This edition of the Mini-Story Omnibus compiles the two multipart Exile mini-stories posted during the spring of 2007, Patience and Reunion, plus the various side minis associated with them. They're presented here in story order (side mini-stories appear where they belong chronologically) rather than the order in which they were released.
--G. October 24, 2007
Table of Contents
He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious.
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War (ca. 400-320 Before Standard Calendar)
Thursday,
September 13, 2288
Uncatalogued star system
Coreward of Rigel
A tiny ship lurked in a small asteroid field between two of the uncharted binary system's outlying gas giants. Designed to be unobserved, with its dark blue coloring and its sensor-confounding systems, the VF-6S/VB-9S Shadow Legios starfighter waited and listened, its crew confident that they would notice anyone approaching long before being noticed themselves.
In the cockpit of the Alpha, Maia Sterling looked at her instrument panel chronometer for the 400th time, keyed her intercom, and said, "I thought you people were reliable. Where the hell are they?"
In the cockpit of the docked Beta behind her, Maia's fraternal twin sister Miranda snorted. "'You people,' she says, as if she wasn't also half-Zentraedi."
"Emi, anything new on the feeds?"
"Nothing good," reported Emilia, the second-youngest of the seven Sterling sisters, from the Beta's comm/sensor station. "Unless you count the price on your head going up to cr500,000."
Maia made a dismissive noise. "I'm worth ten times that."
"Nothing about the Prometheus?" Miranda put in.
"No, nothing. No word since they shot their way out of Deralia." She hesitated, then went reluctantly on, "ISN claims a whole Legios squadron was destroyed by GENOM fighters covering their escape."
Maia's fist closed involuntarily on the powered-down fighter's throttle controls. "Which one?"
Emilia hesitated again. "Well... "
"Emi."
"Look, you know this is half propaganda and half - "
"Which one."
"... ISN says it was the Jollies."
The single word Maia uttered in response came through clenched teeth, nearly inaudible in Emilia's earphones. "Fuck."
Emilia opened her mouth to offer some further attempt at reassurance, but before she could get it out, an alarm whined on her sensor panel. "Hold on - new contact coming in. Small craft exiting hyperspace."
Up in the Alpha's cockpit, Maia flipped switches, powering up the Legios's engines and getting ready to move out if necessary. The prospect of action gave her the strength to push away what she was feeling, as she had over and over again the last couple of days, and concentrate on what she needed to do to keep herself and her sisters alive.
Down in the Beta's bomb/cargo bay, currently fitted out in its "troop carrier" configuration, the youngest of the Sterlings didn't have the luxury of tuning herself up for action. Mylene Sterling was only 14, and unlike all of her sisters, she wasn't militarily inclined anyway. She had little training, no experience of battle, and a gentler temperament than the others. Mylene was an artist, a musician, not a soldier - and, alone among them, still in many ways a child. Unable to sublimate her fears and sorrows into dynamic action as the others could, she had spent the last several days in a state of profound and deepening misery.
Now, as she felt the Legios's spaceframe quiver and fill with the rumbling whine of starting fusion turbines, Mylene just closed the visor of the CVR-3F armor Miranda had insisted she wear and huddled as deep as she could into the seat. Inside her helmet, her tiny rodent pet stirred against her neck and peeped into her ear.
"I don't know, Guvava," she whispered. "Another fight, I suppose." Hugging herself as best she could considering the hard edges of her armor, she murmured, "Why is this happening? Why can't we wake up? Oh, I'd give anything to wake up and have Mom badgering me to go to class... "
It might have comforted Mylene somewhat - or at least surprised her - to know that her elder sister Maia, a tough, battle-hardened veteran Shadow Legios pilot and member of the WDF's infamous Nazgûl Squadron (the Black Riders), felt exactly the same.
Maia nudged in a little bit of throttle, moving the Legios a bit away from the covering asteroids, then cut power again and let the ship drift as a pair of small craft boomed out of hyperspace and coasted into the system on the ebb of their superluminal wakes. With her own visual sensors, she was pretty sure she knew what they were, but she waited for Emilia to confirm her suspicions anyway.
"Two Valkyries," Emilia reported. "Looks like a Super J and a Super A. I'd say that's our girls."
Maia switched on her external comm system and aimed a tight-beam communications laser at the lead Valkyrie, the J-model. A moment later the panel pinged as the Valkyrie acknowledged with its own comm laser and established a link that would be nearly impossible for hostiles to intercept. Maia couldn't remember the last time she'd felt as relieved as when the face of her eldest sister Komilia, washed monochrome by the tinted space visor of her Valkyrie helmet, appeared on her center MFD.
"It's about time you guys got here," she blustered to cover her relief.
"Bitch later," Komilia replied tersely. "I'm pretty sure we brought you some new friends."
"New friends, what the hell are you talking ab - " Maia began, but then she had her answer as the sky behind the two Valkyries filled with spacecraft and her threat panel went wild.
"I'll be damned," Emilia said, impressed in spite of herself. "Invid Armored Scouts! GENOM really has pulled everything out of the garage for this operation."
"How many?" Maia demanded, throttling up and starting to move out as the two Valkyries made for the asteroids at full power.
"About a hundred, I think," Emilia replied. "I can't say for sure without going active."
"Wait one. Komilia, what's your status?"
"We're just about used up," Komilia admitted. "No missiles, I'm out of ammo. Terry has a GU-13, but she's stuck in fighter mode. Not optimal against massed Invid."
Despite - or maybe because of - her desperation and frustration, a fierce, almost feral grin stretched Maia's face. "Then we'll have to take care of it ourselves! Emi, get me some targets!"
So saying, she rammed the throttles wide open, opening up the combined Legios's mighty thrusters to full power. Emilia switched the Beta's sensors to active mode, radiating energy, no longer concerned about detection, as the acceleration shoved her back in her seat even with the fighter's inertial dampers engaged. At the controls of the Beta, Miranda started selecting targets for her weapons while Maia aimed the Legios right at the heart of the approaching Invid formation.
"Îdô Nidir nênâkham, Bârî 'n Katharâd!" Miranda cried, her voice spurring a thrill up Maia's already tingling spine: the battlecry of the Black Riders, Now come we, the Nine, lords of eternal life!
So caught up in the moment were both sisters that they never wondered whether they would see the other seven again.
The Invid fighters never perceived the Legios itself - only the evidence of its presence, the sudden and tremendous luminal and thermal flare of its exhaust, the sweeping pulse of its active sensors. So preoccupied were their small awarenesses on the targets they had pursued across a good chunk of the known galaxy that they hadn't even adjusted to the abrupt appearance of another combatant until it was far too late for them.
Invid plasma fire filled the sky, most of it inaccurate. A few pulses splashed against the charging Legios's shields, doing no harm at all. One, more by luck than design, streaked past and struck the trailing Valkyrie in the aft starboard quarter, jarring it into a sudden roll and drawing a cry of consternation from its pilot.
Snarling with fury at the attack on one of her sisters, Maia threw the Legios into a corkscrew roll, making the stars and the smearing tracks of Invid fire spin crazily in her canopy, then thumbed and twisted the mode selector built into her throttle lever. Without disengaging from the Beta, the Alpha portion of the combined fighter transformed to battroid mode, becoming an armored soldier effectively wearing a giant thruster backpack. Miranda plied her controls with equal fervor, the sisters acting almost as a single pilot. Panels popped open all over the Shadow fighter as powerful sensors painted target after target. Plasma and particle-beam fire from the Legios's fixed weapons picked off a few of the Invid, softening up the formation for the onslaught to come.
Their Zentraedi warrior blood singing in their veins, Maia and Miranda cried out a Meltranese challenge and pulled their triggers as one. The charging Legios slowed slightly in reaction as more than a hundred missiles boiled from their tubes on the Alpha and Beta at once. Space filled with seething contrails as the weapons - compact but deadly GPM-150 Mark XXVI General Hosement mini-missiles from both craft and a few of the Beta's powerful AMM-9 Reaper medium missiles - streaked and spiraled and sought, running the gauntlet of plasma fire to plunge into the attacking Invid formation and unleash utter havoc. A curtain of explosions nearly 200 miles wide blossomed in space as the Legios's barrage tore at the two Valkyries' pursuers.
In moments, all that remained of the attacking force, besides rubble and rapidly expanding clouds of dust, was the command ship, the human crew of which had not quite grasped what had just happened.
With a puff of escaping gases, the two parts of the Legios undocked, Maia's Alpha battroid executing a tidy tuck-and-tumble to clear the Beta's path as the larger craft charged past, still in bomber mode. Aboard the GENOM command ship, the crew were still trying to get a fix on what was going on outside when a target designation warning howled on the combat officer's panel. At about the same moment, the overhead speakers crackled as Emilia punched through the vessel's comm shielding with the Beta's powerful transmitter, and a filtered voice, guttural and cruel, filled the bridge with terrifying, incomprehensible syllables:
"Nubin sherkuk," it intoned in a voice like madness itself. "Rakhizinash! Matizinashûk!"
Plasma fire weakened, then breached, the command ship's shields, which were already degraded by the vessel's close proximity to the recent wave of explosions and fusion-core cookoffs. From a compartment under its port wingroot, the Shadow Beta launched an RSM-666-XL heavy missile. As soon as the missile was away, Miranda stood on her ventral thruster controls, flipping the ungainly bomber end-over-end, then opened her throttles and cleared the area. Moments later, the AntiChrist missile's Reflex warhead detonated, wiping the GENOM command ship from the sky in a millisecond pulse of irresistible heat.
The calm after the battle was almost shocking in its suddenness and completeness. The two parts of the Legios docked quietly, almost routinely, their armor ignoring the microimpacts of dust and tiny particles from their recent swarm of victims. As they turned to rendezvous with the two Valkyries, the Alpha part resumed fighter mode, blending the two vehicles fully into a single spacecraft again.
"That looked satisfying," Komilia remarked dryly.
Maia, flushed and sweaty, just flipped open her CVR helmet visor and grinned.
"You have no idea. How's Terry?"
"I'm fine," Therèse Sterling replied. "Some armor damage, screwed up my thrust vectoring, but the automatics recalibrated the nozzle within a second. Just like the book says!" she added, sounding wryly impressed. As a certified and highly experienced Veritechnician, she knew exactly what all the systems on a VF-1 could do.
"Thanks for the save, though," Komilia said. "It would've taken us all day to kill all those guys."
Maia smirked, accepting her eldest sister's half-joking fighter-jock bravado for what it was, and let it pass.
"Well, if you guys are done bringing random strangers to our party," Emilia put in, "we have a rendezvous of our own to get to, and you two have made us late."
"Oh, relax," Komilia replied. "When was the last time Xera was on time for anything?"
"Has anyone heard anything from Mom and Dad?" Therèse asked.
"I got a call from Dad near the end of the fight over Musashi, after the Wedge hypered out," Miranda reported. "It was pretty broken up, but I heard him mention the Zentraedi fleet."
"So they're with Xera," Komilia reasoned.
"Seems that way," Miranda agreed.
"Hey, isn't that Kakizaki's Valkyrie?" Maia asked as the three spacecraft formed up and laid in their new hyperspace course.
"Yes," Therèse replied, sounding subdued. "He, uh... won't be needing it."
"... Oh."
That broke up the exultant after-battle mood, reminding all five sisters (for Mylene couldn't hear them, and had never forgotten in any case) just how desperate their situation still was. There was a gloomy silence for a few seconds.
Then Miranda said, "Okay, girls. Course plotted. Link your navicomputers to me and let's get out of here."
The three fighters' exhaust coronas flared red, and then they were gone, leaving behind only dust and echoes.
"Pursuit"
(Part 1 of Patience, an Exile Mini-Story Serial) by Benjamin D. Hutchins
Patience Plotted by Philip J. Moyer
Special to the Eyrie Productions Discussion Forum
© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
Saturday, September 15, 2288
Coreward of the Rigel sector, near the edge of the United Galactica proper, lies a rogue planet, unaccompanied by any star, serene in its own private orbit around the Galactic Core. Though it has no sun, it glows with a light of its own, illuminated from within. Upon first seeing it, many take it for a gigantic space station. They assume it must be an artificial construct, for the whole planet is covered with spires and sheets and jumbled strata of gleaming metal. Scarred by ancient and terrible battles, it remains somehow beautiful, a gem set against the blackness of the interstellar void.
Cybertron, homeworld of the Transformers.
Komilia Sterling certainly thought it was beautiful, especially right now. After days of hard running, she and five of her six sisters had reached their destination at last. Palpable relief ran through her body as a white-and-scarlet VF-1S Super Valkyrie with distinctive Autobot markings pulled into formation with her own VF-1J, at the lead of the three-ship formation she had just led out of hyperspace. Her center MFD flickered, then resolved into a virtual image of the same fighter's battroid-mode head and shoulders.
"Eight-Ball Eight, this is Jetfire. You guys look like you've seen some action."
