Year 826

"Straying Ruminations"

by
Kylar Curran,
Chief Moneylender to Count Brhode

"826 - Separation"

[Begins six months prior to the current date, then skips to the morning that the Lefederan Armies move out to engage the Kling]

Principal Characters:

Grey the Thief
Victor Demonsson

Secondary Characters:

Sir Daro Cole, knight in service to Lord Flitt

*******

Galaxia 824
The Dark Woods
Victor and Grey's Cave

Grey had sat outside their little cave since dawn, spending the time thinking and watching the small colony of ants that appeared to live behind a large rock. Some of the spray from the waterfall hit her feet and she varied between amusement and annoyance at the cold interruption of her thoughts. She half-hoped that Victor would awaken soon so she could get this over with, but also wished he would decide to sleep all day. Or that a rabid bear would suddenly descend upon her and drag her away before she had to tell him what was on her mind.

She also had a craving for eggs in the worst way.

Grey was about to go find herself some when she heard her mate stir from inside the cave. She could picture his frown when he realized she was up early again. Not her fault her stomach refused to sleep in.

Victor's reaching hands had not found their target in his sleep, and he'd awoken, already aware that something was wrong, that Poppet was missing. This was the third time in as many days she'd gotten up early and not been there when he awoke, and that worried him. Mornings were their special times, the time when they were together, the times when they held each other and banished the memories of being alone for the day. He didn't like those memories, and three days of them were more than enough to tell him something was not right with his mate.

He slipped out from between the furs, and took the time to settle them back neatly the way she liked them. She would be outside, he knew, probably sitting on her favorite rock, thinking. The first time he'd thought it was a reaction to the old woman's death day approaching, but Poppet's face hadn't held the sweet-sad look she wore when she thought of her old nurse. It was something else, and until she told him there was nothing he could do.

He padded silently out of the cave, stopped and sniffed the morning air, and then slipped up on her as she sat, where he'd known she'd be, on her favorite rock. He crouched down beside her, already more relaxed just because she was near. "Missed you."

Grey studied her feet with interest.

She was upset again. Not angry, her shoulders were wrong for that, and her face didn't have the right look. Angry he knew what to do with. She'd never been so angry that she refused to let him touch her, and once he'd done that they were soon too busy for her to be angry any more. Victor thought that she often pretended to be angry just to make him touch her, but didn't care. If it was a game, it was a good one, and he liked playing it with her.

"What's wrong?" There was no point in waiting for her to tell him what the problem was.

She gave him a fleeting glance, before returning her eyes to the ground and sighing. Grey mumbled something inaudible.

He frowned and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. She normally could make herself heard over the waterfall in a storm if she wished. For her to be this quiet was not a good sign. "Poppet?"

She made herself look up at him. "Baby." Grey repeated, and made a small circular motion on her own stomach.

Victor looked at her for a few heartbeats. "Baby?" he repeated slowly, trying to make the very large idea fit into his suddenly very small head.

She nodded and watched his reaction. The past few nights of fitful sleep had led up to this moment.

Baby. That was what she'd said all right. Baby. Poppet was going to have a baby. His baby. Their baby. He frowned, trying to think. He would have to hunt more, store more food up because Poppet wouldn't be hunting as much. There were things he'd need to do at the cave too, things he'd been putting off until winter that he'd need to have done sooner. The rest of the work on the other rooms, a real door to keep animals out and the child in... His frown deepened. He'd need to see the Web Witch too - actually talk to her instead of just leaving food in the usual space. There were things Poppet would need from her.

Grey looked at the frown on his face and wanted to cry. He didn't want it, just as she had feared. Don't be stupid, she told herself sternly. Crying over such a thing. She hadn't cried in all the years since Laura's death, except once when she had nearly broken her leg but that had to be excused.

Must be the lack of food in her stomach, she decided.

Victor looked at her, head tilted to the side wolfishly. She was upset now. Not angry, not yet. He sniffed. She was afraid. Why? He frowned a bit more, trying to understand what was bothering her.

She tried to speak but burst into tears instead. Definitely a lack of food. "You... don't... want." Grey managed to say.

He didn't want what? It took Victor a moment to realize what she was saying. She thought that he didn't want...? "No."

It made her cry harder. She couldn't deal with standing and crying before him so she turned to walk away.

He reached for her suddenly, stopping her from leaving, hands firmly holding her despite her attempts to pull away. "Stop," he said quietly, then again more forcefully as he had to put more strength into holding her. She tried to pull away again, and he did the only thing he could think of and pulled her close to kiss her.

It was one of his tricks for winning arguments and, as always, it was welcome. But the fact still remained that he didn't want the child. And she wanted it so badly. Grey had spent the last three days trying to picture what life with a baby would be like and had decided that she liked that. But Victor... she would never leave him. She sniffled slightly when he pulled back.

When he pulled away, he kept his hold on her. "Listen, Ella," he said, using her real name because he knew it would make her focus on him. He turned her face up to his. "Want you," he said clearly, looking into her eyes. "Want baby," he continued, one hand moving to press lightly against her abdomen. "Never leave. Never alone. Together."

"Really?" Grey said in a hopeful voice.

"You are for me," he assured her as he pressed down lightly with his hand. "Both of you. Always."

Grey gave a small cry and hugged him fiercely, then kissed him. "Love you." she said after she pulled away. "Always."

"Love you, too. Always." The words warmed something inside him as they always did, and Victor held onto that warmth as hard as he could. He looked down at her trim figure, imagining the swelling that would change it, the life that would grow under his hand, inside her. The life they'd made together.

"When?" he asked without releasing her.

"Seven moons." Grey replied.

"Many things to do before then." He frowned again without realizing it as he thought. "Cave to fix. Supplies. Better clothes. Trips to Web Witch." He looked back down at her, suddenly aware of how small she was. There might be problems with the baby. Things he knew nothing of. The thought of losing the child - or her - sent a sudden chill through him.

She tilted her head to the side as a question.

Victor started to speak and stopped, the image of the cave without her something he couldn't look at, even in his mind. His hold on her tightened, as if to keep her from vanishing, and he rested his cheek against her hair, smelling it and noting that she'd brushed some of the liquid the Web Witch distilled from flower petals through it before he awoke.

Grey pinched his arm lightly.

"Saw the cave without you," he admitted softly. "No Poppet. No baby. Nothing." He hugged her tightly. "Need someone there when baby comes. Someone that knows what to do. Won't lose you."

Grey shrugged. "Will ask Witch." She pecked his cheek. "Won't lose me,Victor. Never lose. Now, I'm hungry."

Food was easy. Victor nodded, hugged her, and asked, "Same as always?" He'd been making her the same breakfast that the old woman had every day since Poppet had come to him. As many eggs as she'd eaten, he wondered sometimes how there were enough birds to still make songs.

She had thought she'd wanted eggs but now she decided that deer sounded good. Pickled deer for some reason. And strawberries. Grey shook her head. Yuck and the berries weren't in season. "Surprise me." she told him.

Victor nodded again, released her with reluctance, and headed back into the cave. There were some things in the back that he hadn't looked at in a while. Perhaps there was a good surprise there.

Grey frowned down at her stomach. Picked deer? Really, she thought with a sniff. She rubbed her stomach. trying to imagine its shape and weight as it would be in several months.

When he returned some time later, it was with one of the large plates filled with food and a bottle of water from the small cooler that she recognized as holding cider. Grey recognized some thin venison steaks, as well as one of the sausages they'd gotten a month before from a dead soldier on the road, both heated on the coals inside. There were slices of bread covered with some of the wild berry jam the Web Witch had given them, pieces of cheese, and a few eggs - just in case.

She grinned at him as she started in on her meal. "Eating for two, not twenty." Grey said between mouthfuls of food. But she realized she would probably eat it all anyway.

Victor watched her eat, the speed at which the food began to vanish just short of alarming. "Need many more supplies," he observed, as he tried to decide if he'd lose more than one finger reaching for something to eat.

Grey rolled her eyes and leaned forward to feed him a piece of toast. "Men." she said with a half-hearted sigh.

"No," he said seriously, chewing the bread. "Not a man." He regarded her for a moment, and then snatched a piece of sausage with a deft flick of his hand while hers were occupied. "Not a man," he repeated. "Just me." He paused, watching her feed the life they'd kindled inside her, then said the words he knew meant the most to her, the ones he'd said to no one else. "Love you, Poppet."

