Interspace Interlude

[Anders Nazret]

Anders stared up at the ship’s bulkhead. He had spent the last several hours in his bunk staring up at that damned bulkhead. What a sorry state his revolution was in. Every single step forward had resulted in unmitigated losses. First it had been Caustic’s capture. Then it had been his own death in Karl Jak’s bloodsport. And now? Now he had lost perhaps the only surviving golden age automaton. And for what? Arcadia’s reckoning had grown no closer. If anything he had only managed to raise their guard. Every step forward seemed to grow only more treacherous than the last. Returning to Arcadia, even a location as isolated as Rura Penthe would prove challenging if not outright impossible.

With a groan he sat up and swung his feet over the edge. This was a fatal mistake. The sudden movement caused his head to spin. He pitched forward and clutched his stomach. Even a week after Hjilda’s attack his head still felt liable to spill open at any moment. The bacta tank had managed to patch up the most serious of his wounds, but he had not spent enough time submerged to have made a full recovery. So he ached around the ship, feeling more and more like an old man with every pain-filled groan. Still, as his head settled, he forced himself to stand. Food was hard to keep down with the near-constant waves of nausea. Regardless, he knew he needed to keep his strength up, so he left his bunk and headed for the ship’s kitchenette.

“Wow, you look rough,” Demetri commented, looking up from a bowl of cereal.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Anders responded, grabbing a bowl of his own, “I feel fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Demetri nodded, “I can tell you are fine by the way you wince when you chew.”

“I’ll be fine,” Anders clarified.

“Right, well what’s the plan?” Demetri asked, “We have been floating around for about a week now without any sort of direction.”

Anders fell quiet. His companions were quite capable, frighteningly so, but after Station Elbrecht he had doubts they would be enough. Hjilda was remarkable, but she was far from uncommon. If some backwater despot could afford her as his personal guard then what sort of hardware did Arcadia have guarding its blacksite prisons? Of course any arcane measures would fall short compared to his expertise, but he was under no illusion that there weren’t beings that surpassed his physical prowess.

“This one would like to know as well,” Nightingale said, seemingly materializing from nowhere.

Anders looked back and forth between them before letting out a slow breath. He shook his head and spoke, “I have no plan. At least not a concrete one. If your informant is to be believed Rura Penthe’s security is nigh impregnable. It was a stretch to imagine success with Aquarius among our number, and now? Now, I have no hope for our success.”

“Well that’s a bit grim is it not?” Demetri was the first one to speak. He looked towards Nightingale and said, “I’m sure we’ve gotten ourselves into and out of worse situations, it’s not like this is our first jailbreak, right?”

Ra’tima answered after a moment’s consideration, “He is not wrong, but this one is inclined to agree with Nazret. Saving one’s own skin is quite different than safely escorting a prisoner.”

“So, then what? We just give up?” He looked towards Anders, “We did mention our ‘no refund policy’, didn’t we?”

This forced a smirk from the old swordmage, “You will still be paid, and you will be paid extra for the hassle. But, no, we’re not giving up. We just need to rethink our approach.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

Anders finished his cereal and stood up to put his bowl away, “As much as I am loath to admit, Rura Penthe will not be an easy target. We need more people. I have no doubt the two of you can get us in there, but when the fighting starts we’ll need some heavy hitters.”

Demetri nodded, “I might have a few people in mind.”

“As do I,” Anders said, “I propose we go our separate ways for now and reconvene once we have our proverbial ducks in a row.”

Anders felt somewhat better. A full stomach and fresh plan assuaged much of the misery he was experiencing. Even the ache in his head seemed to subside. That is until the ship’s power flickered on and off. He shared a look with his companion’s before turning towards the bridge. Something was off. The door did not automatically open upon detecting his presence and it instead stood sealed and silent. He scowled and entered a bypass code into the door’s keypad. It buzzed and the words “access denied” flashed across the keypad’s readout. He tried again with the same results.

“Crew of the Tonegawa, I have commandeered your vessel,” A disembodied voice spoke. It took him a moment to realize that her voice was not coming through the intercom system, but rather was being transmitted directly into his head. From the looks of the others he imagined they were experiencing the same thing. The mystery woman continued speaking, “I don’t intend to hurt any of you, I just need your ship. I’m going to land at the nearest space port and drop you all off, but if you try anything before then I’ll open the airlocks and vent you all into space.”

“Who are you!?” Anders cried out, pounding on the bridge’s door. When no answer came he swore under his breath and turned towards the others, “How did she get onboard?”

