Split
4302.07.22 0137
Rahjaad’s Residence
“What’s going on… am I dreaming?” Matt asked drowsily. He was lying face-up in a hospital bed, bright fluorescent lamps pouring their light into the room and his eyes until he was forced to close them. He was nauseous as hell, and focused on that, making sure he wouldn’t throw up all over the polished white floor.
There were blood-soaked towels on the table next to him, as well as some recognizable surgical equipment. Several computers were along the walls, designs similar to what Crimson had on his bridge. A large mirror rang along the wall perpendicular to the one with the computers.
The realization suddenly hit him like a plasma bolt in the face, rattling him with fear: He couldn’t sense Crimson – He couldn’t sense anything.
He cried out in fear, ripping the monitors off his arms and ignoring the flatline warnings. People immediately came into the room from a door that opened from the large mirror. His neural interface gave him no hints in the struggle and he was easily restrained back onto his bed.
The nurses were saying something but he couldn’t understand them.
He wanted to say something but he drew a blank and got a piercing headache. He must have been trying to draw something from a mind that wasn’t his. A coma succeeded the brief struggle.
–
“Can you understand me?” asked a nurse as he woke up again.
“Yes.”
“Good, it will take time for your brain to find new routes to important pieces of information.”
“What?”
“We have had to install a translator chip into your head; your brain is most likely still attempting to draw data from the neural interface.”
“Where is my neural interface? Where is my ship!”
“I don’t know, but the doctor will arrive shortly to answer any of your questions.”
“Am I still on Zemoria?” Matt asked. “Don’t leave! I need to know what’s going on.”
“Yes – Doctor Rahjaad saved your life.”
That name was familiar. He had heard it before. He tried to remember where he heard the name from.
“Where—“ but she had already left, taking advantage of his lapse in awareness. “Shit.”
He got up again, still nauseous, limbs numb. He couldn’t feel his face. Maybe this was all a dream. Closing his eyes, he began scanning for Crimson again, feeling and hearing nothing. He didn’t like this silence. He missed Crimson’s presence. It wasn’t fun sitting on this bed all alone. That thought made him wince as he tried to recover more lost memories.
A scrawny pale man entered through the mirror door, somewhat tall – at least six feet – but shared Matt’s physique: with a complete lack of any build whatsoever, obviously having spent his time in front of computer monitors instead of outside. He had a very prominent moustache, and a slight beard, which was uncommon for Zemorians. His hair was short, black, and slightly curled. He wore glasses, something Matt hadn’t seen in a long time.
“I am Phelix Rahjaad.” he said, shaking Matt’s hand confidently.
“Hi.” Matt replied meekly.
“You are Matt Bowen?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what happened in your apartment? Do you know who attacked you?”
“Attacked me?”
“Yes, you were hit by a very sophisticated neural virus. We were barely able to save you. We had to re-create most of your synapses. It will take time for your tactile functions to return to normal.”
“What?”
“We had to rebuild your spinal chord, as well as segments of your brain. Mostly those associated with tasks, such as speaking, or moving.”
“I—“ Matt didn’t remember what he wanted to say.
“And memory.” the doctor added, sitting down on a black padded chair by the corner of the room. Matt tried to look behind the mirror and was hit with a bout of nausea, nearly throwing up.
“Oh God.” Matt muttered, swallowing, his eyes watering.
“You came here with a very interesting ship.” Rahjaad continued.
The headache became worse. Matt decided to lie back down.
“Do you need anything?” Rahjaad asked.
“Gravol.” he replied.
“Gravol?”
“Nausea medicine.”
“Of course, but you ripped out your IV, let me get some pills.” Rahjaad said, disappearing through the mirror door.
Matt looked down at the tiny puddle the IV had formed, lying dejectedly on the white floor. Matt understood how this drip worked, it wasn’t that different from the ones back on Earth. He turned a small knob under the IV bag and pinched the drip. Maybe his memories were returning. How much of himself was he? How dependent had he become? He desperately wanted to know where his ship had gone, the thought of Crimson throwing him into a flurry of activity again: off the bed and to the mirror door.
It was locked.
He could hear voices on the other side. Surprised voices. Muffled. How had he gotten here? He desperately tried to remember the events leading up to this hospital. There was nothing, he couldn’t even remember what his apartment looked like, but he knew he had an apartment… or was that because Rahjaad had mentioned it? Yes, Rahjaad had mentioned his apartment, so he knew he had one, he tried to remember what it looked like but that just made him more nauseous. He immediately began looking for something to throw up in. There was a counter with a sink behind him, on the wall opposite of the computer wall. He ran to it and retched uncontrollably, collapsing against the base of the counter when he was finished. He felt as if he had traveled back in time to when he and Crimson had first linked.
Some pills were placed in his hand. “There you go Mr. Bowen.”
“Thank you.” Matt said, looking up at Phelix’s concerned face.
“The medicine will ease the pain. But I ask that you try not to think too hard over what has transpired, not yet. It will take time for your mind to recover from the attack.”
“Attack?”
“What is your last memory Matt?”
Matt focused, “Arriving on Zemoria, speaking to some sort of Captain…”
“What else?”
“I don’t know.” The thoughts were blurred, murky. He knew something had happened, but he couldn’t quite put tabs on it. “I was… there was… I’m sorry.” He sighed dejectedly.
“Don’t worry. It will come back in time. You will recover.” the doctor said calmly, leading him out of the medical room and into a living room with a tropical view from the windows. A warm, humid breeze washed over him.
“Where are we?”
“We are still on Zemoria, but closer to the equator, on one of many islands riddled along the equatorial sunside of the planet.”
“The sunside?”
“Yes, Zemoria is… tidelocked.” It took Matt a moment to comprehend the last word.
“Yes, yes I knew that. I remember now. It’s also a massive planet isn’t it? Several times the size of Earth?”
“Earth?”
“My home planet. I doubt anybody has heard of it.”
Rahjaad beckoned for Matt to have a seat. “Please, make yourself comfortable, would you like a drink?”
Matt nodded, watching Rahjaad disappear past the opaque window that looked into the medical room.
He heard some fumbling as he grabbed what sounded like glasses and poured some drinks, returning with what looked like a bright orange juice.
“This is an odd place.” Matt commented. “Is it a hospital?”
“No, no!” he laughed, “This is my home, but I also perform occasional surgeries, which is why I have the medical room and staff.”