She looked at him with tender eyes, figuring those words had earned him another piece of food. "I love you too, Victor." Grey said firmly, for once using a complete sentence which she normally found unnecessary. She forced herself to stop eating, or she would make herself sick, and leaned back against her mate. "Male name the young." she observed to him.

Victor's arms slipped around her naturally as she leaned against him, something that had taken her months to train him to do, but a reflex both of them thought had been worth the effort daily since then. He thought for a moment, wondering what name would be good, and then smiled as the perfect one came to him. "Harper," he told her firmly

"Boy or girl?" She asked, pleased that he would name their child after her old friend.

"Either," he responded. "Good name for both." He hugged Grey tightly. "Good woman. Kept you safe for me."

"Good woman." Grey agreed.

"Told me you were for me," he reminisced. "Should have listened. Wasted time. Could have made you happy sooner." He paused. "She knows, though."

Grey raised an eyebrow.

Victor hugged her again. "I heard her," he offered suddenly, the need to tell Grey the one thing he'd never spoken of abruptly overwhelming. "The day you came to me."

Grey's mouth opened slightly before she could make herself ask. "What did she say?"

"The wind laughed with her voice," Victor explained, speaking slowly to make sure the words came out correctly. He used full sentences less even than Grey. "I heard it when I told you that you were for me the first time."

"She'd said you would come around." Grey remarked with a smile. She missed her old friend terribly but it was comforting to know that she had watched out for her.

"Did she?" he smiled. It wasn't his usual wolf's smile or tigerish baring of teeth, but a genuine, warm smile, something no one but Grey had ever seen. "She told me once that it wouldn't hurt if I kissed the hell out of you."

Grey nodded. "So why don't you?"

Victor smiled again, this time a look that Grey knew well, and drew her close. He kissed her until she was breathless, and then held her until her heart had stopped racing, one hand stroking her hair. "She was right," he observed "It doesn't hurt. Never has." He waited a few heartbeats before he asked, "What else did she tell you?"

She considered. "She once said our souls were mated, that they would be able to find each other across time. That even if we were not together, we would always be one." Grey shrugged. "And that you are stubborn as a mule."

He snorted, the closest he normally got to an actual laugh. "And you are different?" He tightened his hold on her in a hug. "She told me that you would never stop hounding me until you got what you wanted."

"Persistence is a good trait." Grey said with a pout.

"No wolf ever chased prey as hard as you chased me. As much as you still do."

She spun in his grasp, pushing him back so that she lay on top of him. "Must be so horrible for you," Grey said mildly.

"Sometimes." Victor's eyes looked up into hers, unreadable. "Depends."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Depends on what you're after." The shield behind his eyes dropped to betray his feelings and how much he enjoyed playing this game - or any other - with her. Even though he'd never told her so, and even after all the years they'd been together, Grey could the same sheer need for her touch that he'd had the first time he'd let the shield down all those years ago when he'd told her she was for him the first time.

Grey smirked. "Well, I was going to suggest a long morning in our bed but I wouldn't want to push you."

"No."

Before she could react more than to stare at him, his hands had reached for her and drawn her up into a kiss that was as hungry as the first one they'd shared. "Can't wait," he explained, looking up into her confused eyes. "Need you too much."

He drew her down again for another kiss, her response lighting a fire in the embers that never seemed to lie far beneath either of their surfaces. The flames flared up, washing away fears and worries about the future, carrying them both away to a place where there was nothing but each other, now, and the white-hot moment that they reached for, and found, in unison.

****

Galaxia
The Dark Woods
Nearing Laura Harper's Cottage
Six Months Later

Grey stopped for a moment and put her hands on her waist to support her back. Even though Victor had insisted on carrying their packs, she still had one precious bundle that was weighing more with each passing step. She already loved her son or daughter but after months of nausea, strange cravings, awkward movements, and shooting pains, she was ready for the child to come out.

Victor, as always when she expressed pain, looked at her with concern but she waved him off. They weren't far from Laura's hut now and she would deal with whatever the baby sent her.

With a frown, he nodded and resumed his wary scan of the forest around them. There were too many people in the forest now for him to be comfortable, especially with Grey's mobility reduced. Refugees - he'd left some food for the worst off of them; deserters - he'd killed the ones he couldn't scare away or that he caught preying on the refugees; and scouts for one army or another.

Of the three groups, the last worried him the most. Bad enough that there were scouts from every faction of the army that had returned with the Count roaming about, but in the last week he'd seen scouts that were from no army raised outside the borders of Kling. Seven of them to date- all dead now. He could only claim the first five and the last - the WebWitch's man had killed the sixth - but that was too many by far.

None of them had been near the cave, but like all creatures with an expecting mate he was reactionary in his desire to protect her. He'd tried to talk Grey out of coming to tend to the old woman's grave, but it had been no use. The best he'd managed was to ensure that she was dressed warmly and was moving at a proper slow pace, a miracle in and of itself.

He paused, sniffing the air and frowned as he identified the smell of old smoke and burned wood from, a day, perhaps two, in the past. He caught Grey by the shoulder and stopped her, fingers on her lips to silence her.

"What is it?" Grey asked quietly.

"Smoke. Fire. Old," he whispered into her ear. "One day, maybe two. You wait here."

The only thing to burn in the area was the old woman's cottage, and he knew the minute that she realized it from the change in her eyes.

"Let go!" She whispered harshly as he moved to block her from heading for the cottage.

"No." His voice was firm, the one he used when even her kisses weren't going to move his will.

"But Laura..." She began.

"The old woman doesn't need walls," he told her. "Or a roof, or a bed or a chair. She flies with the wind now. Those things are nothing." He took a breath. "You wait here, I look."

"I will kill them if they disturb." Grey said darkly. "Be quick, mate. I will not wait long."

"I will be swift," he promised. He shed his pack before giving her a kiss and making sure her knife was at hand, and then departed.

Grey watched him leave, her expression pained. She thought about following but Harper chose that moment to kick and Grey was reminded she had more than just herself to worry after. She moved her hand to soothe her baby when she heard the first rustling. Her hand froze over her stomach, the other hand tightly clenched the knife.

Victor slipped through the forest like a ghost, senses reaching out. There was smoke still, and something else - burned meat. He considered the odor for a few steps as he circled to come upon the clearing from a direction sufficiently offset from the one that Grey was in that were he to draw pursuit, it would not overrun her. Not the burned smell of men trapped in a fire, it was deer. Someone had cooked a deer in the clearing within the last few days.

With a slow, measured movement, he drew up to the edge of the clearing and stopped in the shadows, concealed by a rock and several plants he'd deliberately replanted there years ago so that he could watch Grey without being seen from inside the clearing. The blind would serve a different purpose today.

Within the clearing, Laura's house still stood - Poppet would be pleased with that - and the grave was unmolested - that would please her more. A firepit had been dug and a deer carcass dressed out and cooked over it slowly, the fire deliberately kept small to reduce the amount of smoke that was seen. A group of men - Kling, Victor observed with a frown - were spread about the clearing doing the things that soldiers did when they rested. Some slept, others cared for their gear, and three were playing some game with dice against the wall of the hut they appeared to have made into a base of sorts.

Victor counted quickly. Two hands - too many to simply kill. He could get half, perhaps one more, depending on what the sleeping men did when they awoke, but the rest would retreat into the hut or the woods and he wanted to deal with neither of those problems. Grey would have to wait to see to the old woman's grave. If need be, Victor himself would come do it for her, but she was not coming here with so many present.

He counted again, thinking. If he had the WebWitch's man with him...yes, it might work then. At least they would kill so many that the ones who escaped into the forest would be easy to catch and kill before they escaped to tell anyone what happened. Victor disliked asking for help, but this was something he couldn't do alone - and the WebWitch's man would want them gone as well. He wouldn't refuse.

He started to rise, then froze as the sounds of movement from the opposite side of the clearing reached him, the Kling soldiers hearing it a moment later. They reached for weapons, the sleeping men woken with a hand over their mouth to prevent outcries, and readied themselves.

The Kling were ready and waiting when the first Lefederan soldier stepped into the clearing - and raised his hand with a smile, greeting the wary Kling as friends.

Victor dropped back into a crouch. This would be interesting.

"Daro?" A voice whispered making Victor jump. Grey was crouched beside him and was watching the group with narrowed eyes. "Men came." She added with a shrug. "Nowhere to move but forward, Victor."

Liking her presence this close to the soldiers less with each passing moment, Victor forced himself nod in agreement. She was right even if he didn't like it. He checked behind them, decided she'd been unseen, and turned back, one hand moving to rest on her back as a comfort and a warning to stay down. "Who Daro?"

