From: owner-arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com (arfic-l-digest) To: arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: arfic-l-digest V1 #3 Reply-To: arfic-l-digest Sender: owner-arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk arfic-l-digest Friday, February 9 2001 Volume 01 : Number 003 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Tue, 6 Feb 2001 23:52:29 -0500 (EST) From: Ailie McFarland Subject: (arfic-l) Hi! and Fic 3/3 TITLE: Take These Broken Wings 3/3 AUTHOR: Ailie McFarland E-MAIL: aixla@juno.com RATING: PG-13 (For suicide theme) SERIES: Angel DISTRIBUTION: Alternate realities and anyone who asks. (If it helps at all I'm gonna say Yes!) FEEDBACK: Hello, you've reached Ailie's ego. I'm not in right now, but if you'd leave me a message about my story I'd greatly appriciate it! DISCLAIMER: Angel, Cordy and Wesley are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, FOX, the WB ... basically everybody who's not me. Chapter 8 "Shannon," a cool hand fell on the girl's shoulder, startling her from a light doze. She turned to find Angel standing behind her chair. "Why don't you go ahead downstairs and get some rest. You're not going to be able to help if you're exhausted." Shannon nodded wearily in agreement. "Alright. I just want to finish this page first. This chapter seemed like it might be more helpful than the rest." She gestured toward the growing pile of books at her feet. Angel attempted to scowl disapprovingly, but couldn't help but to smile. A full night's research hadn't brought them any new information, still, Shannon refused to be discouraged. Dark circles still ringed her eyes, but there was something there Angel hadn't seen before - hope. An icicle of a chill ran up Shannon's spine. She shivered involuntarily. "Are you okay?" Shannon shook her head as if to clear it. "I think so. Maybe I should let you finish this, though." As she stood, the ground suddenly seemed to shift under her feet. The room spun violently, and she reached out to the desk for support. "Shannon!" Angel's voice traveled to her through a tunnel, almost obscured completely by the sound of a scream which she vaguely realized was hers. The cry died with an abrupt, strangling sound as a wave of muscle spasms wracked her body. She was aware of being lifted, felt strong arms wrap around her in an attempt to keep her from hurting herself or someone else. Green eyes met Angel's brown, and she saw there fear and helplessness. His lips formed words she couldn't hear. "Wesley! Cordelia!" Angel held the trembling girl in his arms. "Hold on, Shannon. Just hold on." Shannon focused in on Angel's eyes. She couldn't hear, couldn't move, but as long as she could stay keep her eyes focused into this world she might stay sane. A second attack of convulsions struck, more powerful than the first. Her eyes closed as she fought against the pain. When she opened them again, the world had gone black. A low moan gurgled up from her throat, accompanied by dark laughter in the distance. Then the lights came on again, and Shannon found herself trapped in a land of eternal nightmares. * * * * * Wesley shook his head as he removed the stethoscope from his ears. "Her heart is racing so fast I can barely count the pulse, and her breathing is extremely shallow. I'm not sure how much more of this she can survive in her weakened condition." He looked back to the frail form lying on Angel's bed, trembling under the covers. "He's laughing at us, Wesley. He's right here in this room, killing her right in front of us. And we can't do anything to stop him!" Angel's fist struck the brick wall hard enough to make a sizable dent. "Easy there." Wesley touched him on the shoulder, but the vampire shook him off. When Angel turned, his face was contorted into the feral image of the demon inside him. "This is exactly the reaction the cura demon is hoping for. You can't let him get to you." "We're not dealing with some schoolyard bully here," Angel retorted. "Ignoring him won't make him go away!" "And that is why it is imperative that we keep level heads through this. We can't out-fight this one, Angel. We have to out-think it." Wesley breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Angel relax and the vampiric features fall from his face. He had seen Angel's "game face" several times in the past, but it never ceased to unnerve him. "Good point. We have to think the way it thinks." Angel began to pace about the room. "Shannon's been here all day, but this is the first time its attacked. Why?" "The cura is an extremely malicious creature. They enjoy participating in the pain and torment of others. Perhaps it wanted to give her a chance to find a bit of hope before it destroyed her." "Maybe," Angel didn't sound convinced. "But still there's the question of timing. Why that particular moment? Why not strike when she was alone? The demon wouldn't want us around to help her, and we were all together up there doing ..." "Research," Wesley