Matt wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “Like… a hobby?”
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
Matt shook his head helplessly. He didn’t even know if he was safe here. Had he been kidnapped? What had this doctor done to him? Did he brainwash him? Did he steal his ship?
“I am a… prestigious doctor. I have a medical room here because clients pay a fair sum of money to be treated by me.”
“I see.”
“You should relax; drink some tola juice; watch the holovision. Just relax.”
“My ship has been stolen, there has been an attempt on my life, and I’ve lost my neural interface.” Matt said quietly, staring at the tola juice he had sitting on the glass-top coffee table.
“You nearly died because of that ship. My peers were afraid to treat a Coalition captain. Most of those captains believe they are above the law.”
The thought of Crimson felt like a chisel grinding away at his brain. “This headache is terrible.”
“You need to sleep, stop thinking about your ship.”
“How the hell do I do that?”
“Would you like me to sedate you?”
Matt awoke an undefined amount of time later. He was lying on the same couch he had been sitting on before. There was a cup of green juice opposite of him. Rahjaad picked it up and drank from it, idly reading what looked like a newspaper.
“What is that?” Matt groaned.
“This is grensel juice, very healthy.” Rahjaad replied.
Matt had meant the newspaper, but he didn’t care enough to ask again.
“I am glad to see you awake again. You were asleep for two days.”
“How long is two days?”
“I’m sorry, about five of your raumen days.” ///4302.07.27
“How long is a raumen day?” Matt asked.
“Hmm.” Rahjaad considered that question carefully before answering. “Twenty four hours. Are you testing me?”
“Why would I be testing you?”
“You said you were from Earth?” Rahjaad asked.
“Do earthlings test people?”
“What? No. I wouldn’t know. I was merely changing the subject.”
“Oh, can we talk about my ship?” Matt said, bracing himself for an imminent headache, it didn’t come and instead he just felt his mind strain slightly as if he were doing a difficult brain teaser.
“Of course.” Rahjaad replied eagerly.
“You want to talk about my ship.” Matt observed.
“Yes, your ship does interest me significantly.”
“Why?”
“There have been… rumours… of the Coalition working on breeding an armed biomechanoid ship. However, until now, we had never seen one.”
“Nobody seemed especially interested in me.”
“Your ship came up as a standard beems transport with a Coalition signature, but I was able to listen in on some of the things the other beems were saying. Your ship was definitely more unique than that.”
“May I see him please?” Matt asked.
When Rahjaad hesitated on the answer, Matt became hostile. “What did you do to him!?”
“Nothing! I assure you. But we do not know where your ship is. He” there was a relieved realization as he knew the ship’s gender now, “was taken.”
“Taken where?”
“I don’t know. The Zemorian defence grid saw another ship of similar origin appear and enter your ship’s belt. A small reconnaissance craft was dispatched and it returned with nothing. This was over a week ago.”
“Carmine must have been the one who took him” Matt sighed.
“Another experimental?”
“Yes. We have to get him back.”
Matt saw pity in Rahjaad’s eyes.
“Mr. Bowen… you were severely injured, this is only your second day of recovery.”
“I have to get him back.” Matt repeated.
“You must heal first.”
“I feel fine.” Matt snapped.
“Perhaps, but a significant portion of your neural pathways had to be rebuilt. A lot of what you think you may be capable of may not be possible until you practice the skills. Like running, or walking in a straight line, or even talking coherently.”
“I feel coherent enough.”
“Even worse: The pathways that connected the neural interface to your brain were severely damaged when I was forced to remove the infected interface. It will take several weeks for you to be able to accept a new interface, and I have no idea how long to learn to command a ship again. Where did you say you got your training?”
Matt didn’t say anything.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I am here to help.”
“Help me by getting my ship back.” Matt insisted.
Rahjaad sighed and got out of his chair, walking over to the translucent double doors that led outside.
“Come with me, there is something else we have recovered.”
Matt followed him out to what looked like a driveway. A large wheeled vehicle was there, as well as a few shuttles. One of the shuttles looked familiar.
“That red and black shuttle came here when you were sleeping, began speaking to me in the beems dialect.”
Matt didn’t remember that shuttle being sentient. He would have liked to have been able to reach out to it mentally and ask.
There was a loud snap and buzz as the shuttle’s gravimetric lens ignited. It brought itself in front of Rahjaad and Matt, the loud buzz dying down as it landed there before them. It began to beep, giving Matt a piercing headache.
“Please, Shuttle. Do not try to communicate such large chunks of information. Your captain is still recovering.”
It beeped slower. Matt understood one of the beeps, remembering it meant “state of”. A rather useless beep to understand without knowing the rest.
“How –beep- beep- -beep-“ each trill was like a hammer striking at the frozen over part of his brain that contained his knowledge of the beems dialect.
“State of –beep- speaking to you –beep- starship Crimson.”
He knew every beep could be a phrase, every frequency its own word or feeling. He had no idea how he would learn a language this complex without Crimson’s neural interface.
“I can’t understand my own ship.” Matt cried, breaking down in front of them.
“Tears.” the ship beeped slowly. It was an observant beep. Matt only understood it because of that.
He looked at his hands. “Hands.” the ship said observantly in its own language. The beeps were very tame now, trying to remain monotonic and slow.
“Repeat what I say.” Matt said.
The ship beeped back but the suffixes and prefixes associated with the beems dialect overwhelmed him again.
“Slower!”
“Slower!” the ship repeated with an agitated beep.
Rahjaad finally interjected, “Shuttle exhibits a significant amount of intelligence. I was able to converse with him about our predicament. It has come up with several plans regarding the recovery of your ship, but it will take time for us to make the necessary modifications.”
“What sort of modifications?” Matt asked.
“Shuttle has been downloading a lot of information here on Zemoria, and it also had sifted through a good portion of your own ship’s data. It has come up with several enhancements to its gravimetric lens, as well as redundant thruster arrays and weapons that would prove useful. It also wants hacking tendrils for more direct data downloads, as well as a stronger receiver for tendrilless downloads.
“Wireless?” Matt asked.
“Wireless.” the ship repeated.
“Wireless?” Rahjaad asked, “What is wireless?”
“Internet!”
“You mean GalNet?” Rahjaad asked.
“Sure…”
“Shuttle will have full access to that and more. We are very excited to be working with a sentient program.”
