OK, So, funny story. I actually wrote this barely days after the first season of SotI let out, in the same binge that I banged out the previous two posts by me and MC in this thread. Thing was, I never felt finished. I kept writing and writing and writing like a demented little Energizer Bunny with a pen and a cappuccino machine. Until finally, 17+ pages in, MC, who had been watching the whole thing, finally jumped up, ninja-chopped me in the throat and said "NO! You are finished! No more writing!" in a perfect Mister Miyagi impression. (No seriously, he had the headband on and everything.) But I was uwilling to post it, fearing that it still wasn't ready, and secretly hoping that I could find some way to tie it all up in a nice little ending. I never did. It sat on my harddrive and did nothing, other then cause confusion because I had never let anyone else read it. (Remember that whole fight about the Angel Drive? My original description is in here, but since the other GM's never saw it, they just decided to make up their own descriptions, hence a lot of really stupid arguing about its capabilities later on.) So if the ending seems a little like it just sorta, well, ends without any sort of wrap up or meaning, that's why. Come Join the Murder Silas was tired. It was about as much of an understatement as one could make. Titans are kinda heavy, Space is a little chilly, and Silas was tired. He was in the temporary quarters that General Shou had lent him. He had spent the last several months in communication with Black Runners and friendly xenos groups in the Hinterspaces. He was only still functioning by virtue of triple-recaf and the shadow of a hope that it was all still worth it. It was like wrestling with a herd of cats; juggling meetings, alliances, political favours…Creating a new nation sounded great in his own head, but on paper it was a nightmare. Grendal would have been right at home in all this. Where’s that shrub-hugging bastard when you need him? Silas yawned and returned to the stack of dataslates on his desk. The current dilemma was from a Klish engineer in Miranda Fields. The Imps hadn’t launched anything major against the run since 634-VL, but after Silas’s little declaration (The Crow’s Call people were calling it,) everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before the hammer fell in Mandragora. A massive migration was underway. People who had heard Silas’s message were flocking to the hinterspaces to set up new orbital posts, new trade routes, and new homes. People from all over the Black Run, of all species, even people who had nothing to do with the Black and just wanted out from under the Imperium’s heel. And the logistics for that effort were just plain terrifying. Silas was startled out of the half-awake daze he had drifted into by the sound of the hatch opening. “Silas,” Coriola’s voice filled the room. “Am I interrupting?” She asked, noticing his expression. “No. It’s fine. Just looking over this proposal from Miranda Fields. They want to evacuate, but they don’t have enough ships to hold everyone. This guy wants my help designing a way to move the entire Hub, jump it out of the nebula. I think his math is solid, but it’s gunna be a helluva time pulling it off. What did you need?” Coriola seemed shier than normal. The time that had passed since their arrival in the Askellon Sector had been enough time for the itinerant black runner to come to know her on a better footing than their brief encounter in the past. Before, the acolyte had come off as cryptic, irritatingly vague, and aloft; these days, he had come to realize, was a manifestation of her own natural shyness and mild social awkwardness. “I have a complaint to bring you,” She said in a low voice, pausing for a moment. “It’s from the Astropath Primus.” Silas sighed. “And what does he want?” “I believe he wants a break,” Coriola said with a forced smile. She handed Silas a notice of complaint from the Astropath, on behalf of the choir aboard the ship. Silas saw it had been marked for security to deliver this message upon his next arrival to deliver a communicae - denoting Coriola’s presence here completely beyond the Astropaths intentions. “Well, he has been going nonstop for a while. I’ll let him know he should get his men working in shifts. This isn’t going to let up anytime soon. Anyway, why did you bring this yourself? You know they have people for that. Figured Mengala would be keeping you busy.” Silas got up and made his way to the Recaff pot on the back wall for another refill. “I’m...I wanted to check in on you,” Coriola stumbled on her words, as she moved closer to Silas. “You’ve been holed up here for awhile, almost as much as the Navigators in their spires. It’s a long way to Scarus, Silas. It’s unhealthy to sequester yourself.” “What else should I do? This isn’t going to slow down anytime soon, and the Runners need all the help I can give them. I’m trying to save lives here. I can’t let up now. Shit, I sound like one of them.” “Like one of who?” Coriola asked, putting her hand on his shoulders. Had that been too forward? The thought passed in her head briefly. “Mensk, Mengala, all the people I kept swearing I’d never turn into….Don’t look at me like that.”