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TITLE: Fragments of Spirit, Part 1
AUTHOR: Ruth Colborne
TYPE: Story
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMERS: *Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict is under copyright
by Tribune Entertainment Company. The show is produced by Roddenberry/Kirshner
Productions. They are used without permission. No infringement is intended.
SPOILERS: None
NOTES: A new experimental form of implant is assigned to a heretofore unknown
Taelon.
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Fragments of Spirit: Part 1 By: Ruth Colbourne <ruthc@geocities.com> There was no sound quite so mournful as the music of bagpipes. Thu'ul let the slow, gentle strains of a lone piper wash over his being. Such beauty and sadness affected him deeply. He felt his body sway in time to the music, like the piper's bag had become his heartbeat, and the music his living harmonic. Thu'ul looked toward the night sky, drinking in the brilliance of its stars. He lowered his gaze to the cityscape before him. The lights of Baltimore were like miniature reflections of those heavenly bodies. They lit up the night with multicolored radiance, a radiance which was picked up on the surface of the harbor. Thu'ul stepped to the pier's edge and watched the dancing motion of the water. What secrets did these waters possess? What wisdom could they impart if only their music could be deciphered? At the horizon he could scarce tell the difference between sea and sky. It was like gazing into the face of infinity. This moment was so perfect! Pity it could not last forever. With a sigh of regret, Thu'ul turned away from the ocean and searched among the knots of people crowding through The Inner Harbor. He ignored the curious stares of humans who passed him by. Why they stared fascinated him, however. It seemed impossible given all the recent publicity that they had never before seen a Taelon. He was not, he acknowledged wryly, a prime example of his race. Perhaps a bit too thin; certainly a touch too short, but nothing garish. It was not as though his form had suddenly sprouted hair. His thoughts turned to the meeting ahead. What in the universe could be going on? He was a scholar, a historian. For three standard Earth years he had quietly worked in obscurity cataloging human knowledge. It was a relatively minor task, and a thankless one. But Thu'ul had come to like it. Humans were primitive, violent beings. Their technology had grown more slowly than other species, and they had an exaggerated sense of their own importance. Nevertheless, they had a fascinating history filled with passions, hardships and triumph. These creatures could display all the initiative of an amoeba for a thousand years, and in a single moment of crisis be transformed. If any virtue truly could be called human, it was that as conditions worsened, they grew stronger. He'd tried to explain his conclusions the Synod. In truth, only Da'an had listened. The rest saw only what they wished to see. Now Zo'or suddenly wanted a Companion to tour with the Strand Hill Exhibit. And he had been selected to fill this position. By all the forces! What a ridiculous idea! On top of that, Zo'or had assigned him a protector. As if he needed one. He was too insignificant for anyone to wish to hurt. The Resistance would only provide fuel for reprisals by eliminating a minor figure such as he, and Jonathan Doors had shown himself too resourceful to commit such an error. His words had gone unheeded, a fact which had only served to make him more suspicious of Zo'or's intentions. And so, here he was awaiting the arrival of Implant Ronald Sandoval and his new protector. Would that he had remained a nobody for the remainder of his tenure on Earth. Getting involved in the current power struggle taking place between Zo'or and Da'an was the very last thing he desired. Yet, he sensed that he was about to become a pawn in that struggle. Zo'or never took a personal interest in anyone unless that person could be useful. As that particular Taelon was not inhibited by moral virtue or sentiment, his methods of using tended to be cruel. Armed with that knowledge, Thu'ul had insisted tonight's meeting be conducted in public. If Zo'or was acting with his usual subtlety, witnesses were essential. There they were. Thu'ul recognized the Agent Sandoval's dark features. He was supposed to be one of Da'an's protectors. However, rumor had it that he was now firmly ensconced in Zo'or's sphere of influence. Considering that the Implant usually wore a face that would sour fresh milk, Thu'ul thought it a happy sort of alliance. Sandoval seemed tense this evening. Thu'ul watched the gray-suited implant's head dart back and forth, saw the quick, jerky motion with which he walked. 'Stress kills, Mr. Sandoval.' He thought remembering one of the many slogans humans wore on their clothing. There had been a human at the harbor wearing a t-shirt with that saying. Perhaps Zo'or should purchase one for his protector. It might just extend the Implant's life. Behind and to the left of Sandoval was a taller human. That man walked with long, smooth strides. He wore a hat which was unmistakably a Stetson, and was dressed in black from head to foot. The brim of his hat was pulled low, casting the human's eyes in shadow. Thu'ul found that he could not take his eyes off the man. There was something forbidding about him, something dangerous. It seemed that Fate had been finally been tempted. With a protector like that, who required enemies? "Companion Thu'ul, I am Agent Sandoval." The Implant introduced himself. Thu'ul nodded a greeting. