#you just know he looked at tain exactly like this when he was five when he was fifteen when he was twenty five

[vaguely-concerned]

patented 'not that I care that much or anything so there's no need to dwell on it too too much ahaha *sweats nervously* but tain would you pls consider not murdering my mom (and the mother of your child) for absolutely no reason whatsoever? no pressure tho of course you know best! :)' smile

(it's so dark but also so funny that when tain keeps on Hinting Ominously, garak's reaction seems... slightly exasperated? more than anything, under all the tension fsdjafsl. this exact conversation has definitely happened multiple times over the last thirty years, lending horror an edge of 'oh this again huh' ennui and hilarity. 'I should have killed your mother before you were born'/'so you've told me, many times'. I think it's the turnaround time from 'I've missed you, Elim' to this that drives it from straightforward psychological horror sneaking dread to still that but also kind of hilarious. it really took tain less than five minutes to go there didn't it. wow. well, actually. I think maybe the real horror part is that garak still loves him and doesn't know how to stop. somewhere in there is a five year old whose heart is a desperate stupid little moth and his father is a ruinous forest fire in the night, brighter and closer than any star. of course it burns you to touch it that's just what love is, right. *spots a smiling julian bashir in the loading bay holding a box of chocolates out of the corner of his mind and experiences something harrowing and existential he simply cannot unpack right in this moment thank you* right???)

[littlewalken]

TZN Exclusive Interview: Andy Robinson

On Garak, "Star Trek", "Dirty Harry" & Sci-Fi Idealism

TrekZone Network sat down with Andrew Robinson, who played the Cardassian Garak in "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine", in Hamburg prior to the "Evening with Andrew Robinson", organized by FKM Events. We talked about Garak's past and future, Robinson's current projects and the idealism of science fiction fans.

TrekZone Network: Is this the first time you are in Hamburg?

Andrew Robinson: No, I was here 12 years ago for a convention with another organizer. So this is my first time back in 12 years, I believe.

Andy Robinson at the FKM Evening in Hamburg

TZN: Long time.

Robinson: It has been a long time. And as they say, a lot of water under the bridge...

TZN: You have been to Germany in the meantime?

Robinson: Yeah, I've been here several times. For one reason or another and in several different places. I have come here for a whole bunch of reasons. Even just as a tourist. But I have never made a film here or anything.

TZN: Your first stint as Garak was in the third episode of "Deep Space Nine". When you first got that role, did you anticipate or did you know that it was going to be a recurring role?

Robinson: No, not at all. Originally, the role of Odo, that Rene Auberjonois played, came down to three of us. Myself, another actor and obviously Rene. Then Rene got the role. Then they asked me to come in a few weeks later to read for this other role, which I thought was just going to be one episode. But it turned out that they were looking for a way to get the character of Doctor Bashir more involved with the show and so they, they were testing a storyline for Doctor Bashir and obviously the storyline was: he meets this older Cardassian, presumably tailor. Is he a spy? Who is he? This very mysterious person, the last Cardassian left on the station.

They wanted to see if there was any chemistry between Siddig and myself as actors. And of course we hit it off immediately. We had a great time with each other. And so it was based on that when they saw that episode, I think it was "Past Prologue", and they saw that we were working well together then they decided to add more episodes of Garak. Which I am eternally grateful for.

TZN: Do you regret that you were not cast as Odo?

Robinson: No, no, no, no. Not at all. As an actor, and an actor of a certain age, after a while you become very philosophical about these things. And genuinely so. Whoever gets the role, that was their role, you cannot feel remorse or try to second-guess or be bitter. And it always is the right actor as far as I am concerned and certainly with Rene it was the right actor. He was wonderful as Odo.

TZN: The part as Garak turned out to be rather substantial as well, of course.

Robinson: O, Garak was one of the best characters, I mean this, he was one of the most enjoyable, fully satisfying characters I have ever played in my life. And the fact that it is the only time in my life, too, as an actor, that I was able to develop a character over a seven-year period, and not be overused. By that I mean often if you are a regular on a series, they run out of things for a character to say and to do, and so the character just ends up repeating himself/herself, and the actions and the plotlines and after a while it becomes what they call the law of diminishing returns. The character becomes reduced. With Garak, because I was not a regular character, I appeared occasionally, I think I was in 39 episodes, and when I appeared, it was for a reason. Almost always it was for a reason, There are a few episodes when I wondered what I was doing there... But that always happens and at least they paid me, so that was fine.

TZN: Is there anything you would have liked to do as Garak on screen? Or any aspect of his character, his personality, that you would have liked to develop?

Robinson as Cardassian Elim Garak

Robinson: They did start this love story. But then they could not find the right actress. And so they had this one actress playing Ziyal and they did not like her, so they had another actress playing Ziyal who looked like my granddaughter, so that made me feel a little perverse. Then they just decided to forget about it. But it would have been wonderful to have had a bittersweet love story, someone who breaks Garak's heart, who tries to unlock the mystery romantically and cannot do it.

It is one of the reasons I wrote the book, to explore that part of Garak, Garak's heart. Because as an actor, you fall in love, well you do not always fall in love with your characters but the ones that you do fall in love with, it is a very deep relationship that you have with the character, and the character does take on a life on its own. Because as an actor, that is what you try to do. You try to transform yourself into this character's life. Obviously, I am not Garak, I am not Hamlet, but you find those places within yourself that can make that transformation.

I was not a "Star Trek" fan when they hired me. I had no idea what the "Star Trek" universe was, who Cardassians were, who Klingons, Romulans, I had no idea about any of that.

TZN: You had never seen anything, never heard about it?

Robinson: I had heard about it but never saw a thing. And a Cardassian? I had no idea what that was.

TZN: Then the makeup was applied...

Robinson: Yeah, right. But they did show me the episode, in "Next Generation", I think David Warner was the first Cardassian or was Marc Alaimo the first?

TZN: Marc Alaimo.

Robinson: Yeah, but it was that two-parter where David Warner's Cardassian character is torturing Picard and I thought, well, that is a really interesting-looking guy. That was the first episodes that peaked my interest. I thought, they deal with substantial things. And the acting was wonderful. Of course, David Warner has always been one of my favorite actors.

So I started writing a diary. As if Garak had a diary and I would write things, and I would make up things about him. And it is what you do, it is what an actor does sometimes for any character. You try to create a story, a life for this character. And when the series was over, I realized there were still things I would have loved to say about Garak and that is why I wrote the book "A Stitch in Time".

TZN: Did you start with the diary when you recognized that Garak would not be a one- or two-episode thing but a recurring role?

Robinson: Yeah, exactly, I think I started in the second year. I also started it when I started being invited to conventions and I realized, after two or three conventions, there were four or five questions people who would always ask me. How long does it take, your makeup... But I thought, would it not be interesting if I if at the conventions did something different. And so what I would do is that I would get up and I would read excerpts from these diaries. It became enormously popular, and that in a sense spawned a lot of things, then as actors we all started saying, well, maybe there is something that we can do rather than just get up and talk about our makeup and so forth. And that unleashed a whole bunch of stuff. Even Siddig and I wrote a play together that we did at several conventions and it was really a rather challenging play, dealing with string theory...

TZN: What was it about? I read just before this interview that you had this play...

Andy Robinson in Hamburg in June 2008 (Photo credit: Klaus Wittmack)

Robinson: Well, basically Garak and Bashir meet up in this place and it is like, nobody knows, but it looks like a convention with "Star Trek" fans there. And so they had to conduct this very tricky business in front of these people sitting at tables and sitting in chairs watching them. It was very, very, very postmodern. (laughs)

And there was a time when we were working on the play in front of an audience, too. Towards the end, when we finally got it written and got it right, that was when it was at its best but while we were experimenting with it, I think a lot of people fell asleep. (laughs)

Getting back to those diaries, [Michael Scott] co-wrote a book with Armin Shimerman ["The Merchant Prince"] and he said to me, "You should turn this into a book!" and that was when I did. And it was actually the first "Star Trek" book that was written without what they call a ghostwriter.

TZN: Are you thinking of writing another novel about Garak?

Robinson: No. I actually have said everything I could possibly say about Garak. I really have. Plus, if I did, I would then because of the corporate nature of Pocket Books, the Simon and Schuster division that does the "Star Trek" books, I would then have to follow all these other books that have been written about Garak and that does not interest me at all. Because the story I came up with was actually, oddly enough close my story, especially when Garak was a young man.

TZN: You did write another short story though, right? Set after the book.

Robinson: Right.

TZN: That was the last thing we have heard from Garak. In that story, he is not in a very positive state of mind and not in a good place.

Robinson: No.

TZN: So if we could jump forward in time, to a time and place after that, where would we find Garak?

Robinson: Dead. Honestly, because when I wrote that novella, first I was interested in putting - because I live part of the year in Paris -

I was interested in having Garak in Paris and see what that was like. Paris is like a museum now, and I thought that they would have really preserved it in 400 years and it would have become the museum of the world. But when I got Garak to Paris, it became very depressing. That is why I think he was not in a great state. I realized that if I had have written much more about Garak, he probably would have had to die. I do not want to go into why because it is all political and you are not here about politics. (laughs)

TZN: When did the producers tell you about who Garak's parents were?

Robinson: The big reveal was of course with Enabran Tain, who was the head of the Obsidian Order. I know that the mother appeared at one point when they were on Cardassia in that last series of episodes that I was in and that they ended up at Garak's mother's house, hiding. But the story of Garak and his parents really is what I myself put together, in terms of the relationships.

TZN: Did you have a hunch though that the storyline could develop into the direction of Enabran Tain being revealed as Garak's father?

Robinson: O, no! It was a big surprise to me. It was great!

TZN: Just like for the viewers.

Robinson: O, yeah, absolutely! But that is how I felt every time I would get a new script from the writers because the writers loved writing for Garak, that was the pleasure. It was evident that they liked writing for Garak because of the language, the dialogue that they would give him which was so delicious and so much fun and very ironic. One of the things you certainly know is that in America irony is not at the top of our list. As a people we do not really appreciate ironic humor. I think that one of the things that made Garak popular is the fact that he did have a sense of irony. That to everything he said there was a twist and there was always a subtext. And indeed probably he was lying but enjoying it and enjoying the fact that he was lying and seeing how far he could get away with it and who was gullible and who was smart.

Andy Robinson in Hamburg in June 2008 (Photo credit: Klaus Wittmack)

TZN: There was this one episode with the implant, "The Wire". That embodies everything you just said.

Robinson: Yeah, and that is by far my favorite episode.

TZN: We asked our readers to hand in some questions for you beforehand. One of them is: how long did it take to apply the makeup?

Robinson: At the beginning, it took about four hours, I would say. And then they got it down to about two hours. Towards the end they got more dexterous, thank God, because sitting in the chair for four hours meant that I would have to come in long before dawn and it was just excruciating, it was horrible. Even two hours was bad enough. It is the only thing about Garak that I do not miss at all.

TZN: Did the makeup inhibit you in the way you could express yourself?

Robinson: Well, that is the great, mysterious thing about working with a mask like that. For one thing the technology is very good, there were I think seven prosthetic pieces and they were all very flexible, very pliable and so you put it on and you think, my God, it is like this corpus, you're encased in it. But then you were fine, you could move. You were not, you were not limited the way Rene was limited with Odo because he could not eat, he lost a lot of weight. That is something I should have done!

But he had to take his lunch through a straw and so he could not move much at all because it was a mess. If he marled just a little bit, then he would have to sit in a chair and have to go through a whole process to get it back to that smoothness. That obviously was not my problem. My problem was the claustrophobia that I have, which I experienced actually last night. I went to a bar in Paris with some friends to watch the French lose to the Dutch. (laughter) Really lose. And deservedly so, I mean it. The French should get rid of that coach of theirs because he is awful.

I was at the bar and everybody was crowding in around me, I had to leave at the interval, go home and watch it on my own television. That was the thing about the Garak makeup. That was one thing but then this heavy wig that they put on top of me and then, because they wanted Cardassians to look big, they made the costumes out of the material that you make furniture pads, furniture textiles, and so all the costumes were very heavy and once you zipped them up it was like you were in a sauna, literally.

Actually that is where I lost a little weight, a lot of water weight anyway. When you get under the lights, underneath the makeup and the wig and the costume, there were rivers of sweat, I was soaked underneath. Not very glamorous (laughter) and I certainly did not smell like a flower.

TZN: I have got another reader question here, that touches a different subject. Did you know that there is speculation about Garak's sexuality?

Robinson: Oh, yeah. I started it.

TZN: Really? Then this might be interesting to this reader. He calls himself your gay fan Dominion and he asks a lot of questions like: Why haven't we seen a gay character in "Star Trek"? Have gays become extinct in the 24th century? Do you think there will ever be a gay character in "Star Trek"? Do gays not belong in "Star Trek's" future?

Robinson: O, yeah. There will be gay characters. Certainly now there will be, for one thing, America is still very puritan, we are very squeamish when it comes to sexuality. I remember when I very first played Garak, I played him gay! I thought this would be great! He sees this young man, this young, very attractive doctor on the station, he is lonely, he is the only Cardassian there, this doctor is curious about him, and if you remember, this was a great moment because Sid totally went with it! When he comes up and he puts his hand on his shoulder, Sid did this great thing, it was this sort of an electrical charge that went through him and so I played him totally gay in that episode.

Garak's First Scene

Of course the producers did not actually tell me not to play him gay but then they started writing him a little more macho and more like a Cardassian. But I said, "Listen, one of the great things about Garak is that he is not Gul Dukat, he is not one of those macho, militaristic guys, he is your finesse Cardassian." So we struck a compromise but I was always very clear. I did not get into it in the book. Quite frankly, I was going to go in that direction. I had written a whole thing about Garak's sexuality because I felt that Garak was sort of - talk about bisexual, I think that he was multisexual, essentially that anything that moves is fair game for Garak. He has a voracious sexual appetite.

But as I say, especially on American television you have the odd gay character now but it is all going to be just cosmetic. In terms of commercial television ever getting into real sexuality, that is not going to happen. "Star Trek" is very conservative, there is a conservatism about "Star Trek" that I think "Deep Space Nine" in a sense went against. It defied that conservatism. "Deep Space Nine" was not as black and white as the other "Star Trek" shows. It was different. It was not people in a rocket ship doing one-night stands on a planet to planet to planet, coming in and battling the evil aliens or some kind of monster or whatever. It was a community unto itself on the edge and this is what I loved about the show, every one of the characters on "Deep Space Nine" had a moral dimension about them. Each one of them was in touch with their dark side.

That episode "In the Pale Moonlight", when Garak introduces Captain Sisko to the concept of realpolitik, that okay, if you want to get rid of the Romulan threat, what you do is, you kill them. And you kill them in a not very nice way. So you just eliminate your enemy. Of course that is not fair play, that is not the American way. I was surprised, I loved that episode because it was very mature in that sense. It said you have to grow up, this is the world you live in now. And of course the world we live in now is very morally ambiguous to say the least.

I rambled, I am sorry. We went away from sexuality but I think there has to be more gay characters. I do not know what this movie is going to be like but this movie I believe is about Starfleet academy?

A gay Sulu? According to Robinson an interesting idea

TZN:It is a prequel. It is not entirely set on Starfleet academy but shows the young crew in their early years getting together.

Robinson: Right. For instance, I wonder, George Takei, who has come out, who is an openly gay man, and actually now I think he and his partner are going to get married since the California Supreme Court has now finally legalized gay marriage. But I wonder where they are going to go with his character in this prequel. It would be very interesting.

TZN: You did some work behind the camera as well. You directed I believe an episode of DS9. How was that for you, the experience to suddenly tell your colleagues what to do?

Robinson: Yes, right. It is funny, it was very different getting on the other side of the camera and not just working with the other actors, I mean they were fine. But it was the first episode I really had a lot of trouble with because it was my first episode ever directing something. And of course when you are directing "Star Trek" you have the added dimension, the added complication of the special effects. Although they have great special-effects people and you just get out of the way and let them do their work but still you are always trying to visualize what the picture looks like as a director.

But I must say that directing the "Star Trek" episodes really in a sense changed my life because it was the first time I started directing. From there I went on to a lot more directing, mainly theater because I have always been more of a theater person than a film person. And that really gave me the courage to continue in that direction as a director which I have and which has actually led to my current position. I am a fulltime teacher now. I run an acting program at the University of Southern California. And that all came out of directing.

TZN: You have been an actor, you have been a director, you have written a book, actually is there anything artistic you would still like to do? Singing maybe?

Robinson: No, I do not think so. Actually, it is true, it is interesting you should say that. I would actually love to do a musical. I really would love to do a musical, you are absolutely right. I would love to do one of these great musicals. But I still go back and forth. I am going to do a play this summer in San Francisco as an actor. I will continue to direct. I do not know how much longer I will run this program because I created this actor-training program and that was exciting.

I am going to be actually talking about that today. I work with young actors in terms of how does one train to be an actor, what is it that one does? I am being able to put some of my own ideas and thoughts about what actor training is into a coherent program that goes over three years, that trains professional actors. That has been very exciting. That is part of who I am but I think the territory of being an actor is that you do reinvent yourself from time to time. You have to reinvent yourself from time to time. Not to change, you really have to transform because that is the business.

TZN: In your career, you played many roles, and you guest starred in "Bonanza".

Robinson: No, you could not possibly remember! That is incredible. No, o my God, how could you... That is amazing. Yeah, that was the very last season of "Bonanza", too. And I think it was my first work in television.

TZN: How was it to play with such very famous actors like Lorne Greene?

Robinson: Well, see, it was very nice. They are household names but I had just come off from doing my first film with Clint Eastwood. So playing with Clint Eastwood was like playing with God. And then everyone else, they are wonderful actors, but still, my first film experience was the "Dirty Harry" film and that was extraordinary. I must say I enjoyed doing "Bonanza" because it was a show that had gone on forever. I helped kill it because that was the last season... Having the experience of doing "Dirty Harry" which was a feature film, that interested me a lot more than doing television.

Andy Robinson in "Dirty Harry"

TZN: You did very many TV series. The list of your guest appearances just goes on and on and on.

Robinson: Yeah, I did and most of the time I was the villain. That was courtesy of "Dirty Harry". After I did "Dirty Harry" nobody could see me as playing anything but the villain.

TZN: Is there any of these series that you would have liked to be on as one of the lead actors or main cast?

Robinson: In America, there is a series that just ended. I do not know if it is here, I do not know if it has come here. They did five years of it. HBO has these. I do not know if you know Home Box Office? It is a cable network in America. They had these series, "The Sopranos" was their flagship, their famous series. But they had another series called "The Wire". Have you ever heard of "The Wire"?

TZN: The title sounds familiar but that is all.

Robinson: It is interesting because you had me talking about that episode of "Deep Space Nine" that is called "The Wire", that was my favorite episode. Well, this series, "The Wire", is probably the best television series I have ever seen in my life. It was a brilliant series that took the city of Baltimore and it investigated the city of Baltimore in a dramatic series format on every level from drug dealers to police to schools to unions and it was an amazing series. I do not know how it got done because in America we are not big on socially-relevant thematic. We want our entertainment to be pure and uncluttered with things we have to think about. But this was a brilliant series and I, every time I watched the series, thought, o my God, I would love to be on that series! That was one of the few things I ever watched where I felt that way. I hope it comes here, I am sure it will come here. It has to. If it does, you must watch it because it is extraordinary.

TZN: I am afraid we have to wrap up already. One last question: Is there any question that you would really particularly badly like to answer but have never been asked?

Robinson: Wow. I have to say I think I have been asked every question that I can possibly imagine. Short of questions that I would prefer not to get into. No, I do not think that there is. I do not think that there is at all. I find that "Star Trek" fans for the most part, especially in Europe, are relatively sophisticated. I think that there is an idealism about following a series like "Star Trek", especially in this world.

Can we imagine ourselves projected into 24th or 25th century or wherever and still functioning. Obviously, it is weird. As you said earlier, here we are, four- five hundred years later and where have all the gay people gone? Where have all the people of color gone in a sense. That has always been something. What has indeed happened to poverty and what has happened to racism and fundamentalism and terrorism and all the things that bedevil us. I really do hope that science fiction continues to evolve and the way certain writers have challenged themselves to think about what happens to all of these social issues in the future and how we project solutions for them or perhaps not solutions but perhaps just accommodations, how do we learn to live with each other because in the end I think that that is what the "Star Trek" series perhaps offers its best insights about. Then I think that it is also great dramatic material which is the great question how do we learn how to live with each other without violence and without predatory behavior.

TZN: That ends this interview on a very thoughtful note, I think. Thank you very much.

Robinson: It was a pleasure, thank you, it has been great.

[pollyna]

Garak arrival at Tarak Nor doesn't go unnoticed but, even if he's in exile, he's still Tain's protege and everyone and their mothers are afraid of him. So he has more free time than ever, his new job is relatively easily once he learns how to do it and trying to kill Gul Dukat is fulfilling for just a couple of hours the first week he's on the station. The man is quiet boring and not important enough to really attempt to his life.

Garak's day is spent sewing, reading, eating food that doesn't taste of much and hoarding secrets, one after another. But, even if he speaks most of the Kardasi's dialect and a good number of other languages, bajoran is almost alien for him. It takes him weeks to really understood a full sentence, during a lunch between two workers, and his life would be a little less miserable if he had, like everybody else, a UT but it doesn't work well with Tain's implant and the implant is more important than is own life.

By the time Tarak Nor becomes Deep Space 9 and Bajor is free, Garak knows how to speak Bajoran and three of it's dialect, Standard, a decent amount of Trill, Japanese and Arabic. For them, for the Federation just as for his fellow cardassians, there's no reason to think he doesn't have the UT and that he actually speaks all that languages.

After all the mess with the implant, doctor Bashir little trip to find Tain and a solution to save him, some adjustment to his quarters, is captain Sisko who asks him about the lack of UT and Garak laughs in his face with the little grace he has left. They don't dispense them for plain, simple tailors captain. Nobody tried to talk about him about it or to talk to him in general.

It's routine goes back to the one he had with the Cardassian's around, sewing, eating food that doesn't taste like much, reading to many books and trying to exercise a little, in the middle of the night when sleep doesn't come and the pain makes him almost blind(*). Odo still checks on him and Quark tries to sell him replicated liquor, that he swears, come directly from the capital of Cardassia Prime. The first smirk is almost disappointed when he doesn't do much else than his work and the second persists until Garak doesn't spend almost an hour straying at him, directly in his eyes, without telling a word. Apparently he hasn't lost his touch when it come to intimidation practice.

