Royce's Random Thoughts

Sheer terror propelled Melanie back the way they had come, running away from the bay, past the dock, and back around again to Windskimmer’s next to the last resting place. She stopped there, falling to her knees by the tree with the boat’s anchor rope still wrapped around it, dislocated shoulder aching in pain.

They had captured Rolas. He was going to be turned into one of the ardalian’s puppets, unable to control his own body, his mind free to watch in horror as the creature used it. She had a horrible vision of him coming towards her, tentacle leash dragging behind him, arms outstretched, only his eyes betraying his terror as he was used to hunt her down.

( No plan, no tools, no hope. )

She ran as fast as she was able, her stomach churning. Halfway back to the point on the beach where Windskimmer had been anchored, she paused and vomited up her lunch, then lurched unsteadily in pursuit of Rolas.

Fortunately he’d also been slowed down. Evidentially his early display of fitness climbing the stairs had been a bit of a ruse, for up ahead she saw him pause, sway unsteadily, then drop to his knees. Then he pushed himself up and began a loping crawl toward his goal, finally rising unsteadily to stumble along the beach.

Melanie gritted her teeth, tasting bile in her mouth, and forced herself to run faster, arriving just in time as Rolas ran into the surf in pursuit of the sailboat. She grabbed his wrist, trying to draw him back as he continued to head into the waves, foam breaking over his knees.

“Are you out of your mind?!” she screamed at him as Rolas dragged her with him into the bone cold water.

“It’s heading towards the reef!” he shouted back, trying to twist out of her grip. “The coral will rip through the pontoons!”

“You can’t swim after it! If the tide drags you over the coral you’ll be ripped apart!”

( Have I mentioned Rolas has Issues? )

Note: The is the last of the old material, suitably altered for the change in location. I'm still on the fence about the amnesia subplot. It's probably one of the sillier Romance cliches out there, and medically unlikely, but I'm also rather fond of the possibilities it allows.

* * *

Exhaustion overcame her grief and fear, and eventually Melanie fell asleep, rocking in the bunk like a cub in the Mother Goddess’ arms. That meant when the Windskimmer slammed itself onto the beach of the island she’d been aiming for, she was thrown out of bed and onto the cabin’s deck, still wet from water sloshed into it from the storm. Sputtering and cursing, Melanie got unsteadily to her feet, hauling herself topside.

The sailboat had beached itself on a wide, sandy shore, a nasty grinding sound coming aft as the propellers dug themselves into the white sand. Melanie slapped the shutdown button the console, stopping the motors and the awful sound. Above her head, the sail snapped in the wind, now reduced to much more sensible five kilometers an hour, while the rain had abated to a steady drizzle. In front of the bow, some ten meters up the beach, stood a thick forest of trees with fan shaped leaves.

Going by the computer map, the island was perhaps three kilometers long and two wide, rising to an elevation of fifty meters at its highest point. A notation in the system didn’t even give it a name, just a numeric navigation designation and a note with its place on the list of places requiring ground exploration.

Melanie shook herself, flinging wet, salty droplets from her fur. Then she headed up to the bow, releasing the anchor winch and hauling both anchor and chain up the beach, until she could wrap the chain around the thickest tree she could find and jamming the anchor into the sandy ground, securing the boat firmly. By the time she had finished and made her way back to the Windskimmer, the storm had ended, the wind and rain dying down completely.

She hauled herself back up onto the boat, her gait ironically unsteady and swaying now that the deck was still. Plopping herself down on the bench, Melanie considered her options. A sailboat carrying the Governor General’s brother and sister-in-law disappears in a storm, she thought. They’ll be searching for us. But how soon?

They had only been three days into their fortnight trip, with no specific destination planned. She hadn’t seen Rolas checking in with anyone on the com the entire time they’d been out. Would the search be delayed until the week was up? Longer even? She mentally added another two days to allow for worry to build up in Salli’s mind. Then she added another week to allow for Rolas’ youthful habit of remaining at sea for a month or more at a time. Then she started thinking about Rolas’ body sinking beneath raging waves and began sobbing again.

