FSE

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_ "It's hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting... could be so much fun..."_ The slow music, accentuated by Mick Hucknall's soulful crooning, filled the lounge. Dimmed lighting cast a dull yellow glow on a gray tile floor and walls the color of deeply tanned leather. The large windows looking outside revealed a pitch-black landscape and a nearly deserted highway, populated by a couple of isolated cars shuttling their drivers through the lonely night.

The place was almost empty; almost being the operative word. A few people were perched on barstools, nursing bottles of beer and the occasional rocks glass of whiskey. A young man, full of liquid courage, was attempting to chat up the tall, attractive blonde who was serving drinks; who was in turn putting up a friendly façade while gently rebuffing the unwanted advances. A few older men sat at a nearby table, swapping tales of days gone by and past glories that had become far sweeter in hindsight than when they'd been fresh. Amongst the quiet dance of a small town bar another man sat, left alone by the others mainly due to his scowl and the khaki law enforcement uniform he wore.

The only place in the bar which would be considered more or less private was in fact an outside patio. The place was quite beautiful, festooned with baskets of bedding plants hanging from the redwood joisting overhead and lit with clean fluorescent bulbs. A waterfall feature dominated the space, offering soothing sounds that complimented the music drifting from the interior. That too was graced with various plants, giving a comfortable, natural setting for conversation. Beyond that there were signs of civilization, a large parking lot surrounded by a few other shops. At this late hour, however, only a few vehicles occupied it. Yet perhaps the strangest patrons of the entire place weren't even given a second glance, despite being the only ones sharing a table outside.

The two figures were out of place for different reasons, ones which should have drawn instant attention from the handful of patrons drinking mere paces away. One was dressed in a set of military fatigues, which would have caused some raised eyebrows considering the fact the nearest military base was over two hundred miles away. The unique MARPAT pattern identified him as a United States Marine; the three chevrons upon his upper arms further distinguishing him as a sergeant. The clothes themselves would never have passed an inspection; torn and worn by months on a battlefield and large mottled areas revealed bloodstains that hadn't quite been erased despite what must have been copious washing.

His companion was even more out of place. Her dress was slightly more congruent to the setting; a simple crimson T-shirt and bluejeans adorned her lithe, athletic frame. However, a relaxed Cerinian vixen sitting in the open in a bar full of humans should have attracted some sort of attention. Nobody present seemed to offer her a second glance as she lifted a wine glass to her lips. She took a sip, setting the beverage down as her bright blue eyes fell upon the water feature. "Your mind continues to amaze me, Brian." The vixen fixed a lingering gaze upon him, tinged with amusement and a trace of longing.

The seasoned veteran looked confused for a moment. "Wait a minute... this is a dream? This feels real..." He reached out to squeeze her shoulder gently, eliciting a quiet smile from her as he continued his train of thought. "...I remember going here with my dad on occasion, before I left for boot and a couple of times on leave." He glanced around, memories flooding his mind. "Hell, Krys, the last time I saw my old man was here. Was about to leave town to get back to San Diego..." He paused for a moment to let it all sink in. A wave of dream-induced homesickness washed over him like a summer storm before he felt her delicate fingers wrap around his own in a reassuring grasp. The Marine caught himself after a moment, yet couldn't hide the slightly choked tone behind his question. "To make it clear, we're on your ship still, right?"

The young vixen nodded, casting a soft, vaguely mischievous smile towards him. "Yes. We're asleep together on the shuttle. Sometimes, when someone who is proficient in the Art takes a mate, they are able to share dreams together. The locations are shaped by their memories. This has never happened to me before... at least without consciously trying to make it happen."

"I see." Brian stopped right there, simply deciding to take it in. It wasn't real, but it felt like it was. He took an experimental swig of his drink. The familiar smoky burn of Jack Daniels filled his palate. Just like he remembered it. While part of him screamed that he should be angry about his hijacked memories, the rest of him told that annoying voice to shut the hell up. If this was as close as he would ever be to home, he would damn well enjoy it. "Does this mean that we are, well... official by your people's terms?" Time-wise it felt like things were progressing quite quickly and his metaphorical foot was aiming for the brake pedal, but did this struggle of survival forge the same strong bonds that he experienced with his fellow Marines? Was she now part of that tiny group of people he could depend on without fail, without a second thought? The answer was an instant, unequivocal yes. He wasn't entirely sure if that answer was reassuring or frightening.

"The 'official' part is up to you, Brian." A gentle squeeze of his hand accentuated her point. "I don't aim to rush you. What this means is that we have developed a... a very deep bond in the short time we have known each other, and I would like that bond to continue further."