Garak is in the middle of a discussion with a Bolian man about the cut of his pants when doctor Bashir enters his store. Garak smiles at him, always polite and compose because he's a client, before turning his attention to the other man. After forty five minutes of discussion they finally find an idea that please both of them, Garak takes a break before his next costumer and he can almost forget about doctor Bashir still being there.

The number of language you can speak is astonishing Garak and oh boy, he really wants to have a conversation, doesn't he? More than enough, doctor he smiles, now, what can I do for you today? New suit or do you need another extravagant costume for your holosuit games?

No, I'm here because I wanted to ask you if you want to have lunch with me? Maybe today? ha asks and he almost seems to stand taller while he speaks.

I have to much work to do, doctor. But thank you the same for the invitation. Why his clients are always late? He has another three and then a bride before closing for the night and doesn't want to take other work to his quarters.

I- Garak, please. I know the last month I've been cancelling our lunches but- believe me when I say it was for a good cause.

I'm sure of it, doctor. That doesn't change I have a half dozen of pants to adjust, two betazoid clients coming in for two new dresses each and a Vulcan bride who's particular picky about the shade of her dress. Maybe next week. And gods be blessed because one the betazoid woman decides to arrive just in that moment and cut off their conversation. He barley notice doctor Bashir leaving the establishment. Or, at least, it what he likes to think.

The Vulcan bride leaves the shop but she doesn't take with her the headache she caused him. Cardassians may speak in circle but Vulcans are no better with their "truth". At the end Garak has to take some work to do in his quarters anyway.

The next morning, waiting for him in front of his shop, is Odo and what it follows is the most strange and peculiar breakfast he has ever had. And he had sat at the same table with the heads of, almost, every secret agency in the Alpha Quadrant.

To that it follows a lunch with commander Dax and a reluctant major Kira, who spends the entire hour alternating between looking at him waiting for a mistake and asking him about a particular fabric for a dress she would like to order from him. And then a breakfast with Quark and Odo, a lunch with Keiko and Molly, filled with pretty drawings, long talks about plants and the promise to help her to create a space for Cardssian's flower and, maybe, to look after Molly a couple of times.

In the next two weeks Garak eats with everyone, even captain Sisko and his son, a boy too tall for his own age. But not with doctor Bashir. After the Vulcan bride problem is solved he decides to go to find the Doctor, maybe to say sorry, think about how much he missed him, and maybe the could grab a bite together if he isn't busy?

What he isn't expecting, when he chimes to Julian's door, is to find the man listening to a recorded lesson of Kardasi, while repeating some of the sentences.

Doctor Bashir? Are you going to leave Deep Space 9 to live on Cardassia?

Garak! Oh god, I was hoping to have a little more time... he answers, looking almost embarrassed.

For what exactly doctor?

When we took care of the implant I realized you didn't have an UT and I asked captain Sisko if we could procure one for you because it could have been simpler for you? Just after I realized you didn't need help because you were speaking everyone's language without problems, but no one was talking yours. And I, sorta?, decided to learn Kardasi but it took me more time that I would ever imagined and a month went by and the others decided to help? I didn't even have to ask, they did all themselves and gave me a little more time to study but I still don't grasp it enough to have a serious conversation...

Oh dear doctor, you didn't have to go and learn kardasi for me! I would have continued to talk your language without any problem!

But I wanted to. And I learned about a little about your culture and about the meaning behind all that arguing at lunch. And I would like to invite you to another one, maybe tomorrow? If you have resolved your Vulcan bridezilla problem, obviously.

Garak doesn't remember the last time his cheeks felt so hot all at once. I would be delighted, my dear. And, perhaps, I could tell you some about my Vulcan bridezilla problem.

I would be perfect, Garak. he answers before kissing him on his forehead.

—

Garak's routine doesn't change much after their first date, he still sewing, eating food that doesn't taste of much, read books but now they're from all over the galaxy and in every language he speaks. He's still learning new languages and existing without a UT. But now he rarely spends a lunch alone sometimes he gets invited to dinner by Keiko or Capitan Sisko. When he doesn't sleep and everything hurts to much there always are a couple of hands shooting his ache and talking him down most of his nightmares.

Deep Space 9 it still to damn cold and distant from what he defines has home but it's something he could learn to live, because now is not alone anymore.

(*) I don't honestly know if there's some equivalent of the Italian sentence "non vederci più dal dolore" but it seemed the most appropriate translation.

[miss-spooky-eyes]

OC Inspirations: Devinahl & Indy

I was (delightfully) tagged by @vespertine-legacy​ a while ago and I’ve hesitated to do this because I knew I was going to talk WAY too much - but it was weighing on me, so I decided to open up about the sources from which I stole, that is, drew inspiration for Devinahl and Indirae.

What three fictional characters is your OC a combination of?  

This doesn’t apply to every OC - not even mine - but its certainly true for a few : Many of our characters are, to an extent, inspired by characters we see in movies, books, games, TV shows, etc.

Does this apply to any of your OCs? Was it a conscious decision on your part or not? Is your OC a combination of three (or more) fictional characters?

If so - post some GIFs / pics and tell us about them! What does your OC draw from other characters?

Too much Devinahl & Indy chat after the cut.

DEVINAHL

The truth is that when I came to creating my Imperial Agent Devinahl, and in particular fleshing out her backstory in far, far too much detail, there were some sources that I went to extremely explicitly and deliberately. And chief among them was ...

1. Garak, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

That’s right. Garak from Deep Space Nine. Plain, simple Garak. Outcast. Exile. Spy. Addict. Perennial liar. Patriot. Terrorist. Would-be genocider. Very good tailor.

(If you haven’t seen DS9, then you need to. It’s like Star Trek, but if it was actually good? And Garak is a big part of what elevates it.) 

Is it weird to compare my ancient video game Barbie/gorgeous sex bomb badass assassin and seductress to a cold-blooded space lizard who spends his days hemming pants? Possibly. But there are aspects of Garak’s character that, consciously and unconsciously, I made parts of Devinahl’s DNA. 

Firstly, Garak is a patriot. He loves Cardassia so much that despite seeing its flaws with absolute clarity, despite having been exiled and reviled by it, he would die without question to serve it (of course, he’d much rather make someone else die). And while seeing that as a weakness, despite knowing that the Cardassia he has committed to serving is disappearing before his eyes, there is still a part of him that believes that that commitment - that neverending sacrifice - is noble. The only noble part of him. That’s central to Devinahl’s character (which is, in turn, the way I made sense of the IA storyline). That while hating and despising the Sith, she would nevertheless believe in the Empire - not so much believe that it is good (at best, I think she sees it as order and stability where the Republic is corruption and chaos) as believe that her commitment to it is the only redeeming thing available to her.

Secondly, the way that Garak will take his needs, vulnerabilities, sincere emotions and package them in ways which gets him what he has to have to keep going, without ever giving up full control? Particularly in the extraordinary episode The Wire, in which a dying Garak tells Dr Bashir a series of lies about himself in order to elicit Bashir’s forgiveness, because he needs to be sincerely forgiven but without ever telling the truth?

Out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren’t? My dear doctor, they’re all true. Even the lies?

That is everything I tried to do with Dev, particularly in my fic about her and SCORPIO, particularly when it comes to her and Arcann. To know what she needs, as Garak needs absolution from Bashir, and tell just enough truth - put herself into just vulnerable enough a position - to get it, but never without reserving something, holding something back, whether it’s the knowledge that she can maneouvre herself out of SCORPIO’s clutches at any time or her real name? That’s a fucking survivor.

Thirdly, the relationship between Devinahl and Sifter (the spymaster who finds her as a traumatised child and grooms her for Intelligence) and specifically, the deathbed scene I wrote in Riddle was directly inspired by Garak’s relationship with Enabran Tain and that death scene. 

Yes, Devinahl was not Sifter’s actual daughter, but in every real sense she was formed by Sifter - and had Sifter had just one day with Dev like Tain had with Garak, Dev would have been lost. She would have turned herself into a carbon copy of Sifter, and she would have died. But the bittersweetness? The acknowledgement that the parental figure you love will never, not even now that they’re dying, love you as you want them to?

‘I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can't afford.’ ‘So you've told me. Many times. ...’ ‘Elim, remember that day…in the country. You must've been almost five.’ ‘How can I forget it? It was the only day.’

(The love and infinite sadness with which Andrew Robinson says that line, ‘It was the only day’? I’m crying just thinking about it. Anyway, it was everything I was thinking about and wanted to achieve in that scene.)

Oh ... and Devinahl’s ambiguous relationship with her implants? Well, Garak also has an implant in his head. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

2. Oryx from Oryx & Crake by Margaret Atwood

A novel character rather than from TV or movies, I hope that’s OK. And I know that there are ... very problematic elements to the way Atwood writes about Oryx, her family, her culture, her background. But she was one of the strongest elements that went into creating Devinahl and her backstory.

There were specific aspects of the story Oryx tells to Jimmie - particularly the parts about being told to scream and make a fuss if a man tries to take you away to a hotel room, and then being told not to make a fuss when a man tries to take you away to a hotel room - that became part of Dev’s story. But there was also a general attitude and way of looking at life I wanted to capture and incorporate. Oryx’s philosophy of value?

Of course (said Oryx), having a money value was no substitute for love. Every child should have love, every person should have it. . . . but love was undependable, it came and then it went, so it was good to have a money value, because then at least those who wanted to make a profit from you would make sure you were fed enough and not damaged too much. Also there were many who had neither love nor a money value, and having one of these things was better than having nothing.

I wanted to create a character who could look at life and suffering and abuse, even her own, and view it in that dispassionate way which horrifies someone from my middle-class Western background - and then I wanted to test that idea, to bring it up against SCORPIO and have SCORPIO try to break it down with torture, to see if it was just a cool facade/necessary illusion. I wimped out of really testing that belief, instead having Dev always know that she could get out of her situation/having her find a way to be loved without truly having to sacrifice her protective patterns ... but if I was a little braver and better, I’d have tested it to breaking point. How far can a character go who thinks like that while still remaining, on some level, compassionate/human/likeable?

3. Saffron (Firefly)

I could have gone Black Widow (definitely the inspiration for Dev’s aesthetic in terms of outfit etc). But the plain truth is that I thought more about Saffron while dreaming up Devinahl/writing her backstory than I did about Black Widow (yes, Widow turned her weakness into strength in a manipulative fashion all the time, but Garak did it better, and other than that she mainly looked after boys in a way that I did not want Dev to be limited to). 

Firefly, for a show that had - what - 13 episodes? - exercises far too much of a hold on my imagination and Saffron, especially in the first episode in which she appeared, was such a tremendous character. The way that she found exactly the triggers to turn each member of the crew inside out? (And if she’d had more time, it absolutely would have worked on Wash and Inara, too - it only didn’t because she had to hurry.) Dev has that. I can’t write it, because I suck, but she has it. 

Oh, and nobody will ever know Devinahl’s real name (apart from you, if you read my fic about her backstory) and she’d die before letting you know it. That’s straight from Saffron. As is, I suppose, the man who would accept her just as she is without needing to push to know her secrets, except it worked out a little better for Dev and Arcann than it did for Yolanda and Durran Haymer because Dev and Arcann will always have pegging.

INDIRAE

(This will be a lot shorter than the section on Devinahl, I promise.)

1. Steve Rogers, Captain America (and whatever else)

I have never been super into the MCU, but the key reference I used to find a way into Indy’s character, back when she was nothing more than a cool-looking Cathar Bounty Hunter, was Steve Rogers. (November can attest to this)

Indy’s physical size - she’s six foot if she’s an inch, and big - is key to her personality, but equally key is the idea that she would always experience that size as uncomfortable and slightly alien to her. Like Steve Rogers, she started out as the scrawny kid always getting beat up by everybody ... And when she got her strength (with a hefty assist from the toxic waste run-off into what was her family’s only source of water) and suddenly got TALL and STRONG? She did not like bullies - which was what led her to help Coda out of a jam at the spacesport and started them on their road.

(If there’s a better way to play the BH storyline than as a stone-cold mercenary with an utterly unwilling heart of gold ... then I don’t know about it.)

2. Xena, Xena Warrior Princess

I’ll be completely fucking straight with anybody about this (so to speak): I love Xena, I had an obsession with it as a teenager I’m still unpacking, and the show tends to feed into my characters in an ... odd way.

Indy is physically imposing like Xena, is the main thing; and her dynamic with Coda owes a lot to Xena’s with Gabrielle (although Coda is as big and tough as Indy, she is the fast talker/smooth operator to Indy’s laconic strongman). I wanted Indy to dominate action scenes the way that Xena does, be that kind of a force of nature; and watch her struggle to find ways to channel that charisma, to need Coda’s help to understand how to do it.

3. Dottie Henson, A League of Their Own

OK, first of all, I do not want to hear any kind of mockery. This is, unironically, one of my favourite films of all time.

Again, we come back to the core theme of a character struggling with her own greatness/potential. That’s what is the most fascinating through-line of A League of Their Own: Dottie, this unbelievable baseball player/physical presence (yes, she’s very tall, just like Indy) who is so terrified to admit that she wants anything more than her smalltown life and dreadful husband, even while the evidence of her talent and passion for the game is burning up these ... fields? Diamonds? I don’t know baseball apart from this film.

Indy certainly hides behind not wanting to be a bounty hunter. She doesn’t believe in any Mandalorian nonsense about romanticising what is an unglamorous job. She’s just doing it for credits and afterwards, once she’s secured her family’s future, she’s totally going to go home and settle down in some acceptable, domestic way. Being on the Mantis with Coda, it’s absolutely just a means to an end. She doesn’t want to be there, she doesn’t care about it, it’s not who she is, she doesn’t need it. This life, the adventure, the freedom, the fighting for survival, it’s certainly not what gets inside her and what lights her up, no, not at all. 

Oh, and Dottie is also a reluctant leader. She doesn’t see why her talent should put her in the position of telling other people what to do - but then, on the other hand, she sees so clearly what they need to be doing, and when she says to do it, they listen. She doesn’t want to carry this team, but they’re only a team so long as she carries them.

(Don’t worry, Coda’s not going to let her lie to herself for too long.)

[rigonelli]

Hey i absolutely looove your writing its the best!! I was wondering if you could do a prompt where mo and he tain go to a corn maze and maybe get lost or they carve pumpkins since its fall

Guan Shan rounded another corner only to walk right into a dead end.

“Alright, that’s it!” he said. “We’re officially lost.”

He Tian, whose stupid idea it had been in the first place, didn’t seem too worried. He shrugged his shoulders and turned around, pulling Guan Shan by the sleeve to try the next corner.

“I knew this would happen!” Guan Shan ranted. He was sick of seeing nothing but corn. The stalks had grown so high and dense that it was impossible to walk through them. What kind of people went to corn mazes anyway? It was pointless, cold, and no fun. They hadn’t met a single person the whole way through, which made it eerie to boot.

“Don’t worry,” He Tian said, seeing Guan Shan frown. “I took precautions in case this would happen.”

“Why didn’t you say so before? Did you print out the outlines of the maze?”

“No,” He Tian said, smiling. The smile looked more devious than it had to be and Guan Shan knew he wouldn’t like those precautions.

“I came up with a ton of corn puns to pass the time.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I know,” said He Tian, grin widening. “I shuck.”

Guan Shan was tempted to just run away and leave He Tian behind. But he knew that would only result in him wandering lost around the maze all night while He Tian called his brother to come help him out. He Cheng would probably send Qiu with his motorcycle to mow down the corn stalks and Guan Shan couldn’t miss that.

“I hope you’re not fantasizing about kicking me in the nuts with that dreamy expression,” He Tian said.

“No, I’m fantasizing about a prince coming to save me on a black stallion.”

“You’re fantasizing about other people on our first date? That’s corncerning.”

Great, he really meant to go through with it.

“Not a first date!”

“You’re right. We’ve had so many dates, I’ve lost cornt.”

“Not a date, period,” Guan Shan snapped. “Don’t just go around assuming things!”

“I’m not assuming. I asked!” He Tian insisted. “You were asleep, but you snored very affirmingly!”

Guan Shan ground his teeth. He never should have spent the night at He Tian’s. He had always known that something would happen. After all these months he had grown careless. It wasn’t as easy masking one’s feelings in the early morning hours as it was the rest of the day. Guan Shan didn’t remember what he had said in his half-sleep, but ever since, He Tian seemed to know.

“Oops,” said He Tian, staring at the dead end just ahead. “Wrong way again.”

“Maybe we should try that trick with following the right wall,” said Guan Shan.

“Maize well,” He Tian nodded. Guan Shan really felt like punching him.

They went quiet for a while, Guan Shan’s right hand brushing along the corn stalks as they walked. He tried to pay no mind to his other hand, which He Tian had taken in his as if they could get separated at any moment.

“It’s creepy that there’s no one else here,” Guan Shan said after he had failed to ignore their hand-holding.

“I know, right? It feels like we’re being…” He Tian leant over to whisper in his ear, “Stalked!”

Guan Shan had no problem letting go of his hand for that.

“I have a little present for you,” said He Tian, unfazed. He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a tiny pumpkin. A face was carved in it.

“What am I supposed to do with this? Eat it if we don’t make it out?”

“No,” He Tian said slowly, as if Guan Shan was stupid for not understanding. “I don’t think it’s possible to starve in a corn maze anyway. Did you know you can eat-“

“I’ll punch you!”

“The pumpkin reminded me of you,” said He Tian.

“I can see that. You carved my face into it. I don’t look happy.”

“It’s small, red, and delicious. Like you.”

“It’s also angry. Like me,” Guan Shan said, pointing to his own expression, which He Tian had captured quite realistically.

“So you don’t like it?”

“Why would I like it? It’s a shit present!” Guan Shan ripped the pumpkin from He Tian’s hand, shaking it in He Tian’s face. “Look at that! What am I supposed to do with it? You could have brought a flare gun – that I would have been very thankful for!”

“Really? How thankful exactly?” asked He Tian.

That asshole! If he seriously had a flare gun and not lost a word about it so far, Guan Shan was going to punch him. He pocketed the pumpkin, trying hard to breathe deep and relax. All he wanted right now was to get out of this stupid maze. There was a little restaurant not far from the corn field. They could go and warm up with a cup of hot chocolate and some cake. It was essential that Guan Shan didn’t lose his cool now, if he wanted that little fantasy to become reality.

“I’d be so thankful… that I’ll let you call this a date,” he said through ground teeth.

“It is a date. You can call it whatever you want. What else?”

“I’ll… erm… I’ll…” He could feel his face heat up again. “Hold your hand?”

“Boring,” said He Tian. “We did that five minutes ago. You shouldn’t have spoilt me before.”

“I’ll laugh at your corny jokes!”

“It’s more fun when you hate them.”

“Fuck!” Guan Shan cursed, kicking at a corn stalk. Truth be told, he would do anything to get out of here. Even some things he had tried very hard never to think about – at least when he was awake. He couldn’t really help it when he dreamed. But this… this was a life-and-death situation, wasn’t it? He had no choice. He Tian was practically blackmailing him here.

“You are the lowest of all creatures and I want you to know that I hate you from the bottom of my heart!” Guan Shan said, just before he seized He Tian by the jacket collar, tiptoed, and pecked He Tian on the lips.

When he pulled back, He Tian had turned to stone. It was confusing enough to keep Guan Shan’s head from exploding, at least.

“What?” Guan Shan asked when a minute had passed and He Tian still just stared at him, mouth slightly open, eyes unblinking.

“It’s just… I wouldn’t have expected that action to be followed by those words,” He Tian finally said. His voice sounded a little higher than usual.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“I mean… yes?” He Tian said, still looking shocked. “But you never gave me anything I wanted so freely.”

“I didn’t give it freely! You blackmailed me!”

“What? How?”

“The flare gun!” Guan Shan said. “You forced me to be thankful for-“

“I don’t have a- why would I have a flare gun? It was just a rhetorical question.”

“You don’t have a…” Guan Shan turned around and sank to the ground, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my- FUCK!”

Behind him, he could hear He Tian laughing. It sounded more hysterical than anything.

“SHUCK UP!” Guan Shan shouted. He didn’t know why it came out as a pun – maybe it was some kind of defense mechanism. He Tian only laughed more. Guan Shan let him, too busy trying to persuade the ground to open up and swallow him.

After the laughter had trickled away, Guan Shan felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. The right-wall-trick will lead us out sooner or later. And I promise I won’t tell anyone about our little misunderstanding just now. Alright?”

It was a sensible suggestion. More sensible than Guan Shan would have thought He Tian capable of.

“Treat me to hot chocolate when we get out,” Guan Shan said, letting He Tian pull him to his feet. He didn’t protest when He Tian didn’t let go of his hand.

“I’ll treat you to so much hot chocolate that you’ll want to puke.”

“That doesn’t sound very appealing.”

“And when you puke, I’ll hold your hair back for you.”

“There isn’t anything to hold back-“

“And if I’m not mistaken, that thing over there looks like the scarecrow that welcomed us into the maze.”

Guan Shan looked up, and indeed, there was an ugly scarecrow looking at him from the other end of the path.

They had found the exit.

“Oh,” said Guan Shan, slowing down a little. He hadn’t expected to get out so soon.

“What’s wrong?” asked He Tian.

“Nothing. Just… about before…”

Guan Shan turned his head away, hoping he wouldn’t blush too hard.

“You’re really not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“What happens in the maze, stays in the maze,” He Tian promised. “There’s only one thing I’ll tell people if they ask.”

“What’s that?”

He shouldn’t have asked, because the question summoned that grin back onto He Tian’s face. The pun grin.

“That our first date was absolutely A-maize-ing!”

[lovemesomerafael]

Others Like Me                                     Chapter 17:  Fort Drum

                 Chapters 1-15   Chapter 16   Read It On AO3

Bucky’s awake and out of bed before his eyes are all the way open.  He starts running before he becomes aware of Marya, springing up from the other side of the bed.  At that, he realizes the situation and stops as he hears her call out, “Jarvis, Troop Eight on the way!”  

She turns back toward him at the doorway and says hurriedly, “I’m sorry – I will see you when we get back-” and blows him a kiss.  He hears her call back to him, “I’m very glad you let me stay!” as she’s crossing his living room, and then the sound of the door opening and closing.    