( Damage Control )

Salli met Phillip in the conference parlor once again, seating herself in one of the comfortable padded chairs. She watched for a few moments as he puttered around, arranging a second chair next to her for Ali, and one across from her for the reporter, neither of whom had arrived yet..

“All set, Milady?” he asked. “Where’s Miss Blacksailor?”

“Still dressing. I just spoke to her before I came downstairs,” Salli answered. Ali had been looking a bit twitchy and unhappy, and had asked her to go ahead while she prepared herself. Salli couldn’t blame her. It had been a long time since her last Media Relations course in finishing school, and poor Ali didn’t even have that much preparation for this.

“All right then. Hopefully this will be a loose, friendly interview. Just answer all the questions straight. These Oceanic News fellows enjoy pouncing on evasive Nobles. If you start getting uncomfortable, just give me a signal and I’ll wrap things up for you.”

“I understand,” she said.

Phillip nodded. “He’s probably going to direct a lot of questions towards Miss Blacksailor. If they get too personal I’ll deflect them, but we need to let her know that contradicting the basic facts in her criminal case probably won’t end well.”

“I don’t think that will be problem.” Given Ali’s usual stoic resignation towards her crimes, it was more likely she’d just nod in agreement with every accusation and provide even more damning details, Salli thought.

Phillip’s palm comp beeped. He gave a sharp nod as he checked it, rising to his feet. “The reporter is at the front entrance. I’ll bring him in for you.”

“Thank you, Phillip.” Salli waited as he left to get the reporter, wondering what was taking Ali.

He returned a few moments later, a familiar, gangly foxen following from behind. Oh, of course it would be him.

“Lady Darktail! A pleasure to see you again,” Nef Clawstroke greeted her cheerfully. He stuck out his paw, and Salli stood briefly to shake it, then settled back down in her chair.

“Mr. Clawstroke, what a surprise,” she admitted. “I thought you were covering the orbital beat.”

“Oh, I move up and down, depending on where the story is,” he said. “Since I’d already interviewed you both before, my editor thought it best if I did the follow up.”

That wasn’t an interview earlier, it was an ambush, she thought irritably. “I see. So, what topics would you like to discuss today?”

“Oh you and Miss Blacksailor. Particularly how you met and what seemed to spark the attraction between you, especially after you learned about her history.” He looked around the conference parlor. “Speaking of which, where is she?”

“Not here yet,” she admitted. She pulled out her palm comp to check Ali’s location. It showed she was still in her room. Which was a little annoying, but understandable. It was possible that Ali had funked out like when she had been unexpectedly introduced to her long lost brother Lu so recently. “She’s in her room. I’ll go see what is delaying her. Phillip, please stay and keep Mr. Clawstroke company.” No need to drag the reporter along for what might be an emotional moment with Ali.

As she stood up, Salli’s palm comp let out a loud emergency beep, pitched to scrape along a foxen’s auditory nerve like claws on a blackboard. Startled, she nearly dropped it before answering, “This is Salli, what’s the matter?”

“It’s Zaker, milady!” came the urgent reply, her voice shouting into Sali’s ear. In the background she could hear agonized growling and screams, which with a shock Salli recognized as coming from Ali. “I need you up in Ali’s room immediately!”

( Ali Must Suffer )

The next morning began very pleasantly. After waking up in Ali's bed, quite cramped with the two of them trying to fit in it, but quite comfortable with Salli pillowed against Ali, the young bodyguard guilt-ed her out of bed to try and get Salli back into her exercise regime. After changing into her body suit, they'd headed out to the holy arbor and gone through the usual stretching exercises. Then for variety's sake Ali also decided to throw in some of the basic combat moves that she'd begun training Salli in, begun way back when they had traveled together on Salli's Grand Tour, when Ali had been posing as an ordinary minder for hire.

