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Chapter 25: Iron Curtain

Brian’s eyes cracked open in a mixture of confusion and pain, conscious thought returning after whatever had happened to him. The feeling was starting to become far more familiar than he wanted it to be. His perception of reality was skewed anyway. If the events of the past few weeks hadn’t been so real, he would have sworn under oath that he was in a coma… or dead.

The dead probably didn’t feel that much pain, he quickly surmised. His left side felt agonizingly tight; just the act of stretching made him wince. His surroundings were pitch black; the only way he had known his eyes were open was that he was blinking. With that thought came others. Where was he? What had happened? Where was everyone?

In a rush memories came back. The thunder of gunfire competing with the whining pops of lasers. The brash mercs that had fought alongside them as they escaped the Venom forces. The flash of intense pain that occurred before he had blacked out, and the figure in armor that had been shooting back as he lost consciousness. Something had happened, and the fact he wasn’t dead meant they were in fact relatively safe. However, he had to get up and figure out where he was.

The Marine sat up, sheets cascading off his body as he was on some sort of bed. At that time the lights came on; thankfully dim enough to not hurt much. As he blinked everything back into focus his training kicked in, eyes scanning the room for any threats. There were none. He was alone in what looked like some sort of small storeroom which had been set up with a cot. One of those auto-doctor kits was propped on a couple of boxes sitting next to the cot, IV lines leading into his arm. Gritting his teeth he pulled the lines out, his arm spiking with pain as he did so. At least the mercs weren’t skimping on the medical care.

Brian glanced down at his left side, grimacing at the mottled, tight scarring that extended from his hip to halfway up his chest. The twisted mass of flesh looked much like burn scarring. Blacking out like he did was a blessing, then. However, how long had he been out? He struggled out of the cot, his feet hitting a freezing cold floor. He was clad only in his boxers, at least preserving a shred of modesty. In an unfamiliar setting he quickly made priorities. He needed clothes, and to arm himself. Food and water were secondary concerns. Finding Krystal was also high on the priority list, wherever she was.

The boxes littering the storeroom looked like music gig cases. Most of them were unlocked, though a few were. Those looked military, with stenciled descriptions of model numbers that were quite possibly weapons. He wasn’t getting into those. Several of the smaller unlocked boxes contained clothes and other supplies; while it wasn’t to his taste he found a black flightsuit similar to the one Krystal had, complete with boots and gloves. It was pretty much his size, and it was warm. After slipping it on he shifted into a few ready stances, pleased that the suit wasn’t hampering his movement that much. He could fight in this if he needed to.

Another box contained food and water pouches not too dissimilar to MREs, labeled in plain English. Most were labeled ‘Insta-Pasta’; he selected one at random along with a water ration. What surprised him were the built-in heating and cooling units and how fast they worked. Within thirty seconds he had a steaming hot meal and a cold, refreshing pouch of water. The meal was mainly noodles in some sort of thick, somewhat salty sauce combined with chunks of meat. It wasn’t gourmet cooking but he had had far worse MRE varieties. As a precaution he stuffed a few of the packets into pouches on the flightsuit, which had such amenities as a built-in holster, magazine pouches and a knife sheath. After the events of the past few weeks, he wasn’t going to go anywhere unprepared.

A few more boxes contained electronics, some sort of tablet computers he didn’t have any use for. Another, larger one contained a few sets of the same armor the mercs wore. While it would be useful he passed them up; he wasn’t fully sure how to put them on and he didn’t want to attract attention by making too much noise. Twin lockboxes sat next to the one containing the armor, both identical to each other. With a shrug he tried to pry one open, blinking with surprise when the lid gave way. Why would someone keep it unlocked? His blood froze when he started looking at the contents.

The most prominently placed object was a striped shirt of some sort, reminiscent of the ones used by some Russian special forces. It was wrapped around something blocky and heavy. Brian extracted the shirt, fishing around until he pulled out the mystery thing. “How in the fuck…” The handgun he held was emblazoned with the legend “BREN TEN” on the slide. One of his dad’s deputies had one; spent a fortune on a high-powered 10mm handgun that he couldn’t even get magazines for. It was relegated to collecting dust in his gun safe. This one had magazines, three made out of the same carbon fiber-like material the furniture of the copycat AKs came with. They were all topped up with similar Lylat-produced ammunition. After checking the weapon and getting familiar with its safety layout he slid it into the flightsuit’s holster. It fit awkwardly, but it wasn’t in danger of falling out.

Brian rifled through the box, coming up with another handgun. This time it was a Glock 17, standard issue for his dad’s department. The weapon looked like an older model, without the finger grooves on the grip the later ones had. Additionally it didn’t look like a copy, emblazoned with the proper logos and proofmarks. These firearms had come from Earth, and the sneaking suspicion he had was starting to unfurl into a giant red flag.

The icing on the cake was what looked like an ID book. The cover was bright crimson and in the same textured vinyl passports came in. The only problem was that he couldn’t read it. The cover looked Cyrillic. He opened the book to reveal more Cyrillic writing and a black-and-white photo of a man in his mid-30s. He looked like someone he wouldn’t want to come across in a dark alley, heavily built and possessed with that calm confidence only an experienced soldier could pull off. Everything clicked into place. “They’re fucking Russians!” he hissed. He didn’t know how they turned into giant dogs, but the fact he wasn’t sporting a tail and fur just yet meant that it wasn’t some twisted side effect. They must have somehow got a contract to design and push out AK copies.

