I write... It's what I Do

The Princess' Dragon

2010-12-09T21:49:00.000-08:00

{About a month ago, my lovely cousin produced quite possibly the most amazing Dragon and Princess picture for me that I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. In return, I promised that I would write a story to go along with it. Written in snatches of time between clinic and reports and classes, here is the result.}

The Valley of Dragons was bright and clear that afternoon, ideal for sunning myself on the warm rocks while Ciara gathered armfuls of flowers, herbs, and, most importantly, Dragonsleaf. The brilliant orange and blue plant was a delicious contradiction to the myth that dragons are strictly carnivores, and well worth the quarter hour flight from my cave in Mount Ignis to the Valley. It was a perfect day for a dragon and a princess to ignore the world around them and just relax.

The late summer sun was already high, and the rocks had soaked up plenty of heat. I stretched myself out lazily, practically melting into the warmth. Then I must have fallen asleep, because when I next opened my eyes, Ciara was nowhere to be seen. I was not alarmed, as there are few dangers that would risk the wrath of a fully-grown dragon. I arched my back and stretched, letting the motion ripple all the way down my tail, then rose to look for my princess.

As I searched, I realized this was not the first time she had disappeared. In fact, every time we had come to the Valley for the last month, I had awoken to find her out of my sight. More often than not, she had wandered back within a few minutes, arms full of flowers and singing with a dreamy smile. The few times she did not make her way back immediately, I had found her in the maze of boulders to the south. She seemed so happy after every visit to the Valley that we had made the trip more frequently than ever before. I loved my princess’ smile, and the sound of her laugh was pure joy in my ears.

I turned toward the boulders, but paused. I heard Ciara’s laugh, but it was accompanied by another sound, a sound that did not belong. It was second human’s voice. Specifically, it was a male human voice. I had little dealings with the humans, but after facing so many knights and princes and spending so much time with Ciara, I had learned to distinguish between the genders. It was definitely a male voice.

I flapped my wings and rose a few feet from the ground, scanning for Ciara. I caught a glimpse of her, coming towards me. There was no one else in sight. I scowled, certain of what I had heard. But only Ciara was in view now, skipping lightly my way, arms full of flowers, and that faint smile that suggested her thoughts were a hundred miles away.

“O Princess, My Princess,” I called, letting my scowl fade.

She looked up from her bouquet and waved joyously. “O Dragon, My Dragon,” she called back. It had been our private joke for years. “I found a new patch of Dragonsleaf today.”

I smiled broadly, showing my teeth in pleasure. “And that is undoubtedly why you took so long,” I hinted subtly, settling back to ground and extending my wing for her. She only laughed, then scrambled up and took her usual position behind my neck.

“I am tired, Korav,” she said with a yawn, changing the subject.

“Then perhaps we will not come tomorrow,” I suggested. “I do not want you to become exhausted.”

“Oh, no,” she protested quickly. “I will be well after I sleep. I promise.”

I rumbled deep within my chest, but did not reply. As we flew away, I glanced back down at the Valley. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but I thought I saw a horse and rider, just for a moment. Then they disappeared among the boulders, and I could not be sure. I flew faster toward Mount Ignis, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but in the Valley.

* * *

I won’t deny that having a princess was something of a status symbol among dragons, primarily for their usefulness. A princess would remove the prickly leaves from Dragonsleaf. A princess would sweep out the ashes of things accidentally burned, so they did not fly around in the wind and get into a dragon’s sinuses. A princess would shine and polish a dragon’s horns and remove those annoying loose scales so new ones could grow. And those were just some of the benefits.

But having a princess was also a bit of a bother. Once word got out that a princess had been seen with a dragon, every knight and prince and soldier within a hundred leagues was determined to try their hand at rescuing her. Depending on the season, a dragon with a princess could expect to be challenged by at least one would-be rescuer a month. Some dragons relished these fights, but more often than not I went out of my way to avoid them. I had purposefully made myself hard to find and had no intentions of letting any one steal my Ciara away.

Nearly a week had passed since the odd experience in the Valley of the
Dragons. I had all but forgotten it. Life had continued as normal. We had been back to the Valley several times, but not once did I have to search for Ciara. She continued to be blissfully happy while we were there, but glum when we left. The Dragonsleaf was at the peak of its season, and I enjoyed having a fresh supply on hand, but I was concerned about Ciara’s listlessness when we were not in the Valley.

It was late one afternoon, closer to evening, when Ciara noticed my darkening mood. After dinner, as she did so often when trying to tease me back into a good humor, she brought out her polishing cloth and the salve for the leathery skin under my loose scales. I smiled gratefully, with just a touch of fang, as she started searching for scales that needed to be removed.

“What is the matter?” Ciara asked earnestly, tugging a scale free from my front leg. That one had been bothering me all week, and it was high time to grow a new one.

I hesitated a moment, unsure if I wanted to burden her with my troubles. “A knight actually challenged me today,” I frowned, the ridge above my eyes turning a darker blue. “That has not happened in months.”

“A knight?” Oddly enough, Ciara seemed to perk up at that. “What did he look like?” she asked eagerly.

“How am I supposed to know?” I flicked my wings with an irritated snap. “All humans look the same to me. He was waving a sword, just like all the others.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, turning away.

I had the oddest sense that I had said the wrong thing, but I could not understand why Ciara should care about some knight. She never had before.

“What happened?” she asked, still facing away.

“I breathed a little fire his way. His mount was not up for it and bolted. I did not wait to see if he would come back; I was not in the mood for a fight today.”

It was the shifting, fading sunlight, of course. There was no other explanation for what had looked like a sigh of relief roll off her shoulders. I waited for a moment, and Ciara returned, her eyes perhaps a little too bright. She picked up the polishing cloth and motioned for me to bend my head. We said no more about the challenge that evening.

* * *

The next afternoon, I left Ciara and flew to the neighboring mountain alone. I needed to sort things out. I needed to talk to Lohren. A large, fierce, yellow dragon with many battle scars, Lohren was obstreperous, but we had grown up together, known each other from dragon kits. The bond of time had proved stronger than anything else. Occasionally, he had been known to give good advice, and occasionally, he had helped simply by showing me which was the wrong course of action.

I found him in his cave, getting ready to eat a sheep he had likely stolen from some villagers.

“Korav,” he said warmly. “What tears you away from your princess to socialize with your own kind?”

I settled into a coiled crouch and folded my wings back. “Actually,” I admitted, “that is why I am here. I am worried about my princess.”

The ridges above his eyes rippled with surprise. “I thought everything was idyllic in your corner of Mount Ignis.”

“It was. It is. I am just concerned. I think my princess might be ill.”

His eyes narrowed. “That is concerning.”

I was actually mildly surprised that Lohren was agreeing with me, but then he continued, “If she is ill, you cannot eat her.”

I gave him an annoyed flick of my tail. “For the last time, Lohren. I am not going to eat my princess. And neither are you.”

He snorted flame. “You cannot blame me for hoping,” he said. “What is wrong with your precious princess?”

I told him everything. I told him of our frequent trips to the Valley of Dragons, of napping and waking to find her gone, and of her blissful contentment while we were there. I mentioned the day I heard voices and talked about her melancholy disposition when we left the Valley. I finished by telling Lohren about her odd reaction to the story of the knight who had challenged me, then waited for his response.

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that I wondered if he was even going to answer. Then, finally, he asked, “How long has your princess been with you?”

“You know full well, Lohren. You were there I found Ciara ten years ago.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “I remember that I was dead set against the idea from the start. Taking in an eight year old human-child? I still do not understand what possessed you, my friend.”

“Her family, practically her whole country, had been murdered by barbarians,” I growled. “She was left—“

“—all alone and wandering in the forest,” Lohren finished for me, and I winced. Perhaps I had told the story too many times. “Her tears moved you, and instead of eating her, like any normal dragon would, you took her in. Took her in, cared for her, raised her to be quite the lovely princess, even if she is the princess of nowhere. And you still refuse to eat her.”

“I will not eat Ciara,” I snarled, resenting the implication that I should.

He shook his head. “That is not the point here, Korav.”

“Then what is?” I demanded.

Lohren laughed, pityingly. “Your princess is in love!”

I blinked, then blinked again. “No,” I said flatly. Then again, with just a touch of uncertainty, “No. Not possible.”

“I am afraid it is. She is in love with that human boy-man, and she will never be yours again. Your only choices now are to eat her or let her go. If you take my advice, you will have her for dinner, now that you know she is not ill. She looks delicious.”

I snarled and spat flame at him. His lip curled up above his second fang. “Fine. Then let her go. You should have done one or the other a decade past.”

“She is my princess,” I growled, letting the anger roll through my voice, “and I will decide what is to be done and when.”

Lohren flicked his tail impatiently. “Then go. Decide. And if you choose to eat her,” he said with a toothy grin, “tell me how she tastes.”

Lohren’s cave filled with my fire as I let him know exactly what I thought of that idea. If dragons could be burned by our own flame, he would have been a pile of cinders and fangs. As it was, at least I deprived him of his lunch.

“The Council of Dragons agrees with me, Korav!” Lohren called after me as I took to the sky. “You have had her too long. No other dragon in history has ever kept a princess past three years. A dragon’s cave is no place for a princess to live forever.”

The Council of Dragons could mind its own fiery business as far as I was concerned, but Lohren’s words haunted me the entire flight back home. Ciara in love? It could not be possible. I cast my mind back over the last month, searching for any indication that Lohren was not just blowing steam without fire. Nothing came to mind, and I was ready to dismiss his opinion as another manifestation of his disgruntled view of my princess.

I began my descent towards our cave, and I noticed a shift in the flow of air. A quick glance told me a scale had come loose from my breastplates. I made a mental note to ask Ciara to remove it soon.

That thought jolted my mind back to the previous night, when Ciara had taken care of the loose scale on my leg, and to her uncharacteristic interest in the knight that had challenged me. Why should she care about that particular nuisance? Unless Lohren was right. Unless Ciara loved that human boy-man. Then, unbidden, a crystal-clear montage of the last month flashed through my head: the constant requests for trips to the Valley, Ciara’s blissful smile and merry laughter, the faint sadness every time we left, the man’s voice in the boulders. And it all fit, making sense in a way that it had not when I had described it to Lohren.

I had to alter course abruptly to avoid crashing into the side of Mount Ignis, so overwhelmed was I. My princess. In love. I veered away from our cave and headed toward the peak. I needed to be alone to sort through this new idea.

Summer was quickly turning to autumn, and the top of Mount Ignis was chilly. It would be covered with snow in a month or so. Ciara loved the snow and had since she was a child. I still remembered the spot where she made her first snow-human and snow-dragon. In the spring, the peak of the mountain would be blanketed with Ciara’s favorite purple and yellow wildflowers, and she would fill the cave with them and their faintly spicy aroma.

I stayed up on the mountaintop for most of the afternoon, lost in thought and memory. I did not like the conclusion I finally reached. Lohren was probably right. Ciara was in love, and I was being selfish. I had had her for eight years, and, as Lohren had pointed out, that was five years longer than most dragons kept their princesses. Somehow, I had assumed she would be with me forever. But more than I wanted her with me, I wanted her to be happy. And if being with that human boy-man would make her happy, then I would not stop her.

So resolved, I returned to our cave and found Ciara sewing, as industrious as always. If she was surprised at my suggestion that we visit the Valley so late in the day, she did not show it. She happily climbed up onto my neck, and away we flew. When I started our descent into the Valley, I fully intended to bid Ciara farewell and leave her with her love.

I banked right, planning to land next to the maze of boulders. Motion caught my eye and I saw the human boy-man, sunlight glinting off his armor and sword. Suddenly, an unexpected wave of fury burned in my chest. That human boy-man had no right to Ciara! I had raised her, cared for her, loved her as if she were my own kit. This puny would-be knight had done nothing to be worthy of her. Fire exploded from my mouth, scorching the ground between us and the human boy-man. His horse reared, nostrils flaring, then turned and bolted. I heard Ciara’s horrified gasp.

I felt a slight pang of guilt, but thrust it away quickly. I did not care if I was being selfish. I did not care what anyone said: she was my princess, and no one could take her from me. Not barbarians, not Lohren, not the Council, and certainly not some snot-nosed brat wearing borrowed armor and waving his father’s sword. My wings beat the air faster and faster, leaving the boy choking on a cloud of dust and ash as my princess and I wheeled in the sky, heading for Mount Ignis and home.

We made the return journey within ten minutes, a personal best. I did not care. All that mattered was still clinging to my neck, likely bewildered at my odd behavior.

“Korav?” Ciara asked hesitantly when we reached our cave. “Is something wrong?”

I shook my head tightly, but betraying smoke curled from my nostrils. “I decided I wanted dinner instead,” I said shortly. “I have not eaten today.”

Ciara’s eyes narrowed, and I knew that she knew I was hiding something. But she did not share her thoughts. Rather, she brought me an enormous bowl of Dragonsleaf without comment. Every mouthful was bitter and hard to swallow, but I did not think that it was the fault of the plant. I was sure that I was tasting my own guilt.

Dusk fell quickly, and I watched, like many nights before, as Ciara combed out her long, brown hair. The playful evening breeze snatched strands and tossed them in the air, letting them dance in the fading sunlight.

“Ciara,” I said hesitantly, “Are you happy here?”

Ciara looked up, startled, as if she had forgotten my presence. I in turn was shocked to see a tear glistening on her cheek.

“Of—of course I am happy, Korav.” She smiled at me bravely. “I am always happy with you.”

I bent my neck and nuzzled her face, wiping the tears away. “You know I would do anything for you,” I rumbled.

“I know.” She stroked my nose. “You are my family.”

I let the silence hang in the air for a few heartbeats. Then, I steeled myself and asked, “Do you love him?”

Her jaw dropped open, and her eyes grew as round as my eye-ridge scales. “What—? Who—?”

“The human you have been seeing during our trips to the Valley of Dragons,” I said softly. “The human who challenged me yesterday.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, and I winced. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “He was not supposed to challenge you. I told him not to. I—”

“Hush,” I breathed softly. “Do you love him?”

She hesitated for a long moment, then, biting her lip, said, “Yes. I do.” Then she rushed on before I could reply, “But I do not want you to be hurt! And I do not want you to kill him, either. And if he challenges you, then one of you will die and my heart will break!”

“Ciara,” I interrupted. Her voice trailed off reluctantly, and she raised her eyes to mine. I swallowed and forged ahead, knowing that I might regret my words. “Ciara, if you love him, then I will not keep you. I have been selfish too long.”

She looked as if she were going to say something else, then she fell against my neck, hugging me fiercely. “But Korav, I love you, too!”

“And I love you, Ciara. You will always have a home with me. I will not force you to go. It is your choice.” I waited for an answer that did not come. “Who is he?” I asked after a long stretch of silence.

Ciara stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Colin. He is a prince,” she said. “He is from the nearest kingdom.”

“How did you meet him?”

She laughed. “His father sent him out adventuring for a year when he turned twenty-one. Colin did not want to go. He would rather have stayed home and continued his studies. But his father insisted, and even a prince does not refuse the king. So he rode as far as he wanted to go, then came back. But he still had two months left before he could go back. He found the Valley of the Dragons and has camped there for six weeks. He was right next to a patch of Dragonsleaf, which is how I found him.”

“What is he like?”

“Colin is brave, when he has to be. He is thoughtful and funny and kind. He knows all about things I have never even seen, like the ocean. Did you know that there are more than one hundred different kinds of fish? He could tell me all their names if I asked. He loves his family and has many friends that he misses. Colin told me about growing up in a castle and what it was like to see people every single day.” For nearly an hour, she talked about Colin and his family and his interests and his accomplishments in astonishing, glowing detail.

Finally, I managed to get a word in edgewise. “And does he love you?” It was really the only question left.

“Colin said that if he had to stay in the Valley of the Dragons forever, just to see me one time a year, it would be worth every minute. And Colin hates being away from home. He was miserable the entire time he was traveling.” She met my gaze. “Yes. He loves me.”

Her eyes were shining now, and I did not think it was tears again. My princess was thoroughly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love. I sighed; Lohren was going to be insufferable.

I lightly flicked out my tongue, dropping a dragon kiss on her cheek. “Ciara, will Colin be by the boulders tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “He comes every day and waits for me.”

“Then tomorrow,” I promised, “we will go to the Valley, and you may go with your Colin.” I raised a claw to forestall her protests. “No arguments,” I said firmly. “You have made me very happy these last ten years. Now I have the chance to do the same for you.”

Her eyes overflowed, and she flung her arms around my neck again. Her joy was unmistakable, and I knew that this time I had to follow through. I could not destroy her future for my own selfish purposes, but I still laid awake far longer than did Ciara, trying to convince myself it was for the best.

* * *

Ciara said that Colin was more likely to be waiting for her in the afternoon, and so we left Mount Ignis just as the sun peaked in the sky. It was a warm day, one of the last of the season, and I flew leisurely towards the Valley.

When we arrived, Colin was indeed there, scrambling onto his mount at the sight of us. He looked terrified. I wished that I was leaving Ciara with someone more capable of defending her and tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that he was sure to have guards at his castle.

I settled to the ground near the boulders and bent my neck down to a medium-sized one. Ciara slid off and began to scramble to the ground, but I stopped her.

“Stay here, Ciara. No matter what happens. Stay here.”

She looked up at me with wide eyes and nodded, then sat on the boulder. I turned towards the human boy-man, who was trying to urge his horse forward. He saw me staring at him and raised his sword.

“Stand forth, Dragon, and do battle!” he bellowed, and his voice squeaked only a little.

I rose up on my hind legs and belched a column of fire into the air to accept his challenge, and he charged.

To be honest, it was not a fight worthy of a legend. If the boy had been trained in the use of the sword, it was not obvious. As Ciara had implied, he was more scholar than soldier. His poor, skittish mount was no warhorse, and the sight of a fully-grown dragon terrified it. It dumped the boy on his behind not two minutes in and bolted for the cover of the boulders where Ciara waited. But the lad held his ground and gained my respect.

I tried to make my side of the battle as convincing as possible, but it was difficult when I had to limit my flames and watch where I stepped. I knew that the pretense was necessary. Any prince worth his crown would be mortified if a dragon gave up its princess without a challenge. I imagined that Colin would mind less than others, but that his father would be disappointed if Colin did not have at least one adventure before returning home.

Colin’s attacks were random and sadly futile. He never even came close to injuring me, even mildly, but still he kept trying. I had to admire his tenacity. But I could tell that he was growing desperate. Despite my attempts, I could see in his eyes that he knew he was losing the battle. I was not sure how I could allow him to defeat me in a way that would be convincing.

Then, in a final, valiant effort, the lad hurled his sword at my exposed underbelly. He missed, and the blade only knocked off the loose scale from my breastplates. However, he was now weaponless, and I was mostly certain he had no way of knowing that the scale would regenerate. It seemed a good way to end the fight. I drew back dramatically, rose on my hind legs. and roared, belching flame into the sky and spreading my wings to their impressive full span. Then, with a thundering crash that shook the trees, I collapsed into a coiled heap, my head lolling to one side.

There were four counts of utter silence, broken only by the lad’s labored breathing. I lay very still, keeping my eyes shut. I heard Ciara’s horrified gasp as she slid off the boulder and then her footsteps rushing over to me. Through one cracked eyelid, I saw her prince advance, cautiously, stopping a dozen paces away, his retrieved sword held outstretched. It trembled only a bit. The lad had found his courage. I felt a little better about the whole thing, knowing that I would not be sending my princess off into the world with a weak-kneed coward. He would defend her, if the need arose.

Ciara fell against me, wrapping her arms as far around my neck as they would reach, whispering “no, no, no,” over and over again. My heart grew warm with the knowledge that she still loved me, that she was not just replacing me with Colin as Lohren had suggested. A low, pleased rumble started deep in my chest and startled her. She looked up sharply, and I opened one eye, then winked. I smiled just a little, letting a hint of fang show. I kept that one eye open until I saw realization spread across her face, then shut it again.

She squeezed my neck as hard as she could. “Oh, Korav,” she whispered. “You are wicked. You could have warned me!”

I flicked my tongue out and planted a soft dragon kiss on her forehead. “Go,” I rumbled as softly as I could.

“Thank you. Thank you. I will see you again one day, I promise, O Dragon, My Dragon,” she said softly. “Goodbye.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed the flat of my nose. Then she turned and ran to her prince. He caught her up rapturously in his arms, spinning her around, and they clung to each other for a long time.

I did not rise until they were ten minutes gone, departed on his white stallion and well out of sight. Already I missed her, but it was enough for me that she would be happy and among her own once again. Lohren, for all his inaccurate and unwanted insights, had been correct about one thing: a dragon’s cave was no place for a princess to live out her days. Likely I would need to endure some good-natured joking about being bested by an untried, clumsy youth. The memory of Ciara’s face when she embraced the lad, however, was worth more than my reputation.

With a melancholy sigh, I uncoiled myself from the ground and leapt into the air. As I circled the Valley of Dragons, I saw Ciara and her prince galloping in the opposite direction. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but I vow that Ciara turned and waved at me. I let loose a full stream of dragon flame in response, a final farewell, then turned towards Mount Ignis and never looked back.

Coming Soon

2010-11-21T17:24:00.000-08:00

I didn’t care what anyone said: she was my princess, and no one could take her from me. Not barbarians, not Lohren, not the Council of Dragons, and certainly not some snot-nosed brat wearing borrowed armor and waving his father’s sword. My wings beat the air faster and faster, leaving the boy choking on a cloud of dust and ash as my princess and I rose above the ground, heading for the Western Mountain and home.

2010-11-13T18:33:00.001-08:00

tears are blood
when your heart breaks
you cut yourself
on the shards
you cry

2010-03-16T22:12:00.001-07:00

“Hey,” he replied, grinning slightly. “Thanks for not dying.”
“Don’t mention it. I’d hate to leave you with all that paperwork.” She returned his smile faintly.

In Loving Memory

2010-01-11T18:39:00.000-08:00

All mothers are special to their children, but we’re sure that we had the best. Not only was she caring, nurturing, and compassionate, but she knew everything. From cold remedies to candy-making to creating something wonderful from practically nothing, she was realistic, yet inventive. Mom was thrifty with finances, but never with her love. She had four children who all had very different personalities, and she always knew just what each child needed. She made each of us feel unique, important, and heard. She did not divide her love between us, but multiplied it to encompass every part of our lives. Mom was absolutely beyond comparison. The time she spent with us was far too short, but the lessons she taught us and the impression she left on us will last forever. Mom, we miss you and love you more than words could say, but you will always be in our hearts.

Our Hope

2010-01-11T17:40:00.000-08:00

Nine days ago, after six years fighting cancer, my mother took her last breath in this life and her first breath in the next. No sane person would begrudge her new citizenship, but there is a Mom-shaped hole in my heart now. Nothing will ever be the same.

Inevitable
Expected
Foreseen
Thoroughly anticipated
This did not strike from the darkness.
It was not a shock.
And yet—
It was.
It’s like watching a slow motion punch coming at your face.
You can see it coming;
You know it’s coming;
And yet when it connects it doesn’t hurt any less for that knowledge.
And hurt it does.
She’s with God.
My head knows that,
Yet my heart grieves.
We were prepared,
And yet we weren’t,
For who can prepare for something like this?
It is impossible:
It strikes at our core,
The part of us that denies reality,
That says, “it will never happen,”
While our surface thoughts pretend that we knew it would happen all along.
And as it strikes that core,
A little part of us is torn away.
The part that became intertwined,
Entangled,
Dependent upon
That person’s life.
And that little part can never be replaced.
Scar tissue will cover it,
Scar tissue will mask its removal,
Scar tissue will hide the hole,
Even as scar tissue boldly declares the absence of the original.
It staggers you.
It affects your entire body;
Not just your emotional well-being,
Your spiritual, your physical, your mental well-being.
It makes you want to curl up in a corner
And cry and cry and cry
Until no more tears will come,
Until the tears have washed away the pain and the sorrow,
Until the tears have washed away the grief and the anguish,
Until the tears have washed away the gaping hole.
But they can never wash it all away.
If the pain, the sorrow, the grief, the anguish ever totally disappeared
Then the memory would be gone.
And that is the last thing that holds them to us.
The pain, the sorrow, the grief, the anguish will fade,
But God forbid they vanish.
They will ebb,
But God forbid they disappear.
Life becomes meaningless.
Reality becomes a joke.
For how can one go on when one is only partly there?
How can one laugh when the source of laughter has departed?
How can one continue a regular existence when existence has lost its life?
Only God knows.
And yet—
We do.
We continue.
We are.
We exist.
Carrying on, trying to fill the hole, looking to God for mercy and strength,
Trying not to feel,
Never daring to hope to heal,
As the world spins around us
A mockery of what it was.
Bland and colorless,
Threatening to leave us behind
If we cannot keep up.
The world never understands.
We can only trust and follow
When trusting and following are hardest;
Accepting His will
When we don’t understand;
Believing His word
When it isn’t what we want to hear;
And try to rest in His assurance
When rest is the hardest.
We are following in the dark
Searching for the light
And committing ourselves to His everlasting care.
And always praying that we too,
Like those who have gone before us,
Shall see Him in His glory
And His power,
Surrounded by those who have lived faithfully and righteously—
And those who have left us to see Him—
Forever
This is our hope
And this hope is enough

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 10)

2009-09-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

{The post you've all been waiting for...}

“All right,” Dara said once the pilots had changed from their Stawlian uniforms to their New Republic dress uniforms. “Are we ready to move? Redding, did you call Raven?”

“I did.” Redding flipped through a stack of data disks and pulled out the ones he needed. “There’s a problem.”

“No,” Dog said flatly.

Dara eyed him. “No, there is no problem?”

“No,” Dog repeated, “there can’t be a problem. We’re too close to getting off this ridiculously paranoid planet for there to be any problems.”

“Hush,” Dara ordered. “Redding, what is the problem?”

“She’s not answering. I keep getting directed to a messaging service.”

Dara considered. “That’s a problem.”

“Yes.”

“Not a big problem, but a problem.”

“Yes.”

“Do we know where she’s going to be?”

“We know that the diplomatic vessel is going to be at the spaceport. We know where she is being held. Technically, we could drive the route between the spaceport and where she is and look for her.”

“Not a great plan.”

“No.”

“But it is a plan.”

“We should be able to find her, yes.”

“Worst case scenario, we meet her at the spaceport.” Dara’s voice clearly indicated that she was ready to leave, with or without a plan.

“Look,” Dog interrupted. “Can we go already?”

Dara laughed and waved them all towards the door. “All right. We’ll start with her lodgings. Let’s go.”

~

Dog was already in the speeder, Redding and Jayem were on their way to join him. Dara stopped in the computer room where Josh and Marna were finishing dismantling the last computer.

“Two safe houses ruined in a week. I guess I should apologize,” Dara said.

Marna shook his head and came over to where she stood. “No,” he insisted, clasping her hand warmly. “I can’t thank you and your pilots enough for what you’ve done. Not just for me, but for all of the Fringe. You’ve given them confidence that they desperately needed.”

“I was just returning the favor,” she countered. “You and your organization saved our lives and Diplomat Raven’s reputation. Getting you out was the least we could do.”

“We’ll never forget you and your team, Dara,” Josh said.

“I hope you do,” Dara smiled. “I hope the Fringe does so many amazing things that you won’t be able to remember us at all. I’ll be waiting to hear of a regime shift on Stawl.”

“In time,” Marna said quietly. “Thank you again.” He and Josh walked her to the door.

“We can give you twenty minutes,” Dara said. “Maybe a little more than that, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“We can work with twenty minutes,” Josh said. “We’ll be out of here in five.”

“Excellent.” Dara clasped his hand, then Marna’s. “Good luck.”

“Goodbye, Dara,” Marna said. “Be careful.”

“And you, also,” she replied. She offered him a crisp, military salute, then left the room.

She nearly walked right into Zack, who had been waiting just outside the room. She smiled and stepped back. “It was great working with you, Zack. You’ve got good instincts. Make Josh let you use them.”

Zack nodded, abruptly wrapped her in a bone-crushing embrace, then, just as suddenly, released her. He stammered something that sounded like “thank you, then hurried away, beet red.

Dara, looking rather dazed, turned to Redding, who was leaning against a wall, watching with an amused expression. “What was that about?”

“He’s only nineteen, Dara. Still just a kid. You rescued his hero, so that makes you a hero, too.” Redding grinned.

Dara flushed a dull, embarrassed crimson. “But I don’t like heroes,” she commented as she brushed past him on her way to the speeder.

Redding chuckled and followed.

“Come on, Dara,” Jayem complained when they ran into the garage and jumped into the speeder. “We’ve been waiting for hours!”

Dara laughed at him. “Calm down. Everyone ready?” Upon receiving affirmative responses, she nodded to Dog. “Go.”

~

Dara’s instinct to start at Raven’s lodgings proved to be correct. They arrived to see a small crowd gathered, consisting of Raven, a handful of grim New Republic soldiers, some pompous State officials and their guards, and at least two dozen curious bystanders. Since this was apparently a State function, the laws against citizens congregating in groups larger than ten obviously did not apply. One particularly pretentious bureaucrat was standing at a podium, lecturing about the need for integrity in galactic diplomacy. Raven’s face was tight with stress and some of her authoritative bearing was lacking. When Dog pulled the speeder closer, the crowd turned to look.

Dog had taken down the speeder’s cover, so that everyone assembled could plainly see the occupants. Whispering and pointing began as people started to recognize them. Dara stood up as the bureaucrat paused uncertainly in his speech.

“People of Stawl,” Dara called loudly as her pilots lounged beside her, hands on blasters. “I am Major Daramis Mcejo. You requested representatives of the New Republic Starfighter Command. We came. And then your government tried to kill us.” There was a slight rumble of shock and displeasure from the crowd, and Dara continued, raising her voice. “They tried to kill us, and they killed hundreds of your own people in the attempt. Not only that, but they dared to blame it on our own diplomat. The State lied to us, the State falsely accused an agent of the New Republic, and the State is lying to you.”

The people began to shift restlessly, looking at each other, then at Dara, at the bureaucrat, and back at Dara. The guards glanced around uneasily, unsure of what to do. The bureaucrat was white and trembling with fury, gripping the sides of his podium fiercely.

“Impostors!” he shouted as he stabbed an accusing finger toward the pilots. “The New Republic pilots are dead! These are frauds, trying to shake your faith in your government!”

Standing slightly behind him, backed by six New Republic soldiers, Raven gaped in a rather undiplomatic manner, the beginnings of hope easing the strain around her eyes.

“Is he talking about us?” Redding asked lazily.

