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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Sunday 17 May 1840

3 40/..

12 35/..

off at 5 10/.. – alighted in 5 minutes and walked along the plain – A- joined me by and by – Rise gentle began at 6 25/.. A- walked 1 ½ hour till 7 5/.. when she got in at the foot of the mountain a German waggon and 4 horses were stopping here to bait and rest a little – and here and now 7 5/.. begins the steep rise – at top at 7 50/..? in 5 or 6 minutes turn rather right, and descended a little and lose sight of plain of Newshamacha – green, fertile, patched with good corn, and strewed with lines of black, oblong, Ealing topped huts looking like heaps of manure laid up to rot, and in lines of 4 or 5 to 10 or 12 huts – I once counted 30+ huts in one long line – wind to the right all along – beautiful green, pointed undulating hill mountains – fine sheep walk – much cattle and fat tailed sheep of both more black or dark coloured than any other colour – the plain and hills covered with pheasants eye (paeonia) and wild chamomile, and thistles, and spurges, and fennel, and much broad leafed dock, and large leafed pencil-geranium, and the pretty small leafed small pink flower geranium so common at home – and the hills where shrubby covered with a bright dark green myrtle leafed thorny bush (caper?) and a very small leafed elm, or is it hazel? and ash-bushes cropped down low – and white thorn, and dogrose, and bramble and sloe, and [?] and hornbeam? and rock cistus? and a wholly mountain ash like leafed shrub, sumach?

§ occasional peep at the plain – the German waggon and 4 horses had passed me at 8 – now at 8 ¼ on looking back (had stood writing till A- and the kibitka had got within about 150 or 200 yards of me) saw all at a stand – our oxen lying down (selon leur ordinaire) in a muddy spot where a little spring crosses the road too tempting for them to pass – A- came up to me at 8 25/.. – delayed 20 minutes

§ yellow jasmin – a plant something like a wild parsley – blue symphitum [symphytum] (asperrimum?) buttercups – Rosetrees

SH:7/ML/E/24/0107

at 8 ¾ see village in the other (left) prong of the fork head of our valley and in 2 minutes peep down into valley on the other side our col – many ups and downs since first thinking myself at the top – then turn left round the head of our valley and at 9 5/.. right over the village seen to the left at 8 ¾, and at the top? gather white aromatic herb Samphorin? that we used to have about Montpellier – at 9 ¼ at the top I think – a minute or 2 ago, fine peep of the plain of Novoshemacha – a road all along our narrow valley on the opposite road to us, beginning at the foot of the valley opposite where the steep ascent began at 7 5/.. – in the distance I had thought it was the road we had to go – in fact, it would have been to us a nearer tho’ a rather steeper? road – the plain of N.S. seems covered with tanks? at 9 20/.. at the spot where the 2 roads along the valley meet, and fine peep at the plain – at 9 50/.. at the top – no! wind right, and at 10 on cold looking down on to the plain (hazy now over it) – and to the left up to a dell Saturday 23 May and 2 ranges, one above the other of hill, and large village of sâcles, as before, on the ridge of the lower range – still another hill-side to skirt along ascending – cool air here – even a wind from my right (the south?) – at 10 20/.. apparently at the summit and about to begin the descent – look into a bit of the valley I have left behind (I always turning right) and look down into valley thus sweeping before and behind me (1/4 mile before the carriage) and smaller valleys above and branching into it – fine green valley view, but not a tree to be seen – Good soil even at the very top of the col – the hills rich pasture, and patched with dark green corn – at 10 20/.. at top and 2 or 3 minutes farther little stone bridge over mountain [?] that crosses the road and just above a stone well or fountain supplied by a small spring and A- came up on one of the Cossacks horses the man himself walking by and leading the animal, and our own Cossack sous officier following on horseback – A- tired of the oxen, and had taken my hint, and mounted one of the horses – picturesque village of sâcles on hill just above (right) and gardens and vines at 10 35/. – we all went on together at 11 7/.. another such fountain in a hollow and sheep and people and dogs and the German waggon and 4 were stopping to bait and steepish ascent again – and here A- left me she riding uphill faster than I now felt inclined to walk – I was heated and began to feel that I should not be sorry to reach old Shemacha – it occurred to me to mount the other horse – then I thought I would walk it out from one Shemacha to the other – toiled up the hill vainly hoping to see the town from the top – but no! there was a large village of sâcles on the hill of the opposite side the valley but S- was still out of the sight – at the top of this hill at 11 35/.. – sheep and felt huts and shepherds and [dogs] – wrote my notes leaning on a large sandstone with Persian inscription and did a little job and killed flea in my drawers A- and the 2 Cossacks far on before – fine cool air-breeze – thirsty for the last 20 minutes – walked on a little farther and then sat down for 5 minutes on the green bank (right) at the side of the road – then walked forwards again to the top of another hill and here at 12 I found A-‘s Cossack waiting for me – he had left her at the station and come to shew me the way – from here the descent began – the town not seen for some minutes – in the hollow below – left it to the left, and made straight along the rich flowery pastures for the station house ¼ mile or more from the town – nice walk – gathered flowers – abundance of a beautiful jonquil-like dark blue flower and of pretty single tulips –

pheasants eye – pretty little red poppies as everywhere, - and wild chamomile, and pretty vetches and forget-me-nots etc. etc. – nice enough station house – fountain of excellent water close by – found A- loitering about – heated – lay down for a few minutes – tea – A- heated up our boiled rice – not inclined to eat – but drank much tea and ate some raisins and did Thursday 28 May out of doors a large solid job - tea over now at 2 50/.. – Dont feel much tired now after quenching my thirty with ½ dozen cups of warm tea and a glass of cold water and frequent rinsings of the mouth with cold water – sent General Kotzebues’ letter and our cards to the commandant colonel Ascheberg – very hot – not a dry thread on me on returning – washed face and hands at the fountain of 1830 – sandstone – 4 wells, and a beautiful inch-bore-pipe stream of soft clear water perpetually running – what a blessing to the post station-house, and Cossacks, and travellers and all the neighbouring people! – the town of Shemacha on the opposite hillside, a verst from our station house – must see the town as we return – our podorojna must be signed by the commandant qui dormait – at 4 ordered the horses to be harnessed – tiresome waiting

a.m. 5 10/.. to 1 New to old Shemacha 25 5/7 versts

p.m. 5 ¼ to 8 55/.. Old S- to Maraza 25

49 5/7

off at 5 ¼ without podorojna – had sent after it in vain – on dormait toujours – determined to wait at the door or in the town till somebody was awake enough to get it signed – alight for a few minutes and walked up the hill to the musolea – 4 – went into each – domed – pretty little buildings – 3 tombs each within handsome carved and coloured with [parson] inscriptions – in the last mausolea the 3 tombs + the little tomb of an infant – and in this last mausoleum measured the door (with A-‘s 2ft. rule of beach wood? 3ft. 5 ½ in. within the styles – styles 2 ½ in.) – ‘tis now 5 25/.. soon down the hill (the carriage had gone forward) at the good bridge over the broadish bedded shallow river where the carriage waited for us – waited in the town sauntering under the arcades among the shops while our Cossack got the podorojna – the shops well stocked with the commodities fruits etc. common hereabouts – at the little river just out of the town at 6 10/.. – over in 5 minutes – 2 little streams and afterwards a mere wide small-bouldery dry bed – at 6 ½ short barley in ear – they say, says George, this stage is 40v. instead of 25; and the 33v. tomorrow = 50 – did not arrive at our station tonight till 8 55/.. – very fine day and evening – dont feel much tired now, nor have I felt felt much tired – the great thirsty allayed, I was quite right again – tea at 10 and 1 thing or other till 11 ½ - undressing (to put on clean linen tomorrow) and catching fleas etc. till 12 ½ R14 1/3° at 11 ½ p.m.

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the-deeds-to-shibden · 4 years

Text

Sunday 17 May 1840

[up at] 3 40/”

[to bed at] 12 35/”

off at 5 10/” – alighted in 5 minutes and walked along the plain – Ann joined me by and by – Rise gentle begun at 6 25/” Ann walked 1 1/2 hour till 7 5/” when she got in at the foot of the mountain a German waggon and 4 horses were stopping here to bait and rest a little – and here and now 7 5/” begins the steep rise – at top at 7 50/”? in 5 or 6 minutes turn rather right, and descend a little and lose sight of plain of new Shamacha, – green, fertile, patched with good corn, and strewed with lines of black, oblong, ealing topped huts looking like heaps of manure laid up to rot, and in lines of 4 or 5 to 10 or 12 huts – I once counted 30+ huts in one long line – wind to the right all along – beautiful green, pointed undulating hill mountains – fine sheep walk – much cattle and fat tailed sheep, the both more black or dark coloured than any other colour – the plain and hills covered with pheasants eye (paeonia) and wild chamomile , and thistles, and sperges, and fennel, and much broad leafed dock, and large leafed pencil-geranium, and the prety small leafed small pink flower geranium so common at home – and the hills where shrubby covered with a bright dark green myrtle leafed thorny bush (caper?) and a very small leafed elm, or is it hazel? and ash-bushes cropped down low – and white thorn, and dog rose, and bramble and sloe (and salley) and hornbeam? and rock cistus? and a woolly mountain ash like leafed shrub, sumach? yellow jasmin – a plant something like a wild parsley – blue symphitum (asperimum?) buttercups – Rosetrees – occasional peeps at the plain – the German waggon and 4 horses had passed me at 8 – now at 8 1/4 on looking back (had stood writing till Ann and the kibitka had got within about 150 or 200 yards of me) saw all at a stand – our oxen lying down (selon leur ordinaire) in a muddy spot where a little spring crosses the road too tempting for them to pass – Ann came up to me at 8 25/” – delayed 20 minutes

at 8 3/4 see village in the other (left) prong of the fork head of our valley and in 2 minutes peep down into valley on the other side our col – many ups and downs since first thinking myself at the top – then turn left round the head of our valley and at 9 5/” right over the village seen to the left at 8 3/4, and at the top? gather white aromatic herb Samphorin? that we used to have about Montpelier – at 9 1/4 at the top I think – a minute or 2 ago, fine peep of the plain of Novoshemacha – a road all along our narrow valley on the opposite side to us, beginning at the foot of the valley opposite where the steep ascent begun at 7 5/” – in the distance I had thought it was the road we had to go – in fact it would have been to us a nearer tho’ a rather steeper? road – the plain of NovoShemacha seems covered with tanks? at 9 20/” at the spot where the 2 roads along the valley meet, and fine peep at the plain – at 9 50/” at the top – no! wind right, and at 10 on col looking down on to the plain (hazy now over it) – and to the left up a dell Saturday 23 May [added above the line] and 2 ranges, one above the other of hill, and large village of sâcles, as before, on the ridge of the lower range – still another hill-side to skirt along ascending – cool air here – even a wind from my right (the South?) – At 10 20/” apparently at the summit and about to begin the descent – look into a bit of the valley I have left behind (I always turning right) and look down into

valley thus sweeping before and behind me (1/4 mile before the carriage) and smaller valleys above and branching into it – fine green valley view, but not a tree to be seen – good soil even at the very top of the col – the hills rich pasture, and patched with dark green corn – at 10 20/” at top and 2 or 3 minutes farther little stout bridge over mountain ruisseau that crosses the road and just above a stone well or fountain supplied by a small spring and Ann came up on one of the Cossacks horses the man himself walking by and leading the animal, and our own Cossack sous officier following on horseback – Ann tired of the oxen, and had taken my hint, and mounted one of the horses – picturesque village of sâcles on hill just above (right) and gardens and vines at 10 35/” – we all went on together till 11 7/” another such fountain in a hollow and sheep and people and dogs and the German waggon and 4 were stopping to bait and steepish ascent again – and here Ann left me she riding up hill faster than I now felt inclined to walk – I was heated and began to feel that I should not be sorry to reach old Shemacha – it occured to me to mount the other horse – then I thought I would walk it out from one Shemacha to the other – toiled up the hill vainly hoping to see the town from the top – but no! there was a large village of sâcles on the hill of the opposite side the valley but Shemacha was still out of sight – at the top of this hill at 11 35/” – sheep and felt huts and shepherds and dogs – wrote my notes leaning on a large sandstone with Persian inscription and did a little job and killed flea in my drawers Ann and the 2 Cossacks far on before – fine cool air – breeze – thirsty for the last 20 minutes – walked on a little farther and then sat down for 5 minutes on the green bank (right) at the side of the road – then walked forwards again to the tip of another hill and here at 12 I found Ann’s Cossack waiting for me – he had left her at the station and come to shew me the way – from here the descent begun – the town not seen for some minutes – in the hollow below – left it to the left, and made straight along the rich flowery pastures for the station house 1/4 mile or more from the town – nice walk – gathered flowers – abundance of a beautiful jonquil-like dark blue flower and of pretty single tulips – pheasants eye – pretty little red poppies as everywhere, – and wild chamomile, and pretty vetches and forget-me-nots etc. etc. – nice enough station house – fountain of excellent water close by – found Ann loitering about – heated – lay down for a few minutes – tea – Ann heated up our boiled rice – not inclined to eat – but drank much tea and ate some raisins Th[ursday] 28 May [added above the line] – and did out of doors a large solid job – tea over now at 2 50/” – Don’t feel much tired now after quenching my thirst with 1/2 dozen cups of warm tea and a glass of cold water and frequent rinsings of the mouth with cold water – sent General Kotzebue’s letter and our cards to the commandant Colonel Ascheberg – very hot – not a dry thread on me on returning – washed face and hands at the fountain of 1830 – sandstone – 4 wells, and a beautiful inch-bore-pipe stream of soft clear water perpetually running – what a blessing to the post station-house, and Cossacks, and travellers and all the neighbouring people! – the town of Shemacha on the opposite hill side, a verst from our station house – must see the town as we return – our podorojna must be signed by the commandant qui dormait – at 4 ordered the horses to be harnessed – tiresome waiting – we have been out a little till now 4 35/” off at 5 1/4 without podorojna – had sent after

versts }

a.m. 5 10/” to 1 New to Old Shemacha 24 5/7 }

p.m. 5 1/4 to 8 55” Old Shemacha to Maraza 25 }

49 5/7 }

it in vain – on dormait toujours – determined to wait at the door or in the town till somebody was awake enough to get it signed – alighted for a few minutes and walked up the hill to the mausolea – 4 – went into each – domed – pretty little buildings – 3 tombs each within handsome carved and coloured with persian inscriptions – in the last mausoleum the 3 tombs and the little tomb of an infant and in this last mausoleum measured the door (with Ann’s 2 foot rule) of beech wood? 3 feet 5 1/2 inches within the styles – styles 2 1/2 inches – ‘tis now 5 25/” – soon down the hill (the carriage had gone forward) at the bridge good over the broadish bedded shallow river where the carriage waited for us – waited in the town sauntering under the arcades among the shops while our Cossack got the podorojna – the shops well stocked with the commodities fruits etc. common hereabouts – at the little river just out of the town at 6 10/” – over in 5 minutes – 2 little streams and afterwards a mere wide small-bouldery dry bed – at 6 1/2 short barley in ear – they say, says George this stage is 40 versts instead of 25; and the 33 versts tomorrow = 50 – did not arrive at our station tonight till 8 55/” – very fine day and evening – don’t feel much tired now, nor have I felt felt /sic/ much tired – the great thirst allayed, I was quite right again – tea at 10 and 1 thing or other till 11 1/2 – undressing (to put on clean linen tomorrow) and catching fleas etc. till 12 1/2 Reaumur 14 1/3º at 11 1/2 p.m.

Anne’s marginal notes:

manure-like huts.

shrubs and flow[e]rs

1st fountain

2nd fountain

WYAS pages: SH:7/ML/E/24/0106 SH:7/ML/E/24/0107

NB: All unannotated (no links, explanations, illustrations etc.) entries will be annotated in the future and reposted.

#anne lister #ann walker #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #diary1840unannotated #russianempire1840 #azerbaijan1840

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spoon-writes · 3 years

Text

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 24

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse, and soon they travel across the galaxy looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 24 - The Searchers

Sinead stood at the bottom of the ramp, hands on her hips. They were back on another forest planet. Or moon rather, and this one seemed more hostile than the last one. The trees were older and darker, covered in thick moss that swallowed the sounds of nature. The trunks were too wide for her to reach around, and the branches intertwined to make a nearly impenetrable canopy that covered the ground in shadows.

The tracking fob had led them here, to this place.

She let out a deep breath.

Inside the Crest, Mando placed the child on top of the bed. "You gotta stay here. It's too dangerous."

The child let out a sad coo and tried to climb down before Mando grabbed him and put him back.

"You can't come. I'm sorry."

Sinead smiled for the first time since they left the mining station. Mando still seemed ... hesitant around the kid sometimes, like something was stopping him from fully committing.

At last, Mando appeared at the top of the ramp. "According to the tracking fob, it's close by."

"Great." The forest swallowed the sound, making her voice sound faint and weedy.

"You can stay with the kid. I can do this myself." Mando pressed a command into the device on his vambrace and the ramp went up.

"You've already done enough heavy lifting, it's time I earn my keep, don't you think?" Plus, she'd rather not do a repeat of what happened on Zessol; somehow, the deep forest felt more dangerous than a city populated by pirates and other miscreants.

He wanted to say something more, she knew it; the way his head tilted slightly to the side made her feel exposed, vulnerable, and she turned away before he had the chance. "Where are we going?"

There was a long pause, and she could feel Mando's eyes on her back.

"This way."

She followed him away from the ship and into the overgrown forest. The ground was spongy, moisture seeping up around her feet when she stepped on the moss that carpeted everything. The way every surface was some shade of green messed with her depth perception. If it hadn't been for Mando, she would've gotten lost minutes after losing sight of the ship.

She took a deep breath of the still air, tasting the decomposing leaves on her tongue.

"You miss it?"

Mando was quiet for a moment. "Miss what?"

"Doing this. Bounty hunting."

Seconds ticked by while he thought. "It's the only thing I've ever known."

That wasn't an answer, but in a way, she was grateful that he didn't elaborate. She wouldn't have believed him if he said no, but she didn't know what to do if he said yes.

The forest grew deeper and darker as they went, fed by their silence. Now and again, a rustle went through the treetops, or one of them would become stuck in the peaty ground and have to pull their foot out with a wet squelch.

"It's kinda ironic, isn't it," Sinead said when the silence became too much. "A former slave now turned bounty hunter."

Mando rounded on her, and she took a step back, nearly tripping over a root hidden under the moss. "This isn't the same. You're only doing this to find Kyen."

That did nothing to quell the tight feeling in her chest, but she managed to force a smile. "Thanks."

They stared at each other, standing in the twilight under the trees. A shiver ran up Sinead's back.

Suddenly, a fast beeping broke the tension like a rock through an icy lake, and Mando pulled out the tracking fob.

"It's close?" Her voice sounded shrill.

"About one klick east."

"Then let's go."

After a small climb, the ground plummeted into an overgrown dell. One wrong step from a careless wanderer and they would tumble down the steep side and disappear into the foliage.

"You see a way down?" Mando silenced the screaming tracking fob.

"Not one that won't result in a broken neck." She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes; she wanted to get rid of this lingering unease that made her skin itch.

Eventually, they found a faint path snaking between the trees, which led through a thicket and into the dell. The forest seemed less dense in there, and for the first time since stepping in between the trees, Sinead got an uninterrupted look at the sky.

