The Dance Eternal

ch 31 & 32

31

“Jor, I know these are your people and whatnot, but are you sure that this is legitimate? I mean, you remember the last time we met someone in a nebula like this, right?” Sid's concern was plain, and he looked from the view ahead – an angry reddish, murky cloud known for having pockets of intense heat, and the small vessel before it with whom they were to make contact - to his friend, who was apparently intensely busy, hunched as he was over his console. Sid raised his voice a little, in case the other had a headset on, “Jor, are you listening?”

Sid was leaning on the rail, just to the left of the captain's seat, that rounded the back side of the bridge, his eyes shifting between Jor and the nebula ahead. His mind roiled with questions, and the symbiote that shared it was in agreement.

He had been able to mostly ignore the thing for most of the time it had been in his head; he treated it as an odd little recurring thought that he shoved away, and it had been a successful method. Lately, though, since he had met the kid in the weird ship, the blasted thing just would not shut up, especially in the last two hours since they left warp.

This is suspicious. Jor has been acting oddly today. I sense a guarded apprehension from him, as if he is hiding something.

'Cool it,' Sid thought at the symbiote, 'he is an old friend, and I won't suspect him until..' His thoughts cut off as he caught sight of Jor, trying to be nonchalant, flipping the switch to disengage the shields.

“Jor, what are you doing,” he asked as calmly as possible, “we need those if we're getting anywhere near the nebula.” Sid did his best to not sound accusing, but he was on the verge of losing his cool.

Jor squawked, an angry warbling from deep in his chest, and as he turned in his chair, he brought up his blaster and aimed at Sid.

“You disappoint, Sid.” There was a gleam in his eyes that was a little jarring to Sid; it was all hate and murderous intent. “You keep secrets from your friend.”

Sid folded his arms in defiance, “What the hell are you talking about, Jor?”

He knows, about me. His kind hate mine. The voice was almost fearful; that was something Sid had never felt from the thing, and he grew a bit more concerned about the situation.

“You have parasite. Don't think I have missed it – your conversations to yourself. Either acts of crazy human or sign of the Thressh'ian. Jor knows you crazy, but not that way.”

Thressh'ian? The name echoed in his mind, until it found the symbiote, who trembled in a way that connected the two. Sid shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Jor, you have to understand...”

Jor extended his arm with the gun, “No excuses. You good talker, but Jor knows the Thressh'ian. You are not Sid anymore.”

A beep took Sid's attention away from his friend, and he saw the comms light on the arm of the captain's chair light up. “Looks like your friends want a word.”

“They wait,” Jor said, not taking his eyes away from Sid. “I will kill the hitchhiker – he has one, too. You stay here.”

Sid was looking between Jor and the screen; two cruiser-class ships emerged from the roiling nebula, a flash of bright white heat from the clouds behind accentuating their entrance. A small screen on the chair blinked, showing that the other ships were powering up weapon systems.

“Umm, Jor...” Sid urged as the other neared him, still pointing the pistol at him.

“No talking,” Jor said, annoyed, and thrust the gun into Sid's chest like a knife for emphasis. He was still eyeballing Sid, and seemed to be struggling.

“Seriously, Jor. Whatever your plans, your friends seem to have other ideas,” he said as he pointed to the screen.

Finally the other half-turned, using the wide placement of his eyes to advantage; one eye stayed trained on Sid while the other took in the display. “What are they-” he managed before one of the cruisers let fly with a volley of high intensity laser shots.

“s**t,” Sid uttered, and gripped the rail a bit tighter, “and we just got that new paint job.”

The majority of the shots missed, but one caught the front starboard corner, jolting the ship and leaving an impressive gouge. The other shot struck more fully on the facing side, just ahead of the cargo bay.

Sid held on during the corner-shot, but the second rocked the ship, and sent him tumbling backward over the railing, one of his feet catching Jor's hand and knocking the gun loose. He managed to keep a grip of the rail, and used the tumble to twist and land in a crouch. He peered over the rail as klaxons barked warnings through the bridge, accompanied by the ship's AI announcing “HULL BREACH” repeatedly.

Just as he got sight of Jor – the bird-man was retrieving the gun from the floor, grumbling – a wave of... something... struck his mind. It was not anything that caused him pain, as such, just the uncomfortable feeling of the essence of another passing through. It caused goosebumps to raise on his arms, and his Thressh'ian stirred wildly with an odd sense of fondness. Noting that it seemed to originate from behind him, he turned his attention back to Jor.

Jor had stood with the first impact, and kept his feet during the second, but he was now fully facing the screen, his hands at his sides and the pistol held limply with two meaty fingers. He was staring and muttering frantically in his native language like a schizophrenic parrot having an argument with itself.

Outside, the other ship was just letting loose it's first volley. Sid just shook his head and took advantage of being forgotten for the moment; he kept in a crouch and headed for the corridor. Once through the threshold, he looked once more at Jor, and whispered “Good luck, old friend.”

32

John blinked, seeing as well as feeling the cool of the floor panels against his cheek. His head throbbed intensely, and he was becoming aware of a man's voice in his ears. The voice sounded insistent, and he tried pushing himself up; his arms felt like wrung-out towels, and he did not manage even to get his face off of the floor.

“C'mon, kid, shake it off. We've got a problem,” Sid said, shaking John's shoulder.

John tried to speak, but just muttered to the panel at his face. Sid looped his arm under John's and lifted with a grunt. He half-walked, half-dragged John around to the captain's chair.

“s**t you're heavy,” he said, and gently flopped him into the seat.

John, finally able to feel his arms again, wiped his face with a stiff hand. “What the hell,” he said, trying to get his bearings.