They both shrugged and Ra answered, her icy eyes shifting to land on Demetri, “This one imagines she is a stowaway that took her chance when they left the bridge unattended.”

Anders entered the bypass code again, “Why isn’t this working? Damnit!”

He stormed across the ship, looking impotently for a solution. He settled on Nightingale and said, “You can teleport, yes?”

“... Doesn’t he know the answer to that?” She responded cooly, glancing up towards the ship’s surveillance system as her voice lowered, “She could manage something, but when she does she will watch as he gets sucked out into space.”

Anders clenched his teeth and exhaled sharply. She was right. Even if she could reach their stowaway there was no guarantee she could take them out before the rest of the ship was vented. He leaned in close and whispered, “Then we wait until we arrive at the spaceport. There is no world where we leave this ship peacefully.”

Ra stayed stoic, acknowledging him with little more than eye contact. She stepped past him and announced, “This one needs to use the restroom.”

Without waiting for a response she left the kitchen area and made her way to the lavatory. For all of Caustic’s need to record and document he had thankfully kept the restroom free from surveillance. That loudmouthed swordmage had revealed her ace-in-the-hole, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be effective. It just meant she needed to be more discrete. She had no intention of waiting to dock at a spaceport, the last thing they needed was a repeat of Station Elbrecht. So, once out of sight she slipped into the void.

--

On the bridge Ydra sat quietly. Another bypass code was entered into the bridge door and again she denied access. His angry thoughts bled through the ship’s walls and seeped into her own awareness. It was expected. Most people were angry when she took their ship, but he had been brooding nearly nonstop for the past week. The other two were more varied in their thoughts and emotions, but he seemed content to ooze discontent. It wouldn’t matter. She adjusted their course for the nearest port and listened as the ship’s thrusters hummed to life. They weren’t far and she couldn’t wait to be alone again.

 

[Masahir N'air]

Ra'tima-dro sighed softly as she stared into the icy blue eyes of her own reflection in the bathroom mirror and pulled her long dark braids up into a manageable bun at the back of her skull. What a loud, foolish old man Anders could be when he was riled, giving away the advantageous cards held close to her chest. The khajiit shook her head and rolled those blue eyes of hers, her lithe fingers carefully tucking the ends of her braids away as her inky armor appeared on her skin in the blink of an eye. She would need to be careful and precise in this task, or else her client, and her handsome roguish lover, would be flushed out into space. The diminutive woman thought for a moment; she knew very little about 'outer-space' in this universe besides what IRIS and Demetri had explained, but she understood enough to know that a frozen and empty vacuum could not possibly be healthy for her squishy mortal workmates.

The Nightingale took in a deep and bracing breath, centering herself. Whoever was on the ship was a telepath, which meant she could not think on her plan for too long without risk. The world around her faded into desaturated purple hues as she snapped forward into the Tonegawa's cockpit, Eight-Claws at the ready as she recorporealized directly behind the pilot's seat. The graphite skinned intruder sat stoically, hardly moving as they navigated the control panels, their head covered in a round, black glossy helmet lined with neon green that concealed any humanizing features underneath. In a single swift motion Eight-Claws found it's home, the intruder going stiff as they realized that a dagger was pressed tight against their synthetic throat.

"Take one move to make this one think you are going to harm the others, and this one will make sure your neck enjoys a new breeze liberated from your head." The Nightingale threatened with a deathly hiss, pulling back on the blade and forcing the intruder's head back against the headrest of their seat should they wish to keep it attached. The assassin could feel the bobble of her mark gulping a shocked swallow down against her dagger.

"Okay..." The stowaway complied telepathically, her mental voice shaken and rather delicate with fear. "Ra'tima, right? I... I just wanted the ship. I wasn't planning to hurt anyone-"

"Get out of my head, intruder." The Nightingale pulled the blade tight against their throat in marked displeasure once more, the edge digging in and splitting the graphite lattice of the intruder's skin. Deep crimson red blood trickled from the minute cut. "So you do bleed red. Eight-Claws will make short work of your life if you do not hold your tongue, stowaway. Now open the cockpit door."

"C-cut my neck any more and I- I'll send your boyfriend D-Demetri into space!" The intruder threatened shakily, using the only leverage she could grasp at.

Ra grabbed the synth's left arm with shocking strength and pinned the limb in place against the arm of the chair to prevent the airlock systems from being touched. "Threatening this one's partner would be most unwise, android." She remarked coldly. "You would leave this one with so little left to value on this ship that it would be dangerous to your prolonged health."