And then he’s alone, a healthy dose of adrenaline ensuring that he’s not getting back to sleep anytime soon.  It was one thing to hear the quinjet take off when he’d first arrived in this universe.  Then, he’d just had to guess what was happening, and he’d been basically a prisoner, so there was no thought that they might bring him on the mission with them.  

It’s different now.  

Since a member of the team was here, the alarm had been broadcast into Bucky’s apartment, sounding exactly as it did in his universe, and resulting in Bucky’s instant readiness for action, even though he’d been sound asleep, holding Marya close.  He wonders what their reaction will be when she shows up in the prep room wearing the shirt everyone had seen Bucky wearing the day before.  In a normal group, most people wouldn’t notice something like that.  The Avengers are not a normal group.

Bucky’s at a loss.  It’s very early, really too early to be up yet, but since sleep’s out of the question, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.  Which leaves him simply lying on top of the still-warm sheets, hands behind his head, with nothing to do but think.  At first, that’s OK.  He turns his head into the pillow and he can still smell Marya’s hair, still feel a little residual warmth where her head had been only minutes before.  Now that she’s not here to tempt him, he’s very glad that all they’d done was sleep, nestled close with their limbs tangled together.  When he makes love to Marya, he wants her to know it’s him.  He doesn’t want her to have any doubts.  And it had still been deeply satisfying, just lying together in each other’s arms, comfortable and content.  

But then Bucky hears the quinjet leave the landing platform, and he has more time to think.  He’s been happier in this universe than he’d been for a very long time in his own, but he’s only been here for a matter of weeks.  His old thought patterns, full of aching loneliness and self-reproach, are easy to fall back into.  He knows the Avengers will suit up on the jet, followed by a tactical briefing. They’ll probably be squabbling a little about strategy, positions, timing.  Bucky’s heart aches a little at the idea that he’s here, lying in bed, left behind and left out.  

Yeah, he’s feeling a little sorry for himself, but he’s entitled, right?  All that time Hydra kept him in cryo, awakening him only because he was an indispensable weapon, whose skills were crucial to a mission.  And during his time in the Howlies and, later, with the Avengers, he’d been Steve’s right hand.  Steve hadn’t made a move without Bucky’s counsel, even though the dumbass only took his advice about half the time.  He’d been an essential, fundamental part of every battle plan, kicking bad-guy ass and watching Steve’s at the same time.  

And now look at him.  Left at home like a pet while Marya and the team go fight to protect the world.  

“Jarvis?”  He calls.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Can you tell me where the team is going? What’s the mission?”

There’s a pause while Jarvis determines what he can tell Bucky.  Whether it’s by analyzing information or contacting Tony, Bucky doesn’t know. Either way, the answer is a flat, “I’m sorry, Sergeant.  I am not authorized to share that information.”

Bucky kind of knew that was coming, but it sucks hard all the same.  He wonders if he’s seen his last mission.  He decides to get up and find something to do.  Something more productive than lying here feeling out of place, obsolete, and useless.

*****

The fight has been fierce since it started, but these guys must have expected that.  After all, the Ten Rings has just attacked an American military base.  

“That dickhead must be the stupidest fuck alive,” Tony snipes.  “What kinda dumbass attacks the Army at their base?”

“Wait, wait, I know this one!”  Clint’s voice comes over the comms, snarky as always, even though he’s hard pressed, on the roof of a building with a rapidly crumbling parapet.  It’s crumbling because of all the assholes hitting it while shooting at Clint.  

“Ironman, I thought you were in communication with General Torrington,” Natasha breaks in.  “I’d kind of like these Army guys to quit shooting at me.”

“I am in touch with him, but he’s not in touch with them.  Their comms are FUBAR.  First thing these assholes did was fry ‘em.  He’s working on it.”

“Tell him to get his guys outta the way!  I can’t shoot dick without hitting one of them.” Sam’s frustration comes through loud and clear.  

“I’m trying, Falcon.  Widow, Troop, I need you here!  There’s a team making their way toward Logistics, and I’m starting to think that’s what this attack is all about, because they’re moving with a purpose.”  

Marya calls in, breathing heavily.  “On your nine, Sir!”

“Be there in five,” Natasha tells him.

It’s not pretty where Captain America and the Hulk are.  There are hundreds of combatants on both sides, all apparently with unlimited amounts of ammunition.  Luckily, it’s fairly easy for the Hulk to tell the good guys from the bad, given that all the good guys are wearing uniforms.  He’s having a good time picking up vehicles and bowling them into the bad guys’ positions, but the good guys who’ve taken cover behind those vehicles aren’t very happy when he takes them away.

Barnes is running everywhere, shooting when he can, using the shield when he has to, and relaying commands to the Squadron commanders trying to organize their defense of Fort Drum on the fly.  He gets plenty of chances to deploy his shield, and his fists, as he tears across the base.  The groups of terrorists don’t seem very well organized; they appear to be grouped into teams of five or six, each with a loosely-defined objective.  Barnes is able to take out multiple entire teams as he darts from place to place.  He’s a little disappointed that none of his teammates see him decapitate two terrorists with one toss of his shield – one on the throw, and one on the return – but he thinks they might believe him.  He’s getting really good with it.  He still prefers guns, and uses them much more than Steve ever did, but he’s Captain America.  There’s a certain image to uphold.    

The Ten Rings definitely came to play, because there are hundreds of them swarming the base.  There’s plenty to keep the Tenth Mountain Division and the Avengers busy, which is why Tony’s so concerned about the team of assholes making a beeline for one of the buildings.  There aren’t that many of them, maybe twenty-five, and they’re still not engaging anyone who doesn’t engage them first.  

“Hey, Cap,” there’s the briefest pause in Tony’s transmission, “-tain, you might wanna get your star-spangled ass heading over this way.  And bring the big guy.  Looks like this is where the party’s gonna be.”

 Clint can see the Army is solidifying its positions around the building where Command’s located.  They know where the entrances are, and they definitely know what they’re doing.  So he calls to Sam.

“Hey, Bird-boy, can you give me a lift?  The Mountaineers got this.  I can back Ironman up at the Logistics building if you can get me there.”

“How the fuck you gonna call me that and ask me for a lift in the same breath?  I’m gonna drop your tiny, arrow-shootin’ ass right in the middle of these assholes.”

Nonetheless, Sam swoops down, catching Clint’s wrist as Clint grasps his, and flies a zig-zag, looping pattern, avoiding the gunfire aimed at them, across to the other building.  The fighting has gotten much more intense there.  In fact, from up here, it’s clear that Command and the Logistics building are the focus of the attack.

Sam drops Clint on the roof in the place Clint indicates, then flies off to make a run at the group of terrorists huddled together, now in an arrowhead formation, running for the building.  

“It’s your fault if I puke up here, flying all swoopy like that,” Clint says as he flattens himself in his position.

“I hope you do,” Sam replies.  “Teach you some respect.”

“Hey, cover us, Falcon,” Tony’s voice comes through. “I’m comin’ in heavy.”

Natasha makes a disgusted sound over the comms.  “Oh, I know you didn’t just make a crack about our weight.”

Sam keeps up a steady fire as Tony, flying lower than he would have liked, approaches the Logistics building with Natasha under one arm and Marya under the other.  His progress is ungainly and terrifyingly slow, and he can’t use the repulsors in his gauntlets for either propulsion or defense when he’s hanging on to his passengers.

“Sir!”  Marya shouts. “Ahead, by that bus!”

Although Tony’s shoulder-mounted weapons are being fired by Jarvis, they’re needed to keep the assholes down while he’s flying over them.  He doesn’t have anything available to shoot the dickweed with the RPG who’s just emerged into the street in front of them.

“Fuck!  I can’t let go of you!”

“Screw it, you’re right handed.  Let go of me and fry him!  The Troop’s got me.”

Marya and Natasha do have their arms linked, hands grasping forearms across Tony’s back.  But Natasha’s swinging freely when Tony lets go, and it’s all she can do to hang on while Tony dispatches RPG Guy with a wrist rocket just before he gets off his shot.

As soon as he does, he reaches back for Natasha, but it’s too late.  She’s falling, yelling and flailing her limbs.  Tony slows and prepares to circle back for her, but Natasha’s landed in a crouch. It’s not graceful and she’s clearly in pain, but she’s at least landed on grass on the grounds of a huge building, and waves him off.  “Get to Logistics!  I’ll meet you there!”

And with that, she’s doing a fast hop-skip step across the grounds toward the building, and Marya sees her disappear inside.  

Ironman lands briefly to drop Marya in the center of a group of soldiers with instructions to get inside the building and see what’s going on.  Then he flies up high to see the overall picture.  What he sees makes him gasp a string of expletives that lets everyone on the team know things are even worse than they look from the ground.

“Hey, Spangles 2.0, you need to drop whatever you’re doing and get to Logistics.  We got incoming.”

“What incoming?”  Barnes asks as he punches the shield into two faces at once.  

“The ones here already?  They aren’t the main force.  That’s what’s incoming.”    

“Fuck me sideways.  All right.  On our way.”

*****  

Bucky’s restless.  He wishes he could at least know what’s going on.  Just waiting, blind and deaf and completely unable to help, is making him crazy.  He keeps thinking back to things Barnes has said to him regarding the Ten Rings, and how the overall situation is deteriorating.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Can you give me an update?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, I cannot.”

“OK, how about this.  On a scale of one to ten, how well would you say it’s going?”

“Ten being perfect, zero being disaster?”

“Yeah.”

Jarvis computes that for a minute.  “It’s been a four all day, Sergeant.  It’s currently a two.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed, Sergeant.”

*****

It hadn’t taken the Army long to coordinate its defense.  Which wasn’t surprising, given that Fort Drum is their home turf.  But The Mandarin, or someone doing strategy for him, apparently has some very good intel.  Because their objectives appear to be taking the Logistics building, and keeping the Army on the ground.  And so far, they’re accomplishing both.

Fort Drum is home to the Tenth Combat Aviation Brigade.  They have overwhelming, terrifying airpower that gets deployed all over the world to do what needs to be done.  And today, at home, all of that airpower is entirely earthbound.  The Ten Rings is everywhere, apparently with enough ammunition to keep the air saturated with lead for as long as it takes, and enough grenades to keep the Tenth CAB seething with frustration, under cover and away from their machines.

At the Logistics building, the firefight is every bit as hot, and it’s not going any better.  The building is massive.  It has multiple entrances, and the Ten Rings brought plenty of firepower to make more if they have to.  They’ve managed to blow a good-sized hole in one side of the building, which the Avengers plugged with a Hulk, and the Falcon providing air support.  But Ten Rings operatives keep getting into the building other ways.  

The Tenth Mountain Division is Light Infantry, which means there are a large number of armed soldiers to defend the building. But the Army doesn’t usually fight at home, and the Tenth Mountain Division is the most-deployed unit in the U.S. military.  So they don’t have as many soldiers as General Torrington needs to fight all the battles going on all over the base.  They definitely need the Avengers.  The problem is, there weren’t that many Avengers to begin with, and now Clint’s down.

Clint gets shot off the roof of the Logistics building, falling hard into a mass of Ten Rings shitheads.  The good news is that he takes five out just by falling on them, and manages to gut two more with a nice Gerber tac knife Barnes gave him for his birthday.  The bad news is, Ironman barely manages to rescue him before he would have been overwhelmed by a mob of drooling fuckwads.  Sure, their convergence on Clint means Tony can take out another sixteen with his repulsors and shoulder-mounted guns, but damn, there seems to be an overabundance of these assholes today.

Tony carries Clint into the building and hands him off to Barnes before rushing back out into the fray.  Barnes barely has time to get him to the makeshift treatment area deep inside the building before there’s another breach and he has to go tearing up the stairs to help.  He can’t call on Marya, because she’s already fighting another breach at a side entrance.

Natasha’s helping hold the main entrance, shooting everything that isn’t wearing green and hoping her steadily increasing weakness doesn’t mean what she thinks it does.  She hears the telltale whoosh of an RPG, and then feels, as much as hears, the Hulk give a stupendous roar.  She shouts a question into her comms, but nobody answers her.  

Barnes hopes, as he flings his shield back into its harness on his back and catches a freshly-reloaded weapon tossed to him by a nearby Lieutenant, that this is all the men The Mandarin has to send against Fort Drum today.  Because he’s seriously wondering how the hell they’re going to get this done.  He sees Tony aloft in the distance, firing his wrist rockets and dodging return fire.  

“Ironman, when you get a chance, I need a sitrep.  We got any more guests coming, or is this as sporty as it’s gonna get today?”

“I don’t see any more large forces, but there’s something going on around the Gas Alley Gate.  I don’t know.  There’s a bunch of idiots there, and they’re surrounding something.  I’ll keep an eye on ‘em.”

“Roger that.”

That’s when the Hulk roars loud enough to shake the building, huge as it is, which temporarily distracts all the infiltrators Barnes is trying to eject from the premises.  It gives him an opportunity to empty his weapon without much return fire, and that’s enough to turn the tide.  He and the soldiers fighting with him are able to clear the rest of the Ten Rings assholes from the building again.  

It’s just in time, because Marya’s calling for help. They’ve blown the side entrance she was defending to twice its original size, killing and disabling many of the defenders.  When Barnes gets there, the presence of Captain America seems to intimidate the invaders a little, except for the one who’s too busy trading blows with Marya to pay attention.  He makes the mistake of grabbing for her weapon, though, which gives her the chance to pull him toward her while launching a kick at his face.  Barnes shudders a little at what’s left of the guy’s teeth as he goes down.  

It takes a long time to get momentum back in favor of the defenders, and by the time they’re dug in again and keeping the Ten Rings at bay, Tony’s reporting in about Sam.  

It’s everything they can do to keep up a barrage fierce enough to give Tony a chance to land.  As it is, he gets hit several times, one shot severely damaging the repulsor in his left boot.  Sam, too, gets hit, even though Tony’s protecting him as much as he can.  Sam’s limp and unconscious.  He’s bleeding from his head and one of his wings hasn’t retracted.  Rather, it’s scorched and crunched, holes dotting it up to the ragged edge where two-thirds of it have been torn off.  Two medics have a stretcher laid out on the floor for him, and while they’re settling him on it, Tony and Barnes face each other.  

“What happened?”

“RPG took off his wing,” Tony says, face set in hard lines.  “He flew into the roof at speed, and then he started to slide.  I think he was unconscious at that point, but he took a couple of rounds before I could get to him.  And then another on the way in.”

“Holy shit.”

Marya steps over to watch the medics lift Sam up and begin to make their way to the medical area.  

Barnes asks Tony, “What about the Gas Alley Gate? You see anything more there?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs.  His look at Barnes is grim.  “I think it’s The Mandarin.”

“He’s here?”  Barnes groans.

“I can’t be sure, I haven’t actually seen him. But I’d put money on it.”

“What’s he doing?”

“I think he’s waiting for us to lose.”

Tony and Barnes look at one another.

“Sirs.”

“Yeah, Troop,” Barnes says, turning to Marya.

“That movie you like, with the dwarves and elves, and the little man with the magic ring? Remember how they light beacons on the mountaintops when they need help?”

Tony’s brows furrow even more.  “Yeah?  What about it?”

“The wizard says that it is too late to call for help when you’re already besieged.  I think it may already be too late.  We need to call for help now.”

Barnes and Tony look at Marya for a moment, and Tony says, “Who, exactly, do you suggest we call?  Thor’s a little out of the solar system right now, and-“

It’s Barnes who answers.  “Bucky.”

Tony’s head whips to stare at him.

“You can’t be serious.  What do you want to do, arm him and give him a quinjet and just hope he does the right thing?”

“You got a better idea?”

“C’mon, Barnes!  We already got enough problems.  If he even shows up, what if he turns on us?”

“Sir, that’s the only ‘if’ we have.”  Marya’s voice is respectful, but firm.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re asking what happens ‘if’ Bucky doesn’t help us. The answer is that, without Bucky’s help, we are going to lose this base.  And The Mandarin may let the soldiers live, but he will kill all of us. The only way we might live is ‘if’ we call Bucky and he helps us.  Which means we don’t have a choice.”

Tony looks back to Barnes, then at Marya again. “Are you really willing to bet your life on that guy?  All of our lives?”

“Yes.”  There is no hesitation or doubt.

Tony’s dark eyes turn to Barnes.  

“Yes,” Barnes says, with the same amount of certainty.

At that moment, the comms start blaring with the sound of General Torrington’s voice, calling for all of the soldiers currently defending it to evacuate the Command center.

*****

Bucky’s only landed his first few punches to the heavy bag when Jarvis interrupts.  

“Sergeant, Sir requests rather urgently that you join the Avengers on site at Fort Drum.  I am currently bringing a quinjet to the landing pad, which will arrive in ten minutes. In the meantime, please make haste to the preparation area.  I shall brief you on your way.  Captain Barnes invites you to utilize any of his tactical gear and equipment you choose. I will open the armory for you.  You are to have your choice of weapons, and Captain Barnes requests that you ‘bring the pain.’  I did request more information, Sergeant, but he says that you will know what that means.”

“I do,” Bucky assures Jarvis as he tears the gym door open and sprints for the stairway.  He takes the stairs two at a time, up the five floors to the preparation area where the Avengers keep their suits and gear, and where the armory is located. It’s fortunate that none of Tony’s staff is allowed on the Avengers’ floors unescorted, because Bucky’s feral smile and the ferocious gleam in his eyes would have terrified anyone he encountered.

*****

Although there’s a hell of a battle raging around the building’s exterior, the Ten Rings controls half the Logistics building now.  

Barnes has been shot twice, which seriously pisses him off.  One bullet hit his left leg, which would really smart right now if he paid any attention to it, but it’s a through-and-through, which he knows will heal, so he ignores it. The other wound is more problematic, because it’s low down in his right chest, and using the shield seriously sucks right now.  He has to thank the fucking Mandarin for one thing: attacking an Army base means he has all the ammo he could ask for.  His right arm is so sore from recoil he’s thinking about shooting left-handed, but he’s more accurate right-handed, and that also allows him to use his left arm for things like punching and throwing Ten Rings dickheads out of his way.  Which the broken ribs on that side make kind of miserable, too.  Or would, if he allowed himself to think about it.

He’s currently on the second floor of the building, but he’s on his way to the first floor, where the Ten Rings is making a strong run at the improvised barricade keeping them out of this side of the building.  Barnes feels like he’s always on his way somewhere; he barely gets to one trouble spot before someone’s calling for reinforcements at another.  Barnes is in the best position to see that they’re losing ground.  The Army forces outside the building are keeping this side of it from being overrun, but to do that, they have to be where they are.  Which means those inside the building are all there is: they’re not likely to get more soldiers to help hold the lines.  

Barnes wonders where Bucky is.  He doesn’t wonder whether he’s coming.  Barnes knows he’s coming.  But he is beginning to wonder whether it will make any difference now.

 Tony and the Hulk are inside the Logistics building now.  Tony’s grounded, his suit too damaged to stay aloft and having serious technical malfunctions on top of that.  He can no longer connect with Jarvis for aim assistance, strategy, or information about what’s going on elsewhere on the base, so he’s reduced to manning a post near the middle of the top floor of the building.  Ironman is leading the force trying to keep the bad guys out of the good guys’ half of the building, at least on this floor.  

The Ten Rings strike team he’d seen making for this building, whatever their purpose, is now inside.  He doesn’t know where, or what they’re doing, but he has a pretty good idea.  The Logistics Building is the Information Technology hub for the base.  The Army’s not stupid enough to keep any more hardware than it has to centralized in one place, but there is a certain amount that is unavoidably concentrated here.  Which means that fucking bastard is looking to play his favorite trick: using an enemy’s technology against it.  Tony has no idea what fuckery the Mandarin could do from this building, how interconnected this base might be with others, so he doesn’t know just how bad he could hurt the United States if he gets control of Fort Drum.  But he knows it’s bad enough for the Mandarin to invest this kind of resources in trying.  They have to keep him from succeeding, no matter the cost.

Tony has no idea where Bucky is, or whether he’s coming at all.  He had a rocky connection with Jarvis back when they’d sent the message, so he knows Bucky got it, but then things went fully tits-up and, since then, he barely has any control of the suit.  It’s protecting him from bullets and shrapnel, but that’s about all the good it’s doing him right now.  It lets him expose himself enough to throw flash bangs and fragmentation grenades without dying, which is helpful.  But, in the back of Tony’s mind, he’s starting to think he should probably have gotten further with succession planning at Stark Industries.  Because it’s not looking too good.

 Hulk’s at the main entrance, making sure none of the Ten Rings force enters that way.  Since they control the half of the building where the massive hole is, the two-story entrance lobby is the only place big enough for him to really be effective.  Anywhere else, he’d be hampered by the low ceilings.  It’s frustrating for him, which is good, in a way, because it’s keeping him enraged and none of the Mandarin’s flunkies want any of him.  Many of the Tenth Mountain Division don’t, either, but at least he’s nominally on their side.  They just give him a lot of room.  

He makes a pretty big target, but for a big guy, he’s surprisingly agile, and he’s clever in shielding himself.  For example, when he was still outside protecting the perimeter, he’d tossed a few Piranha V Infantry Fighting Vehicles in front of the entrance.  They’re making excellent cover now.  And he’s torn a large sheet of shielding from a towed gun, and is currently using it as a shield.  

It’s also a little hard to shoot at the Hulk when you’re dodging the things he’s throwing.  Teams of soldiers are ransacking the building for things with which to arm him: desks, file cabinets, copy machines, anything big and heavy enough to make bad guys duck rather than aim and shoot, or storm the entrance.  They’d particularly enjoyed watching the Hulk rapid-fire a couch, a conference room table, and a credenza to stop an advance and push the enemy back behind the vehicles they were using for cover.

But it’s not enough.  It’s a large, blunt instrument against a horde of small, quick would-be infiltrators.  And the Hulk’s getting tired.  

Natasha has moved to the third floor, the floor below Tony, and is with the force holding the line there.  She’s laid out like a sniper, doing a very effective job of ensuring that nobody not wearing fatigues gets into her side of the building.  She yells encouragement to the soldiers around her and accepts fresh weapons every time she runs out of ammunition, ignoring the sharp pain in her shoulder where the stock has been battering her with every shot for the last hour and a half.