“Like what?” She asked “Like that. Whenever we talk you look at me like you’re taking notes or something.” The Recaff pot was empty. He started another. “This stuff’s gunna kill me one of these days. You want some?” “Thank you,” She said, nodding. Silas poured a cup and handed it to her. She took a small sip, almost reluctantly from her expression. “They aren’t bad people you know,” Coriola said after a moment of silence. “I met Mengsk before. He was a lot like you.” “I know. People keep saying that. It’s funny. The whole reason I became a Runner was because I didn’t want to be under anybody elses flag. Now, I’m waving a flag of my own. A flag that reads ‘Freedom from Flags’ no less. Now I get what they kept going on about, sacrificing oneself to protect people. But I still think they were on the wrong side. Does that make me a hypocrite?” Silas downed half his mug in one gulp. The stuff tasted painfully bitter, but it kept him awake. “I don’t know what that makes you, Silas.” Coriola said with a faint smile. “Everyone has to make their own choices. I couldn’t imagine going through the decisions I’ve seen such men have to make.” She attempted to take another sip of the recaff. “I can’t say I would be as strong if I were in their place.” Coriola set the cup of recaff down on the counter beside the retherm-pot. “May I ask you a personal question?” Coriola asked, seeming more withdrawn than normal. “I owe you my skin 3 times over now. You don’t need to ask permission like that. Shoot.” Coriola gave her faint smile again. Absent minded, she was subconsciously twisting a strand of her dark hair. “You hate the Imperium. You have focused so much time orchestrating a sedition of the Black Run, to escape to a place where the Adeptus cannot bring harm to people like you. Why do you try so hard, knowing the reaction will be severe? The Imperium does not abide secessionism of any sort,” She paused. She breathed in. “Do you even know how the Imperium protected the Black Run? There is more to the picture than an oppressive regime Silas. There is much more out there in this galaxy than men turning on men.” Silas leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. “That’s exactly why I’m doing this. There are so many people out there with so many ideas, beliefs, cultures. When I ran the black, I heard a billion languages, saw a billion different points of view, a billion different outlooks on life. You know how many I saw on imperial worlds?” Coriola Shook her head. “One. One language, one belief, one culture, one idea. And if anybody didn’t like that idea, they either changed their minds fast or bad things happened to them.” He put his hands on Coriola’s shoulders, looking her in the eye. “You have no idea how right you are when you say that there is so much more to the picture. Humanity isn’t just one thing, it is a collage of more colors than you or I, or anyone can ever appreciate. And Humanity is just one species in a galaxy full of life. The Black Run was a place where worlds collided. Where a human artist and an eldar artist could learn from each other, where a wok story teller could amaze children with wild tales from a thousand worlds. “That’s a beautiful thing, and maybe that’s why people like Mengsk and Mengala tried to protect it. But they can’t anymore. The Imperium is on the warpath, and we need to get out of their way before we are crushed. Look there.” Silas pointed to the porthole on the wall. “What am I looking for, Silas?” Coriola had broken her silence, looking into the porthole. “See all that? Every one of those dots is a star. Every tenth one is a whole galaxy full of stars. The Imperium can’t own them all. The universe is more than big enough for all of us, we just have to find the room.” Coriola sighed. “Silas, the Imperium doesn’t stand for idealism. But there aren’t many left who do.” she smiled then, turning away from the porthole. “I...I just hope you know I’m concerned for you. Is there...anything I can do to help you?” She was