Stars 7 - end
anonymous
July 16 2012, 04:19:34 UTC
The next word takes more effort, but less time, and there is an undertone of hope. Together?
Yes, she confirms.
Relief. A flash of white-hot joy, anticipation. Longing. Impatience to be gone.
The connection falters and fails, but she doesn't mind because everything important has already been said.
She pulls her hand back from the Marauder's claw, absently wipes green paint from her fingers.
It looks at her, and despite its lack of facial expression its pose is expectant. Varinnia sighs. "Just let me pack."
In the end, there is not all that much that she has to pack. All she owns and wants to take fits into a couple of bags, and even with a good supply of rations there is still room to spare. She makes it a point to let the Marauder carry them.
There has not been much point in saying goodbye. She simply tells the first person she comes across - one of the engineers she has worked with for weeks - that she's leaving. He isn't surprised, or at least, not much. She doesn't know whether there's sympathy or pity or maybe relief in his expression, or anything else, and she doesn't use the link to check. The wish for good luck seems genuine, though, and that she accepts.
The Reaper is still where it has rested for days. As she approaches, it shifts from its resting position, shaking off sand and dust. It makes a deep, groaning sound that thankfully isn't like that terrible wail, but it still resonates in her bones. She considers telling it to quiet down, but then the urge passes. The groan fades into a deep hum as the lights along its hull come alive.
With another groan of metal, a part of the Reaper's shell shifts, opens like a hatch as a rudimentary ramp extends downwards. There is green-lit darkness behind, and she briefly wonders how much space there is inside a Destroyer. Storage space for the Marauders, certainly, but beyond that, she can't even guess. No matter; she will see soon enough.
The Marauder is two steps ahead, already climbing up the ramp. It almost disappears into the gloom, and her steps slow. It's not fear, but she feels apprehension. There will be no turning back from here.
The Marauder turns back, its figure only partially visible. Its useless mandibles work, and then there is the sound of static, as it replays a chunk of transmission it must have picked up somewhere. The quality is so bad that she can't even tell whether it has been a human voice, or an asari's, or something else, but she can make out the word, barely. "Space." Its green-marked head is tilted to one side, questioning, a gesture it must have picked up from her. It's learning.
Apprehension dissolves and leaves only a sense of adventure behind. Sometimes there is only the way forward. She flares her mandibles into a fierce grin. Maybe she has finally gone as insane as the colonists are. Or maybe she has just woken up.
"Space." she agrees. "You're right. Let's get the hell off this rock."
Head held high, she steps forward into the green-lit unknown.
Re: Stars 7 - end
anonymous
July 16 2012, 20:20:16 UTC
This is a wonderful tale, anon. Loved every bit of it. Thank you for sharing it, and for the tones of hope in the end. They played right into my own vision of Synthesis.
Re: Stars 7 - end
anonymous
July 23 2012, 05:24:55 UTC
This is wonderful - eloquent, intelligent, and the perfect combination of bittersweet and hopeful. You portrayed the difficulty of war's aftermath very well while making me feel for both Varinnia and the Reaper. I wish the synthesis ending had been this nuanced.
Yes, she confirms.
Relief. A flash of white-hot joy, anticipation. Longing. Impatience to be gone.
The connection falters and fails, but she doesn't mind because everything important has already been said.
She pulls her hand back from the Marauder's claw, absently wipes green paint from her fingers.
It looks at her, and despite its lack of facial expression its pose is expectant. Varinnia sighs. "Just let me pack."
In the end, there is not all that much that she has to pack. All she owns and wants to take fits into a couple of bags, and even with a good supply of rations there is still room to spare. She makes it a point to let the Marauder carry them.
There has not been much point in saying goodbye. She simply tells the first person she comes across - one of the engineers she has worked with for weeks - that she's leaving. He isn't surprised, or at least, not much. She doesn't know whether there's sympathy or pity or maybe relief in his expression, or anything else, and she doesn't use the link to check. The wish for good luck seems genuine, though, and that she accepts.
The Reaper is still where it has rested for days. As she approaches, it shifts from its resting position, shaking off sand and dust. It makes a deep, groaning sound that thankfully isn't like that terrible wail, but it still resonates in her bones. She considers telling it to quiet down, but then the urge passes. The groan fades into a deep hum as the lights along its hull come alive.
With another groan of metal, a part of the Reaper's shell shifts, opens like a hatch as a rudimentary ramp extends downwards. There is green-lit darkness behind, and she briefly wonders how much space there is inside a Destroyer. Storage space for the Marauders, certainly, but beyond that, she can't even guess. No matter; she will see soon enough.
The Marauder is two steps ahead, already climbing up the ramp. It almost disappears into the gloom, and her steps slow. It's not fear, but she feels apprehension. There will be no turning back from here.
The Marauder turns back, its figure only partially visible. Its useless mandibles work, and then there is the sound of static, as it replays a chunk of transmission it must have picked up somewhere. The quality is so bad that she can't even tell whether it has been a human voice, or an asari's, or something else, but she can make out the word, barely. "Space." Its green-marked head is tilted to one side, questioning, a gesture it must have picked up from her. It's learning.
Apprehension dissolves and leaves only a sense of adventure behind. Sometimes there is only the way forward. She flares her mandibles into a fierce grin. Maybe she has finally gone as insane as the colonists are. Or maybe she has just woken up.
"Space." she agrees. "You're right. Let's get the hell off this rock."
Head held high, she steps forward into the green-lit unknown.
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You made me sympathize with a Reaper-- what else have you written?
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