Tag: reading

Runemaster

Runemaster 2.1

Autumn

Lyra sorted through the dressmaker’s orders to place the day’s highest priorities on top as she listened to the rhythmic snipping of Mrs. Elwood’s shears, and the thought crossed her mind that she liked those quiet busy moments best of all. She supposed that one day – assuming she didn’t get married first – the responsibility of sales and customer support would fall on her once she opened her own shop, and she hoped that she would feel more equipped to handle the responsibility in the future. For the moment, she liked being the assistant, without having to think too hard about anything.

“Hello! How may I help you?” Mrs. Elwood called out cheerily, and Lyra carefully tucked the orders into a slot on the top of their “business desk,” as they liked to call it.

“I seem to have snagged the hem of my cloak,” a deep yet all too familiar voice answered, and Lyra’s head snapped around, her heart leaping up into her throat.

“Allow me to take a look, Master,” Mrs. Elwood replied in a voice that was far more saccharine than Lyra thought becoming of a widowed woman. She avoided looking at Malachi, instead quietly making her way towards the backroom in what she hoped was a subtle get-away, knowing all the while that he had already seen her. “Oh yes, the stitching has been pulled out, and there’s a hole torn in the fabric as well. Lyra! Come here, please.”

Lyra’s heart sank, but she turned around and forced a smile. “Good morning, Master Malachi,” she echoed Mrs. Elwood’s tone, though she couldn’t keep the edge of sarcasm at bay.

“Would you find trimming to match Master Malachi’s cloak? We could easily patch the hole for you, but I think that the best solution would be to put a new hem on entirely. The repair would be entirely invisible.”

“I trust your expert judgment, madame.” Malachi smiled back at Mrs. Elwood, and Lyra swallowed down the embarrassment at having to silently watch a Runemaster flirt with her employer.

“Mrs. Elwood,” Lyra ventured timidly, “You have a fitting in two hours, and the dress has yet to be basted.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, Master, but I must get back to my work. Lyra here will assist you, and I assure you that she is very bright and talented. Your cloak will be better than new.” Mrs. Elwood smiled broadly, then retreated back to her cutting table to continue working.

Lyra examined the damaged hem, then murmured, “The tailor is just down the street, Master, if you would feel more comfortable in an establishment that is more suited to male clientele.”

“Hmm … but you don’t work over there, do you.” He grinned, and Lyra couldn’t stop the flush that colored her cheeks.

“I don’t know what I did to gain your attention, Master,” she replied with false politeness, “but I have no intention of responding to your advances. It would be in your better interests to move on.”

“You misunderstand!” Malachi chuckled as he removed his cloak and handed it to Lyra. “I am not pursuing you romantically at all.”

“And yet here you are,” Lyra replied tersely. She took the cloak and retreated to the back room, to search through their supplies to make the repair. She couldn’t quite place the fabric, but it was some sort of warm velveteen and Lyra compulsively touched it to her cheek before she stopped herself. Her training as a dressmaker took over then, and she knew exactly which trim she wanted to line the bottom with. She retrieved it and hurried out to seek Malachi’s approval for the project that was blossoming in her mind.

“We would need to order in matching fabric,” she said as soon as she was back in the Runemaster’s presence, “but I think that this would be a beautiful accent that would far surpass an invisible repair.” She presented the roll of trim to him, which consisted of thick metallic threads expertly tied in an swirl of knots and cords. It had taken Lyra’s breath away when she had first unboxed it, and she had been waiting for the project that would give her the opportunity to work with it. Somehow she doubted that the cost would be a problem for Master Malachi.

He took it from her hands and studied it closely, rubbing the end between his fingers and holding it up to the light. “You’re correct, Lyra. This would be an elegant addition to my cloak … assuming it holds up well in my travels.”

“I assure you that the metal threads are quite strong, and they would hold up well against the dirt and mud of the road,” she almost purred, subconsciously slipping into the same mannerisms that Mrs. Elwood used to drive a big sale. The idea of spending the next hour stitching that trim onto the soft fabric of Malachi’s cloak was too tantalizing to let slip away.

“It might also inspire bandits,” Malachi replied, then gave Lyra a sly wink. “But I would be a fool to turn away the magic that you are offering me. Yes, Lyra, I will order this trim for the repair.”

“Allow me to measure out the length of your hem, and I will write up your receipt for you. The work will be done this afternoon.” Lyra couldn’t suppress the smile that bubbled out from the center of her chest. She had taken the job at the dressmaker’s purely to make ends meet after her father had died, but the process and materials had grown on her in the weeks since, and for the first time she felt deeply excited about this project.

It didn’t matter that it was for Master Malachi, she told herself. It didn’t matter that he had visited their shop specifically for her, either. She repeated that to herself after he had left, and she worked intently on his cloak, carefully applying the trim with her neatest stitches, savoring the soft fabric that rested in her hands.

