Fic: Altered Trajectory (cont.)
Aug. 15th, 2010 05:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalFinally got back into the groove last night and finished up this chapter. From here the plot should speed up nicely, I hope.
“He spent most of his time in the gestation labs,” Gisko noted as they stepped out of the skimmer. “His home he used merely for sleeping and eating.” He gestured them inside. There seemed to be many more Galapagos inside, running about on various errands, most involving the upper floor where the Gene Mage was being cared for.
A female Galapagos wearing sterile scrubs met them outside the Gene Mage’s door. “Who are all these people?” she demanded, her voice low but very firm. “Administrator, this is not the time to disturb him.”
“Exactly how much time do you imagine he has, Chief Physician?” Gisko asked. “He must speak to our visitors. Have you heard anything from the gestation lab?”
“They finally left about ten minutes ago, and should be here shortly.”
“Good, good.” He gestured to Rufus and the others. “Come with me. Please do not speak unless you are addressed.”
He led them into a bedroom, arcane medical equipment lining the walls, flanking the withered giant in the bed, who was pinned in place by a snake's tangle of tubes leading from his arms and naked chest to electronically controlled feed units hanging from poles.
“Milord,” Gisko said softly. “As you requested, the visitors are here.
The Varn Gene Mage, last of his race, opened his eyes slowly, focusing on Rufus and the others briefly. Even that little effort seemed to exhaust him, for his eyes became unfocused again as he said in a raspy voice, “Lord Ru Ofan... Ofanius, welcome to my home.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rufus said, wondering what Mac, or any of the other government busybodies back home would think of him, saying “Sir” to one of the Varn who had enslaved and near-destroyed their race. But what did it cost him in the end, to be polite to a dying old man? It seemed obscene to him, to try and be angry at this moment.
“Time... is short, so short now. No more time... to shepherd my creations.”
“You have raised us well, milord,” Gisko said. “We are prepared to stand on our own.”
“So confident,” the Gene Mage breathed. “That is why... I made you your people's leader. You are brave, but you are few... too few. You must make allies.”
“That is why we are here, sir,” Rufus said to him. “My government wishes to make open contact with the Galapagos. We believe that this should be done as quickly as possible, so that other members of the Alliance will be presented with a fait accompli. Otherwise they might panic at the idea of the Dominion, in however different a form, rising again.”
“His words are wise, loyal Gisko,” he wheezed. “I cannot guide you... but I tell you that you should... ally yourself... with the vulpine.”
“As you will, Lord Gene Mage,” Gisko said gravely. The Gene Mage's physician stepped into the room and whispered urgently into his ear. Gisko nodded, then said, “There is something your should see now, milord.”
Three figures appeared in the doorway, all human, all considerably aged. Mark Wilson, Ari Suhayar and Rachael Namatjira, three figures from the period of the Varn Dominion's invasion of the planet Earth, kept alive through the Gene Mage's manipulations, serving him even today. In Namatjira's arms there was a tiny bundle, wrapped in a blanket. “Milord, we are here,” she said.
“Rachael... is it time?” the Gene Mage asked, his eyes focusing on the bundle.
“Yes, milord,” she said. “They confirmed her viability.” She handed over the bundle carefully. Two small spurs emerged from a fuzz of bluish white hair, as the little ferin joey's tail slipped out from the swaddling blankets to wave in the air. The Gene Mage held the little form to his chest carefully, almost covering it completely with one massive hand. The joey cooed, looking up at her creator with total trust in her wide eyes.
“Hello little one,” the Gene Mage greeted. “First... of the new Ferin. First... of my reborn work. First... of my greatest... creation. You are beautiful.... so... beautiful...”
The great alien conqueror's eyes turned to Gisko, his fingers stroking the joey's scalp carefully. He drew in a breath and said, “Gisko... protect them... I have not... the strength.” He blinked. “The lights are dimmed... I cannot see.”