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance." He replied. "This is Joshua Kane, your assigned protector." Sandoval gestured toward the tall cowboy standing beside him. "He has passed all interviews and prerequisites for the position. Now that you will be interacting more closely with the public, Zo'or intends to ensure your continued safety." "I am honored to serve." There, that sounded sufficiently stupid. Thu'ul paused, then added, "I am doubly honored that Zo'or has taken an interest me." "Here is your room key." Sandoval handed over a small plastic card. "Because you will travel with the exhibit, it is not possible to provide you with Taelon quarters. I have arranged a suite for you at the Hyatt Regency." Lovely. Thu'ul looked at the boring little rectangle in his hand. While they conversed, he sensed Kane's steady regard. The Implant had taken a relaxed stance, hands clasped in front, right over left, a large gunny sack at his feet. Thu'ul had not noticed it before, perhaps he had carried it slung over = his back. Sandoval interrupted his observation. "Zo'or requests that you submit an evaluation each week. In the event you are dissatisfied with this protector, another will be assigned." "Excellent." Thu'ul lied. "I am pleased to comply." The Implant's words sent Thu'ul's mind into light speed. Something was very wrong here. Implants were programed to behave with loyalty and obedience. What was there to evaluate or be dissatisfied with? Thu'ul began to analyze this bit of data even as Sandoval took his leave. Evaluations were conducted only on Implants which were new, experimental, or both. Agent Sandoval had implied that Kane was new. But Kane's movements and demeanor told another tale. The new Implant was staring at him. Thu'ul turned his attention back to = Kane. The man had not moved or spoken. What was he supposed to do now? He had never had a protector before. "Have you been given a place to stay?" Not the most auspicious beginning. Kane shook his head. Well that figured. Zo'or was involved and had, as usual, secured everyone's needs. Thu'ul stepped to one of the many benches which ringed the harbor and sat, wishing that he were as calm as he attempted to portray. He rested pale gray fingers on his thighs that their agitated twitching would be less noticeable. Facing the water again brought him some measure of peace. His gaze rested on those vessels gliding across the bay's pristine surface. How would it feel to glide with the winds? To have the vastness of the deep all around? To feel the salt spray on his face? Perhaps someday he would find out. But not today. The bagpipes were merrily sounding an old Irish dance. As Thu'uls thoughts returned to the present, he noticed that Kane's left foot was tapping in time to the spritely rhythm. His concern deepened. Those implants he had occasioned to observe seemed to lack emotion of any kind, but especially those feelings humans called 'gentle.' This one had already revealed an appreciation of music. Thu'ul stole a glance at the Implant. Though his face was still shielded in darkness, his head moved slowly from side to side, as if keeping watch over the area. What was so different about this man? Nothing would be solved by remaining here. Once back in his hotel room, he could delve into the Commonality in search of his answers. He stood swiftly. "We can go to my room," he announced. "If you haven't been given a place to stay, I imagine that you've been afforded no time to eat." Kane shouldered his sack in one seamless motion. He stepped forward until he was slightly behind and to the right of Thu'ul. The Companion took that to mean his silent partner consented to the plan. Then to Thu'ul's great astonishment, the Implant's left hand was brought to rest against the small of his back. He snapped his head around to stare at the man behind him. The hat had to go. Not even the Great Light-Bringer could penetrate the darkness it generated. He had never seen an Implant touch a Companion except in cases of extreme emergency. Almost, almost he requested its removal. But there was something...comforting about its presence. His Implant's hand was warm, pleasant. In the end, after standing several seconds like someone catatonic, Thu'ul elected to allow the hand to remain. But the hat still had to go. By the time they reached the Hyatt Regency, Thu'ul had already become grateful for his protector. He had not had the barest notion of where this hotel was located. And he was not about to ask Sandoval. Luckily his protector seemed to know the area quite well. Thu'ul had been expertly guided through crowds of people, around cars and across expanses of street, all through the pressure of that hand. He was beginning to think that the Implant could not speak. Thus far nothing had induced it to do so. Well that would change. He decided as he approached the hotel's front desk. No more yes or no questions... Thu'ul was pleasantly surprised when he arrived at his room. The Hyatt had painted it in iridescent colors reminiscent of Taelon living spaces. He was impressed by their courtesy. The colors were quite pleasing. Nothing could be done about the planar furniture, but Thu'ul refused to issue petty complaints. They would be mean payment for such kindness as had been extended to him. Implant Kane had been given an adjoining room, another courtesy on the part of the management. Thu'ul was content to allow the human to unpack and refresh himself. The time it afforded could be used in gathering what information he could. With those thoughts in mind, Thu'ul made himself comfortable and merged deeply into the Commonality. Edgar Allen hoisted up the food-laden tray to his right shoulder. Whoever this Joshua Kane was, he had a healthy appetite. There were two complete orders of shrimp salad, 6 rolls, and two bottles of Perrier' crammed onto the serving tray. Considering the portions doled out by the kitchen here, either this guy was having company over, or he had a hollow leg! And the flackin' tray was getting heavy. This waiter stuff was more work than a little bit. He drew in a long breath to steady himself as the elevator began its smooth ascent to the eight floor. Doors wanted someone to check out the new Implant, kind of a 'have look-see' sort of thing. It figured that he would get tapped. Allen examined his reflection in the brightly polished elevator walls. The uniform fit well. Hm. He looked hot in white. His skin's coffee complexion was enhanced by the paleness of his jacket. If he could add his shades and let his dreads hang free instead of being all bound up in a knot, he'd have all the women falling at his feet. The doors opened, and Allen strode confidently down the hall. His patent leather shoes thudded softly on the lavender carpet. Man! What a color! It was a good thing this gig wasn't permanent. 