"Daro Cole. My father's... was father's council." Grey said. "Those are Flitt's colors he wears. Flitt's shield. He... betrayer." She had often wondered how Flitt had gotten in to their castle to kill her parents. Now she knew. Her hand gripped the knife angrily.

In the clearing, the Lefederan soldiers eyed their Kling counterparts, as the apparent leaders spoke. Victor picked out the distinctive house badge on the traitors and memorized it, then turned to the man, Daro. He'd hurt Poppet, reason enough for him to die thrice over, and Victor intended to make certain he had all of those deaths before he finally passed.

He was not a memorable man, which was probably why he had lived as long as he had. He was of regular build and height, with ordinary blond-brown hair- worn long, and dull brown eyes. About the only thing out of place on the man was the way he carried himself, as if better than the others.

The conversation was as expected, even though Victor had heard nothing like it before. Daro had the plans for the Lefederan army's advance on the Kling in the morning, passed on to him by his master, Flitt, and was bringing them for sale. The Kling, in turn, had all the treasures looted from the lands they'd occupied, and were willing to spend them to get what they wanted - a victory.

Victor frowned, something inside him sickened at what Daro and his master were doing. Only man would act this way, would sell his kind out for bits of metal that had no real meaning. Did he think his evil would buy him a better life if the Kling won? Did he think that the spirits of the ones he'd sent to their deaths with his treachery weren't waiting on the wind for his arrival to tear him apart day after day for the rest of time?

"He did this before?" he whispered to his mate. "To your people?"

"He sells out his people once more." Grey said shaking her head.

"This time he pays," Victor said firmly, starting to draw her back and away.

"I will see my family revenged!" She hissed.

Victor's hand slipped over her mouth like a striking snake. "Quiet. They will hear us. I did not make this spot to hide sounds. Only to watch you."

Grey started to retort and then firmly shut her mouth for a half a beat. "Fine." She would discuss this spying upon her later though.

Victor pulled her back and into the woods, not speaking until he judged they were far enough away. "He dies today. I go, get WebWitch's man. We kill them all."

Grey nodded. "Fine. I need my bow."

"No." His voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion. "Not with child. I kill him for you."

"You need more than two." She insisted. Grey was about to say more when she felt the wind stir and she thought she could hear the faint sound of warning upon it. Laura's voice. The baby kicked and Grey felt herself grow cold. "Victor." she whispered.

Victor abruptly looked up, something that might have panic in his eyes. "Run," he snapped, pushing her aside, behind a tree as the first sounds of movement reached her. "I lead them away."

"I..." Grey began as he started to move. "You'd better live."

"Always together. Trust old woman," he said. "Love you." Then he was gone, moving towards the sounds in a rush.

She turned and ran before she could make herself stay. Her stomach churned and she tried to silently tell Harper that they weren't abandoning Victor. But it felt like a lie.

Victor broke through the undergrowth silently, surprising the Kling soldiers as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The crossbow in his hands shuddered once, the slam of the bolt's impact picking the lead Kling up off his feet as it carried through him and took down the man directly behind him as well. Victor broke to the left, away from Grey's line of retreat and kept moving; the mass of soldiers - virtually all he'd seen in the clearing from the look of them - turned with a roar and followed.

Grey couldn't move quickly enough. She reached the end of one clearing, hearing the voices behind her, and knew that she wouldn't be able to make it to either the cave or the WebWitch's before she was found.

Victor ran swiftly, pacing himself so that he didn't outrun the Kling. He cut to the left again, back towards the clearing, and burst into it with just enough time to spin and slam back-first into the old woman's hut to stop himself and draw the crossbow again. As he slotted a bolt, hands moving automatically, he wheeled around the corner to get some space between himself and the pursuing Kling - just as another party of Kling entered the clearing, several men screening for a fourth individual.

Grey clutched her stomach just as the first hand reached her. She shrieked and turned on the man, stabbed the knife home. He shrieked in return but there were more in his place. She tried to fight them off but in the end she felt only a sharp blow to her head, the world of Lefederan men fading as she passed out.

The crossbow came up without conscious thought, as the pursuing Kling burst into the clearing behind him. The weapon fired at the protected man, instinct telling Victor that killing the pack leader was always best in a fight, one hand reaching for a bolt even though there would be no time to reload. The figure in the rear recognized the danger and jerked one of the guards in front of them as Victor fired, the bolt killing the first man and taking them both to the ground. Without a pause, Victor spun and imbedded the bolt in his hand in the temple of the first man to reach him from behind, dropped another to strangle in his own blood with a blow to the throat from the crossbow - and then went down as the remaining six men swarmed all over him. Blows landed, he struggled, got a hand free and killed another man with his own dagger, wounded a second then a third - and then a boot crashed against the side of his head and the world went black.

*Hi. This is a just a short backpost to Galaxy so that I can actually introduce my character before I had to introduce her past life character. The next post will be in the Galaxia timeline*

"A New Home. . .Oh, The Excitement"

Ensign 8-ball Hunter

8-ball stared at the ceiling. It wasn't that it was a vastly interesting ceiling. There weren't any pictures on it or strange alien beings trying to hypnotize her. It was just the ceiling of her quarters on the Galaxy which she'd been on for less than a week. The ceiling above her new home. And yip hip hurray for that.

8-ball turned over on her side and sighed. The whole space being the final frontier yadah yadah speech was all very well and good, but 8-ball wasn't really interested in finding out new things no one had ever seen before and saving the galaxy. The only reason she was in this joint was for a good bed and steady meals. It didn't matter much to her if the universe went to Hell, as long as she kept breathing while it was flaming away.

8-ball's lack of galatic-happiness-for-all ideals had already gotten her into some trouble. Just the other day, some annoying ensign who's name wasn't really worth bothering to remember had started telling her how much Starfleet meant to him and how it was important for the TEAM to stay together, and the TEAM to love each other, and the TEAM to become one big happy family.

He was very big on the idea of 'the TEAM'.

For her part, 8-ball did try to politely surpress all gagging reflexes and told the incredibly naive ensign that she personally wasn't in this for the long haul, and as soon as the Galaxy became a happy, loving, together, musical TEAM, she'd be on the first boat way out of here. The ensign hadn't been altogether happy with this response. He made one of those superior sniffs and swept away from such negative influences as the nefarious 8-ball.

She was sure he didn't have a sense of humor.

Thankfully, it didn't seem like all the Galaxy crew were about to break into song. But she didn't feel wonderfully at home here, just like she hadn't felt wonderfully at home at the Academy. As usual and with any sort of schooling in her life, 8-ball put in the most minimum effort to survive and still managed to get pretty good marks. But she hadn't gotten along with too many of the students, and she didn't really want to. Most of them seemed to act so irritatingly superior.

One Vulcan cadet who she had class with had told her that she should act more logically like any good Vulcan, even a half-Vulcan, would do. It certainly seemed at the time logical for 8-ball to break the cadet's nose for him.

8-ball sighed again and kicked the wall. She didn't want to be here. She missed the bar. She missed Big Man and winning pool against the other drunk patrons. She missed drinking games and brawls and poker. Above all, she missed her dad.

One of her sort-of cadet friends at the Academy had two parents who were counselors and was very big into psychiatry making everything better. She had advised 8-ball to go talk to someone about her problems. Biggest problem with that, though, was that 8-ball didn't really feel like baring her soul to anyone, and who on the campus was she going to bare it to? The professor who had wrote her up for mocking him?

One day while semi-contemplating this problem, she noticed that old man, that Boothby guy, tending the gardens. He looked like just a gardener, but with some sense or another, 8-ball could tell there was something more to him. He was special somehow, different, wise, possibly a potential caring father figure---and after that, 8-ball was careful to sure as hell stay away from him.

Two father figures six feet under were enough in her life.

If she as much as said hello to the wise old Boothby, he'd probably find his head cut off by his own gardening shears. No, in the end, confessional just wasn't 8-ball's style. And that was fine, except now she was here, working on a great, big tub flying through the universe, and still missing the bars and Big Man and her old man.

8-ball rolled over on her bed. She just couldn't sit here and mope. She needed to do something. Maybe she could go to the holideck and shoot some pool or something.

"Or maybe," she said to herself, "wasn't there all those weird past life aliens in Ten Forward. Yeah, maybe I could go there. That'd be entertaining. Go see my past life. I was probably a scullery maid. Or no, what about one of those knights or their big stee--no, no, I was a princess. I could so be a dainty, pretty princess."