It didn’t matter at all.

Runemaster, Stories

Runemaster 1.2

Autumn

The gossip about Master Malachi continued through the rest of the day. Through her silent assistance in Mrs. Elwood’s work, Lyra felt that she had learned everything there was to know about the mysterious stranger that had wandered into their town. He was a Runemaster, skilled but soft spoken, trading his services in divination and healing for very little. “A man of the Old Gods who understood the challenges of modern life,” a particularly chittery client had gushed, before describing how he had told her that a blue dress would bring her good fortune, so she had rushed right over to book a fitting. Lyra wasn’t certain how legitimate he sounded, but everyone who met him was buzzing with excitement. Her imagination wanted to insist that she had felt something special about him during the brief period that she had spoken to him, but she forced the thought away. She hadn’t felt anything at all, she told herself repeatedly. He had seemed very ordinary.

The day had lasted forever.

Lyra was grateful when Mrs. Elwood informed her to close up the shop, then left her to put the supplies away and sweep the floor on her own. She wondered if Mrs. Elwood was eagerly seeking out Master Malachi, and amused herself with wondering if her employer would ask how to make her business more profitable, or about matters of love.

Once she was finished and locked the doors behind her, Lyra stopped by the butcher to pick up a small cut of beef for dinner, then continued home. She hoped that this Master Malachi character would leave soon, so that her sleepy little town could continue on as it had always been.

She stopped short and found herself staring at the front porch of her home. There he was, sitting on the top step with his strawberry blonde hair catching the late afternoon sun, his white hands contrasting sharply against the deep black of his clothing. The fabric had to have a nap to it like velvet, Lyra found herself thinking, to stay that dark against the light. Their eyes met, but he made no indication of moving.

Lyra carefully suppressed the groan that attempted to escape her lips, then forced her feet to start moving again. When she was close enough to begin a conversation, she awkwardly began, “I’m sorry about the last night. I didn’t mean to, um … be rude.”

He stood and silently descended the stairs to approach her. She found herself blushing, and focused her gaze down on his leather boots, her grip tightening on her basket.

“It would appear, Miss Lyra, that no one knows much about you outside of your name and occupation,” he said.

She took in a sharp breath, and looked up at his face. “You asked about me?”

“I asked about the first house on the eastern road.” He turned and looked back at the front door. “I merely commented that it looked empty.”

Lyra scowled. “Somehow I doubt that you could only learn my name and occupation,” she grumbled, then skirted around him to continue up her front steps. Discovering that he had already knew about her put a sour taste in her mouth, and she was ready to lock herself inside again.

“I also heard about a recent death,” he answered quietly, and Lyra froze. “An unexpected accident.”

Her throat tightened painfully, so she took in a deep breath then croaked, “That’s everything. There’s nothing else.”

“I thought that we had gotten off on the wrong foot yesterday,” Malachi said. “I came to apologize for frightening you.”

“You didn’t … mention anything about that to anyone … did you?” She turned to face him again.

“Not a word.” He smiled.

“Please don’t talk about me.” Lyra tried to wrap her arms around herself, but remembered that she was still holding the basket as it thumped against her side. She moved awkwardly, trying to play off the mistake in a nonchalant manner, but her face burned with embarrassment. Get hold of yourself, she silently reprimanded herself, then opened the door. Malachi grabbed it to prevent her from shutting herself inside.

“Lyra,” he said, then let go of the door and stepped back with his hands up. “Allow me to divine your future.”

Lyra couldn’t stop the skeptical expression that crossed her face. “In the same way that you knew about the Taylors?”

Malachi chuckled sheepishly. “Sometimes it’s beneficial to leave certain facts to the imagination. But for you, I fully intend to use real magic.”

“I don’t know.” She frowned, then shook her head. “No. I’d rather not.”

“Very well.” He stepped back once more. “I’m certain that we’ll meet again.”

Lyra quickly went inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. She hoped that Malachi wasn’t planning on staying in town for very long.

Runemaster, Stories

Runemaster – 1.1

Autumn

Lyra sat on the front steps of her home, her hands cupped around a lukewarm mug with her father’s old flannel shirt draped over her shoulders. Despite the creeping chill of Autumn, the crickets still sang to the darkening sky, and she listened with her eyes half closed as her mind slipped into the solace of emptiness.

The crunch of gravel under a heavy boot cut sharply through the serenity, and jolted Lyra back into herself. She stood and peered at the line of trees, her grip tightening on her mug as a man dressed head to toe in black materialized out of the shadows, and for a moment he was completely unaware of her as he walked down the road, his hand loosely holding a rope tied to a plodding donkey, both of them with the downcast gaze of a long and weary day. Then the man stopped, seemingly taken aback as he lowered his hood, revealing strawberry blonde hair that hung loose around his neck, and he looked directly at Lyra.