The collection of spare armor, rations, and electronics made sense, a final puzzle piece settling into place. He scanned the ID book again, spotting a familiar embossed symbol on one of the blank pages. “Not just Russian, but Soviet. Oh, shit.” These guys had been here for years, perhaps decades. Did they know of a way back home? Only they were going to go back to Earth with a load of alien technology, enough to make Russia the dominant technological and military superpower, bar none. Times had changed and relations had warmed a bit between the US and Russia, but what would happen if they had laser rifles, spacecraft, and power armor? That was a very disturbing thought.

Another idea sprang to mind, spurring Brian to snag a few of the tablet PCs and stuff them into a backpack. If getting home was a possibility he would want some proof and some tech for Los Alamos or whatever other lab guys to reverse-engineer. Next he had to get out of the storeroom and locate Krystal. The door was unsurprisingly locked, which caused him to mutter a few curses under his breath. However, this was a storeroom and not a jail cell. These automatic doors had to have some sort of manual failsafe in case of power loss or some other event.

Borrowing a toolkit from one of the boxes as well as a well-worn combat knife from the Russian’s lockbox, Brian found an access panel and pried it open. A socket wrench fit nicely on one of the internal gears; a minute later he had overcome the locking pawl and slid the door open far enough to squeeze through. He pulled out his stolen hand cannon, intent on locating his companion and getting out of there in that exact order.

The hallway was cramped and dimly lit, creating a shadowy, foreboding atmosphere. He crept forward; grateful of the soft-soled boots he was wearing making a bare minimum of noise. The Marine steeled himself for anything as he covered his approach with the handgun. The hallway extended about fifteen meters before opening into a larger room which was cast with a chilly bluish glow.

Brian emerged into the room, about the size of an average living room. Silent equipment hung everywhere, blinking lights festooning the walls. The centerpiece was six semicylindrical pods mounted in the center of the room, transparent plexiglass-like material revealing the contents.

Three of them were filled with Lylatians floating in some sort of semi-transparent goo, hooked up to various IV leads and tubes. Two were the husky and retriever that he suspected might be the mysterious Russians. However, something was off about the forms in the goo, but he couldn’t get a detailed enough look. The third was a female canine of some sort, but she was taller and more stockily built than Krystal. This was crossing his comfort threshold, and he sure as hell didn’t want to end up in one of those pods.

A thump, clatter, and muffled voice from above shook Brian’s thoughts, a muttered curse coming to his lips as he realized there were a set of stairs at one end of the room. He slid back into the darkness of the hallway, the Bren’s sights trained on the opening. He waited for a moment as the distinctive sound of someone climbing down a set of metal steps grew louder.

As soon as the figure walked out into the threshold, Brian scanned them. The figure’s build was masculine, somewhat rotund, and possessed a rather large tail that seemed to almost balance them. They definitely weren’t Krystal. The Marine sprang into action, stepping out into the dim light with a shouted command. “Freeze! Hands in the air, RIGHT NOW!”

The figure yelped in surprise as Brian started forward, the big pistol pointed directly at his face. He looked like an otter, at least as far as he could tell. He was complying, with hands up in a defensive posture. He continued to shout, the authoritative tone of a Marine NCO who grew up around law enforcement officers coming through with every word. “Hands on your head! Get down on the ground! DO IT!”

The Lylatian complied, coming to rest on the floor next to the empty set of pods. Brian closed in, extracting the Glock from one of the suit’s pouches. The pistol was thrust into his quarry’s neck as he kept close watch on the door with the Bren. “P…Please! I didn’t do anything to you, I swear! Don’t kill me!” His voice was fractured and shrill; he was obviously freaked out by the experience.

“Quiet!” Brian hissed. “If I wanted you dead I would have just shot you.” He kept the Glock pressed into the freaked out Lylatian as he did a quick search for weapons. He came up with absolutely nothing. “Now, I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. Got it?” The figure nodded shakily. “Where’s the Cerinian?”

“She… she’s in a shielded room upstairs.” The Lylatian groaned. “Yuri wanted her placed in stasis following an argument she had with him. However I gave her a medical checkup; she’s undergone stasis sickness recently. Stasis could have killed her.” He trembled a bit. “Please, I’m not here to hurt you. You were hit with a plasmacaster blast, along with Ivan. Krystal told me to make you comfortable and to tell her as soon as you were awake. You’re safe here; I swear my life on it!”

Brian sighed and put the pistols away, helping the Lylatian to his feet. In the dim light he could only make speculations as to what species he was, but he looked like some sort of… otter? “Alright. I’ll believe you. Next time, you shouldn’t leave someone you don’t know in a storeroom with a couple of loaded pistols in an unlocked box. That could be hazardous to your health.”

“What?” The otter exclaimed. “Oh, the lockbox! Dammit.” He brushed off his pants as he sheepishly shook his head. “You can’t blame a scientist for his curiosity. Ivan and Yuri never really talked about their pre-Lylat lives, and I wanted to see who they are. When they were put under for conversion, I decided to crack into their personal lockboxes. I should have known that I wouldn’t be able to read alien writing, and I burned out the processing core on Ivan’s box getting in.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Brian inquired, following the otter toward the stairs. He wasn’t about to let his guard all the way down, but perhaps this guy was telling the truth. He would find out soon enough.