Only she knows that she’s assigned herself that role because she’s pretty sure she couldn’t stand if she had to.  

 Marya’s broken fingers are a problem.  They’ve healed significantly from the night before, which means she can shoot and stab, but she can’t throw knives. Which is frustrating, because all the soldiers have at least one, and many have several.  For the first time, she has access to as many knives as she wants, but she can’t make use of it.  She’s really mad at herself for doing something so stupid and making herself less capable to fight, but she turns that anger on the Ten Rings operatives who simply insist on trying to breach the Army’s half of the building.  

The position she’s helping defend is the head of a wide hallway that opens onto a large, open area full of cubicles and desks. That open area can be entered from five different corridors.  The Ten Rings controls three of those.  The Army controls two, one of which is this one.  

She’s deep inside the building, close to where the medics are treating the wounded as best they can.  Early on, it had been a good idea to locate the improvised treatment area near the center of the building.  Now, it’s uncomfortably close to the action, and Marya will be damned if these Ten Rings bastards are going to get past her to where Sam and Clint are both lying, gravely wounded.  She, herself, is bleeding and thinks she’s been stabbed at least twice and shot once, but she’s not going to take the time to find out for sure.  There’s a lot of blood on her.  Maybe not that much of it is hers.

She sees another idiot make his way to one of the last vertical cube walls still standing and scoffs.  Do these people really not understand that they cast shadows?  She hears some members of the squad she’s with suck in their breath as she streaks out toward the wall and whips around the edge of the wall.  The soldiers can’t see anything over the wall except the top of her head and, soon, a spurt of blood.  There’s a wounded animal noise that’s abruptly cut off, and then a thud.  But when she comes back around the wall to dart back into the hallway, she’s moving more slowly and leaning to the right in her crouch.  There’s a fresh rip in the right lower quadrant of her tac vest, showing a fairly sizeable linear knife wound that hadn’t been there a moment before.

Marya now deeply wishes she hadn’t suggested calling Bucky.  It’s too late.  She’s not at all happy about dying, but what bothers her is that he’s going to get hurt, or even killed, trying to save them.  

 In the very occasional, static-filled bursts of communication Tony still gets from Jarvis, he hears something about The Mandarin. Although he doesn’t catch more than the name, he’s pretty sure he knows what the message is, anyway.  He can hear excited yells and loud bits of conversation from the enemy’s side of the floor.  He can also see that they’re rearranging themselves.  He knows, somehow, what’s coming.  

Tony sighs and leans his head against the wall as he presses the button for the Avengers’ comms.  They still work, a little, because he’d designed them to be independent of Jarvis if they ever needed to be.  

“Guys, I think The Mandarin’s coming into the building.”

“I know he is,” Barnes’s weary voice comes through, the words gasped out.  “Just had a little run-in with him.”  

“You OK?”

There’s a pause that seems to go on forever.  

“Are we grading on a curve?”

“Widow?  Troop Eight?” Tony calls.

“We’re backed up to the doors of the medical area.”  Marya’s subdued voice comes through after a moment.  “And they’ve just brought the Widow in on a stretcher.”

Barnes growls out a few expletives in what hoarse, gravelly voice he has left.  “I got more bad news.  There’s a helicopter coming.  I think they’ve overrun the CAB.”

It goes quiet on the other side of the floor, and Tony watches The Mandarin make his entrance.  The Ten Rings controls the stairways on that side of the building, so there’s no question how he got up to the fourth floor.  The question is what he’s going to do now that he’s here.  And Tony thinks he has a pretty good idea, because he knows the moment The Mandarin catches sight of him.  

“Well, shit,” Tony murmurs to himself as The Mandarin, apparently unconcerned by the gunfire aimed at him, slowly smiles.

[asryakino]

Bowden’s Cure

It had been more than five Berion Cycles since the Thomas Bowden had been able to rest her engines. Five full cycles since they had stopped moving at nearly full speed with the engines near melting. "How long will it take to do the damned repairs?" "Sixteen cycles." "Sixteen?!" "I can't repair anything that's hot enough to melt my face off. We have to cool down before I can even -start- repairing the damage. And then, it'll take me a few cycles to do that. And that's even if I have all the parts I need Bowden!" The engineer's form lost its shape for just a split moment, before regaining their composure. "We haven't been able to shake the damn ship for more than ten in the past [week]." The stress was beginning to show on the usually somber captain's face plates, his mandibles clicked together when he paused and the secondary arms he often kept folded under the ugly coat he always wore were shifting, flexing, and grasping at each other.

"Captain, the crew is exhausted. The ship desperately needs repair. And you're going to molt if you get any more stressed. We NEED to rest." "I know." He insisted, snapping his mandibles more sharply than he'd intended. Making the engineer startle briefly. Apologetically, he ran a hand across the chitinous plates along his head. "I know…" He said more gently. "I'll buy us as much time as I can."

------------ "Five cycles at nearly full speed. Their engines should be near capacity at that point. That model's only build for short bursts, not extended run." The helmsman declared back toward the captain. "Should we close in Sir?" "Not yet, if they're still willing to run at that speed, they aren't finished yet. Fall back, let them catch their breath for a bit. We have time yet, and they're running out of it. When was their last stop?" "Three docyces ago. They stopped at the Balda'roon station, we picked up pursuit within ten cycles." "Not enough time for a resupply and repair, but enough for a refuel then." "Yes Sir. Confirmed with the Dock Supervisor they fully fueled, but couldn't complete repairs." "That's fine. Where's the nearest gate." "At current speed, they'll be within the Agralex gate in another…" He trailed off briefly, tapping something into the display. "Eight cycles. If their engines are modified." "It's The Bowden, Helmsman Jakar. That ship is modified." Captain Hasser stated matter-of-factly. "Drop back, give them some space, and alert the crew to rest up. We'll pick back up in three cycles." "They'll be able to put a fair distance between us at that timing, Sir." "It's fine. This is a marathon, not a sprint." The Helmsman looked confused at the phrase. "It's an old saying from Terra." Hasser explained. "It means we're built for endurance."

----------

"They've dropped back again." Fakeer announced from her display. "Falling back… I think they've stopped." "Don't buy into it. Keep going. Put as much distance between us as possible. How far away is Agralax?" "Eight more cycles, Captain." She warbled. "We can't gate in this condition, we'd arrive at the other side with no engines at all!" Tyran's form lost it's composure and for a moment looked as though they would simply turn into a multi-hued puddle. "Easy… easy. I know that. But there's a repair base three cycles toward Havalik from there. If we get enough distance, we can  stop there and try to get some of these repairs done." Tyran quivered in place, then made an affirmative gesture. "Understood." They slid back to Engineering. Fakeer focused on her console. "Captain…" She kept her shoulders squared, watching the indicator of their pursuing ship get further away. "Who, exactly, is chasing us and why?" "I wish I knew. Could be anyone from any number of systems." His purple and indigo plates shifted into what was almost a prideful expression, if it hadn't been so weary. "It happens when you're a notorious band of pirates." "We aren't pirates, sir." Fakeer tried to smile, but exhaustion had robbed her of the genuine ability. "We're Outlaws…? Well we're not pirates." Bowden chuckled, an odd sort of sound from the man. "I believe that means I'm right, Fakeer." He jested. His tone softened. "Just hold on a bit longer. We'll get some rest as soon as we can." "I wish I could believe that, Captain."

-------------

"It's not even a military ship! It has no military or mercenary insignia! Captain WHO DID YOU PISS OFF?!" Kitani's voice turned upwardly shrill in her frustration, the vibrant comb of feathers along the back of her head flared in agitation. "It's huge, it's fast, it's expensive and it hasn't stopped chasing us for a decta! A DECTA CAPTAIN!" Again her voice went just this side of shrill, making Bowden's mandibles twitch in a grimace. "Hell if I know, Kitani. If I knew, I'd be more willing to stop, let them catch up, and talk to them. But It seems ill-advised when you can't find anything out about it and you can't stop long enough to figure it out. "And easy on the tone, Kit." He tried to laugh it off, but even he was feeling the effects of the constant pursuit by now. The feathered helms made a disgruntled noise in her throat and turned back to her console, ruffled. "Fakeer's course is still the best, engines are still too hot to do… well pretty much anything. And Tyran says if we don't cool them down we'll lose them anyway, even with the modifications. They sounded pretty mad too." Bowden picked at a loose bit of chiton at his jaw idly and flicked it away. "Yeah, they usually are. We're what? A cycle away from the base?""We're a cycle away from Agrilax Gate." "And our friends?" "Not on screen, but our long-range is still out, so they could be anywhere as far as we'd know. We're all but blind." "That's fine. Keep heading toward Havalik, straight on, you'll know the base when you see it." "If you say so…"

He's been awake for far, far too many cycles. Everyone had been on high alert since they noticed their tail two systems ago. Bowden himself had been awake at -least- three docyce. And if he slept at all it hadn't been more than three or four cycles at best. Fakeer had brought up that his decision making skills may be in question. She knew the Agralax system, even Kitani knew it fairly well. And there was no base they knew of anywhere even close to where Bowden was directing them. Flying blind with no long range communication or sensors, engines running so hot they were ready to melt, a powder keg of exhausted shipmates from across a dozen planetary systems being led by a captain who hadn't slept… Kitani and Fakeer were worried about a mutiny. Or worse.

"Bring up a sensor reading?" Bowden's voice sounded haggard, the tones shifting between irritation and something Kitani couldn't quite identify. "Sure…" She obliged, showing a display screen of the system, the rings of Agrilax visible only barely, while the giant, distant form of Havalik loomed, encircled by it's moons and trapped objects. Agrilax might host the most life in the system, but Havalik was much  more impressive. "Perfect. Send a distress signal, pulse it twice." Kitani looked at him in confusion, the man's eyes were focused on the display, but there was a hard-to-pin emotion in his body language. Anxiety? Anticipation? Desperation? Worry. Kitani opened the short range communication relay and sent out two quick distress signals. The air on the Pilot's deck was thick. Kitani realized it only when her chest hurt that she'd held her breath, mimicking the large Captain who's eyes were locked on the visual display.

"There!" His smaller, secondary arms thrust forward, as if he could grasp at the display itself, his large hands locked tightly on the back of Kitani's console seat. "Thank fuck." She didn't see anything at first, just the massive gas giant and it's numerous moons. But as if breaking away from the flock, one of the smaller objects seemed to be moving away from the field of moons and asteroids. "Thank fuck…" The captain breathed out a long, low held breath. "They're still there. Had me worried for a minute." "Cap… tain?" Kitani couldn't quite believe it. But sure enough, a massive colony-sized station had hidden itself among the gas giant's orbiting children and it seemed to be responding to the distress signal. "Signal them again, then head for that station, Kitani. I've got good news for the crew." She quickly signaled the distress call twice more, and watched as the response flew out of the base in the form of a dozen small tow ships. Bowden grabbed the ship's all alert. Putting on his Captain face and voice, despite looking so haggard. "Congrats everyone. We're home for a while. We're ten cycles ahead of our new friends and about to hit up an old friend. Aqua, report to the top deck. Everyone else, breathe a bit, and stand down. We're getting a tow in. Tyran, get a list of everything you need. Everyone else, be ready to disembark in… one and a half cycles." With the message sent, inner ship comms lit up as crew started talking almost all at once. Bowden collapsed back into his console with an exhausted sigh. "That would have been embarrassing if they'd been collected." "Captain… where exactly are we?"

---------------- It was populated with thousands and thousands of robots. Repair robots, scrapped together droids, cleaner bots, welding robos, builders, every type one could imagine. Even massive mining robotics on sledges, and all of it looked like it was pieced together by children. An artificial colony of artificial lifeforms from around the galaxy. Outmodes, scrap, thrown away, and any other form of abused mechanical life form, all joined together in a base where they could exist on their own. When the ship docked they were greeted by an unskinned escort droid. Her shiny metal exterior, while patched in places, was well taken care of. It was the same for almost every occupant the crew passed. "Welcome to Bow's Den. I'm Tomi." Aqua spun on the purple captain. "-Really- Bowden?" He shrugged innocently. "In my defense, I didn't name it." "I did." Claimed the bot, matter-of-factly. "I thought it was clever." All four of Bowden's arms pointed toward the shiny former escort droid. "See? I'm innocent." Without missing a beat she responded. "That's untrue. But welcome to the Den all the same. Now, what have you done to the ship, Bowden?" "He's been running her ragged!" Tyran's multi-coloured amorphous form wiggled out of the ship and right toward the shiny robot. Shifting their shape around until they solidified four legs to walk on and a torso to hold the portable display out. "We've been running at nearly full speed for a hundred cycles and she needs to rest" "It hasn't been a hundred cycles." Bowden huffed under his breath. "…yet." Tyran ignored him, and was escorted away by Tomi, ranting about how abused the ship was by 'the purple beast' while Tomi shot accusatory glances back at the four-armed captain.

He ignored them, looking over the mismatch of crew that had managed to file out of the ship. Raising his voice to be heard over the muddled din of twenty or so crewmembers, he addressed them. Though now he didn't bother to hide the tiredness in his voice, as it was written in every aspect of his hulking frame; that was, for once, free of the overlarge coat he usually wore. "Alright You!" The crew fell into respectful quiet, around them the mechanical sounds of bots crawling over, under, and around the bedraggled ship turned into background clanging. "We aren't that far ahead of our new friends. A few cycles of rest, recuperation, and repair is all we can afford right now. So, here's what we know. They are persistent. They have our ship flagged, and they aren't mercs, military, or merchants." He paused, then barked. "Fakeer." The short bark of her name grabbed the attention of the black and red half of the piloting team. She produced a light display, throwing up a visual scan of the offending ship while he continued. "It's high end; almost twice our size, and carries no identifying insignia on its hull. We couldn't get enough signal to decode its ID broadcast because the bastards focus targeted our long-range array after we pegged them for tailing us. At least two of the crew are Terran or at least of Terran-descent… Aqua caught an image of them just after they made her at the refueling station." The image of the ship was replaced with an eyeframe shot of a male and female dressed in sleek official-looking uniforms. "For once in my life, I have no fucking clue who these people are. The ship's unknown, and while I've done a -whole- lot of things worthy of being chased across five systems without pause; I usually remember the people I did it to. Which means…" His weary eyes traveled over the beleaguered cast of his crew. "This particular skeleton has escaped from one of your closets. Start thinking back and figure out who you pissed off in your past lives. Because we're done running. Literally. We can't run anymore. We have maybe twelve cycles before they catch up to us and that's only if they make a wrong turn at Agrilax and head for Vermi instead of Havalik. Which I doubt they're gonna do." Exhaustion settled over his shoulders, dropping his head and making the powerful captain look his not unimpressive age. It was a surprising show of weakness that most of the crew had never seen. Aqua stepped up to his side, taking his large hand in her own supportingly as a good second should. "Look, no one's on this crew and in this ship because we're Lilly white and Simon pure. If any of you recognize these assholes, speak up. If not to me, tell Aqua. I don't care what or who it was; I don't care when or what you did. But I need to know what I'm up against, so we can stand shoulder to shoulder and either run to the edge of the galaxy or start pulling arms out of sockets. And I'm fucking tired," He waved a hand over the crew as a whole. "…we all are." Faces turned toward faces, each crewmember looking from one to the other for a hint of recognition among them. No one spoke up, but a silent agreement fell between them all that the situation was bad. "Now that we're all aware of how sufficiently fucked we are. Go stretch your legs and figure out who the fuck is on our ass. Ask the bots for directions." He grumbled lowly. "I'm gonna go hit the damn spa." The lumbering form of the captain turned and picked his way past clamours of bots, followed by Aqua until he waved her off, leaving her to return to the crew.

A small compliment of robots approached, offering to lead the way to the barracks so the crew could rest and talk. Several voices speculated with one another over who they may have angered. And before long a betting pool opened up on who's fault it was. Despite the grumbling between them, an unspoken solidarity remained. The crew of the Thomas Bowden was a family. Like siblings in a nest, they could fight each other. And now and then had damn near killed one another in various fights over various reasons. If they wanted to kick the ass of a deserving crewmate? They'd do so. But some stranger threatening their beloved sibling? Twenty plus crewmates from a dozen planetary systems and a four-armed Gaarth captain would be happy to show them the nearest supernova.

---------------------

Sure enough, tacking on some speed caught the trailing ship to the planetary gate. Cassian Hassen eyed the display. "So… Havalik or Vermi?" "Sir?" "Do you think they aimed for Havalik? Or perhaps Vermi?" "The Havalik orbital cloud is closer right now. Vermi's currently in it's elliptical peak on the other side of the system." The helmsman offered. "Head for the gas giant then." "Sir, why did you let them get such a long head start? Isn't there a chance they'll have repaired their ship by now?" "Undoubtedly. I'm counting on their long range communications array to be functional by now. But I don't care if they have the best mechanics this side of the spiral, their engine damage won't be repaired." "Sir?" "If I'm right, what we want will be waiting for us. Send a communication to the Bowden as soon as we're in range of her long range array. If I'm right, you'll get an affirmative as soon as you send it." "Yes Sir." Jakar remained confused, but trusted the Captain's orders. It was his ship after all. And he'd been right about everything up to now.

-----------

[edosianorchids901]

“i know i shouldn’t be here.”

“I know I shouldn’t be here.”

 _____________________

               Eventhough I’d expected it, the fury on Julian’s face when he spotted me still mademe ache. “Garak,” he said flatly, stepping the rest of the way inside.

               “Iapologize for the intrusion. I know I shouldn’t be here.” I’d debated for theentire day about whether or not to go to see him. Eventually, my longing anddesire for connection had won out, and I’d come to his quarters, waiting forhim to come home.

               Hedrew a long breath, looking at me without any of his usual fondness. “What doyou want?”

               Mouthsuddenly so dry that it was difficult to talk, I gave an aimless wave of myhand. “I wanted to speak with you, to apologize.”

               Julian’sjaw clenched. “There’s not really anything you can say.”

               “Iknow, I just…” Unable to remain seated any longer, I pushed upright and pacedto the viewport. “I wanted to explain why I did it.”

               “Garak,I know why you did it.” He slammedhis padd down on the table. “You told me already. Sisko wanted your help to getthe Romulans into the war.”

               Hemay know, but did he truly understand? Did he know how desperate I was to turnthe war around? Did he understand the Cardassian drive to accomplish the goalby any means necessary?

               “Whenyou give a Cardassian a task,” I began carefully, still hoping to salvage ourrelationship, “they’ll do anything to–”

               “Youturned over eighty-five liters of bio-mimetic gel to someone intending to useit for god knows what!” Julian exploded, taking a few long strides and gettingright in my face. “You involved me in this, Garak! You involved your partner inthis!”

               “Youwere ordered to provide the gel, it’s not as if you’re liable for–”

               “Thatdoesn’t matter!” He didn’t generally yell at me, and I found myself unable todo much more than stare at him, my spirits sinking lower and lower. “Do youknow what they could do with that much gel? Do you even care? And do you carethat you forced me to hand it over? I almost died because of bio-mimetic gelonce! Do you remember that?”

               Of course,I remembered – I’d agonized over bringing the request to Sisko for preciselythose reasons. “Yes,” I whispered. The pain of nearly losing Julian to theLethean’s attack still felt fresh, even though it had been over three yearssince that day.

               “Thenhow could you do this?” Anger was no longer the predominant emotion in hiseyes. Now it was accompanied by hurt and betrayal, things I found much moredistressing. I’d never, ever wanted to hurt him. “Garak, how could you do thisto me? I would have died to keep it out of the hands of criminals. I nearlydid. But you forced me to provide it. So, whatever horrid things they do withit are my fault too.”

               “Hardly,Doctor. I believe the responsibility rests with myself and Captain Sisko.”

               “Itdoesn’t matter! You pulled me into your damn scheme, not even caring that I’dbe party to genetic experiments, biogenic weapons. And you expect me to listento you trying to justify it?”

               Myheart wilted. That was it, then. Of all the sacrifices I’d made for Cardassia,this was the worst. I’d hurt a good man and driven away perhaps the only personwho had ever truly loved me for who I was.

               Icouldn’t bring myself to reply, all my fight gone. It was like a gaping woundhad opened up in my chest, draining away all my life and passion.

               “Garak!”he snapped, enraged again. “What the hell do you have to say for yourself?”

               Therewas no point. What I’d done was indefensible, and he would never forgive me.Not this time.

               Atmy continued failure to respond, absolute fury flooded him. He grabbed me bythe arms and gave me a hard shake. “Garak, you owe me an answer!”

               Washe going to strike me? It’s not as though I wouldn’t deserve it. And perhaps itwould make him feel better. “It’s all right if you hit me,” I heard myself say.“I’d deserve it.”

               Julianreleased me immediately, jerking back and staring at me with bewilderedconfusion. “What?”

               Beinghit seemed like the logical conclusion to this conversation, especially afterhow Sisko had reacted. “You’re right. I did drag you into this. I neverintended to hurt you, but I have. I’ve utterly failed you. It’s all right ifyou need to strike me. I understand.”

               Heblinked several times and licked his lips, looking dazed. Carefully, he touchedmy cheek, and I flinched. “Elim, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he murmured. “I’m notSisko. And I’m not Tain either, for that matter.”

               “That’smost gratifying.” I didn’t know what to say or do now.

               Hedrew a shaky breath, swaying slightly. “I’m not really feeling well.”

               “Iapologize. I’ve subjected you to considerable stress.” I took his hands,leading him to the couch and sitting both of us down. “My dear?”

               Hewiped at his eyes, and I realized he was in tears. “Elim, I’m sorry.”

               “Oh,Julian, no!” I laid my hand on the side of his head, panicked. Had Imanipulated him, even unintentionally? “You needn’t apologize. Your anger iswell justified and directed at the correct party. I knew what I was doing. Iknew it would upset you, and I went ahead with it anyway.”

               Withanother long, shaky breath, he looked at me. “The worst part is that Iunderstand exactly why you did it. I understand why you did all of it. But itstill hurts.”

               “Iknow.” I swallowed hard, trying not to notice that I was trembling. “Iapologize again, Julian. I won’t ask you to forgive me, and I won’t trouble youany further.”

               “Elim?”He caught my arm as I tried to stand. “Where are you going?”

               Toattempt to drink myself into a stupor. “Away. I know you’re furious with me. Iwon’t bother you, I promise. And…” I hesitated, unsure how to express mycomplicated web of emotions. “Thank you for all the kindness you showed mewhile we were together. I’m sorry that I did such a poor job of repaying you.”

