There's a vulture perching right offscreen
It's bitter and whispers chaotic things
–Silversun Pickups
Brother.
Silence met her greeting.
Brother.
Nothing.
Moonberyl!
ShadoWeaver’s hushed voice betrayed her eagerness. His curiosity roused, MoonBeryl’s answer came in a forced bored and dull tone, difficult to maintain as he hadn’t heard his sister this animated in years.
What, sister? You complain time and time again of our presence, and yet when I leave you be, you seek me out. I haven’t the patience for your incessant ran…
Quiet! Do not rouse the suspicions of the others. I wish to speak with you privately.
ShadoWeaver could hardly contain her emotions while she focused her thoughts in as narrow a beam as she could. MoonBeryl, if he hadn’t known his sister as well as he did, would almost assign the word “happy” to the sensation he felt from her. He followed her lead, keeping their conversation as hidden from FireStar, IceDancer, and PathFinder as they could. He didn't even give a thought to SunCatcher, his nearly forgotten sibling who barely registered as an imprint.
Why?
MoonBeryl was tempted to reach out to his siblings just because it would annoy his sister. But he hadn’t heard her, or felt her, like this in years.
Do you not sense it? I feel stronger, brother. Stronger than I have since our last merging with StormFist. Enough time has not passed – I should not feel this way. But I do.
MoonBeryl answered her with more silence. ShadoWeaver, fervent as she was, did not press. She knew her brother needed time to explore, to probe, to test. He would not take her at her word – he did not trust her that much, and rightfully so.
Sister.
Yes!
I feel the same. How is th…
ShadoWeaver interrupted. Does it matter?
No. MoonBeryl’s voice rose to the same excited pitch as his sister’s. The others?
Leave them be. They do not share our…unique situation.
ShadoWeaver referred, of course, to the bond they shared with Matthew Simon, Koyliak VanDuran-Simon, and most importantly, their infant daughter.
Then what do you suggest?
It was ShadoWeaver’s turn to answer in silence. Her brother would come to the realization soon enough.
Sister.
Yes?
Let’s play.
((This thread will be crossposted in Red Dragon Inn Forum Index -> RhyDin Town Center -> The Governor's Office)
Spiraling
Moderator: Staff
The P-64C Ferret, its once bright white paint now nearly gray with age and exposure to atmospheric elements and cosmic rays, streaked over the landscape at 250kps. A relatively slow velocity for spaceflight, the Ferret’s normal cruising speed meant the landscape was no more than a blur of greens and browns.
Inside the cockpit, Casey Ripkus found herself immersed in near-absolute boredom. To combat the feeling, she shoved the throttle forward. Instantaneously, the blue-flamed exhaust from the Ferret’s single engine became infused with whites, reds, and oranges. As the flame intensified, the Ferret accelerated to 1200kps and shot forward, becoming a blur of its own.
Casey joined the RASG over a year prior as a member of the 209th Kestrels Long-Range Reconnaissance & Early Warning Squadron (VR-209). She’d been involved in one of the squadron’s initial missions and took part in its first intercept involving the Star Dragon owned by local businesswoman Azjah von Drachen Walde. An ex-combat pilot like most of her comrades in the RASG, Casey found it difficult to reconcile peacetime operations with her love of flying. Not that she wanted a return to the years-long bloody war that had cost the Confederation so much in materials and life, but she preferred more excitement than the RASG’s operations typically offered. She often thought about taking an InSystem Security job, or perhaps entering a privateering career, but she had yet to make an effort toward change. Life here was comfortable and most days, she could deal with the boredom as long as she got the chance to fly.
Today, she’d volunteered to take on an extra sortie for a sick friend in the 301st Firebees Atmospheric Defense Squadron. She didn’t get much chance to practice atmospheric flying, which was vastly different than guiding a fighter through the vacuum of space and differences meant a little less boredom, or so she hoped. Atmosphere meant she had to worry about altitude. Pitch and yaw rates mattered. And she moved faster than anything else on the ground or in the sky, especially at her current rate of speed which had by now taken her far over the ocean.
“One-oh-four, this is SWACS zero-two-niner,” a male voice and corresponding static crackled in her helmet. The eye in the sky had caught her mid-joyride.
“Roger that, SWACS, this is one-oh-four. Go ahead, over.” She hoped the communications officer didn’t hear her suppressing a yawn.
“One-oh-four, you’re way off mission. What’s going on town there? Over.”
“Sorry about that. I’m subbing in for Cypers today. I forget how much ground you cover in no time at all down here”. So she was lying through her teeth. What did it matter, anyhow? It’s not like she was overlooking anything important, like the migration habits of whatever fish were plowing through the dark blue waters.
“One-oh-four, you’re being redirected. R and I wants some atmospheric and oceanic readings from down there and up here. You’re carrying the B&S Eighty-Eight Omni on board, so you should be able to get what they need. Proceed to quadrant eight-nine-two and run parallel-track scans. Once you’ve done that, get space-borne and run through the nav-points we’re about to give you. You can hand over the data at the debrief. Please acknowledge, over. ”
Casey resisted the pressing urge to give a smartass reply as the SWACS officer tapped into and automatically updated her NAV computer. Atmospheric and oceanic readings. What would they ask her to do next, report on the number of cows in some farmer’s field?
“Roger SWACS,” she grunted in reply. “Nav-data received, I’m rerouting now. Out.”
Sliding the throttle back, Casey cut her speed by two-thirds and nudged the Ferret into a lazy left bank. She squinted as sunlight glanced off the cockpit glass and flipped down the visor on her helmet to eliminate the glare. On the bright side, she thought, her new marching orders would give her some more time in the cockpit, even if she was performing what she considered a relatively meaningless exercise.
“All right, radar,” she muttered, activating the Omni interface on her HUD, “time to earn your keep.”
Inside the cockpit, Casey Ripkus found herself immersed in near-absolute boredom. To combat the feeling, she shoved the throttle forward. Instantaneously, the blue-flamed exhaust from the Ferret’s single engine became infused with whites, reds, and oranges. As the flame intensified, the Ferret accelerated to 1200kps and shot forward, becoming a blur of its own.
Casey joined the RASG over a year prior as a member of the 209th Kestrels Long-Range Reconnaissance & Early Warning Squadron (VR-209). She’d been involved in one of the squadron’s initial missions and took part in its first intercept involving the Star Dragon owned by local businesswoman Azjah von Drachen Walde. An ex-combat pilot like most of her comrades in the RASG, Casey found it difficult to reconcile peacetime operations with her love of flying. Not that she wanted a return to the years-long bloody war that had cost the Confederation so much in materials and life, but she preferred more excitement than the RASG’s operations typically offered. She often thought about taking an InSystem Security job, or perhaps entering a privateering career, but she had yet to make an effort toward change. Life here was comfortable and most days, she could deal with the boredom as long as she got the chance to fly.
Today, she’d volunteered to take on an extra sortie for a sick friend in the 301st Firebees Atmospheric Defense Squadron. She didn’t get much chance to practice atmospheric flying, which was vastly different than guiding a fighter through the vacuum of space and differences meant a little less boredom, or so she hoped. Atmosphere meant she had to worry about altitude. Pitch and yaw rates mattered. And she moved faster than anything else on the ground or in the sky, especially at her current rate of speed which had by now taken her far over the ocean.
“One-oh-four, this is SWACS zero-two-niner,” a male voice and corresponding static crackled in her helmet. The eye in the sky had caught her mid-joyride.
“Roger that, SWACS, this is one-oh-four. Go ahead, over.” She hoped the communications officer didn’t hear her suppressing a yawn.
“One-oh-four, you’re way off mission. What’s going on town there? Over.”
“Sorry about that. I’m subbing in for Cypers today. I forget how much ground you cover in no time at all down here”. So she was lying through her teeth. What did it matter, anyhow? It’s not like she was overlooking anything important, like the migration habits of whatever fish were plowing through the dark blue waters.
“One-oh-four, you’re being redirected. R and I wants some atmospheric and oceanic readings from down there and up here. You’re carrying the B&S Eighty-Eight Omni on board, so you should be able to get what they need. Proceed to quadrant eight-nine-two and run parallel-track scans. Once you’ve done that, get space-borne and run through the nav-points we’re about to give you. You can hand over the data at the debrief. Please acknowledge, over. ”
Casey resisted the pressing urge to give a smartass reply as the SWACS officer tapped into and automatically updated her NAV computer. Atmospheric and oceanic readings. What would they ask her to do next, report on the number of cows in some farmer’s field?
“Roger SWACS,” she grunted in reply. “Nav-data received, I’m rerouting now. Out.”
Sliding the throttle back, Casey cut her speed by two-thirds and nudged the Ferret into a lazy left bank. She squinted as sunlight glanced off the cockpit glass and flipped down the visor on her helmet to eliminate the glare. On the bright side, she thought, her new marching orders would give her some more time in the cockpit, even if she was performing what she considered a relatively meaningless exercise.
“All right, radar,” she muttered, activating the Omni interface on her HUD, “time to earn your keep.”
-
Koyliak
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fashion Police
- Posts: 425
- Joined: Sat Apr 03, 2004 11:14 pm
- Location: The Heavenly Boutique - Where Dreams Become Realities
Stirrings
Stirrings
All this deception
I just can’t maintain
The sun, the moon
the stars in the sky
It’d hurt me too bad
if you said goodbye
Lies, lies, lies ohh lies
--The Black Keys
Getting dressed became more and more difficult with each day the child Koy carried spent inside her growing stomach. Standing sideways in front of her bedroom mirror Koy took stock of just how round she was becoming in the seventh month of her pregnancy.