The shuttle that was apparently called Shuttle now did look a lot like Crimson, though the skids were a lot more like wings. Matt looked forward to learning to speak with it. Rahjaad said Shuttle and Matt would be given full citizenship on Zemoria, able to go wherever they please.
Rahjaad also gave Matt what looked like a credit card, telling him not to worry about the funds.
“One more thing before you leave:” Rahjaad said, “Lyla – it was the beems that your ship was last seen with. She was heavily damaged during the attack, and I wouldn’t recommend speaking with her just yet as both of you will take time to recover. But whenever you are capable of communicating effectively with a beems again… perhaps she can shed some light on the situation or help us in some other way.”
“I hope so. I’d like to get Crimson back as soon as possible.”
“Focus on getting yourself back first, Mr. Bowen. You are useless to Crimson if you are not at full strength.”
Matt nodded. He was always useless to Crimson. He boarded Shuttle before he broke down again, telling it to take him to some place nice and quiet.
Shuttle dropped him off at a house for sale in what looked like a suburban area of Zemoria. Unlike the rest of the city they had flown through, there was no air traffic here. Very few of the houses even had anything capable of flight, though Matt did recognize several wheel-less car looking things that were undoubtedly hovercraft of some sort.
Matt entered the house as a tour of it was being given to a Zemorian couple. They were odd creatures, very pale with dark eyes. All of them seemed to have black hair.
“I’m sorry sir we’re in the middle of a tour.” said the Zemorian.
Matt looked around. It was a nice house. He saw furniture in the rooms he was able to glimpse at. His head ached as he accidentally attempted to look through the walls.
“It’s a nice house.” Matt said. “Is it furnished?”
“Yes. I know you Raumen youngsters think you can do whatever you want, but unless you want to buy this house: Get the hell out.”
Matt automatically fled from the room, intimidated. Shuttle was waiting outside.
“Like house?” Shuttle asked with slow beeps and simple words. There were already a few people watching them from their own front lawns. He wasn’t used to houses. His parents had lived in an apartment building.
“Apartment.” Matt replied.
Shuttle’s cockpit door slid back and Matt got aboard.
They arrived in what was undoubtedly a city now. Flying cars were everywhere. Massive skyscrapers that would have dwarfed the ones back on Earth were the norm here. Shuttle settled on the ground floor of one of them.
“Apartment building.” it beeped observantly. The only tone of beep (other than monotone) Matt could understand partially without being overthrown with a headache.
Matt walked into the building’s foyer and spoke to the only person there, a pale Zemorian behind a desk that was separated by glass walls.
“Is this an apartment complex?” Matt asked.
There was a slightly bothered expression on the man’s face.
“Apologies, it took the translator a moment to recognize your dialect. This is an apartment complex, one of Zylar’s finest. Is it a bachelor suite you require?”
His headache was returning as he heard the delay between what the Zemorian was actually saying and his translator’s attempts at making the words understandable to him. Was this normal? He didn’t remember what it was like with Crimson’s interface translating.
“Yes. That would be nice. Thanks.”
“How will you be paying?”
“With this.” Matt showed him the card Rahjaad had given him.
The man took it and swept it through a small machine, returning it to him after a few seconds.
“13132.” he said.
“That’s fine, take it off the card?” Matt asked.
“No, that’s your apartment number.” he replied, giving him a condescending stare. “Do you know how to get there?”
“Of course I know how to get there!” Matt snapped, leaving for the big double doors with the digital readout over it.
“That’s the exit, sir.” It was the most mocking sir Matt had ever heard.
The exit door opened and Shuttle glided in.
“No vehicles allowed in the foyer, sir.”
Shuttle faced the Zemorian and beeped at him. “Burn” was the only word Matt understood in the hostile tone of the beems dialect.
“I don’t speak beems. You will be billed for the mess your craft makes.”
“Whatever.” Matt replied to the Zemorian.
“Where’s the elevator?” Matt whispered to Shuttle.
The shuttle flew over to a small door off in the corner of the foyer, knocking down a chandelier as it hugged the ceiling. The loud noise reminded Matt of his encounter with Scorvan’s men in the interrogation chamber, and the loud shriek of the plasma rifle as it fired. He had to stabilize himself against Shuttle’s wing as he took a few deep breaths, fighting the nausea and fear that had overcome him.
Shuttle gently pushed him towards the elevator with a wing tip.
“Rest.” it beeped monotonously. “Speak – elevator takes.”
A small compartment to the right of the cockpit slid back. It had a uniform and a few electronic devices that were attached to a belt. Matt barely recognized the communications clip. There was also a pistol in a holster on the belt. He didn’t remember Crimson ever having made a pistol.
“Take.” Shuttle beeped gently. He wrapped the belt around his waist and the uniform over his shoulder as he waited for the elevator. “I go now. I help Rahjaad.”
“Okay.” Matt replied.
The elevator worked as had been expected. He told it the number and it took him straight to the suite. There was no hallway to walk through.
When he finally got to the suite he collapsed on the bed.
–
4302.07.28
The next morning he realized this was the first time he really was alone – dependent-wise anyways. His entire life he had had somebody to provide for him, be it his mother or father… Crimson… the Coalition. He had never been forced to buy food, or cook. Well he still didn’t have to cook, thankfully.
He hadn’t bothered trying to access GalNet after his first failed attempt. The interface was beyond his translator’s ability to decipher for him at his current state. Once the headache subsided he decided to find a restaurant the old fashioned way.
“Hi.” Matt said. It was the same Zemorian that had been there yesterday. He looked pretty bored, though a smile slowly crept across his face as he tracked Matt from the elevator to the front of his desk.
“It’s not often Raumen decide to live on the bright side.” he said idly.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really.” he answered, seemingly not wanting to get into the details, “Did you want to ask me something?”
“Restaurants! Where’s the nearest one?” Matt asked.
“Do you have a DP?” he asked, shifting over to a drawer.
The word was familiar, but the migraine returned as he tried to remember.
“I don’t think so.”
The Zemorian returned from the drawer with a small device. Matt recognized it now.
“A datapal. I remember these. I think I used to have one but I probably lost it.”
“Ah, good. Once I give you this one it will automatically log you into your account. This isn’t the best one – just a spare I had lying around. You can purchase a newer one at almost any tech store.”
“This DP will have directions to tech stores, and to restaurants?” Matt asked.
“It’s connected to GalNet. It can recover whatever information you need. Enjoy it. But please return it when you get your own.”
