To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part X

To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part X

     The loud clatter of the trooper's boots on the purple tiles caused the Queen to turn around sharply. She frowned at her own undignified haste, but only for a moment. Then she tried to twist her features into a suitably regal appearance as she looked towards the approaching soldier.
     His over-eager look was discernible even through his mask, and his heavy footsteps had a healthy, resounding quality to them on the tiled marble floor. He was definitely harmless -- harmless and not too bright. Just the way she liked them nowadays.
     She smiled.
     Having reached a respectful distance, he halted and knelt down, head bowed.
     The Queen didn't have to force a testy tone. It came all by itself. "What is it, now?"
     The Guard started, but didn't look up. "Your majesty. We require to know if you want the prisoners executed -- the Corporal strongly advises it, given their record. The risk of keeping them in detention while waiting for crystals to become available has been estimated as very high, regarding their training, and therefore unadvisable. Especially since we lost all surveillance devices in the incident."
     Harmless though it was, lack of intelligence could also be very annoying at times. On the other hand, brainless thugs such as the Corporal were not required to know how important it was to savor a victory after having achieved it. Leaving your enemies one frail ray of hope, allowing them to scheme and plan so that you could finally crush that hope in one delicious moment of ultimate triumph.
     She could see the trooper darting glances at the four slaverlords that surrounded them, their white robes gleaming dully in the subdued light.
     The Queen pretended to ponder the question, then finally reach a decision. "No, I suppose I don't want an execution. But since don't want them to leave us before the crystals arrive, we'd better keep them occupied." She smiled ferally before her voice suddenly rose in volume, startling the already nervous trooper into a small jump.
     "I want them taken away one by one and drugged. Nothing deadly, and not very high doses, just enough to make them dependant. Preferably a drug that causes instant dependence, and a long, painful deprivation. And I want them tortured as well. Go for minor, painful wounds. Nothing like inflicting a little pain to revive the spirit, is there?" she added, almost as an afterthought. The trooper swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously up and down.
     "Oh, and allow them only very little sleep -- just enough to keep them alive and responsive to torture. Administer the drug interspersed with deprivation periods," here she smiled, again, with a cat's mien of anticipation. "- the pain should be excruciating, I imagine."
     Lost in pleasant visions of this last realization, the Queen had fallen silent. After a prolonged pause, the trooper looked nervously up, only to be dismissed with an impatient wave of the hand. He left hastily, the clatter of his boots now slightly uneven while the Queen stared angrily at his retreating back. She couldn't help noticing that her hearts had failed to to slow down to their steady triple beat. She still felt tense and on edge, although there had been no imminent danger and four of her best slaverlords afforded more than enough protection.
     They didn't move as she watched them, the crimson glow of the crystals embedded in their chests faintly accusing. Four faces stared at her from the bloody depths, horror and desperation constant in their gaze, like gaping wounds.
     Ironic that her most faithful guardians should be powered by the souls of those that hated her most. But then again, what was life but an endless chain of ironies, great and small? She looked at them, trying to ignore the reflections on the countless red facets.
     "Come," she said. "I want to see how my pet project is progressing."