“A lil more and I won’t be able ta fit inta any underthings at all...” She had yet to dress. She placed her hands over her naked belly pressing her fingers lightly against the skin. She dared to take another glance at her reflected image. A small thrill raced up her spine at the sight. Her Gods created her for motherhood and it showed in her glowing face.
Part of her suddenly felt terrified at the thought. The other part felt skeptically hopeful.
The joy of pregnancy, even the pain of childbirth, belonged to her once before. She lapped up every moment of it then free from the weight of knowing that life’s path held many blind turns and dark alleys. Lirisa’s sole year in the living world filled Koy up with more love and light than the elf ever imagined she could hold. Her subsequent death left Koy drained and half-dead on the rundown floor of an Elanthian inn.
She could not survive another loss. She needed to be cautious with her dreams.
Her fingers though could not help but map out the expanded terrain of her stomach marveling at the life inside. Stealing another peek at the mirror a surprised smile crossed her face as she saw a small flicker of movement ripple across her smooth skin.
"Ye're gonna take after me in the rings with kickin' like tha," Koy murmured with a smile.
In response the child kicked again, harder this time. The masochistic elf snickered.
"Aye, ye can take after me in tha way too iffn ye like."
It was then that she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. No longer an active flutter against her skin it looked more like tiny hands reaching from the inside out. The twisted and picked up a frenzied speed.
They brought the otherwise pain loving Koy to her knees.
She opened her mouth but could not scream. A horrified awe froze her vocal chords. A coppery scent in the air and a look down revealed blood, not from between her legs as she expected but from her very guts. Those tiny hands now exposed to the thickening air revealed themselves to be more like claws. First one, then two, then four black haired beasts continued to rip their way out from inside Koyliak VanDuran-Simon’s body. With an eerie synchronization to their movements all seven long-eared heads snapped in her direction leaving fourteen beady yellow eyes staring at her in the sudden silence. An unspoken signal brought an end to the quiet as all seven beasts bared their razor-sharp teeth and began tearing into her flesh, devouring her one piece at a time.
All this deception
I just can’t maintain
The sun, the moon
the stars in the sky
It’d hurt me too bad
if you said goodbye
Lies, lies, lies ohh lies
--The Black Keys
Getting dressed became more and more difficult with each day the child Koy carried spent inside her growing stomach. Standing sideways in front of her bedroom mirror Koy took stock of just how round she was becoming in the seventh month of her pregnancy.
“A lil more and I won’t be able ta fit inta any underthings at all...” She had yet to dress. She placed her hands over her naked belly pressing her fingers lightly against the skin. She dared to take another glance at her reflected image. A small thrill raced up her spine at the sight. Her Gods created her for motherhood and it showed in her glowing face.
Part of her suddenly felt terrified at the thought. The other part felt skeptically hopeful.
The joy of pregnancy, even the pain of childbirth, belonged to her once before. She lapped up every moment of it then free from the weight of knowing that life’s path held many blind turns and dark alleys. Lirisa’s sole year in the living world filled Koy up with more love and light than the elf ever imagined she could hold. Her subsequent death left Koy drained and half-dead on the rundown floor of an Elanthian inn.
She could not survive another loss. She needed to be cautious with her dreams.
Her fingers though could not help but map out the expanded terrain of her stomach marveling at the life inside. Stealing another peek at the mirror a surprised smile crossed her face as she saw a small flicker of movement ripple across her smooth skin.
"Ye're gonna take after me in the rings with kickin' like tha," Koy murmured with a smile.
In response the child kicked again, harder this time. The masochistic elf snickered.
"Aye, ye can take after me in tha way too iffn ye like."
It was then that she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. No longer an active flutter against her skin it looked more like tiny hands reaching from the inside out. The twisted and picked up a frenzied speed.
They brought the otherwise pain loving Koy to her knees.
She opened her mouth but could not scream. A horrified awe froze her vocal chords. A coppery scent in the air and a look down revealed blood, not from between her legs as she expected but from her very guts. Those tiny hands now exposed to the thickening air revealed themselves to be more like claws. First one, then two, then four black haired beasts continued to rip their way out from inside Koyliak VanDuran-Simon’s body. With an eerie synchronization to their movements all seven long-eared heads snapped in her direction leaving fourteen beady yellow eyes staring at her in the sudden silence. An unspoken signal brought an end to the quiet as all seven beasts bared their razor-sharp teeth and began tearing into her flesh, devouring her one piece at a time.
Koyliak "The BobCrusher" VanDuran-Simon
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
-
Koyliak
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fashion Police
- Posts: 425
- Joined: Sat Apr 03, 2004 11:14 pm
- Location: The Heavenly Boutique - Where Dreams Become Realities
Stirrings (pt. 2)
BREATHE.
Koy shot up in bed gasping for air. Her damp curls clung to her forehead and cheeks.
“Another nightmare?” The muffled question came from her barely conscious husband. Koy’s troubled dreams had been a constant throughout her pregnancy with Thia. Six months later Koy and Matt’s infant daughter slept peacefully in the adjoining room. Thia often slept through the night better than Koy did.
“Jest lettin’ my work worries bleed over inta the dream world.” Koy took a deep breath and settled back down against the pillows. She could not hide the fact that she had nightmares from Matt but she avoided sharing the details.
Knowing that words did less to comfort Koy than actions Matt turned over and pulled her in close so she could tuck herself into the safety of his arms. He kissed the back of her head and held her until she finally fell back asleep.
*****
That may have been one of your more horrific visions yet.
I thought so too.
The flesh tearing was a nice touch. You never will get tired of torturing her so, will you?
We all have our own amusements, brother. She does scare so easily. You’re not feeling sorry for your little elf are you?
Of course not. I simply do not see the point anymore in these games.
It’s more than a game, MoonBeryl. I consider it fair warning.
Koy shot up in bed gasping for air. Her damp curls clung to her forehead and cheeks.
“Another nightmare?” The muffled question came from her barely conscious husband. Koy’s troubled dreams had been a constant throughout her pregnancy with Thia. Six months later Koy and Matt’s infant daughter slept peacefully in the adjoining room. Thia often slept through the night better than Koy did.
“Jest lettin’ my work worries bleed over inta the dream world.” Koy took a deep breath and settled back down against the pillows. She could not hide the fact that she had nightmares from Matt but she avoided sharing the details.
Knowing that words did less to comfort Koy than actions Matt turned over and pulled her in close so she could tuck herself into the safety of his arms. He kissed the back of her head and held her until she finally fell back asleep.
*****
That may have been one of your more horrific visions yet.
I thought so too.
The flesh tearing was a nice touch. You never will get tired of torturing her so, will you?
We all have our own amusements, brother. She does scare so easily. You’re not feeling sorry for your little elf are you?
Of course not. I simply do not see the point anymore in these games.
It’s more than a game, MoonBeryl. I consider it fair warning.
Last edited by Koyliak on Mon Dec 16, 2019 12:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
Koyliak "The BobCrusher" VanDuran-Simon
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Dr. Ashleigh Vardün flung her pencil in frustration, grunting as it landed tip-first on the tile floor and broke the sharp pointed lead. Even when sitting down, it was difficult to miss Ashleigh’s height which, given her lengthy torso and not so lengthy legs, often gave her a disproportionate appearance. Her thin lips parted as she scowled at the pencil on the floor and annoyance flashed in her hazel-green eyes as they sought another object to grip and throw. Stacks of report folders thick with paper, all filed in recent days, were scattered across her desk and intermingled with reports dating back decades upon decades. Deciding against further destruction of her own property, she sat back in her chair and tugged violently on a stray lock of her dull and matted shoulder-length russet hair.
“Sense. It doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered, thinking aloud. Reaching for one of the older folders, she thumbed through the numerous pages, charts, and images inside as if by doing so, answers would suddenly leap off the paper and into her mind.
With a heavy sigh, she tossed the folder back into the pile, scattering other stray papers filled with furiously scribbled notes and mathematical formulas.
“No sense at all!”
As Rhydin’s Chief Climatologist, she was supposed to be able to solve riddles like this. She was supposed to anticipate them, to see them coming long in advance. Her failure on both counts kept her stomach in knots.
Leaning back in her chair, Ashleigh looked skyward and chose a point in the ceiling on which to focus her glare. She thought back to her coursework from years before, to books she’d read and lectures she’d attended. Nothing she could think of recalled a scenario or even a model that looked anything like the reality she faced.
“Fung’s* findings on carbon dioxide don’t come into play. Mikankovitch cycles** don’t fit, and the timing’s entirely too short and random. The timeframe for Bradley’s*** theories means it can’t be that. History means nothing here, but it should mean everything!”
There had to be a pattern, if not a historical one, at least clues that hinted at current behavior. If she was dealing with a natural phenomenon, there had to be clues. There were always clues. If she were any one of a number of her colleagues, she’d quickly blame this strange and unexpected occurrence on the one excuse she hated, magic. That magic existed, she couldn’t deny. That its use could result in many strange and unexpected events, she’d even agree with. That magic was in play here, with such a deep-rooted and fundamental shift? No. It wasn't magic. She had no evidence to prove otherwise, but her instincts were rarely wrong.
“It’s here. It’s right here,” she said, swiveling back to face the mountain of paper on her desk. “It may be buried. It might be a needle in a haystack, but it’s here. I just need to fi…”
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, gasped, and exhaled deeply when she recognized Giovanni Rascilli, the group’s resident Dendroclimatologist and, when time permitted, Paleotempestologist. The fluorescent overhead lighting bounced off his balding head, casting him with an odd-looking halo. She almost laughed, but smiling seemed like a luxurious exertion she could ill afford.
Anticipating she’d chastise him for not knocking first (which likely would have meant her simply ignoring the noise), he raised a bronze-tanned hand and spoke.