finished. "We were getting too close to something." Angel strode toward the stairs. "And once again, I'm two steps ahead of you guys." Cordelia's voice echoed down the stairwell. When she reached the bottom she handed the volume she was carrying to Wesley. "Shannon was on page 213. Check out what you find when you turn the page." Wesley flipped through the musty pages. "Here we are ... Exorcism of the Cura. We need to create a circle of protection with fire, water, air and earth. Quite standard, actually. Burning of moss herbs and twice blessed sage ... Oh dear." "What? What's wrong?" Angel's voice was full of urgency. "Well, the spell is fairly simple, and I can perform most of it." Wesley closed the book and walked to Shannon's side, taking her trembling hand in his. "But the incantation must be spoken by the cura's intended victim." Chapter 9 "Cordelia, are you sure you want to do this?" "For the last time Wesley, yes!" Cordelia said with determination. "First off, you're the one working the spell. If something goes wrong you need to be conscious and able to fix it. Secondly, there's a chance the spell could work some nasty mojo on Angel's curse, and that's the last thing we need." She paused to see if anyone would argue with her. "Good. That's settled. Now, lets go over this one more time, from the top." Wesley was uncomfortable with the situation, but there appeared to be no other solution. "Right then. You and Shannon will sit here on the floor, and I shall begin the spell. When my preparations are complete I will signal to you, and you will read the chant I have written down for you." Cordelia accepted the sheet of paper Wesley offered her. "And that'll create a bond so that Shannon can suck up my energy?" "Not exactly. She doesn't ... suck anything. It's hard to explain, but basically it's a merging of life forces. You each share with the other. Theoretically she should gain enough strength from you to complete the spell and vanquish the demon. But ..." "But since we're sharing each other's energy it probably won't be that pleasant for me." Cordelia said softly. "And this is all just a theory." Wesley looked at the floor. "It might not work, and I'm afraid that if this backfires you may fall prey to the Cura as well." A moment of complete silence followed. Wesley broke the awkward tension by continuing. "Now, it is imperative that you remain in physical contact with Shannon at all times. The bond we are creating is not entirely stable, and any loss of connection will probably kill you both." Angel had been standing in the corner of the room for quite some time, sometimes watching Cordelia and Wesley, sometimes the waif of a girl dying on his bed. "Cordelia," he finally spoke up, startling both his companions. "You don't have to do this." "Yes I do." She crossed the room to look up into his face. "I've watched you give of yourself time and time again. You never hesitate to risk your life to save someone else's. I've lived my whole life thinking of no one but me, myself, and I. It's my turn now." Angel frowned, but looked at Cordelia with newfound respect. In over 200 years, he had never seen anyone make this kind of character transformation in such a short time. He nodded his assent. "Okay, good." She turned back to Wesley. "Let's get this over with before I come to my senses and change my mind. * * * * * The room was still as death. Angel had pushed his bed into the far corner to allow Wesley room to work. Cordelia sat in the middle of the floor, with four unlit candles marking the directional points surrounding her. Shannon's head lay cradled on her lap. Wesley consulted his book one last time, then moved to the candle positioned directly in front of Cordelia. A nod from the girl to show she was ready, a look to his employer standing in the corner for strength and support, and he began. "Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the East, Power of Air! We implore thee, grant us thy protection." Wesley bent to retrieve a small bundle of herbs at his feet. After lighting them he walked slowly around the circle, creating a ring of smoke that hung eerily in the air instead of dissipating. Returning the herbs, he continued to the next point. "Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the South, Power of Fire! We implore thee, grant us thy protection." On this trip around the circle the Englishman stopped to light the candles he had positioned earlier. He continued in this manner, calling on the Guardians of the West and sprinkling water around the circle, then the Guardians of the North and creating a ring of soil. Finally, he returned to the point at which he began. Wesley made eye contact with Cordelia and spoke. "The circle is cast. Witness these rites done in your honor, and keep your children safe from harm." Cordelia gasped as the flickering light of the candles suddenly burst into flames several feet high, then returned to a normal dim glow. She closed her eyes to collect herself "C'mon Cordelia, lets pull ourselves together here." With that final mental affirmation, she grasped Shannon's limp hands in hers. "With perfect love and perfect trust And with motives pure and just I join my sister soul and heart And my life to her impart." Cordelia felt a rush of warmth move from her chest through her hands, creating an emptiness inside so great she feared her body would collapse in on itself. Almost as quickly as the void formed it was gone, filled with a bone numbing chill. For an instant Cordelia saw Shannon's private hell, and screamed. Wesley leapt to his feet to restrain Angel as he rushed forward. "No! You can't break the circle once it's been cast or we'll lose them both!" Slowly, the spell's energy began to equal itself. The pain and fear became less and less consuming, until Cordelia was able to find strength to open her eyes. Green eyes locked on hers, and the two girls rose as a unit. Shannon seemed to instinctively realize what was going on around her as she dropped Cordelia's left hand to reach for the book on the floor. She began the incantation in a quavering voice. "I call out the demon that plagues me. The one who invades my mind and shreds my soul. You who believe that you hold everything over me, when in truth you have none." Shannon's voice grew stronger with each word, and the flames of the candles grew with her intensity. A disturbance not unlike a small storm erupted in the room, scattering papers and debris. Shannon's raised her voice to a shout. "Power of self I hold over you! Power of the soul which has been denied you! Power of marrow and bone to give me strength! Power of flesh and blood to anchor me in this world You have no support or anchor." Winds raged and candles flamed higher. Shannon closed her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs. "You are cast from this mortal plane forever!" A flash of light, an inhuman scream, and it was over. As the winds died and the candles extinguished themselves, Cordelia and Shannon collapsed into an exhausted heap on the floor. Chapter 10 The concert hall teemed with people. Angel managed to step on more than a fair share of toes before he gratefully slid down into his seat. "Not quite as stealthy as we used to be, are we?" quipped the woman beside him. "One of the disadvantages of being human," he replied with a sigh. "Although I do believe the various advantages might just outweigh the negatives." Buffy rewarded him with an innocent look. "You wouldn't happen to be referring to one benefit in particular, would you?" "You'd better believe it!" he laughed as he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. They had the best seats in the house; orchestra section, center, 8 rows back. To Buffy's right Cordelia and Wesley. They were engaged in their own private conversation, probably discussing arrangements for their upcoming wedding. "So, is this girl any good?" asked Buffy. "She is. Her music has such soul." He smiled to himself as he remembered the conversation that took place in his apartment almost five years previous. Buffy heard the thoughtful tone in his voice and was about to question him further when the lights began to dim. Shannon MacLeod stepped from between the curtains with perfect grace and composure, acknowledging the thunderous applause from the crowd before approaching the microphone set center stage. "Good evening. I'd like to thank you all for coming, and offer a word of explanation about the first piece on the program. Many people speak of Angels. Sometimes they mean heavenly creatures sent from God, sometimes men who go above and beyond the call of duty." She paused to find Angel's face in the crowd. "Several years ago I met my own guardian angel. He helped me to win back my life, and this piece means something special to both of us. For you, Angel." With that she settled the violin under her chin and began to play. The familiar opening strains of the "Grave" from Bach's Sonata in A minor echoed from wood and strings. The notes Bach heard in his head as he wrote could not have been sweeter than this. Shannon played as she had never played before, throwing every ounce of emotion, every experience, every memory into the phrasing and shaping of sound. Angel closed his eyes and let himself be carried away as the music found it's own wings, and began to soar. FIN *************** Ailie McFarland *************** WILLOW: Well, I like you. You're nice and you're funny. And you don't smoke. Yeah, okay, werewolf, but that's not all the time. I mean, three days out of the month I'm not much fun to be around either. OZ: You are quite the human. WILLOW: So I'd still, if you'd still. OZ: I'd still. I'd *very* still. OZ: Would it help you if I panic? WILLOW: Yes, it'd be swell. Panic is a thing people can share in times of crisis, and everything's really scary now, you know, and I don't know what's going to happen and there is all sorts of things you're supposed to get to do after high school and I was really