Sanctuary Falling

by Pamela Foland

  Richard quickly scurried back from the cliff edge, “What? Is someone coming?”

  Max tried to form an answer instead all that came from his mouth was, “Yllera!”

  Richard glared at him, “What the heck does that mean?”

  Max didn’t know anything more than that he needed to find her, now. “I have to go.”

  Richard frowned, “By all means, go shake the snake in the bushes then get back here and watch my back! Assist me even!”

  “No!” Max shouted almost too loudly, “I have to leave, this world. Yllera needs . . . me.”

  “Fine, but don’t expect a decent review. You won’t make factor with that attitude. Imagine thinking you can make time with some chick on my dime!” Richard growled. He stood glancing one last time back over the cliff.

  Max was sorely tempted to belt the boy-man, but resisted. He focused on Yllera’s need for help and pulled himself to her location. The trip was a little rougher than his usually smooth ability to teleport, vaguely he realized that there was thick shielding between his former location and the dimly lit room of his arrival. While dim, the room had more than enough smell to make up for it. He glanced around trying to find Yllera, all he could find was a young woman holding onto a mucous covered form while whimpering. They were the only two figures in the room, and if the summons had been true Yllera had to be one of them.

  “Yllera?” Max asked, the young woman looked up from the blob o’ mucous.

  “She is,” the girl answered nodding towards the blob, managing not to whimper.

  Max looked the blob over, it couldn’t be Yllera. Yllera was a graceful, beautiful, woman with a shining smile and a coy grin, most definitely not a blob of greenish goo. “No, it isn’t.”

  “She is dying of plague,” An old woman said with an deep Tanerian accent from the doorway. The woman was older than old, her wrinkles had wrinkles. Max guessed that the woman was old enough to know the symptoms of the Agurian plague first hand.

  Max denied it anyway, “That can’t be.”

  “What is, is. I am sorry for it. I had hoped what I had seen was a new start for our people instead it is an old end for her,” The woman leaned heavily on a staff, and Max thought of taking it from her to make her fall, for uttering such a proclamation about Yllera.

  “Are you certain Seer?” The young woman holding Yllera asked.

  “It is clear to me that nothing on this world or beneath it can be done for her,” The old woman replied.

  “Then it’s a damn good thing that I can take her off this junk pile and back to Sanctuary!” Max barked.

  He knelt and laid a hand on Yllera’s form and teleported back to Sanctuary. The trip was even rougher than the last, being through the Agurian warren’s shields and those of Sanctuary with a person suffering from a deep infection. No matter how the shields tried Max would not be bounced back. When they finally arrived it was in a large white room. Immediately two people joined them. One was the chief factor herself the other was a young woman dressed in the work clothes of the medical staff.

  The medic quickly knelt by Yllera. “Oh god, no!” The medic whispered not softly enough to hide from Max’s briaunti ears. “It’s Yllera.”

  The chief motioned for Max to join her. Max pulled himself away from Yllera, confident in the medic’s ability to save her and terrified by the medic’s own worry. “What’s your name, where were you assigned, and how did you happen to be there when this happened?” The Chief asked all at once.

  Max was as paralyzed by the rapid fire questions as he was by his worry. “My name is Max Xandari, I was,” Max sighed heavily, “Working on completing my mentorship, and I just knew she needed me.”

  “Really? You’re briaunti, right? Sounds like a pairbond. Kind of unusual to bond cross species, even more unusual for a such a bond to cross dimensional barriers,” The chief frowned for a few moments before retrieving a pop-pad and tapping at it. “Consider yourself a full fledge factor Mr. Xandari, secondary rank. I like unusual people.”

  Max snuck a look at Yllera, she looked bad to him. The medic was positively frantic injecting this and that while checking or scanning with one device or another. Finally the medic stopped and stood.

  “Talk to me Tina!” the chief said abruptly, Max could neither hear nor sense any emotion in the woman as she spoke.