"I understand." Brian mulled over that for a moment. "I just don't know how this sort of thing works in your society, Krys. I don't want to end up hurting you over a misunderstanding." Her ears perked in an almost comical yet puzzled expression as he continued voicing his thoughts, gently stroking the silken fur on the back of her hand as to offer some sort of reassurance. "I don't know much about your society, especially since you mentioned arranged marriages and divorces being rare. I come from a society with completely different standards, and I don't want to hurt you through a misunderstanding."

"Then, what are your society's standards?" Her voice was calm, more curious than anything else. "I'm already breaking the rules... with everything that has happened perhaps I'm not as _tightly_bound to them?" The vixen leaned closer, offering a quick peck on his cheek. His reaction caused a slight blush to flare within her ears as he leaned closer, placing a kiss on the corner of her lips.

"Well, I think we're not nearly as structured as that. What you call lifemating we call marriage. Usually that stage takes a while, usually a few years of what we call dating... a trial period of sorts, where two people figure out if and how things work out between them. And even _that_has several stages. I'd have to say that right now we're just starting out. I can't promise you forever. What I can promise you is that I'm not going to abandon you. We've come too far for that. Whatever happens, I will be there for you." His grip on her hand tightened slightly, his eyes locked onto hers.

Krystal leaned forward, the deep blush that was making her ears feel like they were mere seconds from roasting completely lost on her companion. "I'd rather have that from you than what I was destined for." Her kiss was soft yet insistent, the vixen's free hand rising to caress his cheek. As he pulled in closer so did she, ending up in a slightly awkward embrace over the small table.

As the Marine broke the kiss he gave her an embarrassed grin. "Do you know if we're actually, well, doing this as we sleep?" The awkward events a few days prior entered his thoughts, and that was a line he wasn't ready to cross just yet. He wasn't willing to breach her trust.

"You don't have to worry, Brian." Krystal's dulcet voice was barely over a whisper. "I trust you. That's why we're able to do this. And to answer your question, I think we did actually kiss just now. "She cast an impish smile at him, yet as she leaned closer her display of affection was interrupted.

"What in the blue hell's going on here?" The voice was unfamiliar to her, belonging to a taller human male wearing a strange tan uniform and a fair amount of equipment lashed to a thick leather belt around his waist; the fact he was armed with a pistol didn't escape her notice. His features were clean shaven yet weathered; his hair shortly cropped and unable to halt the process of fading to a muted gray. "Is that you, kiddo? I haven't had a dream like this in a couple of years. "

Brian stiffened, pulling away from Krystal in a heartbeat. Her confused expression faltered at his words. "Dad? Why am I dreaming about you right now? I haven't been gone that long, have I?" He cast a quick, questioning glance to her, receiving a simple shake of her head in reply.

"You've been dead for a few years, son." John answered, almost matter of factly. "I can't say it's the same without you around. We all miss you. Jill's almost out of high school and Matt is going for his masters degree in psychology. I'm not seeking reelection next year, and your mom figures she's going to retire in a few years." He glanced to Krystal, a questioning expression on his face. "I know you're a figment of my dream and all, but you know what they say about laying down with dogs, son. What the hell is she, anyway?"

Brian blinked for a moment, his jaw hanging open at the words that just came out of his father's mouth. His dream? Laying down with dogs? It might be a part of his ego that wasn't all too happy about his recent choices manifesting itself, but he wasn't about to let his ego treat her with that sort of disrespect. Krystal was visibly cringing at the representation of his father, fully understanding the inference he had made.

He opened his mouth to respond, but wasn't quick enough. Krystal nearly snarled at his father, her normally proper tone given way to a warning growl. "You have no right to judge me, human. Hide behind your bitter sadness at his death all you want, but it is pushing those you care about away from you. Your son is alive, John Lancing." Her voice softened considerably, the spike of anger and offense fading away with the rush of other emotions. "So am I, because of him."

The older man was taken aback for a moment, taking the time to glance at the couple standing before him before speaking out once more. "Is this what my tired old mind decides to do, play tricks on me? Putting my son in front of me doing, well, this?" He tossed his hands up in a gesture of despair and disgust. "Isn't it enough that you got yourself killed in some Iraqi shithole, now I have to see you locking lips with, well, whatever the hell she is?"

"You've got to be kidding me, Dad." Brian huffed, exasperated. "You're a figment of my imagination, let's get it right. And if you're coming up to me talking crap about Krys, that means that a part of me isn't okay about this arrangement. My advice is to get the fuck over it. Holding someone you care about as they bleed to death in your own goddamn arms gives you a pretty good dose of needed perspective. I didn't want to end up here, sure. But I found the good in the worst possible situation, and here she is. Deal with it."

As John lifted his finger to point at him, the world stopped as if someone had picked up the mental remote control and pressed the pause button. The patrons inside were locked into place as if they were simply a piece of the scenery; even motes of dust hung suspended in the air. Brian startled as something gripped his shoulder. Looking over, he wasn't completely surprised that neither himself or Krystal were affected by the dream's sudden halt. Her expression, however, was that of severe concern. "I'm pulling us out, Brian. Something's not right."