looking forward to doing them and now we're probably just going to die and I'd like to feel you maybe you would ... (Oz shuts her up with a kiss) What are you doing? OZ: Panicing. WILLOW: Oz...don't you love me? OZ: My whole life, I've never loved anything else. - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 9 Feb 2001 20:09:52 -0500 From: "Michele Bumbarger" Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Eclipse: Darkness Falling (Part 0) Title: Eclipse - Book One: Darkness Falling Part 0: Disclaimer & Notes Author: Michele Mason Bumbarger Email: mbumbarg@pair.com TV Series: Alternate Universe Crossover - Buffy, the Vampire Slayer/Highlander: The Series/Original Series Tomorrow People and New Series Tomorrow People Rating: TV-14, there's a little bit of bad language and it gets violent in some points, nothing more than you'd catch on prime time television though Summary: See Notes Archive: Only mine (Alternate Realities). Author's Notes: To start, this is a work in progress. It's a little idea I toyed with for a while and then set about putting to paper in the spring of 1999. Every now and then, I pull it out, tweak a bit and add another chapter. I don't know when it will be finished, but I do know that it has held my interest for two years, which is far longer than most of my unfinished work manages to last before deletion. I have a full outline and plan, it's just a matter of getting it there. So, just sit back and consider me the Robert Jordan of fandom (or, for those unfamiliar with Robert Jordan, just think of Stephen King's ongoing Dark Tower series). First let it be known that this is a weird one. As the tag line implies, this is a multi-universal crossover, but not in the way that one would probably expect. In this case, this is an entirely different timeline and an alternate universe (alternate to all of the series' canons' universes). In this universe, the characters appear in somewhat different incarnations; sometimes with different names, and certainly in different relationships with one another. Sound confusing? I hope that it isn't; I am trying to write this in such a way that you will recognize the characters from personality and physical descriptions. The Plot: Imagine an alternative world where you can engineer your perfect child, where genetic manipulation is the norm. Imagine a world where even the power of magick is often not power enough to stand against the evils of technology. Imagine a world where psionic powers are valued by the government and military and those possessing these powers are 'harvested' and 'trained' and made second class citizens to live their lives as the government dictates. This is the world of Eclipse where a small handful of rebels, known as the Coalition, strive to upset the balance of power and create a world of equality and freedom for all. A world where your best friend might be your enemy and your enemy the only friend you have. A world where only the rich and powerful are allowed to ignore the laws because they make the laws; a world that is slowly decaying and falling to pieces and no one is yet the wiser. Disclaimer: None of these characters, television shows, or concepts belong to me. The Tomorrow People are the property of Roger Damon Price, Thames/ITV Television, and Tetra Television. Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Highlander: The Series characters belong to Panzer/Davis, Rhysher Entertainment and Gaumont Television. All are used here without permission and not for profit. All original characters are the by-product of my own warped and twisted imagination. Feedback: I crave it, live for it, and need it like mammals need oxygen to breathe. Send all comments and encouragement to mbumbarg@pair.com. All flames and discouragement may be sent to im-not-listening@I-don't-care.com They will immediately sorted into the virtual circular file. Michele Mason Bumbarger 02.09.2001 "You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe." -- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5, A Late Delivery from Avalon ******** a l t e r n a t e REALITIES Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ******** - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 9 Feb 2001 20:27:33 -0500 From: "Michele Bumbarger" Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Eclipse: Darkness Falling (Part 1) Title: Eclipse - Book One: Darkness Falling Part 1: Prologue Author: Michele Mason Bumbarger Email: mbumbarg@pair.com TV Series: Alternate Universe Crossover - Buffy, the Vampire Slayer/Highlander: The Series/Original Series Tomorrow People and New Series Tomorrow People Rating: TV-14, there's a little bit of bad language and it gets violent in some points, nothing more than you'd catch on prime time television though Archive: Only mine (Alternate Realities). Author's Notes & Comments: See Ramblings in Part 0 Disclaimer: None of these characters, television shows, or concepts belong to me. The Tomorrow People are the property of Roger Damon Price, Thames/ITV Television, and Tetra Television. Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Highlander: The Series characters belong to Panzer/Davis, Rhysher Entertainment and Gaumont Television. All are used here without permission and not for profit. All original characters are the by-product of my own warped and twisted imagination. **** Prologue "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Leaning comfortably back against the wall of the confessional, the priest nodded. This would be his last confession of the day, and for that he gave a small prayer of thanks. Then, realizing precisely how sacrilegious and petulant that relief was, he grimaced inwardly. He was true to his faith, no matter how much the government had twisted and mutated it into what they wanted it to be to keep the Unified Alliance strong. "How long has it been since your last confession?" "I have never been to confession. I am not Catholic." Those words caused him to sit up straighter, as though a bolt of electricity had been sent through his entire body. Yet, his voice remained calm. "Child, there is but one religion in the Unified Alliance and that is the true religion of our Lord and Savior and his blessed Mother. We are all Catholic and we are all His children." "And where there are those gathered in my name, I am there." The bible verse was both a light of hope and a tentacle of fear that wrapped itself around his heart. Each time he went through this, he knew he was walking a fine line between freedom and imprisonment. Each time, he gave a small prayer that the person on the other side of the confessional was truly one of his own, and not a spy or infiltrator. That would mean trial and death for the charge of treason. That would mean the end of his work here forever. "What weighs heavy upon your soul my child?" The priest asked quietly, his heart pounding so loudly he wondered if the parishioner could hear it as well. "I wish to know if the gates of heaven are open to all of God's children no matter what their sin or crime." The code words yet again. Words that held meaning for him, but would hold meaning for no one else listening to the conversation . . . if anyone was listening. The government insisted that the confessional was still sacred but he did not trust the government any more than his father had before him. "The gates of heaven are always open, but sometimes a soul must be weighed in purgatory." "Even the souls of children who are without sin?" "Even children bear the stain of original sin." "They have been baptized and cleansed and I know their hour draws near, Father. If I should lose them, I need to know that they will be received at the pearly gates." Children. Even he could not turn away children. "The Lord will not turn his face on the innocent and the pure." "Is it wrong of me to miss them already? I do not think they will survive this night or the 'morrow and -" "No matter how short their time, be glad and give praise for the joy they have brought to your life. And know that you too, one day will be united with them in heaven." "Thank you Father." "You are welcome, my child." He waited a while before leaving the confessional and returning to his private chambers, feeling the familiar ball of disgust rise up in stomach. Children, mere children. They would be shipped out of Psi Control tonight and sent to the farms . . . the camps . . . or worse, to their deaths. Because their psionic abilities were not strong enough, or because they were not powerful enough to be used by the Unified Alliance. Perhaps it would be because they were not 'trainable' or 'malleable.' Whatever the case, they were less than second class citizens now. Their status would be entered into their permanent records and they would never ever be allowed even the semblance of freedom unless they were re-tested later . . . which seldom happened. He had only a few hours to prepare and he hated to rush these things. The only way to keep the safe houses safe was to approach these transfers with caution and thought. But these children would not be safe for another few days, that much was certain. If The Coalition insider thought they would be safe, they would not have come to him. Putting on his overcoat, Father Andrew sighed heavily. He had a contact to meet if he hoped to get those children to the safe house by morning. And then it would be time for another letter to Brother Darius. Andrew hoped that his fellow would be able to accommodate two more children and smuggle them into Africa. It was their only hope for freedom. * * * * * "How are you today?" It took her a moment to realize that the question was directed at her. It took her a moment to realize that the speaker was sitting besides her on the patio terrace, hands folded on the table top, staring curiously at her while he awaited her answer. She looked up from her reading, trying to remember his name, and secretly despising the interruption. Why couldn't people just leave her