8-ball got up and glanced at herself in the mirror with her hair all out of place like it always was and tried to imagine herself as a princess. She started laughing as she walked out the door to Ten Forward, ready to face her past life and all it's unique distractions. . .as a dainty, pretty princess. 8-ball laughed all the way to Ten Forward.

"826 - Saving Private Curran, Part 1"

[Set a week before the final events of 'Separation']

Primary Characters:

Kylar Curran,
Moneylender to Count Brhode
Victor Demonsson
Grey the Thief

Secondary Characters:

Cragg, Taxman
Three Cronies

****

Galaxia
Western Side Of The Dark Woods
Approaching The River

Victor checked Poppet's progress for the tenth time in as many minutes. She was still doing fine, but he could see the first signs of fatigue setting in. Stubborn as always, she refused to believe that their child should slow her down any, despite the fact that she was a small woman and their son or daughter seemed destined to be Victor's size. She wouldn't stop until she fell over from exhaustion.

"We stop here," Victor announced abruptly.

"I'm fine." Grey snapped.

"No." He reached out and steadied her as she stepped over the last of the rocks and into the secluded nook he'd selected. "So *I* can rest. Tired from keeping up with you."

"Don't humor me, Victor." Grey said irritably. "I know I'm not as mobile as I used to be but I'm hardly to blame for that. In fact, I'm sure that this is all *your* fault and..."

He let her talk as he eased her to a sitting position, her back against a small tree, and then interrupted with, "No, I can never keep up." He leaned closer and kissed her, silencing her comments. "You always win."

She mumbled something about fighting unfairly against his mouth.

Victor smiled then, a real one, and started to respond, his words lost in the sudden baying of hounds from a short distance away." His smile vanished. "Hunting dogs. Hunters." He stood up, crossbow ready. "Not time for hunting. Poachers."

"Victor?" Grey called to him.

He looked down, realized that she couldn't stand or move if the dogs found her, and nodded. Extending a hand, he pulled her to her feet in one motion, holding her to make sure she had her feet under her. "Stay here," he ordered, even though he knew it was pointless. She would never leave him, especially now.

Grey snorted. "Dream on."

With a frown he acquiesced. "Go slow. Stay hidden," he directed. He laid a hand over their child gently. "Both safe."

She frowned in return. "You as well."

"All safe," he agreed, and touched her face with an gentle hand. "Stay in rocks. I go around," he gestured towards the forest. "Wait for me to shoot unless dogs come."

****

Galaxia
Western Side Of The Dark Woods
Riverbank

The two dogs circled closer, backing Curran up against the rock. The pounding beat of hooves moved closer, the animal's masters approaching to see what game their hounds had treed. One of the dogs - the larger - moved closer, teeth bared, to block off an attempt by Curran to edge around the boulder and make a break for the forest or the stand of rocks to his left.

His hands clasped about the darts he'd stashed for such the purpose he was ever followed. Even though he hadn't taken into account eleven years ago that he'd be chased by dogs, he nevertheless was going to be taken down without a fight.

The dogs dug in, churning up the earth in preparation as their hackles raised. He couldn't see the mate clearly as he'd been caught unawares by the first dog. The jaws frothed in saliva as they pooled on the ground below them. He had no time to react as the owners of the animals reined towards his niche.

The hoof beats hammered at him like thunder for a moment, and then went silent as four horsemen burst from the trees and reined up, looking at him. Four horsemen that Curran knew - and that knew him: the remaining taxmen that Hoth and Price had set loose on the barony, the ones that had placed a price on his head.

The first dog growled and snapped at him hungrily. A little too close for comfort, which forced his back up against the boulder, but gave him time to slip the three darts into his palm.

The first horseman reigned up his anxiously pounding horse, his back to the sun. Curran had to squint to get a good look at him.

"Fine day, isn't it?" The graveled voice just oozed out of him in sarcasm, and the dogs responded by snapping their jaws at him even closer. He hoped his cloak hood concealed him, in any event. He still had work to do in this world.

"Well now," the leader said with a smile, leaning forward to get a good look at their cornered prey. "I think I know you, don't I?"

"It's Brhode's moneylender," another exclaimed, delighted in a way that sent chills down Curran's spine.

~So much for the hidden aspect~ Inwardly, he smiled.

"We've been so *very* much wanting to talk to you," the third said, his smile like that of a snake toying with prey.

"So very, *very* much," the last oozed, lifting his boar spear so that the tip flashed in the morning light.

"I bet you have, Cragg. So how much is the bounty on me these days?" He threw back his hood and shook his long mane of dark hair free. His blue eyes caught hold of Cragg as it passed over the spears.

"More than I care to tell you, Curran. What with your head will bring us, we'll be able to purchase our own baronies!"

"Oh, so you can count past 10 galleons now? And how is that wife of yours, Cragg? She raising our child well?" He sneered.

"You respect the Duke's Envoy!" The one with the boar spear thrust out at Curran at the same time as the other two closed in response to the insults.

The dogs growled and pounced, then all hell tore loose.

OOC: This takes place before the current episode.

"Unpalatable Lifeline" [BACKPOST]

by

Chief Counselor Karyn Dallas,
Nurse/RN, Second Officer

Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Federation Liaison Officer

Karyn headed to the Legate's quarters in order to figure out why the hell he wasn't on the bridge per Brhode's orders. One of the joys of being Second Officer apparently included playing gopher. She couldn't help but be a little concerned. Kylar Curran was never late. Such a transgression would never be allowed for such a 'superior' Kelvan. Rolling her eyes at that thought, Karyn rang the chime.

Inside, the quarters were a-reek with the scents of blood and sweat. The fembot had ravaged Curran, thrived on his failed attempts to push her away from him. He was weakened mentally, emotionally, and physically. He'd been thrown up against the sonic shower fixtures, where the fembot was desparately trying to revive his limp member to life. He was instead pleading - begging- for it to stop. He was a pitiful sight, face contorted in pain, and ravaged by the phereomones assault on his mental barriers, shredding away his dignity.

When on the third attempt the chime didn't summon the Legate, Karyn looked down and saw the door was unlocked. Karyn paused. She did not want to go inside, not wanting to trample all over his privacy, but what was she going to do? She sure as hell wasn't going to tell Brhode she was more concerned with sparing Curran's feelings, and truth be told she welcomed the opportunity to catch Kylar off-guard, wallowing in imperfection. Karyn entered, having no clue what to expect.

Kylar vaguely heard the chime over the resonance of the sonic waves, but he was so buried within the terrors of his own mind, he had no ability to respond. He tried to call out, but his voice was hoarse. Whatever sounds came out of his mouth were drowned in the shower. He tried to reach out for the handle and twisted it somewhat, but was pulled away.

Instead, the echoes of his own silent screams ricocheted about him. He was lost deep within the confines of his own sun drenched mind, the sweat glistening off his lost tentacles. He baked in the scorching heat, the pressure of the atmosphere bearing down on him after his rigorous endurance test to determine his readiness into Kelvan society. His survival was required for admittance into society, and he felt so very tired. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep.....

Dallas nearly gagged on the smell. It was a familiar one to her, a mixture of sweat, blood, carnal fluids and what she presumed to be pheromones. A quick survey of the place revealed nothing out of the ordinary until she reached the bedroom where the smell was virtually overpowering. There had been a struggle here - whether it had been violent or amorous she couldn't tell. A mirror had fallen, the bedside lamp had crashed. Various pain or pleasure devices littered the floor, including a pair of purple velvet handcuffs. A glance over at the bed revealed tangled sheets with remnants of blood? and the fluids of lovemaking.

Karyn turned her head, certain she was going to throw up just imagining what had occurred here, and then she heard it, the shower? And what sounded like gurgling...gasping... *Oh, God, if he catches me here...*

The room was a mess. The Legate was obsessed with cleanliness, and yet he was busy taking a shower? A trill of warning traveled down her spine. Something was definitely wrong, and she wasn't at all certain that the Kelvan wasn't responsible. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge, but unlike the stupid heroines in the ancient horror films, she was going to be as prepared as possible.

Then she spotted it. What she thought was a phaser. It was partially obscured by a few PADDs on Curran's desk, but it came to her attention like a beacon. She moved over to it, praying it was charged. She had half a charge left. Not as much as she hoped, but it was enough to stun Kylar long enough for her to get away should he spot her moving past the bathroom.