807. He rapped white-gloved knuckles on the door. "Room Service." He called out. After a few moments, the portal opened revealing a lanky, blonde man. He stepped aside to allow Allen to enter. Be cool, now. Allen coached. Be cool and act like you belong here. "Would you like your food put on the desk, sir?" He turned back toward his host. This guy was at least 6'2", and weighed in at about 190, Allen estimated. Sunshine blonde hair fell unbound to his shoulders. Allen's gaze encountered eyes as dark as his own. It was impossible to distinguish pupil from iris. When Kane nodded, Allen placed the food tray on the desk and stepped back, hands clasped behind his back. A black cowboy hat was tossed on the neatly made bed. Beside it was a full-length leather duster. This dude had a serious wild west fetish, complete with boots. All he needed was a six-gun and a horse. "Are you enjoying your stay at the Hyatt, sir?" There was a single, vertical scar that dropped from the outside corner of his right eye to his jaw line. His brown eyes were steady, emotionless. When Kane simply nodded a second time, Allen decided that it was time to get out. "Well sir, if there is anything you require, please dial 333, and someone will assist you." Yadda, yadda, yeah, yeah. Gotta go, baby. Allen headed to the door. To his surprise, Kane's right hand dipped into the front pocket of his black jeans and removed a 5 dollar bill. The money was wordlessly extended as Allen passed. Allen snagged his tip and kept on truckin'. Down the hall, down the elevator, and into the laundry. He tossed off his disguise and high-tailed it out the service entrance. His swift pace did not ease until he had reached the safety of Baltimore's harbor-side shops and lost himself in the crowds. Only when certain that no one was following did he remove the communicator from his pocket and contact Captain Marquette. Her pretty face lit up the screen of his com-link. No wonder Auger dug her. She was all that and a bag of chips. "Well," she prompted. "He's a white male, about 30, 6'2", 190, brown eyes, and shoulder length blonde hair. He's got a scar on his right cheek, and all the personality of a rock. Man, I thought Sandoval was stone-faced. Anyway, he dresses like a country and western fan, complete with cowboy hat, leather duster and boots. Yippee ki ay." Marquette appeared to consider this information. "Remain in the area and attend the opening of the exhibit tomorrow, " she instructed. "No one, including Da'an seems to know why Zo'or has assigned the two of them." "Does Da'an have any information about Kane?" Allen asked. "I think so, but he's not talking. He only described him as 'an experimental implant,' and that could mean anything. Right now, we have to assume that he is a prototype for an improved protector. As such, we need all the information about him as you can safely gather. " "He got a real good look at me, Cap." Christ. Why tell him to get in close and then ask him to hang around. "No one said this was going to be easy, Allen." Marquette gave him a hard stare. "With the death of Commander Boone, and increased pressure from Zo'or, our manpower resources are maxed out." "Alright." There was no use in arguing, and no way around it. His beautiful dread locks would have to be cut. "Good luck." Marquette cut the connection. Damn it. It had taken him ten years to grow these locks. Hell. Allen headed across the Harbor toward the Gallery. This gig was starting to suck. *****Break***** Thu'ul was tired. He closed his eyes and rested himself more heavily against the softly cushioned seats of the Hyatt's limousine. Had his fatigue been accompanied by a sense of satisfaction, he would have born it with contentment. That was not the case. Thu'ul opened his eyes and watched the grayish buildings slowly move past. All the beauty of last night had been washed away in today's golden bath of sunshine. There was, perhaps, a lesson to be learned. Beauty was fleeting, and best observed in the dark. A ghost of a smile played across his lips. Well, at least beauty often did not stand up to close inspection. Thu'ul looked across the limo's isle at the Implant. Kane's ubiquitous hat was resting on a denim covered knee. His hands were folded, lying quietly on his lap. Despite all appearances of relaxation, his protector's deep brown eyes were never still. Thu'ul watched them sweep an arc from right to left and back. Thu'ul's gaze flickered across the white scar on Kane's cheek, and drifted down to his attire. He was wearing some color other than black. While blue jeans and a white cotton shirt were terribly colorful, his protector no longer looked as though he were attending a funeral. In truth, the Implant was about as entertaining as a black hole. No, Thu'ul reflected, that might be giving him too much credit. Who was he? More important, what was he? All Thu'ul's efforts at answering those two questions had been in vain. The information was stored too high in the Synod for him to access - at least not without attracting attention. Having Zo'or or Da'an look at him any more closely was a distinctly unfavorable idea. He was forced to remain within the lower levels of the Commonality. One friend thought that he had seen the name of Kane on a list of test subjects. Uyh'ad believed that it was in association with a project called Level Two Augmentation, an experiment authorized by Da'an. However, his contact was certain that the project had been a failure. Ninety seven out of one hundred test subjects either died or had to be destroyed because of severe psychosis. Further appropriations for this research had been canceled. Uyh'ad was only a bureaucrat, and had no access to detail, but offered one more tidbit. There were one hundred test subjects for the project, and two hundred skrills. Two hundred. This information, the strangeness of his surroundings, and deep-abiding tension had robbed him of any rest. He had paced the floor of his lavish suite all night. Uyh'ad had tried to settle him, to no avail. How could one be calm in the center of a storm? At least his comrade had managed to distract him enough that his troubles were not broadcast across all the Commonality. Half the Taelon colony would have been alerted otherwise. And it was still on his mind. Too many questions. Insufficient data. Thu'ul focused his eyes back on Kane. He found the Implant looking at him. For the second time, Thu'ul felt the force of his gaze. It was the eyes, he decided. His protector's eyes were so dark as to be unreadable, like the ocean. Instead of being a window, they were a blind, concealing mysteries. "Let me see your arms, please." Thu'ul requested, It was time to gather some information of his own. The Implant complied, and Thu'ul was rewarded by seeing one of Kane's sandy brows twitch upward. A gesture of surprise, perhaps? Thu'ul placed his hands atop the black corduroy jacket covering Kane's forearms. He squeezed lightly. Yes. There were the unmistakable lumps of two skrills. His forehead wrinkled as he withdrew his hands, and Thu'ul stared out the window. Sometimes his curiosity was a curse. He would have rested easier without the knowledge he had just gained. Yes, and have been pricked by your own dissatisfaction