uncomfortable and it showed. Her sudden change of the conversation was the cue. “If this is about Angel, I don’t want to talk about it.” Silas’s face went gaunt. What life had been in him during his little speech faded. He didn’t look angry, just tired and sad. But he was doing his best to bury it. Coriola didn’t say a word then, but moved close towards Silas. She put her hands on his arms, looking up into his eyes. “This isn’t about that,” She whispered, staring into his soul. “This is about you…” “What does that mean?” The diviner stare was unsettling in its duration. She seemed in a trance of sorts - but not like the few times Silas had seen when she had her ‘visions’. This was something else. Coriola then did something quite unexpected, catching Silas off course completely - she had shut her eyes and tilted her head to kiss him.. The kiss didn’t last long, only a few seconds, but when it was over, something in Silas gave. He locked eyes with Coriola for a split second, then hugged her close as he began to weep. Everything he had suffered, everyone he had lost, it all came gushing to the surface. And all he could do as they slumped to the floor, crying, was whisper, over and over; “I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry…” Coriola slid easily down with Silas. While he was crying, his back against the wall, she wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his shoulders. She breathed, not whispering, but speaking in a low tone nonetheless. “You asked me...why,” She stopped, almost afraid to say more. “But from the first time I saw you, I knew I loved you...” They stayed like that for a long time, until they both fell asleep in eachother's’ arms. ***** Silas felt good as he prepared the OPOS for transit, better than he had in a long time. The previous night with Coriola had been...awkward for him, but it was the first time he had slept in- 3 days? 4? And when he had gotten up and started moving again, it felt like he was lighter some how. Like he had been carrying a heavy pack on his shoulders so long that he’d forgotten it was there, and then somebody came and took it off of him. But at the back of his mind, there was a doubt gnawing at him. Until last night, he had never suspected that Coriola might have had feelings for him. Sure, now it made sense and he felt stupid for missing the signs, but he hadn’t been expecting it. And he wasn’t sure he could feel that way about her. Well, I could, but should I be doing it so soon after Angel’s death? Am I betraying her memory by being with Coriola? Do I even want to be with Coriola? She obviously feels something, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her-- What the hell am I thinking? Am I actually complaining that a cute girl is in love with me? But then, everyone I’ve ever gotten close to dies, does that mean she’s next? Silas continued loading fuel and supplies into the OPOS. That morning he had told the Astropath Primus that he wouldn’t be needing to send or receive any more messages, and he almost thought the old man would feint with relief. Spirits were generally high. Barkus was eager to get back to Mandragora, even if only for a few trips, Coriola looked like she was high on a cloud, and Pious was just now stomping around the corner with a face that told Silas he should start running. “Where exactly do you think you're going?” Pious didn’t stammer or hesitate, his irritation clear; rare that it was, when Pious was irate, his tone alone could stop a bull-grox on the charge. Silas wasn’t anything like a bull-grox. He was more stubborn. “To Miranda Fields. They need help with the evac, and I aim to provide it.” Pious looked square into Silas’ dark eyes. “And how did you intend to make this little trip of yours?” “I’m not gunna drive General Shou out of his way if that’s what you’re so worked up about. I’m just taking the OPOS.” “The Ascendant,” Pious corrected, no longer in the mood to side step the particularities. “Is under my ownership. Did you think to deprive me of what is mine, Silas?” “Last I checked,” said Silas, realizing the kind of war he was about to jump into “You’re the one who stole her from me, so the question of who is depriving who gets a little fuzzy.” “You try my patience today,” Pious warned. “The Ascendant was seized by the jurisdiction of the Inquisition during a sanctioned raid. It’s reconstruction and refitting was operated on by the Inquisition to further the agendas of the Ordos; a task that I may add took months of laborious works by the adepts of the Machine Cult, brilliant minds that were not easily swayed to set aside their own projects