Rufus shared a glance with Hazel. The lights in the room were set at what was apparently Varn normal, painfully bright by Vulpine standards, forcing them to both wear their sunglassses.
“With our very lives we will do so,” Gisko informed his master.
“I promise my government will not permit the humans or any other race to persecute the Ferin,” Rufus old him.
“Good... good...” the Gene Mage breathed. “They deserve.... to l-live...”
Then with one great, rattling exhalation, the Varn Gene Mage, last of his race, died.
There was silence for a long moment, then to Rufus' surprise, Mark Wilson broke out in wracking sobs. His two human companions gently eased him from the room, tears glistening from their own eyes, while the Chief Physician eased the mewling joey out from under the Gene Mage's hand. She looked around in a moment in confusion as to what to do with the creature, then settled for giving her to Terinu, who Rufus supposed would count well enough for a next of kin. The boy looked utterly stunned, though her took the bundle and cradled it with great care, as Matthew wrapped a steadying arm around his shoulders.
“Administrator,” the Chief Physician asked, looking absolutely lost, “what should we do?”
Gisko looked as if there was a thousand considerations going through his mind at the same time and that he would give his first-born for the ability to address them all at once. But instead he merely gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment and said, “Take his body to the morgue to be stored in biologic stasis, until it can be prepared to lie in state in the Temple of the Masters. All will be granted the opportunity to view it before it is given to the recyclers.”
He turned to the gaggle of attendants and medical personnel who had gathered at the doorway, to confirm with their own eyes the fact of their creator's passing. “As for the rest of you, return to your duties. Our god, our Wise Master, our Creator, is gone. We must carry on in his stead, guided by the wisdom he imparted upon us. As he shepherded us, we will now shepherd his Ferin, until they can stand on their own beside us. For now, go back to your duties if you have them, to your families if you do not. Further orders will be forthcoming shortly, I can assure you. Now carry on.”
They shuffled away, and Gisko turned to Rufus and Hazel. “Forgive me, Lord Ru Ofanius, but I must ask that you step outside for a few moments. I have much to do this night and I fear sleep will be a long time before my tasks are complete.”
“Of course,” he replied. They stepped outside, finding their way out of the house and in the gardens.
Hazel sat down on the edge of a fountain and let out a snort. “What a night. I get dragged out of bed to meet my first Varn, and the inconsiderate bastard dies not ten minutes later.”
“Is that all you have to say?” he asked, surprised at her callousness.
“What, you expect me to start crying? I might, for joy at least. He did help design the Bloody Plagues that nearly wiped us out during the Dominion War, remember. Or did you forget that when everyone was staring at the cubling?”
“I hadn't forgotten,” he said, running his hand through his scalp. “I just don't see the need to be bitter towards a dead old man.”
“Dead old monster,” she corrected. Her expression softened slightly. “Do you think they'll be all right?”
“Who? The Galapagos, the ferin, or Terinu and his mate?”
“All of them.”
Rufus sat down beside her, letting his arms encircle her waist as she curled up against him. “I don't know. If they can stay hidden from the Human Federation, perhaps. They might do better with our help, but that could mean the destruction of the GSA.”
She nudged her forehead underneath his chin. “What if we're wrong? What if Gisko and his lizards are just going to use those little ferin to power their own empire? What if twenty or thirty years from now they try to conquer us again, like they did our ancestors? I've read stories from that time. I don't want to see whatever cubs I eventually have growing up in chains.”
He let his paw stroke her back. She felt warm and alive. Precious. “I can't believe that. I don't want to believe that the Gene Mage would create the Galapagos, just to wage a war of conquest from beyond the grave. And even if he did, don't we have the obligation to show them a better path?”
“I don't know.” She shook her head. “So what now?”
“We've contacted the Galapagos, we have a line of communication and a tentative agreement for friendly relations. Now we go home and let wiser heads than ours decide what to do next.”