alone? "Fine . . . Stephen. Just fine." Stephen tilted his head, his eyebrows rising in implied disbelief as a lock of soft brown hair flapped across his blue-gray eyes. "Want to try that again? This time with feeling." She sighed and marking her page in the book of poems closed it and set it aside. "I guess, I'm a little homesick." That probably made a world of sense to Stephen. It probably made her sound like a raving lunatic. When home was the outskirts of the city, the lean-to's and shanties where the poor lived . . . if you could call it living. She grew up in the ghettos and slums that the upper crest of London tried to pretend didn't exist; she grew up in the forgotten subway and train tunnels that made the underground where there was scarcely enough to live on . . . but where they were free. It hadn't always been that way. She remembered a yellow house with a porch. She remembered pretty dresses and lace around her socks and shoes that were shiny and black. She remembered dresses and trinkets and a time when her dolls had all been new and real, and not battered and busted. Like yesterday, she remembered the streets of downtown London, the shops and people. And all their thoughts a jumble of wonderful and fantastic noise that filled her senses and made her feel like she had power over them. She knew what the ladies on the train really thought about one another. She knew what that man in that corner wasn't saying to his wife on the phone. She knew why that woman's dress wasn't coming out properly, even if the woman couldn't figure it out for herself. She knew it all; she heard it all. And she had known when the people were going to test her; she hadn't understood what all the fuss was about. She hadn't understood why they shot guns at them or why they left the house and the dresses and the dolls behind. Sometimes, she wished that she had never gained that understanding. Because back then, she hadn't known what she was and in not knowing, she had been free. Now, she had the knowledge that she would never be free as long as Psi Control could use her mind. But she was one of the lucky ones; she had lived on the fringe actively using her psi powers for most of her life, and had avoided capture and tagging for . . . well, all of the time she had spent living there. If only she had listened when they called the raid. If only she hadn't gone back for little Sara and the child's silent twin. If only they had been able to find some place to hide. If only she hadn't lost control for those few minutes and attempted to crash the tunnel with telekinesis alone; if only she hadn't decided to fling two of the raiders a distance of several meters with the power and will of her mind. If only, if only, if only. It didn't do any good to wish or look back now. What was done was done and there was no turning back the clock. They still told her to consider herself among the lucky. She had spent only three days at the harvesting farm before she had been brought to The Centre. Only three days living in military cabins on a thin cot with a small blanket. Only three days before she was banded at The Centre, given a small flat of her own and living credits. She was one of the special ones, one with talent that Psi Control could use once they figured out what to do with it. She was one of the lucky ones. She would have the semblance of life until the day she died. The slums had been better. Even eating cold food out of cans and huddling around weak and dying fires had been better. The disease, the infestations, the cries of the hungry children were all better than her "blessed luck." But the people here were good. The psi's that had welcomed her that first night. They made their own family units here, just as they poor and the psi's did on the fringe. She really didn't want to take her anger and bitterness out on those who worked so hard to be good to her . . . but sometimes it was hard. "Yeah, that happens," Stephen said softly. "Where are you from, anyway?" "Aurora Farms." "No," Stephen shook his head, giving her a soft smile. "Where are you from? What city?" She blinked at him in surprise. Why did it matter? To Psi Control they were designations and numbers, marked by their abilities and where they were 'harvested.' "Because no matter what they do to us, here we are more than psi's," Stephen's smile softened in a silent apology for breaching her thoughts. "We are still people and we can't ever forget that. We can't ever let them take that away from us." "I was born in London. But I lived in the fringe since I was six," she supplied quietly. "My mother ran away with me when I tested positive." Stephen nodded. "I didn't get that lucky. It never occurred to my parents to run. They just accepted it and handed me over." "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Don't be. I'm not. I didn't grow up in one of the farms or one of the camps. I grew up here, in The Centre. Liz helped me, she'll help you if you let her. We all will. We have to