until you learned it, came the inevitable response. They had arrived. Thu'ul looked up at tall, white columns accenting the museum's entrance. A long red carpet had been rolled down the steps and extended out to the sidewalk. At least fifty people had lined up along either side of it. White-shirted museum security guards kept them from rushing up to the car, or crossing onto the crimson carpet. All this fuss, for him? Great Heavens, how many would have turned out for Da'an? Thu'ul gathered his wits about him and would have exited the car, but was stopped by a gesture from Kane. His protector opened the door, stepped out and took a long look around. Thu'ul noted a shoulder holster beneath his left arm. It had been concealed by the jacket until he had leaned forward. The hat was lifted and placed securely on Kane's head. Thu'ul watched him pull the brim down, creating shadow. "Look, mommy, it's a cowboy!" Some child cried out in excitement. So much for ego inflation, Thu'ul thought, complying with Kane's motion to exit. At least one person here would rather see his Implant. What a lowering thought. There was the hand. Thu'ul felt its pressure and warmth settle against his back. Despite his misgivings, part of him relaxed slightly. It's gentle touch brought comfort. If only it could so easily impart peace. Thu'ul sighed deeply and allowed himself to be led past the waving crowd. Suddenly the museum's entrance looked more like a gaping maul, threatening to devour him. He would give anything to be quietly back on the colony, collating his data. Allen walked through the polished glass doors leading into the museum's lobby, and tried desperately not to see his reflection. Of course, that was all he looked at. There he was, practically naked, his poor, poor dread-locks now only a distant memory. Jesus H. Christ, all he'd wanted was a haircut, not deforestation. All that remained of ten years worth of careful grooming was an few millimeters of razor stubble. His head looked like a chocolate Easter egg, with bunny-fuzz growing on it. Whizzer must have used napalm instead of clippers! Still, he had to admit the threads were sweet. The coffee colored silk suit fit like nobody's business, accentuating his narrow hips, and broad lean-on-me shoulders. Allen straightened his tie before crossing the polished marble floor toward signs leading to Strand Hill. His .25 automatic was snuggly holstered on his calf, and his communicator concealed in the loose fitting crotch of his trousers. Okay, last check. He blinked twice, ensuring that his amber contact lenses were still centered - what a flackin' mess that would be - then entered the exhibit. There were kids and parents everywhere! All kinds of people! Blacks, whites, some weirdo in a Da'an mask, wearing a t-shirt that said, 'we come in peace.' Allen blew a sigh in disbelief. Whatever, man. He shook his head as he went past. Cream colored walls festooned with soft lights supported all manner of strange looking objects. There was a funny looking archway to his left, and some sort of squiggly statue to his right. Up ahead was the famous picture of Ma-el, the first Taelon to visit Earth. He paused in front of it, considering the implications. A Taelon had been to earth before. A Taelon had given humans gifts of learning, art, religion and psychic ability. Could it be that all those holy figures also pictured had been influence by this pasty white visitor? Naw! No way that happened. He didn't care what Doors or anyone else thought. Jesus was Jesus and Buddha was Buddha. Let's go excavate the West Indies and find a few Taelon leftovers, shall we? Flack that. Let him come to a Vodou ceremony and see what him can find. We'll lay some island magic on him. Okay, slow down, your Jamaican roots are showing through. Allen turned from the mural, and wove his way around children and mothers, seeking and eventually finding Thu'ul and his Roy Rogers protector. There was Kane, animated as ever. The cowboy's face was a seamless mask of observation. Man, and someone should teach him how to dress. What a redneck! Blue jeans, white shirt and a western tie, what next, a pick-up truck? That big silver buckle with wolf on the front had to go. For all his lack of sense when it came to dressing, Allen allowed that the protector was alert; he felt rather than saw those shadowed eyes brush across him. Turning his attention to the Companion, Allen noted that he was a bit shorter than Kane, and slender. His grayish skin was pale. Was that a hint of fatigue lurking at the edges of Thu'ul's eyes? Maybe. And while he was at it, those Taelon's had no sense of fashion either. Turtle neck jumpsuits! Man didn't you ever watch Star Trek? Dress like a Klingon or something. Anything was better than this. Geez! Two museum guards flanked the unlikely pair, urging passers-by to keep a respectful distance. It didn't seem to be doing a whole lot of good. What had every appearance of a class field trip had stopped in front of the Taelon and every child had their hand raised. Allen decided to lean against a gray granite column and watch the show. "Mr Thu'ul," one little girl asked, twirling a pig-tail. "Do you have any kids?" The Taelon shook his head, "No." He replied. "I have no children." His body twisted toward another child and Allen saw that Kane had his hand resting on the Companion's spine. Allen's eyebrows slammed together forming a tight line across his forehead. That was not normal. Implants were simply never that familiar with their assigned Companions. Unless Auger had forgotten to mention it, Boone had not been in the habit of touching Da'an. Despite that fact that before his untimely death, the Commander and his Taelon friend had gotten very close. The kids fired off more questions. Each was answered with typical Taelon evasion, and perhaps just a touch of humor. This Companion was polite, Allen allowed. There was none of the arrogance which typified Zo'or, and none of the mystical pearls associated with Da'an. Suddenly one young boy turned to Kane. "Hey mister, are you a real cowboy? Do you have a ranch and horses and cattles and stuff?" The kid was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. One corner of the Implant's mouth curved slightly upward and he nodded. Then to Allen's surprise, Kane spoke. "Yup, partner, I surely do." It was a lie. It had to be. But the kid was beaming up at Kane with hero worship in his eyes. Could it be that the Implant did not want to disappoint his audience? Allen turned his attention back to Kane's response. The man's voice was a rich baritone. He