               Iattempted to step away, and he held on tighter. “I don’t want you to go,” hewhispered, distressed.

               “Youdon’t?” I didn’t understand.

               “No,I don’t.” He tugged on my arm and I sank back to the couch, confused. “I’mangry with you, yeah. But I don’t wanna lose you, Elim.”

               Mybreath rushed out and I dropped my head, so relieved that I could barelycomprehend what was happening. “I… thank you. I don’t want to lose you either,but I fear I’ve damaged our relationship beyond repair.”

               “No.”He lifted my chin, gazing at me. “It’s not beyond repair. Things might be roughfor a while – there’s a lot to process. But you’re too important to me to justlet you go, even over something like this.”

               “Ido care,” I said softly, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “I care that Ihurt you. I knew this would be deeply upsetting for you. I agonized over it. Butin the end, there was no other way. I tried everything else.”

               Hegave a slow nod, and then rested his forehead against mine. “I believe you,Elim. It’s just gonna take me some time, that’s all.”

               “Morethan understandable, and much appreciated.” I didn’t deserve another chance,didn’t deserve his forgiveness. But, as always, he gave it nonetheless.

[fangirlamethyst]

Broken Form Of His Old self

Summary: This is basically just what I thought would (or should... or pray) happened after He Tain gave Mo Guan Shan the condoms. I added some stuff, some fillers

Slightly NSFW but not super bad. 

Author’s Note: This is my first writing piece. I’Ve honestly have writing little things for school but that's it. I’m not sure if it’s good or not but please, if you have any comments for improvement, let a girl know (Nicely). 

Really? after almost a year, the first thing I get is condoms?

He never planned to go to university and no one ever expected him to. He Tian was different though. He was smart and to top that off, he had money. Nothing was in the way of him going to study abroad. Not even the thought of leaving the boy who he made fall madly in love with. the boy who was now a working on becoming a top chef; a household name. But It’s been hard for Mo Guan Shan these past few months. Working, while great, has completely taken a toll on his mind and body.

“Really, Tian?” he couldn’t look up. Couldn’t let him know just how much this hurt.

“I thought I would be good to pick up where we left off.” He Tian wrapped his arm around Mo’s shoulder’s, pulling him close.

“Really,” Mo, now angry, whipped his head up “Because if I remember correctly, we left off with you saying I can see other people because you ‘plan to do the same’.”

It was all rushing back to him in waves. think, emotional waves that he’s been suppressing all this time. it was heartbreaking. After all those years of pursuing, and sexual harassment, Mo had finally given in. Given in the not only He Tain but the feelings he had... has for him. they weren’t exactly dating, but they were together. He Tian was Mo’s first kiss, first relationship (because let’s face it, they were dating), first fuck, and first love. Tian took everything and then left.

He Tain just looked into his eyes, the smirk that once was one there now laid dormant. Mo was tired. He had just worked a twelve-hour shift at the restaurant and that’s why, when tears started to fall he just let them go. He was so tired.

“i-i… uh.” Speechless. He Tian subbed through his words; for the first time since Mo had known him, he didn’t know what to say. The old Mo would have been happy, quick to rub it in Tain’s face. But again, he was tired and the thought that 11 months away had changed the man he loves.  

“I was in pain. I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to.” Pain? PAIN? WHAT DOES HE KNOW ABOUT PAIN?! Mo’s anger reached new levels. He was the one left only 2 years after his mother died, he was the one that got his heart ripped out, he was the one that was left alone. He Tain saw Mo’s face change and immediately started to explain.

“I wasn’t at school. My dad sent me away.” Mo felt his anger leave in a rush. Tain told him stories about his father. Stories that explained why he was so closed off and cocky. Mr. He was not to be disobeyed or disrespected.  

“You’re father?” was the only thing Mo could think to say

“Yes. He said I needed experience. He put me in charge of one of the… ‘businesses’ he has in New York. I did good so he said I could move back. I didn’t think I was ever coming back.” the hand around Mo Guan Sham shoulder slowly fell and landed on top of his own hand, grabbing hold. “That’s why I was harsh. I needed you to hate me so you could move on and I’m so, so sorry for that. But I’m back, for good. And I know it’s one of the most selfish things I have and ever will do, but I’m asking you to take me back.”

While Tian was pleading for forgiveness, Mo’s eye’s drifted down to Tain hand on his. He still felt the same; rough but in a soothing way. that’s when he saw it. the ring he thought he lost. the ring that he wore every day in high school. The ring that was now on He Tian’s finger. His ring finger. He moved his hand from under Tian’s and grabbed the ring, moving it up slightly. There was a tan line (a drastic one) wear the ring naturally laid. He must have never taken this off.

With that, everything broke. Mo shoot up form this sitting positions, shoved the condoms into his back pocket, and stuck his arms through the jacket that once laid on his shoulders. He Tian was looking his dead in the eyes, in the soul, with a defeated look on his face.

Mo left all the air huff out his lungs and whipped the tears off his face. Taking a step forward, he walked in between He Tian legs. He tian hands grabbed quickly Mo’s waist like I was second nature. like he was holding him just in case he would try to run away. Placing his hand on Tian’s neck felt so right. Like coming home. Safe. He could feel the heat coming from Tian. A heat that kept him warms so many nights. A warmth that wrapped around him as he cried in the hospital, in the car, and in his house after his mom died.

That heat only intensified as Mo slowly leaned down. When their lips finally touched, it was the pulse of electricity that ran through Mo that let him know he was doing the right thing. Mo tried to pick up smoking for the single reason that it reminded him of this man. It would give him a flashback of them walking down the street, or hanging out in the park. But nothing, nothing would five him flashbacks like the actual taste, smell, feel of Tian. The kiss quickly got hotter as a year's worth of pent-up sexual frustrations was realized at once. Well, at least on his side.

Wait. You should see other people while I’m gone. That’s what I plan to do anyway.

Mo whipped his head pack. his body not quickly as quickly which cause him to stumble back, hitting the alley wall. He Tian jumped up, As soon as Mo regained his equilibrium, he looked up to she tears in Tian’s eyes.

“I understand.” came out in a broken whisper. This wasn’t He Tian. He Tian didn’t cry. He didn’t ask for forgiveness. He didn’t care. This wasn’t He Tain… This was a broken version of him. Tian’s shoulders fell forward and his fands flew into his packet right before he started to walk away. Before he could leave. Mo reached and grabbed his elbow.  Tian stopped walking but didn’t move a muscle.

“How many people did you see in New York?” Why was he asking this?! Mo knew the answer would only hurt him more, but he needed to know.

Still, without moving He Tian replied “No one. I wasn’t planning on it either,’’ that’s when he turned around, showing his face, now wet with tears.

“I only want you. I only love you, Mo Guan Shan. I have since we were in middle school.”

Mo wasn’t expecting that. Even more so, he didn’t expect himself to have enough energy to launch him onto He Tian, kissing him with everything he had left in him. All thing he didn’t give He Tian before. He was all his now.

The one thing he expected was when He Tian moved back and slammed them into the wall. When he grabbed Mo’s, now, short hair, yanking it back to give him better access. Mo could feel his dick start to harden as well as He Tian’s, which was now grinding into him so hard it kind of hurt. Good.

Feeling himself coming dangerously close to… well… cumming, he pulled away. Before Tian (or Mo’s body) could protest, he reached into his back pocket and grabbed the boxed that was in there. He shoved the box into He Tian’s chest.

“You still own that Penthouse you used to live in?”

Before he could blink, He Tian was leading him, pilling him really, towards an all black Audi r8. They could lock up without him, he was getting his man back.

Thanks for reading! 

A large inspiration for me is @laurasfox .Their (i’m not 100% what pronouns they prefer and I don't wanna offend so “they” seems the way to go) pieces are amazing and I really recommend reading some (if not all) of their stuff. 

Again Thanks for reading. I may never write again or I may... not sure yet. 

P.S. This is the car I mentioned at the end. It seemed like something He Tian would drive... cause it’s sexy... just like him (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

[gplusbfics]

“The Wire” - Synopsis

The following synopsis is from Deep Space Nine magazine Vol. 9 (1994). “The Wire” was written by Robert Hewitt Wolfe. Synopsis is by John Sayers. I will be posting the photos from this again separately. I will also be sharing the one for “Crossover,” which appeared in the same issue. -Wendy

On the Promenade of Station DS9, Dr. Julian Bashir and his enigmatic acquaintance, Garak -- the "plain and simple" Cardassian tailor -- walk towards the Replimat for their weekly lunch. As they discuss Cardassian literature -- for which the Starfleet Lieutenant has yet to develop a taste -- Garak experiences several spasms of headache-like pain, which piques the Doctor's medical curiosity. 

But when Bashir suggests a trip to the Infirmary, the Cardassian's usual charming demeanor turns sour. "There's nothing wrong with me that a little peace and privacy wouldn't cure," Garak barks, and storms off -- leaving Bashir looking after him in curiosity and concern.

Afterwards, Bashir discusses the incident with Jadzia Dax while attempting to diagnose an ailing house plant. He can use the station's medical database to treat the foreign flora, but his records are woefully inadequate when it comes to Cardassians. Bashir's professional pride is also wounded when Garak won't come to him for medical help. 

The Cardassian tailor turns not to his occasional luncheon companion, but to Quark for aid. Bashir only catches the end of their conversation, but it's obvious that the Ferengi will be making some sort of illicit transaction on Garak's behalf. 

Later, during a conversation with Chief O'Brien, Bashir is summoned to Quark's Bar, where Garak is on his third bottle of Ferengi booze. "Anyone who talks about the numbing effects of liquor," Garak says, in considerable pain, "is severely overstating the case." 

Bashir tries to coax the Cardassian to his office, but Garak will have none of it -- until he collapses to the floor in agony. The Doctor beams them both to the Infirmary -- where scans show a small, artificial implant embedded deep within Garak's brain. Constable Odo can offer no insight into the device's purpose, but agrees with Bashir that Quark may know more. "Quark has sent several coded messages to Cardassia Prime in the past few days," Odo says.

The pair monitor the Ferengi's latest transmission -- to a Cardassian military operative named Boheeka, an old friend from the Occupation. Quark offers to pay him handsomely in return for some Cardassian bio-technology. But when Boheeka enters the requisition code for the item, he freezes in horror. "Quark, you idiot!" he cries. "It's for classified bio-technology -- even the cursed number is classified!" The request will be traced back to him by the Obsidian Order. 

At the mention of the name, Quark abruptly ends the transmission. Odo explains the mysterious Order to a curious Bashir. "They're the ever-vigilant eyes and ears of the Cardassian Empire," he notes, even surpassing the ruthless, information-gathering efficiency of the Romulan Tal Shiar. If Garak's implant is some sort of Order-related punishment, then why is he trying to obtain another one? 

The questions will go unanswered for now. When Dr. Bashir returns to the lnfirmary, Garak is gone. Bashir finds his patient in his quarters, in the process of injecting enough anesthetic to knock out ten men. "Not nearly enough, I'm afraid," comments the agonized Garak. 

Bashir reports that Quark couldn't get the item he requested. "Really? That's most distressing," Garak replies, his charming facade finally crumbling under the pain and hopelessness. When he goes to inject himself with a fatal overdose of the pain-killer, Bashir intervenes, revealing his knowledge of the implant. When he suggests that it's some sort of punishment device, Garak can only choke out an ironic laugh. 

"On Cardassia, I was entrusted with certain information," Garak reveals, "that needed to be kept safe, regardless of the situation. My implant was given to me by Enabran Tain himself, the head of the Obsidian Order. If I was ever tortured, it was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins."

The device malfunctioned, he notes, because it was never meant for continuous use. "Living on this station is torture for me, Doctor. The temperature is always too cold, the lights, always too bright. Every Bajoran looks at me with loathing and contempt. So, one day, I decided I couldn't live with it anymore. And I took the pain away." 

Garak activated the implant, first for only a few minutes each day, then for longer and longer periods. "Finally, I just turned it on and never shut it off." That was two years ago. Now, the implant is breaking down, and Garak's body has become dependent on the higher endorphin levels generated by the unit. 

But Bashir won't let Garak give up to whomever has exiled him on D59. "Has it ever occurred to you," the Cardassian asks him, "that I might be getting exactly what I deserve?" 

"No one deserves this," Bashir says. 

"Oh please, Doctor!" Garak sarcastically exclaims. "I'm suffering enough without having to listen to your smug Federation sympathy! And you think that because we have lunch together once a week, you know me? You couldn't even begin to fathom what I am capable of!" 

"I'm a doctor," Bashir says evenly. "You're my patient. That's all I need to know." 

Garak tells Bashir the story of his days as a Gul in the Cardassian Mechanized Infantry, when Bajorans under his custody escaped to a Cardassian shuttle bound for Terok Nor. Garak's aide, Elim, boarded the shuttle to stop it, but the captain wouldn't comply. "So I had the shuttle destroyed, killing the escapees, Elim, and 97 Cardassian civilians" -- plus the daughter of a prominent Cardassian. He was stripped of his rank and exiled. 

But Bashir is uninterested in his patient's past. His duty is to heal. He finally persuades Garak to let him shut off the implant. Bashir sets up his medical equipment in Garak's quarters and begins a long vigil, waiting for his unconscious patient to recover. Bashir even denies Odo's request that Garak be awakened to be interrogated about past unsolved murders.

Hours later, Bashir is roused from a half-sleep to find Garak silting up on his bed, sobbing. His depression turns quickly to rage as his body reels from the withdrawal of the pleasure-creating endorphins. "There was a time, Doctor," Garak rails, "when I was a power. The protege of Enabran Tain himself. Do you have any idea what that means? Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand -- my future was limitless. Until I threw it away." 

Garak didn't shoot down the shuttle, as he had told Bashir before. On the eve of Cardassian withdrawal, he and Elim were interrogating five Bajoran children, when "suddenly, the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless. All I wanted was a hot bath and a good meal. So, I let them go." 

He failed his duty and destroyed everything he had worked for, causing his exile. "And left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." As Bashir tries to calm him down, Garak's rage erupts, and the two wrestle about the quarters until the Cardassian collapses. 

Bashir and the emergency med team stabilize him, but the doctor remains puzzled. "I shut down the implant. It can't be affecting his blood chemistry, yet toxins are accumulating in his lymphatic nodes," he notes. After studying Garak's readouts, Bashir finally finds the problem -- the molecular structure of Garak's leukocyte cells has been altered, causing the blood toxins. 

The only way to correct the problem would be to synthesize new cells. But with no reliable Cardassian medical data, the process could take weeks -- and Garak has only days. Reactivating the implant could keep the Cardassian alive for a few weeks longer, but a groggy Garak rises from his sickbed, his rage spent, to forbid it. 

"You've done enough, Doctor, more than I deserve," he says. "There's something you have to know ... the truth." 

"I've about given up on learning the truth from you, Garak," Bashir smiles. 

"Elim wasn't my aide," the Cardassian reveals. "He was my friend. We grew up together, we were closer than brothers. For some reason, Enabran Tain took a liking to us. Before long, we were both powerful men in the Obsidian Order. They called us the Sons of Tain -- even the Guls feared us." But then, scandal. Some member of the Order was accused of letting some Bajoran prisoners escape. Tain could do nothing to protect Garak, as he had retired to the Arawath Colony. 

"So, I panicked. I did everything in my power to make sure that Elim was accused instead of me. I altered records, planted evidence -- only to discover that he'd beaten me to it." Elim had betrayed him first. Garak was sent into exile. "And the irony is, I deserved it. Not for the reasons they claimed, but because of what I had tried to do to Elim, my best friend." 

"Why are you telling me this, Garak?" Bashir asks. 

"So that you can forgive me, why else?" Garak tells him, sincerely. "I need to know that someone forgives me." 

"I forgive you, for whatever it is you did."

"Thank you, Doctor. That's most kind." 

As Bashir complies, the Cardassian falls again into unconsciousness. The Doctor decides to head for the Arawath Colony -- "to find the man responsible for this."

After a journey in a runabout, Bashir arrives at the home of Enabran Tain, former head of the Obsidian Order, who addresses him by name and knows all about his journey -- even Bashir's taste in tea. The cheerful, grandfatherly figure has even made sure Bashir's entry into Cardassian space was met by a less hostile reception than he might have expected. Although retired, "I try to keep informed on current events," Tain chuckles. 

When Bashir tells Tain that Garak is dying -- and he's trying to save him, the wily Cardassian can only shake his head.  "Strange. I thought  you  were  his   friend."  

"I suppose I am."  

"Then you should let him die," Tain says. "After all, for Garak, a life in exile is no life at all." 

Nevertheless, Bashir contends that his job is to save lives. He asks Tain for information on Cardassian biochemistry that would let him synthesize replacements for Garak's damaged blood cells. "Besides, you're the one who ordered him to put that implant in his head, aren't you?" 

"I never had to order Garak to do anything," Tain notes. "That's what made him special." Oddly, Tain agrees to Bashir's request -- but not for kindly reasons. "He doesn't deserve a quick death," the old man spits. "On the contrary, I want him to live a long, miserable life. I want him to grow old on that station, surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again." 

Whatever the motivation, Bashir is grateful to be able to help his friend. But he has one question before he beams out, regarding Garak's friend Elim. At the mention of the name, Enabran Tain only laughs. "That man has a rare gift for obfuscation. Doctor, Elim is Garak's first name."

Days later, Dr. Bashir pokes glumly at his lunch in the Replimat when he's unexpectedly joined by a fully recovered, amiable Garak, who asks about lunch as if the events of the past few weeks had never happened. "I, for one, Doctor, am perfectly satisfied with the way things turned out. And I see no need to dwell on what was doubtlessly a difficult time for both of us." He also notes that he has informed Constable Odo that he was completely mistaken about his impression that Garak was ever a member of the Obsidian Order. 

As a kind of thanks, Garak gives Bashir more Cardassian literature to peruse. But Bashir won't let go of the pursuit of truth. "Out of all the stories you told me," he asks a smiling Garak, "which ones were true and which ones weren't?" 

"My dear Doctor," the Cardassian replies, "they're all true." 

"Even the lies?" 

"Especially the lies."

The End

[tmariea]

We Have No Need to Swim

For Sormik Week Day 4 - Loss

Summary:  What if sea monsters are water seraphim who went down into the ocean and never came back up? They sunk down to the depths to escape the pain of malevolence and grief, and there they fell anyways. They lurk in the darkness, lithe and sinuous, with milky blind eyes and wavering points of bioluminescence, ready to consume anything that comes too close. There is no happy ending.

WARNING: Major Character Death

Read on AO3

It is around year five hundred that the question comes to Mikleo – is there anything left to explore?  Somewhere along the way, he lost count of how many times he had crossed the continent.  He had documented every known ruin, and then gone back to document how they had changed with the deterioration of time.  He had published innumerable books and papers on the subject, reread and reworked them often enough for the words to lose their meaning.

What is one to do when the world loses that fantastic glimmer?  When the one thing that could bring back the light of discovery and novelty slumbers on, for ages unknown?

In the kinds of worries that strike late in the night, pulling sleep from his grasp, he wonders if even Sorey’s return can bring back his sense of wonder.

Other times, when those thoughts crept up the back of his spine, he would seek out Lailah or Edna.  Each were a comfort but in very different ways.  This time he doesn’t.  This time there is a restlessness in his feet that he hasn’t been able to quench for decades, though not for lack of trying, and so he packs a bag and heads out, on the hunt for even one last unseen corner of his world.

He keeps moving, through daylight and under the trail of stars.  The same trail of stars they had watched overhead one night in Lastonbell.  Mikleo had wanted to scream at Sorey for leaving, had wanted to kiss him and beg him to stay.  He hadn’t.  He had been so full of hope, then, full enough to drown out the worries.  He feels he’s done well at keeping hope, but even best efforts can be eroded with time.  He keeps moving; he doesn’t look at the night sky anymore.

He walks and walks until his toes meet the edge of the ocean tide, and looks across.  There is nothing but water as far as the eye can see.  And that is when Mikleo gets an idea.  What exists under the ocean, where no one has ever seen?  It is not as if he has ever had trouble breathing within his own element.  He leaves his pack on the shore, aside from a small notebook and some charcoal that he can use artes to protect from water damage, and takes his first steps into the surf.

It is beautiful in the depths of the ocean, like nothing Mikleo has ever experienced before.  It feels new.  The light is different in the way it shifts under the force of the waves above.  The creatures are different, in the schools of fish that come swimming up to him cautiously and curiously, only to dart away at the slightest movement.  He spends days carefully sketching them in his book, barely shifting aside from his hand.  The press of the water on his limbs feels like an embrace, and the way his hair drifts in the currents feels like gentle fingers on his scalp.  It’s been eons since he felt these things, and he is loath to give them up.

He doesn’t.

Mikleo leaves his spot near where he entered the water and begins to travel down the coast.  He is fascinated by the geography of the ocean floor, the way the water shapes the sediment, and the rocks.  Gentle waters create sloping sands which lead back up to the surface.  Where the waves are harsh, they crash against the rocks above.  There is the sound of their beat in his ears, murkier waters before his eyes, and plenty of rough ground to stumble on under his feet.  When it gets too bad, he swims instead.  Sometimes, cliffs drop sheer into the water, and if he goes far enough out, there’s a cliff under the ocean as well.  That drops off harshly and into darkness; Mikleo decides to leave that place be, for now.

He loves feeling the barest changes in pressure as the tides roll in and out.  He’s always had a faint sense for the moon, but here it is stronger than ever.  He can feel the way it shapes his environment, shapes the water.  The moon, he thinks, must be a water seraph.  Then, he laughs at himself for the fanciful notions.  That is the kind of image Sorey would have loved, he thinks, then notices the past tense and corrects himself.  Sorey will love that image, some day.

He jots a note in the back pages of his book, separate from his observations of the ocean floor, and then tamps down anything he might feel on the matter.

Mikleo hasn’t been keeping track of time well, but he thinks he has spent a few months under the water when he comes upon the ruin.  He can feel his heart soaring, in a way that it hasn’t in ages.  This is a new ruin, new history, new things to explore and build theories on.  It’s exactly what he had been missing before.  He wonders who lived there.  He wonders how this place came to be under the sea.