stick together in here." She studied the man across from her for a moment. He was at least ten or fifteen years older than her, but there was still an air of childhood and youthful enthusiasm around him. He had to be a rarity, growing up in The Centre. Most of those she saw here were merely resigned. "Do you like it here, Stephen?" she asked him. There was a moment while he paused, considering her question. He sat back in his seat, thrumming long fingers against the tabletop, his eyes momentarily closing. When he finally opened them and looked at her again, he too wore the familiar mask of resignation. "Like it? No. Have I found . . . satisfaction, yes. You accept it and move on. It's how you survive. It's the only way you survive. "You've gotten a second chance. It's a life, a different life than what you wanted or what you had but it's a chance. It's your chance, not theirs. You are still you no matter what they tell you. As long as you don't forget that, you'll be fine." Stephen leaned forward again, placing his outstretched arm on the table. He ran his fingers lightly over the metallic band. "They call me Gamma Nine Two Five. But that's not who I am. I'm Stephen Jamison. I always have been and I always will be. Now, who are you?" She stared down at her own band for a moment. The wristband was better than the collars and ankle manacles they used at the farms. Better than the collars and body harnesses she heard they used at the camps. But still it marked her as a designation, a psi and nothing more. Yet, Stephen seemed to believe that she could hold onto her identity, to her fragile and important past. He seemed to be proof that what did not kill you did indeed make you stronger. Slowly she lifted her head to meet his eyes, seeing the challenge there. Briefly, she wondered how often he did this, how often he approached the new psi's and forced them to stare down their fear and their pain, forced them to accept this path but not to lose themselves to it. "I'm Amelie Jackson." Stephen took her hand and shook it, a gesture of friendship and welcome. "Welcome to The Centre, Amelie. I think that you're going to be just fine here." * * * * * David Stade watched without expression as the medic pulled the sheet over the face of the pale and lifeless corpse. Another one wasted, another pushed too far and then beyond. They were too weak, too fragile, these psi's. Too weak and fragile for what The Board wanted to be accomplished. But it would not be up to him to tell them that. The Board ran Psi Control. The Board owned Psi Control. And ultimately, The Board owned David Stade. "That's the third one this month, Stade. What am I supposed to tell The Board?" The voice from behind him was raspy, yet feminine. A voice that carried the telltale signs of too many cigarettes. "Tell them that another subject died. Tell them that the boy broke." Stade turned, facing the woman slowly. She was a good head and half shorter than him, with glittering gray eyes which matched the silver and gray of her hair. She leaned on a cane, a large diamond or other precious jewel ring on each finger of her hand, and at first glance she seemed both diminutive and weak. Stade knew better. He did not underestimate her. She was as powerful . . . and as dangerous . . . as The Board. "I don't care what you tell them, Lady Mulvaney. Just make it clear that I need more time." "More time?" She stepped forward and although he gazed down at her, he felt like the one being cowered. "You've had six months. How much more time do you need? How much more time do you think that The Board can give you?" "You don't understand the sensitivity of this! You don't and they don' t! I can't simply reshape a mind, make a person into a machine over night, I can't -" "They are not people, Stade. They are psi's." "And their physiology is the same as yours or mine. Too much and they break. Like that boy." "We can't afford for you to continue breaking them. Psi's are a commodity." And like all commodities, even a psi could not be wasted. Stade knew the rhetoric and the litany. "Then stop pressuring me. Give me time to do what has to be done . . . and maybe I won't destroy anymore of your precious commodities!" "I'll talk to The Board. I make no promises, but I will see what can be done." Lady Mulvaney turned on her heel and left without a backward glance. David Stade swore softly and then putting the corpse out of his mind, returned to his lab. It was back to the drawing board, and he had a lot of work to do before the next batch of psi's rolled his way. **** Colonel Masters calmly bit the tip from his cigar, his gaze focused on the cold steel in the blue eyes that locked on his from the other side of his desk. He hated this part of the job. He hated the Hunters as much as he hated those dirty psi's. Sometimes he thought that he might just hate the Psi Hunters more. He certainly hated the man across from him. Masters hated talking to him, hated dealing with him. Hell, he even hated *thinking* about dealing with him. At least the psi's knew their place. They were the second class citizens. They were born to serve and serving they would die. The Hunters, particularly men like this one, seemed to think that they ran the show and that everyone should bow and cow-tow to them. Masters had never done it and he wasn't about to start now. Striking a match against the edge of his desk, he calmly lit the cigar and puffed on it a few times. "Cuban. I love my country, I am as patriotic as the next man. But we just can't make a cigar like those Cuban bastards do. You didn't want one, did you?" "No." The man was practically seething. His jaw clenched tightly, his face a dark red, a vein popping out in his throat. Masters puffed again. "Nothing like a good Cuban cigar." Then, pulling the cigar away from his mouth, he gave his full attention to the Psi Hunter. "I believe you were questioning my terms, Horton. I don't like it when you question my terms. Psi Control doesn't like it when Hunters start getting ideas of their own." "I'm not afraid of your idle threats, Masters." James Horton narrowed his eyes. "You and I both know that Psi Control needs the Hunters. And I am one of the best. I brought you four, and I think that deserves a bit more than we previously discussed." Pretending to consider the man's words, Masters enjoyed the cigar a bit longer. It was contraband for certain, but he was a man with powerful friends. This little vice would go unnoticed and besides, it was the wonderful and full of himself Dr. Neiman that gave him the cigars in the first place. For a job well done and for his careful and wonderful management of the situation with the Hunters. In other words, the pompous windbag had been thanking him for making sure that none of the high and mighty up at Psi Corporation and Centre for Development and Control had to deal with the righteous and pompous like James Horton. "They might be damaged." While it may be true that Psi Control didn't care how they got their hands on psi's who slipped through initial testing or the rogue ones who escaped the farms and camps, they did care whether or not those ones were in good condition. Methods of delivery didn't matter, so long as they were handed over mentally in tact. For the most part, Psi Control didn't want to know about the methods; it helped them to pretend that they only served the government and that they kept their hands clean. No, they didn't want to know about men like Horton who used psi's to bait, trap and catch their own kind. He used them and used them until they burnt out or burnt up and then he simply supplied himself with another one. Like the girl that stood in the corner now, staring submissively down at her feet, her blonde hair falling obscuring her face like a veil. Masters repressed a shudder as his eyes and thoughts turned to the girl. He hated being around psi's, he hated the way they looked at him, peeling back the layers of his mind. The way she looked at him now, tired blue eyes simply staring at him as though she had perceived his every thought. Which she probably had. He hadn't wanted her in his office at all. She was properly banded, the security device around her neck and another around her ankle, she wouldn't be able to escape Horton. But the weasel had insisted on keeping the girl close; Masters knew that he did it to have the upper hand, to make him uncomfortable. He refused to give James Horton the satisfaction. "Masters, you know they are in good shape. Jade will even verify it if you ask her." At the sound of her name, the girl's gaze shifted to Horton, her eyes hardening ever so slightly. Masters noted that with some interest. Horton might have a trained dog, but it was an unwilling trained dog. And the unwilling trained dog just waited for an opportunity to bite the hand that feeds. He would so enjoy being there the day that Horton got bitten. No, Masters didn't want to ask her. He didn't want to deal with psi's at all and Horton knew it. But then again, Masters knew that the psi's were all in good condition. One had even had the nerve to glare in defiance and spit in Horton's face. A good show and strong spirit, but Psi Control would take care of that. "Fine, Horton. You'll get your extra money. Just get the hell out of my office. You're starting to make the place stink." Masters turned his chair away, staring at the back wall to indicate an end to the conversation. Hunters and psi's. He hated them both. *** End of Prologue "You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe." -- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5, A Late Delivery from Avalon ******** a l t e r n a t e REALITIES Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ******** - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ End of arfic-l-digest V1 #3 *************************** - To unsubscribe to $LIST, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe $LIST" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message.