She crept out of the room, praying she wouldn't be spotted.

In the Liaison Officer's lavatory, a ruckus of its own had begun. The fembot, unyielding to the Kelvan's moans of displeasure, finally pulled herself away from him.

"You are displeased with me, my liege? You are unresponsive to my services." She brushed her lips, and disconnected the resonating beams. Kylar lay, un-moving at the shower base, eyes fluttering as his battered body slumped from her release. The fembot gazed quizzically at him, unsure of how to respond. Kylar was mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

His eyes slipped open as he gazed numbly at the epitomy of his defeat. Never in his existence did he ever believe anything would take him down as easily and methodically as this creature. He was vilified, morbidly uncouth, and sufficiently unclean. He had been utterly defiled in all his being. His body was exhausted, the demands placed on it by the chemical emissions of the fembot draining him of any ability to fight. His own body rejected him, and this he could not live with. Therefore, he sunk within himself, catatonic, and pleaded for death.

"Let.... me.... die....." His voice came out as a rasp, choked by his own tears. The fembot eyed him with innocent and unknowing stare. Her programming did not take this into account.

Karyn watched the scene with horror, now unable to tear her eyes away from what she was seeing. She had been making her exit from Curran's quarters when she heard the screams coming from the lavatory. Something in the tone told her what she was hearing was not indicative of passion, so she had turned around.

As cold sweat dripped into her eyes, all the rage of what she had just witnessed threatened to boil over. She was quite literally seeing red. All the anger and hurt she had ever felt toward any sexual predator was directed straight at the 'woman' before her. Her father. Dirk Argent. Lt. Dick. Poet. All of them...

She moved into the lavatory, phaser pointed directly at the object of her contempt. "Get away from him. Now!"

And suddenly, they were all around her. Her father prominantly in front of her. He sneered. "What are you going to do, Lizzie? Shoot me?"

Later she would liken the experience to being temporarily insane. So angry, so crazed, that she quite literally did not know what she was capable of. Images flashed before her mind's eye. Her dad laughing at her. Screaming. Pain. Fear. She couldn't be sure who moved first, but one moment she was pointing the phaser and the next moment she was slamming the trigger, a bright orange beam slamming into the apparitition straight into the fembot. She hadn't even remembered changing the setting.

By the time she was 'back in her body,' the fembot had fallen to the ground, unmoving. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, all she could do was stare at what she had done. Immediately she relinquished the phaser as if it were a hot potato. She moved over to Kylar, still gasping for breath, and checked for a pulse. He was still breathing, but not very responsive. "Legate...answer me, Legate. It's...it's all over now."

She did her best to pull his naked form from the shower stall.

Panic gave way to urgency as Karyn suddenly realized she was Curran's only lifeline, if he was indeed still alive, for the moment. As such, she was responsible for ensuring his immediate health and safety, and that would involve ascertaining how he was. Hands shaking violently, she frantically dug into the medkit beside her for the medical tricorder, nearly dropping it and the kit in the process. Stifling a curse, she opened the tricorder and began taking readings, her left hand shaking so badly she had to use her right hand to stabilize her left wrist to keep the scanner level.

Pulse, steady. Respiration, shallow. Blood pressure, rising. Temperature, elevated. But all signs of life. Slowly she watched the battered Kelvan go from an object of violence to a thinking, breathing, traumatized sentient.

His life scattered before him. Images both serene and invasive crossed paths, erupting him in both rage and contempt. Rage and contempt at himself. He saw other Kelvans, surrounding him, silently taunting him, casting him from their arms of unity, no longer a protectorate.

He felt arms encompass him, pull him from the grasping tentacles that he had given himself over to. He cried out, desperately reaching for them, but the grip pulled him tighter around his neck, and away from the darkness. The lapping waters faded away, and an echoing voice whispereed to him. He couldn't quite make it out, but it relaxed him. It rocked him back on the waves of fluid ebony darkness, carried him to wherever destination beckoned him.

"Legate.... Legate.... Legate...." The voice grew closer, and his darkness lightened to a hazy grey.

Slowly, his eyes gathered focus on the image that slowly took shape before him, an aura of reddish hue frames an oval face.

The reds, greys and browns coalesced into a face he would rather not have seen. The clincher. At least her presence sent a sense of finality and appropriateness through him. The one person who almost tore the Federation down to its knees, brings him to his own.

A rush of adrenalin, perhaps his last, forced its way to the surface.

"Get away from me!" He swiped her arms away, feeling smothered by her offensive emotions. He didn't need her help. He was already dead. Kylar tumbled out of Karyn's arms, and had found himslef sprawled on the cold floor of the lavatory. His numbed fingers clasped for support, and clawed their way across the floor until it came around something hard and blocky.

Through his haze of pain and embarrasment, he drew it close, realizing it for what it was. He clamoured the phaser close to his chest, and rolled on his back, to point the phaser at Dallas. His face with contorted with rage, fear, and deep-lined with pain.

It happened so fast Karyn was hardpressed to react with any sort of emotion at all. One moment she was coming to his aid and the next moment he was pointing the phaser at her. She dropped the tricorder into her lap and held her hands out in a non-threatening manner. In the most level and soothing voice Karyn could muster, she tried to calm him. "Legate, it's ok, you're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to help you. You're going to be alright. She can't hurt you anymore."

He jumped at the sound of her voice, head cocking at the angle of an animal hearing a potential predator. He sniffed the air, and waved the phaser at her, his eyes alit with rage, fury, and fear. He was trapped, and lost.

He scurried into a corner and brought his knees up to his chest.

"Get away from me!" He grumbled deep in his chest. The pain was intense, and his heart beat wildly.

He aimed the phaser, with trembling fingers, daring the woman to move. He recognized her, but in his torn mind, all he knew was he hated her; he hated her with everything he knew, and all he knew at this point was terrible hatred.

OOC: This takes place before the current episode, and immediately following "Unpalatable Lifeline".

"Taking Out the Garbage" - [BACKPOST]

by

Chief Counselor Karyn Dallas,
Nurse/RN, Second Officer

Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Federation Liaison Officer

*** Curran's Quarters ***

Behind Karyn, he caught a motion. A wisp of hair, a drift of clothing in the ventilation breezes, who knew, but whatever it was, it set him over the edge.

His eyes grew wide in absolute terror. They darted back and forth between the devil and the naked form laying on the floor behind her. His body shook... and lost control.

"Damn you!!! Damn you!!! Damn you!!!" He flew to the counselor, rushing along the floor like a four-legged carnivore, shoving her to the side as he fired the cold-cutting beam of the phaser at the android. A blue haze enveloped the machine, gelling as it grew. The shrill of the weapon increased as he burned the machine away. The whine continued even after the metal had melted and disintegrated into nothingness. His body fought against him, but in this moment, the vision of the counselor had urged him on, given him support, and forced a decision from him.

The damned machine fluttered, shook, and finally broke apart in a flurry of molecules. He released the trigger momentarily, until seeing Dallas - hearing her! - beside him, silent, he tumbled to the side, and refocussed the beam on her, itching on the trigger.

"Are you... one of them?" He was accusatory, degrading, and spit out the words. "Tell me!"

The brutal display brought home the reality of Kylar's state of mind. The thought that he could kill her at any moment fluttered somewhere in her psyche, but because it was all happening so fast, it just was not reaching her the way anyone else might expect. Still, there was a part of her that knew she had to be convincing, her very life depended on it. Her voice quavered. "N..no, I'm not one of them. I'm r...re..real. You're safe, Legate, it's all over now. It's going to be all right." She made no move toward him, simply hoping her voice was soothing enough.

He squinted. He didn't believe her. He shook the phaser at her again, with more force. "Prove it. You're one of THEM!" His anxiousness rumbled in his belly, and bile was edging its way up his esophagus.

Her mind raced. How was she to prove that she was not a fembot, when by all accounts, Mudd's creations looked and felt like real women? She could rattle off facts, information that the pleasure bots would not have wasted their neural nets for, but in Kylar's weakened state, she doubted he would understand the significance of such a gesture, so she did the first thing that came to mind. She took out a hyperscalpel and drew it across her left forearm, creating a long, but relatively shallow cut. As blood began to drip from the wound, Karyn held it out in front of Curran, numb to the prickle of pain. "They don't bleed."