The synthetic swallowed again, words fumbling from behind her reflective black helm as she lost more of her bargaining power. "H-how do I kn-know you won't just kill me after I open the door?"

"Because you are still alive to talk. The way this one sees it, you have two options," Ra growled lowly, "trust this one and open the door, or vent the others into space and die for certain. Unlike the other two, this one is not so fragile to be bothered by the cold vacuum of space, and unlike the others, this one is far less merciful in recompense. So take a gamble with those stakes before she runs out of patience for your games. This one thinks that you will find cooperation to be in your best interest, android."

"Ydra." The intruder corrected with a gulp, her voice quivering. "My name is Ydra..."

"Open the door, Ydra." The Nightingale repeated her earlier command, her voice softening just a bit even as her dagger stayed perfectly in place. "Do not make this one ask again."

The hydraulic locks on the cockpit door hissed as the pressure released.

"Good." Ra praised dryly. "Now stop the Tonegawa and get out of your seat."

The khajiiti assassin was quick to push the synth towards the door once Ydra was standing, shoving her out into the bright lights of the central bay with Eight-Claws still held to her throat. Demetri, who was casually leaned against the large round table with his arms crossed, smirked wolfishly at the sight so reminiscent of his first brush with the feline. "Ah kitten, is this always the way you greet newcomers on a ship?"

Ra cut him a glare before scoffing. "No, dullclaws. Only stowaways."

Before Demetri could fire off another quip Anders came stomping into the bay, his fair skin flushed red with his aggravation, a sharp contrast against his snowy hair. "You got them, Nightingale?" He demanded curtly, his fiery eyes raking over the offending intruder, an unmistakable intensity burning in his expression as his hands moved rapidly through the air, a whisper on his lips ending just before Ydra suddenly collapsed to the cold metal floor with a shriek as if crushed under her own weight.

Ra'tima staggered back in surprise as the intruder was wrenched from her hands and forced to the floor, blue eyes wide as Ander's temper unfurled. The firebrand continued, his shuddering breaths getting heavier and volcanic anger barely contained as he leveled a condemning finger at the crumpled Ydra, "You, vile construct, you would take everything the Heralds have left! And for what?!"

"I-... I-" Ydra struggled to articulate under the weight of the spell, even telepathically. She looked awfully pathetic laid out on the floor, like a wounded doe struggling in exhaustion to escape a hunter's snare.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Demetri interrupted, arms outstretched in a placative effort to stop Anders from murdering the poor thing. "Hold on now, no need to get violent. It's already a three-v-one, so let's calm down for a second and think about things, yeah? Look at her." He urged with a broad gesture towards the woman. "Bio-synthetic graphite skin, glowing implants, the ability to quickly commandeer space ships, and she's a telepath? None of that tech comes cheap out here. She's proprietary technology, and someone somewhere is missing her... Which means she could be more useful to us alive than not."

Anders seemed to pause at that line of thought, slackening the spell just enough for the synth to breath a bit easier, but not enough for her to spring to her feet or run off. The rogue knelt down, putting on his signature warm charisma and smile as he addressed their captive. "Hey there hun-"

"Ydra." Ra informed bluntly, watching with vague curiosity as he attempted to work his charm.

"Sorry about my two friends, Ydra." Demetri continued smoothly, casually brushing his bangs from his eyes. "They can be a bit aggressive when they feel threatened, you understand? Now, if you want to get off of the floor, you're gonna need to start by telling us what you are doing on our ship..."​

 

[Anders Nazret]

There was a silence that filled the room. The silence in and of itself did not irritate Anders, rather it was Ydra’s distinct lack of expression. Though the gravity curse kept her body pinned at an obviously uncomfortable angle he couldn’t tell if she even cared. If what Demetri said regarding the quality of her implants was true it would have been a trivial thing for her pain receptors to be dulled or even completely disabled in times of duress. It wasn’t that he wanted her to necessarily suffer, despite his rage towards her. No, he wasn’t that sadistic. Instead his desire to cause her pain came from a more pragmatic train of thought. While his expertise laid squarely in the realm of the arcane, psionics were a magic-adjacent discipline. He knew that even the most talented psykers struggled to focus their powers while in the throes of agony.

“You’re frightened of me,” Ydra broadcasted for all to hear. Though her gloss-black mask had no facial features it was plain to all that she was looking at Anders when she spoke. Ra and Demetri shared a look before turning towards Anders.

