*
In yet another time and place, though one that was arguably more familiar, a boy was trying to open his eyes. The boy was lying in a pool of dirty water, which had been dumped there by an overhead pipe. The boy could hear the sound of flowing water, which meant that he was still close to the Waterworks.
Once again, Barsch tried to open his eyes. It felt as though his eyelids had been turned to stone, with the way they refused to budge. Having decided to forgo his eyes, Barsch tried to move his arm. It too, felt heavy, but little by little, he was able to move it. Stretching out his fingers, he lifted his hand up, feeling his surroundings. His body told him that the water had soaked through his new clothes, and his nose spoke of bleach and other noxious chemicals.
His searching hand finally found something, a hard metal tube with strange notches on each side. Moving his hand up, he felt the tube bulge outwards, before thinning to a fine point. The thin section was covered by an undulating set of hook shaped projections, which tugged at his fingers as they glided over the strange object.
Something about the shape sparked something in his mind, but it was only a vague sense of nostalgia, and it quickly passed. Moving on from the object, Barsch brought his hand to his face. “What... what happened? We were in the Waterworks, and then the box spoke... Guardian? Something about a gas... Nero? Nervo? Neuro! That's it... and then, there was that river... with the glass covering it... something was wrong, so I stepped in and I... what did I do? Something about a sword... and a wolf... Lanista! And then... it was cold, and I was drowning...and then... nothingness...”
“Ugh... I am never going near another river for as long as I live...” This time, Barsch managed to open his eyes, though what he saw was still hidden behind a blurry filter. Using his working hand, he managed to prop himself up, while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. A single bulb gave what little light it could. Barsch slowly turned his head, scanning the room for his missing companions. The large shape in the corner could only be Maloch, and the small figure by the door must have been Alza.
“Kingston? Are you okay?” A muffled thump drew Barsch's attention to the large shape. It was followed by a muted curse, and then a grunt of effort. In an instant, Maloch slumped forward, as Kingston disentangled himself from the re-mech's limbs. The old man had a bruise on his temple, and his eyes were unfocused, but from what Barsch could see, he was okay. The old hermit sat up with a sigh, as his wizened eyes began to take in their new surroundings.
After his eyes had finished adjusting, Kingston spoke, “I'm okay m'boy, a little banged up, but okay. How about you? Is everything still where it's supposed to be?”
Hearing the old man's voice, Barsch let out a sigh of relief, before wincing in pain at the action. With his free hand, he felt his chest. Raising up his new shirt, he cringed when he saw the multitudes of bruises dotting his flesh. His ribs did not feel cracked, but there had definitely been some damage done. Silently apologizing to his body for all the trauma it had recently suffered, he replied, “I'm fine. A few bruises, but nothing serious. Um... where are we?”
The hermit had used the silent Maloch as a handhold, and was now limping over to where Barsch still lay. “Judging from the smell, it looks like the sewerage treatment plant. That pipe must have brought us from the river,” he said, pointing to the large opening overhead. “I suppose it could have been worse, we could have been deposited in the incinerator...” Although his tone was light, Kingston's face spoke of a very real fear.
Bending down with a groan and a click of his back, he helped Barsch to stand. Together, they surveyed the situation. It was, as Kingston had pointed out, not all bad. The room was roughly rectangular in shape, with a small service door on the far side and overflow drains running through the floor. The ceiling was high, with the sluice pipe a good seven feet above the concrete covered ground.
“We should check on the others,” said Barsch, moving towards Alza.
“Yeah...”
Kingston didn't have to say it, but Barsch knew that the old man would rather check on Maloch than Alza. Even after weeks of being together, the former-recluse still felt uneasy around her. Barsch didn't understand it, but he knew better than to press the issue. To him, everyone had a reason for the things they did, and more often than not, those reasons were private.
Forcing such thoughts out of his mind, Barsch went to Alza, who had still not awoken. Kneeling beside her, Barsch took a moment to study her peaceful face. From the moment he had first laid eyes on her, he had thought that she was special. Barsch had gotten to know many different girls due to his constant relocations, but none of them had had what Alza had.