“The name’s Grafter. I’m a microbiologist, genetic engineer, and augmentation expert. Trained at the Liltse Academy on Venom, fled when the tide of war went against them, and I’ve got this lovely little clinic in the asshole of the system. If you want genetic modifications, replacement limbs, gene therapy or even mechanical modification I’m the one to go to. Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask of you in a few days.”

The upper floor of Grafter’s place was a lot more comfortable than the storeroom and lab. From what he could tell it was plushly carpeted and well-furnished, with comfortable-looking couches and chairs as well as a sleek computer terminal in the corner and what looked to be a massive television taking up one entire wall. What looked to be a well-stocked kitchen lay in an adjacent room, as well as a hallway that led to what he assumed were bedrooms. The place looked lived in, even though it was kept pretty meticulously neat. “And what would that favor be?”

“I’m not sure how privy you are to this information, but Yuri and Ivan aren’t Lylatian.” Grafter pointed to him. “They’re humans, like you. They were found by a smuggler group trading with Cerinian criminal elements, and in exchange for leading a few covert operations for Venom they were given a bit of time in their labs to make them look Lylatian. They escaped shortly afterward, but by then the war was well underway and the resources available to look for them were minimal.”

“A few years later they approached me, handing me a very healthy chunk of credits as a retainer to return them to their former state at some point in the future. I was on the team of geneticists that did their initial conversion. However, my records aren’t quite complete and I’m missing some vital DNA analysis.” He motioned to the young Marine again. “Your genetic profile should be similar enough to fill in the gaps, despite any variations they might have from you.”

Brian blinked, digesting that information for a bit. “I’m not going to say yes, but I’m not going to say no either. I want to see her first. That and I want to know why he wanted her placed in stasis.” This Grafter character was awfully forthcoming with what was going on. What was his angle?

Grafter nodded, motioning down the hallway. “Fair enough. I don’t know the details of that argument, but both of them were definitely shouting. Afterwards Yuri came to me, demanding she be placed in stasis. I refused due to her recent stasis sickness, and he told me to create a shielded room and lock her in.” He paused for a moment. “Some Cerinians have a genetic mutation that allows them to manipulate electromagnetic fields in various ways. Some, like your companion, are telepathic, able to sense the fields our brains naturally create. Some are more active and can telekinetically manipulate objects. Some are able to manipulate weather. There are other described abilities such as a rare talent of communicating with spirits, but that hasn’t been determined to be accurate given our limited ability to study Cerinians directly.”

“Makes sense, but cut to the chase. Why did he want her locked up?”

“Cerinians with these abilities can be detected with EM scanners. Yuri mentioned that the CDF, the Remnant, and another group are out there looking for her. The Remnant wants her as the spirit ability she supposedly has will allow her to resurrect Emperor Andross. The CDF wants to take her in for experimentation and this shadow group wants to kill her to prevent either of those from happening.” Grafter shook his head. “I have a shielded room for guests who need enhanced privacy measures, so he agreed that I would keep her there. I believe she will be happy to see you, though it is very early in the morning if we’re going by station time so she’s likely asleep.”

“Station time?” Brian asked. “You didn’t tell me where we are.”

“This place is called Depth’s End, a Freeport out on the Rim of the Lylat System.” Grafter explained. “Freeports are made from old mining facilities, research stations, and other places. Lylat law doesn’t effectively reach out this far, so it’s perfect for those on the fringes of society like myself to ply their trade. Depth’s End is an old mining exchange that played out about three hundred years ago. It’s one of the more remote Freeports out there, but at about thirty square kilometers of floor space it’s the most populated area in tens of millions of kilometers.” The engineer pointed towards a more sturdily built door at the opposite end of the hall. “There are about forty thousand citizens out there who don’t really fit in with the rules and restrictions of just about any organized governmental body in Lylat. However, sympathies exist. Great pains were taken to conceal the Cerinian’s presence as well as your own. All it will take is one Hypernet call to a CDF or Remnant listening post and this place will come under siege. I don’t say that lightly.”

“Understood.” Brian agreed. “I’ll conform to your opsec on this. However, there’s a few concerns I have about your friends in those tubes.” At Grafter’s nod he continued. The otter seemed to be playing him straight, so he would do the same. “I’m a soldier of one of the dominant nations on my planet. Those two are very likely soldiers from another dominant nation. While my nation is on relatively friendly terms with theirs, I think they arrived on Lylat during a time where they weren’t. In their eyes, I’m technically their enemy. Without going into the past century of my planet’s history, there’s going to be a lot of distrust between us. Especially as I suspect they’ve found a way to get back to our world and they’re hell-bent on taking weapons and as much technical information with them as they can.”

The otter took some time to mull over the information. “I can see where that would make someone hesitant.” Brian could tell he was taking a diplomatic stance with this. “You have a few days to think this over. The healing nanites in your system will make it difficult to correctly analyze your DNA, and from the shape you were in you still have a few days to completely heal. The scarring you have from the plasmacaster wound will also diminish over time.” He motioned to the door. “Now, I think you have a friend to see. She has been worried for your safety.”