A strange sensation filled her chest. She felt like she could see through this stranger and into the depths of his inner self in just one glance, though she was certain that she had never seen the likes of him before. He felt eerily familiar, and it made her uncomfortable. Lyra unconsciously reached to clasp her father’s shirt more tightly around her neck.

“Hello!” he called out towards her. “Have I reached Leavenworth?”

“The outskirts, yes,” Lyra answered stiffly, nodding towards the road. “Keep going, and you’ll reach the town proper.”

“Thank you,” the stranger replied, but gave no indication of moving.

As the silence stretched on, she began to think that they were locked in some sort of stand-off, and she could almost sense the stranger taking in her appearance. She became acutely aware of how disheveled she was, with her brown hair tied back into a loose braid, and the dirt still packed under her fingernails from digging in her garden earlier. She hadn’t checked her reflection, but she was certain that there was an embarrassing smear of dirt across her forehead. Suddenly, all she wanted was to get away.

“The Taylors take in lodgers. They’ll feed you, too,” Lyra said tersely, then turned to open her front door. In her hurry, she let it fall shut behind her with a slam, and she quickly slid the bolt across before taking in a deep breath.

Perhaps she had overreacted.

When her father had died, she felt like her security had been ripped away from her. It was impossible to not cave into anxiety and flee the first moment something unexpected popped up. She took a sip from her mug and made a face when she realized that her tea had gone cold, then walked to the kitchen to pour it out and wash the mug.

She decided that it would be a good idea to turn in early that night. There was another busy day of work waiting for her on the morrow, and there was a good chance of her rest being disrupted by bad dreams.

Lyra was focused on taking Mrs. Gambee’s measurements, jotting them down with a pencil after scribbling a quick star in the corner of the paper to indicate that a couple of inches needed to be added to the waist and hip numbers before cutting the dress pattern. She only half-listened as the older woman gossiped with Mrs Elwood, the dressmaker, in between browsing through fabric swatches.

“He arrived last night, I’m told, and immediately asked for the Taylors,” Mrs. Gambee practically hummed, “Though when they asked how he knew about them, he smiled in a way that was quite secretive.”

“Do you think he divined it, then?” Mrs. Elwood replied.

“He might have!” Mrs. Gambee giggled. “There’s no other explanation!”

Lyra clenched her jaw for a moment, then quietly asked if Mrs. Gambee would please hold her arm out while she worked with the measuring tape.

“What did you say his name was again?” Mrs. Elwood asked, increasingly interested in the topic.

“Master Malachi, I do believe. I haven’t met him yet, but Ellie Jones told me that he has the most gorgeous orange hair she has ever seen.”

Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, but she bit the inside of her cheek as she set down her paper and pencil, then carefully folded up the measuring tape. She was so distracted that she almost didn’t hear Mrs. Elwood say, “Lyra dear, if you’re done, go grab the french lace for me,” but she caught herself and quickly replied, ‘Yes ma’am,’ then left for the back room.

Master Malachi?

She paused to put her hand against her forehead, feeling oddly faint for reasons she couldn’t explain.

Master?

It wasn’t her fault for not knowing his station. It wasn’t her fault if she left a bad first impression of the people of Leavenworth either, considering that he had popped out of the gloam so unexpectedly when she had been trying to enjoy a moment to herself. He should have known better than to stop and stare.

Master?

Lyra had to squeeze her eyes shut as she took in a deep breath. She was getting herself worked up again, and it wouldn’t do her any good to have the townsfolk thinking that she was losing herself to hysteria. She was going to keep it together, no matter what it took. At least on the outside.

She found the french lace samples and plastered a smile on her face, returning to the two women with the determination to be as helpful and efficient in her work as she could be. She was going to make it through the day, and she was going to forget about her short encounter with Master Malachi as quickly as she could. She wasn’t going to dwell. She wasn’t going to feel foolish.

She was going to pretend to be normal, like everyone else.

About Writing, art

Coming soon

Autumn

This novel is a prequel to The Black Magus, though how the two are connected won’t be obvious for quite some time.

As much as I like The Scion Suit/The Scions, truth is I’ve never 100% gotten over the fact that it originated as a story prompt. It doesn’t thematically fit into the larger mythos that I created for The Black Magus, and on an emotional level, that’s what I need right now.

You know. That whole emotional self expression through writing thing. Remember back when that was popular, before our creative culture was subverted for profit?

Anyway, I still plan on finishing The Scion Suit/The Scions, but it is on the back burner for now.

Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 11c

Autumn

“You know, Carol,” the captain said more quietly, growing somber as he stared into his own glass. “I expected you to be a sobbing mess by tonight. I have to say, I’m proud of you.”

