After what seems like eternity, Nagrod wakes up to find himself spread on what appears to be a surgical table. He catches a glimpse of a dhurkat lying in the lap of a man, just before passing out again. It seems we survived, but in to what did we land?
Beren was woken up by the dhurkat’s stirring. Apparently the Dragon Lady’s dhur-ryu had barely woken up and fainted again. Getting the Dragon lady out from under the rubble had been a task he did not want to think about right now. The condition she had been in was enough of trauma to deal with as it is. If there hadn’t been a handy repair mobile craft (RMC), he would never have gotten her out. Such beauty, lying distorted under the rubble had been a sight so vicious anyone would have nightmares about it.
At the moment, they were hiding in an abandoned and almost destroyed clinic he had the fortune of glimpsing on his way to the dragon lady’s rescue. How he had managed to get out of the situation alive was something even he was having trouble understanding. I am alive and so is the Dragon Lady, barely. Her guards were not so fortunate. What next? The question deigned to linger in his mind. Where do I go from here? How do I get help? The depressive thoughts gathered in his head.
A mumble from the other side of the room brought him crashing back to reality. It was the dragon lady; barely alive, but at least now beginning to wake. Making sure he didn’t agitate the dhurkat much, he rushed to the dragon lady’s side; he had to make sure she knew she was alive and was being cared for. It was the least he could do for a person of such high status – she was the champion of the country, a legendary hero for the populace. She was called the Dragon Lady because her dhurkat had matured and turned into a dhur-ryu, which looked remarkably similar to what used to be called dragons on old earth. He didn’t even know her name; after all, he was the lowest in the information chain as a mere citizen, albeit a researcher at the University of the Edge City, but not yet a professor. However, he had good eyes and ears, and was not shy of using them, especially for the cause of the country; as one of the lower informants to the intelligence types under the command of the Dragon Lady it was his duty.
He heard the mumble again, and despite his closeness he couldn’t make out if she was saying something or groaning in pain. He checked her injuries again, just to make sure he hadn’t left anything unclean and untended; everything was in order, at least on the outside. He knew there were likely internal injuries, which is why he had given her a maximum dose of the max-heal, not like she really needed it – she was bionic, more machine than biological; her position required it. Being bionic must be what saved her from that brutality, he thought. A sudden brush against his forearms made him jump. Looking down in alarm, he saw the Dragon Lady’s hand flop listlessly back to the tabletop.
“Where am I?” she inquired delicately.
“You’re in clinic, we are safe for now, relax!” he hushed. If she worried, it would affect the speed of her recovery, max-heal or no. Abruptly, she tried to sit up, a look of both pain and determination crossing her handsome features. He tried to keep her down with his hand, but she sat up regardless.
A hiss of pain escaped her, but she kept on pushing until she was fully sat up. Beren stopped trying to push her back down; her injuries were bad enough without any additional stress.
“You must rest, my lady,” he started. “Your Pinnace was planted with explosives. I discovered the plot, but I was too late to warn you…” His voice trailed off, the apology at the end dying of guilt on his lips. He glanced again at her face, at the discomfort crinkling the skin between her eyes. She’s healing pretty well, but she still isn’t in a condition to go charging out, he sternly reminded himself.
They continued to sit in silence; she was trying to see how much of her body still functioned, and he was obediently waiting for her slightest command. The silence was getting long and uncomfortable. Convinced there was nothing more she could do for her body, the Dragon Lady turned instead to their surroundings. Apparently, she was seated on the main reception counter of the smashed clinic; there was shattered glass sprinkled everywhere, two new paramedic kits had been torn open and left unused, sealed contents resting in their bags on the floor beside her makeshift bed, there was a rank smell of burning, and through the grimy windows she could see that the street outside was devoid of life, a chaotic mess of chunks of concrete, delicate slivers of glass, pieces of the Pinnace and, most importantly, the dead bodies of her subjects. Remorse overtook her as her eyes rested on their remains. I failed to protect them. The responsibility fell on her more keenly than the pain of her own wounds. I’m sorry. Dimly, she recognized they must be close the crash site, but this was overtaken by her sense of grief. As with any situation, she turned to Nagrod for comfort, realizing with terror that he was not with her. Panic like a bullet shot through her – he had been injured as well. Trying to remain calm, she scanned the room again, knowing that she would have seen him the first time, but doing so regardless. Turning painfully, she spotted his limp form lying on an operating table, which had clearly been dragged out from somewhere deeper within the clinic. Shock at the realisation he was alive gripped her heart along with relief, a sigh escaping her dry lips.
Noticing her source of relief, Beren subtly shifted closer to her to stop her from getting up. Thankfully she didn’t get up just yet. She must have been in more pain than he supposed – twisting like that might have reopened some wounds.
“I have tried everything I knew a little about dhur-ryu physiology; it wasn’t much, but it was the best I could do.” He apologised quietly.
“You saved us, I am grateful,” She smiled weakly, yet Beren could feel the depth of her appreciation through her fatigue. “But the assassins might be close by and we need to move. I need to get to Kinara; it was attacked in the dead of night and completely ravaged. If the latest reports are true, the city has been reduced to ashes.”