     Shane looked up at sounds only he could hear and braced himself. As the cell door slid open, the force field dropped just long enough for the guards to hurl Niko's limp body through the opening and then flickered into life again.
     Despite his own battered condition, he caught her before she could hit the floor and lowered her carefully onto his lap for a close survey of wounds, at least the physical ones.
     This time they had added an extra set of tears to her uniform, making it even harder to keep warm in the damp chillness of the cell. There were also several new bruises on her legs and torso, and a fresh cut across her left cheekbone, which was thankfully not bleeding. The shallow cut across her belly was, though only minimally. He shoved aside the torn remnants of clothing, exerting gentle pressure upon the swollen edges of the cut. Immediately Niko tensed and moaned, struggling to escape the questing fingers. Her gaze, though, remained unfocused, her pupils mere needlepoints. So they had also drugged her. Again.
     "Shane?" Zach's voice, so different from his usual energetic tone, cut through the icy rage that burned like acid in the younger man's stomach. "How is she?"
     "She's out." The ST gritted his teeth in frustration. "They've drugged her again, and I don't know how much more of that she can take. Last time they brought her in she used to get that strange look in her eyes whenever she saw me."
     He looked at Doc, who lay slumped in a corner, and then back at Zach, who was struggling to sit up but failing miserably. Given the fact that half of the Captain's body was bionic, it boiled down to a serious coordination problem. Drug-induced, if he was right.
     "Don't bother," Goose advised matter-of-factly. "They've drugged all of us. Little did they know that I don't need a damn badge to fend off any kind of stuff they can throw at me." It was a statement, not a boast. Looking down, he shifted and cradled Niko closer to him. The redhead had started shivering, and her pale skin looked almost translucent in the dim light.
     "Captain, we have to get out of here. If we wait much longer, we won't be able to walk, much less fight. Except for me maybe, but I can't get the four of us out of here single-handedly."
     Zachary's eyes were knowing, if shadowed, as he met Shane's gaze head-on. "I agree," he whispered hoarsely. "But we have to wait one more round. When they stop perceiving us as a serious threat, we'll have the best chances for an escape." He followed the ST's tormented gaze to Niko's mistreated body and had to stifle a heart-felt sigh.
     "I know, Shane, I know. But it's her best chance, too. She's strong. She will survive." He didn't even flinch as Shane pinned him with a feral look and almost hissed. The Supertrooper conditioning was slowly taking over, stripping the man of the civilized cloak layer by layer, baring the instinct-guided survivor underneath. Zachary knew the icy menace in those glittering green eyes wasn't directed towards him, and he also knew the ST had inflicted much worse wounds than Niko's on others without batting an eye. He almost pitied their guards.

     The smoke was thick and dark. It stung in the eyes and made breathing difficult, especially for mere humans. The fight was continually shifting closer to the library entrance, staining the once pristine tiles of the central square with blood and dirt. Niko tried to ignore the groans and occasional screams of pain that seemed to come from everywhere and concentrate on the patterns behind the frantic activity around her. Since she couldn't rely on her eyes for much useful information, she shifted the incoming priority towards hearing and smell and tried to get her bearing in the surrounding madness.
     There was the occasional wet thud, the sound of feet slipping on the treacherously wet pavement, or the sickening crunch of breaking bones. The stench of broken sewer pipes was strong in her nostrils, but it couldn't cover the more metallic scent of blood that hung in the air.
     Momentarily dazzed by the multitude of impressions she received, she tripped over something soft, barely catching herself before she crashed to the ground. Wiping her eyes, she had to bow low to discern a wealth of golden curls spilling onto broken marble, partially covering a face of puppetlike sweetness. Cornflower blue eyes stared sightlessly, still slightly stunned, into the darkened sky.
     Dramidis.
     Pain and bile rose simultaneously, constricting Niko's throat. But her instincts, honed through years of not always spiritual training, were still sharp -- the sudden rush of air was warning enough. Niko turned just in time to slam her foot into the descending arm, deflecting it from its path. She jumped back and sank into an expectant crouch, while the attacker surrounded her with the grace of a stalking panther. He executed a few more hits in rapid succession but her counters were equally fast.
     The smoke billowing around them made it hard to see her opponent, but she got an impression of fair hair and glittering green eyes before she was forced to fend off another attack of incredible speed. Niko didn't like the way the fight was progressing -- she had to become the agressor or she wouldn't last another minute. He gave her an opening soon enough and she let herself fall while spinning round at the same time. Her leg brushed across the pavement with uncanny precision and succeeded in kicking his feet from under him. He went down, but managed to take her with him almost immediately. They rolled across the pavement in a mad tangle of limbs, trying to control their spin while searching for an opening. Both were wet from the numerous puddles where rain had mingled with blood and wastewater. Because of her slender frame, Niko was clearly at a disadvantage in such a close struggle, and she soon found herself flat on her back, unable to move.
     And because the smoke was thin on the ground, she was able to get the first clear look at him at the exact moment when he plunged a combat knife cleanly and efficiently into her chest.
     The shock of recognition mingled with a strange absence of pain, but no words came out of her throat.
     Before her vision blurred, mingling smoke, smell and death into an amorphous mass, she saw that he had already turned away in search of another opponent. And although the weight of water and tears on her eylashes was the only thing she noticed, she held her eyes stubbornly open, head turned towards the spot where a blond haired archangel continued killing with the businesslike cool of long practice.