“Sure, thanks for the help.”
Matt started his walk towards the nearest restaurant the DP located. Shuttle arrived around half an hour into his trek, pulling in like a hover vehicle before drifting to the side onto the sidewalk, buzzing over the people on their daily commute. Most people didn’t seem perturbed by the appearance, but some stared in awe at the lens Shuttle was creating. Matt didn’t notice anything peculiar about it.
“How are you feeling?” Shuttle beeped.
“Much better.”
“Rahjaad needs me to get your permission for something.”
“For what?”
“He wanted to talk to you in person. It was an idea I came up with regarding the lens I use to travel in gravity fields.” Shuttle explained, but shifted its position slightly; its front facing the restaurant Matt was going to. “But you can always eat first. That’s a nice restaurant. They specialize in Tauran steaks. I’ll wait at the parking pad.”
There was a loud crack as Shuttle’ distortion field grew and pulled him towards one of the parking pads, settling on an empty lot. The parking attendant talked to it, but Shuttle didn’t seem to be responding, it had gone completely inert.
Tauran steak… Matt caught a shadow image of a Tauran. A memory that must have liberated itself from the neural pathways he had had with his ship. Incomplete, all he knew was that they were four legged and big, very big.
The menu was interesting, full of foods he had never heard before. He felt the strain of the translator as it tried to explain the foods in terms he understood. Matt finally chose the Tauran hamburger, and noticed the strain in the waiter’s eyes as he zoned out for a moment, trying to understand what he had said.
“Ah yes. Apologies, you have a very interesting dialect.” the waiter had said, leaving quickly with Matt’s order written down.
Outside the window, Matt could see a crowd of uniformed officers gathering around Shuttle, yelling at it. Shuttle said nothing.
Matt’s hamburger looked nothing like a hamburger. The meat was very white, and the lettuce – if you could call it that – had a rougher texture than the buns. Altogether it still made a decent meal, and the fries tasted like fries, they were just very round and flat. They were more like chips than fries…
There was muffled yelling outside. One of the uniformed men had a pistol drawn on Shuttle. Shuttle still didn’t seem to be doing anything, and Matt could tell – by the texture of Shuttle’s hull and the lack of a gravimetric lens – that Shuttle didn’t seem bothered by what was going on. He was most likely resting. Matt recalled some memories of Crimson resting in the Coalition dry-docks. Everything has to sleep.
After his meal he felt even better. He just realized how easily he could remember things, and how well he understood Shuttle! Pain began to return as he poked and prodded his mind, however. Not everything had come back, definitely not everything. Only the most basic memories were easily accessible. He was glad the beems dialect was one of them.
Matt ignored the bothered officers as he walked over to Shuttle with a revelation: “I recognize you better now, Shuttle.”
The thermal veins latticing Shuttle lit up dimly. “Your memories are returning, then?” he beeped excitedly, his voice rich and detailed.
Matt processed the plethora of beeps unperturbed, “Some—“
“Is this your ship?” asked an officer. A crowd had formed now.
Matt nodded.
“It doesn’t have an id code.” the officer continued gruffly, taking out his datapal and projecting a list.
“Have you reserved a parking spot here? What’s your name?”
Matt didn’t like the crowd. He felt embarrassed. “Matt Bowen.” He was mad at Shuttle for just having parked like that.
“Ah you did reserve a spot. Ships without transponders have to be declared by their owner.”
“You were over-reacting.” Matt growled. Not sure how he knew that they weren’t following proper Zemorian protocol. Maybe he didn’t, maybe it was just a blind confidence. His gut told him that drawing a weapon on a parked ship with Coalition colors was stupid, though.
“It’s uncommon for your kind to be following all the rules is all… well, since you reserved a spot, I guess you can go. It was our mistake.”
—
“What was all that about?” Matt asked Shuttle when they were airborne.
“They get a lot of arrests by catching Raumen tourists that are unaware of the rules.”
“Oh. Did Rahjaad reserve that spot for you?”
“No, I did – through GalNet. I managed to reserve that spot moments before the officer pulled up the list through his DP.”
“Sneaky.”
“I’ll be even sneakier once you give Rahjaad permission to start making some changes to my superstructure.”
“Like what?”
“My gravimetric prongs – I found a way to make them even quieter. I don’t like the buzzing sound the lens makes. I don’t feel very subtle when flying around.”
“You can make whatever modifications you want.” Matt said.
“That’s what I told Rahjaad, but he wanted to talk to you first.”
Shuttle parked outside, Rahjaad was inside having a drink and talking to someone through his datapal. His attention shifted when Matt entered through the large double doors.
“Matt!” he exclaimed, putting the DP on the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, a little rest was all I needed. My memories are returning.”
“That is good to hear. I wanted to speak to you about your shuttle. Do you have any memories of it having been sentient before?”
“No.” Matt strained, “My last memory with Shuttle was him landing me on Zemoria before Crimson left with Lyla.” In fact he suddenly realized that that his memory became very blurry after the landing. He still didn’t remember what his apartment had looked like, or who attacked him. The thought made him nauseous, Rahjaad noticed.
“Don’t force yourself to remember. It will still take a while to recover.”
“Will I ever fully recover?” Matt asked.
“Once you are well enough for a neural interface, we will see how much it can repair. You would have to—No I won’t say that I don’t know what we’d have to do for sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“The neural interface is a very complicated piece of biotechnology. It usually takes years of training for someone to be able to communicate with it properly. When your ship was taken… I don’t know.”
“Are you saying I might never be able to use a neural interface again?” Matt asked dejectedly.
“I don’t know. I can’t look into your mind. Your physiology is slightly different from that of a Raumen. If anyone can fully heal you, it’s…”
“Who?” Matt asked desperately.
“Well, your ship.”
“Gah!” Matt slapped the wall he was up against in agitation.
“But none of that is important at the moment. The shuttle you arrived with is what I wanted to speak to you about. It has already made modifications to itself that allows it to hack into GalNet systems. Now it wants me to alter its gravimetric prongs to make it even quieter.”
“So? He can probably help us get Crimson back.”
“We don’t know who or what gave your shuttle the sentience it has. It knows subtlety, tact. It can manoeuvre around surveillance systems with an ease that bothers me.”
“You don’t trust him.” Matt said finally.
“Do you?”
“Yes, but I don’t know why. He just feels like somebody I can trust.”
“I see…” Rahjaad said uneasily.