She shrugged. “I’m not that pathetic.” She paused, then added, “Okay, I was, but not anymore.”

Lambert chuckled. “You know, when I first saw you, commander, I thought to myself … that’s not a woman, that’s a mouse!”

Holmes and the captain laughed heartily, and Hartmann faked joining in. He had a death grip on his glass, and judged that Lambert was pretending to be more intoxicated than he was – an experienced alcoholic like him wouldn’t become so loose-tongued with only one drink.

“Oh shut up! I don’t like how mean you are towards me,” Carol snapped.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a mouse.” Lambert poured out another round of drinks, and pushed one towards Carol. “Lot of men around here find it to be attractive quality in a woman.”

Danger alarms started sounding in Hartmann’s head, but he remained quiet and distant. Don’t mention me, he willed towards Carol. Forget I exist.

Her face turned bright red, helped along by the tequila. “I-I don’t know about that,” she stammered.

“Now that we know you can perform in battle, we can ease up on the training some. Maybe get you off base for a personal day.” Lambert sipped from his glass. “Go on, commander, have some more.”

Carol took another drink, but still shuddered afterwards. “What would I do off base?” she asked. “I don’t have a personal life to spend time on.”

“Really?” Lambert glanced over at Hartmann. “Not even a boyfriend?”

“No … I-I …” Carol took a big gulp of her drink, but Lambert waited patiently for her to finish. Realizing that he wasn’t going to become distracted, she sighed, then said wistfully, “I guess I was lonely.”

He then said quietly, “I’ve been wondering about you, commander. What sort of woman gets yanked out of her life without a word of complaint? I expected to hear nothing but bitching for weeks, but you went along with everything we put you through.”

Hartmann hated the way that Lambert was looking at her, and the fact that the captain was out-maneuvering him while he had to hold his tongue.

“The Suit was my everything.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she wanted to steady herself. “Cleaning it was all I cared about.”

“You lived for your job, huh?” Lambert was studying her carefully. “I think we can all relate.”

The atmosphere around them had become subdued, or perhaps that was because of the storm raging inside of Hartmann had drowned everything else out. That sense of invisibility was creeping over him again.

“No, I don’t think anyone can understand how I feel about the Suit …” Carol slurred, then hunched over slightly at cross her arms over her stomach. “I feel sick.”

Lambert’s jaw twitched, but he pointed with his thumb and said, “Bathroom’s over there.” They watched as Carol stood and staggered her way over to the door, then Lambert gave his orders to Holmes, “Go stand guard. Make sure you can hear her, but don’t let her know that you’re there. No one else uses that restroom as long as she’s inside.”

“Yes, sir!” Holmes saluted, though his eyes looked disappointed.

“Well, MSG Hartmann,” Lambert picked up his glass and held it out. “It’s a shame you picked a rotgut for our first bottle. I could’ve gotten more out of her if you had gone with something smoother.”

“It was corporal Holmes’s choice, sir,” Hartmann answered carefully. “I didn’t think about how it would affect her,” he lied.

“Hmm.” Lambert’s eyes narrowed. “A toast then, to our first success. You should feel proud of yourself – you oversaw most of her training.”

“Sir, I had nothing to do with what happened out on the mission, today,” Hartmann murmured, almost sullenly, but he raised his glass as well. “It was all that ‘help mode.’”

“It doesn’t bode well that she kept it a secret from us …” Lambert finished his drink. “I’ll take Carol and corporal Holmes back to the Base, and I’m granting you the rest of the night off.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hartmann replied, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice.

“Report to my office at 0600 tomorrow.” Lambert checked his watch. “I’ll give her a few more minutes to finish, then retrieve her.”

“I’m sorry for not being more considerate, sir.” Hartmann suppressed his smug smile. He felt a tinge of guilt over deliberately supplying Carol with something that was going to make her vomit, but it had worked out favorably enough – provided she didn’t get chatty on the drive home. He wished that he could push the issue and try to drive Carol back in his own car, but didn’t dare do anything that would increase Lambert’s suspicions.

The captain closed his eyes, his face relaxing into the creased weariness of an extremely long day. “Thank the gods this part is over.”

“I know what you mean, sir.” Hartmann leaned forward to pour himself another drink, then scanned the room. “I might try to put the moves on that hot blonde over there,” he motioned vaguely. “If I don’t decide to go home and sleep, instead.”

Lambert followed the direction of Hartmann’s gesture, then scowled. “I recommend you catch up on sleep.”