"You could say that," Komilia replied. "I imagine you've seen a newspaper sometime this week?"
"We're monitoring the situation with great concern," Jetfire replied. "You aren't the first to reach us."
Komilia suppressed an urge to ask who else had made it; she had more important business to take care of, and so did Jetfire. "Request you clear us through to Queltaadu City."
"Negative, Eight," Jetfire replied. "I have orders to take you straight to Iacon. Optimus Prime wants to see you."
Komilia's eyebrows went up. "What for?"
"I dunno. If I had to guess, I'd say you knew Gryphon better than any of the others who've made it here so far. Prime's trying to figure out how one of his best friends could just up and lose his slagging mind."
"Oh, horseshit," Komilia snapped. She wouldn't normally have shown such heat, or said such a thing over the comm, but the events of the last few days had left her brittle and short-fused.
"Well, yeah," Jetfire agreed. "Still, you've got to admit something weird is going on. Anyway, he probably wants to ask you about the last couple of days before... you know."
Komilia sighed. "Might as well get it over with, then," she said.
So it was that, immediately upon landing at the military spaceport adjoining the great dome of Iacon, the six Sterling sisters were ushered directly to the nerve center of the Autobot capital. Though a few of them had been to Cybertron before, none had ever seen the Autobots' command center. Unfortunately, all were too tired and emotionally strung out to enjoy it, or to take much notice of each other's condition, for that matter. Komilia had all she could do to keep herself together, stay cool and in charge. Maia and Miranda looked to each other, as always, and Therèse was off in her own little universe, preoccupied with a thousand details. Only Emilia had enough spare mental bandwidth to notice how profoundly miserable Mylene was, and all she could offer was a hand on the youngest's shoulder and reassurances that sounded insultingly hollow as soon as they fell from her lips.
They were a wretched little group, feeling small and vulnerable, when they arranged themselves on the catwalk ringing the command balcony in the Autobase command center and waited.
A moment later, the giant door at the back of the balcony opened and in strode Optimus Prime, supreme leader of the Autobots. His appearance alone lifted the spirits of the six young women who stood before him. His massive, gleamingly armored form, his tall stance, his confident gait, all spoke of indestructibility, of absolute integrity. Even with so much of their faith in what they had believed to be eternal shaken or shattered outright, the Sterlings felt faint flickers of hope stirring within them at the mere sight of him.
He stood for a moment and gazed at them with softly glowing blue optics that conveyed an impression of his great kindness and wisdom. When he spoke, his mighty voice was gentle.
"It's good to see you're all alive," he said. "We had begun to wonder... if any more would make it."
Komilia took charge, as she always did, and introduced her sisters; she was the only one of them who had met the Autobot leader in person before. Then she asked him what was going on.
"I wish I knew," Prime admitted. Placing his massive hands on the railing in front of him, he looked past the little group of women at the situation displays in the war room, as if they could somehow decode all the happenings that had rocked the galaxy over the past five days.
"Sometimes it seems as if the whole galaxy has gone mad, and not just one man," the Autobot leader said softly.
Komilia looked shocked, then angry. "Dammit, Prime, you can't believe - "
Before she could go on, an alarm sounded. On the main monitor, red lines and icons suddenly appeared, indicating new presences in Cybertron's celestial neighborhood.
"Springer! Report!" Prime ordered, his bearing suddenly brisk and businesslike.
"Space fleet defolding at Point Gamma," Springer replied. "I make it thirty ships. Big ones. They're vectoring to enter orbit."
"Incoming transmission," Sideswipe reported from another console. A window appeared on the main monitor, showing the hatchet face of a middle-aged man in a high-collared grey uniform and peaked cap.
"Attention, Autobot Command," the man said in a cool, clipped voice. "This is Captain Lorth Needa of the GENOM Corporation Star Destroyer Avenger. You are harboring Wedge Defense Force fugitives in violation of United Galactica Assembly Decree 2288-1257. You will surrender these fugitives immediately."
Before Prime could respond, hotheaded Sideswipe had keyed his own mic. "Oh yeah?" he snapped. "Or what?"
Needa smiled thinly. "Or Cybertron will suffer the consequences prescribed by law," he replied.
"Is that supposed to intimidate us?" Sideswipe demanded. "Do you know who the fuck you're talking to?"
"Sideswipe," said Prime, his voice firm but not sharp. Then, with just a hint of amusement in his tone, he added, "I'll handle this."
Abashed, Sideswipe yielded the floor with a muttered, "Yessir."
"This is Optimus Prime, supreme commander of the Autobot forces and military governor of Cybertron," Prime said, addressing himself directly to Needa. "The Autobot government does not recognize the jurisdiction of GENOM Corporation's Military Arm in this matter. Our protest against Decree 2288-1257 remains on file with the UG Assembly pending arbitration."
"I take that to mean you refuse to surrender the fugitives," Needa said dryly.
"GENOM ships are moving into attack formation," Springer reported, knowing Needa wouldn't hear him with his own panel's comm pickup turned off. "Looks like five Imperator-class Star Destroyers, a dozen Victory-class, four Invid Hive command ships and assorted support vessels. The Invid are prepping for launch."
"Captain, be warned," Optimus Prime said, his voice calm. "If you attack Cybertron, Autobot forces will respond. We will not tolerate any threat of invasion."
"Be reasonable, Optimus Prime," Needa replied. "We're not interested in conquering or occupying Cybertron. All we want is the Wedge Defenders you're harboring."
Prime dropped his diplomatic formality, reverting to the confident, no-bullshit arch-gunfighter persona that had made him such a successful resistance fighter against the Decepticons (and drawn so many comparisons to John Wayne from his admiring human allies). Folding his arms, he replied flatly,
"Well, you can't have 'em."
Needa's thin smile turned into a cold glare. "So be it, then," he said. "Thus ends Cybertron's second golden age." With that, he cut the transmission and vanished from the screen.
"Planetary condition red!" Prime barked. Sirens howled and lights turned red throughout the Autobot defense installation network as Sideswipe jammed down the master alert button. "Energize defense cannon grid! All Autobots to battle stations! Prepare to repel orbital assault! Aerialbots, Air Guardians, scramble!"
Then, turning to face the eldest of his guests, he added privately to her, "I'm not sure yet what's happening, Komilia. But one thing I know is that I will never deliver anyone into the hands of Maximilien Largo." Clenching one massive metal fist before his chest, he added, "I'll die first."
Lorth Needa had no illusions that this would be an easy day's work. Cybertron was a planetary fortress of a caliber not often seen, and with his relatively small fleet, it would take a lot of work to subdue. He was confident that he could get it done, though. Between the relentless pounding his Star Destroyers' guns could give the surface and the vast numeric advantage his Invid and boomer fighters had over the Autobots' relatively small aerospace contingent, he felt victory was assured.
If he was being honest, he preferred it this way. His orders did not require him to conquer Cybertron, but the Autobots were well-known WDF sympathizers - hell, Optimus Prime was still wearing the version of the Autobot shield that was superimposed on the WDF diamond - and the planet could yield considerable rewards. If nothing else, the company might be able to offer it to the exiled Decepticon forces in exchange for commercial considerations.
"All weapons trained and locked on, Captain," his weapons officer informed him. "Fighters ready to launch."
"Autobot air defense craft are launching, sir," a sensor officer reported. "It looks like the Zentraedi garrison at Queltaadu City is launching battle pods as well."
"So much the better." Needa folded his hands behind his back and prepared to watch the show. "Launch all fighters. Commence surface bombardment as soon as they're clear of our firing arcs."
"Captain!" another sensor officer piped up. "Subspace anomaly in grid area 337."
Needa turned. "Cause?"
"Unknown. It's - wait - yes! Reflex spacefold bearing zero one zero mark zero five, range 1,500 miles!"
Needa's eyes widened slightly. "Fifteen hundred miles!" he blurted. "With the SDF-17 destroyed, only one kind of starship can execute a fold near a planetary body with that kind of precision."
A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed. With a brilliant outpouring of light, the sky over Cybertron was suddenly occupied by more than just Needa's fleet and the swarms of fighters issuing from its ships.
With a beep, a holographic comm window rezzed up in the space between Needa and the Avenger's forward bridge windows. In it was the image of a woman in a black-trimmed scarlet Meltrandi officer's coat. Needa noted with detached amusement that her short mop of tight curls was exactly the same shade of ketchup red as her coat and wondered if that were a coincidence. A very young-looking woman for her apparent seniority, she had a severe expression that marred what would otherwise have been a pixie face.
When she spoke, her voice carried the strange harmonic undertones of a full-sized Zentraedi, and she used the harshest, most guttural form of the Meltranese battle tongue. The Avenger's onboard computer provided a running translation as subtitles on the holo-image.
"Attention, GENOM vessels. I am Group Captain Xeralia Fallyna Sterling of the 127th Meltrandi War Fleet, Battlegroup Quevillon. I have orders from Domillan Exedore Folmo of the Zentraedi Alliance High Command to protect the Wedge Defense Force members taking refuge in this planetary system. You will withdraw immediately or I will annihilate you."
Needa raised an eyebrow. "The Zentraedi Alliance chooses war with the United Galactica?"
Xeralia's full lips twisted in a cruel smile.
"The question is whether the United Galactica will choose war with the Zentraedi Alliance at the behest of the synthoid Largo, Micron," she replied. "Lord Exedore's bet is that it will not... and he is very, very good with odds."
Needa kept his face composed, but inside he knew she had him. There was no conceivable way his fleet could stand against the force that had just arrived. Even a tiny Zentraedi battle group like this one numbered a hundred ships or more, each one at least the size of his own flagship, and the Zentraedi flagship was one of their gigantic Nupetiet-Vergnitzs-class dreadnaughts, nearly two and a half miles long and bristling with firepower. Besides, she was probably right. A GENOM fleet that entered into an outright shooting fight with a Zentraedi battle group would bring the full weight of the Zentraedi Alliance down on the United Galactica, and Largo's support in the Assembly did not extend to that Assembly sticking with his policies to the point of galactic suicide. The Zentraedi were relentless, implacable, once the war-lust was on them. They would see the whole galaxy in flames before they would give up.
"... Very well, Group Captain," he said, his accent even more clipped as he restrained his fury. "You win this round. But if any of those fugitives ventures out of this system, they're our game. Even the Zentraedi cannot be everywhere."
Xeralia folded her arms. "We shall see, Captain Needa. We shall see." Then her image was gone, leaving Needa wondering uneasily how she had known his name. Turning to his XO, he snapped, "Recall all fighters and prepare the fleet for hyperspace. Set your course for Niogi. I will make a personal report to Master Largo."
"How disappointing," Xeralia remarked in Standard as the GENOM ships jumped to hyperspace. "I was hoping he would call my bluff."
"Was it a bluff?" Optimus Prime asked.
Xeralia smirked. "Zentraedi do not bluff... unless I'm bluffing right now."
"You're late, Xera," Komilia said, stepping into the holo-pickup's field of view. The others followed her so that Xeralia could see they'd all made it.
"Not too late to bail your Micron ass out," Xeralia replied. "I'm glad to see you all made it. Where are Mom and Dad?"
Komilia blinked. "They're not with you?"
"No. I thought they were with you."
"We all got separated when the Prometheus made a run for it," Miranda put in. "Dad said something about rendezvousing with the Zentraedi fleet, but they were jamming our comms, so I only got about half the message. I assumed he was talking about your fleet."
Xeralia shook her head. "No... no, I haven't seen them. I... " She trailed off, then shook her head again, this time more briskly, making her scarlet curls bob. "Eh, they must be taking a long way around to shake off pursuit. They'll be along. I mean, hell, who could possibly kill them?"
Komilia didn't answer for a long moment. Behind her, Mylene finally reached her breaking point, turned to Emilia, grabbed hold of her, and started to cry. The others, grave-faced, looked out of the screen at Xeralia, but she had no answers for them.
"Well," Optimus Prime said, breaking gently into the tableau, "you can wait here as long as you need to. The Autobots won't abandon our commitment to our friends just because the galaxy has gone insane." Addressing Xeralia, he said, "Group Captain, what are your plans?"
"My group and I will stick around and secure the area in case those GENOM hounds come back," Xeralia said. "Lord Exedore has returned from addressing the UG Assembly and his escort group is making ready to leave Reflex Point now; they should be here within 24 hours. He wants to discuss the overall situation with you personally."
Prime nodded. "We'll make ready for his arrival. And thank you for the save," he added wryly. "I'm sure some of my bots are as disappointed as you are, but any fight you never have is one that everyone walks away from."
Xeralia grinned. "Our pleasure, Optimus Prime. Quelquira-Nuur out." Her image disappeared, replaced by the tactical plot again, this time showing the Meltrandi fleet moving into a defensive formation all around Cybertron.
Prime gazed at it for a moment, then addressed Sideswipe.
"Stand down from condition red. Space defenses to remain at condition yellow until further notice. Recall the air groups. Springer, coordinate orbital patrols with the Zentraedi fleet."