At the bottom of the dell, the forest opened into a clearing, with a farmhouse and a dilapidated barn that was only standing due to sheer stubbornness. Behind that, there was an empty pasture. Once upon a time, someone had painted the house white, but now it had faded into a dull grey.

"You sure this is the right spot?" Sinead whispered, eyes scanning the area. "It looks abandoned."

"Be on your guard." Mando drew his blaster.

"How do you wanna do this?" Sinead asked.

"Careful. Find out where he is."

Mando reached the steps that led to the front door when a thump sounded from the barn.

"Mando-"

"I heard it. Stay behind me."

He crept towards the barn, placing his feet deliberately on patches of moss that hid his footsteps.

The was another thump, and a shadow moved behind a crack in the small door set into the side. The tall double doors looked like they had been welded together with rust.

Sinead held her breath as Mando reached the door. He looked back at her, holding up three fingers.

One.

Two.

Three.

With a hard kick, the door came apart in an explosion of splinters.

A young human girl tumbled back with a scream.

"Oh, shit!" Mando froze halfway through the door.

Sinead was the first to snap out of it, and she pushed past Mando while shoving her blaster back into its holster. "I'm so sorry! We didn't know you were in here."

The girl scrambled to her feet, wide eyes glued to Mando. Her scruffy overalls were at least three sizes too big, and it looked like someone had taken a dull scissor to her hair, leaving it uneven and frizzled. Still, there was a determined spark glinting under her fear.

Sinead crouched down to her level. "Are you here all alone? Are there any adults around?"

The girl's eyes flickered from Sinead to Mando. Then she took a deep breath.

And screamed.

It was like a siren going off right by Sinead's head. She slapped her hands over her ears, but the explosion of sound was an icepick through her eardrums.

At last, the girl ran out of air and her scream tapered off, leaving a thunderous silence. A hand grabbed Sinead's shoulder and pulled her to her feet.

"What was-"

The door to the farmhouse exploded open, and a human shot out, a raised rifle in his hands.

Sinead didn't have time to react. Mando shoved her behind him and leveled his blaster at the human.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" he screamed, voice shaking.

The little girl darted around Mando and Sinead and ran up the stairs to hide behind the man, wrapping her arms around his leg.

"We're not here for your family," Mando yelled.

"I want you gone. Now!"

"We're looking for someone. A Twi'lek-"

"There's no one here but us! Leave, please!" He had a distinct Core World accent.

A young Togruta boy, clenching a blaster in his hands, appeared in the doorway. His lekku only reached his shoulders, and even though he was as tall as the human, it looked like someone had grabbed him by the feet and montrals and pulled, leaving him lanky and awkward.

The tip of the rifle wavered in the air before the human blinked hard and held it steady. "Take your sister and get back in the house."

"Wh-what's going on? Who are they?" The young Togruta squared his shoulders but his hands shook as he lifted the blaster.

"No questions. Just go!"

Sinead's eyes widened. A cold barrel pressed into the small of her back, and her blaster slipped from her fingers. She slowly raised her hands.

"Put down your blaster," a sharp voice sounded behind her ear. "Or I'll sever her spine."

It seemed like Jami had found them before they found him.

Mando turned with lightning speed, but Jami was quicker, grabbing Sinead by the shoulder and pulling her out of reach.

"Don't try me! I'm serious! And step back!"

Sinead felt her eyes meet Mando's through the helmet and gave an imperceptible nod. Blood rushed in her ears.

Mando's hand tightened around the blaster for a moment before it thudded to the ground, but he didn't step back, didn't try to keep the human in his field of vision.

"Kick it away."

Mando did so, his entire body tensed like a spring ready for release.

"Laar," Jami said, raising his voice, "take the children inside and stay there."

Sinead could see the human - Laar - over Mando's shoulder. He nodded tightly and grabbed the little girl before bodily pushing the Togruta back into the house. Sinead felt a warm exhale on the back of her neck when the door banged shut.

"Vekkass sent you, didn't he?" Jami pressed the blaster harder into her back, and she winced. One shot and no amount of bacta would fuse her spine back together. Best case scenario she would be paralyzed for the rest of her life.

"Let her go." Mando's voice dipped into a growl.

"I just want to be left alone, do you understand? Whatever he thinks I stole, I don't have it." Jami started to back up, dragging Sinead further into the barn and out of sight of the house.

She wet her lips. "Let me go, and we can talk about this."

Jami dug his fingers into her shoulder where the Trandoshan bounty hunter had shot her years ago, and an echo of old pain shot down her arm. "I don't want to talk. I want you to leave."

A crash from the farmhouse made him start, and the pressure on her back disappeared for a second, but it was enough. Sinead brought down her heel on his foot and twisted out of his grasp. The blaster went off, the bolt hitting Mando's armor with a ping.

Mando pounced and ripped the blaster out of the Twi'lek's hand, kicking his legs out from under him. Jami fell back with a yell, and as he tried getting to his feet, Mando kicked him back down.

"Stay."

Sinead snatched the nearest blaster from the ground. The spot on her lower back prickled like the blaster was still there.

Jami stared up at them,red-rimmed eyes burning with anger. His blue skin stood out from his clothes that were all a dull brown or grey, speckled with dirt and dust, his cheeks hollow like he hadn't eaten in a very long time. He didn't particularly look like a pirate. "If you're gonna kill me, do it now. Just don't hurt my family, please. Don't let them see my body." He closed his eyes.

Oh, shit.

Sinead looked at Mando, trying to gauge what he wanted to do, but the helmet remained frustratingly blank, and the seconds ticked by. Usually, she could at least read something from his body language alone, but now he was betraying nothing. The thought of dragging him back to Vekkass hadn't sat well with her before, and now it felt like her body might revolt against itself if she tried.

When nothing happened, Jami opened his eyes.

"Get up," Mando ordered and took a step back, his blaster following the Twi'lek as he scrambled to his feet, lips curled over sharp teeth.

The barn creaked in the stillness. Stalls lined the walls on both sides of the big double doors, but it was clear that they'd been empty for a long time; clumps of grey straw and fossilized dung piled up on the floor. A keedee had made a nest in the rafters and was watching the situation with a disapproving glare.

"So." Jami's tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. "What happens now?"

That was a good question.

Sinead gestured over her shoulder at the house. "Is that why you left?"

Jami pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Okay." She pressed her free hand to her temple. "Where's the loot?"

Silence.

"If you don't talk, I can go-" she took a step back in the direction of the house.

"No!" Fear flashed across his face. "Keep them out of this."

Mando adjusted his grip on the blaster. "Then talk."

Jami took a shuddering breath. "I ... look, there isn't any loot."

"You mean you sold it?" Sinead said.

"I mean, there never was any loot at all."

"Explain."

His mouth moved silently as he thought and a vein popped out near his temple. Then, "Vekkass sent us out to ambush a freighter on the Triellus Trade Route, running spice from Dubrava to Nal Hutta. It would've been a suicide mission even if the Hutts hadn't been involved-" he paused, tensing up until the cords stood out on his neck- "but Vekkass didn't care. Made us go anyway. I couldn't ... I wouldn't go to my death just to please some boc'ara." He spat on the ground between them.

"Vekkass thinks you absconded with the loot."

"Of course he does. Can't fathom anyone doing anything if it's not about the money. They sent me out to die in the name of a couple of creds. How did you find me?"

"Someone saw you on Trillu."

Jami bared a row of sharp teeth. "Frang! I knew it was a bad idea …"

"What's the story with them, then?" She nodded towards the house. The earthy smell of mold and old hay tickled her nose.

"They have nothing to do with this."

"I know."

He sighed. "I met Laar shortly after I left. We ... I wasn't the only one running from something. We decided it would be safer to stay together, at least for a while." His voice softened as he spoke, and his face transformed into something more gentle for a second before morphing back into a venomous mask.

Shit.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and watched him intently, trying to gauge his sincerity. Fear and anger radiated from him, but he seemed genuine enough. "Why even throw in with Vekkass' crew if you hated it so much? He didn't exactly seem like the deceitful type. What you see is what you get."

"I had no choice."

"We all have a choice." She felt the burn as his eyes met hers.

Jami scoffed. "Vekkass ... If you asked him, he'd say he rescued me from the spice pits on Nimbal."

Sudden cold hit her core as realization struck; she knew of Nimbal, had seen slave transports stop on Sriluur on their way to the planet. "And what would you say?"

Jami bit his tongue and looked away. "I'm not kidding myself. The only reason he kept me around was because I knew my way around a blaster, and the second I stopped being useful, he'd put a bolt through my brain. I did what I had to to survive. I don't expect you to understand."

It felt like a punch to the gut. She had nearly dragged a runaway slave back to his former master. This was all so wrong.

Jami's eyes roved across her face. "Look, I don't … I know I have nothing to bargain with, and you have no reason to help me, but please, I'm begging you ..."

"Go." It took a second before Sinead realized the word had come from her. "Just … go back into the house." She felt Mando's eyes fall on her.

"What do you-" Jami eyed Mando's blaster still aiming directly at him. "You're letting me go?"

Her mouth worked while her brain spun to come up with an answer. "I don't… I don't know."

Slowly, Mando lowered his blaster and nodded once towards the house.

Jami took a step towards the house, pausing for a moment before breaking into a run. The door to the farmhouse banged close behind him, and Sinead closed her eyes. It stung like she had been straining to see for too long.

"What do you want to do?"

She kept her eyes closed. "You're asking me?"

"It's your decision."

She finally turned to look at him; he was watching her intently, head cocked to the side. "We can't drag him back to Vekkass. Hunting a pirate is one thing, but I will not be a slave catcher."

Mando looked at the farmhouse. "He could be lying."

"I don't think he is." She couldn't explain why, but there was something about him that reminded her crushingly about herself. "In any case, I'm sure he's telling the truth about the loot. Look at this place." She spread her arms wide to encompass the barn. "Pure spice from Dubrava will net you more than a rundown farm on some backwater planet. More security, too." She bit her lower lip hard enough to break the skin. "Let's just go back to the ship. I'm sure the kid misses us."

Mando's voice modulator rustled as he sighed. "He'll run."

"Then I guess the decision's been made for us."

Mando shook his head, staring back at the house for a moment as he holstered his blaster. "C'mon, then."

Sinead stopped as they reached the edge of the clearing and looked back. The farmhouse sat cold and dead, a strange grey box amidst the vivid green of the forest. She wondered where they'd go. Then, stepping between the trees, the forest closed around her like a wall.

Mando led the way out of the dell and through the forest. She stared at the fabric of his cloak until her vision filled with grey. With every sodden step, she got further and further away from Kyen, but what was the alternative? How much was she willing to sacrifice to find him?

"What would you have done?"

Mando turned at the sound of her voice, nearly hidden in the perpetual dusk trapped under the canopy. "Does it matter?"

"Just answer the question, please."

His hands flexed in annoyance. "Sinead, I don't ... I don't know. My hunts don't usually end like this. Vekkass is the best lead we have."

Sinead looked down at the water slowly rising around her feet. "We should've just bonked him on the head before he had a chance to talk."

"You wouldn't have wanted that."

Her eyes met his through the helmet, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, the forest seemed so quiet. "No. I wouldn't."

A noise echoed through the forest, and Mando drew his blaster, gestured at her to get down.

"Doesn’t sound like an animal.” Sinead hissed.

“It wasn’t.”

Mando retook the lead, moving slowly between the trees, keeping low to the ground. Another sound echoed through the forest closer and louder than before. Mando crouched down behind a fallen tree and signaled her to stop. She sidled up next to him and peeked her head over the moss-covered trunk.

A gunship stood in a small clearing, the metal body nearly black with carbon scoring. Seven sentients filed out of the open side. A Duros tested the springy moss with a foot before stepping out on a tussock. "What a hell-hole." He spied into the darkness with narrowed eyes, and Sinead and Mando ducked down behind the tree. "Who in their right mind would willingly live here?"

“Who in their right mind would steal from Vekkass?" Another voice rang out, to an immediate reprimand from the Duros.

"Not so loud, you idiot!"

Sinead closed her eyes and fought the urge to bang her head against a tree. As if the day hadn't been hard enough already.

"What about the others?"

"We'll go on without them," the Duros said. "Heard from Lenk they've found the ship. They'll try to break through, see if the Mando’s got any neat toys."

Cold fingers of dread closed around Sinead's throat.

"It's fine. S'not like we need 'em."

"What about the Mandalorian?"

"They don't know we're coming. If they've already killed Jami, then one less energy bolt needed, right. Vekkass said he doesn't care about the woman, but he wants the armor. Was a stroke of brilliance, it was, leaving them to do all the heavy lifting.”

Sinead's hand shot out to grab Mando's shoulder a second before he launched himself over the fallen tree; fighting seven pirates would take too long. She stabbed a finger in the direction of the Razor Crest and mouthed for him to go. He looked back towards the pirates and his shoulder tensed under her hand before he nodded once, and she let her hand fall to her side.

Mando disappeared in the direction of the ship while she slunk back the way they came. Once she was out of earshot, she broke into a dead sprint. The forest turned into a green blur as she jumped from rock to tussock to avoid getting caught in the boggy ground. Lungs burned with every breath, and her ears filled with the sound of her own heartbeat.

She bulleted through the thicket that hid the entrance to the dell, ignoring the sting as branches snagged on her clothes and hair. The farmhouse looked small and lifeless. Maybe Jami and his family had already left. She took the steps up to the door in one jump and crashed into the house, the door bouncing off the wall. She found herself in a small kitchen barely big enough to fit a table and four chairs.

Something smashed on the ground.

Jami flew up from a chair, the rifle held in a white-knuckled grip.

"Wait!" She held up her hands. "Don't shoot!"

"What do you want?" Jami's voice shook with every word.

"Vekkass' men ... in the forest ..." a stabbing pain accompanied every word.

"What?"

"I swear they're not with us ..." she rubbed her ribs, making Laar start and reach for a blaster. "They must've followed us from the base. They know you're here." She looked over her shoulder at the wall of green—no sign of them.

"If this is a trick-"

"It's not. Do you have any defenses?"

Laar lifted a shaking hand and pushed his bangs out of his eyes. "N-no. We thought we were safe."

"We were," Jami hissed and pushed his chair away with such force it clattered to the ground. "Until you showed up."

"We don't have time for-" a deep whooshing sound filled the air as something passed overhead. Sinead’s heart skipped a beat as she ran out and looked; the Razor Crest made a turn above the barn, the wind from the turbine flattening the grass and made her braid whip around her head, and it landed heavily on in the muddy pasture.

Sinead was climbing over the fence when the ramp came down, revealing Mando with a pronged rifle in his hands, the kid by his side with one little hand wrapped around the frame of the entrance.

A shout cut through the air, "what's going on?"

Sinead whirled around to see the Togruta boy running outside, the little girl attached to his leg.

"Take Elia back inside," Jami yelled, just as a blaster bolt struck the side of the ship, and all hell broke loose. The first pirate burst into the clearing.

Elia screamed as Jami grabbed her and threw her back into the house, the Togruta following close behind. Sinead jumped behind an empty watering trough just as another bolt whizzed over her head.

Shots rained through the air as more pirates appeared between the trees surrounding the farm. Sinead rolled to avoid getting hit, found her feet and ran to the ship. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a human woman take aim.

Mando ran out of the ship, vaulting over the fence in one smooth motion and sliding behind the remains of the barn door. He fired his rifle, the bolt hitting the human in the chest who disappeared in a cloud of smoldering ash; the stench of plasma and burnt flesh filled the air.

A large Twi’lek rounded the corner of the farmhouse directly behind Jami, who was crouched behind a water-barrel, doing his best to keep the pirates away from the front door. Without stopping, Sinead took aim and fired.

Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of her and she hit the ground with a dull thud. The Duros stood over her; a broad-brimmed hat cast a deep shadow across his face. Her eyes focused on the blaster trained directly at her head.

Sounds of the battle faded out as she stared into the hollow point of the blaster.

The Duros’ face froze in a grin, the blaster tumbled from his hand that stayed outstretched in an awkward position. He made a weak gurgling sound, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Sinead blindly grasped around for her dropped blaster, hands sinking into the soft earth.

Sinead’s ears popped as the Duros was lifted into the air by an invisible string. Whatever force had frozen him in place disappeared, and he thrashed, clawed at her as she got to her feet and looked around.

The child stood at the top of the ramp, tiny hands lifted into the air, wrinkled face contorted in concentration. His body shook like every muscle was tensed, and there was a slight pull on the world she had never felt before.

A bolt shot past her, hitting the pirate in the chest and his body collapsing into ash with a whoomph of sudden vacuum.

The kid slumped to the ground.

She got up on shaky legs. The sound of fighting faded into nothing.

A blaster bolt struck the ramp just below the child, and a current of electricity shocked her into motion; she sprinted towards the ship and scooped the kid into her arms just as another bolt grazed her leg, leaving a burnt strip of flesh across her calf. Then, they were safe inside the ship.

The kid felt weightless in her arms. He stared up at her with heavy-lidded eyes and curled a small hand around a strand of hair which had come loose from her braid.

“Sinead?” Mando stood in the opening, the strange pronged rifle clutched in one hand. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Mando left the rifle leaning against the wall and pulled the kid out of her arms.

“Wh-what was that?” Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy.

Raised voices cut through his reply, and Sinead moved numbly to the opening; Jami and Laar were in the middle of an argument, heading towards the ship. When they stopped at the bottom of ramp, Laar pointedly didn’t meet her eyes.

"Well, thanks to you, I guess Vekkass knows we're here,” Jami said between clenched teeth.

"He would've found you eventually." Mando reached inside a pouch on his belt and produced the tracking fob that went into a wild staccato beeping. "He has your chain-code. He was about to send someone else when we got there."

"And you decided to take the job."

Sinead swallowed. "He has something I need.

"And what is that?"

"I'm ... I'm looking for someone. Vekkass knew him."

Jami's eyebrows shot up. "From his crew?"

"No. This was before." She didn't know why she couldn't just tell him the truth; if anyone understood it, it would probably be him.

"What are you gonna do now? I doubt he'll welcome you back with open arms."

"You can't stay here. It's only a matter of time before he sends other bounty hunters after you," Mando said.

It dawned on Sinead what he was trying to do. "And they won't be as forgiving as us."

She watched a lot of complicated emotions flicker across Jami's face. "I know." He gave Laar a pointed look. "Unless we take the fight to Vekkass, he'll never leave us alone."

It was like Laar suddenly came back to the moment; he threw his hands into the air with a yell. "Going after him is suicide!"

"Staying here isn’t any better! You want to just keep your head down, hope that he forgets about us?" Jami swung round to face Laar, his lekku twitching with agitation.

"I want us to run!"

"I'm done with running."

Sinead looked away as an embarrassed flush crawled across her cheeks. She wished they would’ve had their argument in private.

Mando cleared his throat, and both men stopped mid yell; Laar looked like he had forgotten that they were even there.

Jami stepped back and pressed a hand to his temple. "You need Vekkass alive. I need him dead. If you help me with this, then I'll do whatever I can to help you find who you're looking for."

The sun glinted on Mando's armor as he leaned on one leg and shifted the kid further up his arm. "You know how we can get inside the station?"

"I’ve got a plan."