There is an open archway leading inside, and Mikleo walks through, after taking a moment to brush his hands along the frame.  Between the creatures that have made their home there, he can make out patterns.  They are long since worn down by the constant sway of the ocean, but he will have to come back later, to see what he can find.

Just inside the hall, it is dark.  Not much sun finds its way to the ocean floor anyway, and none inside this ruin.  Mikleo summons mana in his palm, calling on it to glow.  Once he has a sufficient ball, he sends it towards the ceiling, and then makes a second for himself to carry.  Even this doesn’t fully illuminate the space, although he gasps in delight at the what he can see.  The ceiling soars several stories high, and is decorated by delicate, beautiful vaulting.  In a way it reminds him of the Sanctuary in Ladylake, but there’s something slightly different, too.  He will have to swim up and examine them later.  For now, he heads towards the ground story walls, where his light catches on the curves of engravings and casts the dips into shadow.

Mikleo is examining the fresco he found - which is a fascinating mix of styles, parts harkening to Temperance of Avarost while others, strikingly, bear a resemblance to the art which arose during his own Age of Chaos despite the fact that it must be thousands of years old - when he feels a domain brush his own.  It’s the last thing he expected to find down here in the depths of the ocean.  He whirls to face the room, hair floating softly in the eddies caused by his sudden movement.  His eyes strain against the darkness, as the outline of a figure wavers across the vast space.  He summons his staff and holds it at the ready, waiting for the figure to approach.

It is a woman who comes into his light, moving in a way that glides more than she walks or swims, with tendrils of blue hair drifting around and in front of her face.  As they shift, he can see that the tips of her ears have turned to fins, and the pupils of her eyes are slits and milky with near-blindness.  She raises a hand in greeting, and there are blue webs between her clawed fingers, blue fins along her forearms, and the glint of scales visible through the patches in her deteriorating robes.

“Can you put out the light?  It’s too bright,” she says.  Her voice sounds scratchy, unused, even through the way the water distorts sound.  He suspects if it was not their element, they would not be able to understand each other at all.

“Ah, okay,” Mikleo says and lets the light above them shrink and fade.  He lets the one near him fade, but not go out, and keeps his staff at the ready; while the seraph might be acting calm, she looks as if she has been tainted.  “Who are you?”

“My name is Amelia.  Although, it has been a long time since I have had reason to say it.”

“I’m Mikleo,” he ventures, for the sake of politeness, and then wonders if a half-tained seraph would have any care for manners.  He nearly snorts at the strange thought, but holds it in.  For a moment more, the two of them look at each other, just as wary as before, before Mikleo asks the question burning in his mind, “How did you come to be here?”

Amelia blinks, and the fins on her arms twitch, as if she is anxious or unsure.  “We came here to escape the malevolence of the world above, when it became too much.”  She must have some sight left, despite her milky eyes, because her face twists and she laughs as Mikleo winces.  The laugh is a hollow, grinding thing, like waves against the rocks.  It is not pleasant, but even more than that, it is frightening; it contains no emotion at all.  Mikleo clutches his staff until his knuckles turn white, and wills himself to hold his ground and not take a step back.

“It didn’t work, as you can see,” she finally finishes, once her bout of strange laughter is done.

“The world above is much more pure now,” Mikleo blurts out.

She stares him down, without blinking this time, and then says, “That is a nice thought.  I am glad.  But it is not one for me.”

A moment of silence passes, and then another.  Amelia does not seem inclined to say more, or to move just yet.  Finally, Mikleo clears his throat and asks, “We?”

“There were more of us once.”

And he knows.  He knows exactly why there are no others here with her.  He asks anyway, “How?”

She laughs her awful, soulless laugh again and Mikleo forces himself not to cringe.  “How am I the only one left?”

That wasn’t what he had meant, but he is not willing to correct her.

Amelia shrugs.  “Some fall faster than others. Those who hold sorrow or darkness in their hearts, perhaps. I'm one of the lucky ones. Or maybe, I'm not.”

Suddenly Mikleo doesn’t want to talk to this woman anymore.  Standing in front of him is a fate that he has spent his life pushing back against, that Sorey had sacrificed himself to prevent.  And here it is still.  He feels the last five hundred years spent alone - and for what? - laying heavy on him.  He feels sick to his stomach.

She studies him for a moment more, eyes narrowing and ear fins twitching.  “Stay away from the depths,” she warns, and it sounds like mourning.  “Stay away from the older ones, the darker ones.  There is nothing left there.”  And then, Amelia turns and walks away, out of his light, and taking the feeling of her domain with her, wrapped tight around her shoulders like a cloak.

In the time that Mikleo spends scouring every inch of the entrance hall and the rooms nearby, he does not meet Amelia again.  It seems she is just as content to stay away as he is to have her gone.  Although, he does always keep the senses in his domain alert for any other surprises that might come along.

From time to time, schools of fish swim in and out.  These he likes, and always takes some time away from his study to coax them close and let them swim between his fingers and hair.  Their cool, smooth bodies and vibrant, tiny lives are grounding.  They move so fast, reminding him of the time passing in a way that he often forgets.  He tries to rack his brain for how long he has been under the water, and comes up short.

He doesn’t mind that as much as he thought he would.  He remembers the way time was starting to drag before he came down into the ocean, so he could do with a little bit of feeling like it’s flying by.

At any rate, the ruin is vast and there is much more to be explored.  By questing with his own domain, he believes that there are several upper stories and a basement, perhaps two, in this vast place.  Upper floors are the way to go, he thinks as he approaches a grand, soaring stairway and begins to ascend.  Superstition can’t help but tell him that there will be darker things, more things like Amelia, down below.

And yet, something in him is still not surprised when, several rooms into his grand exploration of the second floor, he finds a monstrous creature.  Or, really, it’s not so much that Mikleo finds the monster, than the monster finds him.  He is narrowly saved by the feeling in the water of the thing’s passing, and reflexes which make him bring his staff up to block as it rams into him.

This thing is all teeth, rows and rows of them, and tiny, milky eyes, and wicked-sharp looking spines.  For half of a panicked second, he remembers a frightening, hollow laugh, but then he realizes this thing is small, and for all its fierce appearance, not very powerful.  Mikleo gathers the water before him, chills it hard and fast enough that it freezes despite the salt in the water, and waits for the monster to attack again.

It circles for a moment before charging again, and runs head-first into Mikleo’s ice spear.  It shakes itself, shrieks in a way that makes the water all around him shudder, and then turns tail to slink off.

Mikleo is careful, reaching forward with all of the senses at his disposal before he tries to enter the room the monster came from, again.  It seems to be empty.  He guides one of his lights inside, and steps up to the doorway before he freezes.  Inside, there is a dark purple miasma slowly pulsing and twisting in its own mindless hunger.  There are eons of hurt here, little eddies and pockets of it that drift about on the currents like dark jellyfish.  They had always known they needed to purify the land, but who would ever think to purify the sea?

His heart thumps madly, painfully in his chest. There has been so much work done, to purify the land.  And yet, this reminds him of nothing so much as the cities of Glennwood when he and Sorey first set out from Elysia centuries ago.  And this is just one room, in one ruin, in the vast ocean.  How much of the water is infused with malevolence, how much of it has he touched?  If things are still like this here, how in the world will Sorey ever cleanse enough of the world to wake?

That is not a thought to be thinking.  Instead, he swirls the water in the room into a cyclone to chase away the patches of malevolence.  It goes streaming past him as he directs it away.  Inside, there are more fascinating carvings, similar to the ones in the grand hall below.  Even without looking closely, he has a thrill up his spine that these ones might help him unlock answers.

He decides, even though there is malevolence here, that he will stay.

Mikleo hasn’t written in his notebook as much as he once has.  The beginning, when he flips through, is packed full of sketches of fish and notes in a tiny exacting hand on comparisons of art and architecture between historical periods and the periods in which he has lived.  The notes are still tiny and exacting in the later half, but it certainly took him several times the amount of time that it did to fill the front, especially since he’s collected plenty enough on the art style here to put together some answers.  When he reaches the last page, he finds a note, to tell Sorey that he once had the silly notion that the moon was a water seraph.  Until then, he hadn’t even remembered the thought.

Mikleo looks at the page for a moment, decides that he will not write anything more there, and shuts the book.  He slides it into the pouch on his belt, still wrapped in magical protections.  The thought that he should return to the surface for another is gone from his mind almost as fast as it came.  Besides, it’s become hard to write anymore with the webbing slowly creeping between his fingers.

There is a day, when he leans close to a section of wall, to examine an old trap.  It’s no longer a danger to him - the rope connecting the mechanism has long-since rotted away.  But it’s fascinating anyway.  As he looks, his eyes begin to hurt.  He rubs them, feeling his fingers skim along the tiny ridges forming underneath.  The ridges had concerned him once, but not anymore.  The touch does not help with his eyes, though.

He thinks that maybe he has been looking at fine detail too long, and that they need a rest.  He turns away from the wall only to come face to face with one of his glowing spheres.  The light is harsh on his hurting eyes this close.  He’s always kept two with him, one for up close and one to illuminate the wider spaces, so he thinks it might not be a bad thing to put one of them out for now, while he rests.  He lets it fade, and breathes a sigh of relief.

He has been practicing finer control of sensing his surroundings in the water.  There are things his eyes miss these days; probably his eyes have always missed things, but the water - it’s in everything.  It misses nothing.

That is probably the reason he feels the creature in the water first, knows the shape of it to be like a man, before he ever senses the domain of a seraph.  He is shocked; the last time he felt something of the like was when he met Amelia again a few months - years? - ago.  Even then, she had hardly felt like a seraph anymore, and certainly nothing like this one, who is pure to the core, and in some way familiar.

He decides his curiosity is enough to venture up from the basement level where he has spent most of his time lately, back up the grand staircases and out to the hall, where this one waits.

As he makes his way through the series of halls and rooms, he feels something flash by his cheek.  It makes beautiful trails in the water with its passing.  It takes him a moment to realize it’s a fish, and he feels something strange in his chest when he can’t remember the last time he saw one.  He does remember, though, feeling them dart around him, and in and out of his fingers.  When the next one passes him by, he snatches it from his path, with the aid of the webbing on his fingers and a twist he makes in the water.  He feels it wriggle against his palm for a moment, the smooth, coolness of its scales.  He wonders what it might be like to eat it, but then he lets the fish go and continues on.

There in the entrance hall is the owner of the domain.  He senses it is a man, shorter than him but not by much, and sees with what failing eyesight he has left that the man is swathed in blue.  Although, it is hard to tell through the light.

“Mikleo,” the man says.

He blinks, tries to think when it was he last heard that name.  He tries to think of who this man is.  He looks up towards the ceiling, and remembers this man in a similar place once, another grand room with grand vaulting and a sweeping roof.  “Uno,” he says back.

“I was sent to look for you, by Lailah and the others.  Although, Edna claims no interest in this endeavor.”

“Ah,” he says, and his mind runs through a hundred bored expressions, more often than not hidden away a moment later by an umbrella.  He thinks he says, “that’s just like her,” but when he looks back at Uno, blinking against the lights the other seraph has brought with him, he can’t be sure.

“They want you to come home.”  His senses in the water tell him Uno’s mouth and eyes are twisted with some kind of emotion.

Before he can even truly feel the word on his tongue, he’s saying, “No.”

“Brother,” Uno says, “can you truly say that this is you speaking, and not the malevolence?  I know the things it will make you do.”

He wracks his brain, his memories of the world above.  Edna is easy, since Uno mentioned her, she is her teasing and snide comments, but also in the way her voice cracks when she is truly worried for someone she claims not to love.  Lailah, she is warmth, and bad jokes, and a teacher despite her sometimes childish ways.  Zaveid is an old, solid presence, for all he tries to hide it under all of the flirting.  The memories are warm, but his heart twists in his chest to think of missing them, to think of how they would see him now.  He clutches his elbows, feeling the scales there under his fingertips.

And then, and then there is the one who is not there.  Sorey.  He is ruins, and bright green eyes, and falling asleep together as children.  He is sparring together, and tickle fights, and the only person Mikleo has ever kissed.  He is books, and a heart that welcomes in all he meets, and he is sacrifice.  And he is gone.  For more years, more centuries, than he ever got to live.

He no longer trusts that Sorey will be coming back.

His heart twists again, and it’s worse this time.  There’s a name to it, too.  Loneliness, sorrow, despair.  All feelings that spawn malevolence; all feelings malevolence spawns.  It is a vicious cycle, he thinks, and it is not a new thought.  He has thought it many times over the years, but this is the first time that he adds, what a cruel world .  Perhaps it is better to stay down in the dark and the silence.  He can’t escape it now, oh no, but he would no longer have to see others suffer for it.  No one would have to suffer when he, too, succumbs.

Finally, he looks back to Uno, who has waited in silence for his answer.  “I am the one speaking,” he says, as clear and as strong as he can.

“It would be a shame to lose a good water seraph. And a good friend.  You won’t reconsider?”

“No.”  He waits, for Uno to say something else.  When there is only silence, he adds, “I’m tired, Uno.  Tired of waiting for something which will never come.”

There must have been something in his face, because Uno sighs, and nods.  “I have strict orders to bring you back, you know.  But if this is truly your choice, I will respect it.  Lailah will roast me alive when I come back empty handed.”

“I am sorry,” he says, and he does feel it.

He watches, as Uno turns to go.  A moment later, he calls, “Uno!” and reaches to his belt for his notebook.  It’s been eons since he’s thought of the thing, but hearing him speak about returning empty handed reminded him.  At least some part of him must have remembered, though, because his artes are still firmly in place to keep it safe from the water.  He holds it out when the other seraph turns back to him, feels a second set of artes wrap around it, and lets go of his own.  “Give this to him,” he says.

Uno nods, takes the book, and turns away again.

He stays to watch Uno leave.  This won’t be the last, he thinks.  Lailah will find another water seraph to come retrieve him, and the next perhaps won’t be willing to leave him in peace.

Perhaps it is time to move on.  He walks out of the ruin once he can no longer feel Uno’s domain.  The light outside is nearly blinding, and so he closes his eyes, puts out his own lightt, and uses the water to guide him.  Where to go, which will be dark and hidden?  There are further depths, down the cliff in the water.

As he glides through the towering gate, he stops for a moment to run his hands along the sides, to feel the patterns under his fingertips between the creatures clinging there.  He never got the chance to come back and examine them.  He thinks he should be disappointed by this, but instead he just feels empty.

Later, when he reaches the cliffs, he doesn’t bother to create a new light for himself.

Light is a thing he knows as glowing points of blue.  They adorn his body in swirling trails, occasionally flicking in and out of vision as his body undulates in the current.  Other creatures come to it.  They slink through the darkness, into his small light, with eyes blurred and senses dulled and he eats them all.

Which is why it is so strange when another creature comes that makes its own light.  It’s a small thing, although not as small as some, but its light is so bright as it floods his milky eyes.  They feel like they’re searing out of his skull.  He hasn’t seen anything this bright since the days of sunlight.  That is a word that the ancient parts of him know, that the rest of him no longer understands.

But this creature, this man, is sunlight.  The brightest, most wonderful and most painful thing he has ever known.

He freezes when the man reaches out to touch him.  Nothing has touched him like this in eons, with gentleness and no fear.  “Oh Mikleo, what has become of you?”  Sound does not carry right through water, but he hears anyway.

That word, that name.  He’s heard it before, perhaps in a dream.  In a dream of sunlight, and air and this man.  There is noise in his head now, beating on his skull.  There are words there, trying to fight their way out of a mind that no longer understands, a mouth that can no longer shape them.  His heart beats fast.  He can feel this man’s heartbeat in the vibrations of the water.  It is fast too, but familiar, and that hurts.  Everything is hurt and confusion.  He wants it to all be quiet and dark again.

Because if it is not quiet and dark, then he has to remember what he was, what he has become, and what could have been – what they could have been.

The man is still touching him.  He’s speaking again, and no, no, stop, no more words.  He cannot take more words – they claw at him, wrench out these feelings that he cannot bear.  But he hears them anyway, because the world is not kind or merciful, and the man says, “I have searched for you for so long.  Won’t you come home?”

And there is a wave of anger.  “I have no home.  You left!” screams the ancient part of him.  Tries to scream it through his mouth, but it comes out as a roar.  There is no sound in the water, but the vibrations shake the stones on the sides of his trench; they come crashing down.  The man doesn’t flee; he clutches closer.

That touch seems to burn, that light burns, those thoughts crashing through his mind burn him from the inside out.  The ancient parts of him are still screaming.  They are crying and wailing and trying to claw their way out of these scales and fins and this cloud of darkness.  Anguish and the most bittersweet joy rise up and crash over him like waves, and he’s going to be dragged under.  He just wants it all to stop.  He reaches forward, to impose silence and darkness and a stilling of his thoughts in the only way he can now.

Somewhere in the depths of the ocean, a light goes out.  It is unnoticed, but for the small flock of creatures that had begun to swim towards its alluring glow.  They turn back now, interest lost.  Beneath them, a creature settles back into the darkness and the solitude, and wills his thoughts to stop and his heart to turn to stone.

[gaiaflower]

A room of one’s own

If we think about Anna Karenina or Madame Bovary, two 1800 women, we certainly cannot describe them as silly or characterless. However, at that time, it was really common to think that women were ‘silly’ and ‘charcterless’. "Most Women have no Characters at all", said Alexander Pope in ‘Characters of women’.

In fact, between literature and reality there were huge differences: in books, women were described by men as full of strength and personality, as big readers, regardless their unlucky condition (for example Anna and Emma, who lived an unhappy marriage), while in real life they were probably beaten, forced to work all day and considered inferior.

Virginia Woolf, talks about this contradiction between real life women and fiction women in a pert essay “A room of One’s own”.

About this “inferiority” Virginia Woolf, reflects “that deep-seated desire, not so much the she shall be inferior as that he shall be superior” . In effect, Woolf is saying that it is men’s very belief in their infinite superiority that causes women to be inferior. Why? Because life is hard for both sexes, and how do we make ourselfs superior? By making others inferior. This is why people like Napoleone or Mussolini insisted on women’s inferiority: because otherwise they would stop making them looking superior, Woolf explains.

However, women have always had the desire (for what concerns literature) to write as much as men, and maybe even more, to write. If this has not been possible for many years, it’s not because of the weakness of their sex, but for the big prejudice that they had on them.

A lot of female writers, did not have the privilege to have success while they were still alive, but they were nothing less than their male collegueses: Jane Austen, for example, is still read a lot, almost 200 years after her death, Mary Shelley, in the 1800, at just eighteen wrote ‘Frankestein’, then we have the Bronte Sisters, Simone De Beauvoir etc.

Not of any less worth, we have the copysts, that are often underestimated: Sofia Tolstoj , secretary and agent of her husband, re-wrote for seven time War and Peace. Only after twentyfive days after they met, Dostoevskij asked her future wife Anna to complete his novel “The Gambler”. Anna spent a lot of time correcting her husband’s books, and she also bothered to publish every work that he wrote, even after his death. Vera Nabkov spent a lot of time correcting and translating her husband’s writings.

With time, however, things got better and in the 1700 women started reading. At the beginning just certain books were considered ‘appropiate’ for women.

However, regardless this limitations, women have always been strong readers, probably to escape the monotony and to ‘live’ adventures that are not related to hause working.

It arrived, not a very long time ago, the moment for women to start writing. Why has this moment arrived so recently?

Virginia Woolf, in conclusion of her essay, invites us to think about a hypotetycal Shakespeare’s sister, as talented as him. The difficulties that she would have had to face would have been impossible to overcome; she would have died and forgotten, despite of her amazing talent.

‘Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the crossroads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here tonight, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh. This opportunity, as I think, it is now coming within your power to give her. For my belief is that if we live another century or so—I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals—and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting-room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky, too, and the trees or what ever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton’s bogey, for no human being should shut out the view; if we face the fact, for it is a fact, that there is no arm to cling to, but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women, then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare’s sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down. Drawing her life from the lives of the unknown who were her forerunners, as her brother did before her, she will be born. As for her coming without that preparation, without that effort on our part, without that determination that when she is born again she shall find it possible to live and write her poetry, that we cannot expect, for that would be impossible. But I main-tain that she would come if we worked for her, and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worth while.’

The writer is more than clear. That day will come, and it won’t be a concession: women will have to work hard to see their success coming.

Nowadays, women readers beat men by far.

Women who read nowadays are dangerous too; they know who they are and what they’re capable of. They think, they know, they study; things that are not so common.

Girls who read will become for sure independent women, and those who write even more.

And maybe one day women will have nothing more than what men have always been fighting for, but that fo women has always been more difficult to achieve: the right of a life in which they can nurture talent and ambition, and the right of ‘a room of one’s own’.

[cathygeha]

So I Married a Sorcerer The Embraced Series

By Kerrelyn Sparks

Excerpt:  Chapter One

“I cannot play,” Brigitta told her sisters as she cast a wary look at the linen bag filled with Telling Stones. Quickly she shifted on the window seat to gaze at the Great West- ern Ocean. The rolling waves went on for as far as she could see, but her mind was elsewhere. Calm yerself. The prediction will ne’er happen.

At dawn they had boarded this ship, accompanied by Mother Ginessa and Sister Fallyn, who were now resting in the cabin next door. This was the smallest vessel in the Eberoni Royal Navy, the captain had explained, sturdy enough to cross the ocean, but small enough to travel up the Ebe River to the palace at Ebton. There, they would see their oldest sister, who was now the queen of Eberon.

According to the captain, Queen Luciana had intended to send more than one ship to safeguard their journey, but at the last minute the other naval ships had been diverted south to fight the Tourinian pirates who were raiding vil- lages along the Eberoni shore. But not to worry, the cap- tain had assured Brigitta and her companions. Since the royal navy was keeping the pirates occupied to the south, their crossing would be perfectly safe.

 Indeed, after a few hours, it seemed perfectly boring. “If we don’t play, how will we pass the time?” Gwen- nore asked from her seat at the round table. “ ’Twill be

close to sunset afore we reach Ebton.”

“I wish we could wander about on deck,” Maeve grumbled from her chair next to Gwennore. “ ’Tis a lovely spring day, and we’re stuck down here.”

Sorcha huffed in annoyance as she paced about the cabin. “Mother Ginessa insisted we remain here. I swear she acts as if she’s afraid to let anyone see us.”

“Perhaps she fears for our safety because we are Em- braced,” Gwennore said.