“You’ve been holed up in the office for weeks now. You’re running the archivists ragged pulling ages-old documents, and,” he paused to examine her, “you look like absolute hell! And before you try, don’t tell me you’ve got it all under control, bec…”
Giovanni cut off his own speech-lecture as the worry-lines on her forehead seemed to grow before his eyes.
“Take a look at this, Gio,” Ashleigh replied. “You’re right. I’ve been beating my head against a wall. Maybe you can figure this out.”
Her reply astonished him; Ashleigh was well-known for her ability to problem-solve on her own, usually before anyone else had discovered a problem even existed. Whatever was going on, he wagered, must be pretty big.
“Sure,” he said when he found his voice again, moving around to the side of her desk. “Whatcha got?”
*Reference to Inez Fung, a 21st century Earth professor of Atmospheric Science
**Reference to Milutin Milanković, 19th century Earth geophysicist
***Reference to Raymond S. Bradley, 21st century Earth climatologist & geoscientist
“Sense. It doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered, thinking aloud. Reaching for one of the older folders, she thumbed through the numerous pages, charts, and images inside as if by doing so, answers would suddenly leap off the paper and into her mind.
With a heavy sigh, she tossed the folder back into the pile, scattering other stray papers filled with furiously scribbled notes and mathematical formulas.
“No sense at all!”
As Rhydin’s Chief Climatologist, she was supposed to be able to solve riddles like this. She was supposed to anticipate them, to see them coming long in advance. Her failure on both counts kept her stomach in knots.
Leaning back in her chair, Ashleigh looked skyward and chose a point in the ceiling on which to focus her glare. She thought back to her coursework from years before, to books she’d read and lectures she’d attended. Nothing she could think of recalled a scenario or even a model that looked anything like the reality she faced.
“Fung’s* findings on carbon dioxide don’t come into play. Mikankovitch cycles** don’t fit, and the timing’s entirely too short and random. The timeframe for Bradley’s*** theories means it can’t be that. History means nothing here, but it should mean everything!”
There had to be a pattern, if not a historical one, at least clues that hinted at current behavior. If she was dealing with a natural phenomenon, there had to be clues. There were always clues. If she were any one of a number of her colleagues, she’d quickly blame this strange and unexpected occurrence on the one excuse she hated, magic. That magic existed, she couldn’t deny. That its use could result in many strange and unexpected events, she’d even agree with. That magic was in play here, with such a deep-rooted and fundamental shift? No. It wasn't magic. She had no evidence to prove otherwise, but her instincts were rarely wrong.
“It’s here. It’s right here,” she said, swiveling back to face the mountain of paper on her desk. “It may be buried. It might be a needle in a haystack, but it’s here. I just need to fi…”
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, gasped, and exhaled deeply when she recognized Giovanni Rascilli, the group’s resident Dendroclimatologist and, when time permitted, Paleotempestologist. The fluorescent overhead lighting bounced off his balding head, casting him with an odd-looking halo. She almost laughed, but smiling seemed like a luxurious exertion she could ill afford.
Anticipating she’d chastise him for not knocking first (which likely would have meant her simply ignoring the noise), he raised a bronze-tanned hand and spoke.
“You’ve been holed up in the office for weeks now. You’re running the archivists ragged pulling ages-old documents, and,” he paused to examine her, “you look like absolute hell! And before you try, don’t tell me you’ve got it all under control, bec…”
Giovanni cut off his own speech-lecture as the worry-lines on her forehead seemed to grow before his eyes.
“Take a look at this, Gio,” Ashleigh replied. “You’re right. I’ve been beating my head against a wall. Maybe you can figure this out.”
Her reply astonished him; Ashleigh was well-known for her ability to problem-solve on her own, usually before anyone else had discovered a problem even existed. Whatever was going on, he wagered, must be pretty big.
“Sure,” he said when he found his voice again, moving around to the side of her desk. “Whatcha got?”
*Reference to Inez Fung, a 21st century Earth professor of Atmospheric Science
**Reference to Milutin Milanković, 19th century Earth geophysicist
***Reference to Raymond S. Bradley, 21st century Earth climatologist & geoscientist
“Oh come on! Again?”
Casey Ripkus resisted the compelling urge to stamp her feet.
Her male companion merely shrugged as they walked along a grass-covered knoll overlooking an old-style tarmac at Star’s End.
“I don’t get it either, Casey. The eggheads say they need more data. Whatever you’ve been collecting up there has them running around like rats in a maze.”
Casey glanced at her squad-mate. Like most pilots, he was short in stature, standing five-foot-four with his boots on. Casey tried not to smile – the best word to describe Miles Jaffey was ‘round’. His face was round, his brown eyes were round, his nose was round, and his body, including his belly, was round. Even his graying hair curled in round ringlets. Miles wasn’t overweight, nor was he in the best shape of his life. Casey could run circles around him if it came down to a footrace.
Scuffing the manicured grass with the toe of her right foot, Casey sighed and waited until a pair of low-flying RASG patrol fighters flew past the tarmac, before replying.
“But why me? I’ve run at least nine of these ridiculous scans in the last few days. Why can’t they let somebody else do it?”
“Ask Chase if you really want to know,” he said, referring to Chaucer W. Jones, commander of the 209th Kestrels. But that radar in your Ferret is one of the best we’ve got for this kind of work, and apparently it’s coming up with details the rest of us aren’t able to glean. I’ve heard a rumor that a shipment of more advanced radar’s on its way planetside for some of us to install, but until then, you’re the best we’ve got.”
Casey grunted.
“I’ll go up with you, if you want,” Miles offered. “I just had a few upgrades installed and it’ll give me a chance to test ‘em out”.
“Sounds good to me,” she replied. Least I’ll have someone to talk to besides the SWACS comms officer.
Taking a final look over the tarmac, where a private civilian shuttle was slowly taxiing into position for takeoff, the pair left the knoll and headed for the main hub of Star’s End.
Casey Ripkus resisted the compelling urge to stamp her feet.
Her male companion merely shrugged as they walked along a grass-covered knoll overlooking an old-style tarmac at Star’s End.
“I don’t get it either, Casey. The eggheads say they need more data. Whatever you’ve been collecting up there has them running around like rats in a maze.”
Casey glanced at her squad-mate. Like most pilots, he was short in stature, standing five-foot-four with his boots on. Casey tried not to smile – the best word to describe Miles Jaffey was ‘round’. His face was round, his brown eyes were round, his nose was round, and his body, including his belly, was round. Even his graying hair curled in round ringlets. Miles wasn’t overweight, nor was he in the best shape of his life. Casey could run circles around him if it came down to a footrace.
Scuffing the manicured grass with the toe of her right foot, Casey sighed and waited until a pair of low-flying RASG patrol fighters flew past the tarmac, before replying.
“But why me? I’ve run at least nine of these ridiculous scans in the last few days. Why can’t they let somebody else do it?”
“Ask Chase if you really want to know,” he said, referring to Chaucer W. Jones, commander of the 209th Kestrels. But that radar in your Ferret is one of the best we’ve got for this kind of work, and apparently it’s coming up with details the rest of us aren’t able to glean. I’ve heard a rumor that a shipment of more advanced radar’s on its way planetside for some of us to install, but until then, you’re the best we’ve got.”
Casey grunted.
“I’ll go up with you, if you want,” Miles offered. “I just had a few upgrades installed and it’ll give me a chance to test ‘em out”.
“Sounds good to me,” she replied. Least I’ll have someone to talk to besides the SWACS comms officer.
Taking a final look over the tarmac, where a private civilian shuttle was slowly taxiing into position for takeoff, the pair left the knoll and headed for the main hub of Star’s End.
You’re a marionette in the center of
the twisting of strings coming from above
–Silversun Pickups
Leave the elf alone, sister. We have more important things to concentrate on.
ShadoWeaver nearly laughed. She had, according to MoonBeryl, entirely too much fun toying with Koyliak’s subconscious. Intruding Koyliak’s dreams was effortless for ShadoWeaver. Delving into the elf’s mind when she was awake took little effort, but it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.
Sister! Enough!
Fine.
ShadoWeaver withdrew from Koyliak’s consciousness. The elf squirmed in her sleep when the Opal detached and dream-images dissolved away, letting out a little whimper as she kicked the bedsheets off her sweating body and settled back into a more restful slumber.
Now, brother. What’s so im…
MoonBeryl interrupted, his voice eager.
Watch what I’ve discovered. I shouldn’t be able to do this, but I can. Do what you must to shield me from the others, especially IceDancer. They cannot know.
Know what?
Watch.
---------------
“Impressive!”
Casey nodded her helmeted head in appreciation of the newfound maneuverability in Miles’ Phantom. The light-fighter, forty meters in length, was, when fresh off the production line, faster in overall speed than her Ferret and much newer but not quite as nimble when the finer points of maneuverability came into play.
The two fighters cruised over calm ocean waters, repeating the same patrol pattern Casey had run several times over recent days. While the Eighty-Eight Omni radar took in all the data it could, Casey watched Miles put his recently upgraded Phantom through its paces.
“I’m telling you,” Miles said, enthusiasm in his voice, “the guy I went though got me this stuff cheap. You really oughta go see him. With these thruster upgrades, I can match your Ferret’s yaw and pitch and this new power plant is a dream. I can shunt energy away from the weapons and still get off as many bursts as I could before.”
“What’re you gonna shoot, fish? Or maybe knock an osprey or two out of the air?”
“Very funny.”
As the two continued along their pre-programmed route, Casey alternated between monitoring her radar and watching Miles’ aerobatics. Upon reaching their fourth NAV-point, Casey slowed to what felt like standing still, throttling back to 10kps and dropping down to an altitude of only a few hundred meters. Miles reduced his speed moments later, taking a position a hundred meters ahead and to her left.