  “Well, cousin, it could be better, it could also be much worse. Her body is fighting it and it looks like it just might be winning. The trigger seems to have been contact with some sort of waste recycling stew of algae and bacteria. Her body found it so fascinating it decided to become it. Now the outer layers of the mucous are hardening. I think she’s making a cocoon. I can’t say what she’ll be when or if she comes out of it but it’s not what she was when she started.”

  The chief stood stoically contemplating the medic’s words. “How long will she be like that?”

  “I can’t say, what I can say is this was what I was worried about. So, you can stop worrying,” The medic answered.

  The chief turned and started for the door, “Call me when she breaks out.” That was it the chief was gone.

  Max turned his worried attention on the medic, “Is there anything more you can do for her?”

  “I don’t know.” The medic answered teleporting two comfortable chairs to a place near Yllera. “All I can think of is being here for her.”

  - - - - - - - - - -

  Angela clutched the rough wall outside of room 52. It was all she could do to stand. She had placed Yllera in the situation which had caused her current condition. It didn’t help that any situation could have eventually done the same. It didn’t help that she might just be okay. Nothing helped because Angela, the chief, was responsible for the girl’s safety.

  The hallway was empty, no one was there to see Angela’s poor reaction to the stress. She counted it as a blessing, not allowing herself to think they could help. She needed help. The worlds resting on her shoulders were getting so heavy. There was Yllera’s world teetering against a fall. There was Annette’s world, twirling too fast for the girl to grasp.

  Tina had been giving Angela a report on Annette when the emergency call had come through. Annette had been through a serious metamorphic crisis and thanks to Tina’s quick and nimble interventions the girl would survive but there was no telling what marks it would leave on the girl. Just the thought of the consequences of the metamorphosis for Annette was enough to dash Angela’s fragile hopes for the girl. She could be as damaged now as Sinclair had thought her to be before she proved him wrong.

  Angela sensed the approach of more medics and managed to pull on a facade of composure. She had no false front to explain why she, the chief was standing just outside of room 52 but she didn’t need one. She was The Chief and she could do anything, except save Yllera and Annette from their own bodies.

  Gene was the first to round the corner, a small blessing for Angela, his presence was always so soothing and comforting to Angela, “Hey Gene, here for the emergency?”

  “Yes, what is it?” He answered and asked.

  “Yllera,” The man was no telepath but that was all he needed said.

  “God, please help her! Amen,” Were the next words out of his mouth, though he didn’t so much as pause to bow his head. He stopped his walk at Angela. Something unspoken passed between them. Angela let him see her, she parted her masks for an instant and really let him see. “Mrs. Daniel’s I do believe you need to debrief your husband regarding current events. At least three or four times. Natural endorphins should help with your stress. After completing that prescription, see me in the morning and decide if you need to be placed on restriction. That is an order.”

  The corner’s of Angela’s mouth turned up, “Oldman! He switched to boxers six months ago!”

  “Fine unwrap his package and play with it. Whatever! Just don’t do anything but spend time with him until sometime tomorrow! If that doesn’t help I will put you on restriction. All work, and no play makes you
duller than a doorstop! And in your job you need to be sharp,” Gene proclaimed.

  Angela acquiesced, “Yes sir. But could you send a copy of the prescription to Daniel, so he’ll believe me?”

  “Consider it sent.”

  - - - - - - - - - -

  Chapter 9

  What Vacation?

  ------------------------------------

  Saturday morning, Annette’s first morning back in her new quarters after her metamorphic reaction. The lights in her quarters were dim, barely on at all. The room shielding had been increased, though Annette was not clear on how it had been accomplished she was grateful. Special odor neutralizers worked overtime to keep the room from smelling of anything. Annette snuggled down in her especially fine sheets regretting the need to leave them. Finally she flopped back her bedding and headed for her bathroom.

  Her morning shower included a special soap meant to decrease the sensitivity of her skin. After the shower a lotion helped to do the same. Annette dressed in a specially treated jumpsuit meant to continue the effect.