“And if they decide wrong?”
He hugged her tightly. “We'll just have to see.”
TBC
“He spent most of his time in the gestation labs,” Gisko noted as they stepped out of the skimmer. “His home he used merely for sleeping and eating.” He gestured them inside. There seemed to be many more Galapagos inside, running about on various errands, most involving the upper floor where the Gene Mage was being cared for.
A female Galapagos wearing sterile scrubs met them outside the Gene Mage’s door. “Who are all these people?” she demanded, her voice low but very firm. “Administrator, this is not the time to disturb him.”
“Exactly how much time do you imagine he has, Chief Physician?” Gisko asked. “He must speak to our visitors. Have you heard anything from the gestation lab?”
“They finally left about ten minutes ago, and should be here shortly.”
“Good, good.” He gestured to Rufus and the others. “Come with me. Please do not speak unless you are addressed.”
He led them into a bedroom, arcane medical equipment lining the walls, flanking the withered giant in the bed, who was pinned in place by a snake's tangle of tubes leading from his arms and naked chest to electronically controlled feed units hanging from poles.
“Milord,” Gisko said softly. “As you requested, the visitors are here.
The Varn Gene Mage, last of his race, opened his eyes slowly, focusing on Rufus and the others briefly. Even that little effort seemed to exhaust him, for his eyes became unfocused again as he said in a raspy voice, “Lord Ru Ofan... Ofanius, welcome to my home.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rufus said, wondering what Mac, or any of the other government busybodies back home would think of him, saying “Sir” to one of the Varn who had enslaved and near-destroyed their race. But what did it cost him in the end, to be polite to a dying old man? It seemed obscene to him, to try and be angry at this moment.
“Time... is short, so short now. No more time... to shepherd my creations.”
“You have raised us well, milord,” Gisko said. “We are prepared to stand on our own.”
“So confident,” the Gene Mage breathed. “That is why... I made you your people's leader. You are brave, but you are few... too few. You must make allies.”
“That is why we are here, sir,” Rufus said to him. “My government wishes to make open contact with the Galapagos. We believe that this should be done as quickly as possible, so that other members of the Alliance will be presented with a fait accompli. Otherwise they might panic at the idea of the Dominion, in however different a form, rising again.”
“His words are wise, loyal Gisko,” he wheezed. “I cannot guide you... but I tell you that you should... ally yourself... with the vulpine.”
“As you will, Lord Gene Mage,” Gisko said gravely. The Gene Mage's physician stepped into the room and whispered urgently into his ear. Gisko nodded, then said, “There is something your should see now, milord.”
Three figures appeared in the doorway, all human, all considerably aged. Mark Wilson, Ari Suhayar and Rachael Namatjira, three figures from the period of the Varn Dominion's invasion of the planet Earth, kept alive through the Gene Mage's manipulations, serving him even today. In Namatjira's arms there was a tiny bundle, wrapped in a blanket. “Milord, we are here,” she said.
“Rachael... is it time?” the Gene Mage asked, his eyes focusing on the bundle.
“Yes, milord,” she said. “They confirmed her viability.” She handed over the bundle carefully. Two small spurs emerged from a fuzz of bluish white hair, as the little ferin joey's tail slipped out from the swaddling blankets to wave in the air. The Gene Mage held the little form to his chest carefully, almost covering it completely with one massive hand. The joey cooed, looking up at her creator with total trust in her wide eyes.
“Hello little one,” the Gene Mage greeted. “First... of the new Ferin. First... of my reborn work. First... of my greatest... creation. You are beautiful.... so... beautiful...”
The great alien conqueror's eyes turned to Gisko, his fingers stroking the joey's scalp carefully. He drew in a breath and said, “Gisko... protect them... I have not... the strength.” He blinked. “The lights are dimmed... I cannot see.”
Rufus shared a glance with Hazel. The lights in the room were set at what was apparently Varn normal, painfully bright by Vulpine standards, forcing them to both wear their sunglassses.