“I believe he is,” Jayem yawned.

“Arrest them!” the official yelled, and his guards snapped to attention. They began moving purposefully towards the pilots.

“Us again?”

“Us again,” Dara confirmed, keeping a close eye on the guards. She waited until they were less than ten meters away, then, “Dog, go!” They roared away, leaving behind spluttering Stawlian officials faced with the daunting task of controlling an irate crowd.

The guards gaped dumbfounded, as if disbelieving that anyone would actually run from them, and then doubled back to their speeders to give chase, leaving the pilots with a nice head start.

“You know where you’re going, right?” Dara asked Dog conversationally as she glanced over her shoulder.

Dog shrugged and increased speed. “More or less. But we need to give Marna time to get away, right?”

“Right.”

“Then let’s do some sightseeing.”

“Funny,” Jayem said sarcastically.

“No, I’m serious,” Dog grinned. “We need to lead the guards on a wild-goose chase so they’re distracted.”

“Just don’t get us caught,” warned Dara as she settled back to enjoy the ride.

Dog was an artist at the controls of any vehicle, and the Stawlian military speeder was no exception. His handling of the machine was impeccable, and the guards behind them were hard pressed to keep up. Dog had to slow down once or twice in order not to lose them. They did get a full tour of the capitol, though none of them knew what they were looking at.

“I am thoroughly unimpressed,” Jayem yawned. “Are we done yet?”

“Almost,” Dog called back. “The spaceport’s a few blocks away.”

“They’re gaining now,” Redding warned, hanging on to the side of the speeder as Dog made a hard right.

“Forget about it,” Dog yelled over the noise of the engine. “Two more turns and we jump.”

“We what?” Jayem demanded, sitting up straight.

“I can’t slow down, can I?” retorted Dog. “I’ll give the speeder a collision course and we get out of here.”

“We’re doing it, Jayem,” Dara commanded. “No more questions.”

Jayem scowled, but braced himself.

“Ready….” Dog threw the speeder into the first turn.

“Still behind us,” Redding reported.

Dog pulled the speeder hard to the left. “Now!” he shouted.

Redding jumped, hit the ground, and rolled, followed immediately by Jayem and Dog. Then Dara jumped and was struck with the sinking realization that her landing would be off. She unsuccessfully tried to correct in midair, but she hit the ground hard and her ankle folded inward. Rolling out of the street and toward a wall, she tried to stand. Her leg buckled, protesting violently at the pressure on her ankle. Pain pounded through the joint and she gritted her teeth.

“Blast!” she ground out, bracing herself against the wall.

Instantly, Jayem was at her side, taking her weight and pulling her to cover just as the guards sped past, not yet realizing their error. Redding and Dog scanned the area with their blasters. Half-carrying, half-supporting Dara, Jayem went to the door and keyed it open. Relief swept over the group at the sight of their X-wings, undamaged and lined up in a precise row. Dara also noticed two guards lying in a corner of the hangar, still unconscious, still bound and gagged.

She looked up at Jayem. “Nobody noticed?”

He grinned. “Apparently not.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said optimistically, thinking that this could be the first true moment of good fortune during the entire Force-forsaken mission. “All right, people, let’s move!”

Dara was amazed and pleased when they discovered that all of their personal belongings were neatly stacked in a corner, including their flight suits. That meant they wouldn’t have to rendezvous with the diplomatic vessel before breaking atmosphere. The four pilots suited up in record time, despite Dara’s trouble with her ankle.

Dog had a huge grin on his face as he pulled his helmet on, so thrilled was he to be leaving Stawl. Redding and Jayem were unsuccessful at hiding their smiles, as well. Dara couldn’t deny a profound sense of relief, tempered by the pain in her joint. Redding helped Dara into her X-wing before climbing up into his own ship.

Dara switched on her comm. “Call out, boys.”

“Four green, Lead,” Jayem replied promptly.

“All good, Lead,” Dog said, practically on top of Jayem’s transmission. “Can we go already?”

“Three in the green, number two engine at eighty percent,” Redding reported.

“Are you worried about that, Four?” Dara asked.

“Not a bit, Lead. Let’s go!”

A new voice broke into their frequency. “Unauthorized pilots, this is Control. You are in a restricted zone. Power down your engines immediately.”

Dara laughed outright. It was not a pleasant laugh. “This is Major Daramis Mcejo of New Republic Starfighter Command,” she said grimly. “I suggest you raise the hangar doors before we blow them off.” She addressed her squad: “S-foils in attack position.”

Four pairs of wings split horizontally and slowly lifted apart, giving the fighters the shape for which they were named. Then the crafts gently elevated, stopping to hover about a meter from the ground.

“Unauthorized pilots,” the voice sounded a little worried now, “power down immediately!”

“Sorry, we’re done with diplomacy. On my mark, gentlemen. Three, two—“

“Wait!” The voice was now frantic. “We are raising the hangar doors now.”

“You have fifteen seconds, Control. We’re leaving either way.”

Ten seconds passed, and nothing happened. Then a strong male voice came over the comm. “Unauthorized pilots, this is Captain Zarn of the State Security Division. You are ordered by the State to stand down.”

“Mark,” was Dara’s quiet reply.

Sixteen lasers in quad-linked bursts fired simultaneously, reducing the hangar doors to so much melted slag. Alarms sounded and the side doors burst open to admit two squads of State soldiers.

“Shields up,” Dara ordered, setting an example. “Let’s go home, boys.”

“Right behind you, Major,” Redding said.

One after another, the four X-wings slipped out of the gaping hole in the hangar doors. Stawlian soldiers opened fire on the starfighters, the lasers from their blasters splashing ineffectually against the shields. The X-wings gracefully arced up into the sky and headed for the diplomatic ship that was also lifting from the ground.

When they reached comm range, Dara hailed the ship. “Diplomatic vessel, this is Major Daramis Mcejo. Do you need an escort?”

There was a brief pause, then: “Major Mcejo, this is Captain Leo of Diplomatic vessel Horizons. It is good to hear your voice! Is that the rest of your team with you?”

“As improbable as it may seem, we are all present and accounted for.”

“Best news we’ve had all week,” Captain Leo said with absolute sincerity. “We accept your offer of an escort. Transmitting our course to you now.”

“Escort formation,” Dara directed her pilots, and the X-wings slid neatly into position.

“Hopefully we won’t need an escort,” the captain continued, “but we did leave a lot of really upset Stawlians back there.”

“Perhaps,” Dara replied with a smile. “But we left quite a few happy ones, as well.”

“Diplomat Raven sends her congratulations on your survival. And her regrets that such an unorthodox departure was necessary.”

“That’s quite all right. It was the most action my team has seen all week, and they needed the outlet.”

“No kidding, Major Mother,” Dog cut in.

Normally, Dara would have called for less chatter, but this time she let her pilots fall into easy, lighthearted banter over the comm. She was just glad to be going home.

A new voice filled her cockpit, that of the Horizon’s navigator. “Lightspeed in sixty seconds. Fifty…forty…thirty….”

Dara listened absently to the countdown and sent her starfighter hurtling into the blue and white vortex of hyperspace on the navigator’s mark. They would be making the trip in a series of jumps. She estimated she had a little over two hours before their first reversion—plenty of time for a light nap. After checking in with her R2 unit and setting an alarm to wake her in an hour and a half, Dara settled back into the seat, making herself as comfortable as possible, and drifted into a light doze, trying still to ignore the steady throb of pain from her ankle.

~

Today

Dara had never found words adequate enough to describe how she felt upon returning from a mission with everyone still alive. Relieved wasn’t quite intense enough, neither was satisfied, or even pleased. A warm, contented feeling washed over her and she felt the knot of tension that had settled in her neck and shoulders loosen as Commenor, the planet their squadron currently called home, expanded to take over her viewport. After twelve hours of hyperspace jumps, they were finally back.

“Welcome home, Major Mcejo,” Captain Leo said and was met with cheers from her squad. Dara just leaned back in her chair and grinned like an idiot.

“You got nothing to say, Major Mother?” Dog asked.

“Too happy for words,” she replied.

“That would be a first,” Redding joked.

“Hush,” she said without reproach. “Tighten up your positions. We are an escort.”

The four pilots brought their X-wings into precise formation. None of them wanted anyone who might be watching to think their flying had gotten sloppy while they were on Stawl. Captain Leo gave them landing coordinates, and the cruiser angled toward the west side of the base. The X-wings peeled off and headed to a hangar in the south quadrant. The hangar was largely empty, but the moment they settled their ships down and cut the engines, the hangar flooded with an excited, beaming, swarm of men and women in uniform.

Redding, Jayem, and Dog popped their hatches and scrambled out of their fighters. Instead of jumping down from her X-wing, Dara waited for the mechanics to bring over a ladder. She also accepted the hands extended to help her down. The guys were exchanging handshakes and backslaps and accepting congratulations. A major from their partner squadron was waiting for Dara. He saluted, not even trying to hide his smile.

“Major Mcejo, it is a pleasure to see you and your team again.”

“Major Ondel, I cannot tell you how much the feeling is mutual.” She returned the salute and the smile, then looked around. The hangar was buzzing with people, but she only saw about half of Valor Squadron and she didn’t see her commander at all. “Where’s Rogue?”

“We haven’t told him.” Major Ondel’s smile spread into a mischievous grin. “All he knows is that Diplomat Raven was to return today.”

“So…Rogue doesn’t know we’re alive?” She leaned against a crate to keep weight off her injured ankle.

“No. He’s been depressed and grouchy ever since you died. We figured he wouldn’t believe us if we told him.”

“Well,” Dara laughed, “it’s nice to know we were missed. I suppose we should go show our faces so that he can sleep tonight.” She motioned her team to join her. “Let’s report in.”

~

“And then we came here, sir.” Dara leaned back in her chair and spread her hands. “And here we are.”

They had gathered a crowd. Rogue’s office was filled with Valor Squadron pilots and the hallway contained many members of other squadrons who couldn’t resist their curiosity. Dara had done most of the reporting, but Dog, Jayem, and Redding had interjected as they wanted. It was a thorough, if a bit casual, report.

There was a smattering of applause and shouts of congratulations as the other pilots began to disperse. When the room was clear, Dog stood and saluted.

“Permission to go eat, sir?”

Rogue smiled and nodded. “By all means. Dismissed.”

Jayem and Redding jumped up, gave salutes of their own, and followed Dog out of the office, leaving Rogue and Dara alone.

“I think I might join them, sir. All we’ve had is field rations in our X-wings since breakfast on Stawl. And I’m pretty sure that was yesterday.” Dara levered herself out of her chair and balanced precariously on one foot.

“You’re going to get that taken care of, yes?”

Dara made a face. “Yes, sir,” she said with a reluctance that stemmed from her dislike of visiting the medbay.

“And then get some sleep.”

She brightened at that. “As ordered.” She limped carefully to the door, turned, and saluted. “It’s good to be back, sir.”

“It’s good to have you back, Dara. All of you.”

“Thank you. And, sir?”

“Yes?”

“If I ever get volunteered to lead a diplomatic mission again, I’m resigning.”

He laughed. “Understood. I’ve already discussed it with Command.”

She grinned and opened the door.

“Oh, by the way,” he called, arresting her motion and drawing her gaze back. “You’ll get me your report? I’d like to go over it before Diplomatic Corps gets it.” He was surprised when she blushed.

“I’ll have it on your desk by tomorrow evening.”

Rogue looked confused. “Wasn’t there a report you were updating throughout this whole fiasco?”

Dara grinned sheepishly. “Yes,” she admitted, “there was. But… I left it on Stawl.”

~Fin~

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 9) (revised)

2009-08-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

Redding was absolutely focused on his screen, watching the feed from the security cameras. Jayem leaned in over his shoulder.

“Have they arrived yet?”

Redding shook his head. “Any minute now, I think.”

“How long ‘til they get back?’

“Thirty minutes, if everything goes according to plan.”

“Good. I think I’ll get some air.” Jayem straightened and left the room.

Redding frowned, but the monitors quickly reclaimed his attention. That is, until he heard the front door open and slam, then the roar of a speederbike. Redding’s head snapped up, and he was out of his seat so fast the chair tipped over. He sprinted to the window just in time to see Jayem disappear down the street. Redding slammed his fist against the wall and called his squadmate eight kinds of idiot. But there was nothing he could do. Fighting back his frustration, he returned to his computers and watched Zack get cleared through the front gate.

~

Zack handed the guard on duty his ID card. Watching out of the tinted windows, Dara was impressed by how comfortable and natural he looked. He wasn’t overly nonchalant, and neither was he jumpy and nervous. He seemed to be having a casual conversation with the guard and was careful to keep his face turned away when two other guards brought Marna in and led him to the speeder.

Dog leaned over and opened the door of the speeder. Dara also turned her head away so that Marna couldn’t react immediately. He would recognize her, he might not recognize Dog. She watched in the reflection of the window as Marna climbed in, looking haggard and a little dejected. Then her gut clenched as the two guards climbed in after him and sat opposite. That was not in the plan.

Dog glanced casually at Dara, then returned to staring out the window. Dara knew that any drastic action now would be noticed. They would have to wait until they cleared outer security. Marna chose that moment to raise his head and look around the speeder. His eyes widened when he saw Dara. Fortunately, he had enough presence of mind not to react. He looked from her to Dog, whom he did not recognize immediately, and confusion creased his forehead. Dara surreptitiously lowered one eyelid to reassure him, then rubbed her eye a second later, in case one of the guards had seen.

Zack did not say a word when he got back in the speeder. That told Dara that he had seen the guards and knew not to celebrate just yet. Dog and Dara exchanged a meaningful glance as Zack drove the speeder out of the transfer area. Marna was trying to hide his confusion, and the other two guards just looked bored.

Dara felt a drop of sweat trickle down the back of her neck. The two guards weren’t supposed to be here. It wouldn’t take much for them to guess that something was not right and raise the alarm. Only her previous undercover experience kept her face calm and unworried, and she was sure the same went for Dog. She kept her breathing even and managed to match the bored expressions on the guards’ faces.

Then the guard on Marna’s left glanced at Dara, then seemed to really see her. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” he said.
“How long—”

With the precision of two squadmates that had worked together for years, Dara and Dog drew their blasters and fired simultaneously. The wave of blue from the stun beams washed over the two guards and they slumped in their seats. Marna’s eyes widened with shock.

Zack’s head swiveled around and he gaped.

“Turn around, Zack,” Dara ordered. “We still have to get out of here. Stick to the plan.”

“Zack’s here?” Marna asked incredulously. He still hadn’t absorbed the idea of being rescued.

“Yes, sir,” Zack said. “And we’re on our way to meet Josh.”

Three minutes later, they had cleared outer security. No one so much as glanced twice at Zack’s ID badge or into the speeder. The guards all wore the same bland expression that spoke of utter boredom. But it was after they drove through the gates that the next difficult part began: they had to make a military speeder disappear before the State realized that Marna hadn’t arrived for his court date.

“Zack, did you disable the speeder’s homing beacon yet?” Dara demanded as she snapped binders on her unconscious guard.

“Working on it,” Zack called, his voice now tight with frustration.

“I’ll help him,” Dog said, finishing with his guard and clambering into the front seat.

“Dara—“ Marna began.

She smiled reassuringly at him. “You saved us, we’re saving you. Turnabout’s fair play.”

“Got it,” Dog called triumphantly.

“Excellent,” Dara said. “Are we being followed?’

“Negative.”

“Daramis,” Marna tried again.

“Relax,” she said calmly. “We’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“How?” was all he could say.

“Actually,” she admitted, “it wasn’t that hard. The State is all talk and no security systems. Redding found a way to feed false orders to the computers, we got our hands on an ID card, and your people had uniforms. Then we bribed a speeder from some mechanics, and here we are.”

Marna shook his head in disbelief. “You embarrass us. We did not know this kind of thing could be done.”

“And we didn’t know the State planned to blow us to smithereens,” she replied cheerfully. “Shall we call it even?”

“We’re clear,” Dog reported. “Major?”

Dara looked down at the guards lying on the floor of the speeder. They were a problem. Sooner or later they would wake up; they couldn’t be killed; it was far too risky for them to be taken prisoner. She shrugged, then said, “Let’s get to the rendezvous. No need to let Josh worry any more than he would anyway.”

~

As Zack had predicted, the Old Square was deserted. The few shops were boarded up and no one was there. Josh and Stella had parked the speeder in a small alcove between two stores, neatly out of the way. They were waiting when Zack pulled up next to them. Dog opened the door and got out first, scanning the area before motioning for Marna to join him.

Astonishment flashed across Josh’s face, quickly smothered with excitement and relief, and Dara knew that he had still had lingering doubts about their chances of success. She allowed herself a small smile as she jumped out of the speeder. Josh clapped Marna on the shoulder while shaking his hand. No words were exchanged, but there were volumes in that simple gesture.

“Get Marna in the speeder,” Dog said, interrupting the reunion. “We don’t want him out in the open more than necessary.”

Josh immediately guided Marna into the speeder. Zack jumped out to stand next to Dara and Dog.

“Do we ditch the speeder?” he wanted to know. “Or do we take it back?”

“Neither,” Dog answered. “It’s now our getaway vehicle.”

“What?” Zack’s confusion was plain.

“You need a distraction to get Marna out of town, right?”

Zack nodded, still puzzled.

“Well, we’re going to make one.” Dog sauntered towards the waiting speeder, whistling.

“Dog, wait,” Dara said. She caught up with him and held a whispered conference. Dog listened, nodded, and then an eager, enthusiastic gleam appeared in his eyes. Zack looked quizzically at Dara, who merely shrugged and got in the speeder after Dog. Zack followed.

“Get in the front seat,” Dara told the young Fringe driver. “We don’t want to risk the guards seeing you.” She was relieved when he obeyed without a word of protest.

The two guards were lying on the floor of the speeder still, face down, binders keeping their hands behind their backs. One of the them groaned and shifted. Dog crouched next to him, holding the guard’s blaster loosely in his hands. The guard blinked slowly and tried to lift his head. Dog shoved his head back down, forcing him to strain to see Dog out of the corner of his eye. His face was filled with terror and his breath quickened.

He was a guard, Dara reminded herself, not a soldier. He would have neither experience nor training for this sort of situation. That made Dog’s part a lot easier, and she hoped he wouldn’t overdo it. She settled into a seat, just within the guard’s line of sight, and scowled.

The guard grunted again, as if trying to speak.

“Shut up,” Dog growled. “She already wants to kill you,” he jerked his head at Dara, “don’t make it worse.”

The terrified guard followed the gesture, saw Dara’s expression, and paled. He pressed his lips tightly together in a silent attempt to let Dog know he wouldn’t say a word.

Zack stared over his shoulder at Dog in shock. “You can’t—”

Dara made a sharp, chopping motion with her hand and Zack turned back around, swallowing the rest of his protest. Dog shot him a withering glare, then looked back at the guard.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said, “my boss isn’t happy. You got in our way. You weren’t supposed to be there. Two guards for prisoner transfer, not four. And yet, you and your friend jump on in. Now she’s thinking, you did it on purpose, trying to stop us, wanting to be heroes.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “She doesn’t like heroes.”

All blood had drained from the guard’s face, leaving him ashen and sweating. He shook his head, frantically trying to deny what Dog said. Dara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dog was really laying it on thick.

“I think I can convince her not to kill you. At least, I’ll try,” he amended in a whisper. “But I’ll be risking my own neck.”

Gratitude filled the poor guard’s face as he dared to hope. Dog suppressed a scornful look and moved over next to Dara. The speeder was large enough that he actually took two steps, far enough that a hushed conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the guards.

“How am I doing?” Dog asked quietly.

Dara raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “I don’t like heroes?” she asked, equally softly.

Dog gestured vaguely. “I’m improvising.”

“I noticed,” she replied dryly. “Then maybe I should improvise too,” she threw back, making her voice sound angry. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guard cringe as he heard the tone, but not the words.

“I always knew there was a thespian in you,” Dog replied, straight-faced.

Dara flicked her hand toward him in an exasperated gesture. “Fine,” she said, raising her voice, “Do what you will, then.”

Dog flashed her a quick smile and whispered back, “I always do.”

He returned to where the guard lay, noting the gratitude on his face.

“Thank you!” the guard said with intense feeling.

“Quiet,” Dog snapped. “Or she’ll change her mind.”

The guard shut his mouth abruptly.

“But there’s still a problem,” Dog continued. “We can’t take you with us. There’s a hundred of us heading west tomorrow morning and we can’t be bothered with you two. But we can’t just let you go free, either.” He frowned in concentration, then appeared to make up his mind. “So here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll dump you here, out of the way, unhurt,” he said with reluctance, and the guard sighed with relief. “You promise not to make a fuss and get yourselves into trouble, and we won’t have to track you down again.” He brought his face very close to the guard’s. “Understand?” he asked flatly.

The guard nodded quickly, wide-eyed.

“All right, then.” Dog stood and looked at Dara. “Let’s get them out of here.”

Dara shook her head with mock-irritation, but joined him in dragging the second to the door. She jumped out, checked for witnesses, then waved Dog out. They hauled the still-unconscious guard out first, then Dog pulled the other guard to his feet and helped him out of the speeder.

There was a narrow, shadowed alley between two of the buildings, and some convenient crates lay about a dozen paces in. Dara clamped her hand around the standing guard’s shoulder and firmly guided him into the alley. Dog half-carried, half-dragged the second guard and dumped him behind the boxes, then glanced meaningfully at Dara’s prisoner, resting his hand on his blaster. Dara let go, and the guard hurried over and sat next to his friend on the ground.

“Remember: no heroics,” Dog said firmly. He glanced at the other guard, who was just beginning to stir. “Make sure he knows our agreement,” he added warningly.
The first guard hastily nodded. His color was returning, and he didn’t look half as frightened as he had earlier. Dara was certain he was beginning to entertain thoughts of being a hero. She hid a smirk and nudged Dog. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Right behind you.”

They left their captives without a backward glance. Dara looked over at the second speeder where Josh was eyeing them with a nervous expression. She gave him a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. He did not look reassured. Dara shrugged.

“What happens if they’re discovered?” Zack worried when the pilots were back in the speeder. “Or if they get away?”

Dog shrugged. “They think there’s a hundred people—a legion of soldiers, when those two are finished telling the story—vacating the capitol tomorrow morning. They won’t think to look for a single speeder leaving in less than an hour.”

“Please tell me Josh isn’t taking Marna west,” Dara remarked casually.

“Nope,” Dog replied. “I checked with Zack. They’re going east.”

Dara nodded, satisfied.

“Where to now?” Zack asked.

“Back to the safe house,” Dara said. “Park in the garage, out of sight of the street.

The two speeders meandered slowly back to the safe house, taking different routes. Josh parked outside right away, but Zack had to drive past the house three times before the street was empty of passerby who might notice the military speeder and wonder. He maneuvered smoothly into the garage and the door shut behind them. Zack, Dog, and Dara walked into the house, wearing satisfied expressions on their faces.

“Mission accomplished,” Dog announced proudly to Redding, who waited for them in the kitchen.

Then Dara noticed the dismal look on Redding’s face and how he refused to meet Dara’s eyes.

“Redding,” she said, her smile vanishing, “what happened?”

He squared his shoulders and met her eyes. “Jayem.”

“Did he blow something up?” Dara demanded.

“I don’t know. He’s gone.”

Dara stopped dead still. “What?”

“He left. About forty minutes ago.”

“Why? Where did he go?” she asked furiously.

“I don’t know,” Redding insisted. “He asked when you would be back, and the next thing I knew, he was out the door and driving down the street on one of the speederbikes they brought.”

Her expression was black and angry. “He left. Without a word.”

Redding nodded. “I would have stopped him.”

Dara didn’t reply. She stalked past, trailing fury and muttering darkly under her breath. Redding and Dog exchanged a look, then followed.

~

Fifteen minutes crawled by, and even they seemed to avoid Dara. She was now in a foul mood, growling about the lack of comlinks and Jayem’s unauthorized absence. Her pilots gave her plenty of room to pace and knew better than to ask questions. Dog posted himself at the front window as a lookout, while Redding helped Josh box up computer equipment.

“He’s coming!” Dog yelled across the house.

Dara stopped in mid-stride. She stood perfectly still for a moment, shut her eyes, and breathed deeply. When she opened her eyes, she had reined in her emotions until they no longer radiated from her like heat. Calmly, she went to the entrance hall and waited for Jayem, the other occupants of the house clustering behind her.

Dara’s face was a study in carefully controlled rage as Jayem strolled into the house. “Where have you been?” she bit out, each word articulated precisely.

He grinned. “The spaceport,” he answered.

Dara met his eyes levelly, but did not speak. Her lips pressed tightly together as the silence stretched. Jayem fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable. Dog and Redding glanced at each other and edged a step or so away, just as every member of the Fringe left suddenly remembered tasks to be done in other rooms of the house.

“You left the safe house.” Her voice was soft and even, without even a tremor of anger to reveal her thoughts. “Alone. Without telling anyone.”

Jayem swallowed and managed, “Yes, ma’am.” He had a thousand things to say in his defense, but Dara was every inch his superior officer at that moment, and military protocol stilled his tongue.

Dara’s eyes flashed then, the first hint of the fierce emotion she was trying to clear from her judgment. “Of all the irresponsible, dangerous, ridiculous, idiotic things to do—” She broke off suddenly and took a deep, calming breath. “Why?” she demanded.

“I found our X-wings,” Jayem said, almost defensively.

Dara stopped short, any further words of chastisement abruptly dying. She glared fiercely at him for a full twenty seconds without saying anything. Jayem shifted his weight, unsure of what to expect. Finally, Dara heaved a sigh. “Consider yourself officially reprimanded,” she said wearily, “and never, ever do that again.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am!” he said enthusiastically, and for a moment, Dara actually believed him.

“Where are they?”

“In a hangar on the far west side of the spaceport,” he reported. “Just waiting for us to come and collect them.”

Dara’s eyes took on a faraway gleam, the gleam that meant she was planning something. Her squad waited. Then her gaze focused and she smiled slowly. “Listen up,” she said. “Here’s what we do.”

(to be concluded...)

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 8)

2009-08-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday

The dawn came hot and early. All traces of the storm that had drenched Stawl for the past few days were burned away under the bright sun. The members of the Fringe woke with the first rays of light. Their activity woke the pilots, who had learned to grab what sleep they could when they could, and who were not incredibly pleased about being woken hours before the start of the mission.

Never a fan of mornings, Dara set about her preparations silently, then disappeared into the kitchen to speak quietly with Josh. Jayem was also quiet, but he glared malevolently at everyone who came near, as if daring them to speak with him. Redding and Dog, after their initial grumbling, were a little more amiable and gave Jayem a wide berth, though Dog made more than one comment about how many hours there were still before they could leave.

In the kitchen, Dara leaned against the counter, her back to the window and the glaring sun. Josh, the only other person in the room, sat at the table a few feet away. He looked worried and pensive. Dara nibbled a corner of her pastry and watched him for a minute before speaking.

“It’ll be okay, Josh.”

He looked up, slightly startled, as if he had forgotten she was standing there. “What if the mechanics won’t give you the speeder?”

She shrugged. “Then we take it.”

“What if you’re stopped? What if the ID card is denied? What if you’re followed?”

Dara held up a hand to cut off the stream of what-ifs. “Then we’ll adapt,” she said calmly. “That’s our job. What you should worry about is what happens after we come back. Marna will be a fugitive. You’ll probably be looking at another Lock Down.”

Josh nodded. “Marna is going to be a non-person without identity papers. He won’t be able to stay here. We’ve had plans for getting him out, but we always thought they would be needed when a warrant came out for his arrest. We have a place for him outside the city, but we’ll need some time to get him there.”

“So, you’ll need a distraction.”

“It would help.”

Dara looked thoughtful. “I think we can come up with something. It won’t be very long, though. Get everything ready to go before we get back.”

Josh nodded gratefully. “We’ll be ready.”

In the living room, Jayem sat on the couch, glowering at everyone who walked by. Zack and Stella were the only ones who dared to enter the living room. Stella smiled at Jayem; Zack ignored him and walked over to the window.

“The rain’s gone,” he commented to Stella. “Sun’s out. That’s a good sign.”

Jayem snorted derisively. “Oh, please,” he said scornfully. “Don’t tell me you believe that meteorological patterns will have any sort of bearing on our mission.”

Zack shot him a withering glance and did not answer, but refused to leave.

The morning wore on. There were a dozen tasks to be finished, and even more when Josh announced they would be abandoning the safe house and everything needed to be ready to go before, and he said it resolutely avoiding the word “if,” Marna returned. There was an excited buzz of activity that followed, prompting a smile from Dara.

Dog’s mood improved every minute that passed, brining them closer to departure. Even Jayem’s fierce glower subsided, though he still spoke to no one. Eventually, he looked more thoughtful than anything. Redding ensconced himself in the computer room, and began to perfect the orders that he would be feeding to the Stawlian Capitol Detention Center computers. Dara made sure she had the copies of all the files the pilots would need to clear Raven and prove the State’s duplicity.

Two hours before they were supposed to leave, Redding, Dara, Josh, Dog, and Zack were all in the computer room. Jayem was off by himself, deep in thought and refusing to tell anyone what he was contemplating. Stella was organizing the packing of the speeders that would carry most of the contents of the safe house away before midday, leaving the others to go over the last minute details of the plan.

Zack was fidgety, just like a green pilot on his first mission. “Hey, Red, did you get the orders ready?”

Redding spared him a withering glare before continuing his work.

“What?” Zack asked, spreading his hands. “What did I say?”

Dara laughed. “He hates to be called Red,” she shared in a stage whisper. “He’s also offended that you would think he hasn’t done his job.”

“Oh.” Zack flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Redding nodded his forgiveness without taking his eyes from the computer screen.

“We have less than two hours before we leave,” Dara said. “Is everyone clear on where they need to be and what they’ll be doing?”

“I’m getting the military speeder from the mechanics,” Dog said. “Then I bring it to the cross street two blocks from here—”

“—where Dara and I will be waiting to join you,” Zack said. “We go to the Detention Center and get Marna. Then we go to the Old Square—”

“—to meet with Stella and myself,” Josh continued. “We return to the safe house to get the computer equipment—”

“—where I’ve been sitting, making sure nothing goes wrong,” Redding said. “We all meet, then Stella, Zack, Marna, and Josh leave the city—”

“—and then we finally get to go home!” Dog finished gleefully. The expression on his face plainly showed that he was more than done with Stawl and ready to leave.

Dara smiled proudly. “Just so,” she said. “Josh, do your people know what do when we leave?”

