Fic: Arc (cont.)
Jan. 19th, 2010 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalNext to the last entry, I promise.
Whitepelt watched as the mad and/or god-touched vulpine passed the cubs over to their surviving parents or other caretakers, one after another, moving quickly as reports came back of vulpine on the fringes of their group bouncing up against more creo security units. They had been just probes apparently, not outright attacks. Which made her wonder when the stations’ Wise Master was going to grow sick of the game and finally end this charade. He’d been willing to kill over five hundred vulpine to preserve his little experiment, what were a few thousand more?
“You’re the last one, dear,” he said to an eight-year old cub with black and white fur. “Go with Tan Electrician D6.” The cubling nodded soberly and did as she was told. Whitepelt watched her leave the crèche with a vaguely empty feeling inside her stomach. Ridiculous. She’d never even used the coupling chambers herself. There had always been too much to do.
Black D6 stuck his head through the doorway, balancing precariously on a pair of crutches that had been found for him. “I think we’d better get moving soon. Someone managed to use a security station’s com system to contact the sections of the Arc. They’re breaking into the crèches and taking the cubs there to this section, to hook up with us and get aboard that transport you were talking about. They’re taking awful casualties getting through the Security patrols though.”
“Start getting everyone moving towards the transport then. I need to speak to Whitepelt privately for a moment and then we’ll follow,” Marty said. Black nodded and shut the door.
“What’s the matter?” Whitepelt asked.
Marty’s face held a tired, sad expression on his face. “We’re likely to be very busy until we get the transport moving. I just wanted to take the time to apologize for my sister Lili killing you.”
“What are you talking about? I killed her, remember?”
“Yes, but in doing so she effectively killed you. Not physically of course. But when you fired that fatal shot, taking the life of a fellow Vulpine, it was enough to make the vague feeling of unease that had been building in your heart into something you could no longer pretend to ignore, or tolerate. You could not be the person you were before, the drone existing only to serve the Varn Dominion. You had to be reborn into something that could be more.”
Why are you listening to this? He tries to trick you into further betrayal.
Whitepelt rubbed her paw hard between her eyes, feeling a pounding headache building up. “Even if that is true, that’s not much comfort to her now, is it?”
“She is with the Holy Den Mother, she will be at peace forever.”
There is no Den Mother, only the Wise Masters.
She narrowed her eyes, her vision wavering. “I… I.. want to believe you. But…” She pulled her pistol out from where she’d stuck in her belt, and pointed it at Maturari’s head. “I can’t listen to you anymore…”
Shoot him. Shoot him now. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
Nearly blind from the pressure behind her temples, her first shot went wide. Her second shot came closer, striking the soft plastic shell of his float chair, leaving air stinking with melted hydrocarbons. She tried to fire a third shot, but her pistol dropped out of her hand and clattered to the deck. Whitepelt fell her knees, clutching her head, feeling like it was going to explode. “Get out!” she screamed.
“The Holy Den Mother is with you, the Holy Den Mother will protect you,
Whitepelt,” Marty said, pulling himself out of his chair to kneel beside her.
No! There is no Holy Den Mother, only the Wise Masters!
“No! There’s no forgiveness! There’s no one there!” She blindly grabbed the butt of her pistol, pressing the still hot muzzle under her chin, feeling her fur burn and the skin underneath bubble and pop as her finger closed around the trigger.
Marturari’s hand closed tight around Whitepelt’s wrist, pulling the pistol down and away, the palm of his other hand pressing against her forehead. “She is here. She is within me. She is within you. She is with every vulpine there ever is and ever was. You are not alone.”
As Marty’s palm pressed against her forehead, she felt the horrible pressure in her skull ease, as a rapidly fading voice in her head screamed, “How? How!” Then blessed unconsciousness fell upon her.
* * *
Testimony of Deesix Whitepelt as presented to the Galactic Sapiens Alliance Truth and Reconciliation Committee, cont.
So anyway, after he shooed the last of the cubs out, Marty spoke to me privately and wanted to let me know he didn't think it was really my fault that I murdered his sister. Which I suppose was just a clue that he really is as crazy as people said he is. Anyway, while we talking something went really wrong with his float chair and it blew to hell. Must taken some damage during all the firefights. I got hit under the chin by a piece of debris, fell back and was knocked unconscious.