If Barsch had been asked to describe it, he would have spoken of her glow, the ways light seemed to embrace her body, and frame her doll-like face. Add in an otherworldly aura and a sense of maturity that was unmatched by any other, and Alza became a unique entity, which could be both captivating and cold at the same time.
Reaching down, he brushed aside an errant strand of snow-white hair, another reminder of how different she was. Carefully, he rolled her onto her back, wincing as he saw the large cut that had marred her pale cheek. As he watched, a solitary violet spark arose from her temple, and arced towards the laceration. When it touched the rend, it flashed once before sinking into the wound. Before his eyes, Barsch watched as the cut faded away into nothingness, a small patch of reddened skin the only reminder of its brief existence.
“Alza, what are you?” Out-loud, he said, “Alza, can you hear me?”
Nothing, and then, almost too soft to hear, “I'm sorry... Father... Please don't hurt me any-more...”
Before Barsch had time to react, Alza's violet eyes snapped open.
“What?” she said pointedly.
It was then that Barsch realised how close he had been to her face, and he quickly stood up in embarrassment. “Um... you weren't waking up, so I...”
“I am fine. I do not need any assistance.”
“And we’re back to the cold tone, figures.”
“I see... sorry,” was his meek reply. It was strange, as he had never had problems speaking to girls in the past. In fact, he and Yumiere used to spend hours talking about anything that popped into their heads. And yet here he was, stammering and stuttering like a fool.
Barsch turned to leave, but something she had said made him turn back. “Alza, who is Father?”
If the name surprised her, she did not show it. However, to Barsch at least, the room seemed to have suddenly gotten several degrees colder. When Alza answered, there was no malice or spite in her voice, but to Barsch, she sounded angry. “I do not know. Where did you hear that name?”
“Oh, um, never-mind... I must have been confused... sorry...” he said, silently cursing himself for his cowardice.
Leaving Alza, Barsch crossed the room, arriving at Kingston's side just as he was completing Maloch's diagnosis. The old hermit looked weary as he looked up and said, “Maloch is okay, he just needs a reboot. How's... how is She?”
“Alza will be fine, but...”
“But?”
Barsch leant in closer, so that his words would not escape. “It feels like she's regressed a bit, you know? When we were fighting that wolf, before my... accident, it felt like she was a lot more open. And now, it's like she's returned to how she was when I first met her.”
Although Kingston would rather not have said anything, he could see the worry in Barsch's eyes. So, in his best adult voice, he said, “Barsch m'boy, sometimes, women change... um, what I mean is, Alza is probably just a bit stressed right now, so I'm sure that she'll be back to her old... new self soon. Trust me, I know about these things!”
For the second time, Barsch felt an urge to ask a question that he knew would be received badly. “Kingston, did you... do you have a family?”
For a moment, Barsch thought that the old man would shout at him, or berate his lack of sensitivity, but instead, he just looked sad. For a while,
neither of them said anything, as Barsch's tactless question hung in the air, unanswered. Then, just when Barsch was about to leave, the hermit spoke.
“I, I did have a family once, long, long ago. They were the most precious things I had, and I lost them...”
Once more, Barsch got the feeling that he shouldn't probe any further, that he might not like what the old man had to say, but regardless, he had to know.
“How?”
“When I was a young, foolish man, I told myself that I was strong enough, and smart enough to protect them. But, you see, I wasn't strong. I wasn't smart. I was a vain, selfish fool, who did not deserve all of the happiness they brought me. I lost my wife and son to my own ignorance... I lost them because I was too weak, too weak to be there for them... I swore that day, the day I lost them, that I would never fail again. Whenever somebody needed me, I would be there, and I would do whatever it took to keep them safe... and that is why, Barsch m'boy, I will never let anything happen to you...”
“I'm sorry, Kingston I had no idea... I-” What could he say? I’m sorry you’ve spent the last few decades alone and unloved? I’m sorry that I let you treat me as the son you lost? I’m sorry I can’t become your son, no matter how much you want me to?
“Don't worry about it. You needed to find out why I’m like this, before I...”
“Kingston...” He wanted to comfort him, to tell him that his new family would never desert him, but how could he? After their task was complete, they would most likely go their separate ways. Kingston would be alone again, and all the more hurt because he had been able to briefly remember what he had lost.