Many of the moves were offensive, designed to inflict enough pain for Salli to get out of grabbing range of any potential attacker; Elbow jabs, foot stomps, and occasional well placed knee to the groin. Some were defensive, mostly blocking potential strikes, particularly if the person was armed. Salli was actually becoming quite accomplished knocking down Ali's arm when the latter had a knife in her hand.

Towards the end, the now familiar figure of Zaker approached from the direction of the manor, a paper cup filled with tea clutched in one paw.

( Ali blows off some steam with some blows )

Count and Countess Darktail’s office was bit claustrophobic with the crowd of people in it currently, Ali reflected. The two nobles sat at their desks, with Salli occupying a seat near her father. On the other side of the room Zaker stood, Ali stuck beside her, having inserted herself into the proceedings by the virtue of being Salli’s bodyguard while she was on the manor’s grounds. In the center facing the two desks was a Civil Protection investigator, Lt. Lightfoot, delivering his report, a uniformed forensics sergeant beside him.

“I’m afraid we don’t have many leads to go on,” the investigator told the two nobles. “The ink on the skimmer’s door was a commercially available chemical compound, designed to be written invisibly and then appear after an extended drying period. It’s the sort of thing you find in junior chemistry sets or play kits for cubs who want to pretend they’re spies. Could have been bought anywhere from a retail store.”

“Are there any leads on the point of application?” Countess Darktail asked.

The investigator shook his head. “That was our next thought. The security cameras in the medical center’s parking garage saw nothing. The time from application of the ink to it appearing is approximately three hours, depending on how heavily it was applied. I’m told that there are no security cameras in the manor’s garage, correct?”

“That’s correct,” the Count told him. “Security is maintained with a keypad lock, but it’s not considered a deep secret. I think there about twenty people who work at the manor who know it, mostly the techs who maintain the vehicles, plus housekeeping.”

If there were twenty who were known to have access, then there was likely twice that many who would also have it, Ali thought cynically.”

“We'll have to question all of them. I'd like you to provide a list of the servants who would most likely be found in there normally, and then we'll work our way down.”

“I'll get that to you shortly,” the Count said.

“Thank you.” Lightfoot turned to Salli. “Lady Darktail, can you offer any suggestions as to who might want to deface your skimmer like this?”

Salli spoke, her voice a staccato of barely controlled anger, matching the quietly furious expression she'd been wearing since she and Zaker had returned to the manor. “No,” she replied. “All of our servants,” she spared a glance towards Zaker, “most of our servants rather, have been with us for years. They stayed loyal through all the threats and intimidation our old countess threw at us. I can't imagine any of them engaging in such a ridiculous act.”

The lieutenant's gaze focused on Ali briefly. “Do you know of anyone in your household who has expressed, forgive me, reservations about the alleged relationship between yourself and Ms. Blacksailor?”

“Not alleged,” Salli growled. “I love Ali. I neither deny this nor am ashamed of it. If anyone else has a problem with it that is their problem.”

“That doesn't answer my question, Milady,” Lt. Lightfoot persisted.

Salli looked away from Lightfoot, her eyes focusing on Ali's, her expression pained. “I have been informed that some of the servants fear Alinadar, due to her criminal past. I do not have any specific names.”

“Thank you, Lady Darktail.” Light turned his attention to Ali. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Ali asked in surprise. “I certainly didn't scribble that message on the door!”

“But has anyone in the household made remarks to you about your relationship with Lady Darktail? Anyone whom you might find threatening?”

Ali nearly crossed her eyes at the thought. “Who could threaten me in this house?” She gestured to Zaker. “Well her, maybe, she's got combat training. Everyone else here is a civilian.”

Lt. Lightfoot cleared his throat, an amused look crossing his face briefly. “I meant verbal threats.”

“Er, no.” Honesty then compelled her to add. “I mean the Countess doesn't like me being here, but if she wanted me gone, I would have been bounced out on my tail already.” Ali guessed that hadn't been the most politic thing to say just then, because the Countess looked furious, the Count just winced, and Salli actually facepawed briefly, covering her good eye with her palm.