The Marine approached the door as Grafter unlocked it with a passcard. In an unexpected gesture he handed the card to him. “Look. I’m sorry for putting a gun to your head. You’re treating me a little more kindly than you have reason to. I would like to ask why?”

The engineer chuckled. “Think nothing of it. It was a careless moment on my part, and you showed great restraint for an alien waking up in the middle of a lab such as mine. The reason for my kindness is that I visited Cerinia in my younger days as a cargohand on a Guild freighter. It was a beautiful planet with kind, hospitable people. I mourn its loss to the actions of my former employer. Your friend was lucky to survive, and luckier to have someone so willing to protect her. So, please. Go to her, and we will talk about these things later.” He pushed a button on the door, the portal sliding aside with a nearly silent whirring of well-maintained gears.

“Thank you.” Brian nodded politely as he stepped into the darkened room, the door whirring shut behind him. He didn’t hear the click of a lock, either. He still wasn’t entirely sure of Grafter’s angle, but he felt safe enough. The lights came on slowly, bathing the room in a dim glow. He had heard about automated home systems back home, though he surmised that it could somehow detect if someone was asleep or awake and adjust the lighting accordingly.

The room was small but it looked remarkably like a well-furnished studio apartment; equipped with a small sitting area and what looked like a small breakfast nook. It was definitely lived in, a small pile of dirty dishes set next to the door and clothes folded on the table in the sitting room. Krystal’s scent hung in the air, reminding him of cinnamon. She was curled up in the bed, sheets pulled over her slumbering form. With a soft smile he pulled the flightsuit’s gloves off and crossed over to her, settling in on his knees as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you.”

The cerulean vixen stirred and murmured for a moment, lost in sleep. Yet, a familiar, comforting presence crossed her senses. Confusedly she slowly opened her eyes, blinking a sight into focus she had alternately hoped yet didn’t quite expect to see. She reached out with her mind to confirm the presence. “Brian?” She snapped fully awake, reaching out to wind her arm around the figure in front of her; pressing her lips to his in a fierce kiss. “You’re alive! By the old spirits, you’re still here!”

The young Marine grasped her tightly. “I… I don’t really know what happened. All I really have are flashes. The mercenaries, the fight to get out of that temple. Someone shot me, and you stopped them. I don’t remember anything after that.”

Krystal shut her eyes, memories of her own flashing to her recollection. “That Venom soldier shot you and Ivan with a weapon called a plasmacaster. Ivan was protected but took most of the blast. You nearly died. Twice.” She winced at the memory of the frantic, feverish hours standing watch over him as he threatened to slip past the veil and into the Beyond. “Yuri took us to this place. He paid the station guards to look the other way as we took you, Ivan, and the Venom soldier who shot you to Grafter. He put Ivan into one of the stasis pods and…” She shook her head. “He wanted me to do something horrible.”

“It’s okay, Krys. I’m here.” Brian grasped her hand, winding his fingers around hers. “He’s not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let him. What did he want you to do?”

The vixen took a deep breath, nestling her muzzle into his shoulder. “He wanted me to force my way into the Venom soldier’s mind. She wouldn’t tell him anything about their mission to take me, and how much they might know. She was afraid of him. He had hurt her, but she wouldn’t answer his questions.” She took a deep breath and shuddered. “It’s a serious crime on Cerinia to do that. It usually destroys one’s mind and leaves them shattered and broken. I know she was sent to my planet to kill my people and use me for evil purposes. I know she is the one who shot you. However, I cannot bring myself to do that.”

Brian stayed silent for a moment, simply holding onto her. She was scared and alone. Hell, he was too. The roller coaster they had been through was getting old. He was tired of the danger; the constant intrigue and combat. He had been through months of it before showing up here. The idle thought that the female in that stasis pod was the one who shot him spurred another idle thought. Would he have been so reluctant to harm her if he was in Krys’s situation? He couldn’t come up with an answer. “I understand. We have to draw those lines that we won’t cross, regardless of the consequences. Grafter told me a little bit about what happened. Yuri also wanted to stuff you into one of those pods?”

Krystal nodded. “Yes. Grafter stopped him from doing so after his medical scan. He said I was still suffering mild effects of stasis sickness and that he would not take the risk with me. It was then that he ordered Grafter to lock me in this room.” She sighed softly, embracing Brian even tighter than before. “I’ve grown tired of this. Those at the Temple told me that my abilities are a blessing. They are more of a curse. They killed my people. They are what everyone in Lylat wants me for. What’s even scarier is that I tried glancing at Yuri’s thoughts. He was able to completely block me. He wants me for something, and I can’t even figure out why.”

Brian responded by standing up. He shrugged off the gear he had been carrying, settling the two pistols on the nightstand next to her. He kicked off his boots and slid in the bed next to her, winding his arms around her waist and snuggling in close. “We’ll figure it out. I have my theories, but first I wanted to ask you a question. After you recovered from being shot you said your abilities were much sharper, right?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, enjoying the closeness and warmth that seemed to provide such a counterpoint to the stress, strife, and heartbreak she had experienced for what seemed like years. “I wasn’t ever as strong as most of my peers. However, after the mines I could sense so much more. Small animals, even insects. It was… well, the best description I could give you would be someone who needs spectacles. They can see, but not very well. However, with the spectacles they can see as well as one who doesn’t need them.” She paused for a moment, one of the memories flashing before her mind for a split instant. The vixen gasped, a thought connecting to that memory. “A control jewel! They gave me a control jewel!”