“All right, this is the fun part,” she said without bothering to disguise her sarcasm. “Five minutes of this turtle-walk and we can move on outta here.” Casey looked down at the still deep blue waters below. “I feel like I might as well be hovering at this speed.”
Casey shifted her view from the water below to her right VDU, which was suddenly blaring an alarm from the Eighty-Eight Omni.
“Ha,” Miles replied. “Hovering? These thrusters are strong enough to let me do that. Watch th…”
A split second before Miles’ voice cut out, Casey’s eyes went wide at the spectacle outside her cockpit window. Without warning, the ocean came alive; a geyser of blue water, half white with churning foam, shot into the air with such force that it was upon them instantaneously. The exhibition of raw power repeated itself all around her; some water-columns measured only a few meters wide while others were nearly an entire kilometer in diameter. All exploded from the ocean’s surface with such fury and force that Casey’s Ferret shuddered from the rough and sudden changes buffeting the airstream.
Yanking back on the flight-stick in panic, Casey slammed the throttle forward and rocketed skyward while trying to find Miles’ Phantom amongst the cascading pillars of water which crashed back to the surface with incredible force. The ocean roiled with ferocity as giant waves scattered in every direction, smashing together with spectacular speed and power. The Eighty-Eight Omni blared warning after warning as she scanned the skyline and her radar to no avail. Her attempts to raise Miles over standard frequencies met with silence. The telltale blue dot signifying Miles’ fighter on her radar screen was gone; more importantly, no yellow dot indicating an active Search and Rescue beacon had replaced it.
Casey’s heart pounded heavily in her chest and her arms trembled, the adrenaline surge she felt the same as if she was in the middle of combat. Casey whipped the Ferret around and slowed, looking over the surface for signs of wreckage; she could see nothing but water gradually beginning to calm.
Frantic, Casey contacted the SWACS monitoring her patrol, pleading for help. Below, the blue waters flattened and became still, leaving no telltale signs of what she’d just experienced. The ocean, alive with rage moments before, was once again benign and peaceful.
Flying above, helpless, Casey shuddered and wept.
---------------
How…?
ShadoWeaver could hardly believe what she’d witnessed. MoonBeryl had, somehow, exploited elements under IceDancer’s control. The implications of her brother’s display were terrible. They excited her beyond measure.
MoonBeryl’s voice, smug with satisfaction, crooned at her.
Look within yourself, Sister. Expand yourself beyond yourself.
This is not the time for riddles! You can’t…you shouldn’t be able…
But I did. I am.
Moonberyl, proud of the secret he’d uncovered, addressed ShadoWeaver with an arrogance her siblings rarely dared to display with their sister.
Now, sister. It’s time to stop playing with the elf. Your little toy doll isn’t going anywhere. Look within. Tell me what you find.
the twisting of strings coming from above
–Silversun Pickups
Leave the elf alone, sister. We have more important things to concentrate on.
ShadoWeaver nearly laughed. She had, according to MoonBeryl, entirely too much fun toying with Koyliak’s subconscious. Intruding Koyliak’s dreams was effortless for ShadoWeaver. Delving into the elf’s mind when she was awake took little effort, but it wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.
Sister! Enough!
Fine.
ShadoWeaver withdrew from Koyliak’s consciousness. The elf squirmed in her sleep when the Opal detached and dream-images dissolved away, letting out a little whimper as she kicked the bedsheets off her sweating body and settled back into a more restful slumber.
Now, brother. What’s so im…
MoonBeryl interrupted, his voice eager.
Watch what I’ve discovered. I shouldn’t be able to do this, but I can. Do what you must to shield me from the others, especially IceDancer. They cannot know.
Know what?
Watch.
---------------
“Impressive!”
Casey nodded her helmeted head in appreciation of the newfound maneuverability in Miles’ Phantom. The light-fighter, forty meters in length, was, when fresh off the production line, faster in overall speed than her Ferret and much newer but not quite as nimble when the finer points of maneuverability came into play.
The two fighters cruised over calm ocean waters, repeating the same patrol pattern Casey had run several times over recent days. While the Eighty-Eight Omni radar took in all the data it could, Casey watched Miles put his recently upgraded Phantom through its paces.
“I’m telling you,” Miles said, enthusiasm in his voice, “the guy I went though got me this stuff cheap. You really oughta go see him. With these thruster upgrades, I can match your Ferret’s yaw and pitch and this new power plant is a dream. I can shunt energy away from the weapons and still get off as many bursts as I could before.”
“What’re you gonna shoot, fish? Or maybe knock an osprey or two out of the air?”
“Very funny.”
As the two continued along their pre-programmed route, Casey alternated between monitoring her radar and watching Miles’ aerobatics. Upon reaching their fourth NAV-point, Casey slowed to what felt like standing still, throttling back to 10kps and dropping down to an altitude of only a few hundred meters. Miles reduced his speed moments later, taking a position a hundred meters ahead and to her left.
“All right, this is the fun part,” she said without bothering to disguise her sarcasm. “Five minutes of this turtle-walk and we can move on outta here.” Casey looked down at the still deep blue waters below. “I feel like I might as well be hovering at this speed.”
Casey shifted her view from the water below to her right VDU, which was suddenly blaring an alarm from the Eighty-Eight Omni.
“Ha,” Miles replied. “Hovering? These thrusters are strong enough to let me do that. Watch th…”
A split second before Miles’ voice cut out, Casey’s eyes went wide at the spectacle outside her cockpit window. Without warning, the ocean came alive; a geyser of blue water, half white with churning foam, shot into the air with such force that it was upon them instantaneously. The exhibition of raw power repeated itself all around her; some water-columns measured only a few meters wide while others were nearly an entire kilometer in diameter. All exploded from the ocean’s surface with such fury and force that Casey’s Ferret shuddered from the rough and sudden changes buffeting the airstream.
Yanking back on the flight-stick in panic, Casey slammed the throttle forward and rocketed skyward while trying to find Miles’ Phantom amongst the cascading pillars of water which crashed back to the surface with incredible force. The ocean roiled with ferocity as giant waves scattered in every direction, smashing together with spectacular speed and power. The Eighty-Eight Omni blared warning after warning as she scanned the skyline and her radar to no avail. Her attempts to raise Miles over standard frequencies met with silence. The telltale blue dot signifying Miles’ fighter on her radar screen was gone; more importantly, no yellow dot indicating an active Search and Rescue beacon had replaced it.
Casey’s heart pounded heavily in her chest and her arms trembled, the adrenaline surge she felt the same as if she was in the middle of combat. Casey whipped the Ferret around and slowed, looking over the surface for signs of wreckage; she could see nothing but water gradually beginning to calm.
Frantic, Casey contacted the SWACS monitoring her patrol, pleading for help. Below, the blue waters flattened and became still, leaving no telltale signs of what she’d just experienced. The ocean, alive with rage moments before, was once again benign and peaceful.
Flying above, helpless, Casey shuddered and wept.
---------------
How…?
ShadoWeaver could hardly believe what she’d witnessed. MoonBeryl had, somehow, exploited elements under IceDancer’s control. The implications of her brother’s display were terrible. They excited her beyond measure.
MoonBeryl’s voice, smug with satisfaction, crooned at her.
Look within yourself, Sister. Expand yourself beyond yourself.
This is not the time for riddles! You can’t…you shouldn’t be able…
But I did. I am.
Moonberyl, proud of the secret he’d uncovered, addressed ShadoWeaver with an arrogance her siblings rarely dared to display with their sister.
Now, sister. It’s time to stop playing with the elf. Your little toy doll isn’t going anywhere. Look within. Tell me what you find.
-
Koyliak
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fashion Police
- Posts: 425
- Joined: Sat Apr 03, 2004 11:14 pm
- Location: The Heavenly Boutique - Where Dreams Become Realities
Sandcastle Delusions
Sandcastle Delusions
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
--T.S. Eliot
She felt like she was sleeping with her eyes open.
Koy was no stranger to having a hectic schedule fueled on little sleep. In truth she not only thrived on overexerting herself but often she pushed even when she had the option to take it easy. When the ache of missing Lirisa throbbed from the inside-out, when Matt’s disappearance had squeezed what little faith remained, Koy dove head first into every and any activity she could find to fill the hours. But this was different. She felt drained.
It went beyond the demands on her time and attention. She could juggle the needs of her business partner, her clients, her husband, her daughter, her brother and her friends. A life full of such personal riches should have been a cause to rejoice. For Koy though, it gave her more reason to fear.
It was only a matter of time before she would lose it all again. For each day she made it through unscathed Koy could only stand tense assured that tomorrow held an even lower bottom for her to hit. Having no future was one thing – standing on pins and needles waiting for a doomed one proved exhausting to her spirit. It didn’t help that she found no escape or solace in the dream world.
She had started seeking out more nooks and crannies in her day to disappear for a few minutes and recharge since sleep no longer gave her any comfort. A bench near the duck pond in New Haven’s Mercer Park was her most recent refuge of choice. Time slowed down there and Koy could fool herself into believing that the world’s most difficult decisions came down to what type of sandwich to pack in a picnic basket. She liked watching the people more than the birds. She liked the way they laughed and enjoyed the sunshine without a second thought. Happiness did not frighten them. They were unburdened and free.
Her favorite sighting was a young couple with two small children. Today treated Koy to a show of the father teaching his son the joys and heartbreak of flying a kite (heavy on the joy, light on the heartbreak). The mother chased after her daughter as the toddler took bumbling steps towards an unsuspecting flock of ducks with two pudgy hands out in hopes of catching one. The girl giggled when her mother scooped her up from behind and spun her around once.
