1:3:6 Stolen (Part 2)

When The Three Armed Rexian appeared, Syd made it abundantly clear that Char was not welcome in her office anymore. Cannon on arm, she entered the lift and waited for The Three Armed Rexian. She selected the ground floor, the doors closed and the lift began its journey down. Neither of them spoke. When the lift finally came to a halt, and the doors opened, Char was all but dragged from the building and deposited in the smog. She raised her hood and lowered her sleeve to cover the cannon before she checked her map. The building where the Inquisitor’s ship was last seen was not too far away. Just opposite, the rigging of an old building, long obsolete, yet never completed would make the perfect vantage point. She looked for the best way to actually get there, looking at the various layers and sky bridges before coming to the conclusion that both buildings were too far apart from the occupied areas of Rexel to actually be connected. She walked the smoggy streets alone. She had been expecting the lack of foot traffic but there was something else that just made everything seem quieter, cooler. Her mask told her that the ambient temperature hadn’t changed much so as she walked, she fumbled with an explanation for her feelings of cool isolation. It was a familiar feeling and one that she had felt recently but at the same time, it felt old. She looked around in the smog and the feeling’s origin became clear, it was the first time she had been without Lore in a week. She had only one thought: getting back to them; and when she did, she was going to make sure she did anything and everything to keep them safe at her side.

Her target was on her left, her chosen point of attack on her right. She sighed as she realised how many stairs she had yet to climb. She looked around and confirmed she was completely alone before looking up at the building for a ledge that wasn’t too far away. She fired a shot below her, catapulting herself high into the air. She caught an outcropping and pulled herself up with ease. She repeated the jump twice between more conventional acts of parkour until she had ascended most of the building. Despite losing the use of one of her hands, she was just as able and agile as she would have been with both. She winced as the cannon dug into her wrist and elbow. She resented its existence but there was something reassuring about it being with her. At least it wasn’t floating around the black market where anyone could get it, she reminded herself. While it was a far from optimal destination, there was a certain, efficient beauty to Rexel from this height. Char got comfortable in her position and opened her map to confirm her target. She could see the hangar’s door had been left open, allowing her a clear, if not slightly smog obstructed view of Reid’s ship. All of the climbing had winded her, her mask filling with condensation from her deeper breaths. She tried to clean it off but without removing the mask, she couldn’t. Remembering her heritage, Char threw the hood off. For a moment, the smog cut into her eyes like sand. She blinked, trying to clear them.

