🚀 go-pugleaf

                   <<Continued from Part Two>>




     Doctor Combustion was crouched over his desk, making notes and
patting out small fires.  He didn't see the visitor step in.
     Charles Stewart -- Excalibur -- was asleep.  He didn't see the
visitor step in.
     Anne Stewart -- Impulse -- sat by her husband's side, holding
his hand.  She wasn't paying much attention to visitors.
     Her husband, Derek Dumont -- Delphi -- wouldn't acknowledge a
two-by-four to the face, much less someone walking in.
     "He looks rather... lost, doesn't he?" the visitor asked
quietly.
     Anne turned, jumping.  Sparks crackled along her skin.  "Who--
"
     "Oh, I'm no one important, ma'am," the visitor said with a
slight smile.  "I'm just here to see the patient."
     "I... he's not seeing visitors," Anne choked.
     "He's not seeing anyone, really," the visitor said, and leaned
over Derek.  "Hello there.  Can you hear me?"
     Derek didn't respond.
     "Look," Anne snapped.  "I'm going to have to ask you to
leave-"
     "Oh...." Derek said, suddenly, his eyes widening and the pain
in them lessening, as he stared up into a chunk of amber on a
chain, which caught the light and reflected.  "*Oh...*"
     "Derek?" Anne asked, eyes wide.
     "Shhh," the visitor said, smiling again, and turning the
crystal slightly, catching different light.  "It's all right,
friend... you're all right now.  Get some sleep."
     "Sleep...." Derek said.
     "Yes.  Sleep."
     Derek's eyes closed, and he seemed to relax.
     Anne stared, and turned to the newcomer.  "How -- how did you-
-"
     "Your husband touched a mind that was impossibly large,
impossibly complex," he said.  "It marked him.  His road will be
long."  He put the crystal back around his neck, then slipped it
into the neck of his fringe corps fatigues.  Silver Commander's
bars shone on the collar where the chain held to his neck.
     "You're... a paranorm?  A Fringe Corps telepath?"
     "Yes, and no, respectively," he said with a smile.  "Cheers."
He turned, and walked out.
     "Doctor Combustion," Impulse said, running to the Doctor and
putting a hand on his back (causing him to incinerate his progress
report).  "Who was that?"
     "Who was who?" the Doctor said.  "I'm sorry, I--"
     Impulse turned and stared at the door, and then at her
husband, and then back to the Doctor.  "I... need to speak to
Sheen," she said.  "I'll be back soon."