They exchanged terse and somewhat awkward farewells, and Lambert headed for the bathroom. A minute later he emerged with Carol, supporting her against his side, and Hartmann angrily watched them cross through the bar and out the front door, with Holmes trailing dutifully behind.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 11b

Autumn

It was late evening when Lambert joined them in the cafeteria. Hartmann had dutifully kept his logbook, and to his relief, Carol had returned to her typical self bit by bit. Lambert was in a good mood, and he clamped a hand down on her shoulder as he proclaimed, “Our commander did a thorough job out there. She’s officially blooded now.”

More than can be said of you, Hartmann thought bitterly, inwardly bristling at the way the captain’s fingers slightly massaged her. Carol’s face turned bright red.

“I-I just did what I was supposed to, sir,” she stammered.

“Wish you had told us about that ‘help mode’ sooner; would’ve saved us all a lot of stress.” Lambert laughed. “C’mon, let’s go out and celebrate.”

From the captain’s boisterous attitude, Hartmann suspected he had already done some celebrating.

“I kind of just want to go to bed,” Carol protested, then shrank back from the look in Lambert’s eyes.

“Camaraderie, commander,” he half growled, half purred. “You’re one of us, now.”

“I’m in.” Hartmann stood and forced a half smile. “Bring that kid corporal along too. He knows what Carol’s normally like, so he should be included.”

“Great idea.” Lambert pulled the radio off his belt and gave orders for Holmes to meet with them in the parking garage.

They made the necessary arrangements, and Lambert drove off with Carol while Hartmann remained to wait for Holmes. Once alone, he let out an expletive and kicked the tire of his car, then took in a deep breath to regain self-control. Carol was a good as his, he reminded himself, so there was no harm in her spending time alone with the captain – Lambert was already suspicious of his interactions with Carol, so it was prudent to play distant anyway.

If he could have it his way, he’d lock Carol up in his apartment where she would play house for him alone, far away from all of this military bullshit.

It took only a few minutes for Holmes to come jogging, and a minute after that Hartmann was accelerating out of the parking garage with squealing tires. He made casual small talk to hide his anxiety, playing up nonchalance with a hint of machismo, repeating that he could have done a better job in the Suit to imply that he was insecure over Carol’s success. He didn’t care what Holmes thought, as long as the corporal didn’t guess that the real reason why he was speeding was because he was scared of leaving Carol alone with the captain, because even still he worried that there was a possibility of losing her to Lambert.

Lambert’s car was in the parking lot at the bar, but he and Carol were already inside. Hartmann winced slightly when he recognized the exterior as one of his hunting grounds, and silently chastised himself for not paying more attention when the captain had suggested the name. Had the choice been deliberate? Was it Lambert’s move in the competition for Carol’s attention? Was he hoping that Hartmann would be embarrassed by one of his former sluts?

Hartmann’s heart was pounding with anger. He kept his back tall and straight, and strode in through the doors, his jaw set as he scanned for the pair that he needed to keep apart at any cost. Carol was his, and he wasn’t going to stand for this bullshit from their commanding officer.

Carol waved at him from one of the tables, and Lambert turned to study him. Keep it cool, Hartmann breathed in and out. He would keep his facade up, and the evening would pass by without a hitch – he would see to that.

“Hey, corporal,” he said to Holmes who was standing slightly behind him. “What are you in the mood for? This round’s on me.”

Holmes grinned and answered a tequila brand that hit like a punch to the gut, but was popular with the younger soldiers. Hartmann bit back the urge to point out that Carol would be drinking along with them, and instead slapped Holmes’s shoulder and laughed, “Coming right up!” A moment later, he plopped himself down at the table with a bottle and four glasses, and poured an inch of liquid into each one.

“Um, sir, I’m not so sure about this …” Carol began to protest, but Lambert wouldn’t hear it.

“You fight with us, you drink with us. Loosen up and celebrate, commander, your cherry’s been popped.”

“Captain!” Carol’s face turned bright red. “That’s not an appropriate thing to say.”

All three of the men burst into laughter, and Holmes exclaimed, “Carol, you’re a hoot!” as she looked around, confused and uncomfortable.

“Drink!” Lambert ordered. “We’ll find a way to work that stick out, one way or another.”

Her eyes met Hartmann’s, as if she was seeking his help. He picked up his glass and said, “Here’s to the cleaning lady, for surprising us all.”

She took the cue, and sipped some of the alcohol, instantly coughing as a shudder ran through her. “Oh god, that’s strong,” she gasped.

Lambert laughed and gave Carol a strong pat on the back. “Finish it all, commander. Be a good girl.”

Hartmann wondered what was going through the captain’s mind. Carol was clearly struggling with the potency of the alcohol, and she was already showing signs of being tipsy. But, after she choked down her first glass, Lambert poured her another.

Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 11a

Autumn

“What the fuck is ‘Help mode?’” Lambert growled as soon as the door to the small room was closed.

“It’s a function in the Suit reserved exclusively for the commander – me,” Carol replied coolly, the expression in her eyes different from her usual self. While Hartmann was present, he stared silently, trying to parse what he was witnessing.