By the time I woke up everyone who had survived was on board the transport. You know that story from everyone else, I don't have to repeat for you, about the nurses from the creches and even some of the security guards who just couldn't stomach what they had seen done to us, and opted to come along. It was just one pebble in the avalanche of people who had begun to realize how evil the Dominion was, and who wanted something more than just a life of service to our Wise Masters.
It took us two months to dodge the Dominion fleet they sent after us and reach territory where the Resistance could off-load and find safe havens for everyone. We had lost almost two hundred more people by then, from Dominion attacks to overstressing the ship's recycling systems. But we made it eventually.
I found my husband on that ship, bore a son and a daughter by him, then I'd lose him almost twenty years later towards the end of the war, when the Bloody Plagues tore through us. In-between then I worked, supervising bits of base construction as the Resistance turned into a real army. Nothing really technical though. Nobody trusted me, or anyone who had grown up on the Arc all that much, given hwo much they screwed with our minds there. Couldn't be sure whether we were all Dominion sleeper agents or something.
No, I'm not bitter about that. We're a screwed up bunch, we survivors. Others were hurt worse than us, but I don't know of any group that the Dominion directly controlled who suffered for so long. People ask me what it's like to live a normal life, and I don't know what to tell them. I don't know what normal is.
Did I see him again? No, once Marturari left the ship. They say his family keeps him isolated at their estate. They say he's a crazy psychic, who just thought he was seeing the Holy Den Mother when he got precognitive visions. I don't know about that. All I know is that if hadn't come along to the Arc, I probably would have died in that damned place. I did die there, and got reborn as... someone. The person I choose to be finally. Not the person the Dominion wanted me to be. Not necessarily a very good person. I know what wrongs I've done. I know I'm never going to be able to do enough to balance what I've done. I can only hope that if there really is a Holy Den Mother, that she's willing to forgive me. Because you never really can forgive yourself.
To Be Concluded.
(Sory about the melodrama in the climax there. That bit will probably be re-edited when I put these bit up for a longer entry on DA.)
Whitepelt watched as the mad and/or god-touched vulpine passed the cubs over to their surviving parents or other caretakers, one after another, moving quickly as reports came back of vulpine on the fringes of their group bouncing up against more creo security units. They had been just probes apparently, not outright attacks. Which made her wonder when the stations’ Wise Master was going to grow sick of the game and finally end this charade. He’d been willing to kill over five hundred vulpine to preserve his little experiment, what were a few thousand more?
“You’re the last one, dear,” he said to an eight-year old cub with black and white fur. “Go with Tan Electrician D6.” The cubling nodded soberly and did as she was told. Whitepelt watched her leave the crèche with a vaguely empty feeling inside her stomach. Ridiculous. She’d never even used the coupling chambers herself. There had always been too much to do.
Black D6 stuck his head through the doorway, balancing precariously on a pair of crutches that had been found for him. “I think we’d better get moving soon. Someone managed to use a security station’s com system to contact the sections of the Arc. They’re breaking into the crèches and taking the cubs there to this section, to hook up with us and get aboard that transport you were talking about. They’re taking awful casualties getting through the Security patrols though.”
“Start getting everyone moving towards the transport then. I need to speak to Whitepelt privately for a moment and then we’ll follow,” Marty said. Black nodded and shut the door.
“What’s the matter?” Whitepelt asked.
Marty’s face held a tired, sad expression on his face. “We’re likely to be very busy until we get the transport moving. I just wanted to take the time to apologize for my sister Lili killing you.”
“What are you talking about? I killed her, remember?”
“Yes, but in doing so she effectively killed you. Not physically of course. But when you fired that fatal shot, taking the life of a fellow Vulpine, it was enough to make the vague feeling of unease that had been building in your heart into something you could no longer pretend to ignore, or tolerate. You could not be the person you were before, the drone existing only to serve the Varn Dominion. You had to be reborn into something that could be more.”
Why are you listening to this? He tries to trick you into further betrayal.
Whitepelt rubbed her paw hard between her eyes, feeling a pounding headache building up. “Even if that is true, that’s not much comfort to her now, is it?”
“She is with the Holy Den Mother, she will be at peace forever.”
There is no Den Mother, only the Wise Masters.