"Roger that, sir," Springer replied. Prime turned to Komilia.
"The six of you are welcome to take quarters anywhere on Cybertron," he said. "Commander Bron asked me to extend you his personal invitation to stay in Queltaadu City."
Komilia nodded. "Thank you, Prime. I think we'll take him up on that." She turned to regard her younger sisters. Maia, Miranda, and Therèse all looked back, even tough, commanding Maia seeming at a loss. Emilia looked up from comforting the still-sobbing Mylene and gave Komilia a look of consummate uncertainty.
Turning back to Prime, Komilia said, "Give me a few hours to settle the others, and I'm at your disposal. Whatever I know is yours."
Prime's optics smiled kindly. "Tomorrow will do," he said.
Sunday, September 16, 2288
Iacon, Cybertron
True to her word, Komilia reported to Optimus Prime's office in the Iacon command center the next morning. Upon falling into a borrowed bed in the Micronian wing of the Zentraedi base at Queltaadu City, she had slept like the dead. It was the first real sleep she'd had in five days, since her last night aboard the SDF-17. Since then she'd only caught uncomfortable naps in the cockpit of her Valkyrie, usually in hyperspace.
Even now, after more than 15 hours of sleep, she felt sluggish, exhausted mentally and emotionally more than physically. The world had a faint, superimposed sense of surreality, as if what was going on couldn't really be happening. The thought kept running through her mind that the last time she'd slept in a bed, it had been in her stateroom aboard the SDF-17... and that that room was now gone.
When she rang and entered, she was surprised to find that Prime had undocked his human-sized core robot from the much larger chassis that most people thought of when they thought of Optimus Prime. She'd only seen him in this form once before, many years ago. She supposed he'd done it to put her a little more at ease. He continued this pattern as he welcomed Komilia into the office; solicitous and polite, he directed her to a seat at a human-scale conference table and offered her a hot beverage before sitting down opposite her and beginning what amounted to an intensive debriefing.
Komilia could handle debriefings. She was a fighter pilot with centuries of experience, had carried out the occasional commando mission as part of her duty with the elite Eight-Ball Squadron, and had given reports, formal and informal, after thousands of sorties. This was different, though. This wasn't a report of the outcome of a mission, successful or otherwise. It was a requiem for a force that had been her home all her long life.
And for an era.
Optimus Prime, it occurred to her as she spoke, had seen eras end before. She was old by human standards, over 250 years old in an era where the average human lived to be 170 or so; but the Autobot leader was millions of Standard years old. His civilization was one of the oldest in the known universe. His people had been traveling between the stars when both Earth's humans and the forerunners of the Zentraedi had been proto-sapient. By all rights, he ought to be uninterested in the happenings of the last few days, letting them pass with the awesome detachment of a creature who could outwait entire organic civilizations.
And yet he was listening to her with both sincere interest and sincere concern. He was genuinely upset at the sudden turn the galaxy had taken, not because it boded poorly for Cybertron, but because it boded poorly for the galaxy - and for beings he considered his friends.
That was the perspective the old Zentraedi leaders like Bodolza lost, she suddenly realized. It was irrelevant to the situation she found herself in, but she was a student of history and her mind was functioning at such a strange frequency right now that she couldn't help but think of it. Only Breetai and Exedore understood - as Prime understands - that all life is... is...
Komilia lost the thread of it, realized she'd stopped talking. She tried to regroup her thoughts, but they scattered under the pressure, and after a few moments she realized that she could, for the moment, do nothing but weep.
Optimus Prime got up from the table and walked a few paces away, his hands folded behind his back. Komilia dully wondered if the spectacle of an organic lifeform crying made him uncomfortable. Do Transformers cry?
"I'm sorry, Komilia," Prime said quietly. Komilia looked up, blinking away tears, as the Autobot leader turned to face her. "This must be especially hard for you. You have something far heavier than the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders; you have the weight of your family."
For just a second, Komilia thought that he was being sarcastic, pointing out that his problems were much bigger than hers; but then she realized that he meant exactly what he was saying. The sentiment brought a little warmth back to her heart, chilled though it was by sorrow and fatigue.
Thus bolstered, she explained everything she knew. Admittedly, it wasn't much. The Eight-Balls took part in the military operation against the then-unknown attackers of Musashi City, then returned to the Prometheus, hit the showers, and went off-duty while Gryphon and the Lovely Angels joined the Shadow Squad for a mop-up operation, dealing with a hostage situation at a grade school.
The next thing Komilia knew, things had taken a turn for the very strange. The team returned from the surface with Gryphon all shot up and under guard. There were rumors that he'd gone crazy, shot up a schoolroom, killed a bunch of children - and she found video that seemed to prove the rumors true. Released from sickbay the next day but still under guard, Gryphon wasn't allowed to make contact with any of his pilots. Eventually, either infuriated by the charges against him or desperate to avoid court-martial, Gryphon somehow finagled access to the Prometheus and left aboard his personal Valkyrie.
Things happened very fast after that. First Kei Morgan, who had nearly bitten Erik Swimm's head off earlier, took the Lovely Angel and left in pursuit; then Zoner resigned his command and took off with the Daytona from Hell, destination unknown; then Yuri flew off with a hyper-equipped Valkyrie, apparently not going after any of the three. The Eight-Balls, fed up with the craziness and secrecy, were saddling up to go out, round the lot of them up, and make them all sit down and explain what the hell was going on when everything suddenly hit the fan.
"We had loaded hyperpacks because we were planning to chase the boss and the others," Komilia said, her voice low, her mood bleakened once more by retelling the sad and confusing story. "Once the Wedge was clear, we were able to escape the system under our own power. We had no common nav points loaded, so we ended up scattered from hell to breakfast. There was no way to regroup, find the Prometheus, anything. Terry and I were still together, and we got a text message from Maia invoking Mom and Dad's contingency plan."
"Your parents were wise to plan for the worst," Prime said.
Komilia nodded. "That's Dad. Thinking ahead. I think he might've realized what none of the rest of us did - that the WDF had faultlines that a smart enemy could exploit. But... " She gave Prime a helpless look. "I don't understand how it could have been so easy. I mean, I was almost as much an outside observer as you, but... it's all so strange. It's like they all just went crazy."
"Indeed," said a voice from the doorway. "In fact... if you assume that Gryphon didn't do what he's accused of doing on Musashi, he suddenly emerges as the player in this little drama who acted the most sensibly - an innocent man, cornered and confused as his friends inexplicably turn on him, trying to get some space and figure out what to do."
Komilia turned in her chair, then looked up, and up, and up some more, her eyes wide. "Exedore!"
Domillan Exedore Folmo, Minister-at-Large of the Zentraedi Alliance High Command, smiled and bowed. Though very short - nearly a dwarf - by Zentraedi standards, he still towered over her merely human frame.
"Greetings, Komilia Dana Fallyna Sterling," he said. "It's good to see you again. I regret it isn't under better circumstances."
"As do I, Domillan Exedore," Optimus Prime said, inclining his head. "Welcome back to Cybertron, your excellency."
Exedore made a dismissive gesture and seated himself at the end of the large conference table, turning his chair to face them. "I hardly think we need to stand on ceremony at a time like this, Optimus Prime." Addressing himself to them both, he went on, "The Zentraedi High Command has reviewed all the available information on this incident. It is our conclusion that the incidents on Musashi were deliberately arranged to create conditions favorable for the attack on the SDF-17."
Komilia brightened. "Then you believe Gryphon is innocent?"
"We do. However," he added with an upraised hand before she could speak, "we have been unable to convince the United Galactica Assembly; they are too much cowed by Largo. Even the honorable ambassador from Salusia could not move them. Their judgment against the WDF - and their tacit legalization of GENOM's ongoing campaign of extermination - stands."
Komilia bolted to her feet, aware as she did so that the gesture lacked something when confronting a giant, but too impassioned to care. "Where is Lord Breetai?" she demanded. "Why has he not struck back? The Kridanik Fleet could annihilate GENOM MILARM Command. By God! Macronize me and give me a Queadluun-Rau, and I'll bring you Largo's head myself! What the hell are you smiling at?!"
"I beg your pardon, Komilia Fallyna," Exedore said, sobering. "I'm not laughing at you, I assure you. It's merely that you reminded me so strongly of your august mother just now. I don't know where Breetai is. He and his fleet have vanished. They left Reflex Point as soon as the first reports of the SDF-17's destruction arrived and haven't been seen since. Perhaps they plan a counteroffensive against GENOM, as you suggest, but for all our sakes, I hope not. Should the Zentraedi Alliance attack GENOM in the WDF's name now, the United Galactica's military forces would get involved. The result would be a galactic war - one that we would almost certainly win, but at a terrible cost, not only to ourselves, but also to the people of the United Galactica, most of whom are blameless in this affair. Do you think that course of action justified?"
Komilia stared up at him, her eyes still fierce, for a few moments; then she sagged, all the fight going out of her, and slumped into her seat, elbows on tabletop, head in hands.
"... no," she said, her voice barely audible.
Prime walked around the table and put a hand on her shoulder. Despite the fact that the hand was hard and metallic, she found it oddly comforting. She pulled herself together and asked Exedore if he'd heard any news of her parents.
Looking troubled, Exedore replied, "Oh dear. It seems I'm destined to bring you nothing but bad news today. I'm afraid I haven't heard anything. I had assumed they would be here with you."
"Maia said he told her something about meeting up with a Zentraedi fleet. We thought that meant they'd be with Xera, but she thought the same as you."
"Well, there are a good many Zentraedi fleets, and all of them that Maximilian would know how to reach would shelter them," Exedore pointed out. "I'm sure they'll turn up." He sighed. "In the meantime, all is not quite lost. Though we were unable to reverse the UG's decision, neither can they enforce their decree upon the Zentraedi Alliance itself without risking the same disastrous war, so any WDF personnel who find their way to us are safe as long as they stay with us, at least."
Optimus Prime nodded. "I'd like to see the information you have available - we've been able to piece together quite a bit from witness accounts, but hard data is always useful."
Exedore nodded. "Certainly. I'll have my commtechs put together a complete package for transmission to Teletran-1 at once."
Komilia gathered herself and got to her feet again, more slowly this time.
"Prime... Domillan Exedore... do you need me for this? If not, I think I'd like to get a little more rest," she said, her voice subdued.
Prime, his hand still on her shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze and let her go. "Of course," he said. "I'm sorry, Komilia. We'll speak again later - when you've rested and I've had a chance to absorb all the information."
Komilia nodded to him, bowed to Exedore, and then slowly left the room.
"Protector"
(Part 2 of Patience, an Exile Mini-Story Serial) by Benjamin D. Hutchins
Patience plotted by Philip J. Moyer
Special to the Eyrie Productions Discussion Forum
© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
Sunday, September 16, 2288
Cybertron
All Komilia Sterling really wanted to do right now was be by herself and get some more sleep. Unfortunately, it seemed as if those were the only things she couldn't do. At some point, probably on her way to or back from Optimus Prime's office in Iacon, she'd been seen, and now it seemed as if all the Wedge Defense Force refugees taking shelter on Cybertron knew she was among them.
The phone calls and the visitors came slowly at first and then in a sort of tidal flow, one after another or in small groups. Fighter pilots from other squadrons, a couple of transport crews who had been on runs elsewhere in the galaxy, Tactical Corps personnel who escaped first to Meizuri and then to Cybertron - she was the senior officer on-planet, apparently, and she was an Eight-Ball, and they all thought she might somehow know the answers to the two questions that every last one of them burned to ask someone:
What happened?
Why?
Komilia tried to answer them all, or at least impress on them all as diplomatically as possible that she didn't have their answers. What else could she do? They were her comrades, even if she didn't know most of them very well personally. There were a few of her acquaintances and passing friends from the service in the parade, and she was pleased and relieved to see that they were well, but with her emotional reserves already at such a low ebb, she soon found herself handling them mechanically - and wishing deep within her heart that they would just leave her alone. Just for a little while. Just for today.
It was early evening, though such distinctions carried little weight on sunless Cybertron, when the chime of her doorbell once more called for her attention just as she had begun to hope that no more would come and she could at last go back to sleep. For a few moments she considered just turning the thing off, setting total privacy mode on the door, and ignoring whoever was out there, but she knew she couldn't do that. It might be someone in real need of help. Or one of her sisters.
Feeling ten thousand years old, Komilia dragged herself from the couch, steeled herself as best she could for another needy face, and opened the door.
Optimus Prime - all of him, Zentraedi-tall and shining - was standing in the corridor.
"Oh!" she said, surprised. "Prime. Hi. Uh... something I can help you with?"
"Actually, I thought there might be something I could help you with," Prime replied. So saying, he transformed to vehicle mode, then swung open his driver's side door. "Care to go for a drive?"
Komilia hesitated for a moment - an Autobot as eminent and busy as Optimus Prime extended such offers very rarely, she was sure - then climbed aboard. As they pulled out and headed for a branching corridor that led out of the residential complex, Prime's virtual image appeared on the video screen in the middle of the dash.