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #din x oc #din djarin x oc #din djarin #fanfiction #ends of the earth #oc: Sinead

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anne-lister-adventures · 4 years

Text

Sunday, 17 May 1840

3 40/’’

12 35/’’

Off at 5 10/’’ – Alighted in 5 minutes and walked along the plain – A-[Ann] joined me by and by – Rise gentle began at 6 25/’’ A-[Ann] walked 1 1/2 hour till 7 5/’’ when she got in at the foot of the mountain a German waggon and 4 horses were stopping here to bait and rest a little – And here and now 7 5/’’ begins the steep rise –

At top at 7 50/’’? in 5 or 6 minutes turn rather right, and descend a little and lose sight of plain of New Shamacha – Green, fertile, patched with good corn, and strewed with lines of black, oblong, ealing topped huts looking like heaps of manure laid up to rot, and in lines of 4 or 5 or 10 or 12 huts – I once counted 30+ huts in one long line –

Wind to the right all along – Beautiful green, pointed undulating hill mountains – Fine sheep walk – Much cattle and fat tailed sheep, of both more black or dark coloured than any other colour – The plain and hills covered with pheasant’s eye (Paeonia) and wild Chamomile, and Thistles, and Spurges, and Fennel, and much broad leafed Dock and large leafed Pencil-Geranium, and the pretty small leafed small pink flower Geranium so common at home – And the hills where shrubby covered with a bright dark green Myrtle leafed thorny bush (Caper?) and a very small leafed Elm, or is it Hazel? and Ash-Bushes cropped down low – And White Thorn, and Dog Rose, and Bramble and Sloe, and Salley, § and Hornbeam? and Rock Cistus? and a woolly Mountain Ash like leafed shrub, Sumach? occasional peeps at the plain –

The German waggon and 4 horses had passed me at 8 – Now at 8 1/4 on looking back (had stood writing – Till A-[Ann] and the Kibitka had got within about 150 or 200 yards of me) saw all at a stand – Our oxen lying down, selon leur ordinaire, in a muddy spot where a little spring crosses the road too tempting for them to pass – A-[Ann] came up to me at 8 25/’’ – Delayed 20 minutes –

At 8 3/4 see village in the other (left) prong of the fork head of our valley and in 2 minutes peep down into valley on the other side our Col – Many ups and downs since first thinking myself at the top – Then turn left round the head of our valley and at 9 5/’’ right over the village seen to the left at 8 3/4, and at the top? gather white aromatic herb Samphorin? that we used to have about Montpellier –

At 9 1/4 at the top I think – A minute or 2 ago, fine peep of the plain of Novo Shemacha – A road all along our narrow valley on the opposite side to us, beginning at the foot of the valley opposite where the steep ascent began at 7 5/’’ – In the distance I had thought it was the road we had to go – In fact, it would have been to us a nearer tho’ a rather steeper? road – The plain of N.[Novo] S.[Shemacha] seems covered with tanks?

At 9 20/’’ at the spot where the 2 roads along the valley meet, and fine peep at the plain – At 9 50/’’ at the top – No! Wind right, and at 10 on Col looking down on to the plain (hazy now over it) – ([written on] Saturday 23 May) And to the left up a dell and 2 ranges, one above the other of hill, and large village of Sâcles, as before, on the ridge of the lower range – Still another hill-side to skirt along ascending – Cool air here – Even a wind from my right (the South?) –

At 10 20/’’ apparently at the summit and about to begin the descent – Look into a bit of the valley I have left behind (I always turning right) and look down into valley thus sweeping before and behind me (1/4 mile before the carriage) and smaller valleys above and branching into it –

Fine green valley view, but not a tree to be seen – Good soil even at the very top of the Col – The hills rich pasture, and patched with dark green corn –

At 10 20/’’ at top and 2 or 3 minutes farther little stone bridge over mountain misseau that crosses the road and just above a stone well or fountain supplied by a small spring and A-[Ann] came up on one of the Cossacks horses the man himself walking by and leading the animal, and our own Cossack Sous Officier following on horseback – A-[Ann] tired of the oxen, and had taken my hint, and mounted one of the horses – Picturesque village of Sâcles on hill just above (right) and gardens and vines at 10 35/’’ – We all went on together till 11 7/’’ another such fountain in a hollow and sheep and people and dogs and the German waggon and 4 were stopping to bait and steepish ascent again – And here A-[Ann] left me she riding up hill faster than I now felt inclined to walk –

I was heated and began to feel that I should not be sorry to reach Old Shemacha – It occurred to me to mount the other horse – Then I thought I would walk it out from one Shemacha to the other – Toiled up the hill vainly hoping to see the Town from the top – But no! There was a large village of Sâcles on the hill of the opposite side the valley but S-[Semacha] was still out of sight – At the top of this hill at 11 35/’’ – Sheep and felt huts and shepherds and dogs – Wrote my notes leaning on a large sandstone with Persian inscription and did a little job and killed flea in my drawers A-[Ann] and the 2 Cossacks far on before –

Fine cool air – Breeze – Thirsty for the last 20 minutes – Walked on a little farther and then sat down for 5 minutes on the green bank (right) at the side of the road – Then walked forwards again to the top of another hill and here at 12 I found A-‘s[Ann’s] Cossack waiting for me – He had left her at the Station and come to shew me the way –

From here the descent began – The Town not seen for some minutes – In the hollow below – Left it to the left, and made straight along the rich flowery pastures for the Station House 1/2 mile or more from the Town – Nice walk – Gathered flowers – Abundance of a beautiful jonquil-like dark blue flower and of pretty single tulips – Pheasant’s eye – Pretty little red poppies as everywhere, and wild chamomile, and pretty vetches and forget-me-nots &c. &c. –

Nice enough Station House – Fountain of excellent water close by – Found A-Ann loitering about – Heated – Lay down for a few minutes – Tea – A-[Ann] heated up our boiled rice – Not inclined to eat – But drank much Tea and ate some raisins – and did out of doors a large solid job – ([written on] Thursday 28 May )Tea over now at 2 50/’’ – Don’t feel much tired now after quenching my thirst with 1/2 dozen cups of warm Tea and a glass of cold water and frequent rinsings of the mouth with cold water – Sent General Kotzebue’s letter and our cards to the Commandant Colonel Ascheberg –

Very hot – Not a dry thread on me on returning – Washed face and hands at the fountain of 1830 – Sandstone – 4 wells, and a beautiful inch-bore-pipe stream of soft clear water perpetually running – What a blessing to the Post Station-House, and Cossacks, and travellers and all the neighbourhood people! –

The Town of Shemacha on the opposite hill side, a verst from our Station House – Must see the Town as we return – Our podorojna must be signed by the Commandant qui dormait – At 4 ordered the horses to be harnessed – Tiresome waiting – We have been out a little till now 4 35/’’ Off at 5 1/4 without podorojna – Had sent after – It in vain – On dormait toujours – Determined to wait at the door or in the Town till somebody was awake enough to get it signed –

Alighted for a few minutes and walked up the hill to the mausolea – 4 – Went into each – Domed – Pretty little buildings – 3 tombs each within handsome carved and coloured with Persian inscriptions – In the last mausoleum the 3 tombs + the little tomb of an infant and in this last mausoleum measured the door (with A-‘s[Ann’s] 2 ft.feet rule) of beech wood? 3 ft.[feet] 5 1/2 in.[inches] within the styles – Styles 2 1/2 in.[inches] –

The Yeddi Gumbaz Mausoleum about 1.5 km from Shamakhi. Of the 4 mausolea Anne saw, only 3 survive. The roof of the fourth has apparently collapsed. (Image Source)

The tombs inside one of these small buildings. Note the colorful inscriptions. (Image source)

‘Tis now 5 25/’’ – Soon down the hill (the carriage had gone forward) at the good bridge over the broadish bedded shallow river where the carriage waited for us – Waited in the Town sauntering under the arcades among the shops while our Cossack got the podorojna – The shops well stocked with the commodities fruits &c. common hereabouts –

At the little river just out of the Town at 6 10/’’ – Over in 5 minutes – 2 little streams and afterwards a mere wide small-bouldery dry bed – At 6 1/2 short barley in car – They say, says George, this stage is 40 v.[versts] instead of 25, and the 33 v.[versts] tomorrow = 50 – Did not arrive at our Station tonight till 8 55/’’ –

Very fine day and evening – Don’t feel much tired now, nor have I felt much tired – The great thirst allayed, I was quite right again – Tea at 10 and 1 thing or other till 11 1/2 – Undressing (to put on clean linen tomorrow) and catching fleas &c. till 12 1/2 Reaumur 14 1/3º at 11 1/2 p.m.

§ yellow Jasmin – a plant something like a wild parsley – Blue Symphitum (asperinum?) butter cups – Rose trees –

versts

a.m. 5 10/’’ to 1 New to Old Shemacha 24 5/7

p.m. 5 1/4 to 8 55/’’ Old S-[Shemacha] to Maraza 25

49 5/7

[symbols in the margin of the page:] L✓

[in the margin of the page:] manure-like huts

[in the margin of the page:] shrubs and flowers

[in the margin of the page:] 1st fountain

[in the margin of the page:] 2nd fountain

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0106 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0107

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #moscow to baku 1840

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sarissophori · 4 years

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Hither Yonder, Chapter 11

Among the White Wolves

After a half-league trek along the cold banks and frozen waters of the ravine, Chieftain and his pack led Halli and Noma up a narrow goat-path hidden by the slopes, covered over by snow. It rose with the mountain flank, more north than the highway and winding through craggier, uneven places, on and up, curving with the slope. The Wolves effortlessly scaled the ledges and worn natural steps, but Halli and Noma kept pace with them despite their weariness. Chieftain would at times look back to make sure, then sprint on.

The goat-path snaked through a maze of tumbled rises before broadening out as a long open lawn, enclosed by dark walls of granite –a mountain hall open to the sky, but sheltered from the wind. Into the side of the ‘hall’ were many tunnels that led to dens, kennels and caves for gathering, occupied by the White Wolves since before Tarmaril’s founding, and the western seas were explored by men.

“This is the home of my clan” Chieftain said. “For now, it is yours as well.”

As they entered the lawn, a sentry standing watch gave a few short barks to herald their return. The clan gathered out onto the lawn to welcome their return, young and old, hunters and mothers with pups, intrigued by the sight and smell of two outsiders in their leader’s company. They held their curiosity in check and waited for his address.

“We return” Chieftain said, his voice carried by the hall. “Not from a hunt, but from battle, for the Beasts had defiled our sacred place with their presence. They will not again, thanks to the aid of these two who stand with us; Nomatakana, shepherd of the Gallenwood, and Halli, human of Hanan. They have my blessing to take shelter here until the weather favors their travels. Give to them every courtesy. It is their earn-right.”

Halli and Noma bowed to the clan, who returned the gesture.

“Friends of the clan, welcome” the eldest female said, the first of the Chieftain’s many mates, and their ruling Matriarch.

“A den shall be set aside for you and made comfortable, even perhaps to a biped’s liking. Will this be good for you, child?”

It took Halli a moment to realize that the Matriarch’s question was directed at her.

“For me?”

“Bipedals are more sensitive to the cold than a Wolf of the mountains” she said. “We have little bedding, but we will spare you what we can.”

“Thank you” Halli said. “You knew I understood wolf-speech, then?”

“We guessed it” Matriarch said. “Your scent is similar to the Westerlanders, though more tolerable. Worry not, wolf-friend. We shan’t hold it against you. The Chieftain has spoken in your favor.”

So Matriarch lent to them a den close to her own, far enough within the caves for warmth, but still touched by the lawn’s tempered light. The den’s floor was covered with dry grass, piled so thick Halli couldn’t feel the rock underneath; cozy, though the smell of dank fur and past litters made it very pungent. Noma went to a corner and curled up in the grass. Halli sat down beside her and counted what remained of their supplies.

By evening Chieftain and Matriarch came to check on them, giving them a portion of meat saved from a recent hunt.

“It is said humans prefer their meat to be cooked” Chieftain said. “Kindling is scarce in these heights, and I do not recommend searching for any soon. It is unsafe for you beyond our shelter.”

“I have enough with me to last a few days” Halli said. “Noma may take my share.”

Noma’s appetite concurred, and Halli nibbled on a few cold strips.

“If you have any other needs, tell us” Matriarch said. “Until then, sleep well.”

The storm picked up, carrying on well through the night. The dark inside and outside the caves was seamless, though Halli could hear the wind whining high over the lawn, and when it died down, the subtle crunch of sentries pacing. As a late hunting party returned with fresh hares for the pups, a low, rumbling groan echoed over the open hall, answered by booming moans that shook the air. The sounds of great cumbersome things were heard in the darkness, stomping heavy feet, beating heavy fists. The Wolves looked out with their ears pulled back.

“They are close” one said.

“Something has stirred them” another said.

“Stirred what?” Halli said, crawling out of her cloak to peer out from the hall. Noma sat and listened, ears up and intent.

“The Stone People” the first Wolf said. “We share the mountains with them, but they are friends to none, especially when roused. It would be wise to postpone all patrols until morning.”

“Stone People…you mean Stone-golems?”

“If that is your name for them.”

Halli glanced at Noma’s darker outline in the den. “They’re real?”

“So they are” Noma said.

The storm went on for two days before finally ebbing, yielding to the clearest day since Halli and Noma entered the Grayrim. The wind was subdued, making the mountains eerily quiet. In the open hall yipping pups were at play, shaking off their boredom. Pale autumn mists clung to the slopes, roaming and fading, dotting the frost with glinting droplets. When the mists lifted Halli and Noma thanked the White Wolves for hosting them and then, accompanied by Chieftain, left the hall along the old goat-path.

“What road will you take into Westerland?” Chieftain said.

“The surest I know is the highway” Halli said. “But I fear to take it.”

“You should. Now that the Beasts have your scent, they will hunt you again as soon as you leave our territory, especially if you go that way.”

“Know you another?”

“There is one, inside our territory, that we use at times” he said. “It is barren and not well-marked in places, however. Without a keen sense of smell, or a sure guide, you would risk becoming lost. I will lead you, if you are prepared for it.”

“Lead on” Halli said.

Chieftain nodded and trotted ahead of them, taking point. Passing through the tumbled knots and hills on the slope, they walked quickly first in a southerly direction, then went curving northward as they left the goat-path and traced another, rutted into the gravel, going around an outcropping that dominated the hall’s western vistas. The ravine was below them, thawing out to a trickling flow between ice patches smoothed to a crystalline shine.

Past the outcropping, the rutted path turned west and kept with the ravine for a while, until it took them up and over the shoulder it ran along and dropped into a dimple in the stone, then carried on as a track between two ridgelines, worn yet jagged. It was rocky, patched with frost, and lined by hardy shrubs that bristled with thorns; and on it went, through miles of trying terrain, confused in its turns if keeping discernably west. At length the ridgelines met and merged with a bluff thrust out from the mountainside, blocking their way and ending this particular section of the path. Here Chieftain allowed a small rest, for they had gone the entire morning and noon unceasing in pace, making better progress than he supposed of them.

He sniffed the air. “Our luck holds. The weather remains favorable, and the Beasts have yet to catch our scent. That said, I have no desire to press our fortune. Eat a little if you must, but no sleeping.”

“Just as well” Noma said. “I’m hardly tired. I actually missed the distances we used to cover, wouldn’t you say, Halli?”

Halli groaned. “Maybe when I wasn’t wearing boots.”

There was a deep gouge where the bluff began to rise over the ravine, leading down as short choppy stairs to a slender vale choked with boulders from rockslides. Chieftain weaved them among the boulders, beginning their trek south and out of the Grayrim’s frigid reaches. The vale gently dipped as its west arm pulled suddenly back, offering Halli and Noma their first view of Tarmaril proper: green plains stretched out before the knees of the range, low and fertile, with rolling fields like an emerald sea and small woods scattered like islands; the lofty heads of the Andrim Mountains were set against the far horizon, their flanks sheathed in lush pine forests hiding meadows and glens fed by streams of melted snow. Now, after so much hardship, they beheld Tarmaril’s true beauty.

“Our path is nearly done” Chieftain said. “There are springs close by, from which a river flows. The Westerlanders once held them sacred and use to make pilgrimages to them, in their better days. If they still do, I cannot say. I will take you there, but no further.”

“Understood” Halli said.

The path followed the vale’s descent, making a slow transition from bare stone to traces of shabby grass and pine needles as gaunt trees leered over them. The air was warmer here, showing little trace of the winter-like clime higher in the mountains, until all the frost was gone, and they felt the touch of sunlight. Whatever spell or chance of nature held the Grayrim’s snows at bay Halli couldn’t guess, but she was thankful for it.

They walked deeper into a growing mix of trees and ferns, many laden with their final autumn blooms. For the first in a long time, Halli heard birdsongs and the scurrying of small animals through underbrush. Pale flowers grew along the path, opal-lilies and moonsickles, wildflowers like painted fans and god-fingers, and winding around the boughs of many trees were ivy vines laden with golden flowers, eyes-of-sun, and the trees themselves looked in blossom. Purple posies sprung out between the roots, among indigo suckles and jade-petals. A smoldered nostalgia took her, reminding her of the Irdon Forest and the groves of Lake Onu, beautiful in that spring since passed. Down the slopes they went, into yet more pleasant country.

The path turned south and a little east, coming to the edge of a narrow outlook from the mountain-flanks. It ended before the rim of an enclosed dell, oval-shaped and flecked with feldspar, holding in its embrace clear, crisp springs, the birth-waters of the Valos River. There were three pools, blue as sapphire at the edges and dark as obsidian at their hearts, welling out from mouths of marble and granite, strung by veins of ghostly quartz. Watching over each pool was a monolith of vague human features, quartz-striped and rune-etched, monuments dedicated to keeping the Valos pure; they were remnants of Tarmaril’s earliest age, when her people had a greater love for nature than warcraft.

“Here is where I leave you” Chieftain said. “This is as far as I go into the Westerlands.”

Halli bowed. “You have given more than was our right to ask, thank you.”

“Return with speed to your clan” Noma said. “Give them our thanks as well, if you would.”

“I shall” Chieftain said. “You were respectable guests, while we had you. Farewell.”

He turned away and made to depart, then stopped and looked back.

“The business of outsiders is not ours to know, yet I must ask, if you will answer; why seek you the Great Water? Why risk such a danger?”

Halli stood silent for a moment, then said softly, “To find someone I lost, beyond the sea.”

She looked westward and said no more, but Chieftain understood her.

“Then the greater part of your journey still lies ahead. May all the luck in the world go with you, and may your strength never fail you.”

With that he returned up the path, leaving Halli and Noma to continue their journey by their own way.

#story #fantasy #hither yonder #sarissophori

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dustedandsocial · 6 years

Text

Music 2018 April: There’s too much music and it isn’t helping anyone. Please stop all music.

Rock, punk, post-punk, psych, etc. Also folk I guess?