“Now, enough of this depressing talk. How about we see if we can't bring Maloch back to the world of the living!” Kingston’s words were heavily laden with forced joviality, but at that point Barsch would have agreed to anything if it helped end the conversation. There were no easy answers for Kingston, although he would not stop searching for one.
Before Barsch could say anything, Kingston reached down and tapped the back of the re-mech's neck. Almost immediately, a section of his armour slid away into a recessed groove, exposing a small monitor and a few bundles of wire. With lightning-fast speed, Kingston began typing commands into the display, which glowed green when they were approved.
Minutes later, the old man sat back, the monitor now a solid wall of glowing green words. A moment later, the screen flashed once, and the commands disappeared, only to be replaced by a symbol. The symbol was the logo of the Second U.N.O.E council, a golden hand clutching a blue and green globe, under which was written, “FOR THE SAKE OF A BETTER FUTURE.”
Meanwhile, Maloch's lifeless body had begun rebooting. In a monotonous voice, he said, “H-1-25-D-5-N.9-S.A-W-5-19-15-M-5… Reboot code confirmed. Attempting to restore revitalization mechatron number 76654-B, model type ARK-13, to full capacity. Initiating boot sequence: Type-3. Activating internal diagnostic programs... activation complete. Processing... processing... diagnostic complete. Error. Data log corrupted. Restoring to earlier version... complete. Hull integrity: sixty-eight percent. Core strength: sixty-one percent. Tools: R. Hand and L. Hand functional. Error. Data found for C. Chest Particle Cannon, but weapon structure is non-existent. Error. Multiple masked programs detected. Scanning contents. Error. Programs are protected by Level Ten Security. Accessing program list: Undying Soldier; Overclock; Stormlink; Pulse Wave; Gravity King. Error. Program list incomplete. Bypassing anomaly. Warning, damage to Emotion Engine detected. Bypass detected. Verifying... verified. Bypass acknowledged. Analysing remaining sub-systems...no further anomalies detected. Disabling R.E.M hold pattern. Enabling awareness modifiers in three, two, one.”
With the speed of an iceberg melting, Maloch awoke. “Normal functions restored,” were his first words, which were quickly followed by, “Ah! Kingston, Barsch, it is good to see you again. How are you?”
“We're all fine, Maloch. Now, I'm sorry to ask this of you so suddenly, but can you find out where we are?”
The re-mech quickly got to his feet, a light coating off dust being dislodged in the process. After giving the room a quick once-over, he said, “It would appear that we have landed in the Waterworks run-off chamber. I am sorry to say that the river took us quite a bit further than I had intended. Our original route would have led us to the caverns in a matter of hours, but I'm afraid that the estimated time of arrival is now anyone's guess. In addition, the schematics I stole from Guardian were mostly of the core systems, including the sub-systems that we would have travelled through.”
“So we have no idea how long it will take us to reach the exit? And we don't even know the layout of the facilities on the way?” Alza had managed to reach them without making a single sound, and her sudden presence beside Barsch almost made him fall over in surprise.
“Yes. I am sorry, I did not anticipate Guardian flooding the room with the NEURO-997 gas so quickly. I am also sorry to say that he will be much more of a threat down here.”
Barsch looked up at the re-mech, confusion plastered across his boyish face. “How can he be a greater threat down here? Wouldn't it be the opposite, since his mainframe is further away?”
“It's true that his physical core might be further, but that only affects his response time. The true danger comes from him being allowed to use force. Without having to worry about accidentally harming the humans in cryogenic storage, he will be able to use much more brutal means to get to us. Additionally, we are effectively blind down here, while he knows this Station inside and out. He could lead us into a trap by forcing our path. From here on, until we reach the edge of the Station, we should be on full alert. If anything, even the smallest detail, seems strange, retreat immediately.”
It was Kingston's turn to say something, “That may be true, but I think it will take some time for Guardian to find us. Don't forget, he may be a Station A.I., but he still has weaknesses. For now, we should find somewhere safe to rest. All of us are tired, and we will be more able to deal with Guardian's traps with a good night's sleep.”
Barsch could not help but agree with Kingston's advice. Ever since he had been released from his pod, he had felt drained. Factoring in their recent troubles, and the effects of the paralysing gas, it was obvious that they needed rest more than anything.