                           <><><><><>

     Nixaen was rather surprised when he was separated from the
other Nin Conglomerate prisoners.  It didn't make much sense --
they were all going to be carted off and processed for Corporate
Espionage anyhow.  Why would one of them be removed -- beyond the
fact that he had broken out once and been part of a cosmic event on
the station, of course.  That could hardly be it.
     Nixaen was stunned when he was brought, under guard, onto the
Shuttle Menelaus.  The others were being hauled off for trial on
the next available transport, and had the same priority as
steerage.  The Menelaus was the personal shuttle of Commodore
Wavelength, the commander of the entire Earthguard.
     Nixaen was flabbergasted when he was set up in his own
(admittedly locked) stateroom, complete with bar, kitchenette,
restroom facilities and a bunk without lumps.  As prisons went,
this was like going on vacation.  Nixaen would know.  He'd been in
a few prisons in his time.
     Nixaen wasn't even a tiny bit surprised when Commodore
Wavelength herself showed up in that room, alone.  That was the
first thing that made absolute sense.
     "Howdy," he said.  "Should I salute, swear, or try to kidnap
you to ransom an escape?"
     Wavelength narrowed her eyes, looking at Nixaen like she would
look at some odd strain of bug.  "I doubt you've heard swears I
haven't, I couldn't care less if you saluted me, and if you try to
kidnap me I'd have to lift you by the iron in your blood and slam
you into the bulkhead hard enough to shatter your spine.  Frankly,
these seem like bad career choices for you."
     "Gotcha, Toni."
     "Don't call me Toni."
     "That's your name, isn't it?  I like to call people by their
names.  It feels so much less formal than `Commodore,' and heaps
less silly than `Wavelength.'"
     "My *name* is Antonia.  It's not for spies."
     "Spies.  Right.  I'm a spy.  You and I both know this.  But
I'm a spy you're putting up in a cabin on your ship."  Nixaen
hopped on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head.  "I'm also
just like you, is the thing.  I'm the Black Seed where you're the
Green.  I'm Chaos to your Order.  I'm the rich creamy nougat inside
your chocolate coating."
     "You have no potential career in advertising."
     "So... that means I *do* have a potential career elsewhere?"
Nixaen smiled slowly, lazily.  "Do tell."
     "There's nothing to tell.  You're going to be tried by a UCP,
Inc. court.  You're going to be found guilty of Governmental
Intelligence, Industrial Espionage, Conspiracy, Sabotage and
attempted murder.  You're going to spend the rest of your life at a
Penal Colony, working -- unless you end up being probed for what
you know, which will burn out your synapses more or less.  Or, of
course, they might elect to execute you."
     "You know, you're really cute when you're condemning.  You
should do it more often -- but stand closer to the light panel, so
that little tiny blush comes--"
     Wavelength sighed, frustration in her eyes.  Nixaen had to
admit, this was more fun than sitting in a holding cell.
     "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," she said.
     "Now that you mention it," Nixaen said.  "Since I doubt you're
considering me for Earthguard membership."
     "It's quite simple," she said.  "We're going to be shipping
out in a couple of hours.  Rather than put that travel time to
waste, it seemed to make sense to use this opportunity."
     "Use it how?  Last time I checked, there wasn't that much to
do while you're sitting in Wraithspace."
     "Three of the Seeds are travelling to Earth on the shuttle --
myself, Kid Nuclear and Genevive Tombolo.  We're in a unique
situation, Nixaen -- we were the last of the Serfs of the Inner
Light, and now we contain within us--"
     "The potential for the next evolution.  The next Middle
Managers of the In-Between Greyness.  I know.  I was listening when
we were at Ground Zero of Armageddon.  What's that got to do with
me?"
     "Nixaen -- we're not Serfs any more.  Our personal and
intellectual development will guide the development of the Seeds
within us.  As the first carriers of them, we have it within us to
set the course for their entire evolution.  Our choices and
decisions will set a tone for the process from beginning to end."
     "You like hearing your own voice, don't you?"
     Wavelength sighed.  "Nixaen -- we're going to have three Seeds
on board anyhow.  Since you've got to be transported for trial
anyhow, it made logical sense to bring you as well.  The four of us
can compare notes -- discuss our natures.  Perhaps even make some
discoveries about ourselves and our evolution--"
     "Oh, of course," Nixaen said, slapping his forehead.  "And
these discoveries will do me *so* much good in a Penal Colony, or
lying in a hospital ward with three working brain cells, or dead.
Oh yeah, good plan, Toni."
     "Don't call me that -- and the Seed will pass when you die,
moving on to a new--"
     "Yeah yeah yeah.  I know.  The Seed'll pass... when I'm damn
ready for it to pass.  Don't you get it?  This is a nice, logical,
orderly plan you've got.  It makes good sense -- what makes you
think it'll appeal to me in the *least,* huh?  Don't you
understand?  We're still in opposition."
     "Of course I understand that," Wavelength flared.  "Genevive
and Benjadi are in opposition too, but they're willing to give this
a try!"
     "Why wouldn't they be?  They were barely Serfs before the
essence of the Serfs were recombined with the Lords and Middle-
Managers.  They're new to this.  You and me, though -- we've been
at it for a while."
     "Does that mean you refuse?"
     "Refuse?"  Nixaen laughed.  "Of course not, Wavy -- this is a
Hell of a lot more comfortable than a cell.  If it means I sit
around and drone on about the nature of the Universe, well, I guess
I can live with that."
     "Good."  Wavelength turned to go.
     "What about Ernie?  You should bring him too -- he's Balance.
He'll be needed to keep us from choking each other to death."
     "Ernie doesn't want to leave Round Robin station.  We'll just
have to count on my sheer power versus your utter helplessness to
keep attacks to a minimum."
     "Gotcha."
     Wavelength walked out.  The door shut and locked.
     "Nimrod," Nixaen muttered, lying on the bed.  He slipped a
hand under his shirt, and felt for the tiny seam of the artificial
pouchette that had gone in where his appendix once was.  What kind
of Spy did she think he was, anyhow?  He was a pro, and he was
always more prepared than he looked.
     He got it open, and slipped out the case.  There wasn't a lot
of room in there -- a microdatapad, and some small tools.  But this
wasn't a real cell he was in.  It was a locked cabin.  If he
couldn't break out of *that,* he *deserved* to go to a Penal
Colony.
     Trust Order to leave Chaos an out.  He grinned, and resealed
the pouchette.  He couldn't have a lot of time.