Brian blinked. “Control jewel? What’s that?” He would be the first to admit he was over his head, but it sounded like she had a revelation of some kind.

“They are usually used on criminals who have talents like mine. It’s a very painful process of placing a jewel in their bodies that will stunt their abilities. I recall a memory where I was held down and something was shoved into my chest when I was very young. I thought it was a dream until I noticed a particular scar on my chest had changed color.” She blushed slightly, grateful that Brian still hadn’t caught on to those cues. “I don’t know why, but they did it to me as a child. Perhaps what happened destroyed that jewel and my abilities are not being stunted?”

“That would explain things. However, why would they do it? This channeling ability you have. Would there be any danger in just letting it run rampant?” The Marine racked his brain trying to find some sort of connection. “Wait. You killed those mercs that ambushed us in the mines. You did something with your staff, and there was this golden light that just disintegrated them.”

Krystal stiffened. “I don’t… remember. I’ve never heard of anyone who could use the Art in that manner. Most of our abilities are passive. I had a good friend whose abilities were focused on moving objects with her mind, but that would be the most potentially destructive Aspect I would know of.” Her ears perked. “Did you say a golden light? Those of us who have the Aspect of Transference surround objects in a golden light before moving them. However, Transference is far beyond my abilities. They can transport objects up to… twenty miles or so in your terms.”

“So… you think you teleported those mercs?” Brian took a deep breath. “That’s the thing. If it was only a few miles or so, they would have been out for our blood and we would have come across them. I didn’t see them again. In fact, that sounds like…”

“…how you arrived.” Krystal finished for him, wrapping her hand around his. “You arrived on Sauria not long after I did. And, I had another vision after I was shot. One I didn’t tell you about. May I show you?” She felt Brian nod against her shoulder, and she sent the images to his mind. The memories of the male Cerinian she had somehow been privy to, wrapped in an intimate moment not unlike their own. The flash of light and the humans like Brian…

“Holy shit!” Brian exclaimed, pulling away from her with a shocked expression. “That’s them! It has to be!” The Cerinian shot him a questioning look as he went to the backpack he had propped up against the bed. He unzipped the container, rummaging around it before coming up with a small, crimson book; revealing the image of one of the men that had shown up. “This is one of those two downstairs. They’re not Lylatian. They’re humans like me; just in an elaborate disguise to look like Lylatians. This isn’t a good thing, Krys. As far as I can tell, these men are the ones responsible for the rifles those mercs were using. They’re from that nation which was unfriendly with mine and from a point in time where that unfriendliness was still going on. That means they wound up on Cerinia instead of Sauria.” He started pacing, an idea popping into his head. “Let’s assume that event really happened; that you’ve got memories from this poor dude who was shot by these Russians. Something happened to them and they showed up on Cerinia, right around that guy. I was hit with that orbital weapon and I appeared on Sauria right before you landed there.”

Krystal sat up, aware of the lightweight nightgown she wore cascading around her frame as she shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “There’s a connection between that Guardian trainee and I. Were our fates related somehow? I remember an argument in that memory when I was at the Temple. High Priestess Generia saying something about a… beacon of sorts?” She remained silent for a moment, trying to bring up details of what had happened. Her fear and anguish had drowned out most of her memory. There was something important within that memory. It was practically screaming at her to do so. “We… we need to revisit it.”

“What?” Brian stopped, blinking at her. “What do you mean by revisiting it?” He was a little confused about that. “If that happened to you in the past, then I don’t think you can just go back to it?”

She motioned him over, her hands gently intertwining with his. Taking a deep breath, she explained. “Someone with my Aspects can sometimes store thought patterns within a memory, especially if it is traumatic. Just like with the dream we had with your father, we could interact with them. I will need your help to do so.” She tugged on his hands, motioning him to sit next to her. “I will not lie to you. This may not be pleasant for either of us. Sharing an experience such as this denotes a very deep bond. This is only really shared with one’s lifemate. I will basically be sharing my mind with you.” Her expression grew concerned, her voice shifting into a far more serious tone as she continued to explain. “This isn’t much different to what Yuri wanted me to do to that soldier, only you will be doing it to me. Since you aren’t an Adept I will have to bring you into my mind. If you are not careful and focused on the situation I bring you into, there is a serious risk of you harming me. If your mind wanders, if you try to alter things… if you bring other constructs into this space you may imprint it onto my mind. I would not be considering this unless I felt this was of vital importance.” Her piercing, aqua gaze fell upon Brian. “You have my complete trust. Do I have yours?”

That weighed heavily on his mind. This was going past unknown territory for him, and the confession that she was basically taking away all safeguards to get to the bottom of what was happening was a frightening one. However, in a sense their lives might be riding on it. He took a deep breath, returning her gaze before answering. “You do, hon. I will keep you as safe as I can. I promise.”

