Not All Who Wander Are Lost
28 Oct 2017Rex Snipes
En Route to Inara:Snipes looked over at the body strapped to the gurney in the medical bay of his old RimLiner.
Could have been worse, I guess.
He felt the back of his head and checked the healing scar for infection. Glaboski was a lot of things, perhaps a bit too many, but he did very efficient work. The device implanted into the base of his cerebellum would facilitate the control of his more personal, android operatives, allowing remote manual control if needed. The Doctor had even managed to interface the device to the occipital implant that networked to his cybernetic "dead" eye.
Skill.
He began to tattoo the arm of the secured body, thinking back on the events of the past several weeks. Cerberus had secured control of the Docleachi system, through no small effort of allied pilots. It had been a war of attrition for far too long, but the sector's Senator dispatched Praetorians to the region under the command of Wreyn Kaira, who valiantly fought alongside Cerberus operatives to help push the system into a victory. Following the events in Docleachi, Snipes had been summoned to the Senate building on Capitol. It must have been a slow day for politics, because apart from a few clerks, dignitaries, and system delegates, the large rotunda auditorium that he had been called to was practically empty.
Alongside Wreyn Kaira, Snipes had to account for the events that transpired in the system, and contrary to what he had expected, he was granted regional control as a Senatorial Patron answerable to the sector's Senator. Upon the end of the hearing, Snipes made sure to present the Cerberus Medal of Valor to Wreyn in the center of the Senate plaza before they had to part ways.
Good to maintain a network of allies. Amazing what gratitude a piece of sculpted metal confers upon you.
He looked at the tattoo taking shape. The script was good, just needed to fill it in.
As he drifted off in thought, continuing the tattoo, his mind focused in on an assembly in session in Terminus.
Ugh. Traffic reports and tariff revisions.
Now he was looking over schematics for a new, Alliance-specific ship. About time they had something good to call their own.
And reviewing industrial fabrication contracts near Thule.
And coordinating troop movements for marines in a torrential downpour on Trojan.
And...fighting a migraine. There were still some kinks to get used to with this new tech. A new voice sounded in his ears- but it was hard to discern amid the others.
“You need to relax.”
The familiar voice beckoned the man, aiding his return to reality. Or at least, whatever passed for reality for someone with the enhancements he had.
No. Not now. Get out of my head.
"You're going to burn yourself out if you never take a break."
But you’re not in my head. You’re right next to me.
The digital world dissolved and faded, leaving the old, familiar one in its place. He looked over at his wife. They were in their cabin on the old RimLiner. The kids were playing with the dogs on the floor, his wife was reclining on thir bed, reading a novel, yet he was pulling up nearby system scans looking for mineral and water content for their Clan.
"This is important, hon. We don't know if the next few legs of our journey have adequate supplies for what we will need. I'd rather have too much than not enough."
She pushed herself off their bed and walked over to him at his desk. "We have other guys out in the flotilla who can worry about this stuff too, ya know." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Just volunteer for the next run."
He looked over into her eyes, and kissed her. "Our family needs this. The Krisatora have promised us extra rations and pay for the month if I can scout the next system over before we need to start heading out again. If it wasn't so time sensitive, I would trust it to a lesser guy." He winked at her and stole another kiss.
Garbled, shaky footage intruded his visions and hearing. People were screaming. Fire? Explosives? Panic?
His vision slowly blurred into view. Where am I?
He began to regain his bearings. Clair Dock. Central commons.
He looked down. The projector wasn’t working on his right arm. No. That wasn’t it. The arm was simply missing.
What happened here?
He looked around, trying to ascertain familiar points of interest. In the distance an unmistakable figure came into focus, silhouette against roaring, green-tipped flame.
Mr. Aune?
The behemoth of a man was slumped over, holding a ragdolled mess of a body to his chest. Irrelevant.
He scanned the crowd looking for anything else. Someone further down the corridor was making a speech. "...and now we see the price of our folly...of our arrogance..." He would know that voice anywhere.
Hmph. Miss Morgan. Ever exploiting the situation to her advantage.
He looked around, making sure that no one had espied the old man-visaged android and its damaged arm. He began to initiate repair subroutines and tinker with the arm to at least make it appear more like a damaged human arm. After cauterizing the "wound" area for the time being, he was about to put the unit into standby, until a young woman came down the corridor toward Mr. Aune.
Deadeye at first strained to recognize the woman, but upon seeing her bruised and battered features, realized at once who it was. The sight of her caused a quick flush of anger and adrenaline kicked in, blurring the line between the digital and physical realities that he occupied. The petite figure stood over the brute, gently lifting his chin with her fingertips so that his gaze met hers. She was saying something, but Deadeye couldn’t make out what it was.
Apollonia. What could she possibly want with some grieving brute?
The body secured into the gurney burst up from off of the platform. The tattoo had only been finished moments before: "Blessed be the Lord my strength, who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight. Psalm 144:1"
Snipes blinked hard, watching the digital reality around him dissolve as the android before him phased out of the facade and into a standard Achilles model. He shook himself for a second, trying to get the adrenaline under control. He made his way to the bridge of the Mulo Sumadji, prepping for a cargo drop and liaison on Citi, but put in orders to one of his other operatives to be on the alert in Pegasi.
As he pulled into the mailslot of Citi, he rubbed the back of his head, and remembered witnessing Glaboski's operation on his own mind from the viewpoint of his "assistant" android at the time. He’d seen his own flesh being manipulated like clay, becoming something else in the hands of an artist. At the time, he’d recoiled at the sight- but now?
The man squeezed shut his eyes, opening them to see both the world before him and a dozen others layered on top of it.
If nothing else, Glaboski certainly knows his craft.
(((Many thanks to M. Lehman who helped organize my thoughts and provide his literary prowess! Thanks to Marra Morgan, Jemine Caesar, Stryker Aune, and Misaniovent as their storylines and characters make cameo appearances!)))