“How did you know about it?” The captain crossed his arms, but otherwise softened his voice.

“I activated it by accident the very first time I was inside the Suit. After MSG Hartmann had taken it upon himself to harass me, sir.” Carol gave the him a deliberate look, but a weird feeling was coalescing in the center of Hartmann’s chest. She had shortened and slurred ‘master sergeant’ the same way that the soldiers did, instead of meticulously enunciating each syllable in her usual civilian way. Who was this woman sitting there?

“Why didn’t you report its existence before?” Lambert asked.

“Personal reasons,” she replied curtly.

“I could punish you for withholding pertinent information,” the captain said quietly.

She was unfazed. “Sir, I will accept whatever disciplinary measures that you decide are necessary, but after the success of my mission, I do not believe that separating me from the Suit is a valid course of action.”

“Anything you want to add?” Lambert glanced over at Hartmann, but he shook his head and murmured, “No, sir.” The captain studied Carol closely for a moment, then asked, “So, what does help mode do?”

She explained, her voice unwavering, “It removes emotional blockages and clears the mind’s ability to process and calculate. It also heightens reflexes and decision making.”

“How long do the effects last?” Lambert pulled out his notepad and began writing.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“We’ll keep an eye on you for the next while then.” Lambert then addressed Hartmann, ordering, “Close observation, and take notes of her behavior every …” he glanced down at his watch, “Ten minutes. I want every aspect of this recorded.”

“Yes, sir.” Hartmann echoed, oddly fearful that Carol would never return to her normal self.

“I need to go manage the surveillance and confirmation. Carol, write down every detail that happened while you were out on the mission, then sign it. MSG Hartmann will stay here observing you. Afterwards, you are free to go to the cafeteria to eat, but you must stay there until I come for you.”

“Yes, sir,” Carol and Hartmann said at the same time.

Carol began working on her statement, while Hartmann scribbled down his observations of her, careful to keep his personal thoughts private.

No hint of usual anxiety issues, including fidgeting, nail biting, and other quirks. He already ached to see her draw her teeth over her lower lip, oblivious to the sensuality of the action.

“I’d like to know your first name, MSG,” Carol’s voice broke through the sound of scribbling. “I’d like to know now, before I become too scared to ask again.”

“John.” He met her eyes. “Plain, boring, John.”

She smiled. “Thank you, John Hartmann.”

“Have you …” he said, then uncertain, attempted to begin again, “Are you …”

“I’m still me,” she replied. “More so than usual, actually.”

“Carol, I uh …” What was he trying to say? It was like his entire damn head had shut down, and he was left floundering for how he was supposed to interact with the woman in front of him. She looked like the same person that he had taken in his arms and pressed to his lips, but her behavior was not at all the same. “I congratulate you on your first successful mission,” he finished lamely.

“Is there any surveillance in this room? Hidden cameras, or anything like that?” she asked.

Hartmann shook his head. “No. Such measures would imply distrust. This room is used solely for debriefings, and any recordings are done with everyone’s knowledge.”

“In that case …” Carol stood, stepped over to where Hartmann was, and took his hand. “Thank you for being my friend. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but now …” Her eyelids fluttered and she leaned in for a kiss.

Hartmann hated how intoxicating Carol was for him. He couldn’t push her away, or tell her that he was a manipulative fraud. All he could do was feel and taste her, and hold himself back from pursuing even more of her. Why was he doubting himself despite moving closer to his goal? Was it the change in her demeanor that had him twisted up inside?

She blushed when she pulled away, and they both returned to their writing.

Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 10c

Autumn

“I’m here, I think,” Carol voice broke over the radio. “I’m starting to descend.”

“Stay focused. Remember, if it moves, blow it up. I don’t care if it’s a tank, a car, or a human, just do your job. Over.” Lambert barked into the radio, and Hartmann recognized the steely resolve on his face. The captain was going to do whatever it took to bully Carol through combat, and Hartmann hoped that it would work – for everyone’s sake.

“I’ve landed. Oh no, they’re all running out and they’ve got guns.” Her voice sounded petrified.

“Shoot them!” Lambert ordered forcefully.

Carol’s voice whimpered, “I can see their faces. They look so angry and scared. They’re shooting at me!”

“GODDAMN IT CAROL, TAKE THEM OUT NOW!” the captain bellowed.

“Help mode! Help mode!” her voice shrieked over the radio, followed by a computer voice replying, “Accessing help system.” Lambert turned to Hartmann with a puzzled look.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know, sir.” Hartmann stepped over to stare down at the radio, as if somehow he could see what was going on through it. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Carol, what’s going on? Over.” Lambert spoke urgently into the radio, but they didn’t receive a reply.