“Jayse and Donnal are taking the speeders, twenty minutes apart, to the new safe houses. Lyem is staying here to take Stella, Zack, Marna, myself, and the rest of the computer equipment out of town, on the chance that Zack is recognized.”

“And Redding showed you how to monitor security communications to find out if that happens?”

“Redding showed us all kinds of useful tricks,” Zack said happily. “We should be able to find out anything we want, wreak havoc with their systems and not get caught.”

Redding smirked, and Dara nodded approvingly.

“Everything in place, Redding?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he reported. “The speeder will be at the mechanic’s in an hour, I changed Marna’s departure to fit our timetable, and the rest of the orders are ready to go.”

“Good work.”

“I’m going to go check on the packing,” Josh said and left the room with Zack on his heels.

“Can I have a word, Dara?” Dog asked.

“Certainly. But only one.” She smiled, and they withdrew to a corner. “What’s on your mind?”

“We were talking last night—Jayem, Redding, and me—and we were wondering… what about our X-wings? And yes,” he said swiftly, seeing the teasing remark beginning to form, “I realize that was more than one word.”

Dara grinned unrepentantly, then sobered. “The State had them impounded. I’ve spoken with Marna and Josh about it, and their best guess is the spaceport, but that is only a guess. They’re certainly guarded, though.”

“Then…?” Dog spread his hands in an unspoken question.

“We won’t have time to look for them, Dog,” she said apologetically. “We’ll be cutting it close as it is. We’ll ship out with Raven and the diplomatic team, and let the New Republic try to get our starfighters back. I don’t like it either,” she said in response to the sour look on her comrade’s face. “But we don’t have much choice. Our movements are limited, even if we weren’t mounting a rescue operation.”

Despite his disgruntled expression, Dog nodded his understanding and rejoined Redding to pass along Dara’s answer.

The last thirty minutes dragged by even slower than the previous hours had. Everyone succumbed to eyeing their chronos every two minutes. All preparations were complete and there was little left to do but wait. Dara, Zack, and Dog were wearing the all-black outfits worn by the guards, to be supplemented by the official jackets that would complete the disguise when the moment came. Redding had all security camera feeds up to monitor their progress. Stella and Josh had prepped the other speeder and were ready to leave for the Old Square.

Finally, Dara gathered everyone in the entrance hall with five minutes left. Excited tension practically hummed in the air, and she saw a level of enthusiasm in the members of the Fringe that had not been there before. She looked around. “You all know what to do?” The handful of people around her all nodded eagerly. Dara grinned, a nasty feral grin that promised bad things for anyone who would dare get in her way. “Then let’s go.”

Her words brought about an instant flurry of activity. Redding and Lyem hurried back to the computer room; Jayse and Donnal went to the speeders, along with Josh and Stella; Dog headed out the front door on his way to the mechanic’s; and Dara and Zack followed him a minute later, appearing to be leaving for a leisurely stroll. Everyone was excited and nervous.

It took Dog fifteen minutes to walk to the shop. He was easily able to bribe the mechanics to let him borrow the speeder, promising to return it within two hours. He told them it was to win a bet with a long time rival. The mechanics couldn’t understand why it had been sent for maintenance in the first place and were happy to make some extra money, so they asked no questions.

Dog brought the speeder to the cross street where Zack and Dara waited, wearing the black uniforms of the Stawlian Guard, but with their jackets, and Dog’s, draped over their arms. Zack took the driver’s seat and Dog slid into the back with Dara. They all shrugged into their jackets and made the twenty minute trip in apprehensive silence.

The detention facility looked menacing with its sharp angles and hard surfaces. There was no landscaping, only harsh metal and duracrete. Zack swallowed hard; Dara noticed and laughed sympathetically.

“Just stick to the plan, Zack, and we’ll be out before it can bite you.”

Zack nodded and brought the speeder to a smooth stop before the guard stationed at the entrance. He managed to keep his expression neutral, almost bored, as he handed over his ID card and waited for clearance. The guard glanced idly in the back of the speeder, nodding to Dara and Dog, but did not comment. He returned the ID badge and waved them through. Zack nearly melted into his seat from relief.

“We’re not through yet,” Dara said quietly. “Keep it together.”

At that, Zack straightened. He guided the speeder to the building where the prisoner transfers were made. Then, taking a deep breath to steel himself, he got out of the speeder and walked to the guard on duty.

They had reached the point of the mission where nothing they could do would get them to Marna. They had to trust to Redding’s falsified orders, hope that the system hadn’t already corrupted them, and wait for the State to bring Marna to them. Dara and Dog let their hands rest on their weapons, just in case a hasty exit would be necessary, and waited.

(to be continued...)

Dream Seller

2009-06-01T23:51:00.001-07:00

{Story inspired by the illustrations. Illustrations are by my friend David. Yes, I will eventually finish Diplomatic Relations.}
Dream Seller

The wagon rattled and rolled down the dusky street, its shape largely unassuming, but filled with just enough odd angles to catch the eye. The horse that pulled it was a tired, dappled grey mare that had seen better days. A tall, thin man was folded neatly into the bench on the front of the wagon and holding the reins loosely in his bony fingers. He wore a long grey coat, severely out of fashion, and a dark grey fedora pulled low on his brow. Most of his face was hidden in the shadow, but his jaw was a little squared beneath the thin slash of mouth.
Brightly colored, transparent crystal balls hung in ribbons from the roof of the wagon, bouncing and swaying as the wheels bounced across the cobblestones. Three particularly large balls were strung at the back of the wagon in a downward row. The front of the conveyance bore a sign that boldly proclaimed “Dreams for Sale.”
I regarded the sight with no small amount of skepticism. How could anyone sell a dream?

Despite myself, I gave into my curiosity. I slipped into a coat and left my house. The evening twilight was chilly, so I shoved my hands into my pockets as I hurried down the street, past rows of closed shops, after the sound of the wagon. Somehow, no matter how fast I walked, the wagon remained the same distance in front of me. Impossible, of course. I accounted it as a trick of the fading sunlight.
The streets were empty, save for myself and the strange man in the grey coat. The rest of the town were indoors by blazing fires to scare away the cold, starting supper and telling about their days. I had no one to tell my stories to, even if my days had been interesting enough to share. My supper could wait, and so I chased after a man who claimed he could sell dreams. At least it would break the monotony.
Tiring of being forever just behind, I finally broke into a run and caught up with the man just as he turned into an alleyway.
“Hold,” I pleaded, trying desperately to regain my breath. “I would speak with you.”
With slow, deliberate motion, he pulled back in the reins, bringing the mare to a halt. Then he climbed down from the wagon seat, every movement sure and precise, with no wasted effort. He faced me, and I saw he was easily a hand taller than I. Still, his face was so hidden in shadow from his hat and the dusk of the day that I could not see his eyes. His mouth was thin and tight, neither smiling nor frowning. I had the sudden urge to turn and run, but stalwartly held my ground, forcing my gaze to his shadowy face. When he spoke, his voice nearly creaked from lack of use. Like his movements, each word was measured and spoken slowly and with care.
“How may I assist you?” His request was barely louder than a whisper, and I had to step closer to hear. Standing that close gave me a chill.
“What are you selling?” I asked, wondering if he would reassert the ridiculous claim written across the side of the wagon.
“I sell Dreams.”
Those three words were spoken with such absolute conviction and the sensation of plain fact that, for a brief moment, I did not doubt them. Then my better sense prevailed and I nearly laughed. “What sort of dreams?”
“All sorts.” His tone gave no indication that he was aware of my skepticism. Each word rang with truth and finality. “Daydreams, Sweet Dreams, Grand Dreams, Impossible Dreams, Strange Dreams, and even screaming Nightmares. Whatever Dream you are looking for, I can sell you.”
“And these are the same sort of dreams that come to visit me when I sleep?” I wanted to know, looking for the catch.
“Some prefer to choose their dreams,” he said, a touch of reproof to his raspy voice, as if I were a student who had asked an unnecessary question.
Now I was more confused than disbelieving. It must have shown on my face, because he spoke again.
“Would you like a sample?”
Wordlessly, I nodded. I was curious, in spite of my better sense. If he was a con, I would summon the guards and have him run out of town. Though if he were a con man, he was the best I had ever seen. Most are fast-talking, slickly dressed, and eager to make a sale. If it were true…impossible, silly, and illogical, but a rebellious corner of my mind whispered that anything was possible.
He walked around to the back of his wagon, and I followed. He opened the door, and I could see that a small section contained a bed and supplies, but the rest was full of the same ropes of clear, colored balls that decorated the outside. Now that I was closer, I thought I could see an image flash across a surface every now and again. The poor lighting in the alley was tricking my eyes.
He reached within the wagon and pulled out a single ball, much smaller than the rest. It was barely as big as the first joint of a finger. The others were easily the size of the palm of my hand. Then he turned and held out the small sphere to me.
“This is a small Daydream,” he said, as if that explained everything.
I took it gently, surprised by the weight—practically nothing—and the texture—like brittle spiderweb. Bits of color danced across the material: blues and yellows and pinks. I stared at it for a long moment, then looked back up at the man in the grey coat quizzically.
“Squeeze it between your hands,” he instructed.
I did as I was told, centering the orb between my palms and applying pressure until it exploded into specks of fine dust. I inhaled sharply, and suddenly I was standing in a green meadow dotted with flowers, next to a tall oak tree. Birds chirped overhead, and I felt the warm sun on my back. A lazy summer breeze tugged playfully at my clothes. About a hundred paces away, there was a body of water too small for a lake and too large for a pond. It gleamed and beckoned to me with its still, blue coolness.
I rubbed my eyes, and just as suddenly I was back in the dim alley on a fall evening, next to the Dream Seller. A thin layer of gritty dust coated my hands. The Dream Seller held out a flat piece of paper and I brushed the dust into it from my hands. He folded it into a neat packet and handed it to me.
“Dream Dust, mixed with tea in the evening, provides sound sleep.”
“Thank you,” I said, dazed and unsettled, and tucked the paper in my pocket.
“Would you care to look through the rest of my wares?” His voice was subtly prompting, and I had taken a step forward before I realized what I was doing.
As I drew closer, I was shocked to realize that my eyes had not been deceived: there were images flitting across the surface of each sphere. The strange man stood silently to the side, a presence at the very edge of my awareness. I circled the wagon slowly, gazing at the balls, each in turn.
A strand of spheres danced on the evening breeze, catching my attention. Purple and blue streaked across their surfaces, giving way to pictures and then swallowing them once more. I saw pleasant scenes—lakeside picnics, peaceful sunsets, calm countryside landscapes. They were straight out of my best daydreams, the visions that floated through my mind when I was bored or frustrated.
The next strand was slashed through with violent reds. Monsters snarled up at me, straining at the surfaces, trying their best to explode the spheres on their own. Horrifying, spine-chilling pictures flashed through the bloody reds, pictures that scorched me with fear, that I could not describe because I tore my eyes away. I moved from that strand quickly.
I made my way around the cart and almost bumped into the three large balls at the back, each easily larger than my head. I stared at them, amazed at the images that shimmered amongst the gold and silver threads that wound around the spheres. I saw fantastic figures there: armies mobilizing to fight noble wars, ships departing on great journeys, hidden treasures, mighty swords, great deeds, heroic quests….
I shook myself, pulling my gaze away. The images were enticing, promising riches and a place in history. I looked at the Dream Seller, who stood a few steps away.
“What sort of dreams are these?”
“Those are Grand Dreams. They can provide inspiration and direction for those who would do great things and change the world.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “I do not think you would like one of those.”
I shook my head, agreeing. Great adventures and daring quests made for excellent stories, but they sounded dangerous and uncomfortable. I would leave changing the world to those braver than I. I kept walking around the wagon, looking at the alluring ribbons of spheres. Many colors flew along the strands—oranges, blues, yellows, pinks, greens, and purples. The images that were interspersed in the colors were just as varied. I saw happy, peaceful scenes; pictures of me making new friends; strange, incomprehensible images with bizarre angles and weird creatures; and visions of me surrounded by wealth and luxury beyond imagination.
Then another strand caught my eye and I gasped. I saw myself standing in a room, and in the doorway stood my little sister.
My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. My sister had died eight years back, when she was but sixteen. She fell from a tree while picking pears with her friends and hit her head on a rock. The memory of her limp body being carried into the house is seared permanently into my brain. Not a week goes by when I don’t think of her, even now. We were all the family we had, since our parents died of the fever. We were the best of friends….
I pointed a trembling finger at the ball, unable to tear my gaze from the sight of my sister’s smiling face, framed with pink threads. “What madness is this?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

The Dream Seller’s voice came from just behind my shoulder, and I jumped a little. “That is a True Dream. They draw from your memories and let you relive happy times. Sometimes people see friends or family, or moments of great joy.”
“You don’t see her, then?” I still stared, transfixed by the tantalizing scene.
“The images are different for each person who looks,” was all he would say.
I reached out and stopped just short of touching the sphere. Then I turned to face the Dream Seller. Though I could not see his eyes, I still felt the intensity of his stare.
“How much for a True Dream?” I asked, any lingering doubt thoroughly dispelled by the sight of my sister.
“For a True Dream, I could take no less than your sense of adventure.”
He could not have named a more confusing price. “Then how much are the Grand Dreams?”
“The Grand Dreams are expensive indeed: they cost all memories of your family.”
I gaped at him in horror. “Who would pay that?”
“One in a thousand might consider it.”
“And a True Dream costs… what, again?”
“Your sense of adventure.” His rasping voice took on a subtle hint of coaxing. “The curiosity that gnaws at you and gets you into uncomfortable situations. Your desire to see more of the world than is within an easy walk beyond your doorstep.” His thin mouth curved into a faint smile. “You won’t miss it.”
I didn’t know what to think. I stared into the sphere, watching my sister, missing her so much my chest ached. Then I thought of all the times my curiosity had gotten me into trouble, like the time my parents feared I had been kidnapped because I had followed a traveling performing troupe out of town to see how they lived. And I thought that perhaps my sense of adventure would not be too much to pay to see my sister again.
I looked at the Dream Seller, my mind made up. “I’ll take this one,” I said.
He nodded and reached for the sphere. It came away easily from the strand and settled gently into his palm. Then he stretched out his right hand towards me. His fingers rested lightly against the side of my face. They were cold, and I shivered, but did not pull away. We stood motionless for several heartbeats. The touch of his hand made me feel very peculiar.
At last, he pulled his hand back. He offered me the sphere, and I cradled it gently in my two hands, suddenly in a hurry to get home. The Dream Seller nodded a curt farewell to me and climbed up into his wagon. I did not see him leave because I was already heading down the street, back to my house.
When I arrived, I shut and locked the door behind me, then set the dream ball gently on my bed. I stared at it for a long time, watching the colors flash along the thin threads that made the ball and gazing at the shifting images of my sister. I was having a hard time comprehending the strange encounter and the even stranger purchase I had made, but I could not deny what lay before me.
Finally, almost reluctantly, I picked it up. The fine grit of the orb rubbed against my skin as I turned it carefully. The light from the lamp by my bed illuminated the ball and splashed its color across my hands. I settled the sphere between my palms and, in an act of will, squeezed. The ball burst into a cloud of dust, coating my hands and filling the air. I breathed deeply, and waited.
Nothing happened.
I waited a few more moments, then scowled with disgust. Nothing but a con. A really well constructed con, I was forced to admit, but a con nonetheless. More disappointed than I wanted to confess, even to myself, I brushed the Dream Dust from my hands to the floor. If he had lied about the dreams, he had likely lied about the sedative properties of the Dream Dust as well, so I saw no point in saving it. Intending to go to sleep, I rose to change my clothes, then stopped short, hardly daring to breathe.
In the doorway, looking as beautiful and healthy as she had eight years ago, stood my sister. She wore a dress of patterned muslin, her favorite, and the special smile she saved for family, for me. I was vaguely aware that I was trembling, but I could do nothing except gape at her.
She laughed, a light, bubbling sound that I had thought I would never hear again this side of time. “Surely you haven’t forgotten me,” she said, her tone joyful and teasing.
I shook my head and took a hesitant step forward. Then she flew to my arms, and we stood for a long while, locked in a warm, heartfelt embrace.
“I have missed you so much,” I told her, my voice rough with emotion.
“I miss you, too,” she said with equal feeling. “But I am well. You need not worry about me.” She laughed again. “Talk with me. Tell me everything.”
And so we talked, hand in hand because I dared not let go of her. I told her of my life, dull as it was, and related what stories from town I thought would make her laugh. We stared into each other’s eyes and talked as if we had never been parted. Every now and again I would forget to answer a question for the joy of looking at her. She would laugh at me then, and I would laugh with her. I laughed more during that conversation than I had in eight years.
We reminisced about our parents and teased each other about childhood pranks. We discussed what had changed, and what hadn’t. We apologized and asked forgiveness for misdeeds and hurts we had done. And more than once we exclaimed how much we loved and missed one another.
I do not know how long we talked, but I know that all too soon my sister looked at me and said, “I must go.”
I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach and robbed me of breath. “No,” I protested, knowing it was futile but unwilling to lose her again.
She smiled sadly. “I must. My time is done.” She leaned forward and kissed the tears from my cheek. “Be brave. We will see each other again, one day.”
“But I do not want to wait for that day,” I said miserably.
She squeezed my hand. “We have had this time together, and that is more than most people will have. Be grateful.”
As she walked slowly to the door, I wryly tried to remember if my little sister had said anything so wise before.
When she reached the door, she turned, gave me one last brilliant smile, and softly said, “Goodbye.”
And then she vanished.
I blinked. I was sitting on my bed, my hands covered with Dream Dust. The light coming through the window told me that it was dawn, that I had spent all night in the True Dream with the memory of my sister.
“Goodbye,” I whispered hoarsely.
Slowly, I rose from my bed and walked to the table. I carefully spread out the folded paper the Dream Seller had given me and brushed the Dream Dust from my hands, collecting as much as I could. With deliberate movements, I stored the Dream Dust in a safe place and prepared to go about my day, thoughts of my sister always close to the front of my mind.
That night was nearer fourteen years ago than thirteen now, but I haven’t forgotten even a bit of it. I play it over and over in my mind, bordering on obsession. I learned that a sprinkle of Dream Dust in my evening tea made it more likely that I would dream naturally of my sister, but it was not the same. I did make the Dream Dust last seven years.
I have never gone looking for the Dream Seller. Just as he said, I have no desire to travel beyond an easy walk past my front door; sometimes I miss that urge, but it is gone. I spend most evenings by my open window, listening for the clatter of wagon wheels in the evening twilight and half-watching for the sign “Dreams for Sale.” I am caught between yearning for and dreading the day that the Dream Seller will return, if it ever comes. You see, I learned that the problem with dreams, as wonderful as they are, is that you must eventually wake up.

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 7)

2009-02-23T23:33:00.000-08:00

{And you thought you'd never read any of this ever again. Hahahahahahahahaha}

They worked for more than four hours before breaking for a meal. The conversation around the table was light-hearted and optimistic, a pleasant change from the gloom that had dominated the atmosphere for the last two days. There were actually smiles and jokes. Even Dog and Zack had stopped glowering at each other and were mostly agreeable. Josh lost some of the tension that had been slowly conquering his features, and he seemed more like the man Dara had met four days earlier.
Dara let them relax and recuperate for nearly an hour before calling them back together.
“All right,” she said, raising her voice slightly and effectively drawing everyone’s attention. “What do we have, what do we need, and how do we get it?”
“An ID card, which we have,” Redding said first, and that was met with broad smiles throughout the room.
“Uniforms,” Zack added. “We have those as well. Also, regulation weapons and insignia.” He glanced over at Josh and answered the unspoken question. “You really don’t want to know how we got them.”
Josh just shook his head ruefully.
“We need a military speeder,” Jayem said.
“We’ll discuss logistics on that in a minute,” Dara answered. “Anything else?”
“Military orders,” Dog put in. “Redding can forge those.”
“A drop point and an escape route,” Josh pointed out.
“Okay.” Dara looked around. “Anything else? No? All right, then. First up. How do we come by a military speeder…without alerting everyone that we’re coming?”
No one spoke for a long minute, and no one looked at each other, either.
Dara tilted her head. “Come on, people. We need ideas. Even stupid ones, even bad ones, even impossible ones that would never work in a million years. We have to have something to work with.”
There was absolute silence for a handful of seconds as everyone looked around the room uncomfortably, studiously avoiding Dara’s gaze.
“What if we asked them politely?” Dog suggested dryly.
The laughter that followed served to ease the tension.
“Sure,” Dara said. “I’ll put you in charge of that.”
More laughter, because almost as ludicrous as the idea of getting a speeder by asking politely was the thought of Dog doing the asking.
“Anyone else have a slightly less improbably idea?”
“We’re not used to planning missions like this, Dara,” Josh reminded her. “We don’t know where to begin.”
“I understand that,” she acknowledged, “but any idea can turn into a springboard.”
Redding half-raised a hand. “What about—“
“Oh, no,” Jayem groaned. “Not the ion bomb.”
Redding looked insulted. Dara and Dog couldn’t quite hide their smiles. Everyone else looked confused.
“Ion?” Josh asked.
“Ionized particles mess with computer systems, usually short-circuiting them,” Jayem said. “The trouble is that it’s impossible to guarantee the level of damage caused.”
“I could fix any problems,” Redding insisted. “It would give us time to deal with the occupants.”
“Which would also pose a problem,” Jayem countered. “Ions interfere with electronics, not with biological creatures. They’re only going to be mad when they pour out of that speeder, and they’ll likely be looking for something to shoot.”
Dara held up a hand before the argument could escalate. “Redding, assuming that you were able to reverse any damage and that we could neutralize the guards, do you even have your ion bombs with you?”
Redding looked indignant. “Of course I do. I—” his indignation faded to chagrin— “I left them in our rooms the night at the Hall of Roses.”
Dara nodded. “It was a good idea, nonetheless.”
Jayem grinned triumphantly, and Redding shot him a nasty look.
Zack stared blankly past all the discussion in the room, unaware of the argument and completely lost in thought.
“Zack?” Dara had to repeat his name before he heard. “What are you thinking?”
He shrugged self-consciously. “Maybe nothing. But I remember a friend of mine saying that the State contracts out its mechanical work, and I’m wondering if that applies to speeders as well.”
“Can you find out?”
He swiveled in his chair to face a console. “I can try.”
The conversation continued to flow around him as he searched. A few minutes later, he had his answer.
“Speeders get sent to a private company less than a kilometer away. They do regular maintenance as well as repairs.”
Dara’s eyes narrowed in concentration, then she turned to Redding, her mouth opening to speak.
He spoke for her. “Could I make a work order to send a perfectly functioning speeder for maintenance so that we can grab the speeder from the mechanic, as private companies tend to have security that is more lax than military, and they wouldn’t be in a hurry to mention that they ‘lost’ a speeder for fear that they’d lose their contract.”
“Exactly,” Dara said, amusement flickering across her face.
“Why can’t we just get in uniform and tell the mechanics we have orders to pick it up?”
“Because the company’s employees do all the vehicle transfers,” Zack answered. “They’d need very specific instructions to allow something like that.”
“Okay, then. So it’s Redding to the rescue once more.”
“Is that going to be a problem?” Dara asked.
“I’m just wondering what everyone else is going to be doing during this rescue op.”
“Three of us are going in to get Marna. There should be two people waiting for us at the rendezvous with the transfer speeder.” She paused. “You’re unhappy that you’ll be here with the computers instead of out on the mission.”
He shrugged. “Maybe a little. But I’ll content myself with running the whole thing,” he said with a magnanimous sweep of his hand.”
Her face was solemn, but her eyes were laughing when she answered. “Well, then, General Redding, we’re counting on you for the success of our mission.”
In the background, Jayem snorted.
“A general is as good as the soldiers he commands,” Redding said loftily.
Dog was leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. “Then your career is doomed,” he said.
Josh waited for the laughter to stop before he looked at Dara. “I’m going with you.”
“No,” she said flatly. “You’re not.”
He bristled. “I know I don’t have as much experience as the rest of you, but—“
“This is not about wanting a team of elites, Josh. I’m not worried about that.”
“Then why?”
“If we fail, then the Fringe will be without a leader. I won’t put you in danger, but not because I don’t think you can handle it.”
Josh’s face tightened, but his people murmured their assent.
“I want to come, then,” Zack said.
Dara regarded him evenly. “This isn’t going to be easy, and it’s not a glory mission. You know the consequences better than we do if we fail. Why do you want to come?”
“You need a driver. I know the streets. If you get lost, or seem like you don’t know where you’re going, you’ll raise their suspicions immediately.”
After a long moment of thought, Dara nodded once. “Zack, you’re our driver. Can you use a blaster, if the need arises?”
“I can.”
“Good. You’ll come with Dog and me.” She looked at Dog, who offered a feral grin, and then at Jayem. “Jayem?”
He looked up with an expression of suppressed surprise that told Dara that he had not been listening.
“You’ll stay here with Redding, “ she repeated.
“Sure. Fine,” he said absently, and Dara knew he was off on a tangent in his mind.
She shrugged, presuming that he was trying to sort out Stawl’s economy or the exchange ratio between the New Republic credit and the State’s currency. “Next, we need to find a nice, out of the way rendezvous. Some place where no one will see us, but where it wouldn’t look odd to be seen going there.”
“Some place secluded, nowhere close to a security hub, but where military speeders go?”
“You have an idea, Zack?”
“I think so. The Old Square. It’s more or less deserted, and anyone we might see wouldn’t necessarily be a friend of the State. It’s blocks away from any security hub, but military speeders sometimes get called out there. No one would notice or care if someone waited around with a speeder.” He looked at Josh. “It’s also far enough away from any of our safe houses that we wouldn’t be leaving an obvious trail.”
Josh nodded his approval, then “I’ll meet you there with one of our covered speeders.”
“Josh—“
“No, Dara. I cannot stay here and do nothing. I understand why you do not want me to go with you, but the least I can do is be there to welcome Marna back. You can’t deny me that.”
Dara raised her eyebrows. “I was going to say, that’s a good idea. You should choose someone to go with you. It never hurts to have an extra set of eyes.”
“Oh.” He grinned awkwardly. “All right, then.”
“Great. Zack, you mentioned uniforms. Let’s see what you have.”

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 6)

2008-09-20T01:47:00.000-07:00

{Yes, I know that it's been a while since I posted. Let me warn you that it might be a while before it's truly finished. School is eating up every spare minute of time I have, plus all brain cells normally devoted to writing. But it will be finished. Hopefully soon, but don't quote me. That being said, I did want to give you a little more of what I have. Also, my font is messing up, and I don't know how to fix it. :~p }

For an hour, they debated hotly about the viability of a rescue. Every plan that was projected was quickly shot down. The ID card lying on the table received more than one bitter glance. Being in possession of one card was almost worse than having none, since it had raised and then crushed everyone’s hopes.

Redding had retreated back to the computers, leaving the rest to argue about the best point of contact. Of the three possible locations—the Detention Center, in transit, and the court house—the Detention Center had been completely ruled out, the court house had been deemed too risky, and now they were studying the route between the two.

“What about this intersection?” Dara pointed to a place on the map. “Not a major intersection, no large businesses, and at least eight minutes from the Detention Center and six from the court house.”

“No good.” Josh touched a building three blocks away. “This is a security hub. They could have us in custody before we got the doors open.”

Jayem frowned. “They have those hubs very efficiently placed.”

“Here, then,” Dog said. “They pass a side street halfway through the route, and it’s ten blocks to the nearest hub. If we work fast—“

“No good.” Jayem shot it down this time. “There are too many businesses there, and they’ll definitely be populated. We can’t risk that many people seeing us, and I doubt we could lure the transport into a side street.”

“I knew this wouldn’t work,” one of the Fringe’s computer experts said glumly. “This whole scheme is impossible, especially on such short notice. If we had another card—“

“But you don’t,” Dog snapped. “And if you want our help, you don’t have the time to get one. If you’d like to wait until we’re gone and your leader has been transferred somewhere more secure, then be my guest. “

“Dog.” There was more than a hint of warning in Dara’s voice.

“We never asked for your help,” the man retorted. “We were fine before you came, and we’ll be fine when you’re gone.”

“That’s enough, Zack,” Josh said firmly. “We wouldn’t even be having this meeting if it weren’t for these pilots. The least you can do is be civil.”

Zack and Dog glared at each other, and the tension in the room was almost tangible.

“I think we should take a break,” Dara suggested. “Fifteen minutes to clear our heads and get some fresh perspective. I’ll get Redding to pull the floor plan of the court house, and we’ll see if we can find a chink in the armor there when we get back.”

They dispersed with a minimum of grumbling. Josh threw a worried look Dara’s way, to which she replied with a reassuring smile as she left the room.

The computer room was quiet when Dara walked in. Redding was the only occupant, leaning back in his chair, his feet kicked up on another, staring at the console. Dara glanced at the screen and saw that he was watching security cam feeds from the Detention Center.

“Redding, we need floor plans for the court house. And if you could get the security schedules, too, that would be….” Her voice trailed off, and her face was a study in concentration.

“Splendid? Horrid? Fantastic? Awful?” Redding prompted. He looked up at her, caught her expression. “What is it?”

Abruptly Dara burst out laughing. Redding shot her a look suggesting that he was ready to call the psych medics.

“It’s perfect,” she gasped in between taking deep breaths to compose herself. “I can’t believe we missed it.”

“Missed what?” Redding demanded.

She pointed to a screen, and Redding frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Watch.”

He did, then his expression cleared, and his eyes lit with understanding. “Oh! Of course!”

“Prepare to be invaded,” she warned him. “I’m going to bring everyone in here.”

“Anything I should start doing?”

“See what kind of orders you’ll need to falsify. And double check what time Marna is scheduled to be transferred.”

“Will do.” Redding sat up straight and began feeding commands into the computer.

* * *

“That is our solution,” Dara said, pointing at the screen.

“Transport speeders?” Josh asked incredulously. “How?”

“We don’t have to go into the Detention Center to get Marna. We’ll just pick him up at the door.” Redding wore a very satisfied expression.

“Exactly,” Dara confirmed. “Play the portion of the vid that I showed you.”

Redding found the correct marker and played it. They all watched as three guards signed out a speeder and drove it out of the garage.

“And this helps us?” Zack’s disbelief was plain in his voice. “Instead of two guards, now there are three, and we still only have the one ID card.”

“Watch again,” Dara directed. “Yes, there are three guards, but notice how many of them produce their ID card.”

The room was very quiet as they realized what Dara was driving at.

“Three guards, one ID,” Josh said in a hushed voice.