With a determined look she braced herself, her hands placing themselves on Brian’s cheeks. With a concentrated effort she pushed, her thoughts snapping out to grasp his. The effort was overwhelming but she held on, allowing his familiar yet foreign presence to be drawn into her mind. She could see him wince; the process was not pleasant. Her head started to hurt with the effort, blinding flashes of pain as she forced her mental blocks to subside. Brian’s stare became blank as she drew him in further, their presences mingling and trying to make sense of one another. Her own vision became blurred, her body becoming weaker as her mind continued to draw his presence into her own. The pain became almost unbearable, until a dark curtain slipped over her senses. The last thing she saw was Brian’s form falling back on the bed as she followed suit…

________________________________________

Once again, his head hurt. However this time Krystal’s warning caused his mind to focus on what he was hearing and seeing instead of reflecting. The scene before him was disturbing to say the least. He was in a moderately-sized stone room, acutely aware of the damp chill all around him. It had been lit by candlelight, the spicy-sweet scent of some sort of exotic incense hanging in the air.

The centerpiece of the room was some sort of altar; a stone slab adorned with intricate carvings of events, screaming of significance that was completely alien to him. The disturbing aspect of the altar was the fact Krystal was strapped down to it. While she said she was a little kid when this happened in his mind’s eye she was an adult, dressed in the same flowing nightgown he had just seen her in. Her gaze caught his own, a nervous expression and a mouthed ‘help me’ on her lips.

Two robed figures surrounded her, either unaware or uncaring of his presence. He couldn’t tell their age or gender, only that they were Cerinian. Krystal’s warning carried into her mind. He had to be focused. They needed this information.

“Is the collection jewel ready?” An older man’s voice echoed off the stone walls. He was speaking Cerinian, but somehow he understood it as if he was speaking English. The robed figure that had spoke glanced down to Krystal, who visibly recoiled at his attention. "Do not be afraid, little one. You will not remember any of this." This only spurred further resistance from her, the vixen straining against the unyielding shackles and chains that held her to the altar.

"It is, my Elder." The other robed figure spoke, an authoritative yet feminine voice. Krystal’s glance shot over to her, a horrified expression of recognition upon her features. She once again turned to Brian, her eyes pleading for him to intervene. The matronly figure continued to speak. "Has this ever been attempted on one so young?"

‘Not yet!’ Krystal’s voice carried into his thoughts. ‘Understand this is in my past! I am not in danger, no matter how much I might look like I am! Give them some time to explain, then intervene!’ Brian nodded to her, though his inner voice was screaming at him to go on the offensive. It would be so easy to step into the light and stop her suffering. His discipline, honed by stern yet caring parents and brought to a razor’s edge by his military service, kept him in check.

“No.” the old man replied; reaching onto a cart set behind him. There were a few very wicked-looking tools set upon it, but his hands wrapped around a shotput-sized jewel. The jewel gave off an ethereal orange glow, and as he turned to face Krystal she panicked, trying frantically to escape the bonds. "I say this with a heavy heart, but the Beacon must be maintained and the cause of death of its previous Vessel must be determined."

"This is the first I've heard of this Beacon." The matronly one snapped. "This child is a Potential for the Grand Council. The Elders cannot simply use her as a plaything! Your will must be followed, but I demand an explanation!" Her hood slipped a bit, giving Brian a good look at her features. She looked somewhat like Krystal, yet she was significantly older. Her bearing was formal and regal; she looked like she was pretty high up her society’s food chain.

“You are not in the position to demand anything, Priestess.” The older man’s chastising was followed with a sigh. “However, you must ensure the protection of this child no matter what happens. Only a Channeler can access the powers of the Beacon. She will serve as a conduit if the need ever arises; a living connection to the Prime World.” Brian blinked. Beacon? Prime World? That brought up some questions.

The matron’s tone was full of skepticism. “That is simply a myth! There is no evidence to indicate the Prime World even exists, let alone a way to…” She was cut off by the old man.

“We have visited the Prime World hundreds of years ago, Priestess.” The man set that jewel next to Krystal’s face. She tried to scoot away from it, staring at the object with abject horror. At the same time she was transfixed on it, staring into it as much as she was staring at it. “It is known as a myth for a reason, Priestess Generia. Long ago, the Prime was visited routinely by Adepts, until the Rift separated them. The Beacon still works. This child will be designated as the Prime Channeler, the one whose abilities will be needed to travel to the Prime. It will be a haven for our kind in case of a disaster.” He turned around once more, grabbing a glass of some dark-colored liquid from the cart behind him.

“And the Haleths agreed to this?” The matron wearily asked as the old man turned towards Krystal, balancing the glass in his left hand. His right settled upon Krystal’s shoulder, the vixen still transfixed on the jewel.

“There was no choice in the matter, Priestess.” The old man’s hand grabbed Krystal by the muzzle, forcefully tearing her head away from the jewel. Brian just about lost it; his hand dropping down to a sidearm he found wasn’t there. “The Beacon cannot be contained outside of a Channeler for more than a few days, and she was the closest to Narten when he was killed.” The old man’s fingers pried her muzzle open, cries of protest turning into unintelligible moaning. The contents of the vial were poured into her mouth; the vixen’s protesting fading away as she slumped back against the altar.

The old man picked the jewel up, holding it high above his head. He had to act. The Marine strode into the light, a commanding tone to his voice. “Halt! Hands where I can see them, all of you!” He was unarmed but the ruse worked, the two robed Cerinians jumping back in shock at the sight of the unannounced alien being. The matron reached under the robes and extracted what looked like a ceremonial dagger.