"Bumblebee tells me you've had a busy day," he said. "He's been monitoring the traffic to your quarters, just to make sure everyone who visited you was legitimate. If you want, I can see about getting you some security to screen your visitors more directly."
Komilia shook her head. "No... thank you, Prime, but... well, even if I don't have anything to offer, and in most cases I don't, I still feel like it's my responsibility to... I don't know, to at least hear them out." She looked out the windows and saw that they were leaving Queltaadu City, moving up onto one of Cybertron's sweeping mega-expressways. Gleaming spires, canyons of chrome, plains of what looked like brushed aluminum stretched away in all directions under the star-splashed sky.
"Cybertron's just as beautiful as I remembered it," she said.
"We have a long way to go before she's restored to anything like the glory she had before the war with the Decepticons, but things are always improving," Prime said. "In large part thanks to our friends in the Wedge Defense Force. I want you to know that, after talking with Exedore and seeing the information he presented, I'm doubly sure my decision yesterday was the right one. Not that it will do much good in the grand scheme of things," he added regretfully. "I find myself in much the same position as Exedore. GENOM won't come after Cybertron again, but I can't move against them either. Not without triggering a galactic war."
Komilia sighed. "I figured that would be how it worked out. Damn, damn... I don't blame you, and I know Exedore was right about the prospects of the war, but... " She sat back, looking up at the ceiling of Prime's cab, and felt her eyes tearing up. "I just can't believe he's won."
"He hasn't won yet," Prime replied, his voice firm and determined. "If millions of years of war with Megatron, usually with my side at a distinct disadvantage, taught me anything, it's that the enemy's never won as long as you're still alive. And just because I can't move openly against GENOM doesn't mean I intend to just sit around and wait for Largo to rust, either." At his passenger's surprised look, Optimus Prime's virtual image gave her a knowing smile. "I was a resistance fighter for a very long time, Komilia," he said. "I know a thing or two about waging an underground campaign."
That thought sparked one of the few genuine smiles Komilia had been able to muster since all this started. "I won't ask you what you're planning," she said. "But if any of your operations need the help of any puny flesh creatures, count me in."
Prime chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind," he promised.
"By the way... where are we going?"
"Nowhere in particular," Prime said. "I just thought you'd like to be unreachable for a little while."
Komilia blinked. "Don't you have... you know, stuff to do? You're the Autobot supreme commander."
"Nothing that can't wait," Prime replied.
Komilia considered this for a moment, then noticed that there was a WDF-issue field survival pack, the type that was included in every WDF aerospace fighter and Destroid, sitting on the floor on the passenger side of the cab. She looked at it, then at Prime's image on the screen. He shrugged.
"I thought it might come in handy," he said.
Komilia gave the Autobot leader a grateful smile that said various things she had no words for, slid across the seat, opened the pack, and dug out a couple of the items within it.
Then, curled up on Optimus Prime's bench seat under a WDF survival blanket, her head resting on an inflatable camp pillow, she slept.
"Rest well, Komilia," Prime said quietly; then the video screen went black and he left his passenger to herself. If anyone wondered what Optimus Prime was doing, aimlessly cruising the skyways of Sonplex all that night, they kept their questions their own.
The next several days passed in a haze for the children of Max and Miria Sterling. At times, the hours seemed to drag on, stuck in the nowhere land between denial and shock. Other periods passed rapidly, when they found tasks with which to occupy their time. Therèse buried herself in giving the two Valkyries and the Shadow Legios an intensive overhaul and resupply in one of Iacon's repair bays. She had no idea when they'd have to leave Cybertron, nor what the availability of supplies would be like once they got off the planet, so best to get it all done now while she had a certified repair depot available to her. Maia and Miranda found themselves assisting their younger sister in the repairs, and shanghaied any Minicon, Autobot, or WDF refugee who was willing to help. In exchange, they also helped the few others who had escaped with their own mecha.
The second day in, Xeralia took a shuttle down to the surface and began to join in the multiple conferences among the Autobots and the Zentraedi commanders, serving as both advisor and record-keeper. She'd had herself micronized - fortunately, not a procedure that took very long - so that she could interact on a more even footing with her sisters.
Though she was adopted - she was orphaned as a small child when the Clan Fallyna crèche was destroyed in the Kravshera Uprising, and Miria, the clan's most famous daughter, had taken her in - and though her career had taken a different path than the others', Xeralia never felt apart from her adoptive siblings. She was of the Fallyna genetic line, so there was a blood relationship of sorts. Besides, she had never been made to feel different. That she now lived as a Meltran rather than among humans, as the others did, was her own choice, made at majority and with the support, but not the urging, of her adoptive family.
Thus, in this time of crisis, she naturally chose to walk among them rather than tower over them, and in between sessions, she did what she could to look after the others - though she noted with some regret that it didn't appear to help much in Mylene's case. The youngest Sterling was thoroughly miserable, and nothing her elder sisters did seemed to cheer her up. Emilia thanked her for her efforts, all the same, and found herself splitting time between Xeralia and Mylene, when she wasn't feeling out-of-sorts herself about being so radically displaced from the life she had come to know.
Komilia remained in the unenviable position of being one of the most noticeable of the Wedge Defense Force refugees. Her status as an Eight-Ball, and the connections she'd made among the various branches of the service over the decades, meant she often was the one most people thought of to try and get answers from - at first the general ones, and then, as people began to settle into the realities of the situation, more practical concerns. When found and confronted, she gave answers as clear and straightforward as she possibly could manage given the circumstances, but even she could see that it wasn't always helping as much as she might have hoped. Some of the former Wedge Defenders were still in denial, still in shock; some were now filled with grim, almost terrible purpose.
The most disquieting ones were the ones who were angry - not at GENOM or the United Galactica, but at the Wedge Defense Force itself. Komilia weathered the storms of frustration as best she could, and it was never quite as hard or as horrible as it had been that first day; but all the same she found herself collapsing, often in tears, into her bunk in Queltaadu City at the end of each day, worn out and spiritually frayed by the demands of the refugees on top of her constant sense of responsibility to her younger sisters. If it hadn't been for Optimus Prime taking a sort of 'surrogate uncle' role, somehow managing to be available when she needed somebody to listen to her, she might very well have broken down entirely.
And then, just when life had settled into a sort of horrible suspended routine, something new appeared in Cybertron's local space... something so unexpected that it changed everything.
Friday, September 21, 2288
"Pathfinder to Optimus Prime. I have the object in sight. Over."
"Roger, Pathfinder. I read you. How's it look?"
Pathfinder killed her main drive thrusters, coasted, and considered Prime's question for a moment before settling on,
"... Big."
It could be argued that everything was big to Pathfinder. She was a Minicon, one of the few who had joined the Autobot resistance back at the height of the Third Cybertronian War, so she was accustomed to being dwarfed by almost everything around her, including but not limited to her own comrades. Still, her small stature had its advantages. She didn't use much energon, for one thing, and in her alternate mode - a small, sleek, disc-shaped spacecraft clad in dark grey armor - she was nearly invisible in space. Stealth was much more important than firepower in the scouting business.
On the other hand, even by Autobot standards this was a sizeable object. Firing up her drives again, Pathfinder took a slow pass around it, relaying more detailed information to Prime as she did so. It was vaguely cylindrical and almost featureless apart from a single giant thruster nozzle at the back and a few yellow markings standing out against the dark green of its thermocoating. One marking was especially prominent, right up on the blunt snout of the object; a human, accustomed to the Standard language, would probably have taken it for a stylized letter V.
"Oh, I know what this is!" Pathfinder said after a moment. "I didn't recognize it at first because I haven't seen one in so long. It's a Zentraedi deep space probe. The kind they use to map out spacefold routes ahead of their fleets."
"Why would one of those come to Cybertron?" Prime wondered. "Can you get a close scan?"
"Sure, just a second." Pathfinder transformed to robot mode and drifted closer to the probe, stretching out her awareness toward it. Though lightly armed, her small frame was packed with sophisticated and powerful sensors. She could calculate a hyperspace pursuit trajectory, map an asteroid field, or count the carbon atoms in a comet. Now she turned all these powers of perception on the probe, searching for its purpose.
"I'm not detecting any high-energy phenomena or radiation. It doesn't seem to be carrying any weapons. Reflex signature is weak. It used up most of its power making the spacefold here. Must have come a long way - these things can jump most of the way across the galaxy. ... Hang on... I'm picking up a transmission. That's weird... it's on an old WDF frequency. Like, 'last used in the 2030s' old. Seems to be encrypted."
Back in the war room at Iacon, Bumblebee plied his console. "Patch through to my system here and relay the transmission, Pathfinder. I'll see if I can decrypt it."
"Roger that, 'Bee, relaying now." A moment later, strange symbols began marching across the master display at the front of the war room. Bumblebee started punching keys, his face set in concentration.
"I think it's a simple transposition scramble. Not a very long message, either; it keeps repeating." The yellow Autobot intel officer punched a few more keys, isolating one iteration of the code and removing the rest from the screen, then made some adjustments. "Re-sorting now."
Slowly the symbols on the master display changed, eventually becoming recognizable Zentraedi glyphs - but, to everyone's disappointment, what they said still didn't make any sense. At least, almost everyone's disappointment.
"Aha," said Exedore, folding his arms. "I recognize this code. It's Lord Breetai's personal cipher. The message must be from his fleet."
Prime turned to look at the Zentraedi archivist. "How did he know you'd be here?" he wondered.
Exedore smiled. "Breetai and I may no longer serve together, but we didn't survive as long as we have without making contingency plans," he said. "Allow me." Reaching to the console next to Prime's, he deciphered the displayed message, then translated it from the Zentranese for the Autobots' benefit:
" 'As Micron and Meltran led the way in the past, so shall their united blood open the door to the future.' "
There was a pause.
"... What does that mean?!" Overdrive wondered.
Optimus Prime pressed a key on his console. "Jetfire! Skyfire! Report with a salvage team to Pathfinder's position and recover that object immediately."
The Autobots set up the Zentraedi probe in a disused hangar at the Iacon spaceport. It was large even by Autobot standards, huge by human ones - roughly the size of a Corellian CR90-class starship. Almost all of its bulk was taken up by its Reflex core and fold drive, which by that scale were remarkably compact; the rest was a sublight drive, hyperspace motivator, databanks, and a powerful sensor array. The probe was designed to travel along a programmed hyperspace course like a superluminal missile, drop into real space near the spot to which the fleet wanted to spacefold, perform a series of scans to compile the detailed navigational data required, then fold back to the fleet and report its findings.
Around the nose of the probe, the Autobots had erected a scaffold designed to provide a "porch" of sorts, aligned with the maintenance hatch on the front of the unit. A preliminary examination by a team of Minicon technicians revealed that a biometric identity lock had been cleverly installed in place of the ordinary coded unit that secured these panels on regular probes. That and the probe's heavy armor left no doubt that someone didn't want unauthorized personnel getting access to whatever was inside.
Komilia Sterling stood looking at it for a moment, lost in thought. Then she put her hand against the lock's scanner plate. She felt a momentary heat as the scanner vaporized a few skin cells and analyzed the DNA within; then the lock's red status light turned green and the hatch hissed, slid forward a few inches, and rose out of the way.
Inside, instead of the usual tangle of databanks and sensor equipment, there was a small room, just about the size of an average hotel bedroom, containing a relatively small computer and a holographic projector. Komilia went to the computer and pressed a key. Behind her, the hatch hummed down and closed again, leaving the room illuminated by a couple of dull glowstrips in the ceiling, and then the holoprojector sprang to life.
"Hello, Komilia," said a smiling, life-size image of Maximilian Sterling. "I apologize for the strange way of making contact, and for keeping you waiting - I imagine it hasn't been an easy couple of weeks. Things got a little hectic there at the end. I tried to tell Miranda where we were going, but I'm not sure the signal got through. Hope we didn't worry you too much.
"Your mother and I are with Breetai's fleet. We're fine, but I can't tell you what we're up to. Even with the security measures I've managed to kludge into this probe, it's not safe. All I can tell you is that it's important, and that we're going to be gone a long time. A long time. Breetai figures we won't be back for at least 70 years - maybe 80, maybe even more."
Komilia sat down involuntarily, thumping awkwardly to the floor with knees together and feet splayed to either side, and stared at her father's image in utter shock. He smiled gently, as if he'd known when he recorded the message how she would react.
"Sorry to just dump it on you like that, but there's really no way to make it any softer. We're in this for the long haul, and you kids are going to have to get by without us for a while. I wish we could be with you - especially in these next few years, which I suspect are going to be hard and dangerous ones - but it seems like these aren't times for people to... to get what they wish for."
For a second, he looked like he might almost choke up himself; then he got hold of himself, put his cool, collected game face back on, and grinned. "I've got a lot more I could say, but our time is limited and your mother's got a lot she wants to get out, so I'll turn it over to her now."