to work on such an unorthodox module. Your association with the runners who once built this does not grant you an inherent claim on it.” “Association with the runners who built it?” Silas looked from Pious, to Coriola who was standing back nervously, then to the OPOS, then back to Pious “She hasn’t told you? I’m the one who built it. From the keel up. Every rivet that was in her when you took her? I drove every single one. I wielded her hull. I designed her engines. I invented the micro emitters that power her gellar field. There wasn't a single bit in her that I didn't put there. I poured 16 years of blood, sweat, and more blood into that ship.” Silas scowled, turned, ran his hand through his hair, and faced his creation. He knew what he had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. He walked over to the ship, put his hand on her hull. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, Silas let go. “Fine.” he whispered. “Fine?” Pious raised a brow suspiciously. He could hardly believe Silas’ claim was true. How could a man barely passed his second decade of life have built such a warp capable craft when the adepts of Mars itself were the only masters capable of such things. Nonetheless, Silas’ unexpected turn threw the old man off guard. Coriola had in the interim closed the gap between them, approaching softly with a look set on Silas, as if she hung on his next words. “I said fine. She’s the best damn ship in the ‘verse, but she’s just a ship. I owe you my life, and that’s what she is. So take her. I built one, I can build another. Barkus! pull that fuel line, stop prepping. Then meet me down in Hangar 2, they got some bits down there they won’t mind us sifting through.” “What?” the wok waddled across the top of the ship and looked down at him. “We really doing this?” “Well, I am, not sure if you want to or not.” Silas turned to Mengala and gave him a friendly look “Treat her right for me OK? And if the port-side compression core starts knocking, just give it a bit of lube and kick it a few times. Never could get it to set right.” As Silas walked away from the ship, he caught Coriola, cradling the sides of her face in his hands, and planted a big kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.” he said, and then continued out of the bay. ***** Hanger 2 had plenty of junk to pick from, but the thing that caught his attention the most was the hulk of an old Aegis 234 Monstro salvager. It was mostly just a skeleton, the core and main powerplants were out, but Silas was pretty sure he could get them running, and the inner and outer frames were mostly intact. But the thing was almost 3 times the size of the OPOS. Just getting it skinned and pressurized would be a nightmare. But at least this time he had a frame to start from, the OPOS he’d had to make from scratch. As it was the deck chief had been planning to chop it down for scrap, or just space it, and he gave Silas a look one might give a lunatic when he’d offered to take it off his hands. Didn’t stop the man from fleecing him for almost all his remaining Kys though. At first the deck crews just laughed at them, Silas and Barkus, two guys trying to rebuild an entire ship with nothing but the scrap that the “real” engineers and tech priests didn’t want. Then, on the second day, Someone asked Barkus “Do you think you can actually pull it off?” Barkus smirked, took a drag from his cheroot, and said “That brat’s made a career out of doing the impossible. 5 Keys says she flies in 20 days.” On the 3rd day, a blackboard went up on the wall to keep track of all the bets. By the end of the fourth day, there were 10 blackboards. It was rumored even General Shou himself had put in a sizable wager under a pseudonym. On the 6th day, the inner hull went up. On the 7th, the outer hull was pressurized. Silas began taking what meals Coriola could convince him to eat in the ship. When he slept, it was over a drawing board with schematics and stress tolerance figures scrawled on it. Day 10 saw the reactor core and water recycling system installed. On day 11, the RCS thrusters were test fired. On day 15, the ship lifted off of the deck under it’s own power, and Barkus became a very wealthy wok. It took 3 more days to iron out all the kinks in the avionics and guidance systems, and 2 more days to get the interior of the craft livable as a long-term home. Silas was actually excited that he was getting a full captain’s cabin in this ship. In the OPOS all he’d had was a bunk in an alcove of the the neck corridor. The only thing that was left to test was the warp core. Silas had built it using the