Koy tried to stay focused on the gaiety of the scene. Her mind wanted to travel down darker roads with lonely names. The girl’s hurried steps reminded her of the last milestone she had watched Lirisa experience. Koy didn’t have firsthand knowledge of anything beyond that. No chance to hear her daughter speak a sentence or to teach her how to climb a tree. She knew nothing about potty training or teenage rebellion. Where there should have been a lifetime to love and to grow Koy instead had her heart stripped down and left tattered. She struggled every day to see that there was anything beyond that possible in her future.
“Do you ever tire of worrying so? I know it exhausts me to hear it.” MoonBeryl’s honey-dripped voice trickled through her bleak thoughts, an odd and not entirely unwelcomed roadblock.
“I tire more ‘very day. Ye know no one asked ye ta hear it.” Her response flat and not spoken out loud but deep down Koy felt that sudden relief she got whenever she knew the opal still offered his counsel.
“Most days I wish I could not hear it myself. But it does make one wonder.”
“Wonder wha?”
“Wonder if the future that comes to you will be nothing more than self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“The only hand I have in it all is bein’ born under the wrong set of stars, bub.” She often asked herself the same thing and could only arrive at the same conclusion: she was made for suffering. She could and did fight against it but the end would be the same. She would be alone. It was selfish and weak on her part that she gave in to the happiness stemming from the life she now shared with Matt. She was only building castles in the sand and this life too would be washed away. She did not know the when and the how but of one thing she felt certain—when the tide went out she would be left standing on the shore by herself.
“If you are destined for such misery what pray tell do you call all the joys in your life these days?” Even in its soothing nature MoonBeryl’s voice held more contempt than concern when posing the question.
Koy took one last look at the little family by the duck pond and sighed. She stood up from the bench and turned her back to them on her exit from the park. “It’s jest a temporary reprieve.”
The wind picked up; a sudden gust of air blew the kite into a tree and left it tangled up in its branches. The small boy cried as his father struggled unsuccessfully to rescue it.
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
--T.S. Eliot
She felt like she was sleeping with her eyes open.
Koy was no stranger to having a hectic schedule fueled on little sleep. In truth she not only thrived on overexerting herself but often she pushed even when she had the option to take it easy. When the ache of missing Lirisa throbbed from the inside-out, when Matt’s disappearance had squeezed what little faith remained, Koy dove head first into every and any activity she could find to fill the hours. But this was different. She felt drained.
It went beyond the demands on her time and attention. She could juggle the needs of her business partner, her clients, her husband, her daughter, her brother and her friends. A life full of such personal riches should have been a cause to rejoice. For Koy though, it gave her more reason to fear.
It was only a matter of time before she would lose it all again. For each day she made it through unscathed Koy could only stand tense assured that tomorrow held an even lower bottom for her to hit. Having no future was one thing – standing on pins and needles waiting for a doomed one proved exhausting to her spirit. It didn’t help that she found no escape or solace in the dream world.
She had started seeking out more nooks and crannies in her day to disappear for a few minutes and recharge since sleep no longer gave her any comfort. A bench near the duck pond in New Haven’s Mercer Park was her most recent refuge of choice. Time slowed down there and Koy could fool herself into believing that the world’s most difficult decisions came down to what type of sandwich to pack in a picnic basket. She liked watching the people more than the birds. She liked the way they laughed and enjoyed the sunshine without a second thought. Happiness did not frighten them. They were unburdened and free.
Her favorite sighting was a young couple with two small children. Today treated Koy to a show of the father teaching his son the joys and heartbreak of flying a kite (heavy on the joy, light on the heartbreak). The mother chased after her daughter as the toddler took bumbling steps towards an unsuspecting flock of ducks with two pudgy hands out in hopes of catching one. The girl giggled when her mother scooped her up from behind and spun her around once.
Koy tried to stay focused on the gaiety of the scene. Her mind wanted to travel down darker roads with lonely names. The girl’s hurried steps reminded her of the last milestone she had watched Lirisa experience. Koy didn’t have firsthand knowledge of anything beyond that. No chance to hear her daughter speak a sentence or to teach her how to climb a tree. She knew nothing about potty training or teenage rebellion. Where there should have been a lifetime to love and to grow Koy instead had her heart stripped down and left tattered. She struggled every day to see that there was anything beyond that possible in her future.
“Do you ever tire of worrying so? I know it exhausts me to hear it.” MoonBeryl’s honey-dripped voice trickled through her bleak thoughts, an odd and not entirely unwelcomed roadblock.
“I tire more ‘very day. Ye know no one asked ye ta hear it.” Her response flat and not spoken out loud but deep down Koy felt that sudden relief she got whenever she knew the opal still offered his counsel.
“Most days I wish I could not hear it myself. But it does make one wonder.”
“Wonder wha?”
“Wonder if the future that comes to you will be nothing more than self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“The only hand I have in it all is bein’ born under the wrong set of stars, bub.” She often asked herself the same thing and could only arrive at the same conclusion: she was made for suffering. She could and did fight against it but the end would be the same. She would be alone. It was selfish and weak on her part that she gave in to the happiness stemming from the life she now shared with Matt. She was only building castles in the sand and this life too would be washed away. She did not know the when and the how but of one thing she felt certain—when the tide went out she would be left standing on the shore by herself.
“If you are destined for such misery what pray tell do you call all the joys in your life these days?” Even in its soothing nature MoonBeryl’s voice held more contempt than concern when posing the question.
Koy took one last look at the little family by the duck pond and sighed. She stood up from the bench and turned her back to them on her exit from the park. “It’s jest a temporary reprieve.”
The wind picked up; a sudden gust of air blew the kite into a tree and left it tangled up in its branches. The small boy cried as his father struggled unsuccessfully to rescue it.
Last edited by Koyliak on Mon Dec 16, 2019 12:36 am, edited 1 time in total.
Koyliak "The BobCrusher" VanDuran-Simon
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Hope,
A new beginning
Time,
Time to start living
Like just before we died
There’s no going back
To the place we started from
All secrets known.
–Jerry Cantrell
We should be further along than this.
The frustration boiled over in ShadowWeaver’s voice-thoughts; days had turned into weeks and weeks into months. Both she and her brother had, as MoonBeryl put it that first day, expanded themselves beyond themselves time and again. Both had manipulated, both subtly and violently, the base elements. The others, enveloped in their own plotting and scheming, hardly noticed. That MoonBeryl was shielding himself from them more than usual was strange but of little consequence. IceDancer, PathFinder and FireStar had little to be suspicious of; they were used to ShadoWeaver ignoring them and they made no efforts to find out what their siblings were up to, never suspecting the two were working as one.
For ShadoWeaver, that lack of interference meant she and MoonBeryl should have solved this puzzle, the enigma that prevented them from expanding their influence. They hadn’t dared echo the power of MoonBeryl’s oceanic excursion for fear of drawing too much attention to their efforts. They moved cautiously, slowly, but found little more success than they had in their first hours of exploring their newfound authority.
Perhaps if you stopped playing with the elf’s dreams, sister…
MoonBeryl let the accusatory thought die as ShadoWeaver, immediately defensive, retorted.
This is not my fau…
I know, sister. I know. MoonBeryl sighed deeply. We are overlooking something. I do not yet want to share with the others, but…
We cannot! We agreed…
…we did. FireStar must not know. Nor IceDancer. I believe we may convince PathFinder. He has a link, albeit a weak one, that we share. It may be enough.
MoonBeryl, of course, was talking about Governor Matt Simon, who’d held the green opal for over a year, the least of the trio, but a year nonetheless.
No.
ShadoWeaver was adamant, firm in her belief that this secret was one for she and MoonBeryl alone.
What choice do we have? He may have an insight, an added key, we do not. It is useless to struggle like this any further.
ShadoWeaver nearly laughed.
Take a lesson from your insipid elf, brother. Despite your continued taunting, despite my amusement at her expense, has she not persevered? Has she not found what she sought, with him? With her? We could destroy any one of them with half a thought and she knows it. She continually defies us and still thinks herself weak. She is fragile, broken, worthless, and yet she persists. She has the child. Can you not do the same?
MoonBeryl replied with silence.
Bro…
Quiet! MoonBeryl hissed at his sister. I am thinking.
The silence lasted for the millisecond of a month.
Sister, the elf knows, yet does not know, refuses to know, what we have created.
Yes.
With each word, MoonBeryl grew more and more excited, convinced, victorious.
Every fiber of her being knows, screams the truth. She will never allow herself to admit it. But she knows.
Yes.
What we have created.
Yes. ShadoWeaver began to grow exasperated. MoonBeryl waited for his sister to draw the same conclusion he'd reached. It was taking her a long time.
We have created.
MoonBeryl spoke with smug triumph.
We have created.
ShadoWeaver caught on.
She…
…is the key…
…the outlet…
…we must…
...act quickly…
…but not hastily.
Neither ShadoWeaver nor MoonBeryl understood why they had taken so long to make such a simple connection.
Redouble your efforts upon the elf. I will deal with the male. He bends to my will without even realizing it. They must not interfere.
Agreed.
Like his sister, MoonBeryl wasted no time. They went right to work.
A new beginning
Time,
Time to start living
Like just before we died
There’s no going back
To the place we started from
All secrets known.
–Jerry Cantrell
We should be further along than this.
The frustration boiled over in ShadowWeaver’s voice-thoughts; days had turned into weeks and weeks into months. Both she and her brother had, as MoonBeryl put it that first day, expanded themselves beyond themselves time and again. Both had manipulated, both subtly and violently, the base elements. The others, enveloped in their own plotting and scheming, hardly noticed. That MoonBeryl was shielding himself from them more than usual was strange but of little consequence. IceDancer, PathFinder and FireStar had little to be suspicious of; they were used to ShadoWeaver ignoring them and they made no efforts to find out what their siblings were up to, never suspecting the two were working as one.