“Explain yourself, creature!” The matron advanced with the wicked-looking blade, but a gesture from the old man stopped her. He motioned to her again, the lady getting the gist to put away her weapon.

“We will forgive this trespass, Denizen. For now.” The old fox’s bright green eyes locked onto his. “We would like to know how you managed to arrive here, despite the interruption.”

“That’s not important right now.” Brian replied. “What is important is that I understand what’s going on here. This Beacon, and this Prime World stuff.” He pointed to his nearly comatose partner. “Her life will depend on this information someday, and so will mine. I’m not going to stop you from doing this, but I’d like you to indulge my curiosity?”

The old man blanched, lowering the jewel as he stepped closer to Brian. “It has been many, many years since a Denizen has been here. As long as your intentions are peaceful, I will explain.” He held the jewel out to Brian, a buzzing, static-filled presence tugging at his consciousness. “This is the Beacon. It was once part of the Bridge, a physical link between Cerinia and the Prime World. It was used to access what was called the Rift, a way to travel between the two worlds. The reasons were lost to time, but the Bridge on the Prime World was destroyed in a cataclysmic event and our people were driven out. Access via the Beacon was possible, but arduous. As a Denizen, I thought you would be aware of this? Your Priests and Elders should know as much about this as I do.”

“Excuse me?” Brian replied. “Are you saying that this… Prime World is where I come from?” He tried not to focus on delving into his memory too much, but what this robed Cerinian had to say dredged up thoughts of those ancient astronaut conspiracy theory programs Erica sometimes watched.

“Yes, Denizen. Since the Rift was broken, we have kept the Beacon within a line of Channelers. It cannot exist for long outside of a Channeler. Since the previous Prime Channeler was killed a few days ago, we have to place it inside this child. This is a living link between our worlds.” Surprisingly, he placed the jewel in Brian’s hands.

The static-filled buzzing intensified, and Brian swore he could hear voices and whispering. Concentrating, he could pick out individual voices and even music from the chaos. “Here we are now, entertain us…” “LAPD Chief Daryl Gates has announced his resignation, amid accusations of corruption within the police department leading to the L.A. Riots earlier this year…” “Hurricane Andrew has made landfall. All residents of Miami that have not evacuated are advised to seek shelter immediately…””Nothin’ lasts forever, and we both know hearts can change…” “Bill Clinton has won the Presidential election with 370 electoral votes…” “Seems like we’ve been here before, seems so familiar; seems like I’m slipping into a dream within a dream…” Wincing, he handed the jewel back to the old Cerinian. The voices from the past stopped and his head cleared somewhat.

“Do you understand now?” he asked. “If a disaster happens to our people, the Prime Channeler has the power to save lives by moving them to the Prime World. It is a plan of last resort, as we haven’t visited in hundreds of years. It is imperative we place this in the Channeler for this reason. I forgive you of this trespass, yet we have work to do. If we are distracted, we stand a chance of killing her.” He turned back towards Krystal. “You may take your leave of us, now.”

“Wait!” Brian called out. “Exactly how is she supposed to activate this thing?” He forced the heady feeling down. Could she really be his ticket home? That thought alone caused conflict that he forced down.

“We will remove the control jewel we will place in her to prevent her inadvertently activating the Beacon.” The old man grumbled. “Afterwards, she will be instructed to Channel into the Beacon, which will turn her into a conduit. She will be able to project the Beacon’s energy using a Guardian Staff.” Once again he turned to Brian. “Your curiosity is beginning to impede our ritual. Leave now before I call the guards.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.” Brian took a deep breath and turned around, just as he saw the old man raise the jewel like a dagger and plunge it into Krystal’s chest. A hot bolt of pain jabbed through his body and mind as she screamed, the entire room blurring into a multicolored starburst of chaos and agony…

________________________________________

Brian’s eyes snapped open as he found himself on the bed. The headache he had felt like he had drank an entire bottle of cheap tequila the night before, on top of the vague, tight stretching along his side and soreness in his ribs. Krystal was collapsed right next to him; the troubled, pained expression on her features mirroring his own. Twin rivulets of dried blood ran from her nose, forming a small pool on the bedsheets. As he lifted his head he felt the sensation of dried blood on his own face, possibly explaining the massive headache.

He reached out to the vixen, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her awake. “Hon? Are you okay?” She stirred, mumbling incoherently beneath her breath. Her eyes shot open, a frightened expression fading to relief.

“We did it?” Her voice belied her exhaustion. She reached out to brush a hand against Brian’s cheek, managing a soft smile. “You did well. Thank you.”

“I think we did it.” Brian agreed. “However, there are some tough questions we’re going to need to think through. It makes sense now. The Russians were sucked through to Cerinia. They killed the one who had this Beacon thing, and you were the next one to get it. They know you’re the one who can send them back. What do we do with this information?”

Krystal let out a weary sigh, scooting closer to nestle against her companion. “We sent out a distress call to help Sauria. I saw it enter Slipspace; I know it made it through. The Venomians want me so they can resurrect their dead leader. The Cornerians want me to experiment on to augment their soldiers, from what Yuri told me. There’s also another group of Cornerians that want to kill me in order to stop me from falling into Venomian hands.” She shuddered at that thought, pressing closer into Brian as his arms wound around her.