“Now that we're all up, why don't we find a way out of this dreary room?”
“Very well.” Alza had already moved to the only door in the room, and had begun tugging on the handle. While Maloch went to help her, Kingston and Barsch gathered up their things. When Barsch came to where he had lain, he saw something that made him stop. It was Lanista, lying in the same pool of water that he had recently occupied. In the half-light of the room, it seemed to gleam with malicious intent.
Barsch thought that it was the most evil thing he had ever seen, and seriously began to consider leaving it where it lay. He knew that it was useful, and that it had saved his life more than once, but every-time he held it, he felt as though he was losing a part of himself to the Beast. When it roared, he could not help but roar with it. It gave him strength, enough strength to protect everyone, but at the same time, it made him feel weaker than a bug. He hated what it did to him, hated how much he loved the blood-lust, the carnage it craved.
“Barsch?” Kingston was standing nearby, concern clouding his elderly features.
It was only then that Barsch realised what he had been doing. He had been standing over the blade, hands tightened into fists, wearing a look of absolute hatred. Quickly, he unclenched his fingers, and forced his face to adopt a more natural look. “Kingston... what should I do? You said that I would learn to control it... but, every-time I pick it up, I... I lose myself...”
Kingston stepped closer, placing his arm around Barsch's hunched shoulders. It was a sign of compassion, but to Barsch, it felt more like pity. “M'boy, what I said back there, I'll say again. You are strong, strong enough to destroy anything that opposes you, but strength is not everything. Sometimes, in ord
er to become stronger, in order to gain control, we must become weak.” Barsch's confused gaze told him that his words weren't having the desired effect, so Kingston tried again.
“When I was first sent to the army, I was like you. I was young, and very sure of my abilities. On my first day of training, my drill sergeant handed me a rifle, and told me to shoot at a target. Although I had never held a weapon before, I was confident in my ability to adapt, so I did as he said. When I held the gun, I was stiff, upright, and to be honest, in the mood to show off. My first shot was off-target by six feet, and the recoil from the discharge almost dislocated my shoulder.”
“Kingston, I don't...”
“Wait, I'm getting to the important part. So, there I was, sitting at one end of the firing range, clutching my shoulder, when my drill sergeant walked up to me. At first I thought that he would shout at me, or ridicule me for my poor aim, but he merely leant down, and took the rifle from my hands. Without saying a word, he stood up, and brought the gun up. And then he said to me, 'Let the gun become an extension of your arm. Do not force the shot, let it come naturally. When you fight it for dominance, it will always win, but if you work together, you can achieve great things.' With his eyes still on me, he fired, and to this day, I still remember the look on his face: he was calm. That bullet hit dead centre, and from that day onwards, I never forgot his words.”
“Um, Kingston, I still don't understand what that has to do with my problem?”
“Ah! The youth of today... well, what I think your problem is... you keep trying to fight your violence, right? But it's a part of you; it's something that you will never be able to defeat on your own, because your strength is its strength.”
Kingston leant down, and, with a bit of effort, lifted Lanista into the air. “So, instead of fighting it, compromise. Work together, and you'll find that controlling it becomes a much easier task. Do you understand?”
With a small pause, Barsch took his chainsword from the old man's outstretched hand, while he said, “I think so... thank you Kingston... I'll try to do it your way.”
“I'm glad. Now, let's get out of here.”
Side by side, they walked to the door, which Maloch had succeeded in opening. Alza was already on the other side, checking for any traps that might have been left by Guardian. Once she was sure that there were none, they proceeded to exit the room. They immediately found themselves in the middle of a dimly-lit corridor, which was just high enough for Maloch to stand without slouching. It was reminiscent of the path they had taken to reach the underground hangar, all that time ago in Carçus city.
In a very off-handed tone, Alza asked, “So, which way do we go?”
“Maloch?” said Kingston, looking to the knowledgeable re-mech for advice.
Maloch stepped forward, glancing down each end of the corridor, as if he could somehow see their final destinations. After a short silence, he said “I am not one-hundred percent sure, but I believe the cavern entrance lies to the west. Using my internal compass... we should most probably go this way.”
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