  Annette wiped a bit of her scent suppression cream just above her upper lip and checked her earplugs. Then she put on her dark tinted glasses. All in preparation for stepping out of her quarters into the hallway. Her telepathic suppresser was cranked back up to its maximum setting and once again would step down gradually again acclimating her to her new abilities. It was a lot of careful preparation for something so simple as going to breakfast. Tina had offered to let her remain in the metamorphic isolation ward for as long as she needed to. The trouble was that not even Tina had any idea how long that might be. Annette had a lot to adjust to, all of her senses were amplified beyond anything Tina had any experience with.

  Annette tapped the door pad and heard, despite her ear protection, the hiss of the hydraulics as it opened. Despite the cream the smell of bacon and coffee hit her like a wall. She pushed on through it walking carefully to avoid making a sound as she walked. Carl, another male and three females were talking companionably, by the sounds of their voices and the echoes in her mind. Internally she leaned into the sensation, externally she tensed. The light hitting her eyes from around her sunglasses was just the bearable side of pain. Annette braced for contact as she finally stepped into the main room.

  “Annette?” Carl asked, identifying her to the others in the room. His voice was the loud of confused excitement. He dropped his fork with a loud clatter to his plate.

  Annette nodded, and faked enthusiasm, “Hi, Carl.” His grin and the emotion behind it shone almost as brightly as the room lights. “Why don’t you introduce me?”

  “Sure,” He pointed to the other male, “This is Tamar DyRumor, he’s a briauntish human from Relevar. He likes physics, mathematics and long walks in the rain.”

  Everyone at the breakfast table laughed, and Tamar grimaced at an implied inside joke. “Pleased to meet you Annette. Carl has said a great deal about you. You may call me Tam, and despite anything they may imply I do know when to come in out of the rain.” Tam glared at Carl and stabbed at his eggs.

  Carl smiled back and gestured at a long-haired dark-skinned girl of about fifteen, “That is Eyosha. She usually goes by Scope. She has excellent eyes for trouble and often acts as a lookout. That is if any of us well behaved and scrupulously rule abiding trainees ever has need of one.”

  Scope smiled, “Pleased to meet you, Annette.”

  Carl then gestured towards the plain looking girl next to Scope, “That is Kylie, a.k.a. Popper. She is an excellent telekinetic and possesses the enviable perfect score on teleportation drills. If you can describe a place with your mouth she can get you there. Her telepathy on the other hand isn’t always reliable.”

  Popper smiled and simply said, “Don’t ask.”

  Carl gestured towards the remaining girl, “That is Eve. We call her Net. If you need info she can beat your p-dope to finding it.”

  Annette nodded and started to question the slang, p-dope, but Net provided the answer before she could ask. “P-dope is your personal data organization program, and I have a eidetic memory, so I like remember everything I hear or smell or see or taste, yuck, or you know whatever.” Net was clearly high energy, but fortunately telepathically relatively quiet.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Carl started to rise, to pull out Annette’s chair. Annette beat him to it. Tam pulled an empty plate from the counter behind him and sat it in front of Annette. Silverware appeared next to it, presumably Popper’s work, and frying pan full of eggs and bacon levitated from the cook top to the center of the table. Annette sensed Carl’s mind being responsible for that. “Help yourself.”

  Annette started to reach for the pan and stopped, Tina had warned her to stick to nutrient packets for the first few days to ease the sensory transition. “Actually, I’m confined to emergency rations. Do we have any formula S127 or do I have to order it specially?”

  “I'll get it,” A fresh male voice said from the other hallway. Annette eyed the newcomer and recognized him, from the cafeteria. He was one of the young men Carl hung around with.

  “Thanks Mikey,” Carl said.

  “No prob Cap’n,” Mike said fishing around in the cupboards.

  Annette shoved her empty plate and unused silverware in front of one of the two empty chairs at the table. “I appreciate it.”