specs he’d memorized from the Dark Age ship on the colony planet, and he was positive that he’d gotten it right on paper, but there was still a lot of concern from the others. That didn’t stop Pious from coming to see the now famous “miracle ship” first hand. “This is quite impressive,” Pious announced on the last day, approaching Silas with a slow gait. He didn’t seem happy, but neither did he seem upset. “You don’t have to go you know,” He said in a hush tone. “Your people keeping you updated on what’s happening in the Black?” Silas said. He didn’t look up at the man, keeping his eyes on his work checking the aft heat sink. “Yes,” Pious said simply. “There’s been some unfortunate news coming from my contacts. Open rebellions of course, which was to be expected,” Pious said with a grump. “But more startling is the way several rogue traders have been rallying to the black’s defense. Some have claimed an infringement upon their manifest rights! Ludicrous, I have to say, but ultimately leading to more severe aggression. All spurred by the call of a woman called Ibra.” “So you know the score. That means you know that I absolutely have to go. Look, I’m not a complete ingrate. I Know that I owe you for all you’ve done these past few months. I’m willing to help you with whatever it is you are planning, but I need to get my own house in order first. My family is at war. I’ll be back in a week or so. If what I have planned works out, we’ll have a base of operations for the new Run, and you’ll be welcome if you ever need a place to lay low. I’m coming back. Trust me.” “I do trust you, Silas, despite what you may think of me,” Pious said. He frowned a bit. “I do not trust the military arm of the Imperium so much,” Pious moved, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “The Dragon Knights of the Adeptus Astartes have declared a Crusade of Retribution on the Black Run. I fear for you. Please do not cross paths with their kind. They will not be...forgiving in any way, even with my pull I cannot protect you from their wroth.” “Konstodea furgnea.” Silas said, finishing his work and standing up to face the old man. “What does that mean?” Pious inquired. “Konstod is what we call the Astartes on the Black. It means ‘Canned Death’. Konstodea Furgnea: The Konstods never forgive. I have absolutely zero intention of picking a fight. Well, I guess as far as they are concerned I already did with that message, but I can’t do anything about that now.” Silas looked Pious in the eye, “Look, I need to ask your advice. It’s about Coriola.” To that, Pious squinted in mild confusion. “Coriola? What about her?” “Well, you know her better than I do, I would have thought she told you about it.” Silas braced himself. “Look, a few weeks back, she and I were talking, and then she got all weird, trying to get me to open up to her I guess. Then she kissed me.” Pious frowned at that. “It is not the place of an Imperial servant to indulge in selfish pleasures,” he grumped. He seemed really like the old man he often pretended to be. “Make nothing of it, she has her place assigned. Nothing good will come out of encouraging that Silas.” OK, that’s fracking harsh. Is he really going to crack down on her for acting like a human being? “Look, I don’t think it’s her being selfish. You didn’t hear the way she was talking. She was trying to be there for me. And to tell you the truth, I’m happy she was trying. I’m not asking for your blessing or anything. What I am asking is for you to help me understand where the hell this came from.” “She’s a diviner,” Pious explained. “More than that, she can see into someone’s destiny, their very essence. Whatever she feels can simply be drawn to a connection she’s felt, some mild form of obsession. Psykers do not feel the same way we do Silas.” His tone was completely derogatory when he nearly sneered the word psyker. Silas decided that he was completely lost with this man. One moment Pious was a good man, the next he was in the running for the universe’s biggest asshole. “So what,” Silas confronted him “Are you saying she’s not human, that she doesn’t have a soul or she’s somehow less of a person then you or me? I’ve known psykers, hell the man who raised me was a Navigator. So you can’t tell me she doesn’t have feelings.” “She’s a mutant, Silas,” Pious explained as if to a child. “I won’t condone your beliefs that her role is any more than a tool to be used, but if you wish to encourage her on then do so. Sleep with her if you feel the urge. But her place is in service to the Emperor, and when he is done with her she shall be replaced as easily as you or