     "No!"
     "Niko! Niko, what's wrong?" Were the eyes staring with such intensity at her violet, or did she just dream up the tiny shards of golden-green ice superimposed upon the blue irises, that frighteningly beautiful face so close to hers, knife ready...
     So cold... So cold.
     Ariel?
     "You're dreaming, girl! Come out of it!" Such worry on that subtly wrinkled face, and the voice, a velvety mother's voice, soothing, calming, lulling her into sleep...
     "Niko! Hell, babe, don't do this to me. Wake up!" No, not the voice of a mother now. This one was deeper, more forceful. A masculine voice, but the undertones of worry were there as well. Together with chilly darkness, damp and musty, smelling of sweat and blood.
     "Come on, open your eyes. You can do it..."
     Frustration. She could sense it, overwhelmingly strong. It took days to build feelings so intense, nurture them, feed on them...
     Rather than opening her eyes, she stretched out a tentative hand and touched. A male jaw, rough with a few days' worth of stubble, maybe more. How did she know it was going to be so much darker than his hair, which would be the color of sun-kissed wheat...
     Her eyes opened on a gasp. And widened in horror.
     Then she whimpered and froze, offering her throat in an unconscious gesture of surrender.
     "Thank heav-..." Shane froze as well, instantly recognizing the look for what it was. He had seen it before, too often. He groaned in frustration.
     "Dammit, babe, why are you looking at me like that?"
     He made an attempt to cradle her close, offer comfort against fears he did not understand, but as soon as he moved she recoiled and attempted to crawl backwards, away from his lap. Goose let her move away, not wanting to frighten her more. For some obscure reason, he felt like banging his head against the walls and howling.
     He looked so fierce, the whiskers on his jaw only adding to the dangerous impression. But there was no knife. And there was passion and vulnerability in him now, so strong it screamed at her, shaking her almost physically. Gone was the awful cold. He was not as efficient now...
     "Hell, Niko, it's just me!" She allowed him to touch her hand tentatively with his fingertips. "Shane. Just Shane." Warm fingers circled her icy ones,the touch still light, undemanding. The warmth was pleasant, and she had been so cold just before...
     Shane.
     Not the same cold-eyed warrior who had just killed her with professional ease a few moments ago. This Shane had bought her an ice cream at the fair a month ago. She didn't even like icecream, but she had eaten it because she was so pleased with his gesture.
     His need to touch and comfort was so strong that it lapped at her in waves, demanding in its intensity. And he needed the knowledge that he could still soothe her as much as she needed the solace of his embrace. Niko let him pull her unresisting body towards his chest so that the heat of his skin could seep into her. The warmth was welcome, as was the silence, punctuated by the steady beat of his heart.
     Time crawled by.
     Zachary shifted in his sleep. Niko noticed drowsily that Doc was missing; two dark stains marked his corner of the cell, but they had long since dried... she hoped they weren't hurting him too much. It would have been foolish to hope they wouldn't hurt him at all, because they always did.
     The faint fragrance of orchids wafted through the air almost as an afterthought. She could hear the rustle of curtains and leaves, smell jasmine and male skin... She thought his lips brushed her hair for an instant, but she couldn't be sure. As she drifted into sleep she moved and winced uncomfortably.
     Her chest hurt.

To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part X

From Betamountain.org