had no way of knowing if the Texas accent was entirely fake, or just exaggerated for effect. But from the grating sound of gravel at the bottom of that deep voice, it was certain that Kane was not accustomed to speaking. Allen watched as Thu'ul turned towards the Implant, wishing he could read the Companion's expressions better. Darth Vader went past him and took up residence on one of the granite benches next to each doorway. Allen's eyes widened in utter astonishment. Instead of a black cloak and environment suit, the fake villain wore a long black trench coat, and carried a flashlight on his belt. Did it take all kinds or what? This exhibit was turning into a freak show. Allen almost dislodged himself from his column but stopped short. Vader had something else under his coat. He could have sworn that he'd seen a glint of metal. Tiny alarms began to sound in the back of Allen's head, and he looked quickly about to see if anyone else had noticed. The cowboy's head was slightly lowered, but facing in Vader's direction. It was impossible to tell what his eyes were looking at. Then his head twisted to the left. Allen followed the turn and saw the fake Taelon sidling over near the other exit to the exhibit. Aww! Shit. Shit! Shit!! Something was going down. Allen knelt down under the pretense of tying his shoe when suddenly shots rang out. He palmed the .25 automatic from its holster and threw himself on the floor, pressing his cheek against the cool stone. And he thought the gig sucked before! Thu'ul found himself thrown forcefully onto the unyielding floor. There was no time to ask what was wrong. The staccato sounds of gunfire reached his ears, and he flinched. He heard a muffled cry, then felt a heavy weight crash onto his back. The lifeless face of a security guard rested next to his own. Blood poured from the deadman's body onto Thu'ul, onto the floor, pooling quickly. It's deep red contrasting with the polished white of marble. Screams and cries, more gunfire. The cacophony of sound was deafening. He could neither move from under the body, nor think because of the noise. Fear gripped him tightly, its skinless fingers digging into his mind. Where was Kane? He craned his neck seeking a sign of his protector. There was none. Only frightened children surrounded him. Their teacher struggled vainly to enfold them all in a protective embrace. He heard someone shouting, "Get on the god damned floor. Now! I said, now!" Scrambling sounds, panicked cries, and finally footsteps approaching fast were all the Thu'ul could make out. "Here he is," another man shouted. "The filthy bastard is right here!" White tennis shoes stepped past him. The guard's weight shift, and was removed. "Get up, you son of a bitch!" Anger mixed with tension punctuated the tenor command. Having few options, Thu'ul slowly drew himself up to his hands and knees. Before he could stand, the human kicked him in abdomen. Blue-white pain shot through Thu'ul. He was lifted into the air from the power of the blow, and landed painfully on his side.=20 Was it instinct or reaction to that pain which made him curl into a tight ball? He could not say. He could not concentrate, could not release his disguise. Somewhere distant, he could hear laughter, and braced himself for another strike. It never came. Thu'ul forced himself to look up, gritting his teeth against a pain he was wholly unaccustomed to. There was a figure whose face was concealed beneath a mask. Strangely enough, it looked like Da'an. Whoever it was, he was being choked by a familiar arm. Kane. His implant turned the struggling human to the left and Thu'ul heard more gunfire. Bullet holes appeared in the human's chest and his struggles ceased. More blood. Thu'ul watched as the precious fluid quickly soaked into the t- shirt, obliterating its message in a tide of scarlet. Kane's right arm raised and his skrill answered the attack with a blue-white burst of energy. There was a brief cry and a miniature explosion. Kane spun himself and his human shield to the left, firing his skrill again. This time, Thu'ul thought he heard a single shot from somewhere behind him. When he turned he saw a black man aiming a pistol toward the right. Crumpled in a heap was a third human dressed up in some sort of costume. Thu'ul thought he should know the figure. It was someone significant from human culture. He could not make his tattered thoughts coherent. Why did he do that? Allen cursed himself for letting his boy scout instincts get the better of him. The frickin' Implant was doing okay. He had things under control. But noooo! You had to go and help him, and now he's looking at you and his skrill is aimed in your general direction! Allen watched Kane slowly lower his arm, and glance around. The sounds of sirens were echoing through the museum's halls. All around him, mothers were holding their children; husbands were holding their wives. The sounds of faint, muffled sobbing was broken only by quiet whispers. "Are you alright?" The universal question. It was repeated by everyone with lips. He was very well, thank you. Allen murmured to himself. Standing up slowly, afraid that he had been injured and just hadn't realized it yet, Allen took stock. Three dead bad guys. One very scared Taelon. Over fifty humans who all needed a change of underwear, himself included. Allen slid his gun back into its holster. The cops would be all over this place soon. They were already outside from the sounds of things. Escape would be almost impossible, and probably get him killed. So he would have to ride out their questions. Had he brought the forged permit? Yes. Allen remembered folding up the precious piece of authorization and sticking it in his wallet. Okay. Just act like Mr. Good Samaritan, and you should be fine. He glanced toward Kane. The Implant had unceremoniously dropped his very dead shield and stepped over to the Taelon. Thu'ul was covered in blood, but since it was all red, Allen figured it did not belong to the alien. Kane moved the Companion over to the wall and rested his back against it. Some sort of quiet conversation took place, and the next thing Allen knew, the Implant was approaching him. Dark eyes bored into his. One eye, the right eye, narrowed ever so slightly. Allen's heart pounded. Had he been recognized? Then Kane stuck out his hand, and Allen shook it. "Thanks." Kane intoned. His raspy voice held only a hint of that Texas drawl. "Don't mention it, man." His Jamaican was showing again. Allen turned away. Whew! What a day! Suddenly he froze, eyes fixed on the mural of