---

Being pulled out of that dream, or whatever it was, had been a jarring experience. Brian's eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright in bed, silken sheets cascading off his body as he took in the near-darkness. The only light source was the reddish-orange glow of the hellish landscape outside the viewport. For a brief moment he was alone with his thoughts, which were centered on figuring out what had exactly happened.

The sensation of arms winding around him stopped those thoughts, however. Krystal nuzzled against his cheek, her normally calm voice carrying an edge of concern. "Are you okay? Shared dreams such as ours need to be ended carefully, but I had no choice but to stop it as I did."

"I... I understand." Brian paused for a moment, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "I feel like such an ass, ruining that. Is there a part of me that's not really ready for this? I don't know. All I know is that I shouldn't have brought up my old man. Put a lot of old memories on the table, and also showed you I'm not okay with all of this." The last of which was apparently true. That 'laying down with dogs' comment was one that stung. Could he really be rejecting her based off of that?

"Stop that." The Cerinian's response was accompanied by her lips pressing against his in a brief yet forceful kiss. "Those were not your thoughts, dearheart. They were of someone else." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts before trying to explain. "I am not sure how or why, yet someone else was sharing our dream as well. Normally they would have to be close by in order to do that, but..." A sigh escaped her, a frustrated tone coloring her next statement. This wasn't the time to tell him that it was in fact his father's dream they stumbled into, at least yet. There was far too much she was trying to sift through before adding that to the mix. "...everything has changed so much in the past few days, Brian. I'm having trouble making sense of it."

"What do you mean, Krys?" He drew her into a tight embrace, a hand gliding up her back as he did so. Her nightgown was as silky soft as the sheets they were tucked into, a luxurious excess compared to the spartan, military accomodations he was used to. However, even for the complete roller coaster ride his life had been placed on, Krystal's admission was something he dreaded to hear.

The words poured out of her in a torrent, a series of explanations strung together as if they were a jumbled set of Christmas lights pulled out of the box they were hastily thrown into. "When the Lylatians shot me, I had a series of visions. I would have believed they were memories, but they were not always my own. Some of them were, but I experienced the memories of others. I... In one of them I was killed." Her arms drew her companion as close as she possibly could. "I'm finding it difficult to separate their memories from my own."

"How do you know these are genuine memories, Krys?" Brian's inquiry was soft yet slightly skeptical. "You were experiencing severe blood loss and major trauma. My mom is a medical professional. Stories of near-death experiences, the afterlife, and all of that have been attributed to lack of oxygen and blood loss..."

The vixen pulled away from him, her aqua eyes faintly visible in the faint glow as her next words stopped his explanation. "July 16, 2002, or so you remember. Thirty miles south of a city you call Kabul, in a nation you call Afghanistan." Her tongue carefully danced around the foreign words, continuing despite the shocked expression on the young man's features. "You and your combat group were ambushed by weapons you called IEDs and RPGs. Several of your friends were killed, and you had to fight back with a dead man's weapon. The same type of weapon that nearly killed me. That was your memory, Brian."

She pressed even further, shrugging the strap of her nightdown aside just enough for the garment to reveal the small, angry scar of the bullet which hit her shoulder. Her upbringing screamed at her for revealing so much of herself to a male who wasn't even Cerinian in the first place, but that inner voice was silenced under the weight of what she had to say afterwards. "Another memory I had was that of another Cerinian. He was killed by two of your kind, wielding those same weapons. That cannot be a coincidence, and I'm sure you realize this. What are they? What is their significance?"

Brian paused for a moment, his sleep-fogged mind trying to get around what she had just been telling him. In a twisted way it made sense. How else would these Lylatians have gotten a hold of human rifle designs unless someone else managed to make it over here? "To answer your question, they're called Kalashnikovs. They're similar in capability to the M16-series weapons we're using, but produced by a nation mine wasn't on friendly terms with until recently. That nation basically gave away millions of them as well as the rights to manufacture them, mostly to nations that didn't really like mine. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that it's the most common firearm design on my planet, Krystal." He wasn't that well-versed on Cold War politics; hell, he was a kid when the Wall came down. But being a soldier in Afghanistan and Iraq gave him a crash course on what the Russians had been doing over the past fifty years. "You're saying you experienced someone else's memory of being gunned down by other, well, people like me?"

The vixen nodded at him, the scowl she wore replaced by an expression of concern. "Yes. These are only fragments of memories, Brian. It's as if I'm trying to repair a broken vase, yet most of the pieces are too shattered to put back together. I can't see how everything fits together, but I can at least offer some theories."