Full-Lengths Bart De Paepe - Pagus Wasiae LP (Beyond Beyond Is Beyond) Blank Realm - Last Seen LP (Hobbies Galore) Blind Mans Band - Blind Mans Band CS [Orig. 2016] (Insula Jazz) Bridge of Flowers - Bridge of Flowers CS (Sloow Tapes) Bodies On Everest - A National Day Of Mourning CD (Third-I-Rex) Chris Cogburn, Ingebrigt Håker Flaten, Bob Hoffnar, Henry Kaiser - En Las Montañas de Excesos LP (Self Sabotage) Christian Kann - Tang® Under the Bridge... CS (Metaphysical Circuits) Chocolat Billy - Délicat déni LP (Kythibong / Les Potagers Natures) Convivial Cannibal Clan - Autosarcophagy CS (Ignorant Ear Tapes) COXNOX - COXNOX CD (Econore) Death by Delirium - Pushing up the Daisies CS (Wilhelm show me the Major Label) The Doozer ‎- Figurines LP (Feeding Tube) DLVRNC - DLVRNC (Self-Released) Faux Départ ‎- Au Pied Du Mur LP (Colilla / Doomtown) Flesh Narc - Songs of Reality CS (NULLZØNE) Great Saunites - Brown CD (Il Verso Del Cinghiale / Hypershape / Toten Schwan) Gnaw Their Tongues - Genocidal Majesty LP (Consouling Sounds) Headroom / Dire Wolves - Split CS (Pome Pome Tones) Holiday Inn - Torbido LP (Maple Death) Hospice - Hospice CS (Scavenger of Death) Itchy Bugger - Done One LP (Low Company) Jacob Yates - The Hare. The Moon. The Drone. LP (Optimo Music) Jesus Is My Son - Tout a une fin (même l'amour) CD (Cheap Satanism) King Dick - KDIII LP (King Dick) KTB - KTB II LP (Feeding Tube) Lewsberg - Lewsberg LP (Self-Released) Leverton Fox - I Am Zebra LP (Not Applicable) Litku Klemetti - Taika Tapahtuu LP (Luova) Locean - Object / Disco CS (Box) Maailmanloppu - Tuhon Koodi LP (Svart) Marc Ribot's Ceramic Dog - Yru Still Here CD (Yellowbird / Enja) Lonker See - One Eye Sees Red CD (Instant Classic) Makoto Kawabata • Richard Pinhas • Yoshida Tatsuya - Trax LP (Bam Balam) Mark Wynn - Damp Towels Stink Drama (Desert Mine) MÄSÄ - Viimesen päälle LP (Luova) Mr Sterile - Haters, Wreckers and other Friends CD (skirted) Ramble Tamble - Outlaw Overtones CS (Eiderdown) The Shna - Fairytape CS (Kitchen Leg) Sonic Death - Punks Against Mafia Vol. 1 (DTH Studios) Spost - Monkey Face LP (Self-Released) Stratocastors - Living Under The Johnny Vacances LP (Et Mon Cul C’est Du Tofu) Thee Agnes Muller - Le Bad CS (Degelite) The Submissives - Pining for a Boy CS (Egg Paper) Tommy Jay & The General - Florida Songs LP (Feeding Tube) Total Leatherette - For The Climax Of The Night LP (Mïlk) The Trendees - NIGHTMARE CITY (Self-Released) Vanta - Vanta II CS (Self-Released) Weasel Walter - Skhiizm CD (ugEXPLODE) Weeping Bong Band - Weeping Bong Band LP (Feeding Tube) Wombo - Staring At Trees CS (Sophomore Lounge) Yes Deer - Gloss LP (Abstract Tits) Ylayali - Pumpkin Patch CS / Picked Apart (Self-Released) Zëro - Ain't That Mayhem 2xLP (Ici d'Ailleurs)

Singles, EPs, Demos Basic Human - Cassette CS (Meatspin) Bodybags - Demo 2018 (Self-Released) Can Can Heads - Duo Exchange in 4´42 Minutes EP (Self-Released) Cerkkyu - Demo CS (MYDY / Overflöd / Pissed Off!) Crude - Drug Culture 12" (Farewell) Dauðyflin - Dauþiflin 7" EP (Iron Lung) Dick Whyte & Finn Johansson - What Kind Of Bird Am I 7" (Ilk Ither) Ecstasy - Ecstasy 7" EP (Digital Regress) Fatamorgana - Fatamorgana CS (Self-Released) Floating Skull - FROSTED MINOTAUR / SECULAR BUTCHER CS (Self-Released) Gen Pop - II 7" EP (Feel It) Hetze - Bedbugs (Self-Released) Jesus Is My Son - Désolé 7" (Lexi Disques) Kovaa Rasvaa - Pahan vaimon käsikirja 12" (Svart) Laurence Wasser - The Garden CS (Kitchen Leg) Life Fucker - Z - 12" (Static Age) Merlin Nova - Protect Your Flame EP (Blank Editions) Nandas - EP II (Toxic State) No Future - Demo CS (Televised Suicide) NoNoNo - Cutting Edge CD (Self-Released) Photogenic - Demo CS (Self-Released) Physique - Punk Life Is Shit 12" (Iron Lung) Primer Regimen - Ultimo Testamento 12" (Byllepest Distro) Punctï - Quartz Hour Shining Sphere (Self-Released) Pvnisher - Pvnishment Demonstration CS (Razored Raw) Rapid Tan - Golden Wonder EP (Self-Released) Sara Fuego - soundcloud demos Scarlatine - Tine EP (Self-released) Slab City - Regina Delle Streghe CS (Always Restrictions) Slant - Demo 2018 CS (Headcount / Pissed Off!) Skitklass - Kaos Och Förstörelse 4-låtars 7" EP (Hardcore Survives) Stagger - Thermobaeric Blues CS (Self-Released) Street Gurgler - Live on WRUW CS (Adamant Blasts / Pete Smokes Weed Tapes) Terebentina - O outro (Self-Released) XUX - XUX CS (Hobbies Galore) [pictured] WAMEKI - 72 Hours EP (Self-Released)

Experimental, Avant-Garde, Free Jazz, etc

6majik9 - Ritual Zero / Monk Nun 2xCDr (chemical imbalance.) Ad`Absurdum & Strøm - Infest LP (Acoustic Desaster / Tonzonen) Adam Cadell - Bush Songs CS (Soft Abuse) Adderall Canyonly - The Limits of All Known Ice CS (Lighten Up Sounds) Aeolipile - Observational error CD (Foolproof Projects) AMK & WM Zarate - Embedded CS (Regional Bears) Amuleto - Misztériumok LP (Three꞉four) Aqueduct Ensemble - Improvisations on an Apricot LP (Last Resort) AmErIkAn TeEnAgEr - Bandcamp CS (Barreuh) Awkward Geisha & GX Jupitter-Larsen - Final Destination CS (Lurker Bias) Baldruin - Vergessene Träume LP (Ikuisuus) Bianca Scout - __dislex-ia (Beatrice & Annie) Bella e Cadu Tenório - Vazios CS (QTV) Body Morph - The Three Mothers CS (Moon Myst Music) Brianna Kelly / Sympathy Pain - Split CS (Whited Sepulchre) Carlo Giustini - Sant'angelo CS (Purlieu Recordings) Chaos Echœs with Mats Gustafsson - Sustain LP (Utech) Chesterfield - Consuelo CD (Mikroton) Chow Mwng - Ah Alpine ! CDr (Self-Released) Church Shuttle - Natural Disaster 7'' (Soft Abuse) Columbus Duo - À Temps CD (Dead Sailor Muzic) Crazy Doberman - "Get Lost Pens Of Baldwin" Particle I & II CS (Fag Tapes) Dane Rousay - IMP-ENV 10'' (Colour8) Dead Voices on Air - Mirror Carrier CS (Format Noise) Dirk Wachtelaer, Jürgen De Blonde, Alec Ilyine, Gert De Meester - Tales From The Hellhole (Self-Released) Disposición Asoleada - Sigses Saturninos 7'' (Lexi Disques) Dwarfs of East Agouza - Rats Don’t Eat Synthesizers LP (Akuphone) Èlg - Vu Du Dôme LP (Editions Gravats) eRikm & Percussions de Strasbourg - Drum-Machines 2xLP (Percussions de Strasbourg) Fuck My WInter - Hic svnt leones CS (Jeunesse Cosmique) Jérôme Noetinger & Sec_ - La Cave Des Étendards CD (Mikroton) John Godbert - The Sealed Container CDr (Chocolate Monk) Kurt Liedwart & Petr Vrba - Punkt CD (Mikroton) kutin | kindlinger - Decomposition IV (Variations on Bulletproof Glass) 2xLP (Ventil) Lärmschutz - Divine Descent CS (No Index) Lao Dan 老丹 - 思維扭曲的行動體 Functioning Anomie CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Les Horribles Travailleurs & Mechanical Ape - Collaborative Soundworks CS (Noir Age) Li Jianhong 李劍鴻 - 1969 CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Louise Landes Levi - IKIRU or The Wanderer LP (Oaken Palace) Lucrecia Dalt - Anticlines LP (RVNG Intl.) Maria da Rocha - Beet Root & Other Stories CD (Shhpuma) Martín Escalante and Charlie Mumma - Escalante / Mumma CS (Sploosh) Me Donner - ÉÀ&! (Self-Released) Mei Zhiyong 梅志勇 / Ryosuke Kiyasu - 高円寺 Kōenji CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Michael Foster / Ben Bennett / Jacob Wick - Glove Issues CD (Palliative) Mike Dilloway - Hay Bale Paws CD (Chocolate Monk) Nat Birchall - Cosmic Language LP (Jazzman) Neutrals - 0318 CS (Alien Passengers) Nick Hoffman - Salamander CS (Notice) La banane de Hakim - Q EP (Self-Released) Q'uq'umatz - Tepeu CS (WV Sorcerer Productions) Paulie Shankwank / Zawinul Cropse - Split CS (Post-Materialization) Red Brut - Red Brut LP (KRAAK) Richmond Avant Improv Collective - Communion / Il Delirio E La Mortalità Di Amore 2xCD (Arachnidiscs) Rob Michalchuk - Where Did You Learn To Fly CS / Thirty CS (Poor Little Music) Saboteuse - X CS (Crow Versus Crow) Sensual Spasmo - Lichhouse Drip Feed CS (Moon Myst Music) Simon Cummings - 間 (ma) CS (Crónica) Sparkle in Grey - The Bones of Quietness CD (Grey Sparkle) The Spiders - Bit Offset 2xCS (chemical imbalance.) STARBIRTHED - The Dweller On the Threshold CS (Flower Room) Tasos Stamou - Musique con Crète LP (Discrepant) Tatras / Oostanaula - Split CS (Park 70) Thembi Soddell - Love Songs CD (Room40) Threes And Will / Deludium Skies - Kraaipan / From The Dirt Arose The Lesser King CD (Xtelyon) Tomaga - Music for Visual Disorders LP (meakusma) Torben Snekkestad, Agusti Fernandez, Barry Guy - Louisiana Variations CD (Fundacja Słuchaj) VA - 2018 Balkan Experimental Survey - Post Industrial Culture Series (Unexplained Sounds Group) VA - New Modernism (Unexplained Sounds Group) VA - Solidarity Is Our Weapon Against All Prisons (Anarchist Black Cross Benefit) 2xCS (Totes Format) Uton - Sax On, Sax Off CS (Eiderdown) Vanessa Amara - Manos LP (Posh Isolation) Wukir Suryadi - Atas Nama Bunyi / In The Name Of Sound 2008 EP (Self-Released) Zohastre - Pan And The Master Pipers LP (S.K Records)

Reissues, Archival

A New Personality - A New Personality 1981-84 (No Label) Cardiacs - The Seaside (Original Edition) [Orig. 1983, Remastered] (The Alphabet Business Concern) Dino J.A. Deane - For Leena 2xLP [Rec. 1991-1998] (Lullabies For Insomniacs) Expo 70 - Mother Universe Has Birthed Her Last Cosmos 2xCD [Rec. 2008-2010] (Zoharum) Goz Of Kermeur - Greatest Hits 2xLP [Rec. 1992-1996] (Jelodanti / Et Mon Cul C'est Du Tofu / Degelite) Heldon - Electronique Guerilla LP / Heldon II LP [Orig. 1974, 1975] (Bureau B) Nexda - Words & Numbers LP [Rec. 1982] (Emotional Rescue / Blowpipe / Mannnequin) Nocturnal Projections - Complete Studio Recordings LP / Inmates In Images LP [Rec. 1981-1983] (Dais) No Trend - You Deserve Your Life. LP [Rec. 1983] (Digital Regress, 2018) Norgez Bank - Samfunnets tjenera LP [Rec. 1980-1982] (Fucking North Pole) Onyx - Complete Works 1981-1983 LP (MIND Records) Peggy Lee & Dylan van der Schyff - These Are Our Shoes [Orig. 1998] (WhirrbooM!) Pellethead - The Best of a Bad Bunch LP [Rec. 1992-2017] (GNUinc) PRRRL JAM - Prrrl Jam 2xCS [Orig. 2014, Expanded] (Grog Pappy) Residents - The W⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎ B⁎⁎⁎ Album LP [Rec. 1971]͙͙ (New Ralph Too) Shatterbox - Strung Out On The Line LP [Orig. 1981] (Dig! Records) Sun Ra - God Is More Than Love Can Ever Be LP [Orig. 1979, Remastered] (Cosmic Myth) Tunnelrunners - Neath Abbey Road CD [Rec. 1980-1982] (Only Fit For The Bin) Unknown Artist - Early Sampling Puzzle, Potentially Recorded During The Late 1980′s LP (Delodio) Unovidual - Synthetic Solitude CS [Rec. 1983-1986] (Kontakt)

Electronic

AQXDM - Aegis 12'' (Bedouin) Astrid Sonne - Human Lines LP (Escho) Beat Detectives - Rhythms & Edits Volume 1 CS (Altered States) Blue Nude - Blue Nude CS (Puff Boys) burnet207 - forever CD (Jacktone) C_C - Brumas, Nieblas, Neblinas CS (Zamzam) Chloé - Recall Remixes 12'' (Lumière Noire) Curses - Pedal To The Metal And Don't Look Back 12'' (Bordello A Parigi) CVN - Kaisou CS (Altered States) Cyclist - Alabaster Thrones 12'' (100% Silk) Eomac - Reconnect LP (Eotrax) Garland - Preludes #1 LP (Lullabies For Insomniacs) House Of Kenzo - Bonfires Of Urbanity CS (Ascetic House) Hugo Jay - Tape Two LP (Coastal Haze) Hysteric - In The Moonlight 12'' (Violette Szabo) Jack Patterson - Snapping The Golden Thread CS (Archive) Kiwi - Mountains Of Dew 12'' (Disco Halal) Lauren Tosswill - My Home In The Year 12'' (Enmossed) Low Jack - Riddims du Lieu-dit LP (Editions Gravats) Mateis e. aqir - Geography of Nowhere 12'' (Jungle Gym) Mind Safari - The Dream Manipulator CS (Jacktone) Modified Man - Modifications꞉ Set 2 LP (Albert’s Favourites) Mrs Dink - The Norma Meetings EP (Run On Recordings) NN* - Cave Of The Birdbath King CS (Self-Released) Opal Beau - Open Window CS (Altered States) Overloper - Aposynthesis 12'' (Pater Noster) Piotr Połoz - Shameful Hatred CDr (Mik.Musik.!.) PSYCHOPOP - The Devil's Drums and the Angelic Electronics CS (HIT+RUN) Raquin - Ariclone CS (Janushoved) Ssaliva - WYIN 12'' (Collapsing Market) Somaticae - Planètes De Glace CS (ABRecords) VA - HU-MR96 3x12'' (MISTRESS Recordings) VA - Metallurgic 12'' (Metallurgic) VA - NOWHERE01 (Something Happening Somewhere) VA - One Instrument Volume 01 LP (One Instrument)

#i'll add links later #and an explanation for why these keep getting longer #i've never broken a promise #monthly

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darthrevaan · 7 years

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AH I LOVE IT (and all of the other Old Kingdom stuff you're posting/reblogging recently!) Okay, new prompt: someThing calls Anakin 'Saraneth's get' or Obi-Wan 'Mosrael's get.' And then Obi-Wan has to Explain.

So this is partially constructed out of a fic I sent you before (but didn’t post on my tumblr), which hopefully you won’t mind reading again! In any case, over half of this is new material, so ;) (bc yet again, I reached the 4k mark with this…)

Anakin and Obi-Wan have a close encounter with something Dead, as well as a certain exasperated Ancelstierrian captain…

The Ancelstierrians hadn’t been entirely certain whereAnakin and Obi-Wan might find their wayward captain. “He was scouting outplaces for us to settle,” Fives had told them, “He was meant to be back a weekago, but it’s not unusual for scouts to be late. There’s a lot of dangers outthere, plus whatever goes on when you cross the Wall.”

“And just how well do you know the dangers? How manytimes have you been into the Kingdom?” Anhrin had growled.

Fives had given her a scathing look. “Not our fault ifyou can’t defend your own border.”

Obi-Wan had cut through the burgeoning argument withanother question. “How do we get him to trust us? We’ll need to convince himwe’re not guards from the Wall come to arrest him.”

Fives had thought for a minute, and then taken somethingfrom around his neck and handed it to Obi-Wan. “Give him that. He’ll know it’sfrom me.”

Obi-Wan had taken the charm and looked at it dubiously. “Orhe’ll think we killed you for it.”

“And how would you have known it was important?” Fivessaid. “Look at it. It’s just a rock and a feather on a string.”

Now, as they rode up the Old North Road in the thickeningtwilight, Anakin was starting to doubt the effectiveness of their plan. “So,just how are you planning to find one man in this entire area?” he asked.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m planning on you repairingthe Charter stone at Barhedrin Hill. Fives told me Rex uses the hill as alandmark; we might have a chance of running into him while we’re there.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then he’ll go back to the Wall, and Fives and the otherswill be there to intercept him, either at the crossing points or back in theircamp.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “Either way, he’ll be found, and we’ll have repaired aCharter stone in the process.”

“Unless he’s dead,” Anakin muttered.

“Try to remain positive, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “Now,it’s almost dark; let’s find a place to camp off the road.”

They found a small dell with flat, grassy ground at thebottom, about twenty paces from the road, set back behind a screen of oaktrees. It would be easy to set up the tent – but first they had to cast thediamond of protection. Obi-Wan hobbled the horses while Anakin got started. Hetook a deep breath and tried to calm his mind, holding the symbol of the Eastmarkin his head, imagining it in fiery burning lines as it would be when he etchedit onto the ground. Closing his eyes, he began to draw with his sword; firstupward, then a curve, then downward again…

With an effort of will, he pushed the mark from his mind,out through his hand and down the sword into the ground. The Eastmark leaptinto life, burning orange.

Anakin stood back and regarded it critically. “It’s notvery bright,” he commented to Obi-Wan, who had walked up to stand beside him.

“It’s satisfactory,” Obi-Wan said. “You take theSouthmark, and I’ll do the North.”

When all four marks where done, lines of fire sprang upbetween them, and the diamond of protection was complete. Anakin was sure thetwo marks he had cast were dimmer than those Obi-Wan had, but the other man wasadamant that he had done a good job. “You barely knew what a diamond ofprotection looked like two months ago, may I remind you,” Obi-Wan said as hehammered a tent peg into the ground.

“Still…” Anakin glanced uneasily at the marks. “This isdangerous country.”

“Which is why we’ll take watches,” Obi-Wan said. “Thereare things that could break through the diamond, given enough time.”

They didn’t even discuss lighting a fire. Anakinvolunteered for the first watch; he was still apprehensive about the diamond,and there was something, almost like a sixth sense, singing a warning in theback of his mind.

The night was silent. His Death sense lay quiet, only afaint hum in the background like it often was. Still, he couldn’t shake thefeeling that something was out there in the dark, watching him.

A Free Magiccreature wouldn’t feel like Death. Something of that ilk might be hiding outthere. With that comforting thought in mind, Anakin watched the cardinalmarks closely and kept wakeful and alert.

However, when Obi-Wan woke up and gently shook hisshoulder to take over the watch, nothing had happened. As Anakin lay down inthe tent, he was unsure whether to be anxious or not. He’d seen nothing; but,as completely as he trusted Obi-Wan, his Death sense was weak. There was achance, however small, that whatever was out there was waiting for Anakin tosleep, knowing that it would be easier to approach undetected when Obi-Wan wason watch.