I would replace a belt or holster strapping.” Now Silas was getting pissed. “So what the frack if she’s a mutant?” He pulled down his lower eyelid, exposing the black orb more fully “So am I.” “Silas, I don’t expect you to understand this,” Pious replied, annoyance on his tongue. “But you are well within acceptable parameters and genetic deviation patterns, as Yvonne indicated on your datafex. She is not - she is anathema to the purity of the human genome. Where your eyes are an adaptation, hers is cursing of the warp made manifest in a once purified stock.” Silas really had not taken Pious for the type to put such stock in genetic purity. This little nugget of information had really shown how much of the Imperial Creed remained in this otherwise modest and more often logical man. “And here I remember you talking about just how idiotic that kind of dogma is.” Pious scoffed. “Dogma is idiotic. But, I confess, we are products of our upbringing, and we all have our faults. Let us not delve too much further into this, and just know that while I have my own peculiarities, I have always shown favor towards Coriola. I may not accept her fully, but I trust in her enough to perform her job. I ask you only to respect her station, and her mission.” Silas forced himself to calm down. I will never understand these people.“The question I was going to ask you, before that little ideological clash. I would like Coriola to come with me on this trip. I know she’s your subordinate, but as far as I can tell, the only reason you even brought her on is because of her history with me. Have her tag along, keep an eye on me, and maybe her and I can figure out whatever the frack there is between us before it spirals out of control.” Silas grinned pridefully “Hell, you can come too if you want. It’s gonna be a helluva show.” “There are many tasks I must see to,” Pious said, with a long sigh. He waved Silas. “Go, take her with you. Return when you are finished, I ask that of you. Take with you my name, and use it where you need it. Just come back.” With that said, Pious nodded, and placed in Silas’ hand a small ring. It had a Falcon engraved upon it, and the old man simply said, “Use this if you need my assistance, no matter where you go.” Silas nodded. He walked over to the current work bench, retrieved a dataslate, and handed it to Pious “And what is this?” Asked the old man, his tone indicating he was growing weary of the conversation. “That’s the coordinates I’ll be meeting you at. It’s on Shou’s course, so you aren't going out of your way. Just be there in 2 weeks, and have a picter ready. If everything goes right, you’ll see something you’ll want to tell your grandchildren about.” Mengala looked confused, but pocketed the dataslate none the less. As he turned to go, he took one last look at the interior of the ship. “She is impressive. I admit I didn’t believe you when you said you were the one who built the Ascendant, but now...Have you named her yet?” “I have.” Silas said. “I usually don’t go in for fancy titles, but I made an exception for her. She’s the Crow Winged Angel.” ***** 2 days. The Crow Winged Angel made the warp Transit to Miranda Fields in just 2 days. Apparently, Silas had gotten the Dark Age drive right after all. Coriola had seemed excited to be going on the trip, and Barkus and Silas were glad that they weren’t the only ones on board the large, new ship. Well, by imperial standards it was little more than a mosquito, not even as large as some of their fighter variants, but to two Runners who were used to half-weight gun cutters and 3 man yachts, the Angel might as well have been a flying mansion. On the second day, a few hours before realspace reentry, Silas took the opportunity of one of Barkus’s smoking breaks to call Coriola up to the cockpit. If one could really call it a cockpit, it was more of a Bridge or a CIC then a room dedicated simply to flying the craft. “You needed something?” she asked nervously as she entered. Silas motioned to the co-pilot seat. “Have a seat. I need to talk to you.” Coriola looked confused at that, and nodded. “What is it?” Silas took a breath. “I uh, I told Pious about what happened the other week. When you came to my quarters. Don’t be mad, I just didn’t know what else to do. We had a...heated discussion.” Another pause. “He basically told me to end it. I asked for you to come on this trip so we could find out what ‘it’ is. I’m on your side here, but I have to know where that side is coming from.” Coriola seemed distressed. “What more is there to say?” She turned a bit. “I don’t know why he would say that either…” “Well, it