Sorcha shook her head. “We’re safe now in Eberon.”

But only in Eberon, Brigitta thought as she studied the deep-blue waves. Being Embraced was a death sentence anywhere else on the mainland. The other kings abhorred the fact that each of the Embraced possessed some sort of magical power that the kings, themselves, could never have.

When Brigitta and her adopted sisters were born, the only safe haven had been the Isle of Moon. They’d grown up there in the Convent of the Two Moons, believing they were orphans. But almost a year ago, they’d discovered a shocking truth. Luciana had never been an orphan.

Since then, Brigitta had wondered if she had family somewhere, too. Had they hidden her away or, worse, abandoned her? She feared it was the latter. For in all her nineteen years of life, no one from the mainland had ever bothered to contact her.

You are loved, she reminded herself. She’d grown up in a loving home at the convent. Her sisters loved her, and she loved them. That was enough.

It had to be enough. Didn’t it?

Sorcha lowered her voice. “I still believe Mother Ginessa knows things about us that she won’t tell.”

 Brigitta silently agreed. She knew from her special gift that almost everyone was hiding something.

“Let’s play the game and let the stones tell us,” Maeve said. “I need to do something. This cabin is feeling smaller by the minute.”

Brigitta sighed. Sadly enough, this was the largest cabin on board. Captain Shaw had lent them his quarters, which had a large window overlooking the back of the vessel.

The ship creaked as it rolled to the side, and Sorcha grabbed the sideboard to steady herself.

“Have a seat afore ye fall,” Gwennore warned her. “Fine.” Sorcha emptied the oranges from a brass bowl

on the sideboard, then plunked the bowl onto the table as she took a seat. “Let’s play.”

Brigitta’s sisters gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head and turned to gaze out the window once again. It had been twelve years ago, when she was seven, that Luciana had invented the game where they could each pretend to be the Seer from the Isle of Mist. They’d gathered up forty pebbles from the nearby beach, then painted them with colors and numbers. After the stones were deposited in a bowl and covered with a cloth, each sister would grab a small handful of pebbles and what- ever colors or numbers she’d chosen would indicate her future.

“We’ll just have to play without her,” Sorcha grum- bled. A clattering noise filled the cabin as the bag of Telling Stones was emptied into the brass bowl, a noise not quite loud enough to cover Sorcha’s hushed voice. “Ye know why she won’t play. She’s spooked.”

Brigitta winced. That was too close to the truth.

She could no longer see the Isle of Moon on the hori- zon. As the island had faded from sight, a wave of appre- hension had washed over her, slowly growing until it had

 sucked her down into an undertow of fear and dread. For deep in her heart, she believed that leaving the safety of the convent would trigger the set of events that Luciana had predicted.

But how could she have refused this voyage? Luciana would be giving birth soon, and she wanted her sisters with her. She also needed Mother Ginessa, who was an excellent midwife.

“I’m going first,” Sorcha declared, and the stones rat- tled about the bowl as she mixed them up.

“O Great Seer,” Maeve said, repeating the line they spoke before each prediction. “Reveal to us the secrets of the Telling Stones.”

“What the hell?” Sorcha muttered, and Maeve gasped. “Ye mustn’t let Mother Ginessa hear ye curse like

that,” Gwennore warned her.

“These stones are ridiculous!” Sorcha slammed them on the table, and out of curiosity Brigitta turned to see what her sister had selected.

Nine, pink, and lavender.

Gwennore tilted her head as she studied the stones. “In nine years ye will meet a tall and handsome—”

“Nine years?” Sorcha grimaced. “I would be so old!” “Twenty-seven.” Gwennore’s mouth twitched. “Practi-

cally ancient.”

“Exactly!” Sorcha huffed. “I’ll wait nine months for my tall and handsome stranger, and not a minute more.” She glared at the colored stones. “I hate pink. It looks ter- rible with my freckles and red hair.”

Maeve’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Who said ye would be wearing it? I think yer true love will look very pretty in pink.”

“He’s not wearing pink,” Sorcha growled.

“Aye, a lovely pink gown with a lavender sash,” Gwen- nore added with a grin.

 “Nay, Gwennie.” Maeve shook her head. “The lavender means he’ll have lavender-blue eyes like you.”

“Ah.” Gwennore tucked a tendril of her white-blond hair behind a pointed ear. “Could be.”

“Are ye kidding me?” Sorcha gave them an incredu- lous look. “How on Aerthlan would I ever meet an elf?” “Ye met me,” Gwennore said. “And apparently, in nine months, ye’ll meet a tall and handsome elf in a pink gown.” She and Maeve laughed, and Sorcha reluctantly

grinned.

Brigitta turned to peer out the window once again. Over the years, the Telling Stones had proven to be an entertaining game. But then, a year ago, something strange had happened. Luciana’s prediction for her own future had actually come to pass. She’d met and fallen in love with the tall and handsome stranger she’d foretold in specific detail, using the Telling Stones. And if that hadn’t been amazing enough, she’d become the queen of Eberon.

Eager to experience something equally romantic, Bri- gitta had begged her oldest sister to predict a similar future for her.

A mistake. Brigitta frowned at the churning ocean. Blue, gold, seven, and eight. Those had been the stones

Luciana had selected. Blue and gold, she’d explained, sig- nified the royal colors of the kingdom of Tourin. Seven meant there would be seven suitors to compete for her hand. And eight . . . in eight months, Brigitta would meet a tall and handsome stranger.

The eight months had now passed.

She pressed a hand against her roiling stomach. When they’d boarded this morning, she’d quickly as-

sessed the captain and his crew. None of them had struck her as particularly tall or handsome. Captain Shaw was portly, bald, and old enough to be her father.

 As for the seven suitors vying for her hand, she had initially been thrilled, considering the idea wildly exciting. But when her sisters had likened it to her being a prize in a tourney, she’d had second thoughts.

Why would seven men compete for her? She had noth- ing special to offer. Even the gift she possessed for being Embraced was hardly special. And did this contest mean she would have no choice but to marry whichever man won her? The more she’d thought about this competition, the more it had made her cringe.

So, five months ago, she’d played the game again, hop- ing to achieve different results. But to her shock, there had been four stones in her hand.

Blue, gold, seven, and five.

Had some sort of mysterious countdown gone into ef- fect? Reluctant to believe that, she’d attempted the game again a month later. Blue, gold, seven, and four. Alarmed, she’d sworn never to play again.

But one month ago, Sorcha had dared her to play, taunt- ing her for being overly dramatic. Those words never failed to irk Brigitta, so she’d accepted the dare. With a silent prayer to the moon goddesses, she’d reached into the bowl, swished the pebbles around, and grabbed a hand- ful. And there, in her palm, four stones had stared up at her.

Blue, gold, seven, and one. A fate was shoving itself down her throat whether she liked it or not.

And she did not.

Brigitta had been raised on the Isle of Moon, where women were free to determine their own futures and everyone worshipped the moon goddesses, Luna and Lessa.

It was different on the mainland. Men were in charge there, and everyone worshipped a male god, the Light.

 Luciana had been fortunate to find a good man who respected her independent nature. As king and queen, they had declared it safe to worship the moon goddesses in Eberon.

But it was not that way elsewhere. In the other main- land kingdoms, Brigitta would be executed for making the sign of the moons as she prayed. Executed for being Embraced. So why did she keep picking the blue and gold colors of Tourin?

And why would seven suitors compete for her? She glanced at her sisters. Sorcha had always seemed the stron- gest, with a fiery temperament that matched her fiery red hair. Gwennore had always been the smartest. Maeve, the youngest, had always been the sweetest. And Luciana— now married—had been their brave leader. Brigitta had never been quite sure where she fit in.

Gwennore, with her superior intellect, had always been the best at translating books into different languages. Maeve had excelled in penmanship, and Sorcha in artwork. Luciana had been good at everything.

But Brigitta . . . the nuns had despaired with her. When transcribing a book, she could never stay true to the text. A little embellishment here, a tweak there, and eventu- ally she would take a story so off course, it was no longer recognizable. This, of course, upset the nuns, for their male customers on the mainland were paying for an ex- act copy of an old tale, not the romantic fantasies of an overly dramatic young woman.

Whenever the nuns had fussed at her, her sisters had come to her defense, insisting that her story was much better than the original. And each time the nuns tried to use Brigitta’s overly dramatic mistakes for kindling, her sisters always managed to rescue the pages and give them to her. They’d even begged her to finish her stories

 about dashing young heroes, so that they could read them.

Brigitta adored them for that. She’d do anything for her sisters, including this voyage to Eberon that she was so afraid would activate the events she’d been dread- ing.

She shifted her gaze back to the rolling motion of the ocean, and her stomach churned. Did a person’s destiny have to be set in stone, in this case the Telling Stones? This was her story, so why couldn’t it be one of her mak- ing? Surely she didn’t have to stick to a text that had already been written without her consent. Couldn’t she be the author of her own destiny?

“Ye should watch the horizon, not the waves,” Maeve said as she sat next to Brigitta on the window seat. “ ’Tis a sure way to make yerself ill.”

“Oh.” Brigitta turned to her youngest sister. “I didn’t realize . . .” Her stomach twisted with a sharp pain, and she winced.

Gwennore gave her a worried look. “Ye look pale. Would ye like some bread or wine?” She motioned toward the sideboard and the food that had been left for them.

Brigitta shook her head. Perhaps if she sat perfectly still for a few moments, the nausea would pass. “Did ye finish playing the Game of Stones?”

“Aye,” Maeve answered. “Didn’t ye hear us giggling?” Brigitta groaned inwardly, not wanting to admit she’d been too engrossed in her own worries to pay her sisters

any mind.

“My prediction was the best,” Maeve continued. “In four years, I’ll meet a tall and handsome stranger with green teeth, purple hair, and three feet.”

Brigitta wrinkled her nose. “Ye call that handsome? How can he have three feet? Does he have a third leg?”

 Maeve waved a dismissive hand. “We didn’t bother to figure that part out. But he is taller than most.”

“Aye.” Sorcha snorted. “By a foot.”

Maeve grinned. “As ye can see, the game is nonsense. Besides, I have no desire to meet any man, no matter how tall or handsome. I plan to live the rest of my life with all of you at the convent.”

“Aye,” Sorcha agreed. “I’m not leaving my sisters for an elf in a pink gown. ’Tis naught but a silly game.”

“Exactly.” Gwennore gave Brigitta a pointed look. “So ye shouldn’t believe anything the stones say.”

They were doing their best to relieve her fear, Brigitta realized, and as her heart warmed, the ache in her stomach eased. “Thank you. What would I do without ye all?”

The ship lurched suddenly to the right, causing Bri- gitta and Maeve to fall against the padded wall of the window seat. The oranges rolled off the sideboard and plummeted to the wooden floor. Empty goblets fell onto the floor with a series of loud clunks.

Sorcha grabbed on to the table. “What was that?”

Loud shouts and the pounding of feet sounded on the deck overhead.

“Something is amiss,” Gwennore said as she gazed up at the ceiling. “They’re running about.”

Maeve peered out the window. “I believe we made a sudden turn to the south.”

“That would put us off course,” Gwennore murmured.

The door slammed open, and they jumped in their seats.

Mother Ginessa gave them a stern look, while behind her Sister Fallyn pressed the tips of her fingers against her thumbs, forming two small circles to represent the twin moons.

Kerrelyn Sparks is no stranger to the New York Times bestseller list, as her massive fan base couldn’t seem to get enough of her Love at Stake series. Sparks then introduced her extraordinary fantasy romance series, The Embraced, with How to Tame a Beast in Seven Days last March. Set in a medieval mythical world, the series follows a special group of people with powers born when the two moons of the world form an eclipse. Now comes the captivating second installment, SO I MARRIED A SORCERER (St. Martin’s Paperbacks; August 29, 2017), where readers meet Brigitta, our fierce and powerful new heroine. 

Growing up on the Isle of Moon, Brigitta knows nothing of her past, except that she is Embraced: born with powers that forced her into hiding. Everything changes when she learns she’s a princess, hidden away from her villainous halfbrother who now rules the kingdom. But he knows about Brigitta, and he’ll do anything to get her back. Unless a certain roguish pirate has anything to say about it.

Rupert is both an infamous pirate and a sorcerer with the power to harness the wind. He's been waiting nineteen years for revenge—and he needs Brigitta to get it. What begins as a kidnapping of the fiery beauty turns into a fierce attraction. But can he win the captive princess's heart?

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Contact: Brittani Hilles, Publicist, St. Martin’s Press Brittani.Hilles@stmartins.com | 646-307-5558 Filled with romance, adventure, and a vividly imagined new world, SO I MARRIED A SORCERER is a fantasy in the vein of Game of Thrones with all the fun of The Princess Bride. Audiences will become enthralled with spunky Brigitta and her misunderstood captor, in a world where passion, fantasy, and royal intrigue collide. The characters put everything on the line as it is not just their relationship at stake, but their survival as well.  

About the Author Kerrelyn Sparks is best known (so far) for the Love at Stake series, which has hit as high as number 5 on the New York Times list and 22 on the USA Today list. Visit Kerrelyn on Facebook, Twitter, or her website, http://www.kerrelynsparks.com/.

SO I MARRIED A SORCERER:  The Embraced Series By Kerrelyn Sparks Published by St. Martin’s Paperbacks **On Sale August 29, 2017** Mass Market Paperback | $7.99  ISBN: 9781250108234| Ebook ISBN: 9781250108241

For more information or to set up an interview with the author, contact: Brittani Hilles at brittani.hilles@stmartins.com or 646-307-5558

Praise for Kerrelyn Sparks: "A deeply satisfying, delightfully swoon-inducing close...full of vulnerability and tenderness." — Publishers Weekly (starred review) on Crouching Tiger, Forbidden Vampire

"Mixing paranormal romance with humor, Sparks clearly has a style all her own, one that readers love." — USA Today's Happily Ever After blog

"Sparks skillfully infuses her writing with a deliciously sharp wit." — Booklist

[asryakino]

The Cure - A Tale from The Thomas Bowden

It had been more than five full Berion Cycles since the Thomas Bowden had been able to rest her engines. Five full cycles since they had stopped moving at nearly full speed with the engines near melting. 

"How long will it take to do the damned repairs?" 

"Sixteen cycles."

"Sixteen?!"

"I can't repair anything that's hot enough to melt my face off. We have to cool down before I can even -start- repairing the damage. And then, it'll take me a few cycles to do that. And that's even if I have all the parts I need Bowden!" The engineer's form lost its shape for just a split moment, before regaining their composure. 

"We haven't been able to shake the damn ship for more than ten in the past decta." The stress was beginning to show on the usually somber captain's face plates, his mandibles clicked together when he paused and the secondary arms he often kept folded under the ugly coat he always wore were shifting, flexing, and grasping at each other. 

"Captain, the crew is exhausted. The ship desperately needs repair. And you're going to molt if you get any more stressed. We NEED to rest."

"I know." He insisted, snapping his mandibles more sharply than he'd intended. Making the engineer startle briefly. Apologetically, he ran a hand across the chitinous plates along his head. "I know…" He said more gently. "I'll buy us as much time as I can."

------------

"Five cycles at nearly full speed. Their engines should be near capacity at that point. That model's only build for short bursts, not extended run." The helmsman declared back toward the captain. "Should we close in Sir?"

"Not yet, if they're still willing to run at that speed, they aren't finished yet. Fall back, let them catch their breath for a bit. We have time yet, and they're running out of it. When was their last stop?"

"Three docyces ago. They stopped at the Balda'roon station, we picked up pursuit within ten cycles." 

"Not enough time for a resupply and repair, but enough for a refuel then."

"Yes Sir. Confirmed with the Dock Supervisor they fully fueled, but couldn't complete repairs."

"That's fine. Where's the nearest gate."

"At current speed, they'll be within the Agralex gate in another…" He trailed off briefly, tapping something into the display. "Eight cycles. If their engines are modified."

"It's The Bowden, Helmsman Jakar. That ship is modified." Captain Hasser stated matter-of-factly. "Drop back, give them some space, and alert the crew to rest up. We'll pick back up in three cycles."

"They'll be able to put a fair distance between us at that timing, Sir."

"It's fine. This is a marathon, not a sprint." The Helmsman looked confused at the phrase. "It's an old saying from Terra." Hasser explained. "It means we're built for endurance."

----------

"They've dropped back again." Fakeer announced from her display. "Falling back… I think they've stopped."

"Don't buy into it. Keep going. Put as much distance between us as possible. How far away is Agralax?"

"Eight more cycles, Captain." She warbled.

"We can't gate in this condition, we'd arrive at the other side with no engines at all!" Tyran's form lost it's composure and for a moment looked as though they would simply turn into a multi-hued puddle.

"Easy… easy. I know that. But there's a repair base three cycles toward Havalik from there. If we get enough distance, we can  stop there and try to get some of these repairs done."

Tyran quivered in place, then made an affirmative gesture. "Understood." They slid back to Engineering.

Fakeer focused on her console. "Captain…" She kept her shoulders squared, watching the indicator of their pursuing ship get further away. "Who, exactly, is chasing us and why?"

"I wish I knew. Could be anyone from any number of systems." His purple and indigo plates shifted into what was could have been a prideful expression, if it hadn't been so weary. "It happens when you're a notorious band of pirates."

"We aren't pirates, sir." Fakeer tilted her head up in an amused motion, but exhaustion had robbed her of the genuine expression. "We're Outlaws…? Well we're not pirates."

Bowden chuckled, an odd sort of sound from the man. "I believe that means I'm right, Fakeer." He jested. His tone softened. "Just hold on a bit longer. We'll get some rest as soon as we can."

Silence hung for a thick second between the pair on the bridge before being broken.

"I wish I could believe that, Captain."

-------------

"It's not even a military ship! It has no military or mercenary insignia! Captain WHO DID YOU PISS OFF?!" Kitani's voice turned upwardly shrill in her frustration, the vibrant comb of feathers along the back of her head flared in agitation. "It's huge, it's fast, it's expensive and it hasn't stopped chasing us for over a decta! A DECTA CAPTAIN!" Again her voice went just this side of shrill, making Bowden's mandibles twitch in a grimace.

"Hell if I know, Kitani. If I knew, I'd be more willing to stop, let them catch up, and talk to them. But It seems ill-advised when you can't find anything out about it and you can't stop long enough to figure it out. "And easy on the tone, Kit." He tried to laugh it off, but even he was feeling the effects of the constant pursuit by now. 

The feathered helms pilot made a disgruntled noise in her throat and turned back to her console, ruffled. "Fakeer's course is still the best, engines are still too hot to do… well pretty much anything. And Tyran says if we don't cool them down we'll lose them anyway, even with the modifications. They sounded pretty mad too."

Bowden picked at a loose bit of chiton at his jaw idly and flicked it away. 

"Yeah, they usually are. We're what? A cycle away from the base?""We're a cycle away from Agrilax Gate."

"And our friends?"

"Not on screen, but our long-range is still out, so they could be anywhere as far as we'd know. We're all but blind."

"That's fine. Keep heading toward Havalik, straight on, you'll know the base when you see it."

"If you say so…" 

He's been awake for far, far too many cycles. Everyone had been on high alert since they noticed their tail two systems ago. Bowden himself had been awake at -least- three docyce. And if he slept at all it hadn't been more than three or four cycles at best. 

Fakeer had brought up that his decision making skills may be in question. She knew the Agralax system, even Kitani knew it fairly well. And there was no base they knew of anywhere even close to where Bowden was directing them. 

Flying blind with no long range communication or sensors, engines running so hot they were ready to melt, a powder keg of exhausted shipmates from across a dozen planetary systems being led by a captain who hadn't slept…

Kitani and Fakeer were worried about a mutiny. 

Or worse. 

"Bring up a sensor reading?" Bowden's voice sounded haggard, the tones shifting between irritation and something Kitani couldn't quite identify. 

"Sure…" She obliged, showing a display screen of the system, the rings of Agrilax visible only barely, while the giant, distant form of Havalik loomed, encircled by it's moons and trapped objects. Agrilax might host the most life in the system, but Havalik was much  more impressive.

"Perfect. Send a distress signal, pulse it twice." Kitani looked at him in confusion, the man's eyes were focused on the display, but there was a hard-to-pin emotion in his body language. Anxiety? 

Anticipation? 

Desperation? 

Worry.

Kitani opened the short range communication relay and sent out two quick distress signals.

The air on the Pilot's deck was thick. Kitani realized it only when her chest hurt that she'd held her breath, mimicking the large Captain who's eyes were locked on the visual display.

"There!" His smaller, secondary arms thrust forward, as if he could grasp at the display itself, his large hands locked tightly on the back of Kitani's console seat. "Thank fuck."

She didn't see anything at first, just the massive gas giant and it's numerous moons. But as if breaking away from the flock, one of the smaller objects seemed to be moving away from the field of moons and asteroids. 

"Thank fuck…" The captain breathed out a long, low held breath. "They're still there. Had me worried for a minute."

"Cap… tain?" Kitani couldn't quite believe it. But sure enough, a massive colony-sized station had hidden itself among the gas giant's orbiting children and it seemed to be responding to the distress signal.

"Signal them again, then head for that station, Kitani. I've got good news for the crew."

She quickly signaled the distress call twice more, and watched as the response flew out of the base in the form of a dozen small tow ships.

Bowden grabbed the ship's all alert. Putting on his Captain face and voice, despite looking so haggard. 

"Congrats everyone. We're home for a while. We're ten cycles ahead of our new friends and about to hit up an old friend. Aqua, report to the top deck. Everyone else, breathe a bit, and stand down. We're getting a tow in. Tyran, get a list of everything you need. Everyone else, be ready to disembark in… one and a half cycles."

With the message sent, inner ship comms lit up as crew started talking almost all at once. Bowden collapsed back into his console with an exhausted sigh. 

"Damn. That would have been embarrassing if they'd been collected."

"Captain… where exactly are we?"

----------------

It was populated with thousands and thousands of robots. Repair robots, scrapped together droids, cleaner bots, welding robos, builders, every type one could imagine. Even massive mining robotics on sledges, and all of it looked like it was pieced together by children.

An artificial colony of artificial lifeforms from around the galaxy. Outmodes, scrap, thrown away, and any other form of abused mechanical life form, all joined together in a base where they could exist on their own. 

When the ship docked they were greeted by an unskinned escort droid. Her shiny metal exterior, while patched in places, was well taken care of. It was the same for almost every occupant the crew passed. 