But his worry came to naught. Obi-Wan woke him as thefirst light of dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, and they had asmall breakfast of dry bread and salted pork before packing up their camp. “Didyou see anything last night?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I did notice you were jumpy,though.”

“I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was outthere.”

Obi-Wan looked troubled for a moment. “Well…I supposewe’d best be on our guard.”

That was all they said on the matter. They’d had enoughexperience running from trouble with each other that they knew there was nopoint endlessly discussing possibilities; either something would reveal itself,or it wouldn’t.

Obi-Wan nodded and, with a flourish, broke the Northmark.With a flare of light, the diamond disintegrated, the lines of protectionshining brighter for a moment before winking out. Anakin gripped the hilt ofhis sword; it was common for more intelligent Free Magic beings to attack atthe moment a diamond of protection was broken.

Nothing came charging out of the trees, and after amoment Anakin let his grip relax. Perhaps what he’d felt really had beennothing.

“The path up to the crest is steep and winding,” Obi-Wansaid when they were back on the road. “I don’t know if the horses will be ableto make it up.”

“We can leave them at the base of the hill,” Anakindecided.

The spot where the path to Barhedrin Hill met the roadwas easy to miss even in daylight, but the bluffs that contained the path wereclear, as was the brow of the hill rising high above. The path ran up a narrowgully between the bluffs, red stone rising high above their heads and blockingthem in. It was the perfect place for an ambush, Anakin thought, some of hisearlier anxiety returning.

A small stream ran through the gully, sluggish andslow-moving now, choked up with ice. The path crossed it several times onbranches and stones, ending with a proper bridge at the midway point, which waswhere they decided to leave their horses, tied securely to the wooden posts ofthe bridge. They continued on up the slope alone.

It was a half-hour walk up to the crest of the hill, withthe path becoming steeper and rockier the further they went. Eventually theflat path changed to roughly hewn steps, cracked and crumbling with age.

At the top of the hill stood the Charter stone,surrounded by the low walls of a crumbled, fallen-down tower; the old Guardtower of Barhedrin Hill, long since abandoned. As they neared it, the sense ofviolent Death grew and grew, until it was like a choking scent in Anakin’snostrils. The stone was twice his height, and hewn out of a rough grey rock,expertly sculpted. It bore hundreds of tiny, dead Charter marks, frozen as theyhad been at the moment of the stone’s breaking – now nothing more than etchingsscratched into the rock. The jagged, zigzag crack down the middle of the stonereminded Anakin uncomfortably of an open wound – and as the pale light of thesun hit it, he saw there were dark patches all over it, of what could only beblood. “The Charter mage,” Anakin said.

They were both silent for a moment, before Obi-Wan said, “That’swhat you’re guarding against, Anakin. A creature would have to be both powerfuland twisted to perform a ritual like the one needed to break a Charter stone.That’s the kind of creature you’ll have to hunt.”

We’ll have to hunt,Anakin instantly thought, though he didn’t know why the second pronoun feltmore accurate than the first. He wasthe Abhorsen, after all. He also knew what Obi-Wan might be thinking, but didn’tsay; this was the true face of FreeMagic.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to walk forwardtoward the stone. He circled the stone at a distance, reluctant to touch it.Obi-Wan, he noted, stayed as far away as he could, back by the beginning of thepath.

Frowning in concentration, Anakin recalled the pages in The Book of the Dead that dealt with themaking and breaking of Charter stones. The ritual would require somecomplicated Charter marks, a lot of concentration, and a not inconsiderableamount of his own blood.

He forced himself to walk closer to the Charter stone, tokneel down beside it. “I’ll need you to keep a watch,” he said to Obi-Wan,“This will take-”

Even as he spoke, he felt a sickening lurch in hisstomach as his Death sense flared to life. There was something Dead nearby, no,a few Dead somethings, onesignificantly stronger than the rest, and how had he not sensed them before-

Because of thebroken Charter stone, he thought with a dull thrill of horror. It blinded my senses. “There are Deadthings coming,” he said, drawing his sword in one hand and Saraneth in theother.

Vahenda was out of her scabbard and in Obi-Wan’s handalmost from one moment to the next. “Where?” he asked, simple and to the point.

“Close,” Anakin said, still trying to tell exactly wherethey were on the hill. “From the east- no, the southeast.”

They both turned in that direction, scanning the hilltop;nothing was moving. “How far? Can you tell?” Obi-Wan said under his breath.

“They’ll be in sight in a few minutes,” Anakin said.

He could hear Obi-Wan begin to mutter under his breath,his fingers sketching out Charter marks in preparation. He recalled all thedestructive Charter marks he could; they were the core of what Obi-Wan hadtaught him so far, for situations just like this.

They both stood, stock-still, listening intently. Thewind gusted around them, lifting their hair and loose edges of their clothing,and making an unsettling moan as it passed through the crack in the Charterstone.

The first thing Anakin expected to hear was footsteps,but not as light nor as fast as those he caught on the wind now. Frowning, hestraightened, trying to catch a glimpse over the edge of the ridge - andwithout warning, a figure vaulted up the last few steps and stumbled to a halt,staring at them in undisguised dismay.

The man - who was clearly living, and not some Dead thing- let out a stream of curses in a language Anakin didn’t understand, andglanced over his shoulder once before setting his jaw and stalking toward them.“I’ve no time for your rubbish today, Kingdom etisii,” he said, “I’ve got bigger troubles.” He’d drawn a knifefrom somewhere on his person, a long blade about the length of Anakin’sforearm. It looked somewhat dull in the light of the morning sun, and thehandle seemed to be falling apart even as the man levelled it at them. A weapon from Ancelstierre, Anakinthought, Everything they bring with themdisintegrates eventually, which is exactly what’s happening to that knife.

“I agree, my friend,” Obi-Wan said, though he didn’trelax his aggressive stance. “Perhaps we might call a truce for a moment? Theenemy of my enemy is my friend, after all.”

“And then you arrest me as soon as it’s dead?” the manasked. “Not likely.”

“They’ll be here in under a minute,” Anakin muttered.

Obi-Wan reached up and tugged off the necklace Fives hadgiven him, then threw it through the air at the man, who caught it on instinct.“Recognise that?”

The man held it up to his face, his sneer of derisiontransforming into shocked disbelief. “How did you- why do you have this?!”

“Fives gave it to us,” Obi-Wan said, “He said you’drecognise it - Captain Rex.”

The man - Rex - scowled and stuffed the charm awaysomewhere in his clothes. “Why the hell would Fives be talking to you to?” hedemanded.

“Unless you get over here and out of the path of thoseDead Hands, you’re never going to find out,” Anakin said.

Rex looked back down the path, his position giving him aview down the steps to where Obi-Wan and Anakin couldn’t see. Whatever he sawdown there made him move swiftly in their direction; he took up a ready stanceon Obi-Wan’s right. “If we survive this, I will have so many questions for you,etisii,” he growled.

“Likewise,” Anakin muttered - and then he heard it. Ashuffling, scuffing noise, as of someone dragging their feet as they walked. Hetook a firmer grip on Saraneth’s handle and dragged in a deep breath. The lasttime he had faced the Dead, everything had gone wrong. Obi-Wan had paid the pricethen – Anakin was determined to make sure he wouldn’t a second time.

The first Dead Hand came into view, shuffling towardthem, the pallid skin on its face already falling off. It was followed by asecond, and then a third – and then by a stronger Dead thing, lumbering behindthe rest, hissing softly from its gaping mouth. The stronger creature halted asit saw the figures on the hilltop and sat back on its haunches, raising itshead as though sniffing the air. Then one word, hissing and sibilant, floatedacross to them on the wind; “Abhorsen.”

“It knows me,” Anakin muttered.

“You think the Dead don’t know that sword?” Obi-Wan said,nodding to it.

“What the hell is an ‘Aborsen’?” Rex snapped.

“Ab-hor-sen,”Obi-Wan sounded out the syllables. He nodded at Anakin, “That’s him. A warriorwho can bind the Dead.”

“Right.” Rex sounded sceptical.

“Abhorsen,” thecreature hissed again. “Filthy Saraneth’sGet. It has been a long time since we had one of your ilk to fear.”

Saraneth’s Get? Anakinthought, frowning. What is that supposedto mean?

“Don’t let it distract you,” Obi-Wan muttered, his handtwitching, just waiting for the right moment to unleash a Charter spell.

“Keep coming this way and I’ll show you why you should beafraid,” Anakin said, raising his sword.

“I will crack open your bones and feast on your blooood,”the creature snarled, slithering closer.

The Dead Hands came on, slow plodding step after step,and Anakin watched them out of the corner of his eye. “You take the Hands,” hemuttered to Obi-Wan, “I’ll go for the creature. On three.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and Anakin began to count down under hisbreath. “One, two, three-”

Gouts of flame burst from Obi-Wan’s hand and sword,engulfing the Dead Hands. The spirits within them screamed, desperately tryingto cling onto Life even as their host bodies disintegrated.

Wrapping a simple shield spell around himself, Anakinjumped through the flames and landed mere feet away from the Dead creature,which was hissing and writhing in anger as it watched its servants burnt to acrisp. “Feel like making the final walk, ugly?” Anakin asked. With a carefulflourish of his wrist and a concentration of will, he rang Saraneth.

The creature moaned and snarled as it felt Saraneth’seffect, felt Anakin’s will pressing onto it. It writhed its misshapen head andbatted at it with its unnatural, elongated arms, as if trying to cover itsears. Anakin rang the bell again, a simple, careful pattern, and focused allhis will on the creature. Submit. Submit.

The creature began to flop about, flat on its belly,rolling from side to side; Anakin could feel it come under his sway. He rangone more time as he focused and, with an effort of will, crossed the boundarybetween Life and Death.

Within a blink, he was standing in the cold, grey lightof Death, the river tugging at his calves. He set his feet and stood firm,looking for the creature.

It was easy to spot; it was still wriggling, churning thedark water with its agonised death throws. As Anakin stepped closer it raisedits ugly muzzle above the surface of the water and said, “Abhorsen, Abhorsen,have pity, have mercy on me, your beseeching servant, your faithful slave! Rukwill serve you, will be your slave forever, will sing your praises, Abhorsen,Ruk begs for mercy-”

“The Abhorsen has no mercy,” Anakin said, sheathing hissword. “Not for Dead things.” With cautious hands he pulled Kibeth from itspouch.

The creature let out a long moan. “Not the Walker, notthe Walker, not back to the Sixth Gate, back to the struggle, no-”

“No,” Anakin said, “Not the Sixth Gate. You will walk allthe way, to the Ninth Gate and beyond.” With that, he rung Kibeth and Saranethtogether, a precise, careful tune, one of the patterns he’d taken great care tomemorise from The Book of the Dead.

Already under Anakin’s sway, the creature had no defenceagainst both bells rung together. It slipped away under the water and made abeeline for the First Gate; a moment later Anakin heard the sound of thewaterfall stop, a clear indication that something had passed through.

With a cautious look around, he returned Kibeth to itspouch and drew his blade again. The surface of the river was undisturbed, andthe Precinct looked peaceful, but TheBook of the Dead had stressed thatthis was where a necromancer would be vulnerable, and the Dead at their mostsneaky. With the power gained from the lifeforce of an Abhorsen, even a GreaterDead could batter their way back out into Life.

Anakin waited only a minute more, feeling the Dead thingthat had called itself Ruk fade away as it floated further and further down theriver, beyond the reach of his senses. The spirits that had inhabited the DeadHands were long gone by now, and he felt nothing new cross the border. Theyhad, it seemed, won the day.

He turned and stepped back across the border into Life,feeling his eyes begin to itch. He brushed the ice out of them, feeling piecesof it fall out of his hair as well.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he wassurprised to see it was Rex, not Obi-Wan, brushing ice off his surcoat. “I’veseen some crazy things in this Kingdom,” he said, looking down at thefast-melting ice in his hand, “But I’ve neverseen anything like that. I know it’s cold up here, but that…”

“It’s a side effect of passing into Death,” Anakin said.

Rex looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “‘Passing into’ death?”

Anakin nodded. “I can step between the two planes almostat will. It’s part of being the Abhorsen, and how I’m able to banish the Dead.”

To Anakin’s surprise, Rex rolled his eyes. “YouKingdomers and your ‘Dead’,” he said, making air quotes around the word. “Youpeople have the weirdest superstitions.”

“Superstitions?” Anakin could feel his mouth hangingopen. He pointed with his sword at the pile of grave dirt and ash where theDead creature had been. “You call that ‘superstition’?”

“I call that a nasty beast of some kind,” Rex said,“Something that could move and talk, and therefore was clearly not dead.”

“But- it- it was decomposing! Right in front of you!”

Rex shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder.”

Obi-Wan laid a hand on Anakin’s arm. “Not now, Anakin,”he said, “You still have the Charter stone to fix, and then we need to get backto the Wall.”

“Not so fast,” Rex said, “I think this is the part whereyou tell me why you have Fives’ charm with you. He’d never give that to someone, not unless he trusted them completely.”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who inclined his head; clearlyhe was willing to let Anakin tell this story. “We were looking for you,” Anakinsaid. “The group of refugees you were scouting for have been authorised tocross the Wall. I need to go to the Queen and clear up a few things, and I needyou to come speak to her on behalf ofyour people.”

“‘Authorised to cross the Wall’?” Rex repeated, “How?They were sneaking in, not applying for passage.”

“The Guards found them and brought them back to the maingate,” Anakin said, “And I…rushed their applications through, so to speak.”

Rex frowned at him. “So to speak?”

“I told the Guards to let them in and consider themcitizens of the Kingdom.”

There was silence for a moment. “You can do that?” Rexasked, incredulous. “Who are you?”

“The Abhorsen,” Anakin said. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

Rex looked nonplussed, and Anakin could almost hearObi-Wan rolling his eyes. “Please stop talking and go fix that Charter stone,”he said.

“I’m going,” Anakin said, grinning to himself. Then athought hit him, and he reached out to grab Obi-Wan’s arm. “One minute. ThatDead thing - he called me ‘Saraneth’s Get’. What does that mean?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “You haven’t heard the rhymeabout the foundation of the Charter?”

“Well, of course. But I don’t see what-”

“Five of the Shiners poured themselves into theBloodlines,” Obi-Wan said, “Saraneth is the being that became the Abhorsenbloodline. You are, some might say, a descendant of Saraneth.”

Anakin frowned. “But Saraneth was a Free Magic creature.”

“You’re not literallyit’s descendant. It’s more of a poetic thing.”

“So I’m poetically Saraneth’schild?”

“The power of Saraneth - the very essence of the creatureitself, you might say - lives in you, in your blood,” Obi-Wan said, poking himin the shoulder. “That’s why your blood has power.”

Something in Anakin’s stomach twisted. “My blood haspieces of a Bright Shiner in it?”

Obi-Wan looked thoughtful. “I’ve never thought of it likethat, but yes, I suppose that’s how it works.” He shrugged. “This is all veryesoteric, theoretical magic, Anakin. Not something even I know a lot about.”

“I just- you’re saying an incredibly powerful Free Magiccreature lives within me,” Anakinsaid.

“Not exactly. It’s powerlives on through you; the entity itself is gone, consumed in the process ofcreating the Charter. The remnant of Saraneth, the raw physical power it oncepossessed, is what you have inherited.” Obi-Wan smiled. “I suppose it would bemore of a concern for you. The power I inherited from Mosrael is dilutedthroughout my cousins, but you, as far as we know, are the sole heir toSaraneth’s power.”

“Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better,” Anakinsaid. He could feel nausea rising in his gut.

Obi-Wan patted him on the shoulder. “Just focus on fixingthe Charter stone.”

“It’s strange,” Rex said, “I can understand the words,but it’s like you’re speaking some kind of weird foreign language. I don’t knowwhy you people insist on calling your science magic.”

Before Anakin could reply, Obi-Wan gave him a gentleshove toward the broken Charter stone. “Being near that thing is setting myteeth on edge,” he said. “Take care of it, and I’ll take care of our friendhere.”

Anakin hesitated for a moment, glancing at the Charterstone. The thought of a Bright Shiner in his blood, within his very being, wasn’teasy to banish - but Obi-Wan didn’t seem concerned, and he too had inheritedsome of a similar power. He watched Obi-Wan go over to Rex and start speakingquietly to him. The Ancelstierrian’s expression changed slowly from wariness tosomething gentler; he looked ready to listen to whatever Obi-Wan was tellinghim.

Smiling to himself, Anakin turned back to the Charterstone, and cracked his knuckles.

#anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #captain rex #star wars #AU #star wars abhorsen au #in a galaxy far far away #does the walker choose the path?#mine #hamelin-born #asked and answered

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qcdastuff · 4 years

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Carding the Veil - Chapter 2

Whetstone and Spindleweed

“I’d tell you to pray to your gods - but you savages don’t have any - do ya?” The bandit adjusted his grip on his greatsword, fixed his footing, and swung.

It bounced off his opponent's solidly-held shield.

A fierce grin was the only response, just before the axe blow landed, lodging between helm and armor. There was a sick squelch of flesh and a spray of blood as the weapon was yanked free again.

There was no time to admire the handiwork of that kill; an arrow whistled by, causing the axe-wielder to duck. Hissera Adaar swore as it clipped one of her horns and jerked her head at an odd angle. Her mother’s pride be damned, she was cutting the forsaken things off.

“Close in!” Came the roar of command from, presumably, the asshole in charge. Positioned safely up the hill.

“But she laid out Vince in one hit!” There was a dodgey, weasley-looking fuck slightly behind and to the right of Hissera. Stalling, twirling his daggers - she could just catch the movement in the corner of her eye. He was too chickenshit to be the first one in, but Hissera knew he’d be hilt deep in her kidneys the second his friend grew a pair.

His friend - the sword-and-board fighter - was locked in a staring contest with her. What she wouldn’t give for a little rashvine right about now to smear on her face. Something about paint on a Qunari tended to make men piss themselves.

Alright, she thought, You’ve got a fighter. Rogue with two knives. Fucker with a bow. Man in charge. You can do this, probably. You’re going to lose a body part, maybe. Hissera snarled as Mr. Shield took an aborted step forward. But you’re sure as shit taking at least two more of them with you.

“Alright, fuckers - which of you am I killing first? You?” She raised her eyebrows at the man in front of her. “Or your friend back there?” She jerked her head back in his direction, “Whoever drops his weapon first, lives. The next one dies. Screaming.”

“There’s three of you, and one of her! Just kill the cow, and be done with it!”

Before Mr. Shield could get any clever ideas, Hissara leapt for him - he barely got his namesake up in time. Her swings were a little wild, but they were heavy. She yelled with every hit. Steadily beating him back towards the rise where his friend with the bow was perched. She needed to get out of his line of sight.

She took a nick here and there in her desperation to get the man to move , but when she heard the cursing from above, she knew she’d done it. That fucker was going to have to come down if he wanted a good angle.

There was a sudden cold sting, and the air was driven out of her lungs. Hissera had forgotten about the rogue with the knives. Snarling, she turned, slashing through air as the little weasel jumped back out of range. She had them both in her sight now, but she was letting herself get backed into a corner.

She could hear the man with the bow scrabbling down the far side of the embankment. Soon he’d be popping up around the corner and she’d catch one of those stupid arrows right between the eyes. Mr. Shield was breathing heavy, staying put and stalling for time. Weasel-Daggers was hopping from foot to foot, trying to decide if he wanted to rush in or not.