“With our very lives we will do so,” Gisko informed his master.
“I promise my government will not permit the humans or any other race to persecute the Ferin,” Rufus old him.
“Good... good...” the Gene Mage breathed. “They deserve.... to l-live...”
Then with one great, rattling exhalation, the Varn Gene Mage, last of his race, died.
There was silence for a long moment, then to Rufus' surprise, Mark Wilson broke out in wracking sobs. His two human companions gently eased him from the room, tears glistening from their own eyes, while the Chief Physician eased the mewling joey out from under the Gene Mage's hand. She looked around in a moment in confusion as to what to do with the creature, then settled for giving her to Terinu, who Rufus supposed would count well enough for a next of kin. The boy looked utterly stunned, though her took the bundle and cradled it with great care, as Matthew wrapped a steadying arm around his shoulders.
“Administrator,” the Chief Physician asked, looking absolutely lost, “what should we do?”
Gisko looked as if there was a thousand considerations going through his mind at the same time and that he would give his first-born for the ability to address them all at once. But instead he merely gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment and said, “Take his body to the morgue to be stored in biologic stasis, until it can be prepared to lie in state in the Temple of the Masters. All will be granted the opportunity to view it before it is given to the recyclers.”
He turned to the gaggle of attendants and medical personnel who had gathered at the doorway, to confirm with their own eyes the fact of their creator's passing. “As for the rest of you, return to your duties. Our god, our Wise Master, our Creator, is gone. We must carry on in his stead, guided by the wisdom he imparted upon us. As he shepherded us, we will now shepherd his Ferin, until they can stand on their own beside us. For now, go back to your duties if you have them, to your families if you do not. Further orders will be forthcoming shortly, I can assure you. Now carry on.”
They shuffled away, and Gisko turned to Rufus and Hazel. “Forgive me, Lord Ru Ofanius, but I must ask that you step outside for a few moments. I have much to do this night and I fear sleep will be a long time before my tasks are complete.”
“Of course,” he replied. They stepped outside, finding their way out of the house and in the gardens.
Hazel sat down on the edge of a fountain and let out a snort. “What a night. I get dragged out of bed to meet my first Varn, and the inconsiderate bastard dies not ten minutes later.”
“Is that all you have to say?” he asked, surprised at her callousness.
“What, you expect me to start crying? I might, for joy at least. He did help design the Bloody Plagues that nearly wiped us out during the Dominion War, remember. Or did you forget that when everyone was staring at the cubling?”
“I hadn't forgotten,” he said, running his hand through his scalp. “I just don't see the need to be bitter towards a dead old man.”
“Dead old monster,” she corrected. Her expression softened slightly. “Do you think they'll be all right?”
“Who? The Galapagos, the ferin, or Terinu and his mate?”
“All of them.”
Rufus sat down beside her, letting his arms encircle her waist as she curled up against him. “I don't know. If they can stay hidden from the Human Federation, perhaps. They might do better with our help, but that could mean the destruction of the GSA.”
She nudged her forehead underneath his chin. “What if we're wrong? What if Gisko and his lizards are just going to use those little ferin to power their own empire? What if twenty or thirty years from now they try to conquer us again, like they did our ancestors? I've read stories from that time. I don't want to see whatever cubs I eventually have growing up in chains.”
He let his paw stroke her back. She felt warm and alive. Precious. “I can't believe that. I don't want to believe that the Gene Mage would create the Galapagos, just to wage a war of conquest from beyond the grave. And even if he did, don't we have the obligation to show them a better path?”
“I don't know.” She shook her head. “So what now?”
“We've contacted the Galapagos, we have a line of communication and a tentative agreement for friendly relations. Now we go home and let wiser heads than ours decide what to do next.”
“And if they decide wrong?”
He hugged her tightly. “We'll just have to see.”
TBC
