Fire and Shadows [Seroth]

[Rosa Gunn]

First heights and now freezing temperatures? Rosa smiled at Seroth's offer to warm her afterwards, his whispered words rising pleasant goosebumps along her spine. They had no other immediate option open to them and time was precious. "Alright." she said softly. Tightening her coat about her she slid the door open as quietly as she could and climbed inside. Nothing could have prepared them for the cold within. Frozen air gnawed hungrily as the exposed flesh, burning their lungs as they breathed it in. The door slid shut silently behind them leaving them almost in darkness.

The ice blocks seemed to hold their own luminescence that only added to the freezing sensations as it bathed them in a soft blue light. "When we're done with this," Rosa uttered in a horse whisper "and by done, I mean the ship is complete. We're going to Spira. Force knows we need a holiday." The soft hum of repulsorlifts and their vehicles sudden lurch forward told them they were on the move. Rosa closed her eyes and leant her head against Seroth's shoulder, dreaming of soft sand beneath her toes and warm sun beating upon her back. It was so easy to draw up the image in her mind, when times were dark she found consolation amid the sound of waves lapping at the shore. Rosa tried not to measure how long they were moving for but her head snapped up when the repulsorlifts died down. She extended her senses listening to the heartbeat of the pilot as he climbed out of the vehicle and moved round to the rear of the van to open the door.

Tucked away behind a large ice block they remained unseen but it would last for long as they were unloading. Edging carefully forward Rosa peered round the block into the dock beyond, a large stack of empty containers lay against one wall, reaching out with the force Rosa seized the stack and pulled it forward unto an unsuspecting miner. The noise and the cry of pain drew attention away from the air-van, even the unloading pilot stole away to help. Guilt stabbing at her heart, Rosa led them from their transport.

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

Spira... Eternal days spent beneath delicate blue skies with a blazing sun. Tanning and burning in the breakers, jetting their bodies out like lance-batteries into the deeper crystalline waters. So clear and cold, vicing their bodies with chill before they dove beneath. Seroth remembered. Holding dinner at sunset on picnic cloths, reminiscing, partly wishing. Just waiting for the moon to rise and blanket the lagoons with silver-light, drawing up corposant fire off the midnight tides washing up the glowing sand. Before those days, the lad had never promised himself to a woman. He was an uninteresting slick of maleness that escaped from place to place in the Unknown Reaches. Not particularly handsome or accomplished. Then Rosa baptized him with fire and now, there was no turning back...

Reliable cover was sparse. Despite the mess and maze of strewn bulk-loaders, emptied and piled gas-canisters, escarpments of staple-sealed crates, with lean-to's of surplus durasteel siding, there were a hundred moving bodies on seemingly every wharf-avenue. Shadows were never deep enough, always lightened by a grey shade to give their prone poses some relief and detail. Seroth traded off the lead with Rosa every instance they came to a pause. Generally, they tried to sneak around the perimeter warehouses, keeping the wide spaces of the marina to their right, the high walled security fencing on their left. Cutting through the longhouses seemed unviable. Side-entry portcullis' were framed in bulky duranium jambs. Each required a six-digit code along with a palm print. Seroth thought to simply bypass through forcing a break in the door seal, yet thought better. It would risk tripping latent security measures and exposing Fringe security upon their trail.

One hazarded moment came when Rosa dropped them behind a stacked pallet. A guard was shambling over. They listened; he was complaining of extended shifts in thanks to 'fethin' bloody business on O'reen' and of needing to relieve himself. Such was why they wrinkled up at the standing odour of sodium and chloride. The pallet-crates provided some standing privacy for certain guardsmen lacking sanitary habits. Seroth hugged them up against the sealed crates. When a shadow showed close, with steps less than three paces away, the lad lunged. He took the guard with knuckle-slice to his throat, breaking the armoured gorget and stunning his larynx. Rosa watched him follow with blitzing two-strike combo, walloping the guards' temples. He was rendered nonsensical, sputtering blood-fused spittle from his torn lower lip whilst Seroth dragged him back behind shadow.

He accepted Rosa's nonplussed stare and shrugged helplessly.

It took them an hour before they reached a quiet stretch of wharf-dock. The pair kept a vigilant peer over to where a small prospecting repulsor-boat waddled at bobbing anchor. It was secured to the marina by way of clamped mag-locks, overarching cranes that kept snapped, pulsing lock-claws onto a bar across the boat's dorsal spine. Through a porthole, a single row of high-pressure suits on dressing trestles stared back at them. Seroth looked to Rosa, she to him. They both felt the ident-chit resting squished between their palms as they held hands.

There was no cover between the decking for the wharf or the long promenade. They stood from their recess behind a column of primed tibanna-tanks, chancing to bluster. Distant figures kept up their busy strolls. It was remarkable how well Rosa's example of 'confident pacing' made the out of place appear placid, ordinary. Even a sweeping flood-lamp beam crossed them with little blackball. The pair simply walked up to the repulsor-boat, keyed the ident-chit to open the hatchway, and began preparations for debarking. He bade Rosa cycle the engines to idle and double-check the oxygen-exchange filters. He in the meanwhile wrestled with the stubborn protocols keeping the mag-locks stuck to the dorsal hulling.

"Hey - Do you - !? - Oh no...!"