Becoming completely serious, he added, "Just one thing more before I do, though: be careful. I don't think our enemies will stop at breaking up the command staff and destroying the Wayward Son. Keep your heads down and watch out for each other. It's going to take work and time - maybe generations - to undo the harm that was done that day. Do what you can, but don't get yourselves killed trying to turn this thing around overnight. I love you all very much, and I want to see you all when we get back from this trip."
Then, grinning his trademark self-deprecating grin, he said, "Okay, enough lectures from Dad. Here's your mom. She has something to say to each of you."
Komilia was glad she'd come alone, and gladder that the hatch had closed behind her. It meant that no one got to see her finally and completely break down, the last of her defenses swept away by the combination of relief that her parents were alive, horror at how long they would be gone, and reaction to the poignant messages of love and farewell they had sent across all that space in the belly of this Zentraedi probe.
In a way, the breakdown seemed to give her new strength once it had passed. She emerged a short time later, red-eyed but composed, to find her sisters gathered on the scaffolding, looking curiously at the hatch.
"It's a message," she said. "For us. Come inside."
The seven of them were a reasonably tight fit in the small room, but none seemed to mind. They all stood in silence while Komilia keyed the computer and played the message over again. There were expressions of joy and relief to see Max alive and well, then of shock and dismay when he told them how long he and Miria expected to be gone. All were silent again, subdued and most of them teary-eyed, as Max concluded his message and stepped out of the pickup so Miria could replace him.
"Komilia," Miria said, "as you are the eldest, I will begin with you. No doubt this has been your fate many times over the last few days," she added with an ironic smile. "I am sorry for the burden you have had to shoulder. You deserve to be free of care, as you have always been, but the situation is grave... and it is always the fate of the squadron's senior members to look after the younger ones."
Komilia's sisters all shot her guilty little glances at this, remembering all the times over the past few days that they'd leaned much more on her than she had on them. She caught them at it and smiled to show that she didn't mind.
"Of all our seven daughters, I fear you must be the most careful," Miria went on. "You were not only a Wedge Defender, but a member of Eight-Ball Squadron. You flew with us, with Benjamin and the others. Your profile was highest, and if what Maximilian and I fear is happening to the galaxy right now, the WDF's enemies will seek you most relentlessly of all."
Since she was a pre-recorded hologram, Miria couldn't see any of them, of course; but nonetheless she turned slightly and almost looked right at Maia as she went on, "Maia. Miranda."
"Yes'm," Miranda replied automatically, then grinned sheepishly.
"Do not let the fact that you were part of an elite Shadow squadron make you overconfident," Miria said. "You no longer have the Great Lidless Eye to keep watch on all your enemies, and there are much darker things in the shadows of the galaxy than the Black Riders, as you well know."
She paused, looking thoughtful, and for a second the twins thought that was all she was going to say; then she smiled very slightly, rather sadly, and went on,
"You may wish none of this had happened. So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, my daughters, besides the will of evil."
Miranda blinked, wide-eyed, leaned closer to Maia, and murmured in her ear, "Did Mom just quote Gandalf?"
"I think she did," Maia whispered.
"Huh. I didn't know she'd ever actually read the book."
Miria waited a moment for what she'd said to sink in, then turned a little more and said, "Xeralia. You did not think I'd forget you, did you? You are as much my daughter as all the others. You may not have been born of my body, but you are of my blood. Remember that even the smallest act may have enormous consequences. Be patient. Time is on your side. I know you hunger for revenge - in older times, the Zentraedi would not have let such an insult pass without bloodshed - but the galaxy is different now. We are different now. We must be. A time will come for reckoning, of that you may be sure. Follow your superiors' lead and bide your time. It will make the eventual day of judgment all the sweeter."
Miria smiled a slightly predatory smile at this, looking much more the warrior she had been centuries before; then her expression softened again, becoming more maternal, as she turned to address the next of her children.
"Therèse, your father and I are very proud of the way you handled yourself over Musashi. Oh yes, even amid all the chaos and horror, we noticed. How could we not? You acquitted yourself very well. Though I know that battle has never been your first choice, I fear you will have more need of the skills you showed before all is said and done. Keep your edge sharp and look to your more experienced sisters for guidance - but never turn your back on your own dreams. There will come a time when you can put down your sword and pick up your spanner for good once more, I promise you.
"Emilia... I am so sorry I won't have the chance to watch you have the career you chose. I had doubts about the suitability of the Armored Corps for one of my daughters when you first chose it, that is true, but you loved it so much I came to anticipate your debut almost as much as you did. It will be difficult, but try not to lose hope. You are very young - too young to truly understand how long your life will be if you are careful. It may seem to you right now as if everything is ended, but I assure you, it is only beginning. You have the skill and talent to take you far in life. Your father and I both believe this implicitly."
Miria hesitated, her expression hard to read, as she gathered her thoughts for the next address. Knowing what was coming, Komilia quietly moved to the other side of the gathering, ready to support her youngest sister should she need it.
Miria spoke once more, clearing her throat to try and keep her emotions in check.
"My dearest Mylene. In many ways, this will be the hardest for you. Unlike your older sisters, you are not a soldier. You have not been trained for the horrors of war, nor needed to endure the dark times they bring with them. And truly these are dark times you all face... darker than the void between the galaxy's spiral arms."
She swallowed, brushing her free hand against her cheek. Her emerald eyes glistened; she blinked them clear. Mylene wrapped her arms around herself, her own eyes wet, and watched her mother's image continue to speak.
"But... do not let the darkness you face darken your own heart, my daughter. Now, more than ever, be a light in the darkness. You have a great gift, Mylene, greater than any ten warriors' force of arms. Nurture it. Encourage it. Let it flourish, and bring light to the galaxy when it most sorely needs it. You have the strength of the Sterlings and of the Meltrandi within you. I know you can do this."
Mylene nodded jerkily, holding Guvava even tighter. The empathic rodent gave no protest at being squeezed. Behind her, Komilia rested her hands on her youngest sister's shoulders.
"I only regret..." Miria faltered, almost unable to go on, but she tapped an inner reserve and pressed onward. "... I only regret that I will not get to see you grow up into the beautiful woman you most certainly will be. I know you will do me proud, Mylene. And always remember... I love you."
At this, Miria's image reached out, as if by will alone she could breach the gulfs of space and time, and touch her children one last time. Mylene took a step forward, out from under Komilia's grasp, and reached forward with her own hand, causing a fizz of static where she intersected the holographic image, her own eyes brimming with tears.
"I will, Mama... I will," she whispered. "I love you..."
Miria pulled herself together, straightening, and looked from one end of the gathering to the other again - so familiar with her children's mannerisms that she had more or less correctly guessed how they would be standing.
"Maximilian has already told you to be careful; I will not belabor the point. For myself, I have only one more piece of advice to offer you all. If you go out to fight the monsters in the galaxy - and I suspect you will - always be conscious of who you are and why you do what you do. Remember the ideals of the Wedge Defense Force, ideals for which many people have died in the last few weeks - died at the hands of those who sneer at our values and wish to see them snuffed out everywhere in the galaxy. Remember that, unlike our enemies, we do not fight because we hate, nor because we wish to control. We do not kill for killing's own sake, as the Zentraedi did of old.
"We fight because we love - love life, love freedom, love decency. We kill so that others may live, free from oppression, terror, and pain. We may want - we may deserve - vengeance for what has been done to us, but we must not take it at the expense of the innocent. If we do, we are no better than the monsters we fight. Always remember that.
"And always remember, too, that I love you, all of you, with all my heart."
"As do I," Max added, squeezing into the image, his arm around her waist. "We'll see you all again. Until then, remember - stay alive."
Miria turned to her husband and seemed about to say something, but just as her lips parted, the hologram flickered and disappeared.
The seven sisters stood and looked at the place where their parents' images had been for few long, silent moments.
Then, in a wry but gentle tone, Maia said quietly, "Well... I guess we've got our orders."
"Promises"
(Part 3 of Patience, an Exile Mini-Story Serial) by Benjamin D. Hutchins
and Philip J. Moyer
Patience plotted by Philip J. Moyer
Special to the Eyrie Productions Discussion Forum
© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
Saturday, September 22, 2288
Queltaadu City, Cybertron
Ray Lovelock was at his wits' end. That didn't happen very often; Ray was a generally laid-back kind of cat, as calm and collected as he was tall and intimidating. Whatever the situation, whatever calamity his band careened into - and in its history so far, Fire Bomber had proven remarkably adept at careening into calamity - he was always together and he always figured out a way to pull the situation back from the brink of total disintegration.
This time, though, he had to wonder if matters were beyond his capabilities to fix. The band was supposed to have played two gigs on Cybertron - one at the Neutral Zone bar, one at the Iacon officers' club - and then caught a ride on one of the regular Autobot shuttle runs to the SDF-17, where they had been scheduled to play a series of pub shows around Wedge City before opening for Card No. 1 at the MegaDome. Everyone was excited about the prospect. The Dome had been the jumping-off point for a hundred bands that had made it big over the years, and opening for Card No. 1 - if you impressed them, if they liked your chops - was as good as a ticket to the big dance for any up-and-coming rock-n-roll group.
But then, just as they seemed to be hovering on the very doorstep of success, everything had gone to hell. The whole damn galaxy seemed to have gone insane. There were reports coming in that the SDF-17 had been destroyed, that fleets of GENOM warships and death squads of boomers and mercs were scouring the cosmos hunting down and exterminating the survivors, that no one was doing anything about it - even that the United Galactica Assembly had outlawed the WDF, in effect legalizing GENOM's actions. Autobot Command had been closed to outsiders since the crisis began and the Zentraedi soldiers stationed at the Hydrax Plateau spaceport were both deeply preoccupied and visibly furious.
If even half of it was true, Fire Bomber's big chance was gone, vanished like a mirage - although to Ray that seemed kind of trivial compared to what it would mean to the galaxy at large. A former WDF fighter pilot himself, he knew damn well what a galaxy without the Wedge Defense Force to keep GENOM in check could become. So had Fire Bomber's bassist. When the first reports of the GENOM strike fleets and hit squads arrived, Pedro Mejor had freaked out and caught the first transport off Cybertron, in such a panic that he left all his gear behind, certain that battalions of boomer troops would appear around every corner within minutes to mow down Ray and anyone foolish enough to associate with him. He was lucky he had, in a way, since the first transport out was also the last transport out before the Autobot authorities locked the planet down while they tried to figure out what to do.
So. Fire Bomber was trapped on a planet the band's members knew next to nothing about. They had little money, no great gig, no bass player. Basara was in full-on petulant artist mode, of no use whatsoever. Veffidas was stoical as always, which was reassuring, but not really helpful. As usual, they looked to Ray to get them out of the jam... but it had been almost two weeks now, and he wasn't getting anywhere.
Among the many rumors he'd heard was one that gave him what little hope he had left: that Miss Liberty was somewhere on Cybertron. Some people said she was in Iacon. Others claimed she was with the main Zentraedi garrison in Queltaadu City. Since had hadn't gotten anywhere in any of his attempts to make contact with anybody in the former city, today he was trying the latter. As he walked down one of the Micron-scale corridors of Queltaadu City in the vague hope of either finding Miss Liberty or at least getting someone there to give him the time of day, he wondered how much longer what remained of the band would wait for him to come through with answers.
It was while thinking such dark thoughts that he came around a corner and heard - faintly at first, then growing slowly louder as he walked - the sound of someone playing a bass guitar. The instrument was unaccompanied, the sound uncluttered, with nothing but basic amplification... and the playing, Ray noticed immediately, was superb. Whoever it was, he had great technique, but more than that, he had... he had soul. Ray didn't recognize the piece, which was slow and a little somber without being funereal, but he didn't have to in order to recognize the talent of the person playing it.
Perking up like a hunting dog on a new scent, Ray followed the sound, taking a right at the T-intersection instead of his planned left. He'd gone three doors when he passed the door from which the music was coming, then turned around and stood in front of it, listening. As he did, the unknown bassist changed from the sweet song he didn't know to one he did recognize: the unmistakable adagio first part of Beethoven's "Moonlight" sonata. Ray had seen a bassist do that piece once, playing the strings with both hands like a piano. It was an impressive trick, and one that marked the player as someone who could think outside the normal conventions of the rock bassist's job.
Intrigued, he pressed the doorbell key, immediately regretting it because the hail made the musician on the other side stop playing. For a few seconds, there was silence, and Ray wondered if whoever was back there was ignoring him, hoping he'd go away. He was just about to press it one more time and then leave when the door swished open.
To Ray's surprise, the person on the other side was a teenage girl, small and slender, with long pink hair and wide green eyes. She had the right instrument, though: a red Fender Precision Bass with a tiny practice plug-amp fitted.
She looked vaguely confused, as anyone has a right to look when a total stranger rings the bell. "Uh... hello?" she said, her voice very clear and surprisingly low for such a young, petite girl. "Can I help you?"