“So, Redding falsifies orders for us to get the speeder and pick up Marna, and we just drive out, free and clear?” Dog shook his head. “How did we miss that?”

“We’ll have to ditch the speeder immediately after leaving the Center, though,” Jayem cautioned. “They likely all have homing beacons so they can be tracked.”

“Not a problem,” Josh said, a trace of dazed wonder in his expression. “We’ll have our own speeder ready for transfer somewhere nearby.”

“Excellent,” Dara said. “Redding, pull up all the information you can on prisoner transfer protocol, this one in particular, including holocams and personnel logs. We’re going to go over every step of this plan. I don’t want any surprises.”

(to be continued...)

Fragment

2008-08-21T15:17:00.000-07:00

{A bit of something that fits neither here nor there}

Alarms shrieked at deafening volumes, and the cockpit was periodically bathed in red light. For the first time, Tania wished her droid had come with her, just so she could have someone to yell to. She didn’t dare take her attention off the controls even long enough to silence the alarms.

“An easy run,” she grumbled to herself. “Phah!”

The ship that the New Republic had loaned her for the mission shuddered again as it absorbed yet another round of laser fire. Tania shunted the last available energy to the rear shields and struggled to keep the ship on course. There were four squints close on her tail, a Victory-class Star Destroyer hanging a little farther back, and the uninhabited planet was filling her viewport a lot faster than Tania would have preferred.

The ship jerked hard, tossing Tania sideways like a doll and smashing her forehead against the corner of the weapons panel. She sat up, shaking her head to clear her vision, making blood spatter the viewport. The ship was no longer responding to Tania’s commands. A concussion missile had broadsided the starboard flank. Tania’s stomach knotted in fear as she made one last futile effort to control the ship, then abandoned the cockpit.

Trying to keep her balance was no easy task as she made her way through the corridors to the aft of the ship. At her current rate of descent, she calculated that she had just under three minutes before her ship plowed into the ground. Tania intended to make good use of that time.

Tucked in a corner was a lever that, when pulled, would release a beacon that would transmit a distress signal back to the New Republic. To her pursuers, it would only look as if a portion of her hull had sheared off. She pulled it, knowing that help could not come in time. Then she turned her attention to the few datacards that held her mission parameters and objectives. These she crushed beneath the heel of her boot and kicked the pieces to scatter them, ensuring they would never be read. Finally, she took her ID chit from her wallet and snapped it. The New Republic would draw the correct conclusion from the distress signal, and she didn’t want to let the Imps know any more than they did.

Proximity alarms wailed throughout the ship as the surface of the planet loomed closer. Tania glanced out a viewport and felt sick at the sight of the ground rushing towards her, unchecked. A squint bobbed into view, then vanished. Tania slid down the wall to the ground, drawing her knees to her chin, and clasped her hands behind her head. She leaned forward and braced herself for the impact.

When the ship hit planetside, the sound of crumpling metal was deafening. Tania was thrown across the small room and slammed into a wall. She sank to the ground, motionless, as the ship tilted, then slowly keeled over on its side.

* * *

“Sir, no one’s coming out of that.” The young flight officer sounded skeptical and a little sympathetic.

What had once been a spaceship was now a mangled mass of twisted bulkhead. The cockpit had been flattened to a fraction of its normal width between the body of the ship and the unforgiving ground, and flames were licking around the engines. It was a miracle that it hadn’t exploded. The NR rescue team had responded to the distress signal as swiftly as they could, but it was painfully obvious that they were too late.

The captain of the team set his jaw. “She was doing us a favor, flight officer. We’re not leaving without her.”

Inexperience reared its head as the young man said, “But, sir, there’s no way she could have survived that crash. We’re wasting time.”

“We’re taking her with us, soldier.” The captain’s face was grim, and his voice even more so. “She deserves a proper burial.”

Startled, the flight officer saluted. “Yes, sir!”

The captain watched as his team picked through the wreckage, extinguishing the flames, sifting the metal carefully. A cry went up when one of the soldiers found Tania’s body. The captain joined him, two medics with a stretcher close at his heels. Though he had mentally prepared himself, he still shuddered at the sight.

Tania lay sprawled over and under portions of the hull, her left arm dangling at a distinctly unnatural angle. Her face was covered with blood, and the skin on one side of her jaw hung in ribbons, exposing the mandible. Her legs were trapped beneath a sheet of metal, and two of the men were already attempting to shift it, under the senior medic’s instructions. Beneath the dirt and blood, her face was pale, and there were no signs of life. The captain bowed his head in respect.

The two men maneuvered the metal off her legs, and Tania’s eyes fluttered open and shut so briefly that the captain wondered if he had imagined it. Immediately, the area was a buzz of activity. The medics crouched beside her, taking her vital signs and calling for more equipment. Men came running from all areas of the crash sight, trying to offer assistance. The captain reached out and touched Tania’s forehead gently, then straightened, a sigh of relief slipping between his lips. He had borne his share of dead comrades back home, and, although she would have a long, hard road to complete recovery, it was good to know that he was escorting home a survivor once again.

Writer's Block

2008-08-13T13:21:00.000-07:00

As I set my pen to paper, all that leaks through the ink is that my mind is as blank as the page, and that, if I have nothing to contribute, my energies would be better spent elsewhere. The descriptions do not lie flat, mere words on paper, because there are none there. I would rather write the basest prose, in an elementary style, humble and unassuming, than allow the blank pages to fill my notebook. But, alas, even the simplest thought refuses to find its way to my pen.

My hand hovers above the paper, posed to print a word, any word, and then my attention is caught by something in the environment—someone entering the room, someone speaking, a shifting shadow, anything at all—and my pen abandons words for crude, repetitive drawings of stickmen and geometric figures that build on each other and eventually conquer the page that I had strictly set apart for writing.

One by one, the pages fill up with senseless doodles, sometimes interspersed with fragments of sentences, words or pairs of words that caught my attention as someone else uttered them, but their life ends once they have been penned. They do not stay vibrant, do not attract other words to themselves, do not build into sentences and paragraphs and eventually become stories, short-lived or no. They die and are buried in stacks of notebooks, unmourned because they contributed nothing to the creative process. But perhaps they should be remembered a little more fondly, because those words that flop onto the paper, stagnant and lifeless, are the most inspired words that I have written in weeks.

Pathetic, really, when you think about it.

Diplomatic Relations (pt 5)

2008-07-20T00:44:00.000-07:00

{I reserve the right to change/add to any of this. It's not entirely to my liking just yet. I'll let you know if/when that happens.}

Two Days Ago

Dara stared blearily out the kitchen window at the rain, wondering why she was up so early after staying awake so late the night before. The meeting had been less than productive, and she and Redding had yet to convince Josh that the rescue scheme was indeed feasible. She stifled a yawn and set down her mug of stimtea, glancing toward Redding to ask him a question.

“Daramis!”

She turned at the sound of her name, and was caught in Jayem’s crushing embrace. Excitement surged through her as she returned it, a grin splitting her face.

“I knew you weren’t dead!” he crowed gleefully as he released her and turned to slap Redding on the back.

Dara caught sight of Dog standing in the doorway and raised an eyebrow.

“Dude. Dara. It’s good to see you.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile.

“Dude. Doggiekins. You really shouldn’t get so emotional. You’ll ruin your image.”

Dog only laughed.

“I knew you weren’t dead!” Jayem exclaimed gleefully, turning back from greeting Redding. “I was right, and Dog was wrong!”

“You were both right,” Dara cut in. “You were right to hope we weren’t, and Dog was right to act as if we were. I just have one question.”

“Shoot,’ Dog said.

“Do I want to know how you got the speederbikes?”

“No,” Dog said firmly, just as Jayem said, “It was Dog’s idea.”

Dara grinned. “Then I won’t ask.” She stared at them both, an intense relief flooding through her. She had tried to be confident that they were alive, but there had always been a quiet “what if” nagging at the back of her mind. “I’m really glad you’re back here,” she said with absolute sincerity.

Jayem draped a heavy arm across her shoulders, emphasizing the height difference between them. “All I can say is that it’s about time.”

“What’s the plan now?” Dog asked. “Can we get offworld?”

“We’ve been monitoring communications between the New Republic, the State, and Diplomat Raven, and they’ve finally settled on a date to get Raven out of here. We plan to tag along.”

“Does she know this?”

“No. As far as she knows, we’re dead. Due to the nature of Stawl’s security net over communications, we can watch and listen undetected. The minute we try to make contact, however, they’ll be all over us. We can’t talk to her until just before she leaves tomorrow.”

Dog’s eyes lit up. “You mean, we get to leave tomorrow?” he asked excitedly, and almost cheered when Dara nodded.

“So,” Jayem asked, “do we just sit tight until then?”

“Nope.” Redding smiled smugly. “We get to spring a friend from jail.”

Jayem’s eyes widened. “Is he serious, Dara?”

“Very.”

“Why are we getting involved in internal Stawlian quarrels?” Dog demanded. “Shouldn’t we just lie low until we can get out of here?” His opinion of Stawl and his time on planet was evident in the tone of his voice.

“This is more than an internal dispute, Dog,” Dara replied. “The Fringe is the only voice of reason I’ve heard so far, and it’s their leader that’s in jail. It’s due to his efforts that Redding and I are alive, instead of scattered fragments in the wreckage of the Hall of Roses. He got us out before the explosion.”

Pieces from the last few days began to fit together for Dog—the canceled meetings, Celeste’s tension—and he nodded understanding. “As ordered, then, Major.”

“Oh, come on, Dog. What’s the point of being officially dead if you can’t have a little fun?” Dara insisted.

Dog smiled crookedly. “All right. You’ve convinced me. What’s the plan?”

“This is where it gets tricky. We have to do this tomorrow, before Raven leaves at 1500. And we didn’t get much done last night; we kept hitting stone walls.”

“So, it’s pretty much impossible, then.”

“That’s the spirit. I’ll get Josh and meet you in the computer room. We’ll show you what we’ve got so far.”

Ten minutes later, they were all settled around a console where a schematic of the prison was on the screen.

“This is the Stawlian Capital Detention Center. Their security is good, but, fortunately, Redding is better.” Dara nodded to the slicer, indicating that he should take the floor.

“So far, all I’ve done is some low grade poking around. I don’t want to raise too many flags prematurely. I’ve found Marna’s file, including all the information they have on him, charges, and the cell where he’s being held.” Redding touched a key, and a picture of Marna appeared, alongside several paragraphs of text.

“He’s being charged with willful defiance of State mandate and obstruction of justice.”

Relief flickered across Josh’s face, but it didn’t last.

“Is that good?” Dara asked.

“Well, it’s not as bad as it could be.” Josh sighed. “Depending on how seriously they paint the charges, he could be incarcerated anywhere from three to eight years.”

“It could be worse, from what I’ve heard,” Redding offered.

“True, but I’ve never heard of anyone being released from a sentence of more than a year.”

Dara pointed at the screen. “It looks like he’s up for sentencing tomorrow.”

“Convenient,” Jayem said. “Where will the sentencing happen?”

“Not onsite, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Josh replied. “He’ll be transferred to the court building in the center of town—just a few kilometers north of the Hall of Roses, actually.”

“Can we nab him in transit?” Dog asked.

“Unlikely. Their standard transportation route takes them along the main, heavily populated streets. There would be no place for an ambush, and we don't have enough popular support to risk anything too overt.”

“So that leaves us with plucking him from the detention center. I assume the court building is heavily guarded?”

“Very,” Josh confirmed.

“What’s the security level on the detention center?” Jayem asked.

“Medium. It’s mainly a holding area for those awaiting trial for more serious charges.”

“Obstruction of justice is a serious charge?” Dog’s expression was skeptical.

“It’s enough,” Josh said soberly. “Particularly if they need a reason to hold someone indefinitely.”

Jayem crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Have you worked on strategies for getting in?”

“Yes. We were up quite late last night doing that,” Dara replied. “So far, we don’t have much that will work.”

“How far have you gotten?” Dog sat forward, elbows on his knees and fingers laced together.

“We know that the guards must have written authorization for everything, including going to the refresher. The good news is that Redding,” Dara nodded to the slicer, “can crank out phony orders that will pass any scrutiny.” She quirked a smile. “We had some fun testing that out last night. The bad news is that the computers will eventually recognize the scam and corrupt the files, though they won’t take action beyond that. We’ll have a small window of time, but that’s not even the part we’re worried about.” She nodded to Josh.

“The only personnel who have access to the prisoners are the guards. So if we go in, it has to be in disguise. We have guard uniforms that we’ve been holding against such a need as this, but what we don’t have are the ID cards. These cards are carried by every guard, regardless of rank, and they have a mag strip that must be swiped at every entrance and exit, and especially during a prisoner transfer.”

Dog glanced at Jayem, then reached into a pocket and pulled out three ID cards. “You mean, cards like these?”

Josh’s eyes got very wide. “Exactly like those! Where did you get them?”

Jayem unconsciously touched the healing cut on his face. “We had a run in with those guys you told us to follow, Dara. That’s how we figured the State was behind the Rose incident. We collected their IDs before we left.”

“That explains your cheekbone and the state of your uniform, then,” she said calmly.

“Well, that and the scuffle we had with a patrol a couple nights ago, when Celeste found us.” Dog added.

“And when were you planning on sharing that bit of information?” she asked, amused.

Dog shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. A two man patrol stopped us as we were following Celeste. Even though it wasn’t quite curfew, they didn’t believe we were going home and decided they should take us in. We objected.”

“Any way they recognized you?”

“I doubt it. The streets were pretty dark.” Dog glanced at Josh, who was looking anxious. “It happened several klicks from the safe house, and your people stayed in the speeder. There was nothing that could tie the episode to the Fringe.”

“Thank you,” Josh said quietly.

Redding reached over and snatched the cards from Dog’s hand. “If you guys are just going to trade stories, I’m going to see if I can reprogram these. I’m sure they’ve been deactivated by now.”

“How long will that take?” Dara asked.

“Hard to say. Anywhere from ten minutes to two hours, I’d guess. I’ll come get you when I’m through.”

Dara laughed at the subtle hint in Redding’s statement. “We’ll leave you to it, then. Gentlemen, shall we adjourn to another room? We’ll take another look at our options and I’m sure we will find a way in.”

* * *

Thirty-eight minutes later, Redding rejoined them, flipping a single ID card in his fingers. “This is the only one the system would let me reprogram,” he said apologetically, setting the card on the table. “The other two kept giving me error messages.”

“Not good,” Josh said. “A prisoner transfer requires a minimum of two guards. There’s no way this will work if we only have the one card.”

Dara looked at Redding, her expression pensive, trying to solve an internal dilemma.

Redding caught her eye and rescued her by answering the question she hadn’t wanted to ask. “I tried everything. It only took me twelve minutes to program the first. I spent the rest of the time trying to make the others work.” He smirked, and added softly for her ears alone, “Thank you for not openly questioning my abilities.”

She smiled up at him. “I’ve always been taught to trust, but verify.”

He returned her smile and, in a louder voice, added, “Perhaps the owner of this waited a little longer before reporting it lost. Or maybe they were damaged in the fight.” He glanced at Dog, who shrugged.

“The reason doesn’t really matter,” Josh said miserably. “We only have one ID card, and no feasible way of getting another before tomorrow. We have no other options. This is a dead end.”

(to be continued...)

Teaser

2008-06-16T12:18:00.001-07:00

{To be finished after Diplomatic Relations is concluded.... aren't I cruel?}

Dara stood ramrod straight, her gaze fixed solidly on the blank wall behind Rogue's head.
"I have no excuse, sir."
A muscle twitched in Rogue's cheek, betraying his irritation. "Do you at least have an explanation?"
"No, sir. My behavior was inexcusable, and I take full responsibility."
"Blast it, Dara, I'm trying to help you! You have to give me something I can work with."
With a visible effort, Dara dragged her gaze from the wall to meet Rogue's eyes. "I'm not asking for your help, sir. You should do yourself a favor and stay out of this. It won't be pretty."
Rogue stared at her with exasperation. "Very well. You are relieved of all duties and confined to your quarters. Do you need an escort?" The underlying question there was, Can I trust you to go straight there?
"No, sir."
"Dismissed, then."
Dara saluted crisply and walked out of his office, feeling Rogue's hard stare boring into the back of her head until the door shut behind her.

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 4)

2008-05-30T23:34:00.000-07:00

{Sorry for the Delay. I blame Finals.}

Dara had been impressed with the Fringe’s efficiency. Every trace of their presence had been removed in less than two hours, except that which could be explained by the presence of a married couple who had lived there for several years—the house’s cover story. No one had panicked or shown any trace of fear beyond their initial reaction to Stella’s news; rather, they had worked in relative silence, with no words wasted beyond the occasional curt order. Their movements showed that they had done this more than once.

The trip to the new safe house had been tense, but they made it safely, without incident. Dara saw the wisdom of scattering, even beyond splitting forces to cover trails and not draw attention. The safe house that Josh brought them to was already occupied by a four-man communications team. Josh, Redding, Dara, and Stella took that count to eight, a tight fit in a house with four bedrooms, one of those crammed to bursting with computers and monitoring equipment.

Redding took one look at their set up and Dara knew he was lost for decent company. The Fringe was surprisingly well-supplied when it came to electronics, and the last thing Dara heard Redding say as he disappeared into the room of wires and consoles was an incredulous, “How did you get a hold of a Centurion Alpha Decrypt Processor?”

Dara helped unload the speeder and get the house set up as an acting headquarters for the Fringe. It was to be their command center because Josh was now in charge. Dara watched him with some significant measure of approval as he eased into the vacant leadership position. He slid competently from task to task, whether the job was calming frantic worries as news of Marna’s arrest spread throughout the Fringe, or if it was delegating the many chores that needed to be accomplished. As Dara looked on, she concluded that Marna had made a wise decision when he chose his second-in-command.

Dara felt rather useless as the day wore on. Redding was in his element, teaching the Stawlians new tricks of getting into State-protected files and regaining access to Diplomat Raven’s communications, while Josh was completely absorbed with adjusting to his new role. She took some time to update her report to Rogue, and spent the majority of the rest of the day talking to Stella, trying to get a better grasp on the Stawlian mindset and exactly what the Fringe was trying to accomplish.

Four Days Ago

“I’m sorry, Dara. We can’t risk it right now.” Josh spread his hands, palm up, apologetically. “All unnecessary traffic between safe houses has been restricted.”

Dara carefully kept the disappointment she felt tucked behind smooth features. “I understand.” And she did. Less than a week on the planet had given her a fast education on what the State was capable of when operating on ultimate suspicion. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Josh nodded absently, his attention already half-turned on the next task.

Dara walked through the house, preparing herself for another day of frustrating inactivity. The laughter coming from the living room told Dara that Redding had emerged from the computer room long enough to realize that Stella was the same girl he had bumped into the night of the welcome banquet and that he was doing a great job distracting her from her emotions over Marna’s arrest. Not wishing to disturb them, and with nothing better to do, she went to her room to revise the report she had written for Rogue.

* * *

It was raining, a steady downpour that did nothing to alleviate the heavy feeling of despair that had taken permanent residence in the safe house. Even Celeste’s perpetual good humor had disappeared beneath lines of worry. The only person who was not downcast by the weather was Jayem. He was unnaturally cheerful, depressingly cheerful, even, though he tried to temper his expression of his mood.

Dog sat by a window, staring alternately in consternation at the rain and at the newsfeed from the Holonet playing in the corner. The Stawlian news network was doing a fantastic job of talking incessantly and yet saying nothing at all. He glanced over at the doorway and saw Celeste, clutching a glass like an EV pilot would cling to life support. Her features were taut with stress and anxiety.

Dog stood and faced Celeste, frustration plain on his face. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “We’ve been here three days, and you haven’t told us who you are or who you were taking us to meet. Now you say the meeting’s been called off, and everyone in this house is acting like the Emperor resurrected, and I doubt it’s due to the weather.”

“The meeting hasn’t been called off, it’s merely been postponed,” Celeste said tightly. “And because of security concerns, I can’t tell you more than that.”

“You think we don’t understand the need for security?” Jayem asked. “We’re in the military, Celeste. We’ve been on our share of classified missions. Is there anything you can tell us?”

Celeste’s features tightened even more, and anger sparked in her eyes. “You don’t understand,” she snapped. “How could you? You were never beaten at school because someone started rumors that you didn’t support the State. You never had friends walk past you on the street without a glimmer of recognition because your brother had just been executed for treason and they feared any familiarity would condemn them, too. In the rest of the galaxy, information is power. On Stawl, information is deadly. We don’t tell more than we absolutely have to. Ever.”

“You’re right,” Dog countered, making no attempt to hide his irritation. “We never experienced any of that. But I’ve lost count of the number of covert ops we’ve been on, where one word in the wrong ear would obliterate an entire squadron in a heartbeat. We’ve been privy to tactics and strategies that, if leaked, would destroy what the New Republic was trying to accomplish in entire sectors, costing thousands of lives. In the military, you learn to keep your mouth shut, because you never know if the resulting vibroblade will find your back, or your buddy’s.”

“We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on,” Jayem added in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.

“Let’s get one thing straight here,” Celeste bit out. “You are not here to help us. We are helping you, and the skies know why we’re bothering. You’re in our territory, you play by our rules. Understood?”

Dog’s jaw clenched as he met her gaze fiercely. Without replying, he wheeled away and returned to staring out the window. Celeste shifted her burning stare from him to Jayem, who merely shrugged. With no other opposition to fight, she stalked angrily out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Brilliant,” Dog muttered. “Not only is the State crazy, but the other side is crazy, too.”

“What does it matter, as long as we get offworld?” Jayem asked.

“If we get offworld. Have you noticed any plans being made to accomplish that end?”

Jayem shook his head slowly.

“Then either they’re not being made, or our hosts aren’t telling us about them. Frankly, neither option would surprise me, but nor do they help us. We’re effectively stuck, and the minute Raven leaves Stawl, our last reasonable chance of getting off this miserable planet leaves, too.”

“So what do we do?”

Dog heaved a sigh. “What can we do? We keep pushing. They have to tell us something sooner or later.”

Jayem rolled his eyes to express his sentiment of that course of action, but Dog was no longer looking at him. His attention had drifted back to the newscast, where the reporter was reciting crime statistics. Jayem shrugged again, then wandered off in search of something to eat.

Three Days Ago

“Josh, we need to talk.” Dara leaned against the doorway to the computer room, hands jammed in her pockets.

He glanced up and signaled her to wait. Dara watched the activity in the room with passing interest while Josh finished at his console. Then he removed his headphones and stood, turning toward her.

“We have a time,” he said, walking past her and leading the way to the kitchen. “The New Republic will be picking up the rest of the diplomatic team in two days, at 1500. They’re still arguing about where.” He poured two drinks and handed her one. “What’s on your mind?”

“We need to talk about Marna.”

Despair flicked across his expression. “What about him?”

“I’m concerned about your people’s fatalistic attitudes. In all the conversations I’ve heard, they refer to him as if he’s already dead. Is he?”

“No,” Josh admitted. “But he might as well be.”

“Are you telling me there’s no hope?”

“Dara—“

“Answer me.”

He heaved a sigh. “The chances of Marna surviving State confinement are very slim.”

“And what are the chances of getting him out?”

Josh’s eyebrows flew up and he let out a startled half-laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Very. Why can’t we get him out?” She set her drink down, untouched.

His features darkened. “Don’t say that so the others can hear you,” he said softly, anger in his voice.

Dara crossed her arms and tilted her chin defiantly. “And why not?”

“You’ll give them false hope. No one has ever escaped State confinement. Ever,” he said flatly, keeping his voice low.

“That you know of,” Dara countered. “It is perfectly plausible that the State would want to cover up something like that.”

“No. We would have heard of it.”

“So you won’t even try.” Dara matched the volume of his voice.

“It would be pointless and futile. I won’t send my people on a suicide mission, and neither would Marna.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Marna knew the danger in such a venture.”

“There’s a big difference between knowing the risks and letting the possibility of failure scare you into inaction.”

“I’m not scared, I’m being realistic!” he whispered fiercely. “Our numbers are too few to risk a doomed mission.”

“Listen to yourself! This is exactly what the State wants: your belief that they are omniscient and infallible. Your whole movement revolves around proving that they aren’t, and, frankly, slowly leaking information, patching in ghost transmissions over newscasts, and word of mouth will only get you so far. You have to show that the State is not as untouchable as it appears to be if you want anything changed, and rolling over and playing dead when they capture your leader is not the way to do that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dara. Moving slowly and covertly is the only way we’re going to make any changes at all.”

“So you all die of old age while the State remains as strong as ever.” She held up a hand to forestall any reply. “As an overall strategy, slow and covert is a great way to bring about permanent change, but every so often you have to make enough noise to let the State know you’re here.”

“The point is that they don’t know we’re here,” Josh said patiently.

“How long has your group existed?”

“Six years.”

“Then you can bet they know about you,” Dara assured him.

“Impossible. They would have come after us long ago if that were true.”

“Why would they? You’re not a threat to them as long as you’re jumping at your own shadows. And no one else is going to listen to you if you stay ineffective. A move like this would get your leader out of jail and it would send the message that you’re serious. If you don’t believe in your cause, then no one else will fight for it, either.”

“First you say I’m a coward, now you say I don’t believe in our cause?” His fists clenched at his sides.

She met his gaze evenly. “Do you?”

Silence hung thick between them for several seconds.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I do.”

“Do they know that?” She jerked her head towards the door, indicating the rest of the people in the house.

“They should.”

“They should?” she echoed. “What will do you to make sure they do?”

“Is there anything else, Dara?” Josh’s voice was strained from the effort he was making to control his anger.

“Yes,” she said. “Marna started the Fringe, correct?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“Then doesn’t he deserve the chance to see this all the way through?” she asked quietly.

Josh stared at her, his jaw muscles flexing.

“Revolutions aren’t safe, Josh. You’ll have to take a chance some day, about something. Why not about this?” She held his gaze for a moment, then turned and walked out the door without waiting for a reply.

She almost bumped into Redding just outside the kitchen. She eyed him narrowly. “How long were you listening?”

Redding shrugged and fell in step with her. “Long enough. Do you think he’ll change his mind?”

Dara sighed and lowered her voice. “I hope so. Marna is the adhesive holding this group together. Josh will do an admirable job, but he lacks the ability to see the big picture. He’s very protective of his people, but he needs to learn that they’re willing to die for this, and that he must let them accomplish something measurable. Rescuing the man who has the vision, passion, and potential to make a real difference in this world would be perfect.”

Redding nodded.

“Don’t speak of this to anyone,” Dara added. “Regardless of his decision, I don’t want to undermine Josh’s authority here.”

“As ordered, Major.” Redding tossed her a casual salute and veered off towards the computer room.

* * *

“Dara.”

Dara looked up and saw Josh standing a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back and feet slightly apart. Slowly, she rose and matched his military posture.

“Yes?”

“You said a lot. Some of it was dead wrong. You don’t understand how many risks we take just to distribute information. But some of it was more than right, and I thank you for reminding me that we are a revolution and not just a political movement.”

Dara nodded acknowledgment. “Sometimes all you need is an outside perspective.”

“So. We’re going to try something that’s never been done. Where do we start?”

A grin broke across Dara’s face. “Get Redding and your computer expert, and we’ll see what we can come up with.”

Medicine Wolf

2008-04-09T23:17:00.001-07:00

{Yet another school project. This is the script from my shadow puppet presentation, which, I might add, went exceedingly well. It is adapted from a legend of the Blackfoot people.}

Many, many years ago, before Nature had been terrorized by technology and herds of buffalo still roamed the plains of North America, the Blackfoot tribe were traveling from their summer camp to their winter camp. But, on the way, they were attacked by a fierce band of Crow warriors. Though they fought with courage, several of the Blackfoot were killed that day. A young woman of their tribe, named Sits-by-the-Door, was captured. The Crow warriors tied her to a horse and brought her to their camp on the Yellowstone River.

She was treated as a slave, and the man who had captured her gave her the hardest jobs to do.

“Chop the wood, Sits-by-the-Door.”

“But I’m so tired.”

“Then you shall have no food tonight.”

At night, her captor tied her hands and made her sleep next to his wife. His wife was gentle and had a good heart, and showed what kindness she could to Sits-by-the-Door. One day the wife overheard some terrible news.

“Sits-by-the-Door, you must be brave. My husband says that they are going to kill you tomorrow.”

“What shall I do?”

“You must escape. Tonight. I will help you all I can.”

“Thank you!”

That night, when the camp was sleeping, the wife took her husband’s knife and cut the rawhide thongs from Sits-by-the-Door’s hands.”

“Here is pemmican to eat. You must travel as far and as fast as you can, because my people will surely try to capture you when they find you gone.”

All night long, Sits-by-the-Door ran as fast as she could. When she couldn’t run any more, she walked until she could run again. She ran until the sun’s rays came glinting over the horizon. Weak with exhaustion, Sits-by-the-Door stumbled into a small cave and fell asleep.

The Crow warriors were furious when they found that she was gone and formed a search party. For three days, they scoured the woods, looking for their escaped captive. Sits-by-the-Door stayed hidden in her cave, trembling with fear that they might find her. But they did not. At last, the warriors gave up the search and returned to their homes. Sits-by-the-Door was free!

But now her food and strength were almost gone. Sits-by-the-Door began the long journey home with little more than a strong heart. Even worse, she found that she was being followed by a large grey wolf.

Driven by fear, she walked all night, and the next day, and the next night before her strength finally gave out. She fell to the cold ground, too tired to be scared any longer. The grey wolf had followed her patiently, and now he drew close and sniffed at her hands. She could smell his unwashed fur and his foul breath. Sits-by-the-Door shut her eyes tightly and prayed for a quick death.

Death did not come. Instead of sinking his yellow fangs into her neck, he lay beside her, a guardian keeping his charge warm and safe. When the sun rose and warmed her face, the wolf left and was gone for some time. He returned, dragging a freshly killed buffalo calf. Sits-by-the-Door made a fire and cooked the meat. She and the wolf shared the food, and Sits-by-the-Door began to feel stronger again. She rested for many hours, eating when she was hungry, and watching the wolf warily. Soon, she had enough strength to begin her journey again.

The wolf went with her the whole way, keeping her safe and providing food. Not even the bravest forest animal dared challenge him, and so she went unharmed.

When she finally returned to the Blackfoot camp, her people were very excited to see that she was safe, and awed by her new friend.

“Sits-by-the-Door, it is good to see you!”

“We thought you were dead!”

“What an impressive protector you have found!”

“The wolf saved my life. He provided food for me on my journey and kept me safe. There is strong medicine between us, and we are friends. I call him Medicine Wolf.”