She narrowed her eyes, her vision wavering. “I… I.. want to believe you. But…” She pulled her pistol out from where she’d stuck in her belt, and pointed it at Maturari’s head. “I can’t listen to you anymore…”
Shoot him. Shoot him now. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
Nearly blind from the pressure behind her temples, her first shot went wide. Her second shot came closer, striking the soft plastic shell of his float chair, leaving air stinking with melted hydrocarbons. She tried to fire a third shot, but her pistol dropped out of her hand and clattered to the deck. Whitepelt fell her knees, clutching her head, feeling like it was going to explode. “Get out!” she screamed.
“The Holy Den Mother is with you, the Holy Den Mother will protect you,
Whitepelt,” Marty said, pulling himself out of his chair to kneel beside her.
No! There is no Holy Den Mother, only the Wise Masters!
“No! There’s no forgiveness! There’s no one there!” She blindly grabbed the butt of her pistol, pressing the still hot muzzle under her chin, feeling her fur burn and the skin underneath bubble and pop as her finger closed around the trigger.
Marturari’s hand closed tight around Whitepelt’s wrist, pulling the pistol down and away, the palm of his other hand pressing against her forehead. “She is here. She is within me. She is within you. She is with every vulpine there ever is and ever was. You are not alone.”
As Marty’s palm pressed against her forehead, she felt the horrible pressure in her skull ease, as a rapidly fading voice in her head screamed, “How? How!” Then blessed unconsciousness fell upon her.
* * *
Testimony of Deesix Whitepelt as presented to the Galactic Sapiens Alliance Truth and Reconciliation Committee, cont.
So anyway, after he shooed the last of the cubs out, Marty spoke to me privately and wanted to let me know he didn't think it was really my fault that I murdered his sister. Which I suppose was just a clue that he really is as crazy as people said he is. Anyway, while we talking something went really wrong with his float chair and it blew to hell. Must taken some damage during all the firefights. I got hit under the chin by a piece of debris, fell back and was knocked unconscious.
By the time I woke up everyone who had survived was on board the transport. You know that story from everyone else, I don't have to repeat for you, about the nurses from the creches and even some of the security guards who just couldn't stomach what they had seen done to us, and opted to come along. It was just one pebble in the avalanche of people who had begun to realize how evil the Dominion was, and who wanted something more than just a life of service to our Wise Masters.
It took us two months to dodge the Dominion fleet they sent after us and reach territory where the Resistance could off-load and find safe havens for everyone. We had lost almost two hundred more people by then, from Dominion attacks to overstressing the ship's recycling systems. But we made it eventually.
I found my husband on that ship, bore a son and a daughter by him, then I'd lose him almost twenty years later towards the end of the war, when the Bloody Plagues tore through us. In-between then I worked, supervising bits of base construction as the Resistance turned into a real army. Nothing really technical though. Nobody trusted me, or anyone who had grown up on the Arc all that much, given hwo much they screwed with our minds there. Couldn't be sure whether we were all Dominion sleeper agents or something.
No, I'm not bitter about that. We're a screwed up bunch, we survivors. Others were hurt worse than us, but I don't know of any group that the Dominion directly controlled who suffered for so long. People ask me what it's like to live a normal life, and I don't know what to tell them. I don't know what normal is.
Did I see him again? No, once Marturari left the ship. They say his family keeps him isolated at their estate. They say he's a crazy psychic, who just thought he was seeing the Holy Den Mother when he got precognitive visions. I don't know about that. All I know is that if hadn't come along to the Arc, I probably would have died in that damned place. I did die there, and got reborn as... someone. The person I choose to be finally. Not the person the Dominion wanted me to be. Not necessarily a very good person. I know what wrongs I've done. I know I'm never going to be able to do enough to balance what I've done. I can only hope that if there really is a Holy Den Mother, that she's willing to forgive me. Because you never really can forgive yourself.
To Be Concluded.
(Sory about the melodrama in the climax there. That bit will probably be re-edited when I put these bit up for a longer entry on DA.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 11:21 am (UTC)and never to be really trusted...
...poor them.
mjkj
PS: I have found two typos:
- Nobody trusted me, or anyone who had grown up on the Arc all that much, given hwo much they screwed with our minds there.
should read how.
- All I know is that if * hadn't come along to the Arc, I probably would have died in that damned place.
* missing Marty or he or something the like