Ray blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat. "Uh... well... I just heard you playing and had to find out... " He shook his head. "Let me start again. My name's Ray Lovelock."
"I'm Mylene," the girl replied.
"Okay, this is going to seem kind of sudden, but - have you ever considered playing professionally?"
"Um... " said Mylene. It was, in fact, all she'd really thought of for the last three years, but given the kind of day she was having, she didn't really feel like discussing that with a complete stranger, however friendly he seemed.
"Only... well, look, I'm in a band, and we just lost our bass player," he said. "I, uh... I don't suppose you'd like to come and... I dunno, jam with us?"
Mylene hesitated, on the verge of sending him away. He seemed nice enough, but she was hugely not in the mood for an audition today, even if what he was saying was the real deal. But then she remembered the previous day. Her mother's face, her mother's voice, telling her to nurture her gift and be a light to a galaxy falling into shadow. She stood looking at the stranger on her doorstep - big, muscular, coffee-colored, with a mustache and a sort of hippie headband thing - for a few moments, lost in thought.
Then she said, "Yeah, all right."
They stopped off at one of the neighboring rooms to collect Emilia, which Ray was more than happy to do, since bringing along an armed, tough-looking young woman with a suspicious look in her eyes, while a little awkward, went a long way toward demonstrating that he wasn't some kind of creep with an ulterior motive. The three of them caught a tram out to Hydrax and found Basara and Veffidas just as Ray had left them - Basara sitting on an amp and sulking, Veffidas practicing her fills with a glacial imperturbability.
Seeing Ray return with a couple of girls in tow roused Basara Nekki from his funk just a little - enough that he turned and said, "What the hell's this?"
"Our new bassist, maybe," Ray replied.
Basara scowled. "I never said we needed a replacement for Pedro," he grumped. "We don't need a bass player. The Doors didn't have one."
"The Doors were overrated crap, Basara. They had one good song and they stole it from someone else."
takka-TISCH, agreed Veffidas's snare and hi-hat.
Basara gave Ray a dark look through his little round sunglasses, then sighed heavily. "Fine. Let's hear her."
"Here, use that amp," Ray said, pointing. When Mylene gave him a worried look, he grinned and added, "Don't worry about Basara. He's like an old dog." He winked. "Barks a lot and has no teeth."
Mylene smiled - she'd already taken a liking to this guy - and went over to plug in, then re-tuned her P-bass and played a couple of scales before starting in on a few short pieces to demonstrate her skills. Once she got used to the sound of the amp, she pulled out the stops and even threw down her rendition of "Foggy Mountain Breakdown", a song more customarily performed on a banjo. By the end of that, even Basara was looking a little bit interested.
"Not bad!" Ray said. "By the way - can you sing? Basara's our lead singer, but some of our songs have a female vocal part, and if you're good enough, we might consider expanding the role a bit."
"Sure," Mylene said. "I've been taking voice lessons since I was five."
"Let's hear you, then," Basara put in suddenly. "But none of that fluffy pop-idol crap. We're a serious rock 'n roll band."
Mylene gave him a sharp look. "Just because I have pink hair doesn't mean I'm into bubblegum, pal," she told him.
"Prove it," he challenged. Leaning back on the amp, he folded his arms, smirked at her a little, and said, "Rock me - if you can."
Emilia hid a smile behind her hand, thinking, One toke? You poor fool! Wait'll you see those goddamned bats, man.
"You asked for it!" Mylene shot back. Then she squared herself up, considered her next move for a moment, and started laying down a riff. Emilia stopped even trying to hide her grin as her little sister stepped to the mic, spun it with her toe so that she was facing Basara, and let him have it.
Those
crazy nights
I do remember
In my youth
I do recall
Those were the best times
Most of all
Behind the drum kit, silent Veffidas blinked, smiled, and jumped in right on point. Ray was two counts behind, scooping up his gui-board and layering in a rock piano backing line, as Mylene went on, her voice soaring:
In the
heat with a blue-jean boy
Burning love comes once in a lifetime
I found him singing by the railroad tracks
Took him home, we danced by the moonlight
Those
summer nights are callin'
Stone in love
Can't help myself I'm fallin'
Stone in love
By the time she was halfway through the bridge, Basara had abandoned his skeptical scowl and started to smile a little. When she reached the chorus and gave her voice full rein, he suddenly jumped up, animated by a life that hadn't been in him a few moments before, snatched up his guitar, and leaped in with a fill that turned into a solo and carried her to the next verse.
Old dusty
road
Led to the river
Running slow
I pulled him down
And in the clover
We go 'round
In the
heat with a blue-jean boy
Burning love comes once in a lifetime
Oh the memories never fade away
Golden boy, I'll keep you forever
And, to even Mylene's surprise, Basara stepped up to the mic and hit the harmony with her as the four of them, now a band, dove into the chorus together.
Those
summer nights are callin'
Stone in love
Can't help myself I'm fallin'
Stone in love!
They rocked it down, a little out of sync but getting better with every beat, as Mylene and Veffidas blended into a proper rhythm section and propelled the rest forward. When they were done, the silence was like a door closing. For a second, the four just stood (or, in the drummer's case, sat) blinking at each other.
Then Basara put his guitar back on its stand and slouched back against the drum riser, his energy gone as suddenly as it had come, but there was a little bit of a smile on his face as he said with exaggerated beat-poet nonchalance,
"Eh... you're okay. I guess we could give you a try for a couple of gigs."
"Don't pay any attention to him," Ray said, racking his gui-board. "You're hired. Welcome to Fire Bomber."
"I didn't actually say I wanted to join a band, you know," Mylene pointed out. "I just agreed to come jam with you for a while."
Basara smirked. "Oh, so it's gonna be that way with you, huh? Okay, then," he said. Levering himself away from the drum riser, he snatched up his guitar again and said, "Let's jam!"
"I dunno about this, Mylene," Emilia said as the two rode the tram back to Iacon Core an hour and a half later. "I mean, Ray seems nice enough, but I don't think Mom would like that Basara guy much."
Mylene snorted. "I'm thinking about joining his band, Emi, not marrying the guy."
Emi gave her little sister a speculative look, then grinned and ruffled her slightly-sweat-damp pink hair. In truth, she had no doubt that joining Fire Bomber was the right move for Mylene right now. The girl was shining, in a way that she only did when she'd either just come from a great musical experience or was anticipating the next one - and, based on what little Emi knew of such matters, she thought the others had talent too, enough talent that the four of them, with a little luck and the right backing, could go far. Maybe all the way.
"Well, maybe. But you're gonna need someone to look after you," she said. "Mom would kill us all if we let you just go wandering around the galaxy with two strange guys by yourself."
Mylene folded her arms and scowled. "Don't treat me like a kid," she grumbled.
"I can't help it, baby sister," Emi replied, grinning. "You're the only one who's not older than me."
"When
Drums Stop, Bass Solo" - an Exile Mini-Story by Benjamin D. Hutchins
Mylene's practice solo performed by Stuart Hamm on Joe Satriani Live in
San Francisco
Special to the Eyrie Productions Discussion Forum
© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
Saturday, September 22, 2288
Cybertron
Vreet.
Vreet.
Vreet.
Xeralia Fallyna Sterling turned onto her back, reached above her head, and thumbed the comm acknowledge button built into the headboard of her bunk.
"What," she said.
"Captain Sterling," came the voice of a Zentraedi commtech. "Domillan Exedore requests your attendance in Conference Room C immediately."
Xeralia blinked, then sat up and rubbed at her face with both hands. "'M on my way," she said.
She was still trying to wake fully up when she arrived on the Micron balcony in Conference C. Exedore was already there, fully uniformed, looking chipper. Xeralia wondered if he slept. She'd heard a lot of odd stories about Exedore, tales that explained his slight and stunted frame as the tradeoff for genetic modifications that had given him mental qualities far beyond those of any other Zentraedi.
There was another officer there as well, a micronized male dressed in the uniform of a domillan's adjutant. He had a small durasteel case under his arm and a very serious mien. Xeralia noted his presence but made nothing of it for the moment. Instead she came to attention and saluted Exedore, as all Zentraedi did, though he held no proper rank in the Alliance's military structure.
"Captain Xeralia Fallyna Sterling, reporting as ordered, Lord Exedore," she said.
Exedore smiled. "At ease, Captain. I'm not one for pomp, and I have known you too long."
Xeralia relaxed a bit, smiling, but still folded her arms behind her back at precisely the correct angle for parade rest. Exedore took note, chuckled indulgently, then addressed himself to business.
"Accompanying the recording your parents sent to you and your sisters was another message for me," he said. "It was released from the probe's communication system when Komilia Fallyna unlocked the main data core. In it, Lord Breetai issued certain instructions."
Xeralia raised an eyebrow. Very few Zentraedi could presume to give Exedore "instructions". Even Breetai wasn't technically entitled to, under the Alliance's constitution.
"Most of these instructions are of a political nature, and as such do not directly concern the two of us just now," Exedore said. "However, there are a few that most definitely do. For instance, with the entirety of the Kridanik Fleet expected to be out of circulation for the better part of a century, certain elements of the Fleet must be reorganized to provide for the continued fulfillment of the Alliance's various treaty responsibilities."
He paused here to regard Xeralia with a twinkle-eyed expression that she knew from childhood. It was a mischievous, almost childlike look itself, one that said unmistakably that the Great Archivist was up to something. In a moment, Xeralia understood what he was getting at.
And to keep an eye on our presently untouchable enemies, so that we can move against them instantly when the time comes that we can move at all, she thought, smiling.
"To this end," Exedore went on, "and in recognition of your swift and decisive action in defense of Cybertron, I am pleased to promote you to the rank of rear admiral."
The micronized adjutant stepped forward and ceremoniously presented the case he carried. Within it were the trappings of her new office: a gold-trimmed, slightly more elaborate version of the scarlet uniform coat she wore; a short, black-edged white cape; and a ceremonial blaster pistol inlaid with thin plates of polished iridium and depleted vizorium. Momentarily taken aback, Xeralia hesitated before removing her coat, folding it neatly, and exchanging it for her new one, then putting on the cape and belting the blaster at her side. The adjutant briskly closed the case and retired.
"Congratulations, Rear Admiral Sterling."
"Thank you, Domillan," Xeralia said. "What is to be my new posting?"
"You already have it," Exedore told her. "As part of the fleet reorganization, the battlegroup you were placed in brevet command of for this operation is now properly assigned to you. Battlegroup Quevillon and the Quelquira-Nuur are yours to command. As commander of a special detachment of the Kridanik Fleet, you will report directly to me in Lord Breetai's absence."
Xeralia blinked, then managed a halting thank-you. Collecting her wits, she added, "What is my first assignment?"
"For the moment, your battlegroup must remain on the defense of Cybertron. However, a relief force will arrive from Reflex Point within a Standard month." Exedore smiled. "After that, I'll have a much more interesting task for you. But for now, relax, familiarize yourself with your new command, and spend time with your sisters. There will be plenty of time for great works once the immediate galactic situation stabilizes somewhat."
Xeralia took Exedore's advice, and as the next few weeks unfolded, there was plenty to do. All the Sterling sisters found ways to busy themselves, and slowly, almost in spite of themselves, started to make tentative plans for what to do next with their lives. Xeralia's course was clear - as was Mylene's, to her sisters' surprise, when she unexpectedly accepted an invitation to join a rock band that had found itself stranded without a bassist on Cybertron after the fall of the Wedge Defense Force.
That development, in turn, spurred Komilia and Therèse to develop a strategy for themselves. Maia and Miranda, too, decided on a course of action after much deliberation, one that would allow them to make use of their own special talents and try to do their part for a galaxy needing help. By slow degrees, all their plans took shape, and they began to feel a bit better, their worldviews stabilized by the simple idea that, whatever happened, at least they were doing something to regroup and move forward after their sudden dispossession.
All but one...
Thursday, October 11, 2288
Emilia Sterling was working off some frustration at an impromptu firing range out in the badlands, blasting at old HBT cans and random bits of debris with her Gallant-H90, when an old-fashioned army-green Jeep with nobody driving it jounced over the broken pavement and pulled up behind her.
"Hey," said the Jeep.
Emilia blasted another can, then holstered the blaster and turned. "Hey, Hound."
"What's up?" Hound asked.
Emilia shrugged. "Nothin'."
Hound transformed to robot mode and knelt down, forearm on knee, to peer down at her. "You sound kinda down, still. I thought getting the message from your parents would cheer you up."
"It did. A little. I mean, I'm glad they're alive," she said hurriedly, aware that she might be giving the wrong impression. "It's just that... well, that doesn't really help me much. It's great news - don't get me wrong! - but even so, I'm still... here."
"Ah," said Hound, nodding sagely. He lowered himself carefully to a sitting position, Indian-fashion, chin in hands. "Well, where would you rather be instead?"