The Council of Elders heard her words. They understood that medicine, or a magic bond, could exist between a human and an animal.

“Medicine Wolf is welcome in our village. He may live with Sits-by-the-Door in peace. None shall harm him.”

Medicine Wolf lived with his human friend in her house, and not even the camp dogs bothered him. He stayed by her side for many, many years, until the day that Sits-by-the-Door died. Medicine Wolf was among the mourners at her burial, and seemed to howl his own funeral dirge. Then he left the village, and was never seen again.

Western Warrior

2008-04-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

{We take a break from our current story to bring you a new and different thing. This poem is written in the Old English style of alliteration. So, the lines don't rhyme, but two or more words in each line start with the same sound. The plot is derived from the story of Beowulf.}

The Western sky showed signs of rain.

Whispering winds wound their way

Through the paths of the prairie.

The owner of Ranch Beo bent his head

Sad to see his sixth man

Lost to the loathsome rustlers.

His stock was swiftly disappearing

And his men were no match.

The rustler chief chose sure-shots

To back up his unlawful boasts.

Gary had built Beo from the ground

And was ill-pleased to watch it perish.

He had sent his brother the sorry news,

But had since despaired of deliverance

From the pestilent bandits that plagued him

And threatened his livelihood.

Clouds rolled in to cover the mourning sky

And the world wept with Ranch Beo.

The noon sun neared its peak

And heated dreary desert town

Disturbed only by the dust of the riders

Galloping out to Gary's ranch.

A young man led the lot,

Eyes narrowed, never ceasing to see.

The straps were gone from his guns,

Safely tucked away, secure in their holsters

But ready to rid the world of rustlers.

At his back rode brave men

Time-tested friends, tried and true.

Their steeds pointed south,

Riding hard, heading for Ranch Beo

Because, as their Leader had lately said,

"Family calls, family answers."

Hooves pounded hard ground,

Kicking up dust and dirt and desert debris.

Ranch Beo's sentry spotted them

And gave word of it to Gary.

The rancher gathered his gun-hands

And awaited their arrival with anticipation

Showing on his otherwise stern visage.

The young men came fast, calling greetings

To the cautious welcoming committee.

Gary stared with unhidden surprise

At the band of broad-shouldered boys.

The leader leaped to the ground,

A smile splitting his face.

"Uncle Gary," he called in a glad tone.

The owner of Beo opened his arms

To his brother's youngest boy.

"Slim!" he hollered happily.

"A wonderful surprise. Welcome to Beo."

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Uncle.

Tell me of your troubles."

"A sad subject, Slim.

Rustlers weekly rob us

Of cows and cowboys alike.

They're camped by the cabin

Out near the North Ridge."

"We'll deal with them at dawn, Uncle."

"No, Slim. I absolutely won't allow

My brother's boy to risk his life."

"Family calls," Slim shrugged, "family answers.

We leave at first light.

The rustlers won't realize what happened.."

"Brave words, boy," the foreman said,

"But can you back them up?"

Slim pointed at a prairie rose,

Then his hand grabbed his gun

And the little flower lost its head.

"You're fast," the foreman agreed.

"I hope you heal fast, too.

A passel of lead is what you'll likely get."

Slim shrugged, unconcerned with unbelief.

The boys bedded down that night,

Fearless and well-fed.

The stars sparkled in the sky

As Ranch Beo soundly slept.

Before the sun hovered above the horizon,

Slim and his crew were cantering north.

Armed with six-guns and ammunition,

They were fearless and fierce,

Ready and willing for a ruckus.

They came to the cabin, unchallenged.

The rustler's skittish steeds shied away

From the unwelcome, unknown men.

Slim stood up in the stirrups.

"Y'all ain't welcome here anymore!"

His voice echoed through the valley.

"Get your gear and go!"

Sounds of sleep motion

Came from in the cabin.

Slim waited, his demands delivered,

Then jerked just as a bullet

Buzzed right by his head.

"That's their answer, boys,

Let 'em have lead!"

Guns blazed, bullets bit deep

Where they found flesh.

Sounds of screams rent the air.

Slim's two six-guns roared

And spat out sudden death.

Slim and his brave boys

Met the motley crew that morning

And the outcome was assured.

Cowardice lived in the cabin

And gave no great battle

To the warriors intent on winning.

The surving rustlers safely locked away,

Slim and his boys basked in glory

That day, still flushed with battle-fever.

A sumptuous supper awaited the heroes

And the singing and celebrating

Lasted long into the night.

The rustlers were rousted,

And Gary was glad.

He knew he needed his nephew

On Ranch Beo, but Slim

Would not stay. "But," he smiled,

"When family calls, family answers.

When you need me, I'll be back."

Fin

Diplomatic Relations (Pt 3)

2008-03-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

{A bit of explanation here for those of you keeping up on Rogue's stories as well: Rogue has crafted his own universe in which to write, while I still use the backdrop of the Star Wars galaxy. This makes for a few differences, such as our unit. In my story, we are an X-wing unit, not entirely unlike Wraith Squadron. In the stories he writes, we're an Army squad. Some things remain true: namely, the characters and events such as Arneb, but these stories take place in two different universes. Sorry if this is confusing.
I also apologize for the delay in the posting of this third part. I can sum up the reason for said delay in one word: Midterms. We now return you to our semi-regularly scheduled story.}

Six Days Ago

“Good news,” Marna said over breakfast the next morning. “Some of our people found your friends last night, roaming the streets on speeder bikes.”

“Speeder bikes?” Redding asked between mouthfuls of pastry. “Where did they get speeder bikes?”

Marna waved a hand vaguely in the air. “We didn’t ask. They’re staying at a safe house on the other side of the city.”

“Excellent!” Dara exclaimed. “Are we going there, or are they coming here?”

“Neither, unfortunately,” Marna said apologetically. “The city’s on High Alert, due to yesterday’s incident. Anyone who ventures outside for any reason will be scrutinized, if not detained.”

“Attention we can do without,” a voice from the doorway added.

Dara turned and looked at the man who had spoken. He was tall for a Stawlian, and Dara figured she could look him straight in the eyes if she stood. He wore military-cut clothes, neatly pressed, and a friendly smile that reached into his green eyes. Dara smiled back.

Marna nodded to the newcomer. “Major Mcejo, may I present Josh Darx, my second-in-command.”

“An honor, Major.”
Dara stood and shook his proffered hand. “Just Dara, please. Rank doesn’t mean much when you’re officially dead.” She liked his easy laugh and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “This is Redding.”

As the two men greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries, Dara looked back to Marna. “How soon will we be able to meet with Dog and Jayem?”

“Hard to say. There’s no way of knowing how long the alert will last. It’s just a show, since the State knows exactly who destroyed the building, so it could be just today, or it could last a week.”

“So we’re stuck.”

“For now, yes.”

She considered for a moment. “How do you think the situation with Diplomat Raven will develop? The New Rep isn’t going to be happy about her being under house arrest.”

“Your New Republic likely doesn’t know yet. The State will have Raven isolated in her quarters and will intercept all comm traffic to her with an apology and an assertion that she’s very busy. They’ll keep that up as long as they can, then begin the slow process of explaining exactly why they are holding the diplomat, what the charges are, and their concerns for the safety of their citizens. Eventually, they’ll have to agree to have Raven transported back to her government as long as they promise to try her. But once she gets off-world, they will cut off all communications with the New Republic.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Dara commented, frowning.

“I once wrote policy,” Marna admitted, “before I recognized the dangerous path the State was traveling.”

Dara nodded. “So this means that once Raven goes off world, our chances of getting off diminish exponentially.”

Marna nodded gravely.

“Is there any way we can monitor the status of the State’s communication with the NR?”

“Perhaps. There is a secure frequency that we’ve pinpointed as coming from Raven’s apartments. If you could decrypt it, I’m certain you could monitor the activity, but none of my men are skilled enough.”

“Redding can do it,” Dara affirmed. “When will it be safe to try?”

“As long as you’re only monitoring, you can start any time. But don’t make contact until we have some sort of plan. They’ll pick up on that fast.’

“Understood.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, Redding and two of Marna’s top computer people were ensconced in a room, talking codes, decrypts, slicing techniques, and sophisticated computer babble to each other as they worked their way into the official communications network. Dara stayed just long enough to see that they were making progress before retreating to a quieter portion of the house to work on a report for Rogue. She curled up on a couch in a deserted sitting room with her datapad and spent twenty minutes detailing her experiences and observations before she felt someone watching her. She glanced up to find Josh leaning casually against the doorjamb, smiling.

She set the datapad down and folded her hands. “Can I help you?” she asked, faintly surprised to find the corners of her mouth curling up slightly.

“I just came to see if you need anything.” He walked across the room and perched on the low table in front of Dara’s couch.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She studied him, amused.

Josh reached for the datapad, but Dara twitched it out of reach.

“It’s my report,” she said by way of apology. “For my commander’s eyes only.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Am I in it?”

She glanced down at the report. “Perhaps.”

“Then why can’t I see it?” His laugh forestalled her reply. “I’m only teasing.”

She smiled and shut off her datapad. “Is there anything I should be putting in my report?” A touch of mischief glinted in her eye.

“Well, I’m twenty-four, single, and I like dinner by candlelight.”

“I’m sure my commander would be dying to know that,” she laughed.

“Maybe you could write another report, for your eyes only.”

Dara opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Do I need to be?”

She settled further back into the cushions. “I don’t suppose Todd would care much one way or the other.”

“Todd is…?”

She grinned. “Your competition.”

“Sensitive, thoughtful, handsome, intelligent, and witty?”

“Of course.”

Josh raised his hands, palm out. “Todd needn’t worry, then. There’s no way I could compete with that.”

Dara couldn’t stop a laugh from slipping out, but she recovered swiftly. “I accept your surrender,” she said graciously, then changed the subject. “Why did you get involved with the Fringe?”

Josh’s open, friendly expression hardened. “The State murdered one of my friends. He was a teacher, and one of his students maliciously reported that he had been presenting anti-State views in the classroom.” His jaw clenched. “They didn’t even give him a trial.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dara said quietly, recognizing the hollowness of mere words.

“I was all for starting a revolution and wiping out every State official, but then I met Marna. He calmed me down and talked some sense into my muddled head. Very likely saved my life as a result. His vision of what Stawl can be is very infectious, and I’ve been helping construct a little more of that vision every day.”

Dara nodded understanding. His words reinforced the image of Marna she had been acquiring. He was a good, steady leader, capable of inspiring hope and quelling destructive impulses. He didn’t seem to be one to make rash decisions; even his measured rate of speech conveyed the impression that every word had been carefully selected and each sentence considered before uttered.

“What about you,” Josh asked, interrupting her mental character assessment. His face had lost the tightness prompted by her question. “Why are you in Starfighter Command?”

“I suppose it’s all Rogue’s fault.” She quirked a smile.

“Rogue?”

“My commander. I was a freelance pilot, and saw Imperial atrocities on the worlds I visited. It took some time, but eventually I realized that I couldn’t stand by and let it happen anymore. I started by doing some smuggling work for the New Republic—gun running, getting supplies to rebel cells on Imperial-held worlds, that sort of thing. Then that wasn’t even enough, so I signed on with the military. I’ve always loved the X-wing, so it was natural for me to gravitate to Starfighter Command.”

“How is this Rogue’s fault?”

“I served my tour of duty in Starfighter Command under good, capable commanders. Six months before my time was up, I transferred to Commander Rogue’s squadron. We just... clicked. I could anticipate his orders before he issued them. He recognized my strengths and placed me in roles to maximize them. We work together very well and think on the same wavelength. We also have a knack of pulling each other out of sticky situations. And then there was Arneb IV.”

She paused, but Josh didn’t press. He had seen that look she had in her eyes before, in the eyes of other soldiers as they recalled battles and images of war flickered through their minds.

“Arneb was the worst: botched intel, equipment failure, short supplies, poor communication. We got hit hard, and not everyone walked away. Rogue, Jayem, Redding and I were all that was left from our squad. We formed a very tight friendship.

“After that, I couldn’t leave. I signed on for another tour of duty with Commander Rogue; I’ve still got eight months left on my contract, and I’ll probably sign on again.”

Josh smiled. “Then you, too, know something of loyalty.”

Dara took a deep breath and exhaled, letting the tension of the memories fade away, just as Josh had done. “Yes.”

“How does Todd feel about your current career?”

She grinned. “Sometimes I think that I’m safer in my cockpit than Todd is in his job. We’ve come to an agreement that it’s futile to worry. We take one day at a time and enjoy what we have.”

“A wise philosophy. Will he be notified of your death here?”

“I’m hoping to spring from the grave before he hears anything,” she said, almost cheerfully. “To that end, I’m going to go check on Redding’s progress.” She stood. “Care to join me?”

He rose and followed her out of the room.

* * *

Though the inactivity chafed, Dara felt that the day was productive. Redding and his new friends managed to patch into the communications between the New Rep and Diplomat Raven. That the conversations they heard were disappointing did not negate their progress. Dara and Josh spent most of the day together, trading stories and ideals. Marna joined them for a time, and they discussed the structure, the goals, and the methods of the Fringe. Dara appreciated the subtlety of Marna’s strategies, finding them on par with the Intel policies she knew of.

After the evening meal, Dara, Josh, Redding, and Marna gathered in a room to discuss possible exit strategies. It was well into the night before they retired to their respective rooms.

* * *

Five Days Ago

“The New Republic was very persistent,” Redding said. “They’ve already gotten the State to admit that they’re holding Raven. The State is desperately trying to maintain control of the talks by stalling as much as they can.”

Dara peered over the top of the blankets, blinking away the morning haze. It took her a moment to realize that the voice interrupting her sleep was neither a dream nor an alarm, but rather a human male standing in her doorway, carrying on a one-sided conversation as if nothing were amiss.

“Redding,” she said darkly, her tone cutting off his monologue. “I don’t recall inviting you in.”

“Oh.” Redding glanced around, as if noticing for the first time where he was. He grinned sheepishly. “I should have knocked, right?”

Dara mumbled something about slicers as Redding backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Dara emerged from her quarters a half hour later, showered and dressed in borrowed civilian clothes, looking decidedly more awake. She smacked Redding lightly upside the head as she passed where he sat on her way to the table where breakfast was laid out. He did not retaliate, only laughed.

Josh was there, scooping some sort of hot, mealy substance into a bowl. Dara declined that dish, instead helping herself to a variety of fruit and adding some toasted bread to her plate.

“Any news?” she asked as she pulled out a chair and sat next to Redding. Josh chose a seat directly across.

“Were you listening to anything I told you earlier?” Redding ducked away as he spoke, in case she decided another slap was in order.

“Yes,” she said, her voice only mock-reproachful now. “How long do we think negotiations will last?”

“Marna says five days on the outside, but no less than three. The State is frantically trying to regain the upper hand, so they’re dithering as much as they can and stalling every chance they get,” Josh said.

“Redding told me something of the sort, yes,” Dara replied. “Where is Marna?”

“He left this morning to see about bringing your friends here.”

Dara’s face lit up even as Redding groaned.

“And here I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” he complained.

It only took a glance to show Dara that he was teasing. His eyes were as excited as hers.

The next several hours were filled with agonizing waiting. Daramis paced the floors, glancing at her chrono every few minutes. Now and then, she would force herself to sit and be still, but that never lasted long. She wandered the house, going in and out of the room where Redding monitored the incredibly and increasingly dull exchange between the State official and the New Republic representative.

Shortly before noon someone pounded on the front door. Dara was two steps behind Josh and one step ahead of everyone else when he cautiously cracked the door open, then yanked it wide. The girl standing there looked barely out of her teens and scared out of her senses. Josh grasped her right arm and quickly drew her inside, slamming the bolt home when the door shut.

“Stella, what’s wrong?”

Her face was ashen, and she gripped Josh’s forearm so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Marna,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “They arrested Marna.”

A ripple of shock passed through the handful of onlookers, all craning their necks to see better.

“Tell us,” Josh prompted gently.

Stella finally focused on his face, and her voice grew a little steadier. “He met a patrol on the way across town, and they didn’t like the reason he gave for being out the day after a High Alert, so… they arrested him.”

Josh’s forehead knit in concentration as frightened murmuring broke out in the room. Redding and Dara exchanged worried glances. After a moment, Josh raised a hand and everyone quieted instantly.

“We’re leaving,” he said decisively. “Marna’s current ID is linked to this house, and we have to assume they’re coming. We clean it out and scatter according to plan. Let’s move!” He clapped his hands twice and everyone sprang into action with such certainty that Dara knew it wasn’t the first time they’d had to do this.

Josh, with Stella still clinging to his hand, turned to Dara and Redding. “You’ll come with me to a safe house on the outskirts of town. Hiding you will be a little more difficult because you don’t have proper ID papers and because of how well-known you are.”

“You don’t have any forgers in your group?” Dara asked, refusing to believe that they didn’t, not a group of the extent and with the resources of the Fringe.

Josh snorted. “Of course we do. But forging takes time, time we don’t have right now. We’ll take a covered speeder and pray we don’t get stopped by a patrol.”

Dara nodded and glanced toward the bustle of activity coming from the rest of the house. “How can we help?”

“Redding, I’m sure they would appreciate another hand at packing up the computers and hiding our tracks.”

Redding nearly saluted, stopped and lowered his hand somewhat awkwardly, merely nodding instead as he turned.

“Dara, I’d be grateful if you help me coordinate the packing of the speeders. There are three in the garage, and the loads need to be divided equally.

“Certainly.”

Josh murmured something in Stella’s ear. She nodded and headed into the kitchen. Josh turned back to Dara.

“This way,” he said, and she followed him down the hall.

* * *

(to be continued...)

Diplomatic Relations (pt 2)

2008-02-29T21:29:00.000-08:00

For a long moment, Dara didn’t trust herself to speak. When she did, her voice was as cold as Hoth, and it was Redding’s turn to send warning glances her direction. “Tell me you and yours didn’t do this.”

“We did not,” Marna said, completely unruffled.

“Now tell me why we should believe you,” was her flat reply.

“You wished an explanation. I am now prepared to give you one.”

Dara sat back, arms folded. “I’m listening.”

“The State is supreme,” Marna began. “It has always been so. They go to great lengths to ensure that it remains so.”

“Hang on. You expect us to believe that the State blew up the Hall?” Redding cut in.

“I expect you to hear us out,” Marna replied mildly, and Redding glared at him balefully. “I am sure you are well aware of the extreme precautions they take to enforce their absolute control: searches, monitored and limited communication, restricted assemblage, filtered and censored news networks, curfews, and the list goes on. They did not even know what these measures safeguarded against when they set them in place, except the possible threat that, someday, someone might challenge their authority. No one did, and yet the laws remain in force; in fact, they became worse. They began arresting citizens on even the suspicion of treason or sedition—even a casual joke would serve as evidence—and then the executions started.”

“Why haven’t we heard any of this?” Dara interjected.

Marna raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that the State would tell you or your diplomat? None of this is official, but it’s all true.”

“If it’s not official, why should we take your word that it happens? We have no way to verify.”

“It’s not official, but it is documented. Unfortunately, while we have the documents, we do not have the encryption keys. We were hoping you could take the information we will give you back to your New Republic so that they may better understand what kind of a society this is and why we are doing what we do.”

“Redding is an excellent slicer. If anyone can break the encryption, he can,” Dara said shortly. “But what do you mean, ‘what we do’? Who is ‘we,’ and what exactly are you doing?”

“We are the State’s worst nightmare come true.” The man next to Marna finally spoke. “We are the resistance movement they fear, but they don’t even know we exist.”

“So far as you know,” Redding said, and earned a malevolent glance for his trouble.

“We believe it’s time for a change—for the better. It’s time to be free, and we are not afraid to die for it.”

“You’re not doing a very good job convincing me that you didn’t blow the Hall of Roses.”

“The State has been doing its research, and it has learned of the New Republic’s roots. They have changed their minds about wanting to ally themselves with an organization steeped in a rebellious mindset,” Marna said.

“They didn’t dig far enough,” Redding muttered.

“In order to save face, they must have a reason for withdrawing their request. The simplest course they saw was to prove that such an alliance would cause great disruption on our world, and that the New Republic cannot even protect its ambassadors.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Dara protested.

“Completely. But it gives them the out they need without public embarrassment.”

“You mean to say that killed over two hundred of their own people…to save face?” she asked incredulously.

“You see why our movement is vital. We love our world, but the government is destroying it. We do not ask you to accept this on faith, of course. If your man is truly as good as you say, he should be able to access the proof you require.”

“What would you want from us, should this prove to be true?”

“Only to warn your government that the State has not been honest with them and that their flaws go deeper than deceit and paranoia.”

“That’s it?” Redding had a hard time keeping all the cynicism from his words. “You don’t want troops or weapons or an invasion?”

“Would you be able to give them should we ask?” Marna countered, and both Dara and Redding shook their heads. “We are looking for a complete change in our society on all levels, and it will take more than regime change to accomplish that. Our planet would resent it if you tried. We’re aiming for a slow, bloodless—insofar as it is possible—and lasting revolution. It will take time, but it is time we are willing to invest. We are not willing that the State call in other governments so that they will have more guns to play with.”

“I can respect that,” Dara said, and shuddered slightly at the thought that the State might turn next to the remnants of the Empire.

“So if we’re not prisoners,” Redding said, and Marna nodded confirmation, “when can we leave?”

“That’s the tricky part,” the guard said. “See, they blew up the Hall of Roses to kill you. They’re not gonna exactly be thrilled to see you walking around now. Your starfighters are probably already impounded, and I doubt your stuff will be at the hotel for another hour.”

“Can we get in touch with Diplomat Raven?”

“Not likely. They’ll have cut off her communications, pending an investigation of your deaths.”

Dara let her surprise show. “They’d treat a diplomat like that?”

Marna shrugged. “Paranoia is a way of life for them. They don’t know any other.”

“And we’re the only ones who made it out,” Redding said dully. “Dog and Jayem…”

Dara felt the cold touch of grief on her heart, which she abruptly suppressed. “…Made it out, too,” she said firmly.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“There were two very nervous men in black at the Hall, looking at their chronos and generally acting suspicious. I sent Dog and Jayem to follow them.”

“You think those men set the explosives?”

“I’m sure of it. Dog and Jayem are fine.”

“For now,” Redding said dourly. “How are we supposed to find them before our paranoid pals do?”

“They’re resourceful,” Dara assured him. “We’ll get out of this. All of us.”

“Our people will be looking for them,” Marna promised.

* * *

When the speeder finally stopped, Dog and Jayem eased their bikes into the shadows of an alley. They watched in silence as the two men in black got out, followed by two more men. All four walked swiftly into a building and the door shut behind them.

Jayem sighed heavily. “Great. Just great.”

“Now what?” Dog asked, leaning forward on the handles of his bike. “The Hall of Roses is gone, and the smart credits say that the two jokers we’ve been following had more than a little to do with it. I’m not keen on following them into that building. Dara and Redding are dead, and we have no comlinks and no way of knowing how to get back to the hotel or find Diplomat Raven.”

“Wait a minute,” Jayem said. “How do you know Dara and Redding are dead?”

Dog glanced at him sharply. “Did you somehow miss the gigantic explosion? Did you forget that Dara and Redding were inside the building that was inside the gigantic explosion?”

“You don’t absolutely know they were in there. Maybe there’s a secret underground movement who found out about the explosion and warned them to get out.”

“Or maybe there’s a secret underground that caused the explosion and didn’t care who was in there. Come on, Jayem. Be logical. There’s no way they made it out of that. We’re on our own.”

Jayem nodded silently and glanced away.

Dog slid off his bike. “Look,” he said, less harshly. “I wish they hadn’t been. I’d be more than happy to see them walk around the corner right now. But we don’t have time to mourn. We have to—”

A commotion by the building cut off his next words. Three men had come back outside and were arguing loudly. One of them was pointing to the ally where Dog and Jayem were.

“Sithspit,” Dog growled. “You want to fight or run?”

“If we fight these guys, we’ll have a better chance of finding out who murdered over two hundred people, and we can always split before reinforcements arrive.”

“You sound confident that we’ll win.”

“You’re not? You’re the combat expert. You tell me.”

Dog grinned. “Just checking.”

Jayem jumped off his bike, ditched his jacket, and joined Dog at the mouth of the alley. One of the men spotted them and shouted, then all three ran toward the pilots.

Jayem frowned. “What, no call for backup?”

“Don’t look like it, but don’t count on it.” Dog pulled off his jacket as well, slung it across the speeder bike, and dropped into a fighter’s crouch.

The three Stawlians never knew what hit them. Dog’s attack was precise and controlled, while Jayem made up in enthusiasm what he lacked in years of extensive training. The first Stawlian was overeager and couldn’t check his approach as he almost tackled Dog. Dog sidestepped and tossed the man over his hip, into the speeder bike. His head was no match for the metal of the bike, and he slid to the ground out cold.

The second swerved to avoid Dog, thinking that Jayem would be an easier target. The demolitions expert took a few hits, but held his own and floored the Stawlian with a devastating gut punch that left him doubled up, gasping, while his friend circled Dog warily. Dog taunted him, ducking in and out of reach, letting him land a few punches, then hammered him until he crumpled.

Jayem wiped blood from his cheek onto his sleeve, then knelt next to the first man and quickly searched his pockets. “Dog,” he said sharply. “We have to leave. Now.”

Dog turned away from the groaning Stawlian. “Why?”

Jayem tossed the ID card he had pulled from the man’s shirt pocket to Dog.

“Sithspit! These guys are State?”

“This one is. I’d bet that the others are, too.”

Dog verified that with a swift check of the other ID cards and put them all in his pocket.

“Do you realize what this means?” Jayem said angrily.

“Talk later, leave now.” Dog grabbed his jacket and climbed back on the speeder bike, and Jayem followed suit.

“Where are we going?” Jayem yelled above the roar of the engines.

“No idea,” Dog called. “Anywhere but here.”

* * *

Dara stretched and rubbed her eyes. “Did you get in, Redding?”

Marna had brought them to a safe house and given Redding access to a computer. Even though the security measures on the State files weren’t elaborate, they were numerous, and fighting through all of them took time. After about an hour, Dara had dozed off.

“Yeah. You should see this.”

Dara leaned forward and watched as Redding pulled up report after report of political executions, arrests, property seizures, and flimsy accusations of treason. “They weren’t exaggerating,” Daramis whispered. Every report was State authorized.

“None of them can be found in any official folders. This is black ops stuff. Look at this one. I had to do extra digging to find it.” He pointed to a form for massive amounts of explosives to be delivered to the Hall of Roses.

“Fun. Can you pull copies onto a datadisk?”

Redding tossed her two cards. “Already done, Major Mother.”

She grinned and pocketed the disks.

“You have made progress?” Marna asked from the door.

“Yes,” Dara replied, standing. “Redding’s confirmed what you told us, and I admire your decision to make a stand.”

Marna shrugged slightly. “It is our world. And we are not alone in our desire for change, I think.”

“I trust that you will show others that they are not helpless. Has there been any word of our friends?”

Marna shook his head sadly. “They have not been sighted. I will let you know if we hear anything.” He glanced at his chrono. “It is late. If you are finished, I can show you sleeping quarters.”

Dara looked to Redding, who nodded and switched off the console and stretched.

“Sounds good,” he said, and they followed Marna out of the room.

* * *

Jayem yawned and shut his eyes for a moment. It was just after local midnight, and he and Dog still did not know where they were or what to do. They had stopped at a small late night store to ask directions, and Jayem, being so much taller than the average Stawlian as to be conspicuous, had opted to stay with the speeders while Dog went inside.

Jayem opened eyes to find Dog handing him a cup of caf, which he accepted gratefully. “Which way do we go?”

“We don’t,” Dog said grimly. “The State has made some not-so-subtle implications that Raven had something to do with the explosion.”

“What?”

“They’re claiming she was jealous of us, or some such nonsense. Anyway, she’s under house arrest and the entire city is nervous and on edge, equally afraid of the State and of the New Republic’s reaction.”

“Great. The State destroys the Hall of Roses and shifts the blame. They could have easily gotten away with it if they had just stayed quiet, which leads me to assume that we were at least the secondary, if not primary, targets. It would explain why we were scheduled to appear earlier than any of their important people were.”

“It gets better. Curfew is at 0100, and they’ll arrest anyone on the streets after that. We’ve got half an hour to find a place to hole up.”

Jayem downed the caf. “Any ideas?”

Dog shrugged. “Not really. Do you have any money?”

“Only New Rep chits. That’d be a dead giveaway.”

“Doesn’t leave us with many options.”

“You could come with us.”

Dog jerked his head toward the voice, and Jayem spun around, both reaching for blasters they didn’t have. The woman leaning against the wall of a nearby building snickered.

“Definitely off-worlders,” she laughed. “So, you coming?”

“I don’t think so,” Dog replied.

“You don’t have a choice.” A vibroblade appeared in her hand, and the pilots noticed two men hanging a little further back who also had vibroblades.

“Yes, we do,” Dog said evenly, letting the vibroblade hidden in his uniform slide into his hand and tossing a second to Jayem.

Jayem did a double take as he plucked the blade out of the air and thumbed it on. He determined to ask later how Dog had managed to get them past the weapons scan at the State dinner.

The woman chuckled and shut her blade off. “You, I like. You’ve got nerve.”

Dog glared. “Who are you?”

“No need to be so hostile. My name’s Celeste. That’s my backup.” She jerked a thumb at the two men still lurking in the shadows. “Who are you?”

Dog and Jayem glanced at each other, then Jayem answered, “I’m Barada and he’s Tessek.”

She clicked her tongue sympathetically. “And here I was, thinking that you were Dog and Jayem from NRSC. But, since you’re not, I can’t help you.” She moved as if to leave.

Dog took two quick steps forward. “Wait. How do you know who we are?”

“Everyone on Stawl knows who you are. The welcome banquet was a State-approved broadcast, and you can be sure they wanted everyone to see when the Hall of Roses exploded. In fact, my money says that the guy in there,” she nodded to the store, “knew who you were as soon as he laid eyes on you. Whether or not he called his friends or the law is anyone’s guess, but you’re not safe on the streets.”

Her reference to the Hall of Roses did not escape the pilots’ attention. “And we’d be safer with you?” Dog asked dryly.

She shrugged. “We’re your best option.”

“We don’t even know who you are. And I don’t mean your name. I want to know what your interest is.”

She sighed and stepped close to Dog. Jayem had to move nearer to hear, her voice was pitched so low. “Have you ever heard of the Fringe?”

They shook their heads.

“How about the name Darx? Or Mayell?” When she received another negative response, she sighed. “Then you’ll just have to trust that we want to help you, which is more than the State can say.”