There was a full fifteen minutes of silence, and Hartmann realized that his brow was damp with sweat. It was unreal to be on this side of the mission, blind to what was happening miles and miles away. He was careful not to let his hands shake.

It was a relief when the radio finally crackled back to life. “Mission complete. Returning to Base. Over.”

It was Carol’s voice … but not. It was too confident, yet too robotic at the same time – not remotely like the timid squeak that they had grown accustomed to. Lambert and Hartmann stared at each other, lost for words, unsure of what had just happened.

“Get the satellite imaging, and send in the surveillance drones,” Lambert grunted. “Verify that the enemy base was destroyed.” He looked at Hartmann once again. “MSG Hartmann will be part of the debriefing.”

The room echoed with, “Yes, sir!” and the soldiers devoted themselves to their duties. The captain and master sergeant sat still and quiet, waiting for Carol and the Suit to return, mentally sorting through the questions they needed to ask.

Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 10b

Autumn

Once everyone was gathered in the bunker around the Suit, Lambert pulled out the flash drive and handed it to Carol. “Plug that in,” he grunted. “It will take you to where you need to go.”

“Then what?” she asked hoarsely.

“Then you make everything go boom.” Lambert’s expression was already defeated, and after he finished clipping the radio to Carol’s t-shirt, he stepped back to let Hartmann give his instructions. Hartmann wondered if the captain was already bracing himself for the disgrace of failure, his demotion looming nearer and nearer with the catastrophe that was certain to unfold. Fortunately, the master sergeant was much better practiced at hiding his thoughts, and with the demeanor of the perfect soldier, he said,

“There’s a port on the right side of the door inside the Suit. After you get settled, plug it in and say, ‘Access external drive.’”

Carol nodded and mouthed the words, “Thank you,” without realizing it. Her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that shot through his heart, and it occurred to him that she was falling in love. Not here, he silently projected towards her, then added, Not with me.

She trembled visibly as she climbed the new ramp to the cockpit of the Suit and sat down in the pilot’s seat, casting one last look at Hartmann before closing the doors. Lambert’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he remained silent as Carol’s voice crackled over the radio, “Access external drive.”

“Good,” Hartmann spoke into his end. “Now tell it to access autopilot program. I want you to read back the coordinates to verify that I programmed it correctly. Over”

Carol repeated, “Access autopilot program,” her voice gaining a bit of strength. The numbers she recited next were correct, so Hartmann told her to go ahead and run the program.

“When you get there,” he added, “You don’t have to worry about any civilians. If it moves, shoot it. Don’t take any direct hits from heavy artillery. Over. ”

“Got it!” The Suit roared to life, the giant doors to the outside were pulled open, and then Carol was gone; a shrinking black dot against a pale morning sky. But her voice over the radio was loud and clear, and she asked, “How long will the flight take?”

Instead of replying, Hartmann handed the radio over to the captain and stepped back. “Never you mind,” Lambert grunted into the receiver. “Just keep your eyes on the monitors, and they’ll tell you when you’re there. Keep communications to a minimum. Over.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

Hartmann feigned disinterest and boredom, glancing at his watch then setting his jaw. He pretended not to notice when Lambert approached him and said quietly, “Mas-sarg Hartmann.”

“Yessir?” he replied, his voice oozing with deference.

“Have you been following the rules and keeping a respectful distance from Carol?” the captain asked bluntly, but privately. There were others present, all keeping watch and bearing witness to the progression of the combat mission, and all pretending to look busier than they were. They both knew that this particular conversation would spread like a fire through the rumor mill, and neither wanted that to happen, so they kept their voices quiet.

“Yes. Sir.” A muscle in Hartmann’s finger twitched as he lied, so he closed his hand into a fist. “She’s not my type.”

Lambert wanted to say something more, but checked himself. “I want to see you in my office tomorrow,” he mumbled, then stepped away.

And everyone waited.

Stories, The Scions

The Scions – 10a

Autumn

Lambert joined them again in the evening, and Hartmann stepped back as the captain took the lead with directing Carol’s training. The captain kept her repeating drills in the dark, until with a frown he looked at his watch and told her that it was time to call it a night. Holmes escorted her away, and Hartmann waited for his own dismissal.

“My office,” Lambert grunted instead. Once they were behind closed doors, the captain took a key out of his pocket, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a folder which he slapped down onto his desk. “You’re going to help me get as much of this shit programmed onto autopilot as we can.”

Hartmann picked up the folder and opened it, silently reading for awhile. “I can program in the coordinates to get her there and back,” he mused after awhile. “The targets are a different story, but at least there shouldn’t be any civilians to be concerned about.”

Lambert opened his drawer again, and took out a specialized flash drive that he handed over to the master sergeant. “Better than having her lost over the ocean. This came in last week from R&D, so here’s hoping it works the way it’s meant to. C’mon, to the Suit, now.”