For ShadoWeaver, that lack of interference meant she and MoonBeryl should have solved this puzzle, the enigma that prevented them from expanding their influence. They hadn’t dared echo the power of MoonBeryl’s oceanic excursion for fear of drawing too much attention to their efforts. They moved cautiously, slowly, but found little more success than they had in their first hours of exploring their newfound authority.
Perhaps if you stopped playing with the elf’s dreams, sister…
MoonBeryl let the accusatory thought die as ShadoWeaver, immediately defensive, retorted.
This is not my fau…
I know, sister. I know. MoonBeryl sighed deeply. We are overlooking something. I do not yet want to share with the others, but…
We cannot! We agreed…
…we did. FireStar must not know. Nor IceDancer. I believe we may convince PathFinder. He has a link, albeit a weak one, that we share. It may be enough.
MoonBeryl, of course, was talking about Governor Matt Simon, who’d held the green opal for over a year, the least of the trio, but a year nonetheless.
No.
ShadoWeaver was adamant, firm in her belief that this secret was one for she and MoonBeryl alone.
What choice do we have? He may have an insight, an added key, we do not. It is useless to struggle like this any further.
ShadoWeaver nearly laughed.
Take a lesson from your insipid elf, brother. Despite your continued taunting, despite my amusement at her expense, has she not persevered? Has she not found what she sought, with him? With her? We could destroy any one of them with half a thought and she knows it. She continually defies us and still thinks herself weak. She is fragile, broken, worthless, and yet she persists. She has the child. Can you not do the same?
MoonBeryl replied with silence.
Bro…
Quiet! MoonBeryl hissed at his sister. I am thinking.
The silence lasted for the millisecond of a month.
Sister, the elf knows, yet does not know, refuses to know, what we have created.
Yes.
With each word, MoonBeryl grew more and more excited, convinced, victorious.
Every fiber of her being knows, screams the truth. She will never allow herself to admit it. But she knows.
Yes.
What we have created.
Yes. ShadoWeaver began to grow exasperated. MoonBeryl waited for his sister to draw the same conclusion he'd reached. It was taking her a long time.
We have created.
MoonBeryl spoke with smug triumph.
We have created.
ShadoWeaver caught on.
She…
…is the key…
…the outlet…
…we must…
...act quickly…
…but not hastily.
Neither ShadoWeaver nor MoonBeryl understood why they had taken so long to make such a simple connection.
Redouble your efforts upon the elf. I will deal with the male. He bends to my will without even realizing it. They must not interfere.
Agreed.
Like his sister, MoonBeryl wasted no time. They went right to work.
-
Koyliak
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fashion Police
- Posts: 425
- Joined: Sat Apr 03, 2004 11:14 pm
- Location: The Heavenly Boutique - Where Dreams Become Realities
Demons of Our Own Design
Demons of Our Own Design
And I’m trying to understand myself
And pinpoint where I am
By the time I’ve got things figured out
I’ve changed the whole damn plan
Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight
Talking sh*t about a pretty sunset
Blanketing options that I’ll probably regret soon
-Modest Mouse
The boy must have started school, Koy thought to herself when she passed the Mercer family on a stroll around the duck pond. She had yet to actually speak to any of the members of the family she saw almost daily but that hadn’t stopped her from naming them after the park they shared. In the elf’s mind the tall father with the hair that was never quite short enough to stay completely out of his eyes she called Jim. His youthful wife with the easy laugh Koy thought looked like a Jules. When she didn’t mentally refer to the young children as simply ‘the boy’ and ‘the girl’ she imagined they could pass for a Jake and a Jenny. As the leaves started changing color Koy had seen more of Jim and Jules walking Jenny in her stroller but Jake sightings had been few and far between. It only dawned on her now that he must have been old enough to attend school during the day.
Bundled up in her fall coat, Jenny slept soundly when Jim and Jules passed Koy on the park path. The couple nodded to her and she smiled back. She both loved and envied them at the same time.
“You act as if you do not have ample opportunity to take part in such simple pleasures yourself.”
Koy managed to control her expression so as not to grimace at MoonBeryl’s sudden intrusion into her thoughts. She didn’t want the Mercers to think she was off her rocker. “It’s not tha easy.”
“With you, child, few things are.”
He had a point. From the outside Koy’s family life with Matt and Thia looked as idyllic as the Mercer’s public displays. In the moment those times were as sweet from the inside too. In Thia’s presence Koy forgot everything except the overwhelming love she felt for her daughter. The hours spent lazing around the house with Matt after the infant was down for the night imagining and discussing all their hopes for her future were some of Koy’s happiest. But when the elf had distance and solitude, when she could only sit and think all her fears of what must be in the cards consumed her. She worried and fretted over what could happen and wound up labeling the worst conclusions as inevitable.
Left alone with her own thoughts, she sought to steel herself in preparation for those inevitabilities. If she could love less, invest less of herself maybe it would hurt less when the future became the present. But any resolutions she made would be shattered with one smile from Thia; the protective dunes around her heart demolished by dimpled cheeks. At least they would lay in ruins until the next day when she came to the same decisions that would never hold and strove to build them up once again.
“As much as I enjoy the same looping train of paranoid raving perhaps you would do better to think less and just be.”
While it was good advice Koy was about to question the opal’s sudden desire for her to enjoy her life when he finished his thought.
“After all, your kind is best suited for that type of basic existence.”
That was more like it. Koy found her head nodding in agreement with at least the first part of his advice as she left the Mercers and the park behind. She needed to get back to the shop and more importantly, to the child who chased away her self-made demons.
And I’m trying to understand myself
And pinpoint where I am
By the time I’ve got things figured out
I’ve changed the whole damn plan
Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight
Talking sh*t about a pretty sunset
Blanketing options that I’ll probably regret soon
-Modest Mouse
The boy must have started school, Koy thought to herself when she passed the Mercer family on a stroll around the duck pond. She had yet to actually speak to any of the members of the family she saw almost daily but that hadn’t stopped her from naming them after the park they shared. In the elf’s mind the tall father with the hair that was never quite short enough to stay completely out of his eyes she called Jim. His youthful wife with the easy laugh Koy thought looked like a Jules. When she didn’t mentally refer to the young children as simply ‘the boy’ and ‘the girl’ she imagined they could pass for a Jake and a Jenny. As the leaves started changing color Koy had seen more of Jim and Jules walking Jenny in her stroller but Jake sightings had been few and far between. It only dawned on her now that he must have been old enough to attend school during the day.
Bundled up in her fall coat, Jenny slept soundly when Jim and Jules passed Koy on the park path. The couple nodded to her and she smiled back. She both loved and envied them at the same time.
“You act as if you do not have ample opportunity to take part in such simple pleasures yourself.”
Koy managed to control her expression so as not to grimace at MoonBeryl’s sudden intrusion into her thoughts. She didn’t want the Mercers to think she was off her rocker. “It’s not tha easy.”
“With you, child, few things are.”
He had a point. From the outside Koy’s family life with Matt and Thia looked as idyllic as the Mercer’s public displays. In the moment those times were as sweet from the inside too. In Thia’s presence Koy forgot everything except the overwhelming love she felt for her daughter. The hours spent lazing around the house with Matt after the infant was down for the night imagining and discussing all their hopes for her future were some of Koy’s happiest. But when the elf had distance and solitude, when she could only sit and think all her fears of what must be in the cards consumed her. She worried and fretted over what could happen and wound up labeling the worst conclusions as inevitable.
Left alone with her own thoughts, she sought to steel herself in preparation for those inevitabilities. If she could love less, invest less of herself maybe it would hurt less when the future became the present. But any resolutions she made would be shattered with one smile from Thia; the protective dunes around her heart demolished by dimpled cheeks. At least they would lay in ruins until the next day when she came to the same decisions that would never hold and strove to build them up once again.
“As much as I enjoy the same looping train of paranoid raving perhaps you would do better to think less and just be.”
While it was good advice Koy was about to question the opal’s sudden desire for her to enjoy her life when he finished his thought.
“After all, your kind is best suited for that type of basic existence.”
That was more like it. Koy found her head nodding in agreement with at least the first part of his advice as she left the Mercers and the park behind. She needed to get back to the shop and more importantly, to the child who chased away her self-made demons.
Last edited by Koyliak on Mon Dec 16, 2019 12:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
Koyliak "The BobCrusher" VanDuran-Simon
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Owner of the Heavenly Boutique
Just another lesson learned
Wear a scar, a bore repeating
Take a simple fateful turn
Opened up to stop the bleeding
–Jerry Cantrell
Are you ready, sister?
Yes, ShadoWeaver crooned, rife with anticipation.
Remember, we must be careful.
Do not lecture me, brother. We shall only probe for an instant.
Let us begin.
Wear a scar, a bore repeating
Take a simple fateful turn
Opened up to stop the bleeding
–Jerry Cantrell
Are you ready, sister?
Yes, ShadoWeaver crooned, rife with anticipation.
Remember, we must be careful.
Do not lecture me, brother. We shall only probe for an instant.
Let us begin.
-
Layne Jenkins
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 5
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:52 pm
- Location: Rhydin Forest
Waking in his tent, nestled within the confines of a faded green down-feather sleeping bag, he could already feel the crisp sting of biting cold air. The sunlight, barely peeking through the trees at dawn, cast the inside of his tent in a dim shadowy glow. Layne Jenkins had witnessed many a morning, far too many , just like this. Ever since he’d been assigned to this locale, he’d been privy to the resplendent glory nature had to offer. And each and every day, he did his best to destroy it.
With a grunt, he tugged roughly on the bag’s metal zipper and slid out from beneath the warmth, wiping his palms on his jeans. Over the years, he’d taken to sleeping in his clothes, especially during the fall and winter months; any extra warmth was always welcome when the summer faded into memory. Reaching to his left, he closed his hand around a long-sleeve woolen shirt which he tugged over his muscled arms and large frame. Buttoning the shirt with one hand as he unzipped the tent’s entryway, his eyes turned to narrow slits once he emerged.