Jayem glanced at Dog. “Lesser of two evils, if nothing else,” he murmured.

“I’m touched,” Celeste said, rolling her eyes. “You coming or what?”

“We’ll follow,” Dog said. “If we decide we don’t like it, we’re leaving.”

“As you will.” Celeste motioned to her back up, and all three turned and climbed into a speeder that had emerged from its waiting place in an alley.

“Do you trust them?” Jayem asked as he mounted his bike.

Dog shook his head. “But what else is new?” He started the engine and roared after the speeder, Jayem close behind.

(to be continued...)

Diplomatic Relations (pt 1)

2008-02-12T21:42:00.000-08:00

{Inspired partially by Robin McKinley, partially by Aaron Allston, and partially by a conversation with Redding. Written from 3rd person omniscient, but it is, admittedly, a little Dara-centric. Can't imagine why.}

Someone rapped at Commander Rogue’s office door, startling him out of a light doze.

Exhaustion was catching up with him, and he had fallen asleep while going over some reports. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly for the past week, ever since the report from Stawl had appeared on his desk, bringing with it a heavy grief that Rogue had tried to bury in work.

Rubbing at his face with his palms, he looked around, trying to figure out what had wakened him. There was another knock, and Rogue sat up straight, grabbed the nearest report to hand, and tried to look engrossed in the detailed description of the damage suffered by standard troop transports when the fuel lines were not routinely flushed.

“Come in,” he called, eyes fastened on the report in a concentrated effort to look busy and not sleepy.

“They told us that you would have the forms for replacement dress uniforms, sir.”

Rogue froze, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, afraid that his mind was playing a horrible trick on him, he forced his gaze from the report to the door.

Four soldiers crowded there, bruised, wearing dirty, ripped dress uniforms and tired grins. Daramis, who had spoken, had her left arm propped on Redding’s shoulder as she saluted with her right. Dog and Jayem stood behind them, looking rather the worse for wear, but very much alive and in one piece.

Rogue was on his feet before he was conscious of moving, his mouth working soundlessly as he searched for words. Finally, he clasped his hands behind his back, met each gaze in turn, ending with Dara, and said in a strained, disbelieving voice, “Report.”

Dara took the first step, leaning heavily on Redding and favoring her right ankle, and then they were all in his office.

“Well, sir, it was like this.”

Nine days ago

“With all due respect, sir, I think this is a bad idea.”

“Completely off the record, Major, I agree with you. But this isn’t my decision, and there’s little chance the order will be rescinded.”

“I realize there is precedence,” Dara admitted, “but pilots do not make good diplomats. I thought that was made clear on Adumar.”

“Actually, public perception of that incident was far more positive than you may think. Though the Diplomatic Corps denounced the methods used, all the general populace can see is that General Antilles established a united government on a fractioned planet and led them into an alliance with the New Republic.” He held up a hand to forestall the comment he could see forming on her lips. “We both know that’s not precisely how it happened, but the message that our pilots can do more than vape TIEs was transmitted in the clear. Now other worlds want to meet examples of our famed Starfighter Command.”

“And I’ll bet the diplomats are having a fit.”

Rogue grinned. “You have no idea. I’ve already had an earful from the diplomat already groundside about ‘proper deportment,’ and ‘delicate negotiations,’ and ‘best behavior.’”

Dara couldn’t help but laugh. “I find it strangely comforting that he’s none too happy with it, either.”

“She. Her name’s Tania Raven, and she’s determined to make the best of it. You should see the schedule she’s got lined up for you.”

Dara groaned. “Do I at least get to know what I’m walking into?”

Rogue nodded and switched on a holoprojector. A small sphere appeared in the air and began to rotate slowly. “This is Stawl. Its government recently contacted the New Republic about joining, but they’re not completely convinced that we can offer them the protection they need.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Dara muttered. “We only overthrew an oppressive regime and sent the Imps scurrying off with their tails tucked.”

“Well, they’re not sure if they believe all that. I get the impression that the entire culture is a little paranoid.”

“Fun.”

“As far as economic potential, weapons production, valuable exports, military value, or trade routes are concerned, it’s a very unimportant planet, politically useless. The only thing of worth is the population of 1.2 billion sentients—human, mostly—and their worth fluctuates with who you’re speaking to.”

“Which is why we’ve been assigned instead of Rogue Squadron,” Dara supplied.

Her commander shrugged. “You could look at it that way, I suppose. In any case, Stawl has requested to meet some of the famed pilots of Starfighter command, and, whether as punishment, reward, or luck of the draw, our squadron was chosen.”

He turned off the holoprojector and leaned back in his chair. “So. You and three of your squadmates will fly to Stawl, spend a week shaking hands and telling exciting stories of New Republic victories, and then back you come, leaving Diplomatic Corps to handle all the messy details.”

“You make it sound almost like fun,” Dara winced. “Three squadmates? Who?”

Rogue grinned again. “This is the part you’ll love: Jayem, Redding, and Dog.”

Dara blinked. “I’m sorry, sir. Could you repeat that? I could’ve sworn you said Jayem, Redding, and Dog.”

Rogue only laughed, and he laughed harder when Dara buried her head in her hands.

“Please, tell me that you didn’t pick them,” she said.

“I plead not guilty. Their names—and yours, for that matter—were attached to the orders I received yesterday. Do you really think it’ll be that bad?”

Dara hesitated, searching for tactful words. “I don’t have a problem with any of them, and they’re all amazing pilots. I wouldn’t hesitate to walk into a firefight with any one of them at my back. But what you’ve described is seven straight days of parties, and, even for pilots, these guys are lousy diplomats. They’re going to hate every minute of it. Allison, Roberta, or even Tresk would be better choices.”

“You’re probably right, but there’s nothing I can do. Tresk has been borrowed to teach a flight sim class, Allison is on leave, and I need Yofin here. But even if I could spare them, I doubt we could get the orders changed, particularly at the last minute. I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll tell them right after lunch. Anything else you need to know?”

“You said the last minute? When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Eight Days Ago

“Quit griping and fly straight,” Daramis Mcejo told her small command. “You’re drifting out of formation.”

“Oh, come on, Dara, you know this mission is a joke,” Jayem’s voice said through her helmet’s speaker. “It can’t possibly matter.”

“What I think about it is irrelevant. It’s my job to keep you three goofs in line. Command will have our heads if we mess this up.”

“If they take my head, does that mean I won’t have to attend the state dinner tomorrow night?” Dog asked hopefully.

“No, and you’ll still have to do it in dress uniform. And if you forget to say please and thank you, I’ll have your head.” Dara couldn’t quite keep the smile from her voice.

“Yes, Mother,” Redding quipped.

“That’s Major Mother to you. Now hush up and concentrate on landing instead of crashing. The nice people are watching, and we want to make a good first impression.”

They set down without incident and were met by four people, whom Dara assumed to be the diplomat and her small entourage. Dara saluted as her three companions clustered at her back.

“Diplomat Tania Raven?” She directed the question to the woman who looked most likely to be in charge, and was met with an amused expression.

“No, Diplomat Raven is at her office, meeting with a Stawlian official. I am Liah, her chief aide.”

Taking this as a cue, Dara made and received formal introductions of her companions and Liah’s. The diplomat’s aides, even in their civilian dress, looked poised and professional, while Dara was all too aware of the uniforms fidgeting restlessly behind her.

“Diplomat Raven has suggested that I show you to your quarters. She will meet with you later this afternoon, before the welcome banquet, so that you may review your schedule together.”

“Sounds good. Should we get our luggage?”

Liah looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, but, as a safety procedure, the Stawlian spaceports to a thorough scan of all incoming ships to ensure that there are no illegal items on board.”

“Ah,” Dara said, understanding more why Rogue had said the entire culture was a little paranoid.

“Your luggage will be brought to your rooms as soon as it is cleared. Please, this way.”

They followed Liah out of the spaceport, the other aides trailing behind, and to a luxury speeder. Liah and the four pilots climbed inside, and the rest boarded a second speeder. As they started down the street, Dara looked out the window and noticed clumps of people—no more than eight or nine to a group—lining the road, roughly five meters separating each group. They cheered as the speeder passed and held up welcome signs. Dog and Redding were eating it up, waving back and grinned. Jayem sat with arms folded, looking bored. Dara turned to Liah, a question on the tip of her tongue.

Liah had anticipated it. “The State forbids gatherings of ten or more people, except State-sanctioned, State-guarded functions. They have a deep-seated fear of rebellions and uprisings. By the way, you should not refer to the New Republic as the Rebellion. We’ve been trying to present the image of the Emperor as a usurper, and our side trying to regain what he took.”

Dara had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. She suspected that this was only the first of many banned topics of conversation and wondered what possibly could have happened to make Stawl so fearful. She smiled and waved for the rest of the ride, wishing that the rest of their stay would be as simple.

They were taken to an upscale hotel in the middle of the capitol city, and Liah led them straight to their rooms.

“I trust you will be comfortable here. If there is anything you need, there is a direct line to the front desk, and they will assist you. If ordering food, I suggest you avoid the rinwam.” She smiled faintly. It’s a local rodent, boiled in very hot spices, and it tastes rather rubbery, though they do say it’s a delicacy. I’m afraid you won’t be able to use your comlinks while here. It’s considered very suspicious, and the channels are mostly jammed. The direct lines are the most efficient and available means of communication. If you need to speak with either me or Diplomat Raven, the front desk can connect you.”

“Are our rooms bugged?” Redding asked what Dara considered to be the next logical question.

“Normally, yes, they would be. But we have asked for and received special permission to remove all listening devices. A driver will be here in three hours to take you to meet with Diplomat Raven. She will brief you on your schedule and tell you a little more about the people you’ll be meeting.” She extended her hand to Daramis. “Your luggage should be here within the hour. I will see you at the banquet.”

Dara shook it, and they said their farewells. Then the four pilots disappeared into their respective rooms. Dara looked around at the spacious area, noting the balcony access, the oversized bed, the computer terminal, and the ornate furnishings. Counting on being woken up by the return of her luggage, she fell backwards onto the bed, sank down a good five centimeters, and closed her eyes.

Half an hour later, there was someone pounding on her door. With some effort, she tumbled off her bed and opened the door, expecting to find someone with her bag. Instead, Dog, Jayem, and Redding greeted her with “We’re bored,” and walked into her room.

“What, you guys can’t keep yourselves entertained for one hour?”

“There’s nothing good on the Holonet,” Jayem complained. “Everything is State sponsored, State approved, or State censored.”

“And so you felt that you had to come bug me?” They all grinned, and Dara sighed. “All right. What’s your impression of Stawl so far?”

“Nice, but weird,” Dog said, playing with his vibroblade. “I think they’re taking their security measures too far and too seriously.”

Redding, who stood by the door to the balcony, looking at the city, added, “And apparently for no reason. I don’t think they’ve had a civil uprising in decades.”

“How do you know that? Dara asked.

“I went down to the lobby, talked to a couple people. Don’t worry, I was very discrete,” he assured her.” Anyway, most of their security isn’t very good, either. I could walk through the security firewalls in their computers, no problem.”

“Good to know. Jayem?”

Jayem shrugged. “They’re paranoid. Over the top paranoid. I’ll be very surprised if Raven can talk them past their fears enough to sign on, our presence regardless.”

Dara nodded. “Well, be prepared to soothe those fears and tell stories of New Republic military might, but be careful what you say and ask.”

“Yes, Major Mother,” Jayem smirked.

Dara threw a heavily embroidered pillow at him.

* * *

“Major Mcejo, I’d like to make one point exceedingly clear. You and your men are not diplomats. You are pilots; you are heroes; you are symbols of the protection we can offer Stawl; but you are not, repeat not diplomats. You will not make promises, give amnesty, or endorse viewpoints, and you will refer all such requests to me and my staff. Is that understood?”

Desperately trying to hide a smile, Dara nodded sagely. “Perfectly, ma’am.” She had already decided that she liked this woman.

Tania Raven glanced at her sharply, but didn’t press the issue. She looked at the three men over the top of her glasses and frowned. “Not quite what I had hoped for,” she said in the same blunt fashion that the pilots had come to realize was normal, “but you’ll have to do. This isn’t Adumar, and the people aren’t pilot crazy, but you’ll have your share of admirers. Try not to let it go to your head. I expect all of you to behave with the dignity and decorum as befits decorated pilots of the New Republic Starfighter Command.”

Something in her tone made all four sit up a little straighter, or perhaps it was the gleam in her eye that said she knew what they were capable of and would expect their best. Whatever it was, Dara understood a little better why she was a diplomat despite her blunt speech.

“Now. There will be the welcome banquet in two hours. You brought your dress uniforms, I trust? Tomorrow, there is the official State dinner. There will also be dancing, but Stawl has some curious notions about what dancing is, so I’ve already made your excuses.”

Tania Raven went on to detail an exhausting week of parties, dinners, appearances, and meetings with dignitaries. For the most part, the four pilots would be appearing as a group, but there were a few overlapping events that Raven said they would split up to cover. Just before they felt completely overwhelmed, Raven set down her datapad and peered over her glasses at them.

“Are there any questions?”

Dog raised his finger. “What kind of political factions will we be hearing from?”

“Excellent question. There is only one political voice heard on Stawl: the State. Leadership is an interesting mix of succession and democracy. Authority is passed down through families—gender doesn’t seem to matter—but the people have a right to vote a family out of power, a right they’ve exercised four times in the last four hundred years.”

“You said the State is the only voice heard,” Jayem said. “Are there other voices?”

“Yes. Because of the insane paranoia this world maintains, it’s been almost impossible to discover anything about them, however. We’ve identified a strong leaning toward absolute monarchy, and also faint whispers of a revolutionary force that would like to see the State abolished altogether and a people’s republic set up in its place. These are only whispers, and I would strongly advise against mentioning them or fishing for more information. We have Intelligence operatives for that sort of work.” Diplomat Raven gazed sternly at them, then said briskly, “Any more questions? No? Then I will see you in precisely two hours.”

* * *

“I could get used to this,” Dog said, leaning against a pillar, holding a plate of food.

The welcome banquet was finally starting to wind down, after two hours of speeches and applause and even a song in honor of the NR pilots. They were embraced as celebrities and lauded as heroes.

Jayem rolled his eyes. “Don’t. We’re only here for a week, and, even if we were to stick around, they’d get tired of us.”

“Don’t you have something to blow up, Demolitions?” Dog scowled.

Jayem shot him a withering glare. “Have you seen Dara?”

“I think she was with Diplomat Raven,” Redding interjected, “talking with some Stawlian high muckety-muck or other. That way.” He jerked his head toward an adjoining room.

Jayem nodded his thanks and wandered off.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” Redding told Dog. “Do you want anything?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Redding turned, heading to the drink table, and collided a beautiful Stawlian girl who lost her balance and crashed to the ground. Redding flushed and stammered an apology as he helped her to her feet. But when she assured him that she was fine, Redding smiled charmingly and asked her name.

She blushed prettily and whispered, “Stella,” before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Redding glanced over to find Dog laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“That’s probably the only time you’ll ever knock a girl off her feet,” Dog snickered.

Redding gave a longsuffering sigh. “Get your own drink,” he said, and walked away.

Seven days ago

The State dinner was to be a massive affair, held in the Hall of Roses, with over three hundred members of the government, both minor and important, crowding in to see the New Republic visitors. Over half had already arrived, and they milled about in a spacious room, waiting for the signal to go into dinner. Some of them were clustered in the middle of the room, participating in what Dara could only assume was their form of dancing. Groups of three and four faced each other, heads bobbing to a beat hidden within the music, but not in any discernible pattern. Every so often, someone would clap twice, or spin in a circle, but Dara could see no rhyme or reason to it at all. She finally gave up and turned her attention to the guests who were not dancing.

According to Liah, nobody truly important would arrive until just before dinner. This included Diplomat Raven and the Head of State, as well as the more influential members of the governmental departments. Dara was assured, however, that her presence and that of her companions so early was in no way a slight. The explanation for the breach in protocol didn’t make much sense, but she and the others didn’t much care.

“I don’t see any roses,” Jayem murmured in Dara’s ear.

“Maybe they’re out of season.”

“Funny. I’m bored. Can we go home now?”

“You’re always bored, and, no, we can’t.” Dara turned to yet another Stawlian official and greeted him warmly. Though her companions complained constantly, Dara had to admit that they were presenting a good image to the people. Even Diplomat Raven had nodded her approval at the welcome banquet the night before.

Dara stepped back from the press of people around her and surveyed the crowd. The Stawlians favored bright colors—the room looked like a vibrant rainbow—and perhaps that was why the two men across the room, wearing black, caught Dara’s eye. She watched them for a moment as they held a furtive conference, then one started to slink away, keeping close to the wall, while the other looked agitatedly at his wrist chrono every few seconds.

Dara touched Jayem’s arm and he detached himself from a conversation immediately. “What’s up?”

“Two men in black against the far wall,” she said quietly, and he nodded when he spotted them. “Take Dog and follow them.”

Jayem’s eyebrows shot up. “Is Stawl’s paranoia rubbing off on you, Dara?”

She glowered at him. “Very funny. Call it a hunch, and you said you were bored anyway. Just do it, please.”

He shrugged, looked at the men again, and nodded. Then he caught Dog’s eye and they both began moving through the crowd.

Redding, a few steps away, glanced at Dara. “What was that all about?”

She shook her head. “Later,” she murmured, and greeted another smiling official.

Eight minutes later, she was confronted by a more sober face. The man who belonged to the face was grim and didn’t look comfortable in his formal attire.

“Major Mcejo, my name is Robert Marna. I was hoping I might have a few words in private with you. I need your help.”

Dara frowned, wondering what agenda he would try to push. “You understand that I have no diplomatic capacity here and will likely be unable to assist you,” she warned.

“It is precisely because you are not the diplomat that I feel you can help me. Please.”

She hesitated. “All right, but anything you have to say can be said to my companions as well.” She nodded to Redding, and he moved closer.

“As you will.” Marna offered a shallow bow.

Dara glanced at Redding, and they followed Marna out a side door and down a hallway. When they reached an emergency exit, Dara’s unease had grown to where she wished for the sidearm she’d had to leave at the door. Before Marna opened the door, Dara held up a hand.

“There’s no one around. We can talk here.”

Marna shook his head. “Please, if you’ll just step outside, you’ll understand.” He pushed the door open, and no alarm sounded.

Dara and Redding followed him through the door, blinking at the glare from the setting sun. Dara raised a hand to shield her eyes as the door closed behind them, and saw a speeder pull up too close for comfort. The door opened and three men carrying blaster rifles jumped out.

Dara’s fists clenched, and she hear Redding swear behind her. She turned to Marna. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“I do apologize, but it is necessary. If you will come with us, I will explain everything.”

She glared. “An explanation would be nice, yes,” she said sarcastically, and climbed in the speeder because she knew she had no choice. Redding slid into the seat next to her, Marna and a guard sat opposite, and the other two men climbed in front.

“Quickly, please,” Marna called, and the speeder shot forward at an alarming rate.

“You promised an explanation?” Dara said, her voice low and threatening.

Marna folded his hands in his lap placidly. “And I will give one.” But he didn’t say anything more.

Redding started to speak, but Dara laid a cautioning hand on his arm, and he fell silent. They waited quietly for ten seconds. Then, with a terrific noise, the Hall of Roses exploded.

* * *

“Why are we doing this?” Dog hissed.

“Because Major Mother said to,” Jayem hissed back. He poked his head around the corner. “They’re leaving the building. What should we do?”

Dog shrugged. “Follow them.”

Jayem watched the door shut and counted to ten before pursuing. They stepped outside just in time to see the men jump into a waiting transport and speed off.

“There,” Dog called, pointing to two speeder bikes.

“You think stealing speeders will enhance our diplomatic relations?” Jayem protested.

Dog shrugged again and hotwired the first speeder. “Don’t you remember? We are not, repeat, not diplomats.”

“Point.” Jayem started the second, and they were headed down the road moments before the transport turned a corner.

They had been ten minutes in pursuit when they heard the explosion.

* * *

Commander Rogue looked up impatiently from his desk. “Can it wait?” he asked his executive officer, a trace of annoyance creeping into his tone. “I’m swamped.”

Yofin’s face was pale, and her voice trembled ever so slightly. “I think you’ll want to read this yourself, sir.”

Understanding now that it was no mere status report or inventory list, Rogue accepted the datapad and scanned it.

“No survivors?” he asked around the knot in his throat, though the datapad had told him as much.

“No, sir.”

There was a long pause; then, “Thank you, Yofin. I’ll tell the others.”

She nodded and slipped out, leaving Rogue staring into the empty space between his desk and the door.

* * *

(to be continued...)

Elora: Part 2

2008-01-29T22:26:00.000-08:00

She followed him out of the hut into the relentless drizzle, quite sure that she wouldn’t care if Kanar really did have an apoplexy.

Valin glanced back at Elora every few steps, and the worry in his eyes caused little knots of tension to tighten in her neck. Valin often fretted over her, but rarely did he look frightened. Elora forced herself not to think about it, having learned from experience that anticipating punishments was often worse than the punishment itself.

The last time, nearly two months earlier, she had hidden herself in the wagon caravan of cloth traders. Tucked behind bales of wool as the sun crawled across the sky, she had remained undetected until they had almost reached the base of the mountains. Then the slave catchers had caught up with them, and she had been hauled back to face Kanar’s fury. Valin had feared for her life then, and had insisted on her promise not to attempt again.

Elora found her gaze being dragged to the dirt as she drew closer to the main house. It wasn’t until she caught sight of Deliah out of the corner of her eye, smirking triumphantly, that Elora snapped her head up. She caught and held Deliah’s gaze, staring at the older girl with a ferocious intensity. Deliah looked away after a moment and half-ducked her head. Then they were at the main house and being hustled through the door by Kanar’s hired muscle. Valin was shoved aside and two burly men grabbed Elora’s arms, roughly hauling her forward to Kanar.

The master of the house sat in the giant, overstuffed chair in front of a roaring fire, a mug full of ale at his elbow. The pitcher next to it was more than half empty, and Elora knew that he was well on his way to being mean drunk. The first tendril of fear touched the inside of her ribs and trickled into her belly. She clenched her jaw and forced her head up, even though she knew a show of petulance could assuage Kanar’s anger slightly.

Kanar looked up and saw them coming. He heaved himself out of his chair, almost lost his balance, grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, and took a step forward. He had an imposing bulk, and a surprising amount was indeed muscle. His pockmarked face was scrunched into a perpetual frown, and his hair was just starting to grey. He didn’t need the walking stick leaning against his chair for balance, but the end was weighted with lead, and more than one slave had felt its bite.

The two men shoved Elora forward as Kanar sneered.

“Didn’t think even you would be fool enough to try running off again, but I guess slaves is too dumb to learn. You gotta beat the lesson into ‘em.”

“I wasn’t—“

Kanar moved toward her menacingly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You wasn’t thinking of contradicting me, was you?”

Elora swallowed hard. “I wasn’t running off,” she persisted, refusing to show her fear.

“I suppose you expect me to believe you went on a leisurely stroll in a thunderstorm,” he laughed.

That was closer to the truth, but she knew he wouldn’t believe it. “Someone told me one of the sheep was missing. I went to look for it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?” he demanded, his rage now divided between her disappearance and the thought that careless slaves had misplaced his livestock.

She opened her mouth to answer that she did not remember, but Dake stepped into view before the words formed.

“I did. One of the shepherds—I do not know his name—confided in me that he was afraid that one of his flock had gone missing. I volunteered to search, and Elora offered to help.”

Elora glared at Dake, wanting to tell him that she did not need his protection, but the prospect of avoiding punishment was enough to still her tongue.

“But she was seen leaving alone,” Kanar scowled.

“I stayed behind to ask the best direction to look and caught up with her not five minutes later.”

Kanar eyed first Dake suspiciously, then Elora. “Did you find the missing sheep?” he asked her directly.

Hoping that the shepherd slaves would not denounce her story, she replied, ‘Upon returning, we discovered that a recount had been made and no animals were missing after all.”

“Hmm.” Kanar appeared to be considering her answer.

Having not been struck yet gave Elora a bit of hope, and she felt relief creep onto her face. That was her mistake.

Kanar’s brow furrowed and he glared at her. “Makes no difference. You left the grounds without my permission. You got no respect for your betters. You interrupted and contradicted your master, and, girl, you’re too gods-cursed arrogant.”

Her gut clenched, and her instincts screamed at her to run. Kanar took another step forward, bringing his face within two handspans of her own. He thrust his jaw forward.

“Get on your knees,” he growled.

“No.” The defiant word came out as little more than a whisper, but she might as well have screamed it from the rooftops.

Kanar’s meaty fist drove in hard and fast, burrowing into her belly, driving the breath from her lungs. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, heaving and gasping. Her body went numb, then exploded into agony.

Kanar stepped back. “Have fun, boys,” he said to the two men, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

The last thing Elora heard as they dragged her from the room was Kanar’s voice.

“Dake! I want words with you about interfering with my discipline!”

“Well, that could have been worse,” Valin said.

Hunched over, Elora managed a small snort. She would have laughed, but it hurt too much.

Valin, who was the closest to a healer Kanar’s manor had, applied salve to the last of the rope welts on Elora’s back, then moved in front of her, grasping her chin between his thumb and first finger and tilting her face up. She did not want to meet his eyes, and studied his face instead. The grey hair and wrinkles made him look older than he really was, and Elora was certain she had given him more than her fair share of both. It was the same narrow, weather-hardened face that had met her eight years ago on her first day as Kanar’s slave, her third master, when she hated all men and avoided the women.

If Kanar had been hoping for someone to warm his bed when he bought Elora, he had been disappointed. She proved to be too stubborn and troublesome to be fit for any service in the main house. Kanar did his best to beat it out of her, but with very little success. In frustration, he gave her supervision to Valin and told him to make her useful.

Valin was a shepherd, and he had collected her one morning and herded her out to the meadows with his flock. Elora had sat sullenly on a rock the whole day while Valin largely ignored her. They did this for nearly a week, neither man nor girl speaking a word to the other, until the day a wild dog decided that mutton would make a good meal.

Elora screamed when she saw the dog’s huge jaws clamp down on a lamb who had wandered just a little too far from the others. Valin was there in a heartbeat, the only weapon slaves were allowed to carry already whistling around his head in a blur. He loosed the stone, and it struck the beast in the ribs. The impact made the dog drop his prey, snarling and crouching to attack. But another stone was already in the sling, then flying through the air. It slammed into the dog’s left eye, and the dog crumpled.

With a cry, Elora ran forward, the sight of the lamb’s blood drawing tears down her face. She gathered the creature in her arms and cradled it gently. Valin knelt next to her, his tender hands anointing the lamb’s wounds and binding them. Elora could only watch in amazement as the lamb nuzzled Valin’s hand, then bounded out of Elora’s arms to find its mother.

At the end of the day, Elora had walked hesitantly over to Valin. “Will you teach me to do what you did?” she asked softly.

Valin swiftly covered his surprise at hearing her speak. “Killing the dog or healing the sheep?”

“Both.”

“Certainly. We’ll start tomorrow.” And then he rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch as kind as it had been with the frightened lamb.

Elora had to smile at the memory. Valin frowned slightly at her, his gentle fingers dabbing salve on the bruises on her face as she peered up at him out of a blackened eye. She met his gaze finally, searching his green eyes for some hint at his thoughts. Finally, he leaned back and put the lid on the salve pot.

“A missing sheep?” he said softly.

She shrugged and averted her eyes, suddenly very interested in the dirt floor.

“You’re lucky the other shepherds didn’t cry false. If Kanar’s anger had fallen anywhere but on you, you would have found yourself shunned.”

“What care I?” she asked, shrugging again uneasily. “They all hate me anyway. I don’t need them.”

“Not all hate you, ‘Lora. And, independent or no, next time come up with a story that won’t cause innocents to be blamed. By rights, the shepherd who had lost the sheep should have been out with you. To do otherwise would have been shirking his duty, an offense that would earn a far worse punishment than you took.”

Chastised, Elora ducked her head to hide her flushed cheeks and mumbled something that might have been an apology.

The moons followed their cycles, and Elora did her best to stay beneath Kanar’s notice. The spring storms that followed found her in the corner of the main hall, head bent deliberately over her mending, or sometimes in conversation with Dake when he came around.

Dake owned a few acres of land a league away, and he visited frequently, particularly when the weather prevented him from working his land. He was fond of Elora in a way that she found disconcerting, but he never made himself a nuisance. He had an innate ability to know when she tired of him. Elora would have been the first to admit that she did not dislike him, but he felt that he as indebted to Kanar, and that did not make for pleasant conversations.

When Dake had first moved to the valley and was making a start, Kanar lent him some money and the use of a small plot of land. What Dake did not know was that the land had been pronounced barren; Kanar expected Dake to fail and be unable to pay his debt, leaving him at the tender mercy of Kanar, who would have used this hold to press him into an indentured servitude.

Against all odds, Dake produced a crop the first year, paying enough of his debt to hold Kanar off for a while. During the next year, Dake created irrigation trenches to his fields from the river that flowed down the exact center of the valley, offering the parched ground the moisture it had previously been denied. His crops flourished, and he was able to pay his debt and for the use of the land. Kanar was furious and decided at the end of the third year to demand that he purchase the land or leave. He did not anticipate Dake’s acceptance of his offer, and he received ample payment for the ground he had never planned to use again.

Dake never knew of Kanar’s intentions, and Kanar’s people were forbidden to speak of it. The fear of the consequences did not keep Elora silent—another beating meant little to her—but she could see no real reason to tell Dake the truth. There was nothing he could do about it and all it would gain, if he chose to believe her, was one more person who hated Kanar. The valley was full of those already.

But Dake felt he still owed something to Kanar for helping him get started, and Elora found it difficult to talk with a man who sang her master’s praises. So they talked of the weather, and of the sheep, but never of freedom, or of choices. Whenever Kanar noticed their discussions, he would loudly call for Dake to stop dallying with the slaves and come talk with the men. Elora would grit her teeth and Dake would give her a sheepish glance as he joined Kanar and his hunters.

As the weeks crawled by, Kanar seemed to have forgotten his anger with Elora. It was coming on the spring festival when Kanar decided that it was time Elora showed a little responsibility. Whether that was his true motive, or whether he wanted to deprive her of the enjoyment of the festival, Elora did not care. She had been ordered to take the sheep to Trallin’s Meadow for three days and return, coincidentally, the day after the festival, and she intended to enjoy her solitude.