                           <><><><><>

     Ensign Ice stared out the broad window into the depths.
Darkquarter Lounge was something of an eatery run by a retired
Fringe Corps Lieutenant Commander named Russ.  It was on the aft
face of the station, just above the red and black emblem no one
ever saw because it faced away from the sun.  The view of the stars
was unparalleled, though no signs of sunshine meant the lounge was
forever plunged into an eternal night.
     Darkquarter Lounge therefore had the corner on the homesick,
lonely, and angst-ridden populace on Round Robin, with the
occasional candlelit dinner by annoyingly romantic couples who
seemed to directly offend the depressed and philosophical crewmen
surrounding them.
     Right then, Ice understood both the appeal and repulsion of
Darkquarter Lounge.  He was utterly, completely alone.
     "You know," a voice purred in his ear and caused him to
shiver, goosebumps forming on flesh that never got warm, "it's
really a lovely night to feel abandoned, isn't it."
     Ice turned.  She was beautiful and seductive, her eyes
smoldering as they looked at them.
     "Gypsy," he said quietly.
     "Hello there, Ensign," she said, slipping into the chair next
to him at the table.  "Or should I say Sir and salute."
     Ice looked out the window.  "You don't have to salute me," he
said quietly.
     "Of course I do," Gypsy purred.  "You're an Ensign -- a
commissioned officer.  And me?  I'm just a simple little
Midshipman.  Barely out of diapers, mm?  You're my superior."  She
waited a few beats.  "You're *dominant* over me,  aren't you," she
hissed.
     "Shut *up,*" Ice flared, spinning in his chair to face the
dark beauty.  "You have no right to mock me!"
     A hush descended over the room, and people stared, causing Ice
to sink in on himself, humiliated in the dark room.  "Excuse me,"
he said, starting to rise.
     "Poor little ko'velt," Gypsy said.  "Left all alone, his
Chi'velt spinning off into the cosmos without him... no friends, no
countrymen, no one to tell him to pick up his room...."
     Ice paused.  "You... know a lot of Rialton culture," he said.
"You sound like you understand.  Why are you tormenting me?"
     "Because I can, Ice.  And I really need some kind of hobby to
occupy my time.  You're not the only person on this station to be
abandoned, you know."
     Ice looked at Gypsy, slowly sinking back into his seat.  "You
were there, at the Apotheosis," he said.  "You stood with the Red
Lord--"
     "I was his Pawn," Gypsy said.  "He took me in the wreckage of
an asteroid belt, and he made me invulnerable -- all he asked was
my loyalty and *oh* how I gave it... and now he's gone and I can
bleed like the rest of you... and I'm stuck on this metal tomb
where I was told to be, before he left me behind.  Oh yes, little
Green Pawn, I was there."  She looked out into the depths of
darkness and stars.  "And I'm still here."
     "And you hurt," Ice said.
     "You sure know how to make a girl feel special," Gypsy
sneered.
     Ice nodded slightly, looking out.  "He was my Chi'velt," he
said.  "He gave me purpose and shelter.  These... *people* do not
understand me.  They think I'm a deviant -- some kind of freak."
     "They think worse of me."
     Ice nodded again.  "Well then.  I suppose we shall have to be
friends."
     Gypsy looked at Ice, scorn in her eyes.  "Oh, and you're such
a prize," she said.
     "No.  I'm merely the only friend you could possibly have.  And
you're the only person who can understand me, so I'll have to
endure you."
     Gypsy stared, and started chuckling.  "Cute, Ice.  Cute."
     "My name is Lusaki."
     "Sarah."
     They sat and stared into the Eternal Night, bleeding together,
quietly.

                           <><><><><>

                   <<Continued in Part Four>>



                  <<Continued from Part Three>>


     Monique Dumont savored the burn of the scotch as it slid down
her throat and offended her mucous membranes.  Clan McLeod had sent
her the bottle of single malt to congratulate her posting to Round
Robin.  She could have told them not to bother -- she had the same
appreciation of whiskey as she had for Synthabeat music.  She could
accept the word of others what was good and what was crap, but it
all sounded the same to her.
     Right now, she just needed the alcohol.  Glen Garioch just
seemed like the fastest possible medium to get it.
     Edward Stewart.  Why the *Hell* would the Ninnies send Edward
Stewart?  Putting a defector in close contact with an Earthguard
member who knew his brothers and sister would seem to be a risk, a
conflict of interest.  Surely they knew they'd send an Earthguard
observer.  They couldn't--
     Had Edward told them?  Did they know?
     It didn't matter if they did know.  Edward had no proof -- if
his own family had taken her word over his, why would the Nin
Conglomerate possibly try to use it as leverage against her?  She
was safe.  She had to accept that she was safe.
     Dumont closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, and then took
another sip of the scotch.  She had to deaden her fears, and brace
herself for what was to come.  At least Digulio was in charge of
the Fringe Corps personnel.  He wouldn't listen to a Ninite,
whatever they had to say.




                   <<Continued in Part Four>>



--
Beta-Cit Eric Alfred Burns  |"Takes more than Combat Gear to Make a Man,
<sabre@awenet.com>          | Takes more than a License for a Gun.
http://www.eyrie.org/~sabre | Confront your Enemies, Avoid them when you can,
Writer Type, Poet Boy       | A Gentleman will walk but never run."
Gadfly-for-Hire             |                             --Sting