Everything was exactly as it should be. And everything was also very wrong.
Men walked and stumbled through the camp (some due to poor in-the-dark eyesight, and some due to too much liquor the previous night) with most headed for the mess tent or to find a suitable tree behind which to relieve their bladders. Bursts of steam radiated from coffeepots as the crackle and sizzle of burning twigs in small fire-pits reached his ears. Some of the men were busy preparing their own personal meats rather than test the mettle of their stomachs with the camp cookery. Layne didn’t blame them in the least. The rumble of a large engine faded in the distance as a truck, stocked with workmen and an empty bed, slowly wound its way over a hastily manufactured dirt road, still blocked occasionally by fallen timber, toward a designated marker point to begin the day’s work.
Given the activity level of the camp, it seemed he’d overslept. But that wasn’t what bothered him.
The blanket of snow on the ground, pure white stained in many places with muck from the bottom of work-boots, was his cause for concern. The two or three seconds he took to survey the scene put him in a sour mood that, given his character, would likely last the rest of the day.
Stalking toward the temporary cabin that served as the camp’s headquarters, he yanked on the door, burst inside, and sighed gruffly. Whoever was in charge of the desk had abandoned their post, likely to grab breakfast. Whatever the reason, there’d be hell to pay when they returned. In the meantime, he shoved a chair out of the way and began to peck at a dirt-stained computer keyboard. The computer told him, after a series of miskeys and loud cursing at the damned uncooperative machine, that it was currently forty-two degrees Fahrenheit with patchy clouds.
Successfully resisting the urge to kick the computer (and only because he didn’t want the cost for another one, for the umpteenth time, taken out of his paycheck), he stormed out of the cabin and back into the lightly-falling snow. After a brisk quarter-mile walk to a clearing logged just the day before, Layne was able to peer up into the light gray clouds that extended as far as he could see in any direction. The sun, having fully crested the horizon, battled to push its way past the vapor, finding at least partial success.
His boots crunching bits of torn bark and dried pine needles into the thin layer of snow, Layne turned back toward camp. Snow this early in the season was definitely not in his plans (nor, apparently, in the computer’s), but he’d dealt with similar situations before. Come hell or high water, he’d make damn sure his men acquired the yield they’d set out to take.
With a grunt, he tugged roughly on the bag’s metal zipper and slid out from beneath the warmth, wiping his palms on his jeans. Over the years, he’d taken to sleeping in his clothes, especially during the fall and winter months; any extra warmth was always welcome when the summer faded into memory. Reaching to his left, he closed his hand around a long-sleeve woolen shirt which he tugged over his muscled arms and large frame. Buttoning the shirt with one hand as he unzipped the tent’s entryway, his eyes turned to narrow slits once he emerged.
Everything was exactly as it should be. And everything was also very wrong.
Men walked and stumbled through the camp (some due to poor in-the-dark eyesight, and some due to too much liquor the previous night) with most headed for the mess tent or to find a suitable tree behind which to relieve their bladders. Bursts of steam radiated from coffeepots as the crackle and sizzle of burning twigs in small fire-pits reached his ears. Some of the men were busy preparing their own personal meats rather than test the mettle of their stomachs with the camp cookery. Layne didn’t blame them in the least. The rumble of a large engine faded in the distance as a truck, stocked with workmen and an empty bed, slowly wound its way over a hastily manufactured dirt road, still blocked occasionally by fallen timber, toward a designated marker point to begin the day’s work.
Given the activity level of the camp, it seemed he’d overslept. But that wasn’t what bothered him.
The blanket of snow on the ground, pure white stained in many places with muck from the bottom of work-boots, was his cause for concern. The two or three seconds he took to survey the scene put him in a sour mood that, given his character, would likely last the rest of the day.
Stalking toward the temporary cabin that served as the camp’s headquarters, he yanked on the door, burst inside, and sighed gruffly. Whoever was in charge of the desk had abandoned their post, likely to grab breakfast. Whatever the reason, there’d be hell to pay when they returned. In the meantime, he shoved a chair out of the way and began to peck at a dirt-stained computer keyboard. The computer told him, after a series of miskeys and loud cursing at the damned uncooperative machine, that it was currently forty-two degrees Fahrenheit with patchy clouds.
Successfully resisting the urge to kick the computer (and only because he didn’t want the cost for another one, for the umpteenth time, taken out of his paycheck), he stormed out of the cabin and back into the lightly-falling snow. After a brisk quarter-mile walk to a clearing logged just the day before, Layne was able to peer up into the light gray clouds that extended as far as he could see in any direction. The sun, having fully crested the horizon, battled to push its way past the vapor, finding at least partial success.
His boots crunching bits of torn bark and dried pine needles into the thin layer of snow, Layne turned back toward camp. Snow this early in the season was definitely not in his plans (nor, apparently, in the computer’s), but he’d dealt with similar situations before. Come hell or high water, he’d make damn sure his men acquired the yield they’d set out to take.
-
Layne Jenkins
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 5
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:52 pm
- Location: Rhydin Forest
Her movements caused the cold breeze to shift into a biting wind. Snowflakes that would otherwise drift lazily to the ground transformed into bitter stings battering her eyes, her body, her outstretched limbs. Her narrow eyes thinned as she sacrificed visual acuity to keep the snow out, but she could see as much as she needed to. She’d been blessed, since birth, with sharp vision, especially at night. Even when the sky darkened with obsidian clouds to obscure the black night, she could make her way with ease. Even kill if she had to, or was hungry enough, or just felt like it.
Tonight, though, she didn’t need her eyes to tell her something was amiss. The air told her, the silence told her. Even the feel of the determined snowflakes, the ones that burrowed all the way to her skin, spoke of change. She’d experienced similar feelings before, but never this frequently or intensely. She continued to circle, her eyes searching, yearning to find the source.
This was her home, after all. Invaders, if invaders they were, must be eliminated, scared off, or taught to move elsewhere. That she could succeed in defense, if she could accomplish that goal, was doubtful. Still, instinct demanded that she try and instinct was all she had.
Slicing through the air, she carved out a path through the falling snow, her wake quickly filled by more white from the sky. Banking back and forth, she came closer and closer to the cluster of tents below. Her heart beat quickly and her skin grew hot, melting the flakes that had collected and causing her body to fight a strange feeling of sudden trickling cold alongside the warmth of fear.
She continued her approach, her instincts rapidly changing from a desire to protect to an urge to swing around and race away with utmost haste. She was close enough now, close enough to determine that she would need armies and armies of her fellow creatures to adequately defend her home. So absorbed was she that she didn’t feel the rush of blood to her heart, she didn’t realize the rapidity and intensity with which it thundered in her breast.
She didn’t realize that the moment she heard the nothingness scream its horrible vile scream that she died. She didn’t feel her heart burst. She didn’t know that she continued in flight for several more seconds. She didn’t feel herself hit the building, didn’t hear the shattering glass and didn’t feel her body strike the ground below. She didn’t feel the bones of her wings break, her curved beak twist and bend, or her right leg snap in two during the collision. She didn’t know, understand, or feel anything except one instant of sheer and utter terror which wracked her body so violently that it killed her. And if she had known, if she had realized, she would have found, for that one instant, death was so much sweeter than life.
Tonight, though, she didn’t need her eyes to tell her something was amiss. The air told her, the silence told her. Even the feel of the determined snowflakes, the ones that burrowed all the way to her skin, spoke of change. She’d experienced similar feelings before, but never this frequently or intensely. She continued to circle, her eyes searching, yearning to find the source.
This was her home, after all. Invaders, if invaders they were, must be eliminated, scared off, or taught to move elsewhere. That she could succeed in defense, if she could accomplish that goal, was doubtful. Still, instinct demanded that she try and instinct was all she had.
Slicing through the air, she carved out a path through the falling snow, her wake quickly filled by more white from the sky. Banking back and forth, she came closer and closer to the cluster of tents below. Her heart beat quickly and her skin grew hot, melting the flakes that had collected and causing her body to fight a strange feeling of sudden trickling cold alongside the warmth of fear.
She continued her approach, her instincts rapidly changing from a desire to protect to an urge to swing around and race away with utmost haste. She was close enough now, close enough to determine that she would need armies and armies of her fellow creatures to adequately defend her home. So absorbed was she that she didn’t feel the rush of blood to her heart, she didn’t realize the rapidity and intensity with which it thundered in her breast.
She didn’t realize that the moment she heard the nothingness scream its horrible vile scream that she died. She didn’t feel her heart burst. She didn’t know that she continued in flight for several more seconds. She didn’t feel herself hit the building, didn’t hear the shattering glass and didn’t feel her body strike the ground below. She didn’t feel the bones of her wings break, her curved beak twist and bend, or her right leg snap in two during the collision. She didn’t know, understand, or feel anything except one instant of sheer and utter terror which wracked her body so violently that it killed her. And if she had known, if she had realized, she would have found, for that one instant, death was so much sweeter than life.
-
Layne Jenkins
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 5
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:52 pm
- Location: Rhydin Forest
Layne awoke when it was dark, remained stark still in his sleeping bag, and snapped his eyes open. He waited for them to adjust to the darkness, unsure of what had jarred him from sleep.
The previous day, despite the snow, had been a successful one. The men worked efficiently, if not fearfully, under the careful watch of their foreman. Layne wasn’t a well liked man but his workers knew that his word was law and, if nothing else, at least respected him. Layne never asked things of his men that he wasn’t willing to do himself. He lead by example and expected his men to follow suit. Thus, they’d accomplished a great deal in a short amount of time while still managing to take a full day’s yield in marking and felling trees. All the log-hauling transport trucks had tire chains installed, chainsaw engines were filled with special cold-resistant oils and fuel, and cold-weather gear was distributed to all the men. Layne refused to be caught off guard if the snow lasted longer than a few days, especially since the untruthful computer still claimed it was sunny with clear skies. All in all, it had been a good day.