She did, however, assume that Kanar would have her watched for an escape attempt. Elora was not so naïve as to think that he had forgotten that she was the most troublesome of all his slaves, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of proving him right by running away. If she tried, she knew she would be dragged back to Kanar and only the gods knew what punishments he was anxious to try. She could wait a little longer, win more trust.

She left just after dawn, but not so early as to offend the gods, bidding goodbye only to Valin. The sheep followed her willingly and many nuzzled her bare calves. She began to play her wooden flute, and the crisp notes carried through the late spring air, drifting on the gentle breeze that rustled leaves as she passed by. The meadows she walked through were lush green, dotted with wildflowers. An occasional clump of heather or a fern would attract a particular sheep’s attention and it would stop to nibble. The sky was blue, and a few cotton puffs floated lazily across, blocking the sun’s direct glare from time to time.

As the day progressed, Elora slowed her pace, stopping under the occasional shade of trees and drinking whenever water presented itself. The air grew warm and thick. She threw her cape over her shoulders, reveling in the feeling of the slight breeze against her arms. The flute disappeared into her satchel, and the few birds inhabiting the meadows retreated into the shaded sanctuary of the tree branches as the breeze died. The stillness became nearly unbearable. She briefly considered playing her flute again, but decided to conserve her breath for walking.

Evening descended quickly, and the heat decreased to a tolerable level. The flock tired, and Elora began to look for a campsite. It took time to find a suitable area, and when she finally found one, only an hour of sun remained. There was a stream flowing nearby, and the sheep made directly for it, drinking greedily. She built a fire, even though the air was still hot. The flames would keep predators away while they slept. Then she created a crude pen out of loose rocks to keep the lambs close. Young sheep tended to wander, and too often shepherds found only carcasses come morning.

As darkness enveloped the land, the sheep began to settle for the night, white mounds against the green grass. The stars appeared, one by one, pinpricks of light pressed against the black velvet sky, their light nearly overshadowed by that of the Moon Sisters. Elora retrieved her flute and placed it to her lips. It was the best way to calm the sheep. The song that emerged was a slow refrain Valin had taught her many years ago.

It was a quiet, haunting melody that captivated listeners and focused their attention, causing them to ignore everything around them. It had been said that thieves would partner with minstrels and use the tune to rob folk, but Elora didn’t give that rumor much credit. She only knew it soothed the flock and steadied her nerves.

As the notes drifted through the heady night, she found her thoughts wandering. The meadow, the flock, the hard stone she sat on, all seemed to disappear into the distance. Her mind soared as it often did to heights of thought beyond the reach of reality—thoughts of freedom.

Slavery chafed Elora. She could still remember the rides with her father, galloping across the country on important Courier business. The thought of her father stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, searching for another memory.

She remembered the last time that she had been to Trallin’s Meadow, traveling with Valin. They had grown close, close enough that Elora had finally asked him what she thought about constantly.

“Valin? Do you ever think about freedom?”

Valin had shot Elora a quizzical look. Though he knew they were far from any of Kanar’s spies—a day and a half’s walk—he had to fight the urge to hush her.

“I don’t understand, ‘Lora,” he half-smiled. “What do you mean, do I ever think about freedom? I am free.”

Elora glanced at him sharply, sitting a little straighter. That was not the answer she had been expecting. “How can you say you’re free,” she demanded, “when Kanar dictates every move you make?”

“You and I have very different ideas of freedom, then, little one. When you are older, and wiser, you will understand that freedom is more than being able to do whatever you want. There is a deeper freedom, a freedom of the mind, which no one can ever take from you. I have the freedom to think what I will, to express myself as I will.”

“And if Kanar doesn’t like the thoughts you choose to express?”

Valin stared at her for a moment, startled by the directness of the question, then glanced around uneasily. “Kanar cannot be everywhere at once,” he said softly.

Not entirely satisfied with his answer, but knowing he wouldn’t be pressed into saying anything more, Elora had nodded, then jumped up and went to wander among the sheep.

Valin studied her thoughtfully, noting the care with which she handled her charges, and also the way she would look toward the mountains every so often. He had been born to slavery, the son of slaves. It was the only life he had ever known. He was well aware that Elora’s background was not similar, but how much she remembered of her life before, she had never told him, and he had never asked. Valin knew it was hard for her, that she still had not adjusted, but he did not know what to do for her. So he taught her, he advised her, and he tried to keep her out of trouble. She no longer spat at the mention of Kanar, and Valin assumed he was making progress, though he also thought that Elora was merely humoring him.

The flute had fallen away from her lips and the flock was growing restless. She raised it again and played another slow song that could loop around and be repeated without stopping. There were lovely words to it as well, but she couldn’t play and sing at the same time. After a few repetitions, the sheep were sleeping soundly. She kept playing, merely so she wouldn’t have to listen to the unbearable silence. The notes switched to a lively ballad about a warrior across the mountains. She had memorized both the music and the words when she was very young—results of a severe case of hero-worship.

She entertained herself until the dual moons were high in the sky. By rough estimation, she figured it to be nearly midnight. She was exhausted by the long walk, yet in no hurry to sleep. Elora slid off the rock and lay flat on her back in the grass, hair splayed about her head, flute discarded, gazing up at the stars. A cricket chirped somewhere next to her ear and she smiled. At least she was not alone in her dislike of quiet.

Hey, Look! More Free Verse!

2008-01-09T18:24:00.000-08:00

{*Shrugs* Sorry. ;o)}

"Calling Her Name"

You call her name
And the sound echoes around you
Filling your ears and emptying your heart
Gut wrenching silence responds
Not a word speaks volumes
Though her name could fill a library
When she would respond
And rush eagerly to your side
Eyes turned up to yours
Glowing with unashamed adoration
Then you were blinded
And now she's gone
Leaving you lost and alone
Wondering what slipped through your fingers
Like a handful of brightly colored sand
Desperately wanting to change your history
You call her name
The stars capture the sound
And send it back, unanswered
As the moon shines down sympathy
In the hours before the unforgiving sun rises
To beat harsh reality down on you
Illuminating her absence
Taunting you with her shadow
That is cast by something less than substantial
Fleeting glimpses of memory long forgotten
The brush of her hand
The softness of her hair lifted by the wind
Playing havoc with your heart
Hazy mists solid beneath your touch
Phantoms and specters haunt your reality
Eyes forced shut by the pain
Of seeing what is no longer there
Her name twines about your presence
Threading and weaving into the fabric of your mind
Ripped apart by the grief and loss
That has dogged your every step
Since something precious slipped from your grasp
And shattered at your feet
And now she no longer responds
When you call her name

The Last Pages

2008-01-09T18:15:00.001-08:00

{of a story I'll never write. How sad is that?}

I lay back against the pillows with a contented sigh. The sunlight had finally broken through the clouds that had covered the land for six long months, warming everyone and everything it touched. Young men and women gasped with delight and scattered to the few patches where the rays gleamed on the ground. I heard a bird singing in the tree branches above my head, the first bird in a long, long time. I smiled.
The village Healer knelt beside my litter and began to change the bandages around my head. When the wound was exposed to the air—crisp and cool, like the beginning of spring—he reached for new cloths. I placed my hand on his.
“No. It will do no good. I want to feel the breeze.”
He looked at me in silence for a long time, struggling between his duty and the truth. He knew I was right. After several long minutes, the Healer gathered his medicines back into his basket and stepped away. I nodded my thanks.
The youths returned from the splotches of sunlight and clustered around me once more. I gazed into their faces, reading their expressions. They all wore a mask of hope, with underlying tones of despair. They knew what would happen as well as I. But I could find no animosity, nor hatred, nor the fear I had come to expect from people over the last few months, and that was a blessed relief. They were all familiar faces, faces I had grown up with, faces I knew. It seemed ages since I had seen them last, instead of the scant year.
Throughout the clearing, the soft chant of many women’s voices replaced the silence. A farewell to a departing hero. A funeral cry. I looked around at them, pityingly. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t understand.
I was only seventeen and had already traveled farther, seen more, done more, and heard more than they could ever hope to during their entire lives combined. What I had experienced could never be matched, and I feared I would spend my whole life trying to. I had not reached womanhood, yet had already become the stuff of legends. I had led great armies, vanquished nearly insurmountable foes, seen and held the world’s most coveted treasures, and rid the land of the Dark Shadow.
No. It was better this way.
The chanting grew louder.
One young man pushed his way through the crowd. My betrothed. My promised, before the Terror had come and I drawn into the midst of it. He was kneeling at my side a moment later.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my strength ebbing fast.
“There is no reason to be,” he said, and gently kissed me, then slipped his arm under my head.
I smiled and touched his hand. Since the Terror had faded, I smiled more. The breeze grew stronger. The chanting reached its peak.
As the last of the clouds dissipated and the sun’s rays caressed my face, my eyes closed, and my soul was caught away on the swirling wind.

End

Elora: Part 1

2007-12-12T12:09:00.001-08:00

Elora stood atop the cliff, overlooking the fertile valley she had been made to call home. Dark grey clouds swarmed and roiled overhead, gathering in a thick blanket, completely shrouding the rays from the twin moons. Their angry hues matched the color of Elora’s eyes, eyes that flicked back and forth across the landscape before her, noting the absence of livestock and their keepers. Everyone else had wisely sought shelter from the early spring storm that promised to be vicious. Already the wind tugged more than playfully at Elora’s skirt and took mischievous pleasure in tangling her blond hair. She shivered, folding her arms tightly against the chill as the wind bit into her skin.

Elora enjoyed standing amongst the rocks, surveying the valley below. She took comfort from the sheer force of the storm wrapping around her, letting her fury blend into that of the elements. She would scream out her frustration, and the roar of the wind would snatch the words away and scatter them.

The first rain began to fall, at first nothing more than a light mist. Then the drops grew larger and the wind caught them, turning them into a driving force that pelted everything in its path and stung Elora’s uplifted face. She wore a reckless grin as lightning illuminated the valley for a heartbeat. Eight beats later, thunder exploded from the sky, hitting the rock face of the cliff and careening off the hills, building in intensity before melting into the sound of the rain.

Elora squinted against the blinding rain that now fell in sheets around her, obscuring her vision and drenching her clothes. Lightning flared again, followed more closely by the roar of thunder, but not so close as to cause Elora alarm. She threw her arms to the sky, reveling in nature’s rage that mirrored her tumultuous emotions.

“I will be free, Kanar!” She hurled the ultimatum towards the heavens, not caring that the gale ripped the words from her mouth no sooner than they were uttered. “Mark this well! I will be free!”

Though she screamed, her voice was dwarfed by the sound of wind, rain, and thunder. Gradually, she calmed, lowering her arms and ceasing to fling curses at her master. She took a step back from the edge of the cliff, brushing aside the wet hair that hung in her face.

“—lor—“

Elora glanced around, not sure if she had imagined the snip of sound the wind carried to her ears.

“—ra!”

The sound was more distinct but the gale was greedy, keeping most of the word for itself. Her heart beat faster as she envisioned Kanar coming to drag her back. That image was quickly laughed away: Kanar would never venture out in this weather after a mere slave himself, no matter the intensity of his rage

“Elora!”

That she was sure she had not imagined. She turned slightly, searching unobtrusively for the owner of the voice.

“Elora!”

She could barely discern a figure, hunched against the sheets of rain, making steady progress up the path to Elora’s vantage point.

She sighed, vexed. She had told no one where she was going, and she was sure no one had followed her. She waited, not making a move to greet the intruder, or even let him know she was aware of his presence.

“Elora.”

A hand rested on her shoulder at the same moment he said her name in her ear. She stood motionless for a moment, then turned her head slowly. She had known it would be Dake, even before she heard his voice. He was the only one—with the possible exception of Valin—who could have guessed where she would be.

Elora looked up into his eyes. They were grey, but far lighter than her own and lacking the rage that lurked within hers. He stood a good hand span taller than her own five feet, eight inches. His dusty-blond hair was slicked to his forehead, obscuring the small, peculiar, half-circle scar he bore above his left eyebrow. Water ran down his face in rivulets, dripping off his chin and splashing onto the oilskin cloak that shed the rain as fast as it could fall.

“I’m not going back, Dake. Not yet.”

Dake pulled out a bundle from beneath his cloak. “I’m not here to take you back,” he said, leaning close so he wouldn’t have to yell above the storm. “I thought you might be hungry.” He produced a loaf of bread and offered it to her.

Elora considered refusing. She despised being pitied, and believed it weakness to need charity. But then her stomach growled, and she rationalized that the bread was getting wet and would be ruined in short order. She accepted it with mumbled thanks.

As she busied herself with the bread, Dake unfurled the rest of the bundle and draped the waterproof cape around her shoulders before she could protest. He smiled and tugged her arm.

“Come, sit where we can hear ourselves think.”

He led her to a small alcove within the rocks, perfectly situated to keep them dry, as well as offer a splendid view of the storm. It was just big enough for a snug fit. Elora found herself wedged against Dake before she could explain that she liked standing in the rain.

“Kanar’s in a fury,” Dake said in casual, conversational tones. Elora shot him an alarmed glance as he continued. “Seems that one of the other girls saw you leave as the clouds began to gather. Kanar’s got it into his head that you’ll try to run off.”

“I’m not fool enough to try that again,” she muttered. She didn’t add that, even though she still bore the marks of her last attempt on her back, she hadn’t completely given up on the idea. Kanar’s slave catchers were brutal, but Elora held that she would stand a chance against them. Someday.

Dake smiled down at her and slipped his arm around her shoulder. “I know.”

Elora stiffened at his touch and tried to shrug it away, a difficult task in such close quarters. “Then why are you here?” she demanded.

He looked surprised. “I was worried about you, Elora.”

“Why? Why should you worry?”

“Is it so hard to believe that somebody cares about you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I knew you probably hadn’t eaten. Storm-watching is a hungry affair.” He winked.

Elora did not know whether to be flattered or infuriated. She glared at him sidelong, but he was now looking out at the valley, seemingly engrossed with studying the rain. Satisfied that he was not laughing at her, Elora relaxed a bit and watched the storm wreak havoc on the valley below.

Elora woke with a start, jerking upright, cheeks flaming at the discovery that she had been nestled against Dake’s shoulder like a lovesick shepherdess. She tried to shoulder her way into the rock beside her to make space between them. Dake’s eyebrows rose, but he did not comment.

“You’ve been sleeping,” he said casually. “The storm has lessened, and you must return before Kanar does anything drastic.”

The chill that shuddered down her back had nothing to do with the breeze that had been birthed from the gale. The rain was still pouring from the sky as if the Shepherd god was trying to water his flocks, but the worst of the storm had been swept away. A small break in the clouds to the east showed the first rays of dawn.

Dake spoke truth. Kanar would notice Elora’s absence, and she winced at the thought that he might call on his slave catchers if he had the merest whisper of suspicion that she had fled. She sighed and tried to stand. Her right leg was mostly numb, with a painful tingle above her knee. It threatened to buckle, and she caught herself against a rock just in time.

Dake reached for her arm and helped steady her. “Careful,” he cautioned.

She tried to disengage her arm from his hand. “I can handle myself quite well, thank you,” she said tightly. She stretched her leg, trying to get the blood flowing. It throbbed painfully.

Dake nodded solemnly, but did not remove his hand.

The first step she attempted nearly dropped her to her knees. She would have found herself planted in the mud had Dake not tightened his hold and borne her weight. Wisely, he didn’t say anything, didn’t throw her words back. For that, she granted him grudging, mumbled thanks. He silently helped her regain her footing and still refused to let go.

Though she would never have admitted it, she was grateful for his assistance. Cloth boots and wet rocks, combined with the lingering affects of sleep ensured that her balance was anything but steady. Telling that to Dake would have shown her weakness, and she could live without his attention and pity.

They worked their way down the steep incline, through the rain that drenched the land. Elora maintained a stony silence that Dake did little to break. She noted that he didn’t ask why she had gone to the cliffs, and she didn’t volunteer the reason. For her part, she didn’t ask how he knew she was up there. She didn’t like the idea that he knew her habits so well.

Her leg was back to normal by the time they set foot on level ground. Up close, the valley was more lush and vibrant than ever. The plants greedily drank in the water the clouds provided and seemed to drip green into the earth. The beauty of nature thriving in the fertile ground was marred for Elora by the sight of the house sprawled on a large patch of land half a league away. It was Kanar’s manor, and she lived for the day when she could turn her back on it and leave forever. It was that hope, the hope of freedom that gave her the strength to endure whatever Kanar threw her way.

With every step towards the manor, Elora could feel a growing sense of dread. It had been a mistake to leave for so long, but she had desperately needed to get away. She regretted falling asleep, but it couldn’t be helped. Dake escorted her to the hut she shared with three other girls, skirting around behind the main house. They had just reached the door when a bellow broke through the steady drone of rain.

“Where is she?”

It was Kanar. The harsh rasp, the perpetual anger in his voice was unmistakable. Elora took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself.

“You’d better go,” she told Dake. “He’s livid. If he finds out you were helping me, he’ll—“

“I’ll head him off,” he said abruptly.

She started to protest that she could fight her own battles, that she didn’t need help, but he was already gone, the sound of his footsteps masked by the rain.

A sigh slipped between her lips as she went inside. She changed from her sopping clothes that clung stubbornly to her thin body into a dry outfit. She was trying to wring the water from her hair when Valin burst into the room.

“Elora?”

She was sitting just out of his sight, and she turned a smile towards the man who was her surrogate father. He was tall enough to need to duck through the doorway to avoid hitting his grey-haired head. She had seen that the lines around his green eyes were tense with worry, and she sought to ease his mind.

“I’m here.” She pushed her hair out of her face.

He turned to her, relief playing freely across his face. “Thank the gods,” he said with a fervency that sent a small stab of remorse through her.

“Where else would I be?” She carefully schooled her features into a perfect expression of innocence.

Valin eyed her as he would a naughty child. “Some of us were worried that you might have tried to run off during the storm. Kanar worked himself into a fury, ranting about how he would hunt you down and drag you back himself.”

She frowned. “What makes him think I haven’t been here throughout the storm?”

“One of the serving girls thought she saw you walking away towards the mountains.”

“Deliah?” Elora suppressed a grimace.

“Yes.” He studied her curiously. “Where did you go? Don’t tell me you were here. Your boots are drenched.”

Elora gazed steadily into the old man’s kind blue eyes and debated whether she should tell the truth. Valin was the closest thing she had to a father since being sold as a slave when she was seven, right after watching her real father’s murder. Valin had always been there to listen or give advice, but she didn’t dare trust him or anyone else with her yearning for freedom. No one would understand. They had been born into slavery, and accepted it just as they accepted the rising of the sun, or the coming of seasons.

“I just went for a walk,” she said smoothly. “I didn’t go far. I needed some time to think.”

He stared deep into her eyes and she felt as if he were staring right through her and could see all her secrets. She looked down almost sheepishly.

Valin finally nodded. “You’d best go and prove to Kanar that you’re not run off somewhere, before he has an apoplexy and takes it out on you.

She followed him out of the hut into the relentless drizzle, quite sure that she wouldn’t care if Kanar really did have an apoplexy.

Face Value

2007-09-30T18:59:00.000-07:00

{The title of this post is exactly what you have to take this story at. Don't bother asking me for the background, 'cause I don't know. I couldn't even explain effectively why I wrote this. It was a mixture of several random minuscule triggers. Anyway. Such as it is. Apologies in advance to Rogue ;o) }

Disoriented and confused from the blow, Rogue lay prone on the ground, surrounded by a wash of angry, incomprehensible sounds that broke across him like surf. Then someone grabbed a handful of the back of his uniform and hauled him upright, slipping an arm around his chest. His head tipped back, and the cold, hard metal of a blaster jammed against his right jaw. A voice rose above the others, loud and demanding.

“Don’t move, or I’ll kill him!”

The threat penetrated the fog in his mind, but just barely. He tried to convince his muscles to move, to struggle, to get away, but didn’t have much success. Familiarity nagged at his mind, but fighting took up most of his mental capacity, not leaving him much left for luxuries like remembering.

The arm tightened, but the gun didn’t press any harder. Had Rogue been thinking clearly, he would have found that odd.

“You’re not helping, sir,” a voice muttered in his ear.

This time he stopped fighting and focused on the voice.

“Dara?” He strained his eyes to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of her face.

“Just look scared, all right?” her impatient voice hissed.

“Good t’see you, too, Sarge,” he slurred, relaxing slightly.

“Reunions can wait, sir. We’re not out of this yet.” She raised her voice again. “Step aside, unless you want him dead!”

Half-pushing, half-guiding Rogue, Dara walked her hostage through the crowd of onlookers, her face grim and determined, blaster still pressed against Rogue’s jaw.

“Just don’t get trigger happy,” he whispered.

“Shut up.” She added, “Sir,” as an afterthought, and then they were through the crowd.

Loathe to have that many people at her back, she turned, keeping Rogue between her and the indigs, and started backing away.

It required more effort on her part to keep Rogue upright, but she managed adroitly. They backed up the ramp of a shuttle, then Dara said, “Sorry, sir,” and let him fall to one side.

He hit the ground in a heap, groaning. Dara closed the door against the yells and cries that had erupted: the indigs were not happy about letting their prize go. They were starting to throw things, and kept up a steady barrage against the shuttle’s hull. Dara stepped over Rogue with another murmured apology and ran to the cockpit.

Moments later, Rogue felt the rumble of the engines and was pressed against the deck as the shuttle took to the air. Pursuit was apparently minimal, because Dara was back at his side within minutes. He had managed to push himself into a sitting position, and was gingerly touching his head, encountering a sticky warmth.

Dara had brought a medkit with her and swatted at his hand. “Don’t touch.”

He smiled weakly and leaned back against the bulkhead as she gently cleaned the gash. She was almost done when Rogue looked at her out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to move his head and possibly get smacked again. “That was an interesting rescue, Sarge.”

“Hush.” But she grinned.

Rogue let his eyes shut, but didn’t hush. “For a minute there, I thought I was in even more trouble. I didn’t think you were coming, or could even get there in time.”

“You always underestimate me,” she teased as she placed a bandage over the wound. “Now, you need to get some rest.” She stood and pulled Rogue to his feet.

He swayed unsteadily, and she draped his arm around her shoulder. Supporting most of his weight, Dara led him down the corridor to a small cabin. The only furniture inside was a military-issue cot, but Rogue had never seen anything so inviting. He sank down gratefully and was asleep before Dara left the room.

He woke to a raging, throbbing headache that started at the base of his skull and pierced straight through to his eyes. The pain was too intense to allow him to fall back asleep, so, with a moan, Rogue sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot. Standing was a little tricky: his vision sometimes doubled, and he was having a hard time keeping his balance.

He staggered to the door, hoping Dara and her medkit were somewhere close by. Even the hiss of the door opening seemed unbearably loud, and he knew he could not bring himself to call out for his sergeant. Leaning heavily on the wall for support, Rogue made his way to where he figured the cockpit would be.

Dara frowned when she saw him and swiveled her chair around. “You should still be asleep,” she scolded. “It’s not been two hours yet.”

Her voice careened into Rogue’s ears and echoed through his mind, intensified by his headache until he thought the sound would bring tears. He winced and drew a sharp breath.

Dara caught on immediately. Without saying a word, she tugged Rogue into a chair and dimmed the cockpit lights. She left as Rogue breathed a sigh of relief, returning minutes later with painkillers and water. Shortly after taking them, Rogue felt the searing headache subside to a tolerable level.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

She smiled. “Feel better?”

“Some,” he admitted. “Command had better give me some leave when we get back. I’m going to need it.”

“It shouldn’t be difficult, sir. They’ve already officially logged you as ‘dead’.”

Rogue was surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, sir. Given your manner of disappearance, they didn’t have much choice—or hope.”

“You have a point. But I wonder that they expended resources on a pointless mission.”

Dara didn’t respond, and when Rogue glanced at her, he saw that she was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“’Fess up, Sarge,” he said. “That’s an order.”

“Well, I’m not here officially. They never would have sanctioned it,” she admitted sheepishly.

“So, how are you here?”

“I’m AWOL,” she said bluntly. “When we return, I’ll be up on charges of deserting my post, requisitioning military craft without authorization, and defying a direct order against heroics.”

Rogue was taken aback. “I, I’m touched,” he said dryly. “Your loyalty is truly humbling.”

She shrugged dismissively. “Leave no man behind. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t at least tried.”

“I’ll do what I can to alleviate the consequences,” he assured her.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Rogue, they could have me court-martialed before you get out of the medbay. I’ll be fine.”

Rogue wanted to protest, but suddenly felt very, very tired. He leaned his head back and decided to rest his eyes before replying.

Dara glanced over at him, satisfied that the sleeping meds had taken effect and that he was asleep. She reached across and tilted his seat back a few degrees. The chairs had been made with dozing pilots in mind and were quite comfortable. Rogue’s breathing was deep and steady as the shuttle sped through hyperspace, back to Coruscant.

Dara slouched in the chair, purposefully abandoning military posture, and picked at her sleeve. Prison uniforms are not flattering, she decided.

They had made it safely and without further incident to Coruscant. Snubfighters bristling with lasers had flanked them as soon as she called in her flightplan. They were greeted by an escort of New Rep personnel, equal parts military and medical. Dara had flatly refused to go with the MPs until the medics had Rogue on a stretcher and hooked up to an intravenous feed. By that time, he was so far out of it that he didn’t react when an officer placed binders on Dara’s wrists. She followed without a struggle, glancing back just once to see the medics hurrying Rogue towards the medbay.

Dara shifted in her seat, making the binders on her wrists rattle. She had been answering questions for over an hour now as the inquiring officer tried to pick every detail from her brain.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Dara said slowly, “I don’t know how I knew. I just did. My gut told me that my commanding officer,” she stressed the last two words, “wasn’t dead. I did what I had to.”

The man sitting across from her consulted a datapad. “This isn’t the first time you’ve exhibited a tendency to ignore orders that didn’t suit you, Sergeant Mcejo. Reports from the situation at Arneb IV—“

Dara’s eyes flashed. “Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice soft and dangerous. “You don’t know what happened there, and you couldn’t possibly understand. I don’t care what the reports say. If you dare to sit there and judge my actions under fire from what you’ve read off a detached datastream, I’ll be answering more serious charges than deserting my post before it’s all over.” Then she seemed to check herself and added, “With all due respect, sir.”

The officer was taken aback by her outburst. He set the datapad down and seemed really to see her for the first time. “You can’t even express remorse for your actions?”

She considered that. “I am sorry. I’m sorry it was necessary for me to disobey a direct order so I could pursue a course of action that I knew to be right.”

He regarded her for a long moment, then picked up his datapad again. “Fifteen, even ten years ago, during the Rebellion and the early stages of the New Republic, what you did would have been lauded and praised. No one likes leaving comrades behind. But times have changed, Sergeant. We have to have discipline.”

She met his gaze squarely. “I’m not trying to avoid the consequences, sir. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

He nodded approvingly. “It’s noted in your file that you once trained at Yavin IV, under Master Skywalker.”

“That is true, but my connection with the Force has been severed, and I consider that to be a closed chapter in my life.”

“Even so, could it be possible that this hunch you had could have been a subtle prompt from the Force? A lingering sensitivity to the state of those you are close to?’

She saw what he was aiming toward and decided to see how far he would take it. “It is possible, yes.”

He entered something into the datapad. “Sergeant Mcejo, we are going to drop the charges and retroactively sanction your rescue mission on the grounds that you were guided by the Force. You’re fully reinstated, with no repercussions. It’s not a solid enough reason to offer a military tribunal, but it should be enough to prevent your case from ever getting that far.”

“Sir, you don’t have to do this. I don’t expect special treatment.”

For the first time, the officer smiled. “We have thousands of soldiers who will follow orders to the letter, and who are very loyal. But I am not willing to lose one who would risk everything she has to save a comrade. Commander Garcia is a good officer, and the Fleet would hate to lose him. Were I your commanding officer, I would be proud to count you among my troops.

“But,” he continued, his voice growing serious, “had you endangered the lives of others or the success of a mission, we would be having a very different conversation. As it is, I believe it is well within my powers of discretion to wipe the slate clean. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, sir.” She would have saluted, but the binders prevented that bit of military protocol.

“Oh, one other thing.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“That direct order you were given never happened. No dialogue between you and your superiors regarding the rescue mission ever occurred. Understood?”

Dara grinned broadly. “Understood, sir.”

A few days later, Rogue woke slowly from yet another drug-induced slumber. The difference this time was that he felt better than he had since the whole escapade had started. He stared up at the ceiling, taking a mental inventory. Once satisfied that he had no residual aches or pains, he turned his head to take stock of his surroundings.

Dara sat in a chair next to him, her feet kicked up on a second chair, completely absorbed in her book chip.

“What was the verdict?” he asked, noting that his sergeant was not in uniform.

For a moment, he wondered if she had heard him. He was about to ask again when she set down the book chip and looked over.

“What verdict?”

“You know. The whole AWOL thing. I need to know if I should be logging a formal complaint and looking for a new sergeant.”

She hooked her hands behind her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. As far as I know, I’m still your sergeant. Unless, that is, you want me to request a transfer. But after what we went through at Arneb, I find that highly unlikely.”

“Cut it out, Dara.” He felt a bit of irritation from her insistence on avoiding his questions. “You said you’d be up on charges for disobeying a direct order to carry out the rescue mission.”

She smiled lazily. “Either you got hit harder than I thought, or you’re confusing me with someone else. I never received any orders that opposed my fully sanctioned, completely approved, Force-guided search and rescue mission.”

Her reference to the Force let him know she was having him on before he caught her wink.

“Come on, Dara. Tell me what happened.”

Relenting, she related the conversation that had ended with the binders being removed and her uniform returned. Rogue grinned his approval, particularly when she mentioned her reaction to the subject of Arneb.

“So you’re not rid of me yet, Commander, despite your fondest wishes.”

Rogue let that slide and latched on to another of her comments instead. “Do you think it was the Force, Dara? That let you know I was still alive, all evidence to the contrary?”

She made a face. “That, sir, is a pile of nerf dung that I re-e-eally don’t want to step in just now.”

He laughed. “And why aren’t you in uniform if there are no repercussions?”

“I have seven days of leave. Partly a reward, partly command wanting me out of the way until this sort of blows over and fewer awkward questions are being asked.” She offered a twisted half-smile that provided her commentary on that, then brightened. “The good news is that they let you out tomorrow, and you also have a week of leave before returning to light duty.”

“And the bad news?”

She smiled sweetly. “The bad news is that I’ll be hanging around, making sure you don’t overdo it, and snickering in the background as you try to explain to your wife why you haven’t called in three weeks without admitting that you almost died.”