“Fuck this.” Hissera reached into a belt pouch and popped the cork on a vial, downing the thing in one swig. Her face scrunched up as the potion hit, and she dashed the vial on the rocks at her feet.

Fire. Liquid fire was pouring through her veins, and she roared with the rush of it.

Weasel-Daggers stumbled backwards, and Adaar locked on - bear to wounded deer.

With a yell, she charged across the little dell, catching the rogue square in the chest. Her momentum caught and lifted him, and they both sailed along - until crunching into a wide oak. Adaar barely registered the cry of pain and the popping of ribs like dried wood. She did feel the splatter of blood on her face, as the rogue coughed.

An arrow thunked into the thick of her arm through leathers, and she cried out, turning.

Weasel-Daggers slumped to the forest floor in a heap, groaning and crying and coughing up more blood.

Her shield came up as the next arrow flew, and it clanged aside, useless. Hissera stalked closer, step by step, shield up and at the ready. She knew, instinctively, Mr. Shield had moved to her blind spot - but there was nothing she could do about that just yet.

The archer was backing up, and even from this distance she could see the white in his eyes. Maybe blood was a good vitaar too. She grinned, staring him down.

He kept sneaking glances over his shoulder, and soon realized she was pushing him to a drop off. One more shot - a wild miss - and he dropped his bow, “Stop, stop, stop!”

Hissera had two seconds to savor that victory, before she was knocked on her ass.

Mr. Shield had caught his breath, and was standing over her. His sword was angled down, and it was clear he thought to take her surrender. His boss was yelling something, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. It took longer than she liked to clear her vision. The other bandit was reaching for his bow, and Hissera couldn’t risk it being two against one again.

Axe still in hand, she swiped at the warrior’s ankles. It stuck in his shin bone. The fucker screamed and crashed forward, slicing through her cheek, sword lodging in the meat of her shoulder. The warrior was cursing a blue streak, trying to pull the axe out and get up to his feet.

“Stay where the fuck you are!” Adaar barked at the archer, jabbing with her shield.

The man froze, hands up.

Mad, shaking, feeling no pain - the sizeable Qunari stood, jerking the other man’s sword out of her shoulder with a snarl.

He’d managed to get up on his knees, and she didn’t hesitate.

The warrior’s head rolled to a stop at the archer’s feet.

The archer dry heaved, lurching forward.

Adaar could hear the other - the boss - making a break for it. “Pick up your bow.” The Archer shook his head fiercely, shock keeping him in place. She was on him in two strides, snatching him by the arm and shoving him down.

“Pick it up!” Adaar screamed, shaking him.

He had the bow in his hands, but he was trembling like a leaf. “Please!” He croaked, begging.

“Up the ridge!” She gave him a shove in the right direction, and followed after as he all but flung himself up the embankment. Adaar advanced and he backed and scrabbled his way up and back to the very edge. “Turn around.”

The Archer shook his head again.

Adaar snarled and grabbed the man again, manhandling him into facing down into the next valley. Their boss had just gotten down - looked like he’d fallen half the way - and was hobbling into a clearing. It was a clear shot. A good shot. The man was moving in a straight line.

“Shoot him.” Adaar snarled, moving to give the man room. He didn’t draw, and she yelled, “Shoot him, or I snap your neck! NOW! DRAW! FIRE!”

Muscle memory succeeded where the man’s will had failed him, and the draw was smooth. The arrow nocked flawlessly. A pull of bowstring, and it flew - straight and on target.

The bandit leader lurched forward, collapsing with an arrow just below his shoulder blade.

The Qunari was breathing heavy. Blood rushing in her ears. Little by little, the fire banked. Little by little she could hear the creak of swaying trees. The birds squawking in protest. The panicked breathing of the man next to her.

Next came the throb of her cheek. The ache in her muscles. The very persistent pain in her arm and the opposite shoulder. She took a deep breath in, and exhaled in a rush.

The archer whimpered, but didn’t dare move.

“My name - is Hissera Adaar. I’ve been trained in combat from birth. I am the second in command of a mercenary company called the Valo-Kas, and I am exhausted.” She turned to look, and the human stared back, terrified and confused. “If you ran now, I couldn’t catch you. I wouldn’t try.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why wouldn’t I chase you? What part of fucking exhausted don’t you understand?” Why was he still here?

The Archer leaned away, wary of the rage in her voice, but he shook his head, sniffing, wiping at his nose, “Why shoot him? He was leaving.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Hissera was more than a little pleased at how quickly he shook his head 'No'. “Any of the rest of you would have run and let me be. That-” She jabs her arm still strapped in it's shield in the direction of the valley, “-is the kind of asshole to recruit new cutthroats and come hunt me down. Tie up the cow, and do fuck knows what to me.” She waits, almost daring him to contradict her.

He didn't.

“The way I see it, there’s only two ways about this.” Hissera unbuckles her shield, gingerly moving to put it back on its strap and across her back, “One, you leave, and we never see each other again - knowing - that if I do see you, I’ll assume you’re there to kill me. And I’ll kill you first. And I’ll do it slower.”

There’s an involuntary whimper from the Archer that makes him clap a hand over his mouth. He recovers fairly quickly, all things considered, “And the other option?” He’s eyeing her warily, cautiously. Like he’s wondering if he can draw an arrow before she can throttle him to death.

He can’t.

“The other option is that you follow me back down the hill. I put ol’ Weasel-Daggers out of his misery, if he isn’t already dead, and you follow me back to Murkwell. I get patched up, you get fed, and I offer you a job.”

“Why...why would you do that?”

“The Valo-Kas has been hired to do security for this Conclave.” Hissera sighs, groaning, as she rolls her unpunctured shoulder. “And the Valo-Kas is all Qunari.” She tries very hard not to give a sharp grin at the way the Archer shrinks from that knowledge. “Everyone acts right when mother’s in the room, but…”

“You’re afraid eventually people are going to cotton on that they only have to watch for a pair of horns before they start stabbing each other or poisoning the drinks.” When Hissera nods, the man hums in confirmation, “And you think if I worked for your group, I could sort of...spy, as it were?”

“As it were.”

"Still doesn't explain why you trust me - why you'd offer me a job."

Hissera sighed, "My mother told me there's two type'a men that turn to banditry for a living. The first kind are assholes with no marketable skills other than being a thug. The second were driven to it by necessity. So which are you?"

"Ah... ...necessity."

The fact he had to think about it before answering sold her on the truth of it. For now. "Besides. Boss wanted me to recruit humans or elves or something, so here I am. Recruiting."

“If that’s the case, why not take Cormac, too?” When she gives him a blank look, the Archer supplies, “The man you affectionately referred to as Weasel-Daggers.”

She grunts and gestures for the man to walk, taking the first step as the two of them make their way back to the scene of the fight, “The problem is - a whole lot of shit broke when I slammed your friend into that tree. I don’t know if what’s wrong with him can be fixed with a potion, and I'm not exactly a healer.” Sliding a little at the bottom, she slammed into one of the said trees with a grunt and grumbled, “Even if I had a potion to spare, for a man who stabbed me in the kidney. Which I don't.”

Weasel-Daggers - or Cormac - was actually conscious when they reached him. He’d propped himself up against the tree that tried to send him to his maker, one of his daggers across his lap. He was wheezing in a wet sort of way and eyeing his fellow bandit more than the Qunari that’d put him in this condition in the first place.

“I wouldn’t worry - see? He always carries a few.” The Archer tapped Cormac’s boot with his toe, “I assume you took all of yours?”

“You friends with her now?”

“Better friends than dead.” He frowned as Cormac hacked something else up - something pink and fleshy. “Maker’s balls.” Kneeling down, the archer dug through the pack he’d been carrying and pulled out two red vials, waggled them in his direction. “Go on.”

“Not gonna save one for your new friend?” Cormac half-sneered, half-slurred, but reached for the potions anyway.

Hissera was faster, snatching them away, and holding them up for inspection. “His new friend doesn’t need them just yet.” She looked back down at the rogue at her feet, “But you do.”

“So make him the same deal.”

“Nah,” Hissera tapped the vials against her thigh, but before the Archer could try and persuade her, she spoke again, “Different deal for you, Kidney-Shot. You work for my merc group, or I finish the job I started. Pick.”

The rogue coughed, laughing, blood dribbling down his chin, “Oh, so this is how the Qun works? Slavery or death - what a choice.”

“Cormac, don’t be an ass.”

“I’m- I was just- yes. I don’t want to die.” He held his arm up, in the general direction of Hissera, waving his hand about, “Give us the potions then, Qunari, and I’ll stab other people, hmm? Whoever you want.”

Hissera grumbled, muttering under her breath about bad decisions, but she handed the potions over anyway. She was dearly hoping this didn’t come back to bite her in the ass. This fucker was clearly the first kind of bandit. But it was what she and Shokrakar had talked about - recruiting. Just not necessarily the way they had talked about it.

Cormac was practically tongue-fucking the vials trying to get every last drop out, but by the end he did look a little less sallow. Still kicked to shit, but at least he wasn’t coughing up organs anymore. She supposed that counted for something.

Hissera turned and went to gather her shit. She also rifled through Mr. Shield’s pockets - Neck Wound’s too. She came up with a weird glass trinket, 33 Silvers, a salvageable pack between the two of them, a new sword, and a pair of boots that looked just about Kaariss’ size. She probably should’ve felt a little worse about looting the corpses of those two fucker’s friends. But. They had tried to kill her, so she let the guilt fall amongst the leaves.

By the time Hissera returned, gingerly poking around the arrow still delightfully lodged in her arm, the Archer had gotten his friend more or less upright. They’d geared back up, and were slowly making their way towards the vague direction of town. It was going to take days at this pace.

“My name’s Ronan, by the way.” The Archer volunteered into the awkward, grunting semi-silence between them.

“Ronan?” Hissera parroted, “Cormac and Ronan.” Another heavy sigh and she held aside a bit of brush for the two men to amble through, “Boss is gonna have a field day with this. The two most Ferelden-sounding humans I could drum up.”

“Got a problem with Fereldens?”

“Oh no, Cormac,” Hissera replied, tone sickly sweet, “You’re all such nice people! How could I have any trouble? Why, I’m sure I have as few problems with Fereldens as you do with Qunari. We’re going to be such good friends, Cormac. Such good friends.”

Ronan laughed under his breath and tried to chivvy his friend along a little faster. He had plans for a bed in an inn tonight, instead of the forest floor. Even if he had to share it, it would be better than finding a nug trying to eat his hair. Despite what the others might claim, he did not scream like a girl about it. But he didn’t want a repeat performance, either.

Luckily, the village wasn’t actually that far off - even with Cormac groaning and shuffling and hobbling like an old man for hours, and stopping them every half to catch his breath. They arrived just as the sun was arcing it's way downwards, and had stopped, on a rock, within view of the main thoroughfare for Cormac to have a breather again.

“Say - what happened to Pate?”

Ronan and Hissera shared a look over Cormac’s head, but the Qunari gave away nothing in her expression. A careful blank. Ronan dithered, “Uh...Pate?”

“Yes. Pate. Our boss? Guy who ordered us around? Guy who paid us? Any of this ringin’ a bell?”

“Oh, uh...well he...run off, didn’t he? Not like he was gonna dirty his hands to save us.”

Cormac slowly started to sit up - already turning his head to look at his comrade, when Hissera jerked him to his feet. “If your friend shows back up, he can either get paid like you two or get dead - come on. We are spitting distance from clean water and a fucking meal. We’re not camping out here, Kidney-Shot.”

Cormac was too busy groaning and complaining to notice the second look shared between Ronan and Hissera. Too busy wincing and whinging in pain to see the mouthed words of thanks from the Archer or the nod of the Qunari.

What he did manage to notice, however, was the stout form of a dwarf, several buildings down, standing just in the back shadow of a building. They were watching with a look that Cormac knew well. He stopped their progress to make a pointed look in the dwarf’s direction, hand over the pommel of his dagger.

A long moment of eye contact, and then the dwarf was gone - down the alley and deeper into the shadows - but thankfully away from them.

...

Prologue | Chapter 1 |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582437/chapters/56582572#workskin

#dragon age #dragonage #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 writer #ao3 #thedas #da: inquisition #mercenaires #dragon age adaar #lots of cursing #cursing warning #violence warning

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daisyachain · 8 years

Text

a small scene from the 212th, in the middle of a fight

It was in the middle of a skirmish-turned-battle that Cody found himself in possession of the General's lightsabre. It had flown out of his hand during the fight, but the man had been too intent on beating a droid to pick it up — and, of course, it was Cody's job to clean up the mess.

The General had a calm and collected demeanour, and Cody could say he'd been fooled into thinking he would be as careful and conservative as General Unduli on the battlefield.

Key word: "fooled."

That had been in the cool, darkened rooms of the Coruscant barracks.

Now, the General was somewhere in the piles of debris and clouds of smoke, and Cody was wondering if it was possible to accidentally activate a lightsabre. It was hanging on his belt, on an empty ammo clip, so if it decided to turn on, he'd be looking at a nasty gash, if not a rushed amputation. They could go on at the click of a button—

Years of battle training made him recognize the faint beeping of a detonator in the soundscape, sending him diving and rolling for cover. The ground and his armour were hard enough to snap his neck, but he'd learned to keep the roll on his shoulder instead of his back, absorbing the shock into his movement.

Even so, the smoke from blast would make it harder to find his way back to Kenobi.

With the lightsabre safely clipped, Cody found cover in a thin stand of trees, and surveyed the battle. This area of the planet was mostly grassland and parkland, dried out and burnt by blaster fire. The advance squadron of the 212th had spread out — Waxer and Boil led their respective sections on the flank, funnelling the droid forces towards the empty riverbed some clicks ahead, while Cody and the General took the middle. Or had taken the middle, until the Seppies had set off some massive series of explosives, just a few minutes past.

The clankers manning the tanks seemed finally to have locked on, with a heavy cannon bolt sending Cody back into the fray, ducking down to hide in the dust clouds.

Now was not the time to panic. Yes — the General was a standing, leaping, somersaulting duck, wherever he was, and the front ranks had collapsed, but panicking now assumed it couldn't get worse.

Besides, he trusted his lieutenants, for all that they bickered with each other. Somehow, they both seemed to understand what the other was doing at any given time, and what needed to be done. Very, very useful when the dust was thick in the air and the comm lines were jammed.

Cody worked forward slowly, sticking to patches of cover, waiting for the rest of the troops to catch up with him and the General — it shouldn't take too long. Until then, Waxer and Boil could handle themselves.

Some sets of brothers were like that. Even closer than owns. There wasn't even a clone term for it, but to Cody it felt something like the Force the Jedi used. Something that ran deeper than just shared genetics or shared experiences.

He'd started to feel something like it with Rex, but they'd been separated too often lately for him to really have a grip on it. For now, own was what he'd have to use.

Suddenly, a stinging pain flashed through him. Blaster bolt, near the edge of an armour plate. Kriff's sake—

It spread, too, weighing him down, making his movements hesitant, uneven. The only reason he was still alive was because of the haze — and because the General needed his weapon back.

He was out of ideas.

He missed Rex.

But — and here he clamped down on the thoughts, letting training take over — that wasn't of concern right now. The 501st was on its way with reinforcements, but for now and for a few days the 212th was alone.

Without a General, it wouldn't be efficient for too much longer.

The tell-tale thunder of boots on the ground, working its way up through his joints, told him that the rest of the centre guard were here. Thank Force.

Cody launched himself forward, still searching for Kenobi and the distinctive glare of the lightsabre, when he checked himself. Stupid! The lightsabre was here, with him — the General was elsewhere.

"Don't risk random fire!" he shouted, signalling the instructions with the clone hand-signs, "Targeted shooting and droid poppers only, until I give the word."

He could practically sense the grumbling from the men, and tightened his grip on the blaster. Signalling a few troopers, Cody pushed forward, sticking to the taller clumps of grass and few trees or rocks, trying to spot the company's NCOs and specialized units. Without comm lines, this was going to be a hell of a lot harder.

"Dell! Get the wounded back behind our lines. Turner! Cover him."

He kept running. The clone with the stylized blades of grass painted on his helmet, and one with heavily modified armour watching for enemies, moved in sync. Most days a brother could pick another out of a crowd by his movements, but sometimes the painted signs helped.

An explosion ahead caught Cody's eye — there — the General was holding his own with a blaster, but his face and awkward stance marked him as a Jedi.

"Brine!" Cody turned to the trooper at his left. "Find somewhere clear of interference, and tell Boil to fall back in with the General's squad. They're going to need it!"

"Sir! Do you need cover?"

"Thank you, but I'll get Opt to do that. Just get the message to Boil."

"Yessir!"

Without stopping to take on the approaching wave, Cody held his blaster up, driving through a couple of staggering battle droids. Their eye sensors were more sensitive to light than colour, so the firing and the dust distracted them. They aimed more at the lasers than the clones.

These lines were holding, but up ahead, the General was more or less alone. The clones he'd been covering had retreated, according to protocol, but he hadn't — instead, he seemed to have taken out a tank, using it for cover. Typical Jedi. Didn't even have his lightsabre.

"Opt!" he called, signalling the clone to his right. "I'm going to need some cover."

"Yes, Captain."

Opt stuck by him as he peeled off to the side, leaving the rest of the men to take the droids head-on.

"I'm going in to get the Jedi."

Cody didn't pause to look around — Opt was a crack shot; he'd know the best location to set up camp when they got close.

"But sir!"

"But what?"

"He can handle himself."

Cody rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that no one would see. Opt was a good soldier, but a special one.

"Not without his lightsabre he can't!"

He thought Opt mumbled something in reply, but it wasn't important.

Now, they far were out in front of the lines, zigzagging their way through. They'd been trained for this.

1. Kill the biggest droid you can.

A handful of B-1s would have to do, for now. They went down like train before a scythe.

2. Use the shell for cover.

Crouching as they fell, Cody let loose a few rounds, counting on the visual interference as optic cables saw both droid and clone in one.

3. Shoot up to confuse the smaller ones, then tear through them.

Simple enough. The Separatist lines were thin here, thanks to the General.

4. Hope that Opt can still shoot like he did last time.

Before Cody could react to the creak of metal, the droid running in from 8 o'clock went down. Then the one from 2 — yes, Opt still deserved the crosshairs on his shoulder.

Finally, break through to the General—

"General! Catch!"

Throw the lightsabre, and skid to a halt back-to-back with the Jedi.

5. Achieve the objective.

"Thank you, Cody!"

He skidded to a halt at the General's side, once the man had taken care of the droids surrounding him. For some reason, he was grinning — not just the odd half-smile he wore like a bucket, but a broad one. He hefted the sabre, as if relishing the feel of it in his hand.

"So much better than a blaster, if you'll pardon me."

Cody could only nod in reply, before hoisting his blaster to his shoulder.

Time for Rex's addition: 6. Get the kriff out of there.

The lines of shorthand ran through Cody's mind, and he signalled a retreat back into their lines. Even a Jedi would have to be tired, after all this; this one was human, after all.

"No — Captain, I'm afraid I have more work to do. Can you handle the troops?"

Damn Jedi.

"Of course, sir."

"Very well."

Time to go.

Cover the General as he rips into enemy lines. Get Opt on the now-blinking (thank you, Wires) comlink and tell him to regroup, and cover the wounded. Wait for Boil's reinforcements. Take command from him and Waxer. Leave them to their one-sided arguing. Berate the General when he finally rejoins the group, looking far too fresh for someone just out of a firefight.

"Sir." Cody stepped forward, turned halfway between the troops and the General, leaning in to be heard. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Permission granted," gasped the General, too out of breath to say much more.