He watched the glob of blood drip... one... two... three... pooling on the floor in an ever-increasing diameter. He squinted, wary of any trickery. Holding the phaser in a cautious stance, he kept one eye on the female, and the other on the floor on the red puddle. She made no moves, onlly her eyes followed him, and they appeared innocent. He swept a finger through the viscous fluid, a trace of his finger's path flowing behind it. His stomach lurched.

Then it came. As he brought the finger to his nostrils to smell its truth, he lost concentration on the nausea forcing its way up his throat, to come out in a huge heave of colourful chunks, which washed forth in a geyser straight ahead of him.

Karyn for her part did not know what to do. She didn't want to frighten him by moving, but she didn't want to sit there like an idiot. She yanked the wastebasket from the corner of the lavatory and moved over to him, placing it in front of him. She wanted to comfort him, but was afraid to touch him. "It's alright, Legate." she soothed. She was afraid he might be vomiting blood.

As soon as his eyes cleared to find the wastebasket under his dripping chin, his anger increased tenfold along with his fear. He'd been caught unawares in another moment of weakness. He gripped the wastebasket with a free hand, still dry heaving, and swung his phaser back. "Get back!" His eyes were buggy and full of fear and hatred. "don't come near me, or I'll fire!" His finger twitched on the weapon.

Karyn backed up, but tried to reason with him. "Legate, you're not well. Let me help you. You could be seriously injured."

His embarrassment crept up on him, as his sanity and intelligence slowly gained ground. His body was exhausted, spent. He had no desire to live, let alone breathe any longer. He cast a sidelong glance at the phaser setting, and noticed a faint charge light. Not much left in it. One shot, maybe, and he wasn't about to waste it on this human. Instead, he pointed it to his head. "This is your fault." Wild-eyed, darting.

Karyn swallowed hard. She hadn't anticipated that he would do this, but she should have. "Legate, listen to me. What happened to you was no one's fault, least of all yours. Let me help you. Would you like some water to settle your stomach?"

"How about you drink the water, because what I'm about to do next is going to make you need it!" He had no desire to die without taking this woman with him. No one should be witness to a Kelvan's death except another Kelvan.

Every fiber in her being screamed for her to call for security, but she knew if she did, most likely she would be too late. It would take two seconds for him to shoot himself and then shoot her. Besides, if she did manage to talk him out of it, she didn't want to humiliate him further by allowing security to see him like this - naked and scared. No, she had to calm him down. Both their lives depended on it.

"Legate, you don't want to do that. You're Kelvan. Kelvans don't solve their problems by taking the easy way out. They prevail! You're stronger than she was, you're better than that. Don't let her actions dictate your own any longer. Talk to me. Let me help you find a way out of this that doesn't involve any more violence."

"I'm NOT Kelvan! My life is forfeit. I am human now." He spit out some bile without taking his eyes off her. "Distasteful. This form sickens me. I am weakened in this state, and cannot get back to my own form. My heritage demands that I make reparations for this atrocious behaviour, and I am held responsible for the actions taken by this body." The haze that clouded his mind slowly began to lift, but hatred still reigned supreme within him. The fire and confidence of his decision held him tight. He fingered the phaser release, emitting its remaining power, and awaited his last walk into the desert.

A millisecond later (an eternity to the horrified Dallas) that walk hadn't come. So little power remained that the phaser sputtered and failed to emit a beam. The phaser was dead. Later Karyn would realize that in ending the "life" of the fembot so viciously, she had actually saved Kylar's. It would be of minimal comfort.

When the end did not come right away, he hesitated. The desert did not come for him.

Karyn closed her eyes in relief and was aware that her entire body was shaking. Still, she had to regain control. Her voice quavered despite her best efforts. "L..legate, please. Let's talk about this. You need medical attention. This was not your fault. Let me help you." She didn't dare move. "May I get you a towel?" Karyn thought perhaps he would feel more in control if he was partially covered. She also didn't want him to go into violent shivers from the shock.

When he heard the voice, at first he thought that death had come for him and this was his escort to the halls of purgatory where he would await judgement. Yet, he felt light-headed still, but cold from the porcelain tile below him. He crumbled to a heap on the floor, rattling the phaser. This was the second sign that something was amiss.

Karyn knew her opportunity had come. Moving quickly, Karyn crossed the distance between them and was able to remove the phaser from Kylar's shaky grasp. Shoving it beside her, she grabbed a towel hanging from the stall and wrapped it around him. Her voice was soothing, but certain. "I'm going to give you something which should lessen the effects of the pheromones for now, but it might be better if we went to sickbay... I could beam you to a private room and keep the whole thing discreet." She knew it wasn't the best option for him emotionally, but she also wasn't sure how badly he was injured or if he was safe there.

"Sickbay...." The word cut through his consciousness and sliced the shroud of darkness like a scythe. The room came into focus as he felt something drape around him. Squinting his eyes against the dim light, he smelt.... berries. A peace stole over him momentarily, until he saw the face of Karyn Dallas hovered over him, framed in the light like a silhouette of a fallen angel from Hades. "Why am I not dead? Why must I suffer this disgrace each day? What have I done to deserve this?" He was raspy, and hiccupped as his stomach was tiring itself out of emptying the contents. "I hate you. Almost as much as I hate myself. Get away from me before I do something I might regret."

Karyn stopped, hypo half-way to its target. Her brain refused to process what he'd hurled at her. 'Hate' was such a powerful word, but it bounced off her easily for the moment. All that mattered was duty. "Legate, I have a duty to ensure your health and safety. I'm not leaving you like this, I can't leave you like this. At least let me run a few scans to make sure you're out of danger." She had to keep him talking. He had already tried to kill himself and it was obvious to her he was suicidal. If need be, she'd call for a male counselor to speak with him, but she could not, ethically or personally, leave him alone.

"If you truly understood duty, then you will leave me alone. I have the right to do what I will with my life, so get the hell OUT of it!" His usually constrained self had been shredded away, like tattered clothing in the wind. She was in her element, and could see right through him. Maybe he should kill her, for now she knew too much.

"You know I won't do that, Legate. If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine, but I'm not leaving you like this. Won't you at least tell me why you feel this is your only way out?" Karyn knew she had very few options available with Kylar suicidal, but she preferred getting him to go with her voluntarily over beaming him naked to sickbay after what he'd just been through.

"It is our way. My society does not tolerate weakness. It is a detriment. A..." He cast his glazed-over eyes a glare at the hoverchair floating nearby, " ... handicap." The scalpel lay near her. The one she proved to him that she was not an abomination. "Furthermore, you have been witness to my accounting. I cannot in good conscience allow that to be known. Therefore, it would seem that we both must die." His ragtag thoughts focussed on one thing, the scalpel, and he dived for it.

Despite his weakened state, Karyn was no match for the Kelvan, his motions too quick for her to fully process in her state of shock. He came at her with the scapel and she evaded him, backing up, feeling something slip in her hand... The hypospray! It might not knock him out, but it would be enough to impair him. So focused was he on wounding her that he left his own neck unprotected. She used this to her advantage, strraining forward to press the hypospray into his flesh. When the point of the blade began to pierce her skin, her heart stopped. She had to stop him! She had to!

At the hiss on his neck, Kylar knew he had lost. He hadn't been paying attention. He knew his mental defenses were crumbled. He couldn't think, couldn't strategize, couldn't foresee. He fell exhausted and slid across the floor, to come to a rest at the washbasin, passed out before he stopped. Whether it was from the hypo, or the last of his energies finally giving out, who knew. He was ultimately done, and his final fate was in Dallas' decisive hands. She had unwittingly determined the final path he would take to the culmination of his existence.

Dallas' head spun. For several long seconds, she took in breaths, fatigue threatening to overtake her. And then she saw Kylar... Oh how she wanted to run! But something rational took over. He ws hurt, and hadn't been treating him been her goal all along? Something in Karyn told her it weould be unwise to transport him to sickbay, and yet something else told her it was even more foolish to leave him there possibly dying. She crept closer and lowered himself to the ground, reaching for the medkit.

At the very least, he deserved to be covered. She reached for the discarded towel and covered him, tucking it around him for warmth. She didn't know much about Kelvan physiology, but she knew it was quite similar to a Vulcan's. The tricorder showed him to be in some sort of healing coma, presumably to cope with the physical and mental assault. For the moment, he was alive and breathing much easier.

Unfortunately, his body was in much worse shape. There were cuts and bruises on his chest, some of the cuts still bleeding, more than likely from...fingernails? Some of the bruises were actually hand prints. The flesh had been squeezed so roughly, Karyn could actually see where the fembot's fingers had been. Traces of semen and other fluids remained. Deep circular bruises indicated where his hands and feet had been shackled.