  “No prob Annie,” Mike said flinging the pouch in her direction.

  Carl caught the pouch telekinetically and set it down in front of Annette gently, “That’s Annette, Scrub!”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Mike said siding into the empty seat slapping a cold pop-tart on the plate. “Where’s Toaster?”

  Net lit up and spoke, “Grant is visiting the parentals this weekend. Try the one on the counter.”

  Mike rose with a grunt and returned to the kitchenette to toast his pop-tart.

  “Mikey is not a morning person. But he is a damn good mathematician. Tam likes math Mikey breathes it,” Carl thought to Annette while shoveling the last of his eggs into his mouth.

  “Who’s Grant?” Annette asked.

  “Grant Grant, a.k.a. Toaster, high level pyrokinetic, he’s our chief cook. Currently visiting his parents he is the eighth member of our floor and training group,” Net spouted nearly automatically.

  “Speaking of training group, we have yet to select a name for ourselves,” Carl proclaimed, “Do we want to be known as the A-2s or do we want a name?”

  “I’m holding out for, Future Prime Factors!” Mike shouted, causing Annette to flinch.

  “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?” Net asked, “After all fewer than one percent of factors ever reach that rank. There are only eight of us, statistically none of us have a chance.”

  “Yeah well the Flying Tertiaries is already taken by the E-1s. Let them be realistic I want to be cool,” Scope said in support.

  “How about the Ice Cubes, that’s >cool’,” Tam replied.

  “No, >cool’ not cold!’“ Mikey growled sliding back into his seat while juggling his pop-tart. He slapped it onto the plate with a clank, “How >bout it new-girl what do you think we should call ourselves?”

  Annette forced herself past the pain of the noise and thought. No title was more important to her than factor in training. “How about F.I.T.s, Factors In Training. It’s descriptive, realistic, kind of cool, and short. Plus it doesn’t make us sound too cocky.”

  Carl smiled, “All in!”

  Simultaneously, the three girls and Tam chimed in with “Aye!” While Mike said, “Nay.”

  “I’m for it and Annette proposed it, that is six for, F.I.T.s, one against and one absent vote. Motion carries we’re the Factors in Training.”

  “Crud,” Mike grunted before taking a bite of his pop-tart.

  Annette finally opened the pouch and began sipping at its contents. This wasn’t so bad. Sure they were kind of loud but she could survive it.

  “By the way Net, how do you figure none of us have a chance?” Carl asked while levi
tating his plate and the frying pan back to the kitchen, “Considering Annette is partially responsible for our newly improved conditions, I’d say she’s already well on her way. I mean if you can fix a part of Sanctuary doesn’t that imply potential?”

  “I was just speaking on the bare numbers, not any other incalculable variables. If you want a more accurate estimate Mikey, Tam and I could run a proper probability spectrum on each of us given our test scores and using past. . .”

  “No thanks Net! I’m sorry I questioned your veracity,” Carl interrupted raising his hands.

  “Yeah Net, he was just building Chicky up not asking for statistics. He was especially not asking you to volunteer us to run the stats,” Mike spoke while chewing.

  “Annette, not Chicky,” Scope said flatly.

  “I’m trying,” Mike said in return.

  “Why don’t we call her Deliberate? I mean she doesn’t seem to say anything she doesn’t mean,” Popper popped up with.

  Annette finally understood, they were trying to find her a nickname too. “What’s Carl’s?”

  “Carl’s what?” Net asked trying to give an answer.

  “Nickname.” Annette replied.

  “Captain, he’s kind of been our leader since we started. Thanks to him we’re the only group that survived the rehash intact,” Mike answered.

  “Not quite, Belinda got trashed,” Carl said not quite regretfully.

  “I stand by what I said, Cap’n. Belinda never was a part of our group,” Mike responded, “I got it, she’s Quick!”

  A chorus of yeas christened Annette with her first nickname and marked the first time in her life that she could remember being a real part of a group.