“Well,” Sid began, stretching the word a bit in hesitance, “we're being attacked by some of Jor's people. Damned bird-men, always looking for a profit. Always felt I'd be an exception.”

“What! He betrayed you? Then he knows?”

Sid blinked. “Do you?” His hand reflexively started for his blaster, but he stopped himself.

“You have a symbiote, right,” John said matter-of-factly, “so do I.”

“Is that going to be a problem,” Sid asked.

“Not from us,” John replied after a moment, then, “Celeste? What the hell was that?”

“Huh? Us? Cel-” Sid stammered in confusion as Celeste answered.

“I am sorry, John, I do not know. It felt like Goriah left for a few moments, and there were both a massive energy release, and an impact from outside, just as you went down. I apologize; I could have softened your landing if Goriah was still within at the time.”

Sid flinched as she spoke, “Who the...” When she finished, he said, “Your ship talks?”

John grinned, “She does quite a lot more than that, I am discovering.”

“So, is she Celeste, or Goriah, or both?”

“Celeste, meet Sid. Goriah is her symbiote.”

“Wait, your ship has a Thressh'ian,” he said wonderingly, “Then that psionic burst came from here, you two?” He remembered a text he had found some years ago about the creatures; that they were beings comprised of energy, though what type was unknown. Their primary form of existence was as a symbiotic resident within the host's mind, though an organic “brain” was not especially necessary.

Celeste said, “That psionic occurrence was a result of Goriah and Ravat – John's symbiote -” she paused here, searching for the right word, finally settling on, “connecting.”

At the same time, John asked, “What's a Thressy ann?”

The ship rocked again, silencing the conversation. John looked out the window, seeing the cargo bay in shambles. Several droids had been crushed under fallen beams, showers of sparks fell from busted electrical connections, lights flickered, and a section of the hull was bowed inward as if from a hard physical impact.

Sid looked at John, “Is she flight-ready?”

He nodded as Celeste said, “I am. I can have the bay doors open in a moment.”

“Oh, that looks bad,” John said, looking into the cargo bay. “Is that bad?”

Jor had quit his tirade at his people and made his way into the cargo area; he was just moving a large metal shop cabinet that had toppled over from one of the impacts. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and as he raised the cabinet upright and pushed it over the other way, his maddened gaze never left Celeste's front window.

Sid groaned, “No, that is most definitely not good.”

John looked at the other man, “Does he have one, too? A symbiote?”

“No, they hate them... generally will kill anyone who has one,” Sid replied, and John thought he heard a hint of fear at the edge of the man's voice, “He is in a blood rage. His people go into this nutzo rage and they're much stronger... and tend to wreck everything.”

A droid stumbled in front of Jor, and the Iordreth grabbed the robot by the neck with one hand and lifted until its feet were clear of the deck. With his other hand, he punched the droid's torso, crumpling a fist-sized depression into the chest-plate. Sparks flew, the droid convulsed, and Jor dropped the thing in a heap, stomping it with his foot on the way by.

“Umm, Celeste. How's that door coming?”

“Almost there,” she chimed, and the cargo bay filled with the sound of hydraulic systems winding up. “Got it.”

The cargo bay shook, then the whole ship shook, as another shot found its mark. Jor's head snapped toward the doors as they begun to part. He looked back at the window of the Celeste, then turned and bolted for cover, keeping anything large between himself and the opening bay doors. The vacuum started to kick in, and some smaller pieces of equipment and containers began to slide toward the ever-widening opening, while Celeste's propulsion system powered up.

John strapped into the captain's chair, and pressed a button on the arm console. Music came to life over the speakers, causing Sid to start a bit as he was belting into the comms seat.

“What is that,” he said in reference to the tune; an electric guitar was growling a fast and halting intro riff, pointed by occasional drum hits.

“It's music. Or what we called music on Earth,” John mused with a chuckle.

Celeste lifted off from the deck, hovering and rotating smoothly against the growing vacuum in the cargo hold. As that part of the hold passed from view, they could see Jor fighting against the pulling airflow and pulling himself into the passage beyond.

The bay doors had finally reached a sufficient width for the ship to pass through as another volley of lasers flew past in blue-green streaks. One struck the left door, shattering it and rocking the mining ship. Celeste, fully aware of her surroundings partially due to the addition of Goriah's spatial awareness, deftly shifted to avoid collision with the rocking deck and sliding debris. As the volley passed, and Metallica was singing their first chorus of “Master of Puppets”, she launched out of the hobbled mining vessel and into open space.

She angled away from the nebula and the other vessels, apparently aiming for some point only she knew. They were silent and tense for several minutes; even the Thressh'ian aboard the ship were still. Metallica had finished, replaced by a big band piece from Earth's 1930's.

“Well, that was tense.” Sid said loudly, his sudden comment making John jump a bit, and even Celeste seemed to react – the music skipped like a bumped record.

“Sid, I'm sorry about Jor,” John said.

“It's okay. He was... we had a good run, but I think it was about that time to part ways. His people hate and hunt the Thressh'ian, and it probably would have gone bad eventually. It probably pissed him off a lot that he found one under his nose, and that I was able to hide it from him for so long. I am just glad I didn't have to pull the trigger.” He paused for a moment, then, “So, where are we heading?”

“I dunno,” John replied, “Celeste?”

She was silent, and John asked again. When she didn't respond, he sought out Ravat. 'Is something wrong with Goriah and Celeste?'

His response was immediate, Not wrong... per se. Celeste is being guided, I think. There has been a connection.

'A connection,' John thought in question, 'what kind?'

All Thressh'ian now know. Prophesy is in motion.

“Prophesy? What prophesy,” John said aloud, and Sid looked over, eyebrows nearly crawling into his hairline.

The prophesy of me... and you.