“Right then.” Lt. Lightfoot glanced at the Countess with interest, then made a note in his palm comp. “I think that's all for now. With your permission Countess Darktail, I'd like to make a forensics sweep of the manor's garage. With all the foot traffic there the chance of finding something useful is low, but I want to be thorough.”

“Very well,” the Countess agreed, her temper under control now. “Zaker, show the Lieutenant the way.”

“Yes, Milady,” Zaker stood and bowed briefly, then left with Lt. Lightfoot and his aide in tow.

“I'll be in my rooms,” Salli said to her mother. “Ali, attend me.”

Ali stood up and followed Salli out the door, heading towards the stairs. “Sorry about that,” she said.

“You were being honest.” Salli's smiled somewhat wryly. “Mind you, sometimes being honest at the wrong times can be, er, unhelpful.”

“Yeah.” Ali rubbed the back of her head, remembering more than one blow landing there courtesy of Bloody Margo or old Sgt. Jack.

“So what are your security recommendations, Alinadar?” Salli asked, as the came to the door of her suite.

Ali frowned in thought. “The threat is too vague for any response beyond 'more guards.' Either they're going to go after you out of outrage for you shacking up with me, or they'll just stick with vague treats to make you uncomfortable. If they go after you directly then, well...” She grinned briefly showing her fangs. “They'll have to get through me first.”

Salli cocked her head, ears pricking up. “You look like you'd actually welcome an attack.”

She shrugged. “Beats all this padding around we've been doing. I could use a straight up fight for once.”

“Well, you're a straightforward person, Ali,” Salli allowed. “Don't change that just for me.”

Ali smiled slightly. “I won't. Promise.”

Her footpads were starting to hurt.

Foxen footpads were tough. Not as thick and leathery as a wazagan’s, but far superior to a human’s odd-angled feet which needed constant protection when they went out of doors. But even a foxen wore foot protectors in the deep cold, and long distant runners typically had their pads covered in a protective organic rubber coating that could be spread over their feet, and then peeled off after the application of a neutralizing spray.

Ali had been running far longer than was wise, especially on the hard tarmac of footpath that circled the inner perimeter of Darktail Manor’s grounds. Her feet were aching, with the occasional sharp pain that warned she was risking blisters and open wounds if she kept it up. And if she was hobbled thus, she might not be able to properly respond to any threats against Salli.

So? came the traitorous thought. If I can’t keep up with Salli, she’ll have to get someone else to be her minder, and that might divert her parents’ attention from us. On the down side, that someone else might be the perpetually smirking Zaker...

( Ali finds an unexpected ally )

As I noted on FB I'm going about this backwards. This is supposed to be the story after Shadow of History, but I got a bug in my bonnet to write this bit down.

* * *

“So I was thinking that once we go over the quarterly earnings report for the plantation on Nagrim later this morning with the administrator you and I could…” Melanie paused, looking at her husband Rolas’ back from her perch at the edge of the bed. Normally this was an enjoyable exercise, especially in the morning, while he was still undressed and allowing her a fine view of his well-muscled shoulders, the definition visible even under the tall foxen male’s dark brown pelt, his black tail waving over his ass cheeks. “Rolas, are you even listening to me?” she prompted.

“Mm, yes dear,” he murmured, still looking out the open glass doors to the morning dawn rising over their home, a small manor house on the lands administered by his parents, the Countess and Count Darktail.

( Not a good start to the morning )

Note: Salli is not happy about this situation...

* * *

“This is impertinent, outrageous, intolerable!” Lady Salli shouted, split skirts swirling as she paced back and forth across the pavilion. “You dare to arrest my liege-sworn servant in my domain! After being invited to be my guest no less!”

“I am obligated to follow the law,” Commander Blacksailor said stiffly. “I'm not permitted to pick and choose which bits to pay attention to.”

( Honor Before Reason )