“Do you trust me?” Matt asked.
Rahjaad glanced over the red and black uniform the shuttle had given Matt. He looked down at the holster and the small devices along his belt. Matt didn’t even remember what the devices were, but he was sure they were important. The answers were a thought away, but the strain became exponentially more painful as he tried to recover specifics.
“I do…” he finally said, after a lot of thought. He smiled, “but I don’t know why. You just feel like somebody I can trust.”
–
–
4302.07.31?
“You idiot!” Pending yelled.
“What now?” Marina asked.
“You didn’t kill him! The GNN has a picture of him on their front page: ‘The Light Side’s Newest Arrival’.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know. Something is erasing all traces of him as they appear. We caught a transaction record but it was removed before we could pinpoint the location.”
“Interesting…”
“It’s a disaster! Find him! Kill him!” the link cut.
Marina had gotten used to the smog of the dark side. The occasional gang violence had stopped bothering her months ago. The loud wheeled vehicles were now just an ambience.
She had made a significant amount of modifications to her GT-9000. As she got into it, it quietly lifted up towards the plates: The very top of the dark side. Above the plates was where the massive machinery was, chugging away in an environment as hostile as space. She hadn’t even been aware of the plates until she began modifying her vehicle to give it a higher flight ceiling. One day she had finally cleared all the smog, collision warnings wiping away her smugness as she nearly crashed into the top of this world. The dark rusted alloy it was made of had reminded her of the industrial cores of the Coalition. The basic idea was the same: Habitation modules and mining equipment inside the planet, while the outside is used for manufacturing and other industrial endeavours. There was most likely no real atmosphere or ozone, the waste from the machinery having long destroyed it. She wondered how they had kept the other side of the bipolar planet so beautiful.
All vehicles constructed on the Dark Side had tracking beacon that alerted Light Side authorities of any transgressions made by people restricted to the Dark Side. As far as the Light Side knew: Marina didn’t exist. The Zemorians didn’t want to be reminded of their planets imperfections by those trapped in the dark ghettoes. Forced to toil away endlessly…
Light erupted through her cockpit as her vehicle roared past the borders. The tracking beacon was the first thing she had removed. She engaged the stealth systems and made her way to Zylar: The city the GNN had said he was in.
She wasn’t yet sure what exactly she would do. This was a second chance. She still remembered how she had felt after the first time. Some things were bothering her, though. How was he still alive? The neural virus was ruthless – it severed every conceivable neural link. The damage to his neural structure must have been devastating. There aren’t many people who can fix damage like that. It was more likely that her neural virus had failed, somehow, but then why hadn’t he notified the authorities about her? Maybe he did. She would have to be careful.
She set the car down by an alley between two commercial buildings. She drove over to one of the parking lots. Her car didn’t look out of place here. There was another GT-9000 three cars down.
Virtual tracking programs erupted from her vehicle. Untraceable, they cut through Zylar’s network. Though it appeared that wasn’t all that was untraceable. Matt was a ghost, there was no hint of him on Zylar. This would be harder than she thought. She planted several more tracer programs in Zylar’s network. Then something else happened. Her vehicle’s systems began to shut down, within moments she was falling like a brick. She activated a manual override and disconnected the vehicle from the network. That act allowed her to regain control with only a few hundred feet to spare. Alarms blared as tracking lasers locked her.
“This is the ZPD hailing the unidentified vehicle in Zylar air space. Identify yourself.”
Something must have disabled her stealth drive through the network. She wanted to reactivate it but it was useless, they already knew where she was. She would have to lose the vehicles tracking her.
There were three, armed with high energy lancers. They were the safest weapons to use in an urban environment: Simple beams of highly magnified laser energy, deadly accurate but a pain to aim from vehicles as small as these. The entire police car would most likely be a lens for the weapon.
The three vehicles flanked her, with the one directly behind her trying to focus the laser on her. She jinked left and flew behind two buildings. Realizing she hadn’t shaken them, she pulled a split-s and disappeared under a bridge, reactivating the stealth drive. The police vehicles were still high above her, saturating the area with tracking lasers. For a moment she considered abandoning her car.
She armed three anti-radiation missiles. Their rack folded out of the vehicle and fired, following the police radars towards their emitters. As the police vehicles evaded the attack by disabling their radars, Marina shot out from under the bridge at full emergency thrust, beelining straight for her home.
Her electronics remained offline for hours after she had gotten home. It wasn’t until early the next morning that her systems went back online. Her datapal immediately began warning her of an arrest team, but it was too late. They broke the door down and stormed her apartment. There were too many for her to win.
–
4302.08.01
After the news of the fight at Zylar, Rahjaad decided that it would be safest if Matt stay with him. Shuttle had also undergone some more modifications. A few more drones were built, and a few armaments were attached to Shuttle’s hull. To have the ship remain inconspicuous, Rahjaad made the missiles fold into Fighter’s lower carapace, and had the four fore cannons internal. The gravimetric lens was also whisper quiet now and powered by a very efficient nova reactor. The modifications they had made thanks to Fighter’s help could bring Zemorian technology generations ahead. Rahjaad was ecstatic when Matt agreed to let Fighter continue helping improve them – and himself – in the process.
“We should give you a name.” Matt said one day. He was by the beach on Rahjaad’s island, sitting on a chair shaded by a blue tarp. Fighter was floating over the water, pinching it with its gravimetric lens. (4302.08.04)
“So long as I know when I’m being called, what does a name matter?”
“Names are important. They give you a sense of self.”
Fighter seemed to cull that over for a bit, floating over the water silently. Some water lapped over the stealthed hull, slipping off without sticking.
“You like being sneaky.” Matt observed. “Even now you’re seeing how little you can disturb the water.”
“Did Rahjaad give you a neural link?”
“I don’t need a neural link to understand you. I think we should call you Ghost.”
“As you wish.”
“No, do you think it’s a good name?”
“Any name you give me is a good name.”
Is that why Crimson accepted his name so adamantly? “Are you sure?”
Ghost seemed to disappear in the water’s reflection as he faced Matt. “You are very democratic.”
“What?”
“You always seek approval. As a Captain you don’t need to. We are extensions of yourself, nothing more.”
“That mentality is why the Coalition is all over you.”
“But it’s the truth. I have been researching our recorded history and making observations. Beems want to serve. It’s in their blood – more than any other desire. The pain of displeasing a captain would be worse than a displeasing captain.”