"I'd rather be home, on the SDF-17, doing what I've always wanted to do, what I'm trained to do!" Emilia snarled, her whole body tensing with a sudden spasm of anger. "All my life I've looked forward to the day when I could make my name as a Wedge Defense Force MechWarrior. I just finished Destroid Combat School - I won McKennsy's Hammer, how often does an enlisted pilot do that? - I just got my sergeant's stripes and my first unit posting, and before I can even report for duty, meet my lancemates, be a real part of the Armored Corps... "
Her anger burned out as suddenly as it had flared up. She slumped to the ground, mirroring Hound's posture, and hung her head while tears tracked her face.
"... it's all gone," she murmured. "Komilia and Terry have their VTs, at least. And their experience. Maia and Miranda have their Legios, and each other. Xera has her fleet. Now Mylene has her new band. And I don't grudge any of them that, I don't," she said, as if begging the attentive Autobot to understand. "But... " She raised her eyes to Hound, as if searching for truth in the lines of his faceplate, and asked in a small voice, "... what about me?"
"Well... " Hound considered the question seriously, though it had been rhetorical. Unceremoniously, the Autobot flopped down, unfolding his legs, propping his torso up on his elbows, and looked thoughtfully up at the starry sky for a few minutes.
Then he turned to Emilia, half-sitting, and said, "Okay, maybe you can't be exactly what you wanted to be right now. It happens to all of us sometimes. The trick is to see how close you can get, then decide if you can be happy with that until something better comes along." He transformed back to Jeep mode and started his engine. "Come with me," he said. "I have an idea."
Intrigued, Emilia got to her feet and climbed aboard. As soon as she was in the passenger seat, Hound took off, his knobbly off-road tires scattering debris in his wake.
Emilia would never have been able to find her way back along the course she and Hound took that afternoon. The Autobot tracker may have been happier under the wide open skies of Earth, but he knew every inch of Cybertron, and he took shortcuts and back alleys even most other Autobots didn't know. For almost half an hour they threaded their way in silence through the maze of lower Cybertron, eventually emerging onto what looked to Emilia like an abandoned airfield - an open space with large, low, hangar-like buildings flanking what was obviously either a runway or highway.
"This is it," Hound said as he screeched to a halt in front of one of the hangars, if that's what they were. Emilia climbed out so that he could resume robot mode. Without hesitation, he walked to the giant hangar doors and levered them open, the ancient rollers protesting with hackles-raising squeals. Emilia looked past his leg into the yawning space beyond, but saw only darkness. Hound, however, could see in the dark, and he grinned at what he saw.
"Yep, I was right," he said. "This is the place. Take a look." So saying, he switched on the overhead lights.
Emilia gasped. Standing there in the middle of the hangar, as if waiting for orders, was a Destroid painted in the colors of the 37th Wedge Defense Force Air Guard Regiment ("The Sharpshooters"). And not just any Destroid, either.
"A Rifleman!" she cried.
"Yep," Hound said. "The 37th left a bunch of them here when they rotated out a few years ago, after we finished automating the Iacon defense grid, just in case they needed to reactivate in a hurry. The idea was that they'd be able to just shuttle the pilots over if need be."
Emilia walked slowly into the hangar and took a closer look at the Destroid. "This is... an R-model?"
"I think so. I'm not as familiar with the different models as you probably are." Hound smiled. "Anyway, it's yours if you want it."
Emilia paused in her examination of one of the Destroid's leg-mounted heat sinks - they were the recently developed high-efficiency model, so the unit couldn't have been refitted more than 20 years ago - to stare at him.
"You're giving it to me?" She blinked. "Can you even do that?"
Hound shrugged. "It's WDF property," he said. "You're a sergeant in the Armored Corps and you need a Destroid. Seems straightforward enough to me."
He stepped into the hangar and knelt, as he had before, to address her more closely. "I understand you feel lost, Emilia. Life is a complicated road, and we have to map it as we go. Even I get lost sometimes. Back in 2005, when your parents and Gryphon and the others were here, and we lost Optimus Prime on Earth... a lot of us felt the way you and your sisters feel now. We felt like everything we fought for was gone. Didn't know how we would ever go on. But we did go on... we did the best we could with what we had... and eventually things worked out all right." He spread a hand to indicate both girl and Destroid. "Maybe you can't be part of the WDF Armored Corps right now, but I'm sure a pilot like you and a 'Mech like that can do some good for somebody somewhere."
Emilia stood looking up at the Rifleman for a moment, then turned and regarded Hound. For a second she looked like she might cry again. Then her face broke into a smile - a little wan, maybe, and a little worn, but a smile, all the same.
"You're the best, Hound," she said. "... Now how am I going to get this thing off the planet?"
Hound grinned. "I know a guy... "
Tuesday, October 16, 2288
Cybertron
"Xera's late," Emilia Sterling noted.
Maia snorted. "What else is new?"
"I guess we might as well get started without her," Komilia observed. "It's been... heck, a while since we were all together in the same place. So where do we stand?"
"Well," Therèse said, putting her booted feet up on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, "all the mecha are pretty much ready to go. We're waiting on a missile delivery for the Alpha - amazingly, the Autobots didn't just happen to have 100 GPM-150s lying around," she said, shooting Maia a pointed look.
"Hey, we fired those missiles to save your ass," Maia replied without rancor.
"Everything checks out on that Rifleman Emi, uh, 'found'... annnd the machine shop's still working on the blown actuator on my Valkyrie," Therèse went on. "We should be ready to go within a few days, although 'go where' is a valid question at this point."
"Well, I was going to bring that up, actually," Emilia put in. "Hound hooked me up with a merchant captain who's making a run to the Rim soon. He thinks he knows a Destroid unit out there that's looking for owner-operators."
Mylene gave her a puzzled look. "You just hire out on your own? Like a truck driver?"
Emilia laughed. "Pretty much, yeah. MechWarriors who have their own 'Mechs are a lot more in demand on the merc market than ones who have to be equipped. Anyway, Captain Henriksen thinks I can pull a four-year contract with the planetary guard on Kestra II. Pretty good money because the place is so out-of-the-way they have a hard time attracting anybody with actual training. After that, I'll have enough socked away to make some other move. Thing is, he wants to raise ship within a week or so, ten days at the outside."
"You think you can trust this Henriksen guy?" Komilia asked.
Emilia nodded. "Hound vouches for him. That's good enough for me."
Komilia considered it, then nodded as well. "All right, if that's what you want to do. I wish we could all stay together, but... "
"We've gone over this already, Komi," Miranda said. "We'd be hard pressed to keep a low profile if we all traveled in a pack, even under assumed names. We'd match a profile. You know GENOM will have people looking out for that kind of thing."
Komilia sighed. "I know. I just hate feeling like I'm sending Emi off to fend for herself."
"Hey, it's my choice," Emilia said. "And I know what I'm doing. I won McKennsy's Hammer going through Destroid school with a specialization in the RFL series. Nobody's ever done that before."
Komilia nodded. "I know you can take care of yourself, Emi. It's not that I don't have confidence in you." She sighed. "Just something I'm going to have to get used to." Changing the subject to get her own mind off it, as much as anything else, she turned to Maia. "How are you guys coming on the fake IDs?"
"Just about ready," Maia said. "Jazz told me this morning we should have everything we need day after tomorrow."
"Mylene, what's the situation on your end?"
Mylene opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, the door opened and Xeralia came in, looking slightly harried.
"Well!" said Maia, with a measure of good-natured snark. "So glad you decided to join us, Group Captain - excuse me, Rear Admiral Fallyna Sterling."
"Sorry I'm late," Xeralia said. "I was called to Commander Bron's office on my way here. My new orders just came in from Reflex Point." She looked a little pained, as if she didn't really want to say what came next, then went on, "We're leaving Saturday. I can't say where we're headed."
"I think I see a pattern forming," said Therèse dryly.
"I was just about to say," Mylene put in, "that my first show with Fire Bomber is this Friday at the Neutral Zone, and after that, the guys really want to move on. Ray thinks he can get us a gig on Earth, someplace they've played before."
"Are you ready?" Komilia asked.
Mylene grinned. "I guess we'll find out," she said.
Komilia considered the matter for a few seconds, then sighed. "All right. Looks like this weekend is it, then. We'll all get together Friday night for Mylene's first gig, see Xera off on Saturday, and... " She opened a hand in a "dust in the wind" gesture.
"I should have our emergency communications all worked out by then," Maia said.
"Okay, then. I... guess this is it." Komilia looked down at her hands, then sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking around from one sister to another.
"Please don't make a speech," Miranda said before Komilia could speak again. The remark, perfectly timed and perfectly pitched in a piping little-girl voice, cracked up the room, breaking the tension that had settled with the realization that, at the end of the week, everything was going to change again.
"Okay, okay," Komilia said, getting up; then she added wryly, "Dismissed."
"About time," Mylene said. "I've got to get back to rehearsal. And so help me, if Basara screws up the first bridge/chorus in 'Disappearing Act' and makes me forget all the words again, I'm gonna kill him," she added, apparently to Guvava, as she left the room.
The others watched her go with expressions of amusement or bemusement; once the door was closed behind her, Komilia put her hands on her hips and let out a short, exasperated sigh.
"Well, it's nice that she's enthusiastic, anyway," she said.
"After the funk she was in our first week here? Hell yeah," Maia agreed.
"Terry, have you got anything on our transport problem yet?" Komilia asked.
"Maybe," Therèse replied. "Give me another day or so to see if the lead firms up. It's gonna knock out most of our working capital, though, if it comes through."
"Don't worry about that," Xeralia said. "Exedore knows what we're trying to do. He'll underwrite us discreetly if we need it."
"The less of a paper trail we leave, the better," Komilia said. "But okay, that's good to know. Oh - and I've been thinking. Even if she does agree to Terry and me going along - "
"Not that we're giving her a choice," Therèse interjected.
" - Mylene's not going to stand for us shadowing her all the time. I mean, would any of us put up with that? No, and she won't either. She's going to need a vehicle, and at some point," she added with a wry little smile, "she's going to ditch us with it. So it needs to be something she can also use to protect herself."
"A Cyclone?" Miranda suggested, but Komilia shook her head.
"Too light, and you can't transform it unless you plan ahead and wear CVR-3. Besides, too many mercs and other lowlifes know their weak points. No, it has to be something heavier, something you don't need special equipment to operate."
Emilia snapped her fingers. "A Garland," she said.
Maia grinned. "Yeah! That's perfect."
"Where are we going to find a Garland?" Miranda wondered. "They've been out of production forever."
"We're on the planet of a million machine shops," Therèse pointed out. "Dammit, if I only had my Veritechnology schematics library. All that stuff was in my quarters, though, so it's radioactive slag in the bottom of a crater by now."
"Eh?" Maia said, blinking. "Oh, wait, jeez - didn't one of you tell them?" she said, looking at Miranda and Emilia.
"I've been a little busy?" Emilia replied. Miranda just shrugged.
"What?" Komilia wondered.
"Well," Maia said, "When we did our hit-and-run on the SDF-17 to grab Emi and Mylene, we managed to call ahead and have Emi do a quick dash-and-grab from all our rooms. It's nowhere near complete, but she managed to grab something for each of us." She shook her head. "Man, I've been so out of it I didn't even think. That was what was in that duffel bag we dragged over here from the spaceport, and it's just been sitting behind the couch ever since."
"Oh!" Therèse said, brightening. "Lemme see, then."
Maia went around the couch and dragged out a clearly stuffed standard-issue duffel with the silhouette, name, and number of the SDF-17 printed on it. The sight gave all of them a little pang of sorrow, even weeks after the fact, but they pushed it aside as Maia heaved the bag up onto the coffee table and unzipped it for Therèse to look through.
"Sorry 'bout it being so disorganized," Emilia said. "It wasn't like I was able to take a good look at what I was grabbing."
"No, no problem - damn, you pack tight - ah-hah!" Therèse gave a tug and extracted a smaller bag from the overstuffed duffel. "Yep, you grabbed them," she said, then dumped the contents of the small bag - isolinear memory rods, data solids, and the occasional old-fashioned holotape - out on the couch and started rifling through them.
"No... no... ah!" Taking a closer look at the isorod she'd picked up, Therèse frowned and put it back. "No, Cyclones... hmm... this one? Whoops, no, that's porn... "
Maia facepalmed.
"... what? Like you don't," Therèse said. "Aha! Here it is." She tossed the memory rod end-over-end in the air, caught it, and tucked it into the sleeve pocket of her coveralls. "Wheeljack will know where I can get this kind of thing built in a hurry, I should think," she added smugly.
"Just don't let him make it himself," Komilia cautioned her. "We want it to protect Mylene, not blow her up."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Hey, what's this?" Xeralia asked, digging into the larger bag and pulling out a large book.
"Oh, wow," Therèse said. "That's Mom and Dad's wedding album. I haven't seen that in years."
