maddening kiss.
     The clouds had meanwhile obscured the moon.
     The circle of his arms was a warm cocoon, and yet it had been so cold around him just before... they were no longer kissing, but he still held her. She wanted his eyes to soften, and he knew it, was tempted. And fought it.
     The kiss had triggered memories, vivid images of him, and of her longing. But he had been cold and unreachable, never let his guard down. Never stopped watching his back.
     He finally had, now, because he had kissed her. And because he wanted to do it again, getting that glint in his eyes as he lowered his head once again, for once oblivious to everything but her.
     The deadly flash of blaster fire came out of nowhere, catching him fully between the shoulder blades.
     "What the..." was all he could say as he staggered back in slow motion, and she could only watch as the beam ate its way through his chest, the steaming gash becoming larger and larger as more flesh and bone vaporized. A scream was locked in her mind, the paralysis that had gripped her body keeping it burning there, in her throat.
     And then she saw his eyes turn sightless as his body slowly crumpled to the ground.
     Now the scream finally came.
     It erupted from her throat, long and loud and bloodcurdling, like the wail of a wounded animal. Her eyes were already open by then, although she didn't notice at first. She just sat on the bed, covered in sweat, clutching the sheets to her breast. Her breath came in short, labored pants. Looking to the left she could see the curtains fluttering, partially obscuring Yakima's red shape, Umbriel behind it.
     The moons hung low this night, and, for once, the crimson color bore a striking resemblance to freshly shed blood.

To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part VI

From Betamountain.org