<< Shallana. Shallana. >>
As if uttering the syllables can call her back. As if the sound could penetrate her prison any more than can the mute longing in my bones, my blood.
<< Shallana. >>
What is it in me that reaches her? She warms to me, a soft glow felt by another skin, seen by another eye. Not by this… this cold tissue that holds her. Not by these pointless orbs decorating the damp hollows of my bloodless face.
Still, she knows me. Yearns for me.
<< Shallana, Shallana, Shallana. >>
I clench my naked hand around her.
This is forever. This is as close as we can ever hope to be again.
Ever.
The tears wash over me again, dissolving me in stumbling sobs and animal wails. The others ignore me as I trip through the mingled shards of ice and glass. They know. We all know. The threat is over, we are Guardians no longer. Now, we are just survivors.
"Ah-hahahaa… Heeheeheee!!", she squeals as she wriggles out of my grasp and behind the geoprobe. "Taga's to-oo slo-ow. Come get me, clumsy!"
My knee still throbs from my fall off the rail earlier, and Shallana's sing-song teasing would drive me out of my mind, if I still had one. I've got to have her. Tonight my mind gets to wait outside in the cold. I'm going for it.
She shrieks with horror as I dive at her, springing up and barely over the ancient device. "What are you doing!! You could damage the spirit stones!" The playfulness has completely disintegrated from her voice. "You stupid, thoughtless child. You complete barbarian."
Mind, come back quick. I need you. Help me salvage this.
"Don't you know that the stones in this probe house the spirits of all the greatest geologists since the Fall? From all the Craftworlds, not just ours. You would just jump over them like they weren't alive?"
I'm petrified at what I could have done; the irreparable extinction of our legacy, a brilliant soul lost to the Devouring God. My arms slacken around her, as my eyes beg her for forgiveness.
She digs my ribs mercilessly and breaks my grip, leaping over the geoprobe with an insane giggle. "Oh, don't get all serious on me now. I want a lover, not a philosopher. Too slo-ow, too slo-ow! Come get me, Taga, before I get all cold…"
I can't believe she got me again. I howl like a mad beast as I chase off after the sound of her bounding feet.
Why her? Why did it have to be her research station the greenskins decided to bombard?
The answer isn't an answer: They didn't decide. They just did. Destruction is something the Orks do, not for strategic advantage, nor even to force their enemies into submission. It's something they just do, like sleeping, or breathing. Their unique, idiot power lies only in the fact that they are free to act without hesitation; without pondering the possible outcome or consequences. The ignorant bastards. The filthy, stupid, ignorant bastards. You can't hate them any more than you can hate the blizzards that swept away our own support troops, making the Ork barrage impossible to prevent.
Orks are an act of Fate. Nothing more. But then, doesn't that place them under the domain of the Farseers? The Farseers must have known the outcome far in advance, and yet they took no steps to warn us, no steps to evacuate the complex! What future benefit could possibly be reaped from this massacre that would justify our following this thread of Fate? It eludes me completely, but my anger is rapidly defining its object.
I've got to be careful with this. I must banish the thoughts that are surfacing in my mind and the mad feelings that drive them. Don't let grief rule you, Tagaryth; the lash it carries will break you. Trust the Farseers. Trust.
"Mmmmm, that's the way… Ah! Ah!! Oooooooh… Taga… mmmmmm… You've got me now, Tagaryth. You've got me forever…"
My heart starts to slide back into its familiar slow rhythm. "Does this mean you won't make me chase you around the lab anymore?" I ask hopefully, as the bruises and scratches of the night's romp start to push their way through the afterglow.
"Are you kidding? That's the best part…" She pulls her face up in front of mine and smiles that sly little half-smile of hers; the one she shows me when she's just about to give me the slip. "Well, maybe the second best part," she purrs, sinking her head back down to my chest.
She's right. She's so right.
Jinaer and Livyll cautiously approach me as I lie on my back in the snow. "Tagaryth?" calls Livyll uncertainly. "Taga… we couldn't find any of her stones. We think…" she pauses, "We think they were all crushed in the blast." She waits, imagining that this is something that will take a moment to sink in. "Come on, we've got to get inside. Blizzard."
I slip Shallana into my sleeve, as they help me to my feet. I know they need her. Shallana is the most important geologist of our Craftworld, gifted with an ability to channel the brilliance of the most ancient stones in the geoprobe, the spirits of history's greatest scientific minds. I hear Jinaer talking to Liv; about the damage to the probe, the lifetimes it will take to reproduce the brilliance of the scientists whose stones were lost, and the battles that must be fought to gather the stones when these future prodigies die. All that we've worked for, all this outpost exists for, depends on the functioning of that geoprobe.
I don't care. Shallana is mine. Forever mine. The Farseers should have bargained for that before they let this happen to her. We will never be apart.
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