Xeralia sat down and opened the book on her knees. Their parents' marriage license was pasted onto the inside of the cover, complete with its gold WDF seal and scarlet ribbon. The first page was a full-page photograph from the wedding, so many years before - Max in his dress uniform, saber and all, and Miria in her brilliant white wedding dress, standing side by side in front of the little chapel in Wedge City. Max was beaming from ear to ear; Miria's smile was a little confused, as if she still hadn't quite grasped the complexities of what was going on, but also serene, almost beatific. The sisters crowded around to have a look.
Xera flipped slowly through the first few pages, which contained more photos. Here was one of the whole wedding party, with best man Gryphon and maid of honor Terror, and the rest of the squadron for an honor guard, Daver's kilt-equipped dress uniform and all; a few of the ceremony itself, Captain MegaZone presiding; a long space shot of the SDF-17, all decked out in festive lights for the occasion. It was the first wedding of an Earthman and a Zentraedi, the first hint of hope that the Zentraedi War might be resolved peacefully, and the WDF kicked out all the stops, even though the war was still going on.
Further into the book were documents from their lives together - a picture of Max and Miria performing "Old Time Rock 'n Roll" at one of the WDF's annual Public Spectacles of Dubious Talent; Komilia's birth certificate and baby pictures; a photo of Max and Miria in formal Japanese-style civvies, Max with a toddler-age Komilia on his shoulders, tugging at his hair.
"Where was that taken?" Emilia wondered.
"Tomodachi, I think," Komilia replied. "Dad mentioned once that we all went to the dedication of the first temple in Nekomikoka."
They delved for a little while longer, but soon couldn't go on. It was too soon after the chaos of Sonfall, too soon after the realization that they wouldn't see their parents again for a long time, if ever. By silent consensus, they closed the book. Xeralia put it on the coffee table and they all sat regarding it for a moment.
"Xera, you should keep this," Komilia said, putting a hand on the book. "It'll be safest with you - and you're the only one of us who won't be in an awkward position if someone finds it in your stuff."
Xeralia nodded. "I'll take good care of it," she promised. "What else is in the bag?"
Maia grinned. "Let's have a look."
Thursday, October 18, 2288
Therèse and Komilia were walking toward the hangar where their Valkyries and the twins' Legios were parked when Maia met them partway, grinning broadly.
"IDs are ready!" Maia said, handing Komilia and Therèse each a United Galactica citizen identification card. "How do they look?"
Komilia squinted at her card, then Therèse's. "Terrible," she complained. "Mine looks like her and hers looks like me." With an exasperated look, Maia took the cards back and switched them. Komilia immediately brightened. "Oh! Great!"
"Everything else is looking good," Maia said. "I guess we'll be ready to head out Saturday after all."
"Any idea where you two are going yet?"
Maia shrugged. "Miranda's been asking everyone who comes through here if they've heard about any of the other Riders." With a wry grin, she added, "Unsurprisingly, they're making themselves hard to find, but Mir thinks she might have a line on one of them. If we can find the others, hopefully one of them will have found something we can use on Musashi before it all got blown to hell."
"If there was anything to find," Komilia said glumly. "The whole thing was damned well done, much as I hate to admit it. I don't think it's likely they left evidence."
"Well,
thanks for that, Lt. Positive," Maia said. Putting an arm around her elder
sister's shoulders, she said, "C'mon, let's get something to eat."
"Preparations" (Part 4 of Patience, an Exile Mini-Story
Serial) by Benjamin D. Hutchins and Philip J. Moyer
Patience Plotted by Philip J. Moyer
Special to the Eyrie Productions Discussion Forum
© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
Friday, October 19, 2288
Cybertron
They called it the Neutral Zone, supposedly because it had been a no-fire zone and relaxation area even at the height of the great Cybertronian Wars of ancient times. Nowadays it was one of the premier nightspots on Cybertron, in large part because it had facilities scaled for both Minicons and regular Transformers, and thus humans and full-size Zentraedi as well, making it one of the few places on the planet where all four groups could get together and unwind. The eldest six of the seven Sterling sisters were crammed into a Minicon booth right up front on the mezzanine, overlooking the stage. They were pleased to see that the place was packed, the mezzanine overflowing with WDF refugees, Minicons, and travelers, the lower level jammed with Autobots and Zentraedi soldiers (the latter from both Xeralia's battlegroup and the Queltaadu City garrison).
Maia, Miranda, and Therèse had seen the least of the band Mylene had suddenly and unexpectedly joined shortly after the sisters arrived on Cybertron. Emilia, who had spent the most time watching them rehearse, pointed out each member of Fire Bomber as they took the stage: burly Ray Lovelock, the keyboard player; tall, green-haired Veffidas, the nearly unspeaking micronized Meltrandi drummer; and wiry Basara Nekki, the Neo-Japanese frontman, with his spiky black hair and little black shades.
Maia hadn't liked Basara much the couple of times she'd met him - he possessed a full measure of that temperamental artist schtick, and she found him tiresome - but Mylene seemed to know how to handle him, and Maia had to admit she looked good with the rest of them, even in that absurd leotard-like red stage costume she'd picked up someplace. More to the point, she looked happy out there, and that was a welcome sight to her sisters after they'd watched their youngest endure so much misery in the days after the SDF-17's fall.
While the band futzed around with their equipment and got ready to go, a figure emerged from the crowd at the edge of the booth and asked, "Any chance an old comrade can squeeze in here?"
Komilia, sitting at the end, turned and didn't recognize the speaker for a moment. He was a tall, tough-looking guy, Nordically craggy and sporting long blond hair in a jagged ponytail, dressed in a red T-shirt, well-worn blue jeans, and black sneakers. For a second or two, Komilia just stared at him, trying to remember where she'd seen him before; then it came together and she blinked in astonishment.
"Petersson?" she asked. He grinned. "Swede Petersson! What the hell are you doing here, I haven't seen you in... jeez, forever! Shove over, you guys."
"I'm not sure we can," Therèse said doubtfully, but they managed it, one way or another.
"So who's this, now?" Emilia asked, slightly puzzled.
Komilia made introductions, then explained, "Olaf used to be a WDF pilot - "
"Wow, yeah, a million years ago," Maia said, remembering. "You flew with the Crimson Crusaders, didn't you?"
Petersson nodded. "For a couple of years, yes," he said.
"And he was an Eight-Ball before that," Xeralia put in. "You filled in for Dave Ritchie when he went on one of his hunting trips, right? I was in high school then. What're you doing on Cybertron?"
"I live here," Petersson said. "Have since I left the WDF... " He trailed off, aware that Komilia was looking at him oddly. "... What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind." She looked down at the stage. "Looks like they're about ready to go!"
Indeed, Fire Bomber's prep was finished. Grinning fiercely, Basara grabbed the mic at center stage and said, "How's everybody doing in the Neutral Zone tonight? No time to waste, let's rock and roll! Yeah!"
/* Fire Bomber
"Planet Dance (Duet Version)"
Let's Fire!! */
Well, at least he doesn't waste a lot of time with big stage raps, Maia mused as the band threw down the pounding intro to their first number. "Awright Buffalo!"
"They're not bad," Xeralia observed after the first chorus.
"Mm," Emilia agreed. She didn't understand a word of the song (it was in Japanese), but Mylene sounded confident as she took over the vocal chores for the second verse. Then again, she knew what she was singing; unlike Emilia, Mylene had bothered taking a bunch of different language courses in primary school, including Japanese.
"Okay, that song's officially going to be stuck in my head for a week," Maia said when the first number was over.
They played for an hour and a half, hard rock and the occasional power ballad, and if they weren't the most polished band ever to grace the Zone, they probably had the most energy. Besides, they were remarkably tight given that they'd only been rehearsing together for a few weeks, and whatever mistakes they did make, they covered or got around with skill and sheer panache.
After the last number, Basara - who had barely spoken between songs, except to yell an occasional title during an intro - went back to the mic and said, "All right! I wanna thank all of you for comin' out and rockin' with us tonight - and especially for being such a good crowd for our new member's very first show!"
(Crowd noise, especially from mezzanine center. Mylene went a little red, but the stage lights mostly covered it.)
"She's got somethin' she wants to say to ya," Basara went on, "so say hello to Fire Bomber's new bass player, Mylene Flare!"
Mylene stepped to the mic and smiled, a little shyly, out at the audience. On her shoulder, Guvava seemed to accept the cheers and applause as his own, making Mylene's sisters giggle at the sight of the tiny rodent preening.
"Actually," Mylene said after the noise died down a little, "everything I want to say, our last song can say for me. I wrote it after... well... after last month. I hope you take away from it something like what I put into it. Thanks."
Jeez. Hell of a downer to end on, sis, thought Maia with a frown - but then the band slammed down another huge rock intro, complete with a get-up-and-jump keyboard line. Mylene leaned to the mic, still driving them forward with her bass, and sang:
Runnin'
outta self-control
Gettin' close to an overload
Up against a no-win situation
Shoulder to shoulder, push and shove
I'm hangin' up my boxing gloves
I'm ready for a long vacation
Yeah!
The others joined in behind her, striking a harmony as they dove into the chorus together.
Be good to
yourself when
Nobody else will
Whoa be good to yourself
You're walkin' a high wire
Caught in a crossfire
Whoa be good to yourself
Up on the mezzanine, Mylene's six sisters grinned at each other. Little sister's going to be all right after all, thought Komilia with a grin.
When you
can't give no more
They want it all but you gotta say no
I'm turnin' off the noise that makes me crazy
Lookin' back with no regrets
To forgive is to forget
I want a little peace of mind to turn to
Be good to
yourself when
Nobody else will
Whoa be good to yourself
You're walkin' a high wire
Caught in a crossfire
Whoa be good to yourself
Be good
Good to yourself when
Nobody else will
Yeah!
They spun the outro for a couple of minutes, just kicking the melody line around from bass to guitar to keyboard and back again, before finally bringing it together and knocking it down - and then the place went crazy.
After a couple of encores - Komilia thought their mother would probably kill them all if she knew they'd let Mylene participate in a cover of "Honky Tonk Women" - the show was really over. The Neutral Zone started to empty out a bit, but a lot of people stayed; the place was a long way from closing time. A few of the Sterlings drifted away from the booth, some mingling with the crowd, enjoying their first real night out since Sonfall and their last night, in a way, as themselves. Therèse went backstage to confer with Ray and the rest of the band. Komilia and Emilia remained in the now-much-roomier booth with Petersson, having a snack and a drink and chatting about the old days.
Eventually Petersson excused himself, citing the lateness of the hour. As he stood, Komilia stood with him.
"It was great running into you again, Swede," she said. "You take care, hey? Maybe I'll see you again the next time I'm back this way."
Petersson grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. Once again Komilia had the strangest feeling that she knew him, and not just from his brief tenure with the WDF nearly two centuries before.
"I'd say that's very likely," he said. Offering a hand, he shook hers firmly, then put his other hand on top of it. "I'm glad you're feeling a little more sure of yourself, Komilia," he added quietly, his words pitched for her alone. "Good luck with everything you're about to attempt. If you need anything... I'm always around."
"Uh... thanks," Komilia replied, feeling a hint of a blush creeping into her cheeks at the direct, intimate way he was addressing her. It was as if he somehow knew - not just guessed from context, as anyone might have, but knew - what had been going through her mind and heart for the last few weeks. It should've been a little creepy, given that the man was a comparative stranger, a casual friend she'd last seen almost 200 years ago, but instead it was just... reassuring. And that was, in itself, a little creepy.
Petersson smiled, patted their clasped hands one more time, then turned and walked off, pausing at the doorway to salute. Komilia stood staring at the mezzanine exit for several seconds, her face blank.
"Uh... Komi? You okay?" Emilia asked.
"Where do I know him from?!" Komilia demanded, of herself as much as Emilia.
Emilia looked askance at her sister. "You said he used to be a pilot," she pointed out.
Komilia shook her head. "No, it's more than that. I... there's something about him I know from somewhere else. Something in his eyes. His voice. He - ... !!" She went wide-eyed, completely astonished, as everything suddenly came together in her head, and then she was pushing through the crowd, taking the stairs down from the mezzanine three at a time, pelting full-speed toward the exit, with Emilia trying her best to keep up and asking what was wrong.
Komilia ignored her, rounded the end of the Minicon walkway at the end of the full-scale bar, and burst through the side door into the alley beside the Neutral Zone...
... just in time to see the tail end of a silver semi trailer disappear around the corner and hear the sound of a powerful engine heading up the street out front.
She stood for a second, hands on knees, panting - and then, as Emilia emerged from the bar behind her and demanded to know what the hell was the matter, she burst out laughing for the first time in more than a month.
"... Komi? Are you okay?" Emilia asked, fearing for a moment that her eldest sister was cracking up completely; but when she looked more closely, she saw that Komilia was really laughing, laughing from deep within, as though she'd at last received the punch line of some very long drawn-out joke.
It was several seconds before she'd recovered composure enough to answer, at which point she put a hand on Emilia's shoulder, wiped at her eyes with her other