He eyed her narrowly. “Careful, Sarge. I still outrank you.”

“That doesn’t count when we’re on leave,” she replied promptly. “Besides, I dodged one bullet, I can dodge another. And anyway,” she reached over and poked his shoulder with one finger, “you owe me.”

Rogue was forced to agree.

Elora: Prologue (pt 2)

2007-09-23T22:46:00.000-07:00

Ethlon strode through the palace as fabric billowed and swirled around him, ignoring the curious stares his distinctive Courier’s cloak attracted. Once he reached the palace gates and passed the guards, however, he unclasped the chain at his neck and let the cloak fall from his shoulders. With a few practiced motions, Ethlon had the massive amounts of cloth folded into a neat square and tucked inconspicuously under his arm. The less attention he attracted in town, the more comfortable Ethlon felt.

After pausing to get his bearings, he took off down a busy merchant row, heading for the inn where he and Elora were staying. Hawkers shouted to get his attention and that of the other passersby, thrusting their wares in his face, complimenting him lavishly, and promising the lowest prices for the highest quality goods. Ethlon brushed past them without a second glance, or even seeming to hear them at all, until he caught sight of an old lady sitting in the shade by a small booth, knitting.

The old lady peered up through crinkled eyes set in a weathered face, and smiled, revealing several gaps where teeth had been.

“What’re you gawping at, boy?” Her voice was raspy.

“Why, at the vision of loveliness I see before me, Gramma Abigail.” He grinned boyishly.

She shook her knitting at him. “Flattery don’t work with me, Courier. And I ain’t your gramma, neither. You be looking to buy?”

“Depends on what you’ve to sell, gramma.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, and he had to step back quickly to avoid the swat of her hand. He laughed and moved to look at the wares displayed on her table.

It was a trinket stall, filled with scraps of lace and ribbon, dried herbs, flowers, various luck charms, papers with written blessings, and other odds and ends. Ethlon sorted through the lace, fingered the ribbon, and read the blessings, all the while keeping a conversation with Abigail. Though she had seen many winters, her wit was still sharp and her insight hadn’t dimmed.

“It’s a bit of something for Elora you’re wanting, ain’t it?” she asked, grinning.

Ethlon nodded. “Aye, gramma.” He picked up a length of blue ribbon. “Now, wouldn’t this just match her eyes?”

She looked at him sharply. “Your daughter has grey eyes, lad. Same as your own.”

“Nothing gets by you,” he laughed ruefully, “but you can’t blame me for trying.”

“Why you have to pick on an old woman is beyond me,” she grumbled, rummaging through her wares.

“I never tease old women,” Ethlon said solemnly. “But even if I did, I see none here.” He winked.

“Best remember what I said about flattery, boy.” Abigail scowled fiercely, but there was a twinkle in her eye. She pulled out a long, dark green ribbon. “Now this would complement your Elora’s coloring nicely. She took a shine to it, last she was here.”

“Then I’ll take it,” Ethlon said without hesitation. “And this.” He touched a travel blessing.

She eyed him. “You going on another ride?”

“Aye.”

“And you’re taking your daughter?”

“Aye, gramma. And if you please, I don’t need another lecture about how journeys at a moment’s notice and breakfast on horseback is no life for a child. Elora and I get along well enough just as we are.” His voice was blithe, but there was a touch of seriousness.

“As you will, then.” Abigail nodded, then abruptly changed the subject. “When are you going to start Following again, Courier? Both you and the child could do with a bit of stability in your life, Someone to lean on when you run out of strength.”

Ethlon’s grin faded to a sober expression. “The One took my wife and Elora’s mother from us, Abigail. Else Elora would have someone to stay with when I go on rides. Following is not worth the price the One demands of you.”

“I never took you for a weak man, Ethlon.”

“I’m not, gramma. But there are some things that are past a man’s ability to endure. Now,” his tone lightened and he smiled again, “what shall I pay you for these treasures?”

“Little Rabbit?” Ethlon pushed the door to their room open, hiding the ribbon behind his back.

There was a scuffling sound, and then a round, beaming face peered from underneath the blanket that had been draped across the gap between the bed and the table. A flurry of golden curls, child-sized limbs, and giggles flew into Ethlon’s outstretched arms.

“Daddy!” Elora squealed, squeezing him tightly.

Ethlon swept her up against his broad chest and whirled her around as she shrieked with delight, then gently set her back on the ground.

He looked her over with a father’s concern, then, satisfied she was well, kissed her forehead. “I love you, Elora.”

“I love you more, Daddy.” She beamed at him.

“Were you a good girl today?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, Daddy,” she answered earnestly. “We both were.”

Ethlon’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Both?” he echoed.

Elora turned and scurried under her tent, emerging a moment later, clutching a rag doll tightly. “Dinah and I,” she clarified, holding the doll out for her father’s inspection.

“Well, Dinah, I’m very pleased to meet you.” He swept the doll a courtly bow, much to his daughter’s glee. “Where do you hail from?”

“Mistress Nola made her,” Elora answered for the doll.

Ethlon nodded. The rotund, motherly landlady had no children of her own, and spoiled Elora to no end. Often watching her while Ethlon was out, Mistress Nola supplied Elora with stories, treats, and affection in large quantities.

“And did you thank Mistress Nola?

“Yes, Daddy,” she said promptly, and Ethlon had no doubt that she had.

“Well, then,” the Courier crouched beside his daughter, “perhaps we can cut a bit of this for Dinah’s hair, and you two will look as alike as sisters.” He handed Elora the ribbon, and had the fatherly satisfaction of watching his only child’s eyes widen with surprise and delight.

She flung her arms about his neck. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Little Rabbit. Now, you had best make sure there’s enough room for Dinah in your bundle. We leave for Maranth the day after tomorrow.” He straightened, ruffling his daughter’s curls with one hand.

“Are we going on a ride?” Elora’s eyes blazed with excitement.

“Aye, Little Rabbit. We’re going on a ride.”

The sun had yet to peek over the eastern horizon when Ethlon swung up on his horse behind Elora. The young child swayed sleepily on her perch until Ethlon wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close. She wore a warm cloak, stitched in red like her father’s, and her hair had been painstakingly brushed that morning. Dinah rode in front of Elora, tied by a scrap of yarn to the saddle horn as a precaution.

Ethlon’s horse—a fine chestnut stallion—bore the weight of father and daughter easily; he tossed his head as if to ask why they hadn’t left yet. Ethlon patted the stallion’s neck absently, then checked his Courier’s pouch one final time to ensure the letter was still secured there. Then he closed the pouch, fastened the latch, and tucked it safely in his saddle bag. Only then did he give his mount free rein. The stallion whinnied and galloped down the cobbled street in fast, space-eating strides.

They rode constantly throughout the day, sometimes trotting, sometimes walking. Ethlon let the horse pick his own pace, but the chestnut seemed to sense his rider’s haste and ran long and fast.

In a small village a few leagues from the border, Father Brandon stepped into the kitchen, letting the bedroom door shut softly behind him. Immediately, a young boy was at his side, staring up at him with eyes that showed more years than the boy had seen. His face was serious, and he held a small girl by the hand. She had been crying, and he was taking his job as his sister’s guardian very seriously.

“Please, sir, may we see her?”

Father Brandon nodded and stepped aside. The two children slipped quietly into the room.

“It doesn’t seem right,” the priest of the One said softly to the other man in the room, the village doctor, “that two tragedies should strike one family in such a short amount of time. It’s not been two months since we received word that Jonathon had been killed in battle, and now his wife follows him to see the One. My heart breaks for their children.”

The doctor nodded his somber agreement. “Have they any other relatives?”

“Their grandparents died when they were very young. The mother had a sister, but she married and left the village some ten years ago. We’ll try to send word, but I don’t hold much hope that she will be found.”

“Where will the children go?”

“They can stay with me until other arrangements are made.”

“I’ve heard of a family in a village two leagues north that was looking to adopt a young girl. I don’t know about the boy, though,” the doctor mused.

“No.”

Neither man had noticed the door open and shut quietly, and they both looked up with surprise to find the young, dark-haired boy standing there, a defiant gleam in his brown eyes. It was the first emotion Father Brandon had seen in Daniel for days.

“Pardon?” the doctor asked.

The boy flushed. “I mean, if you please, sirs. I promised Ma and Da that I would take care of Lily. I’ve been in charge of the farm and the chores since Da left to the war, and Lily’s been cooking since before Ma took sick. We can manage on our own.”

“How old are you, Daniel?” the priest asked kindly.

“I’m thirteen last month, sir.”

Father Brandon and the doctor glanced at each other. The doctor shrugged. Father Brandon walked over to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think it best that you and Lily stay with me for a week or so. Your sister has a cough that worries me. When she’s well, we’ll make a final decision.” Their mother had at best a day left, and he did not want the children to be alone when the grief set in.

“But the chores, sir. The crops need to be tended, and the animals—“

“We’ll ride out every day and do as needs to be done,” he assured Daniel. “The One never meant for us to be alone, son. You’ll have help keeping your promise.”

Daniel swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He ducked his head and slipped back in the bedroom to be with his mother and sister.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Little Rabbit?”

They were on the second day of the ride and making good time. Ethlon estimated that they would reach the border between Maranth and Duor by nightfall. Because they had covered so much ground, Ethlon had chosen to stop for the midday meal. He and Elora were sprawled on the grass, staring up at the clouds as they ate the remainders of Mistress Nola’s generous lunch from the day before. The stallion grazed nearby, having discovered a patch of sweet clover he particularly enjoyed.

“Will you tell me a story?”

Ethlon laughed. That was the closes Elora ever came to saying that she was bored. He rolled closer to her and pointed to a cloud.

“What does that look like to you?”

Elora squinted at the fluff of white drifting lazily overhead and studied it intently. “Like an eagle,” she pronounced.

“Just so,” Ethlon agreed. “Exactly like an eagle. In fact, it looks just like an eagle whose name was Pehlo. Pehlo lived in the Eastern Mountains of Maranth—“

“Did he have a family?” Elora wanted to know.

“Aye. He had a beautiful wife and three eaglets.”

“Did he have a job?”

Ethlon did not just tolerate his daughter’s frequent interruptions, he enjoyed them. Elora showed more insight and interest in detail than Ethlon would have thought possible in a seven year old, though Elora would have been quick to remind him that she was nearly eight. Father and daughter launched into a long, rambling dialogue about the exploits of Pehlo the eagle which was so evenly divided, it was hard to tell who was telling whom the story.

Pehlo was off hunting food when Ethlon swung Elora back into the saddle, and he was in search of the wisest bird in the world when they crossed the border. By the time Pehlo was an old bird with grand-eaglets, the sun was vanishing below the horizon and Ethlon was building a fire.

“And finally Pehlo settled down into his nest for a long awaited, well deserved rest,” Ethlon concluded. He smiled at Elora, who beamed back, satisfied with the outcome of the story. “Now, eat your dinner.” He handed Elora a wooden plate with dried fruit, venison, and travel bread on it.

While not the most appetizing meal ever—Gramma Abigail certainly would have had something to say about it, it was nourishing and filling. Judging by the speed with which Elora ate, she didn’t mind the food too much.

Ethlon banked the fire for the night, and he and Elora were tucked beneath a blanket when the twin moons made their appearance in the black velvet sky.

“Look, Little Rabbit,” Ethlon whispered, pointing. “It’s the Sisters. Darma, the smaller one, is always being chased across the sky by Stefa, her older sister. They say Darma stole her sister’s halo, and you can still see it some nights.

“And that group of stars to the left is the Fox. He was running from hunters one day and jumped so far he stuck to the sky.” He glanced over at Elora for her reaction and smiled.

Elora was fast asleep, Dinah tucked beneath her arm. Ethlon pulled the blanket up to his daughter’s chin, then lay back and stared at the stars. Even though far weightier matters preyed on Ethlon’s mind than on Elora’s, it didn’t take him long to follow her example.

A cloaked figure slipped through the shadows, leading a horse whose hooves had been wrapped to muffle the noise. He had yet to see his quarry, but the blue-cloaked noble had said the Courier knew forgotten trails and secret ways through the mountains. There was only one hidden path through the mountains that a horse could travel, and the silent figure knew that no Courier would leave his mount behind if it could be avoided.

He was making his way toward the entrance to that passage, skirting around open plains and keeping well away from the main road. He still made good time, however, and, judging from the remnants of a campfire he had found earlier that afternoon, the Courier could be no more than an hour or so ahead. He intended to make up that time now, while the Courier was sure to be sleeping in preparation for the long trek over the mountains.

The figure adjusted the bow on his back and let his hand fall to rest on his sword hilt. His task was simple: make sure the Courier did not make survive the journey. A substantial reward awaited him if he brought the Courier’s pouch back as proof of his success. Easy enough to accomplish, but he found himself hoping the Courier would put up a fight. It had been too long since his skills had been adequately tested, but, even beyond that, he did despise cowards.

By the light from the moons, he could just see the beginning of the path. He tethered his horse out of sight and hearing and began to pick his way up through the rocky sides, searching for a sheltered spot to wait in ambush.

Ethlon awoke just as the sun’s rays touched his face and glistened over the stubble beginning to sprout on his chin. “Scritchies,” his daughter called them. He lay quietly for a moment, enjoying the stillness of the morning, then looked over at Elora. She clutched her doll tightly, though a small smile played on her lips as she enjoyed her dream. Ethlon waited until he had saddled his mount, packed up all but her blanket, and prepared a simple breakfast before waking her.

Never much of a morning lover, Elora mumbled incoherently and rolled over, pulling the blanket over her head. Her father laughed and tugged it away.

“Time to get up, Little Rabbit. We’ve a long day ahead of us.”

Bleary-eyed, hair tousled from sleep, Elora sat up and yawned. Ethlon placed a plate of fruit in her hands. He found a comb and worked out the tangles in her hair as Elora ate.

They were on the road again before the sun had been an hour in the sky. Elora was slumped back against her father’s broad chest, dozing. Now that they were over the border, Ethlon did not feel the need to push his horse as hard. He knew they still had several days of riding in front of them and was loathe to wear out the stallion. But even though the steady rhythm of hooves had a soothing effect, Ethlon still shifted anxiously in the saddle. Something did not feel right.

There was a nagging sensation between his spine and his skin that made him want to squirm. He glanced over his shoulder ever few minutes, despite his rational mind telling him that there were no people for leagues. Ethlon constantly scanned his surroundings, searching for anything that might explain his unease.

Then he saw it: a flutter of motion high in the rocks. It could have been just a bird, but Ethlon hadn’t seen a single creature since dawn. Caution won over haste, and he reined in his mount.

Elora looked at him questioningly as he slid to the ground, then helped her down.

“I’m going to go look at something,” he told her softly, not wanting to cause her unnecessary alarm. “Stay here behind this boulder. I’ll be right back.”

Elora obeyed without question. Drawing his sword, Ethlon walked towards the place where he had seen the movement.

Though ready for danger, he did not recognize the object hurtling toward him until it was too late. An arrow sprouted in his left shoulder, directly beneath his collarbone, as pain flared and darkened his vision. He gasped and fell back a pace, turning to one side. Another arrow whistled past and struck a stone behind him.

Ethlon gritted his teeth and snapped the arrow’s narrow shaft. Blood stained his sleeve, and his left arm hung uselessly by his side. The rest of his body was screaming to fight, and he raised his sword, shouting, “Show yourself, coward!”

A dark-clad figure appeared from behind the rocks, wielding a bow. Ethlon’s eyes narrowed. He did not recognize the man, but he fit the image of a paid killer.

“Come and fight!” Ethlon demanded loudly.

The man did not reply, but laid down his bow and hefted a sword in its place. Then he was swarming down the rock wall, his graceful ease of movement belying his huge bulk. Ethlon advanced purposefully, silently praying that Elora would stay hidden, knowing he could not dwell on thoughts of her now.

The two men met in a small, open space, and Ethlon was keenly aware of his disadvantage. His shoulder screamed with agony, and this man had had more time to study the terrain. The Courier would have to call on every ounce of strength he possessed, every trick he had ever learned to win this fight.

The assassin’s face was mostly hidden in the shadow of his hood, but his lips were twisted into a cruel smile as he raised his blade and brought it crashing down on Ethlon’s in a two-handed arc. Ethlon’s arm tingled with the force of the blow, but he held his ground. Despite being wounded, he was still strong and could draw on many years of experience with a sword. He twisted his wrist slightly, and the killer’s sword slid harmlessly along the blade and off the tip.

Grunting with frustration, the assassin swung again, this time at Ethlon’s left side. With the skill of long-practiced motions, the Courier flicked his sword to the left, caught the assassin’s sword, and deflected it. Again the assassin attacked, and again Ethlon parried.

Then Ethlon thrust, pressing the advantage when his opponent swung too wide. His blade darted in and sliced through the man’s outer cloak before it was knocked away. Sparks flew as the men fought their way around the small clearing.

Though Ethlon wrenched every drop of strength from his muscles, he was driven back. Once, he was a hair too slow blocking, and his right thigh bled from the cut the killer’s sword had opened. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and his ragged breath roared in his ears like a northern gale. His black Courier’s tunic was drenched and the loss of blood made him dizzy. His shoulder felt as if it had caught fire; pain clouded his thoughts.

Then, suddenly, he found his opening. The assassin dropped his arm a double handspan. Ethlon pounced on the opportunity, driving in hard and fast, realizing too late that it was a trap. The killer’s sword came up under his own and sliced through his clothes, pierced his skin, and slid in between his ribs.

Shock and agony contorted Ethlon’s face. He staggered as the sword left his body. His back was against a boulder now, and he felt his legs buckle. With a snarl, the assassin stepped forward and thrust his blade into Ethlon’s side.

“Goodbye, Courier,” he hissed, and pulled his sword out again.

Ethlon crumpled to the ground, blood oozing from his side, eyes glazing over.

The assassin spat, then turned and strode purposefully to Ethlon’s horse and began rummaging through the saddlebags.

Ethlon heard a soft noise and turned his head slightly. Elora, small, terrified, eyes wide with horror, ran to him. She dropped to her knees beside her father and placed her childish hands over his side, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Tendrils of icy fear gripped Ethlon’s heart as he realized he would be leaving his daughter alone. He pushed past the pain fogging his sight and looked into her dark grey eyes.

“I love you, Elora,” he whispered.

Tears glistened on her cheeks and her chin quavered as she replied, “I love you more, Daddy.”

“Run, Little Rabbit.” Ethlon’s strength was dwindling rapidly. “Run fast.”

With but seven summers of experience, it took Elora four pairs of heartbeats to understand just what he was telling her. By then, it was too late. The assassin had found the pouch, turned, and caught sight of her. He stalked over to where Ethlon lay and grabbed Elora by the arm.

“What have we here?” he asked in a harsh, raspy voice that grated on her ears. “Have Couriers taken to carting about living shields?”

“That’s not yours!” Elora cried, pointing a tremulous finger at the pouch.

The man smirked. “Who’s going to stop me, darlin’? You?”

Elora bit his hand, her young teeth sinking into his palm, nearly drawing blood.

The assassin let out a yelp of pain and shook her free. He cuffed her, sending Elora sprawling. Despite his rough actions, he couldn’t hide his admiration. “A feisty brat. So much the better.” The noble hadn’t said anything about a child and surely wouldn’t notice if one went missing. “I‘ve a friend who’d be real pleased to have you.” He caught her and draped her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He didn’t seem pay any heed to her swinging feet, her fists pounding his back, or her shrill screams.

The screams roused Ethlon, who was dangerously close to crossing into the lands beyond Time. Helpless rage filled him; he made one last, valiant effort to stand, to fight, to kill the villain who threatened his daughter, to protect Elora! But his head came but inches off the ground, and his right hand twitched slightly, disturbing the blood pooled around it. His anguished cries of protest were voiced only as a soft “no” that slipped between his lips on a shallow breath. Then his head fell back; Ethlon sank into the dark, endless pain and did not move.

The assassin slung Elora across his saddle and mounted his horse. After catching the reins of Ethlon’s chestnut stallion, he set off at an easy canter, Elora bouncing in front of him.

Elora: Prologue (pt 1)

2007-08-23T19:14:00.000-07:00

King Fairn Colton IV, sovereign of Duor, was a formidable man. Though he had seen more than threescore years, he still retained a warrior’s sturdy build. His eyes, a piercing green, stood out from the stern face that rarely softened. His bodyguard was a formality. King Colton had proven himself in battle time and again, often enough that no one would think he was a pampered noble. He wore a dagger tucked into the folds of his robes, much to the dismay of his attendants, who felt that a king should not have to be armed. Ever since the assassination attempt six years after he had taken Duor’s throne, no one dared voice their complaints.

His vizier, Shamgar, stood a pace away, shuffling through a pile of reports and statements. He was a thickly built man with muscles that belied his mainly sedentary career. His dark, brooding features masked a keen intellect, sharp wit, and fierce loyalty to his king. Nobody crossed him more than once. When he was not at the king’s elbow, Shamgar could be found in the taverns around the city, cradling a mug of ale which he never drank, feigning a drunken stupor as he listened to the conversations of loose-tongued men around him, cataloguing information and assessing threats.

At the far left of the enormous desk, a soldier stood at rigid attention. His uniform marked him as part of the King’s Guard, Colton’s personal detachment, an elite group that nobles couldn’t buy their way into. A thin scar twisted its way up his right cheek, past his temple, and onto his forehead. It marked the occasion when he had defended his king and won the position of personal bodyguard. Three thin gold lines, intersected by two silver, were embroidered just above his heart—a captain’s insignia.

Captain Tor’s right hand was scarce inches from his sword hilt. The weapon was well-cared for, but not gaudy. He also had a small dagger tucked out of sight, and two smaller knives in either boot. Though he never moved, he was very aware of what was happening in the room. By looking everywhere and nowhere, he would catch sight of any movement, however slight, and his hearing was sharper than most. Even the faint scratching of the King Colton’s quill did not escape his attention, nor the fact that the king had chosen to write the missive himself, rather than dictate to one of the many palace scribes.

The King’s rings clicked gently together as he reached to dip his quill again, ignoring the few drops of ink that splattered on his sleeve. He penned a few more lines at the bottom of the sheet of paper, signed it with a flourish, then blotted it gently. He folded the paper, taking care to make the creases even, and reached for the sealing wax.

“Bring in the Courier.”

The captain nodded curtly and crossed the distance to the door with crisp, even strides, one hand now firmly on the hilt of his sword. Couriers were trusted as a whole, but this one was Maranthan; Captain Tor, like most of his countrymen, had a deep-seated suspicion of citizens of Duor’s neighbor. He opened the door with his left hand and ushered the Courier before King Colton.

The tow-headed Courier was just over six feet tall and walked with the easy, confident gait of a man trained to fight well if needed. His grey eyes missed nothing as he followed Captain Tor. He wore the uniform of a Courier—black tunic and leggings with red stitching, a red falcon embroidered over his heart, completed by riding boots, gloves tucked in his belt, and a black ceremonial cloak with a larger falcon on the back. The cloak would often be stored inside a Courier’s saddlebags while actually on a ride.

The Courier stopped exactly three paces before the king’s desk and bowed deeply, flourishing his cape.

The king nodded, barely glancing up from the sealing wax he was affixing to the letter. “Courier Ethlon, correct?”

“Aye, sire. What service would you have me do?”

King Colton pressed his signet ring deeply into the royal blue wax and slid the letter into an official Courier pouch. Then he rose and came around the desk to hand the pouch to Ethlon. His eyes were intense and serious.

“Courier Ethlon, I tell you this only to impress upon you the seriousness and urgency of this ride. You know the tensions between our countries have long been strained. At best, we bicker and thwart trade relations. At worst, we wage bitter war. For decades, we have hated and mistrusted each other.”

“Every Maranthan and Duorian knows this, sire,” Ethlon half-smiled. “It’s hardly a secret.”

“True. But what is not so well-known is that there are elements of both our countries that are silently helping the war along. They find it… profitable.”

Ethlon frowned. “Warmongers?”

“Precisely.” King Colton met Ethlon’s gaze squarely. “I have no great love for your people, but I cannot abide manipulative nobles. Names of those in my court and King Fathrain’s have recently come to my attention, and I feel a sense of responsibility to warn your king of those who plot the ruin of our nations.

“You understand that there are members of the nobility who would not want this letter to make it to your king. No one outside of this room knows of this. Secrecy is of utmost importance. This could be your most dangerous ride yet.”

“I know back roads and forgotten mountain passages, majesty. I will do all I can to assure safe and timely delivery.”

“I know you will, Courier.” King Colton turned and took one step, then paused, facing Ethlon once again. “I understand you frequently ride with your young daughter.”

“Elora, majesty.”

“Yes. Perhaps it would be best if she did not accompany you this time. The danger is real, though we will certainly do all we can to contain it.”

“Thank you for your concern, sire, but I have no one I would trust her to. Her mother died in childbirth seven years past. Elora is everything I have, and I would prefer to keep her within my protection. Also, because of the political implications of this letter, I would not wish to expose her to the possibility of kidnapping.”

“Would you accept a guard?”

“No, sire. I ride best and fastest without outside accompaniment. I hope I don’t offend.”

“Of course not, Courier. I am simply concerned for the safety of your child. But I do understand your feelings. I, too, am a father. You must do what you feel best.”

“Thank you.” Ethlon swept another bow. “If I may have your leave, sire, I will go and make arrangements for my ride.”

“You are dismissed, Courier Ethlon. Luck go with you.” Colton nodded to his bodyguard. “You are dismissed as well, Captain.”

Ethlon bowed one last time, stepping backwards, then turned and followed Captain Tor out of the room, easily keeping pace with the soldier’s long strides. Captain Tor watched Ethlon walk down the hall, then beckoned to a page, shutting the door to the king’s study.

“Inform Lord Kaov that I wish to speak with him. I have information he will find extremely interesting.” He pressed a copper into the boy’s hand, and the boy scampered off.

~~~

King Colton waited until the door closed before turning to his vizier.

“Was that convincing enough, Shamgar?”

“He seemed to completely believe you, my liege. Once Fathrain gets that missive, it will divide his court. He won’t be able to trust half his nobles.”

“That’s the idea.” King Colton smiled, and there was a nasty edge to it. “The more confusion there is in the Maranthan court, the more this war will swing in our favor.”

“Will Courier Ethlon deliver the pouch?”

“I chose Courier Ethlon for several reasons. Primarily because he is a Maranthan, and King Fathrain will have no reason to distrust him as he would a Duorian Courier. But almost as compelling a reason is that Ethlon has never abandoned or failed a ride. If anyone can get through, he can.”

“And when Fathrain discovers that the list is fictitious?”

“If, Shamgar. If. If he discovers it, then seeds of doubt will already be sown. It will be too late.”

~~~

“Are you certain, captain?” Lord Kaov had been annoyed by Tor’s request for a meeting, but the news the bodyguard shared banished all trace of his initial feelings, leaving in its place frustration and the barest hint of fear.

“I watched the King write the names of Maranthan nobles from another list and give it to the Courier.”

Lord Kaov swore softly. “Fool of a king.” He looked sharply at Tor. “Did you see any of the names?”

“No, my lord. My post is too far away, and it would be overtly obvious were I to crane my neck.”

“A pity.” Kaov had either missed or ignored the sarcasm Tor offered him. “Courier Ethlon, was it?”

“Yes. He seemed anxious to start the ride, too.”

“Probably wanting to see Maranth again,” Kaov mused. “Did he say anything that would indicate his route?”

“Ethlon said he knew the old paths and forgotten mountain passes. He will likely stay away from the main roads as much as possible.”

Lord Kaov nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for your information, captain. We must find a way to ensure that the pouch never makes it to the Maranthan palace.”

Boring Parties

2007-06-19T01:37:00.000-07:00

I attended a graduation party recently. Needless to say, I'm not very close to any of the attendees.

They mingled. Drifting from empty chair to empty chair, settling down for a few minutes, then going to the food table, only to return and find their seat occupied and it necessary to move on. Talking ceaselessly, their chatter mundane and pointless, nothing of worth ever being uttered.

They tossed back sodas and swayed to the sound of a soothing guitar strumming the melodies of current hits.

To the casual glance, they were relaxed, at ease, content and comfortable. Perhaps they felt they were, but under the surface lingered a tension that rose from murky, convoluted pasts.

The chaperones, all but two well over fifty, were chaperones in name only. Their attentions were focused mainly on the food table, or their own secluded conversations, or the toddler who went from knee to knee, scoring food and sweets on every try.

Pretty Depressing Flowers.

2007-05-04T23:40:00.000-07:00

A guy in my CW class said that there are generally two types of free verse: Look at the pretty flowers, and I'm so depressed. This is the result. To be read tongue-in-cheek.

Look at the pretty flowers!
The roses that caught their first breath of spring
And spread their petals for joy.
The tulips bending their stems like gymnasts,
Ever stretching towards the light.
The white skies of daisies
Sprinkled with galaxies of suns.
Gathered into a bouquet bursting with brilliant hues
But the tips have begun to turn brown
And the flowers are pulling their petals in
Hugging them close to the stems
Before they dry up and flutter to the ground
To be crushed underfoot and forgotten
A fading echo of the beauty of yesterday
Swallowed up in the silence of Death.
I'm so depressed.

It Could Storm

2007-05-04T23:30:00.000-07:00

A pantoum is a rhyming poetic style that uses repeated lines. I tried it. I thought it turned out pretty well. :o)

It could storm tonight
I say softly, with dread.
The porch is filled with light
As clouds form overhead.

I say softly, with dread,
She just won't understand.
As clouds form overhead,
You softly touch my hand.

She just won't understand.
She never has before.
You softly touch my hand
As I reach for the door.

She never has before,
I say regretfully,
As I reach for the door.
Mom will say I'm silly.

I say regretfully,
She is probably right.
Mom will say I'm silly
For letting go tonight.

She is probably right
And we should not break up.
But letting go tonight
Proves that I am grown up.

We should not break up.
But I have to do this.
It proves I am grown up.
Love is not hit or miss.

And I have to do this.
You have said you agree.
Love is not hit or miss.
There's more for you and me.

You have said you agree.
A mutual consent.
There's more for you and me.
We don't need to repent.

I smile at you again.
The porch is filled with light.
I am glad you're my friend.
It could storm tonight.

Fairy Tales

2007-04-29T01:42:00.000-07:00

Tess' fairy tale:

Once upon a time there were some people who had a problem. They resolved the
problem quickly, and then they lived happily ever after.

My fairy tale:

Once upon a time, there were some people who never had any problems at all. Ever. They led dreadfully boring lives, and eventually committed suicide to break the monotony. No one lived happily, or even unhappily, ever after.