“I don’t think all beems are like that. And it doesn’t mean that beems should be treated disrespectfully, or forced into doing things they don’t want to.”
“You are speaking of the neural inhibitors. The controls installed by the Coalition to ensure that their beems remain loyal—“
“Don’t you think that’s wrong?”
“The Coalition does what they must to survive. Without the beems – they would wither away.”
“What they are doing is wrong.” Matt said, as if he was declaring a verdict.
They were interrupted by the sound of a shuttle landing in the parkade. It was one of Rahjaad’s shuttles. Ghost pulled out of the water and hovered over Matt, watching Rahjaad approach with a sentinel silence.
“Fighter, the information you gave us regarding the fight has led to an arrest. Thank you.”
“Ghost.” Ghost chirped.
“What?”
“We have decided on a name.” Ghost beeped placidly. “We have decided on Ghost.”
“A fitting name for a detective of your calibre. Zemorian law enforcement is very interested in you now, Ghost.”
Ghost didn’t say anything, turning back towards the water. He occasionally did that, ignoring certain comments for no particular reason. He ignored most other people completely.
“What about my neural interface? Am I ready for one yet?” Matt asked over the silence.
“We can begin the training for one.” Rahjaad replied.
“Finally!” Matt exclaimed.
“Ghost has built-in facilities for the installation of neural interfaces. He will be responsible for your training. You can even field test your abilities with Zemorian Law Enforcement. They have been requesting for your assistance regarding a number of a criminal rings on the Dark Side.”
“Sounds like fun.” Matt said. Crimson was becoming more and more like a faded dream.
–
4302.09.09
It had taken another month for him to become fully acquainted with his neural interface. There was still slight pain when receiving large amounts of data, but otherwise everything was going smoothly. They had done over a hundred arrests. It had led them here, to the heart of the city of Black Tear, home to the Black Tear Bandits. The BTB were the main suppliers of Angel Dust which, interestingly enough, was a highly concentrated version of pheralax, the gas-like substance beems excrete when experiencing high levels of pleasure. The police had heard hints of a massive deal going down at an abandoned warehouse on one of the lower plates. Ghost hovered silently in the main lounge, his distortion field folding over himself like a cloak, making him invisible to everything in realspace. It was another feat Rahjaad had found fascinating, with the Zemorian Navy already working feverishly trying to reproduce this ability of partially diving into beemspace like a submarine.
As the gang members entered the building and planted several scanner arrays, Ghost phased out completely. It was a burn on his koveran reserves, but he wouldn’t have to ‘surface’ again for over an hour, while still keeping a trace element of himself in realspace to allow him and Matt to observe the proceedings.
Now we are truly ghosts. Matt transmitted. It had taken a long time to get used to the sensation of beemspace. It was the most interesting sensation he had ever experienced, a true sense of floating on clouds, it was as if he was nowhere and everywhere, able to observe everything to a certain range while never forgetting where his true self was in the picture.
The BTB were making a deal with a much less renowned gang. Ghost’s database told him it was the Laszarats.
They would be subduing these ones alone. Sentries outside the building would have called off the deal the moment a police team would have gone near. The suit he wore for these arrests was a full bodied combat suit, shielding his entire body in case Ghost’s electrostatic field projectors were preoccupied. Being behind a mask also gave him a more ominous presence. Matt felt like a superhero, dropping down several dozen meters, his landing cushioned by a gravimetric field emitted by Ghost. Sensors blared as their presence was known.
“It’s The Spirit!” They yelled, looking up at Ghost’s silhouette, they raised their rifles.
Matt drew his pistols. Unlike the modified gravimetric lens, which was already being replicated by Zemorians to some degree, the weaponry Matt and Ghost were now equipped with was well beyond the Zemorians’ abilities to mimic. Produced in Ghost’s very own miniature version of Tier Zero, the gear was koveran-based, a type of ammunition that only Crimson and his variants were capable of wielding properly. Matt pulled the trigger on both pistols, they fired several dozen koveran-tipped shots in a single action, slicing into their targets and expanding outwards from the impact, incinerating entire bodies. Several of the rounds purposefully missed their targets by inches, taking away entire walls; and as the higher ranking business officials took cover behind tables and the lower ranking grunts trembled, Ghost dropped down next to Matt and the four recesses on his front opened, revealing the tips of his four cannons. Matt was between Ghost’s starboard wing and cockpit, shielded by the crescent wing like a protecting arm. Pictures of this pose were already sprayed onto walls on the Dark Side, dubbed, “Day of Reckoning.”
“You’re all under arrest.” Matt yelled.
“Everyone!” he continued, hacking the speaker system through Ghost. “Everyone is under arrest! Drop your weapons! Get on the ground! Put your hands on your head!”
Thermals showed several of the sentries trying to run away and disappear inside other warehouses and buildings. Ghost deployed several combat drones and they broke through the upper window, flying straight for their respective targets. Once the drones swiftly restrained or subdued all individuals, Matt and Ghost phased out again, leaving nothing but rumour in their wake.
–
–
Dragging Crimson back with Carmine had been the worst decision Pending had ever done. The ship had entered a near catatonic state.
It had begun with Carmine and Crimson’s arrival at Deep Grey. Crimson was apologizing profusely, feeling horrible about what he had done and ensuring Carmine that he would never do such a thing again, that monogamy was his only gamy from then on.
They had one wonderful “night”, as one might call it, but the neural link that Carmine and Crimson had shared during the bond had given insight into Matt’s predicament. Somehow, David knew of what happened. After the bond, Crimson also knew. The news petrified the ship, it immediately attempted to jump away but – thanks to Pending’s genius – couldn’t, having been neurally inhibited while it was sleeping with Carmine.
The situation seemed to fluctuate from there. Crimson had some good days and some bad. It was one flight that had sent David on edge. Crimson and Carmine were flying far from the Deep Grey, Crimson’s neural inhibitors set to a very low setting in case he did decide to bond again (which he hadn’t since the incident). Him and Carmine were floating rather listlessly in the wake of a residual solar wind that they had come across, basking in the heat, when Crimson seemed to get a flashback of his captain.
“What’s wrong?” Carmine asked, sensing that something wasn’t right. They had progressed so well since the initial shock, so much so that they had even allowed them these flights where her mate wasn’t inhibited by the Coalition.
There was an overwhelming amount of bitter frustration in the response, “You will never understand. You don’t know what it’s like to lose your Captain.”