seemed to have something to do with ‘bwah, psykers are mutants, bwah. She can’t really feel that way, ecclesiarchy bullshit, bwah’.” Silas we trying to lighten the mood with the impersonation. “I honestly didn’t expect to hear that kind of shit from him. I told him you had the right to think or feel whatever you wanted. I just want to make sure we are on the same page here.” “Silas,” Coriola moaned. “I’ve grown up with it most of my life. I’m used to that view,” She paused. Then slumped in the chair. “I don’t know what we have. I know I like you. Is there anything more to it than that?” “Well, there’s a lot more to it. I am probably the most dangerous person in two sectors for you to be around. The imperium doesn’t tolerate guys like me, you said it yourself. People around me die. Plain and simple. I barely know you, Coriola, but I would like to. I would like to love you. But I don’t want you to end up like all the other people I’ve loved.” Silas took another breath. “I’m asking you what you want. It’s your choice, but they will also be your consequences.” “I want you,” Coriola blurted out, then grew flushed in the face. She paused, recalling words spoken to her a long time ago. “I’m just afraid…” She could tell him, tell him everything. About the words Ashetara had spoken to her. Or the converging strands of fate drawing him to his shadowpoint. Another force would approach, and two destinies would become one. The fear that she may lose him...ate away at her constantly. Silas stood, then knelt down beside her chair. He tried to make his voice calm, reassuring as he took her hand in his. “What are you afraid of. I levelled with you, now it’s your turn.” Coriola put her hand on his cheek. She looked him in his eyes. That distant, foggy look were in hers. Watery...a tear forming on the edges of both. “I’ve seen your life, and I can see your death at times. There is a man coming for you. He brings with him fire and death everywhere he goes, cutting a path across the galaxy itself to find you. I don’t...I don’t know who will come out alive.” Silas smiled. “Neither do I. I can’t see the future. I wake up every day not knowing if it will be my last. That’s what makes life so fun. This man you say you see, I think I’ve met him. If it comes down to me and him, it will be a good enough fight that I won’t mind if it kills me.” “You believe so?” Silas hugged her tightly and gently. He kissed her forehead. “Destiny isn’t set in stone. And if it is, then there’s no point worrying about it.” He held her for several minutes. When she seemed to have calmed down some, Silas got up and went back to his control chair. “Now, I want to show you something.” Before Coriola could ask what that was, the jump clock ticked down and the Crow Winged Angel lurched back into realspace. Then the Viewport blinds opened to reveal the stellar nursery of Miranda Fields. The massive cloud of cass and dust glowed blue with the light of Suns being born. And in the center, the size of a planet, was the ancient Ellipsis craft known as the Hub. ***** QiManSho met them on the landing pad. It had been interesting trying to explain who he was to the tower. (“Yes, I am the same Silas that sent out that message. No, I didn’t die in that jump at 624-VL. No, I’m not going to tell you how I did it.” etc) Nevertheless, when they had landed, the Klish engineer Silas had exchanged so many letters with was more than eager to meet them and get started on the work. “What exactly is it that you plan to do?” Coriola asked soon after discussion of the project had started. “This ship was built by an ancient machine race called the Ellipsis. They didn’t use the Warp for long distance travel. Instead, they used a technology called Shockpoint Conversion to move matter in instantaneous FTL bursts.” Silas explained. “And this ship has one of these devices?” “This Ship is one of those devices. The tech is so precisely integrated that you literally have to build the ships around it instead of putting it in the ship like a warp core. QiManSho here-” Silas gestured to the insectoid alien “Is the galaxy’s leading expert on the Ellipsis. He says it should be possible to reactivate the Shockpoint drive and jump the entire Hub. Should just take a few-” “Are you the guy?” A new voice cut Silas off. He turned to see a man in a uniform approaching him. The man was short, but powerfully built, with close cropped hair and a face that read ‘No Bullshit’ The markings on his coat identified him as the station’s Chief of Security. Hello, what are we doing out of the CIC? “Are you the guy?” The Chief repeated. “Are you this Silas I