Someone spoke behind him. A meter at best, he thought, maybe two. Seroth spun about, percussion-gun in hand, aimed unwavering towards the speaker. She was Kage, pale with amethyst eyes. Her hands were clenched around a small datapad glowing in her hands. One finger wavered over a blinking slate-key. Seroth could guess what would happen when it was depressed. There was a terrible dichotomy between his still aim, and her shaking frame. He could hear Rosa still busied drawing power from the repulsor-boat's tiny reactor. With the engines beginning to whine loudly, there would be no one to hear his pistol crack.

"...Ma'am, what's your name?"

She blinked, biting on her tongue.

"Miss...?"

"Saiki!" She had to call over the climbing engine roar. "It's... It's Saiki..."

"I'm very sorry for this, Ms. Saiki," Seroth offered gently, stowing away his pistol. "I'm very sorry you won't forget this. We need to take your ship here. I can't tell you why."

He didn't wait to see if her finger clawed on the 'Alert' holo-key. The lad simply shrugged into the tight spaces of the two-seater cockpit, shutting the pressure-hatch behind him. He checked and triple-checked the sealant locks. One false lever-turn would result in the cabin crinkling like an egg-shell. Finally... Loosing a breath stuck in his throat... He sidled in beside Rosa as they dove down into the gas-storms of Taloraan.

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]

 

[Rosa Gunn]

Rosa glanced Seroth's way as he joined her in the cockpit, pulling the ship away from the docks and plunging into the clouds. She didn't need to ask what had happened, she had felt the flare of surprise and fear from the woamn Seroth had shut out of the ship. They'd been seen, which would make this all the harder. "You could have brought her on the ship." Rosa offered in hindsight "I could have made her sleep till this was done." A small shrug raised her shoulders and she smiled "Still, where would the fun be without being rumbled, hmm?"

She pushed the ship as hard as she could, knowing that there time was far shorted than before, hoping to beat the alert call that may or may not be heading to the mining facility. Then she was almost upon it, the facility rose from the gas clouds its grey fingers reaching out to suck the tibbana from the atmosphere. A small curse slipped from her as she rapidly reduced her speed to a more casual approach. The tension in the cabin rose tenfold as they drew nearer, Rosa chewed on the inside of her cheek, nerves getting the better of her for a moment.

Only for a moment.

She guided the little boat towards a docking arm, where it formed a seal around the door. A cool automated female voice wafted over the communications array, reminding passengers that entry would not be allowed without the correct shit, and all miners must where environmental suits. She left the ship running, better for an fast escape if it was required. Rising smoothly she slid from the cockpit and began to don one of the suits. "I love you." she said suddenly, pausing in her dressing to look at Seroth.

@[member="Seroth Ur-Rahn"]

 

[Seydon of Arda]

The pressure suits were several eccentric layers of ungainly materials. He watched Rosa rise and fight for a half-minute with the seals keeping the posterior sheathes closed, and stood to lend a hand. They both tuned to each others frown, tacitly unimpressed with the lack of ergonomic catches to pop open the dressing-sheathes. She swore something off-colour. He followed with concurring grunts, then aided her hopping into the leg-molds. Next were pelvic plates that did not seem to promise much freedom of motion, with a reinforced 'girdle' atop. Snap-Shink! Followed close by upper-torso attachments, breast, arm, gorget, and a six-pound breath-exchanger system mounted on the spinal rails. Lastly required was just the HEV helm.

"I love you."

He was adjusting the internal comm. mic so the spit-shield wouldn't ride into her mouth. Seroth paused, looking up. He was suddenly slack, like a rowboat at pier. Perhaps she said it so he would know, not necessarily requiring a reply of what she already sensed intrinsically. The Empath's gift. Still... How she could take his stoicism and unwrap it like a present bow was disconcerting. Troubling. It left him at an ambivalent fork in the road: that way to led to unease, the other a need for her comfort. Her lad stepped in, cradled her round the heft of her bulky suit-waist.

"I love you too," And they kissed. And for a moment, everything was right. Then they parted, so his hands could snap in the fitting of her bubble-helm. Seroth in turn took a moment to dress up, trading guesses between their suit-comm. channels. Troop strength, security measures, the general facility lay-out. Their small 'boat' featured mag-lock and solid-catch attachments on the back of its primary fuselage. Large enough to possibly tow two, potentially three pallets of sizable Tibanna-X isotope tanks.

The moment of truth came and went as they waited at the vessel air-lock. Seroth plugged in the pilfered ident-chit into a number-pad receptacle when prompted. It took seemingly too long for the pilfered identity to be cleared through stringent protocols. Then... Then a welcoming ping sounded. The number-pad glowed cheeky greens, cycling the air-lock open. A sudden waft of immense, crushing grip viced around their environmental suits. There was a crinkling tremor echoing up into their helms, telling of several dozen atmospheric weights attempting to compress their protective outer-layers into a thin line of molecules. The treated glasteel ports comprising of their helm view-screens suddenly felt too close. Zero-gravity could be dizzying, nauseous. This, this crunch of gravity, felt like a punishing blow to the gut. Cramping. Intense.

"We'll have to fight through any discomfort," He said over the link. "Standing out like amateurs might warrant suspicion. Come on... We just need to find a few pallets unattended. But be careful, not to mistake ordinary tibanna with the X-varient. Here... Just east around, up to those big piers a level on." With effort, their mag-plated boots struck in to the pier decking, great mitten-gloves snapping onto the redoubled rails for support.

@[member="Rosa Mazhar"]