"One Jedi is worth a hundred clones. If you lose your lightsabre again, we'll all be in trouble."

It was improper, but Cody's sheer fatigue made it hard to mince words. Kenobi's stunt could have gotten more than a few good men killed, for a moment's lack of foresight. Jedi were supposed to be better than this!

"I can't argue with that logic, Captain," Kenobi answered, after a brief pause, "A Jedi is no more, and no less valuable than a clone."

"You are to the Republic," Cody said shortly.

"I'll argue about that later, Cody."

"I have no doubt you will, sir."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes, as the troops around them started to march forward. He was slowly picking up the crisp sounds of a Coruscanti accent.

…

Cody knocked three times on the General's door. As usual, a sly answer came back.

"It's open, Cody. It usually is, if you ever want to drop by."

"Sir."

Once he was inside the small room — the Negotiator's quarters were bare even compared to the central barracks — Cody stood straight, arms folded behind his back, at ease. Not that there was much room to do so.

"General. Captain Rex just contacted me with news."

"Very well, Cody, you my go ahead."

"Yes, sir. General Skywalker and Commander Tano are cleaning up the last few wounded, and should be done within a few clicks. The Separatist base is empty. All combat droids have fled or been destroyed, and tactical droids have self-destructed."

There was nothing extraordinary in the news — just a rote read-off of the situation, so the General was better prepared to give the 212th's next order.

For some reason, though, Cody noticed he was smiling. He smiled often. Still, he had no reason to be, unlike Cody — Kenobi hadn't heard Rex's tired voice on the other end of the holo, or seen him flash a grin when he mentioned the trouble his Jedi had gotten into today.

So here Cody was, still with the warm afterglow in his chest of seeing an old friend after too many rotations, watching Kenobi's eyes start to crinkle at the edges as he scribbled down the notes. No — it could have been just a squint, or the same old half-smile.

"Wonderful."

The General's voice was quiet, coming from far away. No — it was at a moderate volume, and it was Cody who could only nod in reply.

"That should make our job far easier," Kenobi continued, "If Anakin's been paying attention — is there anything else, Captain?"

Cody shook his head, speaking automatically as his breath froze in his lungs. "Not from Rex. General Skywalker will probably contact you soon."

"Thank you, Cody."

What was that look? The smile that wasn't a smile, and the body language that all Cody's CC courses hadn't covered. The eyes that met his—

"…but I was asking you."

The words touched Cody gently, then spiralled in to shock his core.

The General had turned his chair around to face him, in what little room there was between them, and wasn't just soot and dust that made his eyes look sunken — he was tired, and his words came slowly.

He did not look away.

"It's — there's nothing, sir," Cody murmured.

"Very well."

The silence that descended was not uncomfortable.

"Is there anything you need me to tell the men?" Cody found himself saying, words bubbling up to try and make something change in this stillness. "We're treating the wounded and compiling data at the moment, but if you need any assistance…"

Then, he let the words trail off, wondering if he should not have broken the moment.

It was almost tempting to let it stay there. Nothing to explain, or be explained.

No. He was getting to used to this informality. He was a Captain. He followed protocol.

He paid attention to his superior officer.

The General looked sad. Turning in on himself, like Cody had see Rex do after a training mission gone wrong.

He was sad, then, though the losses had been minimal. It was just Kin and Buzz, and Rake, and Ergo, and Dam, Wary, Halo, Gorse.

They'd been good brothers. Cody knew them. He'd shed tears. Even now, he felt them weighing down on him. But the clones were trained for this as well — he'd write their names down, pin their last letters up on the bulletin board, and be happy that they went without regrets. Everything a brother ever wanted to say but couldn't, he wrote down, to keep things from getting messy.

Did the General know that?

Cody didn't say anything. Each emotion that drifted past was as difficult to grasp as the last. Why? Why he paying attention to that? Why did he wonder what the General was thinking? Why did the General look at him like that?

Almost—

"Cody, you know General Skywalker was my former padawan."

"Yes, sir."

—almost like he looked at Rex.

Kenobi stood up. His eyes never left Cody's.

"He was a handful. When I gave him his lightsabre, I told him it was his life. It's a lesson my Master handed down to me, and that he has handed down to his own padawan."

Cody felt that this was not the right time to say something.

"It's true, you know. A Jedi with a blaster has little more skill than a clone…"

As he said it, Kenobi winced at his own words.

"No — I'm sorry, Cody, that was cruel."

"No offence taken, sir."

"What I mean is —"

And here, a hand rested lightly on his shoulder as Kenobi's smile stretched thin.

"Thank you, Cody."

The frantic search for something good to say.

"You said, sir."

Kenobi chuckled. "Very good, Cody. You might learn humour yet."

So, mild insults were acceptable for this particular situation. He'd have to remember that.

"Not if you have anything to do with it, sir."

That said, the protective layer of rules and protocol around Cody's mind had thinned too much. Even in the middle of the night, with a talkative General.

"Ve-ry funny."

Kenobi had stepped back, arms crossed in their usual position as he grinned.

"Thank you, sir," Cody replied, genuinely.

Rex would roll his eyes, after so long with Skywalker and Tano, but he really was happy to have made it this far through the conversational minefield.

Suddenly, though, the sad smile came across the General's face again.

"Cody, do you ever wonder what you would do, if there was no war?"

…and just when he thought he'd gotten the hang of it, Obi-Wan pulled out some new weapon, slim and polished from his infinite inventory, to dig at Cody's heart.

I don't know, he almost answered truthfully. "Sometimes, sir."

This seemed to cheer him up, if that was the word — at least, he now glanced away, talking more to himself than anyone else.

"I do, too."

And now, the General who never shut up seemed to be at a loss for words, settling instead for Cody's favourite standby: the business of running an army. It was all they should have been talking about, a Jedi and a clone.

"I imagine your troops will be needing some direction, now."

Cody almost wanted this to continue, even though he scrabbled now for something to say.

"They're good men, General. They'll be fine on their own."

"Unlike me, I guess."

Kenobi chuckled as he said it, but did not meet his eyes.

Then, he did, and smiled that odd half-smile again.

"Good night, Cody."

Cody nodded.

"Good night, sir."

#somehow this posted 3 times to ao3 #so i figured i may as well post it here #codywan #kelsey rambles

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deafeninggentlemennerd-blog · 7 years

Text

The 5 Finest Manicure Kits.

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Apomorphine subcutaneous infusion is also an efficient option for patients with extreme fluctuations improperly regulated by oral treatment 33 Apomorphine mixture is frequently limited by the advancement of skin response at the site of injections after few years of treatment. The U.S. Military privately pollutes the Norfolk Naval Supply Facility in Virginia and also Washington, D.C.'s National Flight terminal with a pressure of germs picked because African-Americans were believed to be extra susceptible to it than Caucasians. There is solid evidence from the laboratory and also human trials that essences of Polypodium leucotomos - Heliocare's energetic ingredient - can provide a minimum of some sun defense, states Dr. Salvador Gonzalez, a dermatology researcher at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer cells Center in New York City who has co-authored a minimum of 17 research studies on the plant. This thick, creamy formula is as decadent as the gold tube which it comes in. A trio of ceramides leaves skin looking significantly smoother as soon as possible, and with significantly less lines after simply 2 weeks of nightly cleaning. If that's an overstatement, I could say this with utter certainty - it made my skin feel no much better or even worse compared to the ₤ 27 alternative I keep in my bathroom cupboard. Your skin is cleaned up and percentages of botulinum toxic substance are injected right into the muscular tissues of the face to be dealt with. Prescription crease creams including vitamin A by-products could cause skin irritation, burning, inflammation, itching as well as dryness and also raise your skin's level of sensitivity to the sunlight. The extensive moisturiser quickly eases any kind of type of distress and soreness and takes place to strengthen the skin's natural obstacle. A lot of the substances that trigger irritability to the eyelids are transferred by the hands, and because the skin in this field is so thin, it is very important to exercise caution and also stay clear of touching the eyes with unwashed hands. As well as by that he suggests locating the perfect flowers" to keep in his storage and also care for. Yet memories from his past as well as the stress of today take it's toll and Clover need to work also more challenging to maintain the family, or will certainly one incorrect step risk every little thing he's worked so hard to maintain a key. Products include all-natural forms of vitamin A (retinol, retinaldehyde) and chemicals connected to vitamin A callled retinoids (tretinoin, tazarotene).. This was a health spa in a container, a charging skin reward that left testers glowing inside and out.

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crosbyru-blog · 6 years

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Snowball express: Ford Fiesta ST vs. Cortina D'Ampezzo

Cortina d’Ampezzo, in the heart of the Dolomites, hosted the 1956 Winter Olympics When Ford named a car after a Winter Olympics place, nobody envisioned an F1 champion driving it down a bobsleigh run. But that is what happened. We revisit the website 55 years on Former world champion Jim Clark says it is the most exciting game he has ever tackled. But if you have any doubts, he urges”a Cortina, plenty of nerve, and airplane tickets to Italy for you — and your doctor.” You can read about this audacious (read foolhardy) event at the bottom of this page. Fifty-five years on, we are taking one of Ford’s current stars, the appropriately game Ford Fiesta ST, to revisit the site of the historical madness. Following a night-time handover at Treviso Airport, our eager little three-door ST lbs up the empty Autostrada before climbing deep into the Dolomites to the chic ski resort of Cortina d’Ampezzo, home of the 1956 Winter Olympics and regional epicentre for la dolce vita. There’s a particular excitement to coming somewhere scenic in the dark, and we bed down in a hotel with all the city’s landmark bell tower in anticipation of what sunrise will reveal. And rightly so. The next day, drifting wisps of mist can not hide the huge, broken crags of limestone which cradle the Ampezzo Valley, their haywire structures jutting at all angles, barely softened by January’s snow. At the base of the Tofane range on the north edge of town, we meet Gianfranco Rezzadore, president of Bob Club Cortina and former Italian international bobsleigh driver. Our rendezvous is Bob Bar, a tiny wooden shack and neighborhood hang-out nestled beside the Eugenio Monti bob track’s finish. Founded almost a century ago, the course has been 1700 metres long by the 1956 Winter Games, with 16 turns and a 152m vertical fall. Unchanged by 1964, it was only wide enough to accommodate a Ford Cortina. The track has been shortened, narrowed and artificially refrigerated from 1979 (until then, ice and snow were hand-packed) but closed in 2008. He says bobs used to hit 80mph on track, and that centrifugal forces pushed 4g through his spine on the’Cristallo’ hairpin:”I was taller.” Rezzadore’s sceptical that the Ford Cortinas attained the 50mph-plus maintained from the newsreel, but the risks were quite real. Back then, the huge, banked corners — easily double my height — had no flat safety barriers above them. At times, the cars ran almost vertically along what were walls of death: sleighs have abandoned this route with fatal consequences, including throughout the filming of For Your Eyes Only in 1981. Turning to look back down, it disturbs me how anyone — let alone a valuable sporting professional — might have driven an unmodified, carburetted family saloon with woolly steering, rear cart springs and 1960s tyre compounds down in the snow. Different times indeed. This is where group photographs were shot, Clark embellishing his race overalls and iconic two-tone lid with a fetching cable-knit sweater, before the cars took to the icy helter-skelter. With the straights now barely wide enough for a bobsleigh, we’ll enjoy no such mischief — but we have another plan to receive our alpine thrills while we’re here. You see, Cortina was a haven for racing drivers long before Clark et al arrived. Most famously, the Coppa d’Oro delle Dolomiti road race was based in the town each July for 10 post-war years along a 189- mile mountain route. The thought of period sports cars from Alfa Romeo, Lancia, Maserati and Ferrari thrashing between those peaks is spine-tingling. Nowadays, regularity rallies are the next best thing, and we are going to trace the very best bit of this WinteRace — an annual, snow-bound classic car rally whose seventh edition kicks off from Cortina this Friday. Its organisers point us towards part of the route that strings together a series of mountain passes to the west. Soon after dawn the next day, we burble out of town onto a smooth, rising back street towards the first summit at Passo di Giau. We are immediately met with hairpins — lots of them. Between corners, the Fiesta’s 197bhp, 1.5-litre blown triple supplies ample thrust. Such will be the incline, short straights and gearing which I’m mostly riding second, the engine climbing from 2000rpm to 6000rpm and back without complaint nor more than fleeting inductive hesitation. When shifting is required, the short-throw gearbox activity is neat and doesn’t mind being rushed. I don’t really need the sharpened throttle, heightened mapping and bass-drum overrun of Sport mode, and Regular’s Faster steering feels more natural, so I stick with that. Turn-in is immediate, and while the sub-zero temperature and glistening asphalt stop our Performance Pack-equipped car from grapple-hooking round the corners as it might on a dry British B-road, the Quaife limited-slip differential at least puts paid to any ungainly front-end scrambling — instead, it gently and progressively runs wide until a throttle lift clips us back into line. Body control impresses also — at these moderate speeds, long-wave lumps are tidily parried and roll hardly registers. But grit soon starts pinging off the underside, and past the treeline hefty snowbanks flank the street and glassy strips of ice leach across it. The banks close in to leave barely a car’s width of blacktop as we nip beyond a vented snowplough that is spewing a suspended white arc down the mountainside. Moments later the road disappears, so it is steady with the throttle to keep momentum, then a little patch of black allows us add sufficient speed to crest the summit. Around here, it’s compulsory to have winter tyres or chains from November to April. Our car comes with the latter, so 2236m above sea level and with frost-tingled fingers (it is –5deg C), we’re reading how to attach our’Maggi Trak Auto’ snow chains to front tyres. In a pattern that gets swifter as the afternoon progresses, we hook them up and shuffle around to feel them out. From outside, the chains make the merry jangle of Saint Nick’s sleigh, but at the cabin the continuous rumble of graunching snow is underscored by a locomotive clickety-clack. Crucially, however, they supply the purchase the Fiesta should claw itself onwards. Before pressing on, we take a moment to drink in our location. The pass sits under sky-scraping Monte Nuvolau, and I can see zig-zagging footpaths from the scree that lead climbers into the foot of its perilous vertical faces. On the summit’s far side 339m above us is an eagle’s nest of a wooden hut out of 1883 — after a military appearance, it now welcomes daring climbers. Our route down is a perfect sequence of hairpins with barely a directly between and, as the snow clears within a few hundred metres, it’s off with the chains and upward with the speed. We carve down the mountain, past the first of countless ski areas and along frozen streams, then barely touch the valley floor and begin rising again. We join a wider road with fast sweepers that the Fiesta gobbles up before the Tarmac starts to writhe again. Subsident lumps and bumps don’t worry the chassis, while broken, frost-fissured stains of Tarmac reveal its company setup, though without undue resonance. Year-round trench warfare with this terrain defies contemplation. The road flits between clear straights and snowbound corners, so it is on with the chains again, the heavily cambered corners helping press us to the surface as we clamber on up. It’s blowing a gale as wind funnels through the 2239m summit’s saddle, so we don’t tarry. The snow thins on the descent, so we eliminate the wheel jewellery for another slalom whose switchbacks and kinks do not let up for three complete miles, plunging from windswept mountainside to sheltered forest. Trunk-shaped dents in the Armco denote the enduring timber trade; before the early 1900s tourism boom helped invent this road, wood was rather transported by the area’s numerous ice-blue rivers. Rising again to Passo Sella (2244m), we pause on a scenic hairpin so photographer Luc Lacey can capture the jagged skyline beyond. There aren’t any other cars, and there isn’t any sound but for the creaking Armco and a whirling snow devil whispering by. It is one of those moments to feel small. The pass itself is an ice-free up and down, then we barrel along the smooth, tree-lined Val Gardena road, skirting bizarre, precarious-looking rock formations so tall and so intense that I get dizzy peering up their walls. Winding upward again, we dive swiftly between second and third gears before cresting spectacular Passo Gardena at 2115m where, since the sunset turns peaks into molten lava, a few well-heeled skiers hitch a helicopter ride down the valley before the weather turns. Even with chains reinstalled, it’s tricky going, the road dipping and diving up to it spins. Approaching one particularly evil left-hander, the naked rear tyres try to overtake the fronts in front of a delicate dose of throttle straightens us out. Once below the snowline, we veer east again under a freezing, clear sky, the crescent moon peeping between peaks as we home in on the welcoming lights of Cortina. It has been a brilliant drive and, unlike our counterparts from 1964, we have maintained our borrowed Ford largely horizontal and completely undamaged. Mind you, there is one remaining Olympic bobsleigh track wide enough to drive a car down. We just need them to launch the Ford St Moritz. The 1964 Salute to Cortina Champions celebrated more than 200 aggressive wins in 26 countries for the humble Ford Cortina, launched just two decades before. Alongside Jim Clark, the area of 19 drivers included luminaries such as Colin Chapman, John Whitmore, Jack Sears, Vic Elford, Eric Jackson, neighborhood Olympic sledder Lino Zanettin and rate polymath Henry Taylor — a British bobsleigh team captain turned Formula 1 pilot turned Ford works saloon racer. Their challenge was to navigate a half-mile section of the Cortina d’Ampezzo bobsleigh track used for the 1956 Winter Olympics in a collection of two- and four-door Cortinas. The cars came in road-going GT trim, which meant an uprated, 78bhp version of the 1498cc Kent four-pot with a Cosworth camshaft and a kerb weight of 864kg — though some baited gravity by forcing four-up. As for the results, a Ford insider reported:”It was never designed to be competitive but rather a celebration of the Cortina’s successes. But, it quickly developed into a game between the race and rally drivers, with each side doing much more runs than initially envisaged. The Cortinas were absolutely bog-standard — with the result that the front suspension struts broke through the top mounts” Competitive spirits thus unsated, a snowball fight broke out, during which Clark slipped a disk in his back, causing him to wear a corset for the following South African Grand Prix (which he won). He really did want that doctor after all. Jim Clark: how Autocar remembered an F1 legend Driving Britain’s best streets in a Ford Fiesta ST Ford Fiesta ST review The post Snowball express: Ford Fiesta ST vs. Cortina D'Ampezzo appeared first on Auto Note Buyer - Sell Your Auto Notes For Cash. https://autonotebuyerinc.com/snowball-express-ford-fiesta-st-vs-cortina-dampezzo/

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inexcon · 6 years

Text

RSI Comm-Link: Brothers In Arms: Part One

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part One was published originally in Jump Point 3.5.

The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.

A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.

Empty like the dead heads-up display.

Empty just like it had been for weeks.

There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.

On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.

Sloppy.

Everyone was getting bored and careless.

Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.

“Hey, guys?”

“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.

“I’m cold.”

Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”

“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.

“Yeah?”

“Take your helmet off for a tick.”

“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”

“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”

Gavin sighed into his helmet before triggering his mic. “Come on, gang. I want comms dark. The miners on Oberon hired us to take care of their pirate problem. And the three of you chattering on an open channel won’t help us find them any faster.”

“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.

They were all tired and strung out from weeks of long hours and no action. But Walt was killing their morale by giving voice to that frustration. This whole thing — Rhedd Alert Security, abandoning smuggling to go clean, applying for Citizenship — was something they’d agreed to do together. Gavin and Walt. Brothers. Going legit and starting a business.

It seemed a good idea when they were dodging system alerts and dumping a fortune into forged tags. But some things don’t change, and Walt was the same old Walt — all talk and no follow through. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with some excuse to move on to clearer skies.

“What’s wrong, Boomer?”

“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”

Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.

Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”

“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”

“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”

“Jesus. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”

“I, uh . . . I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”

This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.