"Well, let's try to hash this out?" Brian suppressed a sigh of exasperation. He considered himself to be reasonably intelligent, but some of this was beyond him. Being the NCO of a Marine infantry squad had put him in a rather rigid mindset. Other than his college work involving a little machining experience and computer repair, his primary trade was a squad leader. Tactical thinking was something he had been trained in, but strategic thinking; the big picture? That was something the brass touched upon but never really explained thoroughly. "I was caught in the blast of some experimental weapon and ended up here. You mentioned experiencing the memory of another Cerinian being killed by humans with AK rifles. We were attacked by Lylatians wearing advanced armor and carrying very sophisticated copies of those same rifles. So, what do you think?"

Krystal was silent for a moment, reaching out to wrap her hand around his. "There might be something linking my world with yours, Brian. I don't know what it might be, but there was an ancient myth of a link to a 'Prime World' that was somehow lost thousands of years ago. What if your world was this 'Prime' and someone managed to figure out how to interact with Cerinia?"

He blinked, a thought coming to mind. "Wait a sec. Big giant flash, people no longer existing. What if they rediscovered that 'link' thing and thought it was new weapon technology? Some scientist who was playing too much C&C that weekend gets the bright idea to turn it into a satellite-based weapons platform and... we have a problem."

She nodded, drawing him into a tight embrace. "They start using this 'weapon' and those they believe they're killing are sent here. That won't be good for the Saurians if others of your kind with malicious intent start roaming the planet."

"Other than giving the Sharpclaw a hard time." Brian countered. "However, those Lylatian mercs that jumped us put up about as much of a fight as you can expect from insurgents. Still, that doesn't explain why I ended up here rather than on your planet. If this was a link between your homeworld and mine, wouldn't it have put me there?"

Krystal shook her head. "I really don't know, Brian. There are far too many flaws in these explanations to make much sense. The only explanation I can give is the fact that Cerinians arrived here hundreds of years ago to help out during a major crisis, similar to this one. They might have brought over an artifact that somehow changed the 'exit point' of the device which brought you here." After a moment she let go of him, stretching out her arms in an attempt to ward off the stiffness and aching that would no doubt result from her recent ordeal. "Either way, the Saurians need us. We need to return this Spellstone to them."

Brian glanced at her, a concerned expression cast at the young vixen. "I know they're in dire straits. But, we're in no shape to tackle all of this by ourselves." Her skeptical look almost stopped him in his tracks, yet he gathered the momentum to press his case. "I can't stress enough that you were almost killed by those mercs. If I hadn't found that high tech auto-doctor kit, you wouldn't have made it. It will take you a few weeks to be back up to snuff; getting shot multiple times isn't something you just recover from like it was a scraped knee."

Brian placed his hands on her shoulders; hazel eyes locked onto her blue ones with a mixture of fear and determination. "I told you my mom was a trauma nurse; someone who helps people with grievous injuries. People who overexert themselves so soon after something like this could very well reopen their wounds. This could likely kill you, Krys. I'm not an expert about this, but I've heard too many stories about it happening to know you need to take it easy."

The Cerinian blinked at him before drawing him into another embrace. The frustration still boiled through her, but he had a point. Her sigh echoed into his ear as she expressed that frustration. "What do we do now? If I'm too hurt to help the Saurians and it's too dangerous for you to go it alone, what do we do to return the Spellstone? If we don't, the planet will fall apart!"

"We could go for help." He placed a kiss on her cheek, offering her a soft smile. "A distress signal might draw these Venom guys to us, but if we could get to a Cornerian base or something..."

Krystal's interruption shot his idea down. "This shuttle is too damaged to make it anywhere, Brian. The secondary power cell is only good for a limited distance and the primary cell is completely destroyed. I checked. We couldn't make it halfway to the nearest Freeport before running out of power. Even if we made it, they're extremely dangerous places from what my brother told me. Criminals, pirates, and even slavers practically run most of them."

"There goes that, then." The soldier shook his head. "If Sauria goes, then we're pretty boned. I get what you're saying. We need a... wait a minute. Is the laser cannon on this ship still working?" When Krystal nodded, his frown switched to a grin. "That's what we do, then. Instead of humping it across this planet, we fly there. If we need to soften resistance, we take it out from the air. You do the flying and I'll be the boots on the ground. If we absolutely need to hit the ground together, we use every single damn advantage we can get. Let's start using what we grabbed from these mercs. Does this sound like a plan?"

Krystal nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing on her features. "Shall I start the engines?"

Notes: This chapter was supposed to be significantly longer, yet due to slow progress I decided to break it up. No, this story has not been abandoned. At this point in time work, business, and family commitments are taking priority over writing. If I do halt work on this story(not bloody likely) I will actually make an announcement doing so. For those readers who have stuck by my erratic updates and hiatuses, thank you. Your support is greatly valued.

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Other than that I might try forcing some progress with shorter chapters, and I've got a couple of different ideas up my sleeves that I might put into play. Stay tuned.