"Welcome to Bow's Den. I'm Tomi."

Aquatani spun on the purple captain. "-Really- Bowden?"

He shrugged innocently. "In my defense, I didn't name it."

"I did." Claimed the bot, matter-of-factly. "I thought it was clever."

All four of Bowden's arms pointed toward the shiny former escort droid. "See? I'm innocent."

Without missing a beat she responded. "That's untrue. But welcome to the Den all the same." She peered past him at the sleek exterior of the aged G'aarth ship. And her tone dropped almost imperceptivity. " Now, what have you done to the ship, Bowden?"

"He's been running her ragged!" Tyran's multi-coloured amorphous form wiggled out of the ship and right toward the shiny robot. Shifting their shape around until they solidified four legs to walk on and a torso to hold the portable display out. "We've been running at nearly full speed for a hundred cycles and she needs to rest"

"It hasn't been a hundred cycles." Bowden huffed under his breath. "…yet."

Tyran ignored him, and was escorted away by Tomi, ranting about how abused the ship was by 'the purple beast' while Tomi shot accusatory glances back at the four-armed captain. 

He ignored them, looking over the mismatch of crew that had managed to file out of the ship. Raising his voice to be heard over the muddled din of twenty or so crewmembers, he addressed them. Though now he didn't bother to hide the tiredness in his voice, as it was written in every aspect of his hulking frame; that was, for once, free of the overlarge coat he usually wore. 

"Alright You!" The crew fell into respectful quiet, around them the mechanical sounds of bots crawling over, under, and around the bedraggled ship turned into background clanging. "We aren't that far ahead of our new friends. A few cycles of rest, recuperation, and repair is all we can afford right now. So, here's what we know. They are persistent. They have our ship flagged, and they aren't mercs, military, or merchants." He paused, then barked. "Fakeer."

The short bark of her name grabbed the attention of the black and red half of the piloting team. She produced a light display, throwing up a visual scan of the offending ship while he continued.

"It's high end; almost twice our size, and carries no identifying insignia on its hull. We couldn't get enough signal to decode its ID broadcast because the bastards focus targeted our long-range array after we pegged them for tailing us. At least two of the crew are Terran or at least of Terran-descent… Aqua caught an image of them just after they made her at the refueling station."

The image of the ship was replaced with an eyeframe shot of a male and female dressed in sleek official-looking uniforms.

"For once in my life, I have no fucking clue who these people are. The ship's unknown, and while I've done a -whole- lot of things worthy of being chased across five systems without pause; I usually remember the people I did it to. Which means…" His weary eyes traveled over the beleaguered cast of his crew. "This particular skeleton has escaped from one of your closets. Start thinking back and figure out who you pissed off in your past lives. Because we're done running. Literally. We can't run anymore. We have maybe twelve cycles before they catch up to us and that's only if they make a wrong turn at Agrilax and head for Vermi instead of Havalik. Which I doubt they're gonna do."

Exhaustion settled over his shoulders, dropping his head and making the powerful captain look his not unimpressive age. It was a surprising show of weakness that most of the crew had never seen. Aquatani stepped up to his side, taking his large hand in her own supportingly as a good second should. 

"Look, no one's on this crew and in this ship because we're Lilly white and Simon pure. If any of you recognize these assholes, speak up. If not to me, tell Aqua. I don't care what or who it was; I don't care when or what you did. But I need to know what I'm up against, so we can stand shoulder to shoulder and either run to the edge of the galaxy or start pulling arms out of sockets. And I'm fucking tired," He waved a hand over the crew as a whole. "…we all are."

Faces turned toward faces, each crewmember looking from one to the other for a hint of recognition among them. No one spoke up, but a silent agreement fell between them all that the situation was bad.

"Now that we're all aware of how sufficiently fucked we are. Go stretch your legs and figure out who the fuck is on our ass. Ask the bots for directions." He grumbled lowly. "I'm gonna go hit the damn spa." The lumbering form of the captain turned and picked his way past clamours of bots, followed by Aqua until he waved her off, leaving her to return to the crew. 

A small compliment of robots approached, offering to lead the way to the barracks so the crew could rest and talk. Several voices speculated with one another over who they may have angered. And before long a betting pool opened up on who's fault it was. 

Despite the grumbling between them, an unspoken solidarity remained. The crew of the Thomas Bowden was a family. Like siblings in a nest, they could fight each other. And now and then had damn near killed one another in various fights over various reasons. 

If they wanted to kick the ass of a deserving crewmate? They'd do so. But some stranger threatening their beloved sibling? Twenty plus crewmates from a dozen planetary systems and a four-armed Gaarth captain would be happy to show them the nearest supernova. 

---------------------

 Sure enough, tacking on some speed caught the trailing ship to the planetary gate. Cassian Hassen eyed the display. 

"So… Havalik or Vermi?"

"Sir?"

"Do you think they aimed for Havalik? Or perhaps Vermi?"

"The Havalik orbital cloud is closer right now. Vermi's currently in it's elliptical peak on the other side of the system." The helmsman offered. 

"Head for the gas giant then."

"Sir, why did you let them get such a long head start? Isn't there a chance they'll have repaired their ship by now?"

"Undoubtedly. I'm counting on their long range communications array to be functional by now. But I don't care if they have the best mechanics this side of the spiral, their engine damage won't be repaired."

"Sir?"

"If I'm right, what we want will be waiting for us. Send a communication to the Bowden as soon as we're in range of her long range array. If I'm right, you'll get an affirmative as soon as you send it."

"Yes Sir." Jakar remained confused, but trusted the Captain's orders. It was his ship after all. And he'd been right about everything up to now.

-----------

The long range comms picked up the larger ship only a few moments before the communication request came in. Nev just happened to be at the controls, calibrating the engines with Tyran when it came through. He send the request right back to the ship. 

Everyone had gotten at least six cycles of rest, most had been working on various repair, cleaning, or research. And Bowden, refreshed after a full nine had a chat with a few potential targets among the crew. He'd also put more than a few credits in the pool, his chits were on Del having pissed off some Terran high house. 

Del, to his credit, wasn't positive it wasn't his fault. 

The situation was still bothering Bowden, however, as something still didn't add up. That was when Mariele approached him.

"Captain?" The quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, the return comms signal had already gone through, and he was brushing off the signature coat. It took him longer than he would have admitted to realize where the quiet, unassuming voice came from. 

Mariele rarely spoke. In fact, he could barely recall a time he'd heard more than a hundred words from her in the entire pont she'd been on the ship. 

"Mari." He answered shortly, then looked at her. She was frightened.

No, she was terrified. His plates knitted together and he bent down to be just a bit closer to eye level. "What happened?"

"I think it's my fault." Came the quiet, terrified response. 

Well, that got all of his neurons firing. He raised a hand, signaling to Nev with a snap. A wordless signal to get his second in command on deck -now-.

"Mariele… what makes you think they're targeting you?" The old captain's brain was firing left, right and centre trying to place where they'd picked the blue-skinned Terranform. Some off spiral supply station? She'd been some stowaway on a cargo ship…

"Captain." The short response came from his right side.

"Aqua, Mariele seems to think our new friends may be her old friends. Thoughts?" 

By this point the blue-skinned and crystal eyed former stowaway looked as though she was going to shake herself to pieces on the main deck. Aquatani looked her over, smiled gently and seemed to regard her for several drops. 

"It may be possible, Captain. But the pool is still in Del's favour." The weak attempt at humour made Bowden stand just a tick stiffer. 

"Get everyone on board. Nev, finish those calibrations while we're idle, disengage from the base and send them on their way." Things were lining up in Bowden's mind. He turned, a little sharper than he intended to, toward the terrified form of the ship's assistant medic. 

"I'll say again, whatever happened, I don't care about specifics. That's a past life. However." He bent his overly large frame, seemingly larger now that he'd put the ugly brown coat back on. "You're shaking worse than a leaf in a devil wind, Mariele. I won't ask but one question. Did you tell Aqua?"

His second looked to him, Mariele looked shocked and, somehow, more frightened. Which told him everything he needed. He nodded shortly. "That's all I need. Aqua, I expect a full report -later-." He emphasized, then stood back to his full height. A hand went down on the innership comms console. 

"All crew, get your asses back on the Bowden. Now."

The false asteroid was floating away not even a cycle later, lost to the orbital cloud field and cloaked among the debris by the time the larger ship came into the ship's visual range. She was scuffed, tired, and old. But she was patiently waiting. So when the short range comms pinged with an open request, Bowden was ready to answer. 

On the screen a half dozen Terrans were poised at various positions. All slicked hair, multi-coloured private industry uniforms, and uninterested expressions. A sharp contrast to the distinctly inTerran crew consisting of: a purple, four-armed Gaarth captain; a skinny brown six-armed Klaxon navigation; a Terran-shaped android with blue covering and short white hair; and a pair of avian-like crewmembers in black/red and white.

Neither crew looked particularly happy, though both captains wore vaguely acceptable neutral expressions.  

"Greetings to you Polaris. Have we finished our game of tag?"  Captain Hasser smirked. "Bit of engine trouble caused a slowdown, I suspect?" He allowed a smug twitch of his lip. "I have business with you Bowden, concerning a rather dangerous cargo you're carrying."

"We're not a cargo ship, and you're being a bit rude, Captain. Seeing as you know me and mine, but didn't introduce yourself and your blind ship."

The Terran seemed briefly insulted, or surprised. "Right. I did get a bit ahead of myself. My most sincere apologies, you must understand. Tales of your ship and crew do spread to the far systems from one arm to the next." He gave a short bow at the waist, the bare minimum of Captain-to-Captain respect. "I'm Cassian Hasser, Captain of the Startear. We'll speak more in person, Captain Bowden. I really am quite honoured to meet you face-to-face."

He didn't allow a response, cutting the communication even as the smaller ship shook from the impact of tow cables.

Bowden made a rude grunt in his throat before hitting the innership comms. 

"Crew, lock down in bunks. Essential crew to the top deck. We're being boarded."

---------------------

"Welcome aboard. Captain Cassian." Bowden didn't hide his displeasure at the Terran man's actions. But neither was he hostile. It was simply the proud demeanor of a leader who didn't appreciate the invasion of another. 

Cassian, on the other hand showed and gave off no air of ill will. Only the apparent unearned superiourity of most Terran high races

"I've no fight with you, Captain Bowden. Just the opposite. I've grown up hearing the tales of you, your ship, and your crew. It's inspired countless others to take up a helm into the stars."

"So you ran us into the dirt for nearly four docyce because of… admiration? Most just send a card. Some send explosives." Bowden gave his mimic of a Terran smile. His mandibles never -quite- getting the shape right, so it came across as nearly threatening. 

"Not at all." Cassian looked upward at the (In)famous captain. "But you're carrying an Atlemarian." He stated simply with finality.

Bowden stopped briefly. That statement threw him. "Do I look like the kind of man who would put myself, my crew, and every port I've ever been to in that kind of danger? There's no Atlemarians on this ship."

If Bowden ever dealt in positives. This was the one thing even he knew.

Atlemaria was a plagued world. Quarantined for generations now with the only surviving populations being deformed by plague scars. An interstellar prion disease that had ravaged three star systems before being contained via extreme measures. He'd seen the pain and suffering the Atlemarian disease had caused, the lives it had ripped down. 

"Terrifying. Isn't it?" Cassian's voice broke through Bowden's moment of thought. The Gaarth's eyes landed on, and narrowed at, the Terran Captain. 

"Not really. Since there's no such passenger on this ship. I keep extremely precise manifests, you're welcome to look them over." He shot back shortly. His secondary arms, folded under the ugly brown coat began to open. Aqua moved a half step closer to him, discreetly pressing her elbow into his hip. 

"I'll have a look. But while I inspect the manifest, my crew will search her out." A gloved hand lifted, sending two lines of Terran crew strode across the barrier and began making their way to the crew decks with an uncomfortable familiarity. "It won't take long, I assure you." That smug tone infuriated Bowden more than anything. More than the everlasting chase, the stress, and the capture. Just that High Terran smugness that he hated -so- much. 

Bowden's mandibles clicked slightly. He lifted a hand toward Fakeer, who delivered the manifest log in a tense handoff to the man. 

"Who, precisely are you with? If you don't mind my asking. If the situation was this important, why go through all…" He motioned glibly with one large purple hand, eyeing the bold man. 

"I'm a privately interested party. We're researching the disease itself in search of a cure."

"There is no cure. They've sought one for six generations and-"

"Not yet. There isn't." Cassian interrupted. "But there is hope for one. Specifically in the 'Marian you've been unwittingly trafficking."

"And I'm telling you I've never picked anyone up from that arm of th-." Bowden was growing annoyed, his hand balled tightly and resting on the back of his console.

A high-pitched, terrified yelp broke through his defense and he turned sharply. 

Bowden wasn't the only one to respond in defense of the terrified noise his medical assistant had made. He heard the distinct sound of four barrack doors open, and had to bark out a sharp "Quarters!" before Mariele's 'siblings' came out. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Deloth male trying to rip the arms off a dozen Terrans. 

He straightened up, as if he'd suddenly had a quasar steel rod implanted in his back. The doors slid shut. One. Two. Three.

He turned to Aqua sharply. Who stalked, stiffly and straight, down the barracks.

Four.

Slowly he turned toward Cassian. Who, even if only briefly, seemed to realize -something- had been averted. Though he maintained the façade of being correct in his actions. 

Bowden carefully cleared his throat, Mariele was escorted to the ship-to-ship barrier by three Terrans who stood around her. He could see her. Unhurt, but shaking.

He turned pointedly toward Hesser. "You seem to have mistaken my Glaxian medical assistant for your missing 'Marian plague victim, Captain. Considering her state of. A-hem, dress when we found her discarded with the rotten cargo, I can assure you, personally, she has no Atlemarian disease scars, or signs of ever having been to any affected planet in the Aquallous Arm."

He squared his shoulders, rolling the tightened muscle down and discreetly shifting the tension down his smaller support arms, still folded tightly under the oversized coat. He tried to relax his expression, attempting to play off the mistake as some kind of joke. 

"Though I can see how, to a high Terran eyes, Glaxian and Atlemarians could look alike. I would suggest you release our medical assistant back into our care, since you're clearly mistaken." There was an edge to his tone. An edge that in the past had turned such smug men of multiple races into jelly-kneed apologists. A tone that promised the dislocation of several important body parts. 

A tone that did not fuck around. 

And it fell flat on the Terran man. Who eyed Bowden, then casually passed the manifest log forward, holding it out as simply as if he had merely borrowed a tissue. "This is why we didn't simply attack you. To give her time to come to her senses. To realize who we were. To inform -you- of the truth, and do the right thing. A shame that the selfish creature has allowed you to live so ignorantly on your own ship, Captain Bowden. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. But this woman…" 

Cassian reached blindly toward Mariele, snatching her wrist and pulled her forward, holding her up until her limbs were stretched out and she was balanced on her toes alone. He thrust her forward. "Has lied to you since day. One. Had we attacked, you would have defended her to your own last life. And no one should die for the lies of another. We tracked her after she escaped the quarantine zone on a supply crate. It took nearly a full urt to find out she had hidden away on -your- ship." He frowns sourly. "A ship that is so well known, so well protected, and so infamous that attacking without retaliation would be impossible. Sneaking aboard would be suicide. And simply requesting you turn her over would be fruitless."

Bowden's body tensed. Had Aqua not returned and firmly lay a hand on his arm to physically remind him of what was at risk, he would have lunged forward and begun relieving the Terran man of his digits. 

"Tell him." Cassian hissed. "Are you an Atlemarian?"

Mariele flinched, tears welled in her crystal clear eyes, her head nodded silently, tension leaving her body as a quiet sob caught in her chest. 

"My… name… is J'mari L'emuin… n-not Mariele J'nai." The small voice managed to hiccup out the name. Aquatani's hand gripped to Bowden's forearm in silent affirmation.

Bowden's shoulders remained tense, even as he inhaled slowly. 

Cassian lowered the tiny woman until she was flat on her feet, shifting his grip to her shoulder. 

"Why?" It was all Bowden could manage. A single word that held a dozen questions. Both for the Terran, and his formerly trusted crewmate. 

"Why… doesn't she have scars? Why hasn't anyone ever gotten sick, if she's been exposed to infection? Why did she flee the quarantine zone?" Cassian eyed the massive Gaarth with the self-assurance born of having answers. Why did she come to your ship of all the ships she could have escaped to?"

Bowden nodded mutely, his face plates knitted so tightly across his expression they very nearly formed a mask.

"She's immune." Cassian said shortly, simply. Just as if it were the answer to every question Bowden could ever have.  

"Fucking impossible." Bowden snapped.

"It's true. One of -four- born on the entire planet. Different areas, different families, the exact same immunity. Total protein destruction. Not built immunity. Not an adapted immunity. Neither learned nor medical. Born immune, it can't even incubate in their blood. The rarest blood in the known universe." 

An emotion passed over Bowden. The expression on Cassian's face was changed. His tone only barely masked the excitement he felt, and just barely, a motion that would never have been noticed by another, he squeezed Mariele's wrist. 

"And she ran to the Star Farer himself. The one man in the entire universe who would never question her lie, who would allow her to join without an ounce of hesitation. The one ship in all the arms that she felt could protect her secret. Polaris-class, the most well known ship for nine galaxies, feared by another fifteen. Thomas Bowden and her Captain of the same name."

Conceit oozed from the man as he explained. The self-same superiourity that made Bowden want to rip his smug little arms from their snug little sockets. Self-assured that he had all the answers and could lourde it over everyone on the main deck.

"Over an urt I looked for her. I chose the least violent and safest way to retrieve her. This precious 'Marian child that holds within her the possible cure for the worst disease in the entire universe. Everyone's heard the stories of what you went through facing the disease when your crewmates fell to it. Had you been infected you'd've been locked on the planet with them." 

Bowden remained still. If he was breathing, even Aqua couldn't be sure. To break him free of the apparent spell, she squeezed his tightly coiled arm. 

The squeeze made him inhale sharply. Deep blue eyes focusing suddenly, intently, intensely, on the other captain standing before him, delicate fingers laced around the even more delicate wrist of his medical assistant. He'd heard enough. Tension rolled out of his shoulders and down his back, making his shoulders droop in apparent defeat. His head fell forward and his hands unclenched. Inch by inch, tension and broiling anger rolled away from his posture. 

When he spoke- the Gaarth's voice was as calm as it ever was and nearly emotionless. His eyes focused on his crewmate. He neither raised it in anger, nor lowered it in intimidation. His words were soft, unjudgemental, and seeking only the reassurance of truth. 

"Is what he said true?"

Mariele/J'mari held back the sobs that wanted to wrack her body. She bit back on the tip of her tongue to return his calm that was as deep as any sea. She quivered in the firm hold Hasser had on her shoulder and wrist.

The truth was the only thing she had left. It had been laid out succinctly before everyone. There was more, but the fingers digging subtly into her flesh wouldn't allow more to be said.

"Yes."

Aqua squeezed Bowden's arm once again. He still didn't look up. He didn't speak another word for a long time; nor did it seem he expected anyone to break the silence between those on the tired old ship's deck. 

His shoulders remained limp, and a hand that seemed to move with the weight of a star on it pulled through the fog of his decision and lay atop the comforting and reassuring hand on his arm. 

"I can't risk the Atlemarian Prion being released on my ship. Immune or not, Atlemarian children cannot be welcomed  on this craft. Thank you Captain Cassian for telling me honestly and without malice or desire about the danger to my crew. I wish you luck in your search for a cure."

Mariele's expression fell. She'd betrayed the trust of her captain. Of course he wouldn't defend her. Her voice failed. Words she desperately wanted to shout toward Bowden died in her chest as she saw his defeated shoulders. She betrayed her captain…

Her body lost its will, legs losing the strength to hold her up. Cassian swept her into his arms. Had he been a bit more noble, and a bit less haughty, it would have been a sweet motion.

As he spoke, Cassian gestured with his chin for his crew to leave the ancient Captain's ship. The air had grown so thick Cassian had briefly considered if it could actually storm in such a confined space. 

"Thank you, Captain. The sacrifice you make today shall fuel the world of tomorrow." Captain Hasser swept the smaller woman's form through the connection and back toward his own ship. Within just a couple of moments, the connection was pulled away and the languishing ship was free to float in space as it was. While the larger ship slowly began to turn around. Within a few ticks it had charted a new course and flung itself into space; leaving behind the Thomas Bowden and her somber crew.

They waited. The ship sat silent and still. Subtly, quietly, the computer system chirped away in calculations. When the ship was well out of sensor range, a flurry of activity stirred in her belly. "They're clear. All scans confirm Star Tear is out of range, left nothing behind." Kitani's voice was the first to cut through the thick silence. 

Below, the amorphous Engineer called up. "Engines calibrated."

"Ten…"  Bowden's rumbling voice was sharp, clear, and echoed down from where his head remained bowed in somber contemplation.

All around the deck crew boiled from quarters and to their stations in a frantic and unified front. 

"Nine…" Clatters from various storerooms rose up as the engines began to warm up. "Eight."

No one asked what he was counting down. They knew. 

 "Seven… six…" His head raised up, the expression determined, newly refreshed, and… excited.Around him, crewmembers of all types geared up, some smirking. Some somber.

"Six… five… four…" Now as he counted down, he began moving around the flight deck. 

At the helm, Nev's six limbs dances over consoles, controlling four panels' worth of information effortlessly. While Fakeer and Kitani moved to the barracks deck with a renewed vigor, as if their tail feathers had been lit aflame. 

"Three… two…" Aqua was counting as well, moving with the speed and efficiency of a madwoman on a mission as she struck panels with light touches and sent off messages on the long range communications.

The barracks were filled with heavily armed crewmates. Ready to go to war for their beloved crew member. Ten seconds of a head start were more than some got, and more than others deserved.

Bowden's eyes told of the rage he had broiled down, concentrated into his gut so tightly he could feel his insides roiling against each other as if they would burst any moment. 

As the engines whirred into a new life, the ship rumbled with a renewed purpose. Gunner seats sat empty, but enticing. 

With the new information Bowden had his decision. He would be going to the ends of the universe. 

But before they could pick up the wayward crewmate, there were a few stops they needed to make. Engines hot, the ship took off through the Orbital field.

"One."

 --------------------