Anders snarled, “I’m frightened of no one, least of all by a mind-reading rat.”

The khajiiti woman’s piercing gaze raked Anders up and down in a clear look of doubt, her arms crossing over her chest as she raised an eyebrow. She glanced to Demetri and rolled her eyes to demarcate her disbelief.

Anders shot her a glare before his ferocity fell back squarely onto Ydra. Magic was largely predictable. Incantations and somatic gestures were not the random articulations they might appear to be to ignorant observers. Yes there was an art to weaving magic, but even the artistic flair inserted by magicians was nothing more than a dressing up of the underpinning mathematical axioms. Psionics were a completely different ball of wax and one that was much more difficult to predict. There were no verbal invocation to interrupt nor esoteric hand signs. All a psychic needed was their own thoughts and that made them all the more difficult to control.

“I don’t have time for this,” Anders growled, “Answer the question or roll over and accept your death, I care little which you choose.”

“I would do what he says,” Demetri said to Ydra, “between you and me, his patience is about as thin as his temper.”

“Right...” Ydra responded, the mental projection of her voice uncertain and unsteady. She continued to transmit her voice, “I’m… being chased. I ended up on Station Elbrecht and needed a ship. Yours just happened to be the first one I found that wasn’t a hunk of junk.”

“Chased?” Demetri repeated, “I checked the bounty listings this morning and did not see you on there, darling.”

“You wouldn’t,” She answered, “They don’t want anyone else to get a hold of me, let alone know that I even exist.”

“Well then,” Demetri raised his eyebrow and shot Anders an I-told-you-so look, “then you must be quite valuable, Ydra. Now, who are ‘They’?”

“I… I don’t know,” Ydra responded.

“Bah,” Anders grunted, waving a dismissive hand towards her, “Given chance after chance she chooses to be evasive, I’ve--”

“No!” Ydra exclaimed, no doubt skimming Anders’s intention, “I’m telling the truth! They kept me in the dark. They carried no insignias and the only ones that ever interacted with me kept their minds well-shielded. Their station isn’t even listed on any starmaps, they’re basically a black hole.”

“Ahh,” Demetri cooed, clearly enjoying the excitement her arrival brought, “So you’re some military’s pet project, then.”

“How can he be so certain?” Ra interjected.

“It’s obvious, is it not?” Demetri answered, “Who besides a world government could afford to have a deep space R&D black site? Syntech, maybe, but regardless, this whole thing smacks of experimental military research.”

“This one has known wealthy despots and affluent nobility to charm themselves with secret pet projects, as well.” The khajiit remarked flatly.

Demetri shrugged, turning his steely eyes back onto their captive. “Seems like your back is up against a wall, Ydra. We’ve got little room aboard this ship for deadweights and stowaways, but you can’t go back... So this is where you negotiate how to survive. Why don’t you tell us about those abilities of yours, hm?”

Anders scowled as Ydra relayed her capabilities. It was an impressive, but specialized array. Commandeering most vessels with little more than a thought would be quite useful. Her ability to glean surface thoughts was troublesome however. A mind was not something meant to be probed into. It was meant to be a guarded fortress against all those but its owner. Psionics perverted that notion. They trampled upon the sacredness of inner thoughts. Still, he would be a liar if he didn’t admit there was some utility in such a skill - as reprehensible as it was. She finished her presentation and Demetri looked towards him with that specific brand of incorrigibility that Anders had come to know him for.

“Well, Captain, it seems like you have found quite a catch,” Demetri said, “Doubly so when you consider the general quality of stowaways.”

Anders grumbled and exhaled slowly and deliberately. His magics still suffused Ydra’s being, keeping her pinned to the floor. Without a word to his companions he stepped forward and crouched down in front of her. He stared at his own reflection in her glossy helmet. Drawn so far from his original purpose and yet still clawing desperately back. Allying with thieves and psykers and sociopathic scientists. Blazing a trail of bitter death across the cosmos in his stubborn pursuit. Arcadia would burn, and that much he was certain. The question then became, how much of himself would burn along with it? He scowled. As much as it would take.

“Very well, you will find a place amongst the Heralds.” He said, standing up and turning his back on Ydra. With a sharp gesture he released the gravity curse and she managed to peel herself up from the bulkhead. He glanced over his shoulder, “In return for your expertise we will provide sanctuary against whatever Damoclean sword hangs over your neck. But, make no mistake, were it not for the intervention of these two I would have ended your life - do not make me regret the staying of my wrath.”

Without waiting for a response Anders returned to his quarters.