Beren contemplated the news in shock. Kinara? Destroyed? That city was supposed to be unassailable! The more he mused over the tragic brief the closer he came to a conclusion that he didn’t like.
“Important though that is, it is more important our heroes survive if we are to have the edge over our enemies.” he started. “You need to rest, we will get there and anywhere else you need to go only if you stay alive. I am a mere researcher, I cannot hope to be as good as you are at what you do, but I know that for this you must stay alive, and I will try my best to protect you. However, I am no warrior. You can try to leave this place now, but in your condition even I can overpower you. We will leave this place at night if you are in a hurry, Nagrod has to recover and you need the rest. Even the dhurkat needs some time for recovery.”
Impressed by his sound reasoning and touched by passion of the scholar the Dragon Lady was left momentarily speechless. His words had reignited the fire of her unrelenting attitude, and her strength she felt was already returning to her. Once she regained her voice, she chose her words carefully.
“You sir have aided this country selflessly. For this you will be remembered, I promise.” She reached out to clasp his hand in her own to demonstrate her sincerity. “You also mentioned a dhurkat? Do you know who it is bonded with?”
“I believe it has bonded me!” Beren replied somewhat unsure of their relationship.
“Congratulations,” she smiled warmly. That was good news indeed. If they were going to come out of this alive, a shared consciousness could keep more eyes out for their enemies. “I am Aredhel Alatariel, and you are?”
“Beren. Beren Minyatur, my Lady” He said, feeling imperceptibly the hand of destiny at his back.
“I shall remember.” Aredhel assured him, before Beren coaxed her to lie back down. She smiled up at him gratefully, aware of the darkness of weariness at the edges of her vision. With you my greatest hope lies.
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Muzamorous woke up to find himself imprisoned in a dark, damp cell with no windows. Immediately he recognized the one place that could possibly be this dark; the dungeon prisons of the space carriers. This means? His thoughts raced. Scrambling for a bit he could feel at least three more faces on the ground; one with a beard, so obviously male, one had long hair, so she should be the girl and the last, his captain, was bleeding from the left temple. Horrified to think about his friend’s potential fate, Muzamorous tried to think of a way to stop the bleeding. What do I do? Having no bandages or any first aid material with him, he frantically tore a strip of material from his sleeve and used that as a temporary bandage, seeing no other way to staunch the bleeding.
A few minutes of anxious waiting proved fruitious – the others were slowly coming to and getting up to inspect their surroundings for themselves. They were as disoriented as he was, but thankfully he was already awake to inform them of their current state of affairs. He decided he would have to assume the role of the leader; he got them into this mess, he would get them out. Or else my name isn’t Muzamorous Narmolanya, he thought furiously.
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It was a very long while before Momentus’ eyesight adjusted to the ambient light. He was still in that insanely bright cage, as he thought of it. To add to his trauma he thought he was starting to hallucinate; he could see the faint outline of a child sitting in one corner of the room, with his head on his knees. He looked like he was crying, his back heaving with silent sobs. To add to his frustration he was still tied to the table, securely enough that he couldn’t break lose.
“What is your name kid?” he asked in exasperation, trying to break the impression that he was totally useless.
The child realised he was being spoken to, but this sudden attempt at communication seemed to scare the child further, as much as it disappointed Momentus.
“Help me, I promise I won’t hurt you. We can go find your parents.” Momentus added trying to soothe him.
“You can’t!” the kid replied abruptly. “They died years ago, now it’s time for you to move on.” With each word the child grew, until he was as tall as Momentus was. The child looked just like him. Panic gripped his heart but he refused to give in. How could this be? Momentus asked himself. I am delirious came the answer unbidden to his mind.
Instead of reasoning with his hallucination he wanted to play along with it and see how long he lasted himself. However, that wasn’t why he was seeing it; he supposed it had been brought on by his bad physical condition and momentary reflection of his life. It was time he regained control of himself, and he understood in a flash of lucidity that the only way his subconscious could catalyse this process was to have him hallucinate. His image crept closer to him, suffering the onslaught of invisible knives as it was slashed with every approaching step. With each footfall, it oozed blood from the ever-increasing number of wounds. Undeterred, his image forged on, but it made Momentus uncomfortable, seeing himself incur this multitude of injuries. His skin itched. Finally, the image was right next to him. Standing there one minute and then hovering over him the next. As the image sank into his body, self-realisation activated, and his world went black.
After what seemed like eternity, Momentus woke up again. Still in his infuriatingly bright prison, but this time, his bonds had been broken. What he felt, while he had his delusions, even he did not remember, but he knew one thing; he had a purpose now, a reason to live, and he was not going to let his enemies keep him in a cage! In this harsh reality, his purpose was to one thing and one thing alone – to bring about justice for the worlds. In that moment ties to his country and any other bonds of the past had also been broken, remaking themselves into something more powerful than before. Also, his feelings for his friends intensified, a strong sense of protectiveness claiming his heart. So he made a biding pact to himself; “I, Momentus Minyatur, will be the bringer of revolution!” he proclaimed to the white walls. Echoing back at him, his voice seemed to reaffirm his belief, until he felt the room resounded with the truth of his promise.
Gaining strength from this, he rushed to the wall on his right, kicking it at the last possible instant; a loud groan of metal grinding against metal was heard, and the door opened by an inch.
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