“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”

Gavin quickly studied the navsat console. The area looked empty other than the four of them, so whatever she’d found wasn’t showing up on any of his feeds. He smacked his helmet again in mute hope that the HUD would spring back to life.

“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”

“I’m not seeing you on . . . crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”

“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”

“Copy that.”

An Idris represented a fair chunk of creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.

“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”

“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer — Jesus!”

“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”

“Can’t shake him.”

The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.

“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around — Damn it.”

“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.

“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula — the big one.”

“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”

“On it.”

“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”

Walt was an incandescent streak ahead of him. The nearby space seemed deceptively empty without the visualizations that his HUD instrumentation would normally project. Only Oberon IV, looming beneath them, gave him any sense of perspective.

Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”

“Copy that.”

“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”

“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”

“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”

Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.

“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”

“Can’t shake him.”

“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”

A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325a vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.

Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.

“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”

He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.

And with them would go any hope of a profitable job. “Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”

“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”

“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”

“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.

“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”

The pirate pair turned nose to nose with Boomer. Their guns sparked twice, muzzles flashing, and Boomer’s Avenger bucked from the impact. Most of the starboard wing spun away in a blaze of erupting oxygen. The pirates flew straight through the floating wreckage and streaked away at full acceleration.

Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”

Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.

A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.

He let his hands fall away from the controls, closed his eyes and let his head slump backwards. His helmet struck the headrest with an audible clunk. Colored lights sprang up to swim in front of his closed eyes.

Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.

“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.

“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.

“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”

“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”

“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”

“I’ll deal with Dell.” Gavin rolled his shoulders and settled his hands back on the controls. “Put a call in to Oberon. Let them know we took care of their pest problem and that we’ll tow away the clever little base the pests were hiding in to block scans. Then get Jazza patched up. Assuming the pirate survived, the two of you can drop him off before towing the salvage home.”

“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”

“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”

“You’re the boss, little brother.”

Gavin pushed his family troubles to the back of his mind. Prioritize. First things first, take care of the crew. Get Boomer home. Repair the ships. Pay down some debt. He rattled off a painfully long list of critical next steps and one item kept rapidly, forcefully climbing its way to the top.

They really needed to get another job.

Walt beat the others back to the hangar. He matched rotation with Goss system’s Vista Landing and drifted along its length until he reached the Rhedd Alert hangar. He slowed and then stopped at three sets of wide double doors, each painted an alarming shade of red.

Hazard beacons floated in front of the first set of doors. Short bursts from tiny thrusters kept them in place a dozen meters out while a work crew applied high-pressure, ghost-grey paint over stencils of the Rhedd Alert logo.

Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.

Then the moment soured.

The hangar and support staff were dead weight around their necks. The painting crew and logo were all part of the lease agreement with the station, but they served as a pointed reminder of the permanence of the commitment. Walt gnawed at his bottom lip, uncomfortable with the weight of the obligation.

He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.

Success — legit success — meant they could leave the old routines behind, forever. No more hiding. No more flipping tags every couple weeks to stay ahead of the Advocacy. Starting a company and working toward Citizenship was a big deal, but at what price?

Employing folks and applying for Citizenship was fine, but it started to lose luster in a hurry if success meant getting someone killed. Walt had to make sure Gavin saw that. They were all tired, but this was too important to wait.

“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”

D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”

“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”

Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.

“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.

“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”

“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”

“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”

“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”

He was talking about procedures and performance. Two of their ships got shot up, Boomer wounded and Gavin was grumbling about tight flight formations. Walt stretched his fingers, willing them not to form fists. His brother tucked his helmet under one arm and stepped to the side to move around him.

“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”

He’d caught Gavin by surprise, but his younger brother was fast. Gavin slapped the hand from his shoulder, threw his helmet to the hangar deck and planted a two-handed shove of his own into Walt’s chest. “What’s your problem, Walt?”

The hangar grew quiet. A quick glance to either side showed the rest of the staff looking very hard for something productive to do, as far from the brothers as possible. Walt leaned in and hissed, “I’m trying to keep you from getting someone hurt. What’s the point of Rhedd Alert if we get everyone killed for one crappy job?”

“One crappy . . . ?” Gavin’s eyes were wide, showing white all around the edges. “You need to wake up, Walt. This was our only job. I got half the ships in the squad with parts falling off. I got Boomer freezing his junk off in nothing more than his flight suit. We can’t jump systems to hijack the next ship that comes along any more. This is what we signed up for, man.”

Walt was getting hot again. He knew he should walk away, but Gavin was still missing his point. “I know what I signed up for.” He knew that they had to make good on jobs, but why die trying just to pay the bill collectors? “And I remember why I signed up, too.”

Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“You, Gavin.”

“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”

Walt lowered his voice, getting right in Gavin’s face. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m here because you want this.” He jabbed a stiff finger into Gavin’s chest. “You want it for Dell. Because you’re afraid she’ll leave if you can’t pull it off.”

And then Gavin was on him.

They went down hard and Walt’s head cracked against the deck when they landed. Gavin was compact and built like a Sataball defenseman, but Walt had length and leverage. It was a dichotomy they had put to the test a hundred times since they were boys, with nearly uniform results. But Gavin just didn’t know when to give up.

The tussle was short and ugly. In seconds, Walt had one forearm jammed into the back of his brother’s neck, with the other propping himself up off the deck. Gavin’s face was pressed into the cold steel of the hangar floor.

Then the scuffed toe of a black work boot crunched down painfully on Walt’s fingers. His stranglehold on Gavin relaxed, and the smaller man started to squirm free. That was, at least, until the socketed head of a heavy wrench dropped on Gavin’s shoulder, pushing him back down, face first and flat onto the deck.

“Oomph.”

“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”

Walt winced, gritting his teeth as she ground his fingers against the steel deck. He craned his neck around to look at her. D’lilah’s boots were cinched tight by pink laces with a white skull-and-crossbones pattern stitched into them. She wore worn, canvas coveralls that hugged strong legs, pockets bulging with tools and spare parts. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung over one shoulder, and she’d dyed the last couple inches a bright, electric blue. The color was new since they’d left for Oberon. It was a playful accent that wasn’t echoed in the angry blue of her eyes.

“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”

Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”

“Who’s got him?”

“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.

“Well then.” She lifted her foot and Walt yanked his hand back to rub at aching knuckles. He glared at her, as sour a look as he could manage while kneeling on the deck. Her smile feigned a sweetness that did nothing to thaw the frozen fury in her eyes. “I’ll fetch the buggy. If you two are done snuggling, it sounds like my dad has a date with the techs in the med center.”

Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.

Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”

“Think we could outrun her?”

“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”

“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”

Several systems away, on a station much larger and better appointed than Vista Landing, Morgan Brock scowled at a set of numbers on her mobiGlas. She lifted her eyes, shifting her gaze over the top edge of the screen to stare at Riebeld. The salesman sprawled casually in what Brock knew to be an uncomfortable chair. She made sure that it was uncomfortable, so no one felt confident when sitting opposite her desk.

Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.

She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”

“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”

“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”

“I know you will.”

It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”

“Because I know that you’re not going to let principle stand in the way of profit.” His toothy grin was bright enough to deflect lasers. She was used to predatory smiles from men, but with men like Riebeld, it only meant there was money on the line. His mobiGlas chirped beside them. Riebeld had an incoming call.

He ignored it.

She waited for the incoming alert to stop.

It did.

“You get twelve,” she said. “But anyone who helps bring it in gets paid out of your cut, not mine. And I want three options for one-year extensions. Not one. Bring it to me with three or I won’t sign it.”

“Done.”

“Fine. Now get out.”

He did and Brock leaned back in her chair. She was going to need more ships. Riebeld would get the extensions or he wouldn’t. They gave him something to work toward, and he’d get sloppy if he didn’t have a challenge.

Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though – you always wanted one in your stable.

There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.

“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”

“What?”

“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”

“Why the hell would they do that?” Escorting UEE scientists to the research facilities in Tyrol wasn’t their biggest job, but she’d put a lot of work into it. They’d spent years clearing the shipping lanes in the Charon system — lucrative years, admittedly — and now the missions were pure profit and promised future growth.

“I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently they are trying to push low-risk contract work out to local companies. Some brainiac in accounting identified the Tyrol run as a candidate and boom, Major Greely pulled the contract.”

“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”

“Already got it covered.”

“And Riebeld?”

“Yeah?”

“Find me the name of that accountant.”

It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.

Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.

Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.

The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.

Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.

The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.

“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.

“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”

“Everything go okay?”

“Absolutely.” He injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”

Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”

“Jesus, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”

“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”

“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss system.”

“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”

“Happy to.”

“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? Particularly when they’re camped out in an unclaimed system. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”

“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”

“I might have something — not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”

Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.

“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”

“What’s the job?” Walt asked.

“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”

“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”

“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”

“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”

“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”

“So what’s the job?”

“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”

“That’s it?” Gavin asked.

“Yup. That’s it.”

Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”

“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”

Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.

“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”

“I, uh listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”

This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.

“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”

“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”

“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian System. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”

“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many —”

“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”

“Molybdenum.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”

“Fellas . . . hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime . . . about my buddy with the moon mine?”

Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.

“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”

“Probably. Why?”

“This moon . . . Barry, where is it?”

“Oberon VI, why?”

Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.

“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”

“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.

“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”

“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”

“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”

Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”

“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”

“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.

Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

#RSI.CommLink.Repost

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starcitizenprivateer · 6 years

Text

Brothers In Arms: Part One

Writer’s Note: Brothers In Arms: Part One was published originally in Jump Point 3.5.

A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.

Empty like the dead heads-up display.

Empty just like it had been for weeks.

There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.

On the navsat, the other three members of Rhedd Alert Security fanned out to either side. His brother Walt was locked into position directly to port. Jazza and Boomer were painfully out of position.

Sloppy.

Everyone was getting bored and careless.

Boomer was the first to break radio silence this time.

“Hey, guys?”

“What’s up, Boomer?” Walt was the first to respond.

“I’m cold.”

Jazza didn’t follow orders better than any of the others, and her banter had the comfortable cadence of friendly rivalry. “Then put on a sweater.”

“Hey, Jazz?” Boomer fired back at her.

“Yeah?”

“Take your helmet off for a tick.”

“Why’s that, old man? You want a kiss?”

“Nope. I’m hoping you get sucked out and die when I shoot a hole through your cockpit.”

“I’m starting to hate this system,” Walt muttered.

“What’s wrong, Boomer?”

“Cold, Gavin. Think the heat’s out.”

Wonderful. Something else to fix. Maybe Walt wouldn’t be the first to quit after all. Dell would leave if Gavin let her father freeze to death over this rock.

Jazza barked a laugh, “Yep. That sounds about right for this outfit.”

“Jazza, will you shut up already? Which part are you having trouble with? Comms or dark?”

“Yes sir, Big Boss Man.”

“Jesus. I got more respect from you guys when we were criminals. Boomer, by all the Banu gods, why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble before we left the hangar?”

“I, uh . . . I figured to keep quiet until after the mission. Until we got paid, you know?”

This should have been a quick in and out job. But after weeks of fruitless hunting, even if they eventually drove off the pirates, the job would be a net loss.

“Hey, guys?” Jazza was really starting to get on his nerves. He told her as much. “Shut your hole, Gavin. I just wanted to let you know I found something.”

“It’s a hull,” Jazza said. “Big one. Looks like a stripped Idris. Looks dead.”

“I’m not seeing you on . . . crap,” Walt said. “There you are. How’d you get way the hell out there?”

“Easy, folks,” Gavin said. “Boomer? You head toward Jazza. Walt and I will hold position.”

“Copy that.”

An Idris represented a fair chunk of creds as salvage. Strange that no one had claimed it. They were in Oberon to chase off pirates, but a little scrap job on the side was a welcome bonus.

“Jazza,” Gavin said, “I’ve got nothing near you on sensors. You think it’s just some floating junk?”

“I think so,” she spoke slowly, uncertain. “I thought I saw a heat trace, but I’m not seeing it now. Going in for a closer — Jesus!”

“Jazz,” Boomer’s voice was flat. The old man was all business. “Break right, I’ll pull this one off you and lead them back to the boys.”

“Can’t shake him.”

The navsat showed three new ships. A 325a with scrambled tags closed in on Jazza. Walt streaked past, already accelerating toward the fray, and Gavin turned to follow.

“Pull up hard,” Boomer said. “Bring him back around — Damn it.”

“Talk to us, Boomer,” Walt said.

“Jazza took a big hit. These guys are each sporting a Tarantula — the big one.”

“Hold tight,” Gavin said. “We’re nearly there. Walt, my HUD’s out. I need visual to fight, can you engage?”

“On it.”

“Hold on, Boomer. We’re coming.”

Walt’s voice crackled into the oppressive silence. “Boomer. I’m coming in low at your three o’clock.”

“Copy that.”

“I’m going to strafe with the repeaters to get their attention. You give that 325 a broadside he can’t resist. I’ll shove a missile somewhere the sun don’t shine.”

“Hurry, Walt. I’m too old for a three-on-one.”

“On you in five. Four. Three. Break now!”

Up ahead, razor thin beams of red slashed across space. The lasers streaked straight and then abruptly fanned out as Walt yawed around a pirate ship.

“Boomer!” Walt’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I can’t take a missile shot with you between us.”

“Can’t shake him.”

“Well that Tarantula is going to shake you plenty if you don’t.”

A missile streaked toward one of the pirate ships. Gavin saw a stuttering series of small flashes inside the cockpit, then the 325a vented a blazing ball of burning oxygen and went dark.

Gavin dropped into the swirling tangle of ships and added his own laser fire to the melee. Rippling blossoms of dispersed energy glowed against a pirate’s shields.

“That’s done it,” Walt said, “they’re gonna run.”

He was right. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining pirates turned together and accelerated past Jazza’s drifting ship.

And with them would go any hope of a profitable job. “Pen them in and stitch them up, guys.”

“Screw that,” Walt pulled up, quickly falling behind. “Let them run. They won’t operate here once we steal their hideout. We win, Gav.”

“This job won’t even cover our fuel costs, Walt. We need those ships.”

“I got ’em.” Boomer yawed around to pin the fleeing ships between them.

“Boomer,” Walt cried, “don’t!”

Gavin cursed and slowed. Without his HUD, the fleeing pirates quickly faded from view. “Boomer? Talk to me, buddy.”

Boomer’s Avenger drifted slowly away toward the black. Then it burped, venting air and Boomer’s survival suit out into open space.

A new, flashing red icon reflected up and off the canopy of Gavin’s cockpit. He didn’t have to check the console to know it was Boomer’s recovery beacon.

Resigned, he cracked one heavy lid to peek out at the intruding light source. His HUD had decided to grace him with a reappearance.

“What. The hell. Was that?” Walt pronounced his words biting precision.

“Tarantula GT-870 Mk3,” Gavin recited in detail.

“I know about the damn guns, Gavin. I mean sending Boomer after them. We won. We had them on the run.”

“These ships don’t repair themselves, Walt. Maybe you haven’t done the math, but we’re broke. We need the salvage.”

“Salvage is nice, but Dell is going to kill you if Boomer is hurt again.”

“Got it,” Walt’s voice was caustic, “money first. Good job keeping our priorities straight”

“Damn it, Walt. Will you stow the lip for two minutes so we can pack up and get everyone home.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll get Boomer. Can you please go see if you can get Jazza back up and running?”

“You’re the boss, little brother.”

They really needed to get another job.

Walt drew in a proud breath that pressed his chest against the confines of his flight suit. It looked cool having their name up in big letters on the side of the complex.

Then the moment soured.

He tried to put the sense of buyer’s remorse aside, but it sat heavy and rekindled his anger at Gavin. His brother wanted this company so much. Dell did, too.

“Knock knock, Dell,” Walt said. “Open up.”

D’lilah’s voice came over the comm immediately. She’d been waiting. “Bay 3, Walt. And mind the paint crew.”

“I see ’em. Glad to be home, Dell.”

Gavin touched down last, and Walt was waiting at the foot of the ladder when his brother slid down to the deck.

“Don’t start with me,” were the first words out of Gavin’s mouth.

“Listen,” Walt said, “Maybe I was out of line to second guess you during a fight, but we need to talk about what happened out there.”

“We won, okay? Right now I need to get Boomer to the med techs, and then contact Barry about another job.”

“Barry got us this job, Gav. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it really didn’t end so well.”

“We got sucker-punched by some thugs. That’s what happens when you get sloppy.”

“Damn it, Gavin,” Walt grabbed the shorter man’s shoulder and pressed him back against the ladder. “Would you slow down for two seconds?”

Gavin stepped in again. Closer. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“You, Gavin.”

“So everything’s my fault? Because I made you join up.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know I screwed up the bid on this job. I should have priced it higher. But guess what? I didn’t. And this is all we had.”

And then Gavin was on him.

“Oomph.”

“Now, now, boys,” Dell said. “What are the neighbors gonna think?”

“Oh. Hey there, Dell.” Walt struggled to keep a pinched note of pain from his voice. “Hello to you, too.”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where my dad is, you’re going to be working your stick left-handed.”

Gavin answered her. “Ease up, Dell.”

“Who’s got him?”

“I do.” Gavin nodded back toward his ship.

Dell swung the wrench up to rest over one shoulder, spun on the balls of her feet, and strode away.

Gavin rolled over onto his back with a groan. “That woman is going to kill us one of these days.”

“Think we could outrun her?”

“You, maybe. There’s not a dark enough hole in the ’verse for me to hide.”

“Yeah, well,” Walt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, “that’s your own damn fault for marrying her.”

Riebeld somehow pulled it off, though. It was that braggadocio that made him such a good breadwinner for her company. Irritating, yes. But good for business.

She powered down the mobiGlas. “The net profits on this estimate are based off a twelve percent commission.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think we both know that your negotiated commission is ten, Riebeld.”

“And I think we also both know that this job could double the size of the company within two years.” He sat forward then and leaned on her desk. “I want twelve if I bring it in.”

“And you think I’m going to just give it to you?”

“I know you will.”

It was her turn to lean forward. It put her too close to him, and he should have backed off. He didn’t. “And why,” she asked, “is that?”

He ignored it.

She waited for the incoming alert to stop.

It did.

“Done.”

“Fine. Now get out.”

Good sales guys were like racehorses, high maintenance and temperamental. Most days, they were nothing more than a pain in the ass. Come race day, though – you always wanted one in your stable.

There was a quick knock on her door. Riebeld didn’t wait for her to answer before he shoved his head in.

“I won’t budge on the options, Riebeld. I want three or no deal.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not that. Navy SysCom just put our Tyrol contract up for rebid.”

“What?”

“Yeah. We’re allowed to rebid, but they’re putting it out for open competition.”

“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”

“Already got it covered.”

“And Riebeld?”

“Yeah?”

“Find me the name of that accountant.”

The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.

“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”

“Everything go okay?”

Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”

“Jesus, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”

“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss system.”

“Happy to.”

“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”

“I might have something — not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”

Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.

“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”

“What’s the job?” Walt asked.

“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”

“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”

“So what’s the job?”

“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”

“That’s it?” Gavin asked.

“Yup. That’s it.”

Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”

Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.

“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”

“I, uh listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”

This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.

“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”

“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”

“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many —”

“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”

“Molybdenum.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”

“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff came out of Bacchus?”

“Probably. Why?”

“This moon . . . Barry, where is it?”

“Oberon VI, why?”

Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.

“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”

“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.

“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”

“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”

“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”

Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”

“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”

Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

#star citizen #squadron 42

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