Focus.
[center]~*~[/center]
A young gallente man works his knife into the bark of an ash tree in the gentle warmth of an afternoon. This is. No, maybe. Summer. He wears the flight jacket of a university of Caille student.
[center]~*~[/center]
Zero-G flames lick around like crimson flowers blossoming on a spring morning. Within their beauty rag dolls evaporate. Wait, friends.
[center]~*~[/center]
Naked. Cold. This isn't my bed. Why is it so bright in here? Lux is inversely proportional to distance from the source of the light. I must be close to it. Why is a light a member of my family? Footsteps.
[center]~*~[/center]
A paniced voice rings out everywhere and nowhere. He is a minmatar.
"It's a trap. All ships..." <static>
Another voice. Female.
"Deploy distress drone. Set it to 48 hour hibernation, and then set it to patch to the nearest RSS beacon. Change all remaining communications encryption codes to the emergency key, "angel"."
[center]~*~[/center]
Focus
A gruff voice is speaking, in soft tones it is unused to.
"...this helps: 'The mountain may not move, but the river never had to ask.'."
[center]~*~[/center]
Pain, so much pain. The crowd, all those faces. All those people looking at me. My chest hurts so much.
I will say what I have to say. I have to. "The mountain may not move, but the river never had to ask."
Darkness. A bag is all around me. At least the pain has died down.
This is my voluval. This is the day I get my wolf's paw mark. A wanderer, and a loyal companion. This has already happened.
[center]~*~[/center]
"It is not her mind that is broken, Thuor, it is her spirit."
That was a different man's voice. A familiar one. Actually, the other one was too. Where is this?
Snow crunches underfoot. The sound so distinct and crisp seems to thunder around the empty void of the orchard. I draw my knife, and settle into stance as flakes flutter in the still orchard air. The trees are bare, yet even now the scent of fresh apples pervades the air. I move fluidly through the knife kata. Mother will disapprove of me practicing again. Wait, no!
[center]~*~[/center]
An adolescent brutor boy lays sprawled out on the floor, barely concious. It wasn't his fault, I shouldn't have done that. He's just a boy sent to give a quiet sebestior some bad news. It's not as though they'd have recognised the name and sent someone less fragile. But I need an enemy, any enemy. Someone needs to pay.
It's no body's fault. It's so damn trivial, and they're gone forever.
[center]~*~[/center]
The scent of fresh cut apples hangs close by. Thuor old friend, how many days is this now?
The wind filling my fur feels like an artic gale, as the pack and I race across the mountain tundra. We run so fast the birds in the sky are unable to keep pace with us.
Freedom.
A moon has past since the pack first came to me. I understand so much more now. There is more to learn beyond that even.
The pack pauses, to smell a scent on the wind. I know before I smell it what it is.
I want to stay, don't you understand?
[center]~*~[/center]
The orchard looks duller now. It's sense of life somehow gone, it hangs with a sense of gloom. The sharp smell of fresh apples pervades it still, though the trees are long since dead. Winter frost clings to everything, along with a slush that used to be snow underfoot.
Thuor and the shaman stand by the well, its winch is broken, but its roof is functional, despite the weight of snow upon it. They dont see me, although I am in plain sight.
"I have done what I can to help you, Thuor, but there are limits to what I can do."
The shaman's words seem to wound Thuor, and the shaman turns to walk away.
"There are others who need me, Thuor."
With his last words, he fades from view.
Darro, the alpha, walks up beside me.
"Choose, pack-sister, they won't be coming back."
Darro and I exchange looks. He knows my mind as well as I. There is so much I could still learn here, and so much pain I don't want to face.
Thuor's eyes well with tears. He drops a half cut apple, and walks away, head low in grief.
[center]~*~[/center]
[center]~*~[/center]
"The first time you miss you think nothing of it. It happens to capsuleers, it's something that goes with the territory. The second makes you wonder if you've finally lost the spark you once had. The third brings everything crashing down. You know that your life has taken a change in direction."
I'm scared."
[center]~*~[/center]
~*~
The body looks so blue in cryo. It carries no scars of battle though, the skin smooth and unblemished, save for stretch marks, and the wolf's paw. I find that ironic in a way, for it has seen the most danger, the fiercest fights. Well, those of the surviving ones. I stare at it a while, eying the skin where it joins the dark, matte metal casing of the cyber implants where their external data ports punctuate the skin. It is a weapon of war. The hardware within capable of serving as a command nexus for a full strength battle wing. I worry about it though. I feel emotions in it that I rarely feel in others. A darkness I do not enjoy, thrown into relief by a maternal instinct. I bore my daughter in that body.
~*~
~*~
Tick
~*~
I hear Auror
Exiting warp tunnel
We come upon them. Their ships glistening in the sunlight like wet golden pebbles on a beach. Tight beams of light lance the sky. We swarm like a wild pack.
SqaudMember1OKSqaudMember2OKSqaudMember3OKSqaudMember4OKSqaudMember5OK1248542697685812443268WingcommanderTransmittingPrimaryTargetBeingAcquired978654731159876823959359716842875
~*~
Tick
~*~
SqaudMember1ReportingShieldsBreachedSqaudMember2OKSqaudMember3OKSqaudMember4OKSqaudMember5OK68432483218432169821642FighterDronesEngagingTarget354843213587632597994682432432
The beams continue to lance through the void. Where they strike the station's shields, they ripple. It reminds me of the bubbles I used to blow as a child using detergent. The shimmer is so hypnotic I forget myself.
Impact, shields failing
~*~
Tick
~*~
Our first target is a burning wreck, its husk scattering like a broken moth. But we have trouble of our own now. We did not see their escorts until it was too late.
Impact, right rear wing
~*~
Tick
It was a remark Thuor made one day that first made me wonder. I had upgraded my implant hardware in a spare clone to match that of my combat clone, yet he could tell with no prior knowledge which version of me he was with. He said that my clones are like identical twins, as physically similar as they may be, there is a je ne sais pas that varies between them. So here I am about to give a keynote speech before lecturers in theology, neuroscience and cybernetics.