The hangar was gone, the building it once resided in gone too, replaced with a small tent in a sea of orange sand. Rexel’s smog and filth had too been replaced by the orange sands of Quatarr. Char froze. Sand whipped around her face. She found herself on a familiar cliff overlooking a small military encampment. While, for a moment, she was confused, that confusion quickly dissipated and it was if Char had been on Quatarr the whole time; she knelt into a firing position, her elbow pressed against her knee, her left hand stabilising the barrel, and readied the cannon. Judging by the distance, she was going to need a little extra power. She reached for her pistol and removed both the magazine and connected tubing. The cannon roared as it accepted the secondary power source. So did Char; the additional rejuvinative energy did wonders for the cannon but Char felt like a grape being crushed to wine. Breathe. Two deep breaths and she was ready and refocussed on her target. The cannon had a two stage trigger; the first stage allowed the user to charge their shot. Energy pooled from the rear and flooded towards the user’s wrist. It filled the emitter over the user’s knuckles. Char waited for as long as she could, each second drew even more energy from her body at twice the rate that the cannon was safely rated for.
A handful of faceless soldiers exited the tents. “I’m sorry.” She whispered.
The second stage of the trigger was a simple release. The blast shot from the emitter like a shot from a musket. The golden projectile flew at supersonic speeds towards the camp. She felt as energy surged from every cell of her body and into her wrist. The resulting blast tore through the air, dilating time itself with its magnitude. She instinctively tore the magazine from the cannon and threw it away; her fingers adhered to the burning hot magazine. It took a moment for the energy ball to reach its target but when it did, its presence was certainly known. The ball made contact; a wave of golden light washed over the camp, a water balloon hitting an anthill. The guilt was beginning to truly set in as Char truly realised what she had done. Anything the light touched withered and died. The tent’s poles rusted to amber dust, the fabric rotted to nothing; she didn’t want to see had become of the soldiers but she couldn’t look away. They tried to run. In seconds youth became ancient, young became old. The soldiers ran in vain as, even in retreat, the light became them. Their bodies aged thousands of years in a fraction of a second, their frames becoming too frail to support themselves let alone their armour. Quatarrians very rarely died and even rarer was that one reached old age, their bodies simply wouldn’t allow it; the soldiers lay with their faces in the sand, wreathed now not just in the weapon’s golden light but their own golden glow. They existed in a purgatory of their bodies trying to repair themselves and the weapon trying to tear them apart. Eventually, one side won. A handful of skulls sank into the sand as they became one with the desert. A single tear fell from Char’s eye. She looked down at her hand. Her fingertips were still not healed, in fact, they looked somewhat blurry. She fell back onto the cliff wall behind her. As her head hit the stone, it became concrete. The sandstorm became smog, the camp, Reid’s hangar building; a slowly growing, star ship sized hole had torn through and destroyed a large portion of Reid’s ship.
“It wasn’t your fault.” A soft voice spoke. She didn’t recognise it but at the same time, it had a cold familiarity to it. “Obviously it was but you weren’t to know…” Char tried to focus but she just couldn’t. “Blah blah blah, empty platitude.” The voice’s silhouette cut through the smog.
“Lore?” Her voice was hoarse and carried her insecurities. She was hoping more than anything.
“No.” The softness was gone. The silhouette became a body and that body was now knelt beside her. She could see their face. “The missus meets the ex. Shame Lore isn’t here actually.” Crait smiled. “Don’t get up, you’re going to need to rest after that.” They gently rested their hand on her chest, calmly forcing her to stay on the floor. “You know it’s a good thing Reid’s paranoid. I was not liking the idea of taking her and her men home. This planet smells enough without the body odour of eleven… no.” Crait checked their Breacher. “Eight soldiers and Reid…”  Crait smiled. “Now, what to do with you?” They ran their Breacher over her body. “Quite a shot you took. Look, good thing that building was nearly abandoned.” Crait raised her head to look down at the destruction her shot had caused. For the first time, through somewhat focussed eyes, she saw the damage. “Beautiful isn’t it?” Char didn’t respond. Crait threw her back to the ground. “To be honest, when I watched Lore run out of headquarters, I hadn’t expected they’d keep running. I’m guessing that’s your fault but, honestly, I thought they’d come right back and beg me for forgiveness. Suppose no-one knows just what the future holds; would have been nice though. I had a whole speech planned out, a training routine, the works, it was going to be like old times but no. Like last time, you had to ruin it.” Crait sat down beside Char. “I don’t blame you though. Change is hard. Why look for a new partner when your old one is sat in a dive bar in front of you without their memory?” They looked over at Char. “Still not talking? That’s fine I guess but you better be listening. Wherever they are, whenever they are, I need you to promise me that they’ll be safe. I know they can probably take care of themselves but if I’m going to be the bad guy in their life then I’m going to need someone else to look out for them. I don’t want to hurt them but I can’t say the same for the company I keep and, despite your shortcomings, you are the best person for the job so please, keep them safe. That’s all I ever wanted.”
Char tried to nod. “I will.”
“Thank you. They may not realise it but they’re the reason I’m doing all of this. Ten years’ time, the whole universe is going to go, if you’ll pardon the expression, tits up; I’ve got to make sure it’s perfect before then so we stand a chance. United together, that’s how we’ll get through this. Which brings me to my second request: When you next see Lore, tell them to reconsider their current trajectory. We needn’t be enemies, we both want the same thing.”
“Piss off we do. You wiped out my entire planet.” Char scowled.
“Only after they refused my requests. It’s not my fault they were greedy.” Crait shook their head. “Anyway, please ask them. If only out of fairness.”
“Fairness?” Char’s strength was returning.
“I could have killed you a hundred times over by now but I hope you notice how you’re still alive.” Crait flashed a sword. “I’m also letting you walk away with that cannon. You do what I’ve asked and I’ll consider us even and I’ll even forget that I saw you destroy that ship.” Crait didn’t even wait for a response, they just sauntered away back into the smog.
Char lay there for a moment, stunned and confused by what had just happened. She questioned if she had just hallucinated the whole event. Her fingertips had healed somewhat and her energy had returned to her. Char stood up. As she did, she noticed something glistening on the floor where Crait had been sat. She bent down and examined the piece of metal. Hesitantly, she picked it up; the emblem of the fifty two. She nearly cast it back onto the floor in surprise. She turned it over and found a familiar pattern of numbers and letters. The sigil was from her own armour. She stood speechless for a moment before snapping back to reality. She slapped the sigil onto her shoulder where it belonged with a tear in her eye before moving on to the next part of her mission. Inspection.