An overwhelming sense of pity overrode any of the fear she had felt earlier. She had a duty to protect him. The first thing she did was an internal scan to make sure there was no internal bleeding. Finding none, Dallas breathed a sigh of relief and focused her efforts on conducting a neurological scan. Aside from lower levels of neural activity accounted for by the healing coma, there was no evidence of brain damage. Neurotransmitter and pheromone levels were starting to level out as well, whether it was due to the coma, the hypospray, or the natural progression of the pheromones she didn't know. The important thing was that Kylar Curran was in no immediate danger as far as she could tell. Cross-checking his readouts with what she knew to be normal for Vulcan physiology, she felt even more confident.

Dallas then set her sights on healing Curran's scrapes and bruises. Some of them, like those around his ankles and wrists, were quite deep and required multiple passes of the dermal regenerator.As she tended to his wounds, she said nothing, somehow sensing even in his coma like state, any gesture of concern would wound him further. Instead, she focused on cleaning him up, stopping any bleeding, while keeping him as discreetly covered as possible. He would be sore for a time, but Karyn was sure he'd recover, at least physically, within a few days.

After one last look at his vital signs, Karyn gathered clean towels from the linen closet and placed them around and on top of him for warmth. Tapping her combadge, her report to the bridge was short and to the point. "Legate Curran is ill and is unable to report for duty. I have treated him and will advise ASAP about a return to duty." She closed the channel before Brhode's bitching erupted. Frankly, she wasn't in the god damned mood.

Taking one last look at the sleeping Kelvan, Karyn left his quarters.

"Good Ground"

Lieutenant Colonel Sir Cassius Henderson,
Knight Commander of the 3rd Battalion/Crimson Banner
Lieutenant Dame Erin Thorne, Paladin of the 3rd Battalion/Crimson Banner
Kylar Curran, Chief Moneylender to Count Bhrode

-Bridge Hill-

So, the legends of the Forest Demon proved true.  Somewhat.  He was no demon, but neither was he a man?  Either way, folk stories had bulked up his status to something completely unrealistic.  He would respect his privacy, for that was something he truly did understand.

He didn't care.  The Demon could do what he wanted, so long as he did it for the right cause.  He owed him now, and he would follow through on that life-debt, as much as it detested him to owe *anyone* anything.

Curran trudged along the dark path, in the shade of the Forest trees.  His shoulder ached where the boar spear had sheared under his Chitin pauldrons underneath.  He'd dislocated it while fending off the devil dogs.  At least, that's what he believed.  He had little memory of the events that transpired after his staggered escape from the eruption of blood and swath that followed his discovery.  And what memory he did have, he refused to believe.

If that was truly the Webwitch that had healed him of his wounds, he could hardly believe his own dumb luck.  Two legendary myths in one day.  Yet, for the murky images that lingered on his thoughts, he let them be.  The two myths of legend had managed to escape the trivialties and mirages of common life.  No pretending to be something you weren't.  Just a pair of souls who'd recessed themselves from the idiocies of society to live out life on their terms.  And for that, they were punished to live a life of solitude away from 'civilization' that prejudged them.

He wished he had travelled that route in life now, but he was trapped in a cage from which there was little hope of evading.  Save for one path.

He wasn't ready for that exit just yet, though.  He was weary of life now, yes - he was 44 cycles now - near the end of his life here in Galaxia, for not many lived past their 40th cycle.  Yet, he needed atonement.  The war was upon them, and he needed to show those he had taken so much from that he could give back.  That he wasn't some leech on life.

The daystar had risen high in the sky, it's heat infusing his limbs even in the shade.  Clouds rolled across in the distance, and the scent of tulips carried on the breeze.  Rolling hills spanned for as far as the eye could see, but the local fauna were strangely absent.  He hadn't seen so much as a bird fluttering along in the Spring breeze.

The clouds roiled an angry black in stark contast to the azure sky above him.  The wind stilled, taking the sweet scent of flora with it.  A bad omen.

The village was just over the vale ahead, and Bridge Hill came into sight as he navigated a steep incline.  The roar of the blood river grew until he reached its peak.

Cassius Henderson and Erin Thorne stood together on Bridge Hill, looking over the ground.  The army's chosen strategist and the Knight Commander of the 3rd Battalion of the Crimson Banner were deciding on the best way to go about presenting the battle plan to the assembled lords.  They were fairly sure of what they wanted now.

In the distance, the saw figure approaching, who they didn't recognize. Signaling to Erin, the younger woman retrieved her rifle and knelt, aiming down the hill.  "Who goes there?" she shouted down.

At the break of his sovereign interlude by the sharp voice, Kylar gripped his shiv tucked into his belt, until realizing he'd left it in the throat of Cragg.  His arm winced with the strain of twisting his joints in the sockets.

"Just a simple farmer, returning home from the market.  Who are you?"  He darted his eyes around, spotting the glint off something metallic or shiny. Its owner was hidden well.  He inched his way up the hill, pebbles trickling behind his leathershod boots worn from miles of walking.

"Officers of the King's Army," the young woman said, beneathe her slouch hat, slung low over her eyes so that she could avoid the sun in her eyes, which threw off her aim.  She continued to cover the farmer.

"Don't you know there's a war on?" Henderson called down, his voice deeper that his cohort/former-page/bodyguard/lieutenant/lover's.  He quietly rolled up the maps that contained the Galaxian battle plan.

Curran had made his way halfway up the slope when he heard the voice of the male.

"Of course I know there is a war on!  How can I not?"  He cast his arms across the landscape, where plumes of smoke were rising on the plains as villages burned.

He looked up to see a red flag fluttering in the breeze coming just into vision on the hill, and felt a desperate urge to relieve himself.  The pressure was building.  He hated red.

"And who is pretending to be King this time?"  He resumed his climb.

"This time is for real.  The battle that we've been anticipating is finally here." Henderson replied, tucking the  maps into their case on his saddle. He patted the warhorse approvingly on the neck.  The horse had been with him for eleven cycles, ever since he had parted ways with Lady Irene, the Marquess of Breenae and the Knight Protector of the Crimson Banner.

Erin Thorne walked to meet them, stepping out of the bushes after Sir Cassius.  "So what brings you up here in these conditions?"  She noticed his injuries, "Are you alright?"

"I was a lot worse than I am, of which is none of your business anyhow."  He caught his breath at the expanse of tents across the field.  Infantry, cavalry, and artillery were forming below, drilling in maneuvers. Roars of anxious soldiers determined to best the Kling in battle could be heard as they clashed with each other in adrenaline-crazed lust.

"If the battle is here, why have your troops only formed?  Why are you not on the march?"

"Because this is good ground. We have the advantage of being able to pick our terrain and establish our defenses," Henderson explained, "The Kling are not too foolish, but they do have a tendency toward massive, overwhelming frontal assaults. On hills, with fortifications, we have the advantage, though they will get temporary cover from the forest."

Curran nodded.

"Now then, I suggest that you make your way for home, and keep your head down. The shooting will probably start very soon," Henderson suggested, mounting his horse. Thorne followed suit, "We have to move out now. The commanders need their orders."

Curran watched the two riders dissapear down onto the next hilltop, among the soldiers. A signal corp unit took their place on Bridge Hill. Curran turned and headed for home.

“Fighting Chance” - Part 1

Lieutenant Colonel Sir Cassius Henderson, Knight Commander of the 3rd Battalion/Crimson Banner
Major Dame Rima Pennington, Knight Errant of the Crimson Banner
Lieutenant Dame Erin Thorne, Paladin of the Crimson Banner
Lord Jurgen Hoth, Duke of the lands of Hoth
Lord Robert Price, Duke of the lands of Price
Lord Jeremy Flitt, Earl of the lands of Flitt and the other lords and ladies...

-Command Tent, Galaxian Battle Lines-

Cassius Henderson strode into the command tent, his reconnaisance run over. Erin was taking the horses off to be watered and readied for combat. At his best estimate, they had barely 24 hours until the enemy would be upon them, and at that point, their best plan would be thrown for a loop, no matter what it was.

The assembled lords, ladies, generals, and other officers stood and saluted, greeted, or nodded as was appropriate for one of their station to a mere knight. Henderson saluted in responce, and removed his cloak and gloves, draping them over an empty chair in the corner. Placing his helmet on the chair, he took the maps from the saddlebag that Erin carried. She hadentered the tent a few moments previously, unnoticed.