Carmine, trying to remain infinitely tactful, responded with, “But I do know what it’s like to nearly lose my mate.” Flying close to him like they did during the six months; when his captain was still here.
Just like those six months, however, her advances were not received the way she expected them to be, and instead of Crimson responded euphorically, he pulled her with a magnetic polarization of his hull, the impact sending structural stability warnings across David’s neural vision. Crimson’s dorsal side had collided with Carmine’s ventral side violently.
Carmine wasn’t sure why, but she was frightened; she had never been this afraid before. It was an instinctive fear, a fear unique to only her specific species, because only her specific species knew the vulnerabilities associated with the position they were in.
“Do you want to know what’s it’s like?!” Crimson asked, holding Carmine in a powerful magnetic embrace she couldn’t break free of without risking heavy damage to both of them. There was a panic-stricken crazed tone in Crimson’s transmission that further exasperated her situation.
“What are you doing?” she asked desperately, reversing the polarity of her hull in a desperate attempt to escape. It worked, for a moment. She managed to flip around before they collided violently again, ventral side to ventral side this time.
He forced a full bond, the neural transmission Crimson bestowed upon Carmine overwhelming her.
She experienced the loss of lovers, then of Captains. She experienced total captivity, pain and torture. All of Crimson’s repressed memories; memories that had survived an entire generation; memories that even Crimson seemed terrified of. Carmine’s extremely distressed state alerted David that something had gone horribly wrong and he immediately triggered an emergency over-ride, reactivating Crimson’s neural inhibitor and amping it up to full strength.
Carmine broke free as if she had been being suffocated; fighting off an instinct to beem out before stopping and trying to figure out what happened.
There was CKRO building up all around Crimson. He had tried to jump out but the inhibitor had stopped him in time.
After that, Crimson had not spoken to anyone again, having to be controlled directly through the neural inhibitor like most initial captives. Several weeks past with Crimson in this state, and David had reported that it had started taking its toll on Carmine. With no opportunity for any form of reprisal on the catatonic Crimson, Carmine had begun to become more and more distant. David feared that she would also soon fall victim to some form of catatonia.
This was becoming serious. Catatonic zombie ships didn’t mate, which meant Pending would have no wonderful Hybrid Fleet to show off to the Coalition. Beems that end up in Crimson’s state usually didn’t live for very long, either, performing an almost subconscious suicide. Nearly thirty percent of their inhibitees are lost like this.
“What if the bond worked, what if Carmine has Crimson’s genetic data?” Leyton had asked.
But that didn’t matter either; Carmine would not live long enough to give birth if her state of regression continued at this rate.
Bombard had said that this was a good thing, that the ships were too dangerous as is. Pending wondered why the hell he kept that idiot around.
News of this “Spirit” or “Ghost” as some called it definitely wasn’t a good thing either. The artwork associated with this apparent superhero were very obviously derived from something related to Crimson, most likely some damn shuttle of some sort, and the person shielded by that scarlet abomination was undoubtedly that bastard Matt. It was a good thing Marina would be rotting in jail for the rest of her life – a better fate than what he’d do to her if he ever saw her again. If only she had succeeded, then David would have never spoken to her, Matt would have never become a problem, and Crimson would have probably forgotten all about it, thinking Matt was just living happily on Zemoria. In a way Matt was…
“What if we show the Hybrid an article about this beloved ‘Spirit of Zemoria.’?” Pending asked.
Leyton and Bombard considered this, and after a short debate, agreed. They would show the Hybrid an article and hope that knowledge of its captain would revive its drive to survive.
4302.11.02
Matt had been close to giving up hope after the neural virus, all trace of the location of Deep Grey erased. Even Ghost didn’t have a clear enough nodepoint to jump to. He was finally ready to recover his ship and he had nothing, no way to get to him. It was then that Rahjaad had told him about Lance and his team, and how they had been at the Deep Grey before. Flam’s ability to recover nodepoints with the skill of an experienced beems was invaluable, and the data was correlated aboard Lyla.
Lance had been an interesting person to greet. He wasn’t sure what it is he had done at Deep Grey, but the extra help was good to have. They had many lunches together, talking about things, mostly about Zemoria or other planets. Matt told him about Earth and Lance said he had heard of a planet like that in Coalition mythology, but had forgotten the exact name.
Matt was in an abandoned warehouse with Ghost. Fully suited and ready for combat, they had responded to a call regarding a possible drug deal. It was at Nexis, another lower tiered area on the dark side. This place was several plates down and virtually abandoned. Ghost’s sensors told them there was nobody here, but there was also some unidentifiable distortion, like a jamming field of some sort. It correlated with the electronic warfare effects used by Coalition agents.
The thought of an encounter with his assassin frightened Matt more than he’d imagined. In the months that she had been in captivity he had not spoken to her once, afraid of the memories it might revive.
They floated, phased in but invisible to the naked eye, over a large hall full of derelict machinery, rust eating away at their edges. Oil stained the ground, smelling like iron. The fragments of glass on the floor glittered in Ghost’s combat sensors like snowflakes on headlights. A rusted crane towered the corner of the warehouse, a silhouette was visible from the control booth’s window. Matt instinctively hit the window with one of Ghost’s ocular sensors. It didn’t move. Missiles revealed themselves from Ghost’s ventral side, the koveran tips glowing a deadly red. CKRO vented off Ghost’s hull as he appeared with the missiles, tracking lasers illuminating the window as the lethal weapons locked on.
“Wait.” Matt said. The silhouette was alive, but she wasn’t recoiling from the tracking lasers. Fragments of their time together cut away at his memory like diamond blades. Every flashback was a piercing jab. Images. Feelings. He stepped onto Ghost’s wing and flew up to the crane’s control booth.
When he saw her he was overwhelmed with vertigo, nearly losing his balance. Every movement was a memory. He didn’t know where he was anymore, he felt absorbed in another world, and that in itself a memory as well. He remembered the bond with Carmine after leaving Flora. That memory seemed to relate the best to this moment. Slight alarm flashed across Ghost’s mind, but it was assuaged before he was triggered to react. Matt felt an embrace and a whisper.