Ma-el. Right over the face was a spray painted, graffiti-style red 'L.' The Liberation? What the flack! Had he killed some of his own? No way. Allen stemmed the white-water flow of thoughts which threatened to flood his mind. Marquette would have told him. Besides, this sort of assassination was not Doors' thing. Jonathan Doors always went for the big fish, not some token Taelon. But if it wasn't the Liberation, then who was it? Kane was still standing next to him. Movement caught his eye. He turned to find the tall Texan bent over, picking up something from the floor. Allen was not quick enough to see what it was. Then Kane straightened and his gaze rested on the mural for a few moments. What was this guy thinking? Was he thinking? Maybe the lights were on, but nobody was home. The Implant suddenly grasped Allen's left hand and tuned it over, palm up. "Hey man," Allen protested. "I don't want to hold hands with you." An object was dropped in his hand before Kane strode away. Allen found himself staring down at one of his contact lenses. Aww flack. The fecal deposits might just hit the rotary oscillator. His head snapped up, watching Kane. The Implant did not look back, did not even go over and tattle to the nice Companion. Allen absently pushed the contact back into his eye. At least it might fool the police. Besides, colored contacts were all the rage. He could just explain that he had an exaggerated sense of style. With all the other changes to his appearance, the bloody cowboy might not have recognized him. Somehow, Allen did not feel that lucky. Movement caught his attention, Kane was examining Darth Vader's corpse. The helmet was removed and revealed a face unfamiliar to Allen. It was no one he'd ever seen. He memorized the man's features. If he or the Liberation could figure out who that guy was, they might be able to identify who was behind the attack. A cold feeling had settled in his stomach. This action had set-up written all over it. The Taelon had gotten himself together enough to join his Implant. Allen watched as Kane lifted the sleeve of Vader's trench coat. Thu'ul's eyes widened in what had to have been great shock. Allen stepped left and bent over slightly. Now what? It was a skrill. Allen's own eyes involuntarily widened, imitating those of the Taelon. Darth Vader had a frickin', flackin' skrill on his arm. Sweet Jesus. *****Break***** Thu'ul paced the confines of his hotel room like a caged animal, his thoughts racing. Unbidden, the violence and its aftermath replayed once more in his mind. There had been scarce seconds between Kane's discovery and the arrival of Baltimore Police. Everyone was unceremoniously removed from the crime scene. He and his Implant had been secured in the museum's camera room, and later examined by an ambulance crew. They were pronounced uninjured. Thu'ul had no time to draw breath before Agent Sandoval and several members of the FBI descended, claiming jurisdiction over the investigation. Zo'or's protector had them transported by police escort back to the Hyatt with the promise that he would join them as soon as preliminary forensics were finished. Uniformed officers were posted outside the door, and Kane had taken up residence inside and to the left of that entrance. The immediate danger was past. He must use the time he had been granted as wisely as possible. Thu'ul turned his mind to an analysis of the facts. An attempt had been made on his life. That fact was undisputed. Those persons had left the seal of the Liberation. Again, an absolute fact. What complicated this simple scenario was that one of the killers was in possession of a skrill. It was possible, Thu'ul allowed, that the resistance movement could have acquired one. But last night's logic still held strong. He was too insignificant to be worth the inevitable reprisals his demise would bring. Would that he had never seen the creature! He would be at peace even now. That was the child within him, Thu'ul knew. The part of him the wanted everything to be all right. Stop your sniveling. A peace without truth is sleeping oblivion. You have the facts, now draw the conclusion. And that was the scholar. Thu'ul closed his eyes a moment, there was no reconciliation between them tonight. He must choose, and it must be the scholar. The only person who stood to gain was Zo'or. The inescapable conclusion was that one of his fellow Companions had plotted to end his life. It was surprisingly difficult to accept. He knew that Zo'or was woefully lacking in morals, and had a corresponding abundance of cruelty, but to kill one of his own kind. It seemed too brutal, even for him. Use them, certainly. Hurt them, yes. Persuade them that death was preferable, surely. But to murder one. He had never believed Zo'or to be so degenerate. True, the Resistance had been a persistent problem for him, and of late, the Synod Leader had been advocating increasingly drastic measures. Take the next step, Thu'ul. Take it. Your death would have only strengthened his position. Why had he not seen this coming! He sighed in resignation. What good would it have done if he had? His present position would not change one whit. He had been betrayed. Betrayed. Fear and outrage welled up inside of him, threatening to dissolve his human guise. Calm yourself, he ordered, but it was no use. Thu'ul stopped his erratic pacing and laid both hands against the smooth surface of his room wall. Solidity of matter was the foundation of energy. Closing his eyes against the world around him, he rested against its hardness, seeking within it the key to his own stability. His thoughts were now emerging too fast, too strong, assaulting his psyche like an endless series of exploding stars. They tormented his mind, draining strength instead of restoring it. Enclose your thoughts, lest they betray you. But the betrayal had already taken place. This was the thought that injured, cutting deeply, causing a pain which could not be absorbed. Be still. He instructed silently. Be still. He let his forehead slowly lean forward until it, too, was supported by the physical structure which surrounded him. You had suspected treachery all along. Stop it! The forces which powered creation had granted him time to prepare. He must not waste it. But the word would not remain silent. It mocked him through its unending repetition. Betrayal. Taelons do not kill Taelons. It was a fundamental building block of their culture and was based both on custom and self-interest. With each death the Commonality diminished. With each death they were lessened. Betrayal. Since the creation of the Synod, it had been thus, an unspeakable, unconscionable act. Thu'ul felt his fingers flex involuntarily. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then straightened. For several more moments he stared at the iridescent purples and blues which comprised the colors of his suite. 'Look at a wall long enough,' he recalled the words of an ancient Taelon aphorism. "And it will still be a wall. The mere force of your regard matters not." Thu'ul allowed his hands to slide down with deliberate slowness. At last they lost contact and came to rest at his sides. When he stepped back he became aware that his Implant was near. Kane stood at his left elbow, not quite touching, but close. His face was inscrutable, but his eyes held a depth of concern and, perhaps...perhaps, compassion. For the second time in as many days, Thu'ul found himself considering his protector. That Kane had saved his life was no great deed. The Motivational Imperative demanded such action. However, CVI's could not duplicate simpler, finer emotions. Loyalty could be artificially created, but compassion? No. It was a feeling which could not be instilled from without, but only grown from within. "Thank you," he breathed, for here were no other words in response to a gift, and held Kane's eyes. At this moment, the obdurate presence of his Implant was the only steady point in a universe gone mad. It was terrifying to be so dependent. Thu'ul sank into the lushly upholstered lounge chair occupying one corner of his suite. He had dwelt in the house of self-pity long enough. There was no puzzle so complicated that it could not be solved, given time. The first step to overcoming an obstacle was accepting that it existed. His musings were interrupted by Kane's communicator. Thu'ul only half-attended until his protector touched his sleeve. "Captain Marquette of Companion Security is on her way." The Implant's voice vibrated gently against him. Thu'ul nodded, grateful for the warning. So be it. His world had been shattered. He must make what he could of the fragments which remained. If Zo'or were indeed the culprit, extreme caution was a paramount requirement. For now, he must wait and learn. To this end, he would not display any knowledge of the skrill. Should this fact be volunteered, then his suspicions would be somewhat allayed. If not... Then, such a revelation would only provide Zo'or with a new reason to eliminate him, but would lack sufficient evidence to prove Zo'or's involvement. His survival at this juncture hinged on portraying himself as the ignorant, helpless scholar he was assumed to be, and absorbing every scrap of information which presented itself. "Kane," he began, looking upward at the human. "Let us hold silence where your discovery is concerned." Kane's eyes glittered edgily as he nodded. Apparently his protector, harbored misgivings of his own. Well, Thu'ul conceded, the Implant's intelligence was no longer in question. Moments later his visitor was admitted. Da'an's shuttle pilot was a compact brunette wearing black jeans and a brown leather jacket. Her hair was short, just touching the top of her shoulders. There was a hardness to her softly curving body, and a fierce animation in her warm brown eyes. The fire of her being was revealed in every confident stride. "Good evening, sir." She said, and formally introduced herself. Thu'ul rose and inclined his head. "Captain." He brought both hands up to his chest. "I am Thu'ul, the assigned Companion of Strand Hill." With a sweep to his right he indicated the Implant. "This is Joshua Kane, my protector." Marquette affixed the tall human with an assessing glance, then turned back to him. "Agent Sandoval is continuing his investigation and has instructed me to interview you." "Of course." Thu'ul retook his seat and indicated an adjacent chair. "Will you not sit?" "Thank you." She did so, crossing one leg over the other and removing a small notepad from her jacket pocket. "I know that today's events have been distressing to say the least, but I need you to tell me, in as much detail as possible, everything that happened." Kane moved to stand beside him, close enough that the back of his left hand brushed against Thu'ul's upper arm. A light of surprise briefly illuminated Marquette's eyes. It seemed that he was not the only being who found Kane's method of protection unusual. He continued to observe the Captain's expression as his tale unfolded. There was an open, artless manner to this woman. Her face was carefully schooled to conceal, but her eyes and brows were rebellious. Thu'ul saw surprise give way to concern, confusion and anger. When he had finished, Marquette shook her head. "I don't understand." She trailed off for a few moments, collecting her thoughts. "Why would the resistance target you? Are you to be assigned additional duties?" He shook his head, enjoying the quickness of her thoughts. "Then what would they stand to gain with your assassination?" Her dark brows frowned at him, seeking an answer that he did not have. "You have accurately mirrored my thoughts on this matter, Captain. I can, unfortunately, find no adequate answer to that question." He tilted his head to one side. "Have any of my attackers been identified?" "To my knowledge DNA analysis is incomplete. When I return to HQ I'll order RFP collection and try to find a match that way." "RFP?" His studies of English had not included this reference. She looked immediately sheepish. "I'm sorry. Retinal and FingerPrint." "Ah." Thu'ul eyed her a moment, then allowed his curiosity to guide him. "What are your..." He searched for the proper word. "...instincts on this matter. Is that correct?" Marquette smiled briefly. "Yes, that's perfect." Then her eyes darkened as her delicate brows lowered once again. It took several seconds for her to formulate a reply, and when she did, it was a careful one. "I think someone is using the Resistance as a blind so that they can strike with impunity. After Jonathon Doors announced the formation of the Resistance so publicly, anyone with animosity toward the Companions had a ready- made and well-know patsy to blame their actions on." Her mouth tightened into a rueful grin. "I should tell you, however, that I currently hold the minority opinion. Agent Sandoval and his FBI cohorts are convinced that it's the Liberation." She was trying to read his reactions, he realized with pleasure. Her sharp gaze flickered from his eyes to his fingers and back. This human had apparently used her exposure to Da'an and Zo'or to learn Taelon body language. He was