In the midst of this night, though, something was amiss. Layne felt it, though he couldn’t express that feeling in words. Outside, he heard nothing but silence broken by the occasional gust of wind. That in and of itself was strange; typically, the forest, even areas devastated by the Graf Corporation’s loggers, showed signs of audible life – a hooting owl, songs from nocturnal birds, the rustle of dirt and pine under scavenging rodents. The quiet disturbed him. The weather disturbed him. Layne was happiest when things were easily explicable and attuned to his liking. Situations like this, the unexpected, made him nervous.
Pushing himself out of the sleeping bag, Layne rolled onto his hands and knees, immediately tensing as he heard, or more aptly, sensed, the tail end of a very unnatural howl that seemed to have no beginning. Trying to determine what, if anything, he’d heard, he felt the ground rumble. Gentle at first, the slight shaking quickly became violent; a fierce jerk threw him to the side despite his relatively stable position and knocked him against the side of his tent which nearly collapsed. He could hear cries of confusion from his men amongst the crashing of equipment which spilled off the trucks and out from storage lockers.
Forcing himself onto his feet, Layne lurched out of his tent only to find the ground still once more. Several of his men had emerged from their tents as well, murmuring in confusion. Layne quickly walked toward the cabin-headquarters, not caring that the snow was soaking into his socks. He paid no mind to the broken corpse of a dead bird that lay next to the building, a few feet from the doorway. This time, the night-clerk was at his post, restoring an upended chair to its rightful position.
Layne wasted no time in barking his orders, “Get me corporate. Now! I don’t care who you wake up.”
As the clerk dialed, Layne grimaced as he noticed a section of broken glass in the cabin’s lone paned window. Spiderlike cracks burst like a nova from a small hole in the glass; something, he surmised, must have struck the window during the earthquake. Shaking his head, Layne cursed the forest and its strange occurrences, longing, as he always did, for home.
The previous day, despite the snow, had been a successful one. The men worked efficiently, if not fearfully, under the careful watch of their foreman. Layne wasn’t a well liked man but his workers knew that his word was law and, if nothing else, at least respected him. Layne never asked things of his men that he wasn’t willing to do himself. He lead by example and expected his men to follow suit. Thus, they’d accomplished a great deal in a short amount of time while still managing to take a full day’s yield in marking and felling trees. All the log-hauling transport trucks had tire chains installed, chainsaw engines were filled with special cold-resistant oils and fuel, and cold-weather gear was distributed to all the men. Layne refused to be caught off guard if the snow lasted longer than a few days, especially since the untruthful computer still claimed it was sunny with clear skies. All in all, it had been a good day.
In the midst of this night, though, something was amiss. Layne felt it, though he couldn’t express that feeling in words. Outside, he heard nothing but silence broken by the occasional gust of wind. That in and of itself was strange; typically, the forest, even areas devastated by the Graf Corporation’s loggers, showed signs of audible life – a hooting owl, songs from nocturnal birds, the rustle of dirt and pine under scavenging rodents. The quiet disturbed him. The weather disturbed him. Layne was happiest when things were easily explicable and attuned to his liking. Situations like this, the unexpected, made him nervous.
Pushing himself out of the sleeping bag, Layne rolled onto his hands and knees, immediately tensing as he heard, or more aptly, sensed, the tail end of a very unnatural howl that seemed to have no beginning. Trying to determine what, if anything, he’d heard, he felt the ground rumble. Gentle at first, the slight shaking quickly became violent; a fierce jerk threw him to the side despite his relatively stable position and knocked him against the side of his tent which nearly collapsed. He could hear cries of confusion from his men amongst the crashing of equipment which spilled off the trucks and out from storage lockers.
Forcing himself onto his feet, Layne lurched out of his tent only to find the ground still once more. Several of his men had emerged from their tents as well, murmuring in confusion. Layne quickly walked toward the cabin-headquarters, not caring that the snow was soaking into his socks. He paid no mind to the broken corpse of a dead bird that lay next to the building, a few feet from the doorway. This time, the night-clerk was at his post, restoring an upended chair to its rightful position.
Layne wasted no time in barking his orders, “Get me corporate. Now! I don’t care who you wake up.”
As the clerk dialed, Layne grimaced as he noticed a section of broken glass in the cabin’s lone paned window. Spiderlike cracks burst like a nova from a small hole in the glass; something, he surmised, must have struck the window during the earthquake. Shaking his head, Layne cursed the forest and its strange occurrences, longing, as he always did, for home.
-
Layne Jenkins
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 5
- Joined: Thu May 06, 2004 12:52 pm
- Location: Rhydin Forest
Impatiently waiting for someone from corporate to pick up on the other end of the phone, Layne stared out the cracked window, through the lightly falling snow, and into the camp where several of his men were already busy restoring tools and containers to their proper locations and repairing minor damage to the large mess tent. That was good, he thought. He hadn’t even had to issue orders; the men were taking care of things on their own, anticipating their foreman’s wishes.
Pressing the speaker button on the phone’s cradle, Layne tossed the phone onto the plastic portable desk and stepped through the doorway while a terrible jazz rendition of an equally terrible classical piece blared from the handset. Snowflakes descended in a diagonal stream, gently pushed by a light breeze, doing their best to cover muddy boot-prints. Layne turned to look past logged clearings, the trees marked for knockdown in the next few days, and onward to the horizon. The tension he’d felt just before the earthquake had yet to dissipate and he didn’t trust that the night’s events were over even though the sky was already beginning to lighten at dawn’s approach.
“Damned lazy corporate bastards,” he muttered while continuing to survey the scene, annoyed that several minutes had passed since the clerk had placed the call. Layne raised his arm, twisting his wrist toward the cabin’s external lantern to read the time on his watch.
2:59am.
Layne frowned. The seconds ticked by as he held his wrist steady and slowly turned his head back toward the forest.
The watch beeped twice as the hour turned. 3:00am.
Layne cursed. Dawn never arrived at three in the morning. Not here. That glow in the nearby distance couldn’t be the rising sun. At the same moment he turned back to the cabin, one of the radios crackled to life.
“Basecamp, basecamp,” shouted an excited voice, “this is forward site C! Come in, over!”
Layne snatched the walkie-talkie and stabbed the talk-button. His breath came quickly as his stomach knotted. He knew the men in Camp C were seeing what he was seeing, and were much closer to it than he was.
“Camp C, this is Jenkins! Leave the gear, get in the trucks, and get your asses back here now. Understand? Now! We’ll be mobile by the time you arrive.” Assuming they acted immediately, given the rough terrain between the forward camp and his location, Layne guessed it would take twelve to fifteen minutes for the Camp C contingent to arrive. That meant he needed to have this group ready beforehand.
Without waiting for a reply, Layne dropped the device onto the ground, turned to the confused-looking clerk, and jabbed a finger at him. “When someone picks up that damned phone, you tell ‘em we’re evacuating. Got it? Tell ‘em we’re getting the hell out of this damned place!”
The clerk, wild-eyed, just nodded as Layne burst back through the cabin’s doorway and bellowed at the top of his lungs while he ran toward the main circle of tents that housed his crews, “Fire! Fire’s coming! Evacuate in ten! Move, move, move!”
Pressing the speaker button on the phone’s cradle, Layne tossed the phone onto the plastic portable desk and stepped through the doorway while a terrible jazz rendition of an equally terrible classical piece blared from the handset. Snowflakes descended in a diagonal stream, gently pushed by a light breeze, doing their best to cover muddy boot-prints. Layne turned to look past logged clearings, the trees marked for knockdown in the next few days, and onward to the horizon. The tension he’d felt just before the earthquake had yet to dissipate and he didn’t trust that the night’s events were over even though the sky was already beginning to lighten at dawn’s approach.
“Damned lazy corporate bastards,” he muttered while continuing to survey the scene, annoyed that several minutes had passed since the clerk had placed the call. Layne raised his arm, twisting his wrist toward the cabin’s external lantern to read the time on his watch.
2:59am.
Layne frowned. The seconds ticked by as he held his wrist steady and slowly turned his head back toward the forest.
The watch beeped twice as the hour turned. 3:00am.
Layne cursed. Dawn never arrived at three in the morning. Not here. That glow in the nearby distance couldn’t be the rising sun. At the same moment he turned back to the cabin, one of the radios crackled to life.
“Basecamp, basecamp,” shouted an excited voice, “this is forward site C! Come in, over!”
Layne snatched the walkie-talkie and stabbed the talk-button. His breath came quickly as his stomach knotted. He knew the men in Camp C were seeing what he was seeing, and were much closer to it than he was.
“Camp C, this is Jenkins! Leave the gear, get in the trucks, and get your asses back here now. Understand? Now! We’ll be mobile by the time you arrive.” Assuming they acted immediately, given the rough terrain between the forward camp and his location, Layne guessed it would take twelve to fifteen minutes for the Camp C contingent to arrive. That meant he needed to have this group ready beforehand.
Without waiting for a reply, Layne dropped the device onto the ground, turned to the confused-looking clerk, and jabbed a finger at him. “When someone picks up that damned phone, you tell ‘em we’re evacuating. Got it? Tell ‘em we’re getting the hell out of this damned place!”
The clerk, wild-eyed, just nodded as Layne burst back through the cabin’s doorway and bellowed at the top of his lungs while he ran toward the main circle of tents that housed his crews, “Fire! Fire’s coming! Evacuate in ten! Move, move, move!”
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