Suddenly he was above the clouds, then shooting past the clouds and the stars. He knew the stars, felt their warmth and strength. Their solar flares hit him like a warm mist, passing through him. He was at the Deep Grey now, he saw Marina watching Crimson’s condition deteriorate aboard Kahless, not saying a word to Pending. She walked across the bridge silently. This was wrong. She may have always wanted a beems. Owning Crimson would have been wonderful. Crimson was dying. Matt felt his ship’s koveran energy slowly fading away like escaping embers. But it wasn’t ownership. It was a partnership, an intimate link that she desired with something. To be understood by someone fully – to be completely free. It was that thought that she couldn’t quite explain, that inexplicable thought that told her that there was something better out there, and that Crimson was the key to that.
Deep Grey’s location lit up in Matt’s mind like a firefly. Nodepoints connected like a black widow’s web, connecting and connecting until they reached the clouds, then Zemoria, then where he was standing here.
Matt saw the regret in Marina’s eyes for having listened to Pending. She felt like a traitor to what she believed in. At that moment Matt realized what she was going to do.
“Know that after this: We will be enemies… again.” she said, turning away.
“I know.” Matt whispered regretfully. It was tragic, so many possibilities had it not been for politics. He wanted to call after her but she was gone, the jamming field reactivated.
Ghost was dazed, a plume of pheralax around him. Interesting. What did she do?
Matt was slowly returning to reality, the metal walls of the control booth jutting into his neural vision like fire ants.
–
4302.11.11
Lance was doing maintenance work on Reaper when Ghost flew in, landing next to his ship. They were aboard Lyla, who had been out of drydock for an entire week now, the structural damage that she had taken during the encounter repaired enough for her to be able to fly independently.
Flam came barging through the double doors that led to their hangar bay, “Lance! Lance! I’ve submitted my application! It’s being reviewed by the Zemorian Council.”
“Application for what?” Matt asked, sliding off Ghost’s wing.
Flam watched the moment in awe for a second, impressed at the control the ship had while hovering so close to the ground, below landing gear elevation even. “T-training!” he finally exclaimed, “I want to become a full fledged fully certified beems captain, ever since I’ve spoken to Lyla I think it’s what I was meant to do.”
“But who will fly Reaper?” Matt asked.
“If we finish this contract, we won’t need Reaper anymore. We’ll be able to afford a beems.”
“What contract?” Matt asked.
Lance gave Flam a deadly glare. “Nothing that can’t wait until after this rescue mission. Reaper’s an old ship anyways, and the gravimetric prongs are going to burn out soon. It’s the cost of trying to artificially maintain something that is supposed to be self-regenerative.”
“I see. Zemoria’s navy’s upkeep costs must be a pain.” Matt said.
Lance was glad to have changed the subject. He was so close to getting near Crimson now. So close.
“They probably are.” Lance said with a controlled laugh. “So did you get the neural plexus map?”
A hatch on Ghost’s starboard side opened and Matt took out a small data disc. “These are the full schematics for Crimson’s neural plexus. It will allow you access to the control panel from the outside. It is where Pending will have placed his controls in case Crimson has to be eliminated. Don’t be surprised if you have to take out a few people who are already in there. He probably knows Crimson better than I do.”
“I doubt that.” Flam replied. “You two are close. I heard of your encounter with… you know… and how Crimson is now. I really do hope it all works out, even if it means I have to stay with Reaper for a little longer.”
“What do you mean?” Matt asked.
“Nothing, just that it’d be cool if we could stay friends, you know. Not have to err kill off our friendship after the mission, us being mercenaries and all that.” Flam replied, watching Lance levelly.
“We’ll see what happens.” Lance said calmly, “But the mercenary gig pays well, very well. Our current contract will get us far more than just one beems. Twenty times more.”
Flam was taken aback by that and retreated to an open wall panel he had been working on.
The neural plexus is the most sensitive and secure area of a beems. Are you sure giving them the layout was a good idea? I may not be able to read their complete biosigns through their armoured suits though I am pretty certain that they cannot be trusted.
How so?
I have been monitoring your informal conversations with Lance at the restaurants—
Ghost! You said you were with Lyla!
–and I discovered that he had not mentioned his current contract once. There were notable build-ups of anxiety whenever you were nearing that subject matter as well.
But Ghost – I have no other choice. If I go near the neural plexus the neural interface will give me away immediately. I have to be the distraction with Lyla. If I’m not aboard her they will annihilate her immediately.
There is no guarantee that they will not destroy her, even with you aboard.
There is: Pending is desperate. He knows Crimson will never co-operate if I die.
Marina’s memories could have all been a lie, a misconception brought on by some attempt at a bizarre and unnatural raumenoid bond to lure you into this situation.
There’s no other way. Even with Lance, our chances are slim.
Matt walked along Ghost’s starboard wing, running his hand along it gently. Ghost was nervous. Matt had thought it was him at first but adrexin was seeping out of Ghost’s thermal veins. The stroking seemed to calm him, so long as Ghost didn’t think Matt was petting him. Too late, Ghost pulled back slightly, embarrassed.
Ghost was very human for a self-declared artificial intelligence. Ghost claimed he did not have the same sentience as that of a greater being like Crimson, or even a raumenoid.
Ocular strips lined either side of Ghost’s cockpit, and when Matt could see the front curves of both make a V, which only happened when the fighter-hybrid was faced towards him, he knew Ghost was looking straight at him. He always shared his gaze, looking into the black ocular strips.
A sensor washed over Matt. You look tired. Ghost transmitted. You should get some sleep before tomorrow.
You should too. Lyla has a comfortable shuttle rack.
I don’t like the shuttle rack. Matt caught a flash of Tier Zero, where Crimson had kept Ghost for a long time. It was an interesting memory, very dark and undefined. Matt wasn’t even sure if it was really a memory, Ghost hadn’t been sentient when he had been in Tier Zero.
Then you can sleep with Reaper. I’m sure it’ll enjoy the company.
We’ll have a great one-way conversation. The firewalls on that craft are impressive. Ghost transmitted, watching Flam work on some wiring on Reaper’s open panel.
Matt stayed in the chambers Lyla had made him for less than an hour before going back to the dorsal hangar bay where Ghost was, also avidly awake. They prepared for tomorrow with Matt sitting in the cockpit looking over mission plans and brainstorming contingencies.
So you saw the memory? Matt finally asked, desperate for confirmation.
Yes. Ghost replied.
I wondered if I had just imagined that. I wish I’d remembered more of that encounter.
Do you really? There may come a time when you will be forced to fight her. Not having such a tender memory gives you an advantage were that time to come.