“On top of that, those two guys are from the Soviet Union. They want to use you to bring them back to Earth with a literal truckload of weapons, electronics, and documents that would pretty much put Russia on a technological path centuries ahead of what anyone else can accomplish. That’s going to be a problem.” Brian took a deep breath, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I doubt they’d want me along for the ride. Either that or they’ll turn around and shoot me as soon as we got back home. Nobody would be the wiser until they start marching down Red Square with blaster rifles and starfighters.”

Krystal grimaced as the mental images drifted to her. “I won’t let them do that to you, Brian. If going to your homeworld is our best option, I’m coming with you.” It made sense to her. Her family was most likely dead. Her homeworld; her entire people were killed in Venom’s attempt to capture her. She would never be safe in Lylat. Would Brian’s world be that much worse?

Brian froze. He knew this conversation was coming. “Krys, that is a very dangerous option. We’re not like Lylat. We’re just one world. One people. Many people would see you as a threat, or at the least proof that a dangerous threat lurks out there. We’re not prepared to face that threat. If Venom came knocking on our door, we could put up resistance on the ground. We’re defenseless against an attack from orbit.”

“That’s the choice we have, Brian.” She shut her eyes, forcing the tears away. “If you leave me behind, that leaves me at the whims of the Venomians and Lylatians. If you stay here it’s not much better. We can’t keep fighting forever. If I send Ivan and Yuri home, they will destabilize your world. If I don’t, they might very well force me to do it. They might hurt or kill you to get me to cooperate.” She pulled away enough to look at him, the tears now flowing down her cheeks. “I’ve lost everything already. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Brian took a deep breath. “I know. I don’t want to lose you either, hon. We’ve been dealt a very bad hand, and I don’t know how to play these cards.” He closed his eyes, his mind racing to come up with something, anything to get out of this mess. “I can’t guarantee your safety on Earth. At worst, you will be treated as a threat and detained by a government. The best-case scenario is if you plead your status as a refugee and they accept you. The middle ground is that we find a place to hide and live out our days.” A thought came to him. “The only remote hope I can offer is that my uncle works in my nation’s government. If we can approach him in secret and get his cooperation to meet with some high-ranking official, we might have a shot at the refugee angle.”

Krystal nodded. “That hope may be remote, yet I believe it is our best one.” She drew in closer, forcing the pain from her mind. Her headache was one of the worst she had ever experienced, as well as the residual aching in her shoulder and stomach from her earlier wounds. “I understand you can’t protect me all the time and that this decision may or may not ultimately be the best one. I…” She paused for a moment, thinking of the right words to say. This was not a feeling she was that familiar with. “My life has always been determined for me, Brian. I was forced to be this Prime Channeler. I was forced to become a Guardian, so the Temple could have me close at hand for a disaster they were powerless to stop or even slow down. After my service as a Guardian I would be groomed by my parents to take their place on the Council. My lifemate was chosen for me; someone who only wanted me for the prestige of sitting on the Council and the benefit of taking me to his bed.”

She shivered at what her life could have been. “Those who feel it would be a great honor to become a Council Potential haven’t seen what must happen to become one. My life was not my own. My choices were not my own. There was no room to deviate from the course set aside for me. A good friend of mine, Chandril, once tried to take me along on a trading expedition to the ancient lands of the Gualt Mountains. When my parents found out they barred me from even talking to her for nearly a year.”

She drew a shaky breath, placing her head against her human companion’s chest. His slow heartbeat and steady breathing were a comfort to her. “The trip would have taken one month. We had just started talking again before all this happened. To know that she died on Cerinia? It hurts, Brian. My friend is dead. The artwork and natural beauty of Gualt will never be enjoyed again. The hot springs, the chance to talk to others outside of my caste. They are all choices I was barred from making. Being here with you would have been grounds for you to be hauled off and thrown in prison. I would have been forced to go through the lifemating ritual with Koleth, and shortly thereafter sent off to the most remote Guardian outpost to undergo my training.”

“I understand, hon.” Brian’s fingers idly traced up and down her back, eliciting a contented purr from her. “I can’t really say I’ve experienced that. Military life is full of being ordered around, yet that was something I chose for myself. I’ve made some bad decisions in my life, and I’ve made some good ones. You can’t live your life with someone else in the driver’s seat. You have to make your own decisions. All I can say is that I won’t abandon you.”

Krystal’s smile grew as she tilted her chin upwards to place a kiss on the corner of the young Marine’s lips. “Thank you.” She smirked at her companion. “However, I think we might be in need of cleaning up.” She reached out to his cheek, idly tracing the trail of dried blood. “That and we should find something for the inevitable headaches we will have from our recent activities.”

The young Cerinian stood up, balancing on slightly unsteady feet. Her gaze fell upon her human lover once more, a mischievous smile springing to her lips as she took the few steps towards the door which led to the well-stocked private bath. Her deft fingers made short work of the sash tied around her nightgown, which ended up as a silken pool around her ankles. “Join me?”

Brian’s eyes widened in response to the vixen’s bold invitation. He took a deep breath, rising to his feet as he stepped forth to meet her.