“Thank you, Erin,’ he said, spreading the maps out while the others talked among themselves. He secured the ends at the tips fo the table with small rocks from the dusty tent bottom. “Ladies, Gentlemen. If I could have your attention.”

He waited for a moment for the others to get quiet, then began, “These are our lines,” Henderson said, drawing his pointer across the lines denoting deployment and strength, stretching from the utmost left, Bridge Hill, behind which Galaxia lay, and the far right, Nachelle’s Hill, where the Lefederan lines were anchored. He pointed out Colonel Pendleton’s seige weapons, and their numbers.

Then he pointed out the Kling encampment and explained the enemy’s superior numbers in ground troops. Then he explained their near total lack of horsemen, archers, and siege weaponry.

“So what you’re saying is that while the Kling find martial melee combat to be honorable, they abhor ranged weapons and are afraid of horses, finding both to ultimately be cowardly ways to fight?” Lady Jessica, commander of half of Lady Irene deMercereau’s army and a noble in her own right, said, clarifying his point.

“Exactly,” Henderson said, “So the easy way for us to meet this, is to set up a barricade of spikes, barbed wire, and other unpleasantries at the base of our lines to slow them down and allow our riflemen, archers, and crossbowmen to gun them down at range.”

“What makes you think that will work?” Duke Hoth asked, “Sounds like one of Irene deMercereau’s strategies. Tell me, Henderson, do you always do what she says?”

Cassius resisted the urge to glare at the offending lord. “Only when she’s right, which is the vast majority of the time. Think about it, my lord. If we tie them up trying to cross a mess of that sort, they’ll either have to go around, thus exposing them to our prolonged seige weapon fire, or they’ll have to go over, exposing them to the more direct weapons in our arsenel.”

“He has a point, Jurgen,” Duke Price pointed out, “Set aside your rivalry with Irene for now. We do have a country to save.”

“Of course, Robert,” Hoth replied sarcastically, “And where was that little opinion when you opposed my rightful coronation as king?”

“Not now, my lords,” Earl Flitt interjected, “Let bygones be bygones. Allow this good fellow to continue his presentation. Then we will pass judgement.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Henderson said, though in truth he didn’t trust Flitt any more than he trusted Hoth or Price, “Now then. I also suggest a strike at their rear. If I take my three battalions of men and ride hard around them, I can come in behind and trap them between us.”

“It’s a thought,” Hoth admitted grumpily.

“I’d accept that plan,” Price said.

“I like it,” Flitt replied.

“Good, then...” Henderson said before he was interrupted by a woman in armor entering the tent. He recognized her instantly as his old assistant, Dame Rima Pennington. “Good lord, Rima, what happened?”

“Lady Irene’s forces have been ambushed in a ravine west of here. She looks like she’s winning it, but her forces will be delayed and tired when they do arrive,” Pennington said, her breaths coming out ragged.

“Easy, Rima,” he said, “Erin, take her and get her something to drink and eat. I’ll talk to her later. Gentlemen, will that be all?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the plans out overnight for you to see and talk about. We’ll work on implementation tommorrow morning. We have no more than 24 hours however, so don’t waste time come the morrow.”

"826 - Saving Private Curran, Part 2"

[Set a week before the final events of 'Separation']

Primary Characters:

Kylar Curran,
Moneylender to Count Brhode
Victor Demonsson
Grey the Thief

Secondary Characters:

Cragg, Taxman
Three Cronies

****

Victor hated moments like this. They were men, killing another man, and there was no clear reason for him to interfere. He didn't know the lone man with his back to the rock, but recognized the others as the tax men that had wandered the lands for years now. That wasn't enough to kill them, though. Even if they had money, he didn't need it. The funds taken from the deserters and bandits he'd killed in the last few months meant that there was plenty to buy what Poppet and the child would need.

Better to let the men be men and move on.

He started to move back and let the scene play itself out - and then saw the third dog, the one not menacing the man against the rock. The one vanishing into the rocks where Poppet was hidden.

That changed everything.

Without a thought, the crossbow was up and he had prioritized the targets. The men first. The dogs would take longer to kill the man they had cornered, and that gave him time he needed. If their prey lived, and killed any of them, so much the better - but the men had to die before they investigated the loss of the dog he had no doubt his mate would kill and found her.

He took up the slack I the trigger, let his breath out as he waited for the two lead ment to line up and....

****

The dogs tore at him just as he felt the barbed prong of the Boar spear rend itself into the top of his shoulder just under his pauldron, spraying blood all over the boulder behind him. This brought the devil dogs into a fevered pitch as they chomped down on whatever they could get a hold of.

He felt pain slice throuigh his thigh as he spun around. He had the darts in his hand and jabbed out with all the strength he could muster. Flashes of colour flew across his vision and haze overcame him.

But he felt all three of them sink into something hard and muscular. He twisted them in deeper unknowing of where they had penetrated. Or what. The shafts snapped in his gloved hand, and a thump hit the ground beside.

He felt tugging, and knew he was being bodily moved. His leg was numb where he felt the initial pain. Was it gone? He heard limbs went numb when they were torn away...

He trtied to kick and punch the animal off him, with grievous pain. Devil dogs were juggernauts. He could see, through his clouded vision, it's furs rising in rhythm to the ripping and shredding of his limb. It was still there, fortunately, but the breeches were coated slick with ragged tears and running rivulets of blood from gash marks where it was playing a horrid game of tug-o-war with his bones. Too bad the skin was still on them.

The closest taxman to the forest of the pair advancing on Curran went off his saddle sideways, as though the hand of God had slapped him down. In the same instant, the man to his right also went down in the identical manner, as if the same blow had struck him as well. Their horses, spooked by the sudden loss of their riders, reared, forcing the men behind them to veer off to the side to avoid a collision. The unhorsed riders smacked into the ground under the hooves of the dancing horses, causing them to whirl about, startled, stepping on the grounded men once or twice in their confusion.

A huge hoof slammed down next to Curran's head just as he avoided being trampled by another horse. He frantically tried to kick off the fiendish creature with his other booted foot. What had spooked the horses? Then he was dragged and slammed into something soft as the monstrosity physically lifted him up and tossed him aside.

Rolling over, he came face-to-face with one of Cragg's goons, his chest a gaping hole where it'd been crushed by a crazed steed. The damn barb was still embedded in him.

Cragg stared for a moment as he pulled his horse up, dumbfounded at the sight of the two men jerking under the impact of their own horse's hooves. With a sudden shake he whirled his horse to face the forest and pointed with a yell of "Ambush!"

Curran, in his temporary freedom of being a dog's rag-toy, risked a glance at the good timing of the ambush. Probably townspeople sick of being robbed of their livelihoods. Come to think of it, he'd best escape himself before they came to the realization that he was amongst the taxmen. From what he knew of the bounty on him, his capture could set up a poor common family with their own feifdom, even at the substantially reduced reward of his being caught dead.

Yet, he could see nothing. Whoever was out there, they excelled at subterfuge.

The third taxman followed his leader's course of action and wheeled towards the forest with leveled spear, held for a moment, and then spurred forward at a rush when he sighted movement.

Victor watched the spearman come, hands working on the crossbow, a smile that he had never shown to Poppet on his face. Moments like this were when he could let himself be what he was, let the part of himself that he kept buried out and give it free rein. They were the ones when he was the most alive; more even, in some ways, than when he and Poppet loved each other until their spirits climbed to the stars together. These were the moments when he was what he had been born to be... a killer.

Kylar caught a shift in the treeline, and a myriad of green hues moved! He felt chilled. He was losing blood. The devil dog was bounding towards him again, blood frothing with saliva in its jaws.

As the taxman reached the tree line in response to the glimpse of motion that Victor had deliberately given him, his horse slowed as it crashed through the brush. Two horse lengths, then four, it finally came to a halt at six lengths, the confused tax man looking about for a target.

****

Grey pressed the trigger watched as the second arrow buried itself in the dog's throat. It went down with a whine and good thing too because she out of arrows. She exhaled and rubbed her stomach absently. Harper kicked and she grimaced as the sounds of fighting and the cries of men begun. She thought to join them but armed only with a dagger and nearing the day of her child's birth, there was probably precious little she could do. Grey could only hope that Victor would not do anything foolish, as all men were prone to do.

She might have thought more about her favorite complaint but just then a snarl came from behind her. She turned around slowly to see a second dog standing before her, hackles raised and teeth bared.

"Shit." Grey said.

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