keep hearing about?” “I guess I am.” Silas said. The man extended his hand. “Jamery Corman. Chief of Security.” Silas shook his hand. The bastard had a grip like a power loader. Corman eyed Coriola and Barkus for a moment, then returned to Silas “Folks are rather torn about you. Some of them hail you like some kind of grand savior. Others cuss your name for poking the hornet’s nest. And a lot of them are just plain scared. But if half the stories they are telling about you are true, I’m willing to give you a shot.” Silas gave him a quizzical look. “That depends on what kind of stories they’re telling.” “Some say you brought the hell with you. Others disagree, no one really knows for sure. Hell, I’ve heard a few who swear you attacked the Imps first,” Jamery answered with a slight shrug. “I’d peg a bet that the truth is somewhere in between.” “Crate falls out off of a loader, you’ll hear 3 stories; yours, mine, and the crate’s. I could tell you my story, but it would just be another version of things you’ve already heard. I’m just here to do a job and try to help save this station. You know what it is we’re planning? QiManSho brief you?” Jamery’s face went from his permanent scowl to something a few levels higher. “Yeah I’ve been told. To be honest the only reason I signed off on it is because I saw the feeds from 624. I’ll take a suicidal plan over waiting for the Thud Monkeys to come after us any day.” “Glad to hear it.” said Silas. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go see what we’re working with.” ***** The SPC drive was one of the most complicated, convoluted, fragmented, unintelligible, ancient, and impossibly exacting machines Silas had ever seen. He loved it the moment he saw it. He fell into a routine. First he would wake up, rub the sleep out of his eyes, and strap on his makeshift leg. Then he would endure Coriola trying to force him to actually eat something besides recaff before heading off to meet with the team of engineers and machinists working on the drive. This would continue for anywhere from 15 to 20 hours until one of two things happened. Either his leg started acting up, forcing him to stop for a while, or Coriola managed to convince him to sleep. Then the cycle began again in a few hours. It wasn’t until the end of the first week after his pegleg actually gave out from under him, that he decided that the temporary part in temporary stopgap actually meant something. He took a day off to go down to the medical center to see about something more permanent. “I’ve been telling you since we docked with General Shou; You need a better leg then that thing you threw together in your room. I’m honestly surprised it lasted this long.” Coriola said as she steared the rental groundcare through the commercial districts of the Hub. “I never had time to make something better, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the Ad-Mech put anymore of their junk in me. I already got a kidney to worry about crapping out on me.” Silas was slightly dejected. He hated having to acknowledge his disability. He hated worse being forced to spend precious time -time that could be spent helping the Run- on dealing with his own problems. Coriola pulled the ground car to a stop in front of the humanoid clinic. She gave Silas a soft look. “I Know you’d rather be working right now, but you’re no good to these people as a cripple. Let’s just talk to the Chirurgeon and then I promise you can get back to work. Please?” Silas sighed, returned her soft smile, and opened his door. “Let’s go then. Oh, and uh, don’t call them chirurgeons. It’s medicals. or doctors. I know, little nitpick, but you’ve got to remember you’re not in the Imperium anymore.” “Medicals. OK.” She said as she came around the car and he mounted his crutch. As she put her hand on his shoulder to steady him, he rested his free hand on hers gently. “Thank you.” he said, and the two of they started to the door. The doctor, one Rotland Mallory, took several minutes measuring Silas’s legs, hips, and back. Then he took a mold of the stump where his shin ended and returned with an assortment of prosthetics. Some were mechanical, others were full cybernetics that would need to be surgically implanted. It took Silas a while to explain that he didn’t want anything with powered motors, just a simple, non electrical apparatus. And in 3 hours, he walked out on a flex-spring foot with Coriola beside him. When he had asked Mallory about payment for the new limb, the man had replied “I know who you are son, and if you manage to do what you say you are doing, that will be payment enough.” *****