The two men proceeded to the bunker, and Hartmann sat in the pilot’s seat of the Suit, but didn’t close the doors. He plugged in the flash drive, and put together a basic computer program to get Carol through her first mission, testing and verifying as much of his work as he could without actually leaving the Base. Lambert stood close by, leaning against the doors as he quietly dictated the necessary data, but the going was slow. Hartmann had always operated with coordinates and objectives, and while he knew that others were working on an external drive that was compatible with the Suit’s computers, he never thought the project seemed interesting or relevant. He certainly hadn’t expected that he would be the one learning how to program the autopilot settings for someone else to use. He tested as best as he could without actually taking the Suit out, knowing that if he screwed up, Carol would struggle enormously with navigating on her own. It resulted in him performing a number of redundant checks, but Lambert listened to each one patiently without pushing him to hurry up – his thoughts were likely the same.

By the time that they were done, the captain took one glance at his watch and immediately headed for a vending machine to buy a couple of energy drinks. There wasn’t much point in trying to sleep before the mission was scheduled to start, and with their suppressed jitters, neither of them would be able to anyway. Instead, they passed the next couple of hours in silence, sitting kitty corner in the cafeteria. When Lambert stood, Hartmann stood as well.

The hallway outside of Carol’s room was dimly lit, and the captain pounded on the door with such force that it was certain to startle and scare the mousy woman, bellowing “Rise and shine, commander!” There was a thump inside, the sound of bare feet slapping against a hard floor, and the door flung open to a disheveled Carol looking up at them with alarm. “Get dressed. Quickly,” Lambert growled. “You have thirty minutes to eat a light breakfast.”

“What’s going on?” she asked faintly, but the captain barked, “Just do as you’re told!” in response.

The door closed, then opened again after a mere two minutes. Carol was still hastily pulling her unbrushed hair back into a ponytail, and her boots were unlaced, but she was willing to accompany the two military men. Lambert’s face softened with approval, and with a nod the three of them set off towards the cafeteria.

The three of them sat down to a meal of granola, yogurt, canned fruit, and sausage. It satisfied the basic checklist of nutritional requirements, but Hartmann still secretly wondered how Carol would fare if she vomited up a combination of yogurt and sausage during the course of her mission; it was a disgusting thought. Lambert still hadn’t offered any explanation about what the day would bring, likely holding the news off for as long as he could.

Holmes arrived after ten minutes, saluted dutifully, then stood at attention. Carol’s suspicions were definitely growing, but she willfully avoided looking at Hartmann. In fact, with the way her eyes skipped over him and lingered on the captain, he struggled to suppress the jealousy that welled up inside of himself.

It was my hand you held last night, he thought, tightening his fingers into a fist. My lips that kissed you. Look at me, not him.

But Lambert was the commanding officer in charge of giving orders.

“I’m finished eating, sir,” Carol said slowly. “What are we doing today?”

He stood, nodded to Holmes, the replied dismissively, “You have your first real combat mission. Congratulations.”

Lambert was a coward, Hartmann thought as he watched the captain retreat. He, however, remained to watch Carol blanch, her face turning pale enough that he wondered if she was going to lose her breakfast already.

“You all right?” he felt compelled to ask, and she looked at him blankly before nodding.

“Yeah. I guess.” Her voice squeaked. The color was completely gone from her lips.

Hartmann frowned. Part of him wanted to assume the role of the doting boyfriend, and assure her that everything was going to be just fine because he had spent all night working to make her job easy for her. The other part, the one crafted and shaped by his life in the military, barked orders for her to toughen up and grow a pair – to ‘fake it till you make it,’ the same way he did. He reminded himself that he was playing the good cop, and he couldn’t be calloused towards her.

“The Suit will help you,” he said slowly, carefully considering each word. “You’ll laugh about how nervous you were later tonight.”

“Yeah,” Carol faintly repeated. Her eyes were unfocused, and Hartmann wondered what sort of tumultuous storm was raging inside her head.

He stood. “Have corporal Holmes escort you to the bunker. I have something to take care of first.” He headed in the direction of the nearest restroom to throw them off, glanced back to ensure that Carol wasn’t watching, and ducked through the doorway and around a corner to escape out into a hallway. He pressed his back against the wall and took in a deep breath, fighting against the thought that they were hopelessly fucked.

When it came to Carol, he was turning into as much of a coward as Lambert. Seeing her repressed internal struggle had gotten the better of him, and he had fled on a flimsy excuse just like the captain had.

Cut her loose before she ruins you, some deep inner voice urged him, but he knew that he couldn’t let her go.

Carol was under his skin.

And he was going to spend the next several hours monitoring her using the Suit in combat – it was certain to be a fucking miserable day.