impressed. She was speaking again. Thu'ul stirred himself from his analysis of her. "Da'an wanted me to convey his relief that you were not injured." Oh dear. Thu'ul almost closed his eyes in disappointment. Da'an was now invoking his name. "I am humbled by his kindness." Thu'ul hoped to close the topic. It was to no avail. "He also wished to make quarters available to you in the embassy. Washington is only a short distance from Baltimore, and the commute could easily be arranged. You really should consider it, for safety's sake," she added. It was tempting. The embassy's walls would be familiar, thus comforting and secure. He could be easy there. He repulsed the temptation. It was unwise. Zo'or had brought him into this game. Fleeing to the safety of Da'an's protective embrace could be interpreted as taking his side. The Synod leader's motivations would then become personal. That, he could not afford. In this instant, his path became clear to him. It lay in the shadowland between the dark power of Zo'or and the bright promise of Da'an. Only be walking a very narrow wire did he have a chance of emerging from this dangerous game alive. With the help of Fate, he might even see his way to avenging himself on Zo'or. But by all means, he must never show preference to either of them. Light pressure on his shoulder brought him back to reality. He had been staring stupidly at his hands. How embarrassing. He faced Marquette once more. "Please express to Da'an my deepest gratitude at his offer, but I think it best that I become accustomed to human dwelling places as that is what I shall occupy once the exhibit is transported to the next museum." He considered her for several seconds. "However, there is something you could do." With the opening of his path, he had formulated a plan. What he now required were allies. At her inquisitive gaze he continued, "First, I would like any and all information gathered by you and Agent Sandoval uploaded to Kane's communicator. I see no reason why he cannot assist in the investigation when he is not otherwise occupied at the museum." She nodded ascent. "Secondly, I would like to know the name of the human who assisted our Implant." Captain Marquette flipped several white pages of her notebook. "Edgar Allen." Thu'ul gathered his resolve. "I would like to express my gratitude to Mr. Allen. His actions may have saved my life. In addition, I wish him hired as an aid to Kane." The smile which started was swiftly replaced by doubt. "Sir I..." "Do what you can, Captain," a graceful gesture of his hand dammed her impending protest. "Until the power which moved my attackers is identified, there are only two people in whom I may repose trust. I prefer to employ them both." The simple logic of his statement seemed to sway her, as he had intended. Then her cheeks puffed out in an exaggerated sigh. "Sandoval will have a cow." Thu'ul could not, frankly, picture how such an event was anatomically possible. His expression must have been incredulous because the captain smiled in earnest and added, "I mean he'll be very upset." Thu'ul owned that if through some twist of nature any person gave birth to a cow, a state of upset would surely follow. He felt the corners of his mouth turn upward. "I begin to see the wisdom of that statement." Marquette laughed then, a happy, tinkling sound, like bells skipping over open water. "Alright." she stood. "I'll at least speak to Allen about it, and then go from there. No promises," she cautioned sternly. "Kane." She turned to his protector. "You will need to report to HQ tomorrow morning and make a complete report." In typical loquacious fashion, Kane nodded. Talkative to the last, that Implant. Thu'ul rose with her out of respect. "Thank you Captain." Surprisingly, he found he meant every word. Against all caution, he was inclined to trust this human. Only time would tell if his inclinations were justified. She left with the same confident stride with which she entered. Thu'ul imagined that she was a force to be reckoned with, despite the reputation of human females as the weaker of the two sexes. With luck, he would have more opportunities of interacting with her. He turned his attention back to the present. It was time to walk his path. "Kane. I will not be attending the exhibit for the next few days. Gather all the information you can, and report to no one but me." Certainly given the trauma of this morning, even Zo'or could excuse a few days of recuperation, after all, he was only a scholar. His lowly status made him ill prepared to handle such excitement. During his 'recuperation' he and Uyh'ad could possibly uncover additional information by listening to the chatter of the Commonality. Thu'ul sighed heavily, suddenly very tired. He passed a hand across his eyes, trying to wipe away some of the weariness. He should rest. No good would result from exhausting himself. Now that he had exerted some control over what remained of his life, perhaps rest was possible. He hoped so. With that thought in mind, Thu'ul turned to dismiss his bodyguard, and noticed that Kane was rubbing his left temple. "Were you hit in the head?" He inquired, concern making him step closer. His protector's brows contracted, a sign of confusion. In explanation, Thu'ul brought his own fingers up in imitation of Kane's. The Implant looked blankly at his own hand as if he had been unaware of its presence. "No." Kane shook his head. "I just have a headache." Thu'ul looked more closely at the tall Implant. There were faint lines of fatigue traced upon his face. Eventually, the problem became clear to him and Thu'ul was left to wonder at his own slowness. Perhaps his old teacher, Ki'om, was right: his head was useful only to indicate where his feet were not. The human was supporting two skrills, and had neither rested nor eaten since this morning. It did not take a scientist to determine that the drain on his body was considerable. It seemed that he would have to take better care of his silent comrade. "I will not require your services for the remainder of the evening." Thu'ul gestured toward the door adjoining their rooms. "Please. Refresh yourself." Kane departed without a word, but left the door ajar. A kindness? Or simply the efficiency of a trained protector? He had no answer, yet. Given sufficient time, he would unravel the mystery which was Joshua Kane. But before that, he would get some much needed rest. Thu'ul thought it a great blessing to be able to properly order one's priorities.
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Copyright 1998 Ruth Colbourne