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Yup, still working on. Nope, still not done. I know! Two chapters tonight, my lovelies. :)
And of course, my eternal thanks to the ever-patient and lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkhavens for her beta-ing and help and general awesomeness.
On AO3.
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all— "
T.S. Eliot - 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'
"It's been almost three damn weeks, Doc. Why aren't they waking up?"
"They were a hell of a lot more hurt than you were, Jensen. It takes time."
"Fucking-" Jensen snapped his mouth shut, jaw clamping tight. Yelling at Doc wasn't going to fix anything, no matter how good it might feel to just let loose on her. But he had to do something, because he'd been on the razor's edge for days now - weeks - and he felt as if, inside his skin, there was a monster, with diamond claws and poison fangs. A monster of fire and buzzing, deadly energy, hissing and spinning and ripping at his insides, desperate to get out. And if (when) it did….
"Just...just keep me in the loop," Jensen muttered. Doc didn't say anything, just looked at him from behind her optics, her own face drawn with tension, her hair a mess and her white coat crumpled and dingy. Nobody was doing okay. Jensen turned on his heel and strode away, a fast walk that turned into a jog and then a full-tilt run, dodging through the corridors of the arcology.
He headed for the gym, for the sparring room, for the only place he could really let go. He needed somewhere he could exhaust himself, throw himself against padded bags and walls and automated machines; batter his body into a daze; pummel his brain into something quieter.
He could feel Jared, off in the new, human section of the arcology, in the 'ponics room. He was concerned, and unhappy, but staying put. Jared might have more strength, more speed now, than he had before, but he still couldn't match Jensen when Jensen was going full out. And he knew Jensen didn't want him there; too worried he might get hurt; too worried, in his blind ferocity, that he'd launch himself at Jared all unknowing. It had gotten to be routine, this; add it to the list of things that Jensen hated.
But it worked, mostly. In the gym, he threw himself into a brutal workout: running, lifting, pulling, pushing - sparring with the machines or just hitting, kicking, punching. Wilder and more frenzied by the minute, until he hit the wall, and started, inevitably, to come down.
It was like hitting the end of a go-pack; gasping for air, heart pounding, every muscle aching and shaking, gut knotted and his head just...empty. Jensen staggered sideways and sat down, hard. One leg curled under and one sprawled out in front of him, he flopped forward over his knee and just...tried to breathe. He wished - almost, not quite - for a down-pack; opiates and electrolytes and everything else to blunt the edge, to let him just...drift. A machine beeped at him, insistent and annoying, registering his elevated heartbeat, his wheezing lungs.
"Shhut…up," Jensen gasped out, rolling sideways a little to escape its arm, the sensor array at the tip. "'M...fine."
"Cardiac distress, respiratory distress, electrolyte distress-" the thing piped, and Jensen levered himself upright and flapped his hands at it.
"I'm not...in distress. Just need to...rest and...need a drink. Replenishing drink," Jensen said, and the machine hummed and whirred away, trundling back a few moments later with a chilled squeeze-bottle of some kind of pale-blue drink. Jensen took it and just drank, so the thing would leave him alone, and after another moment or two of humming and beeping, it did.
Well, he'd sat long enough, his heart was slowing, his lungs were doing their thing, he was fine, of course he was fine.
He finally focused on the hand holding the bottle, and winced at the split skin and swelling knuckles, the bruising that was climbing from his fingers to the backs of his hands. His left knee ached, his gut did too, and his feet felt shredded from pounding into anything and everything. His whole body seemed to throb in time with his heart, muscles and joints protesting the punishment he'd handed out.
But in a day - two, max - he'd be...good as new.
He felt a little nudge from Jared, and pushed back okay all good tired, not wanting to deal with that, just then. He drank more of the stuff in the bottle, finally registering the taste - salt-sweet-chemical-blue - and the temperature, which was sub-zero and almost painful on his raw throat. But it was helping, as nasty as it was, and so he finished the bottle off and sat there with it in his belly like a ball of ice, wondering if getting up and getting more was worth it.
That nudge again, only this time it had an edge of confusion, and Jensen frowned. He let the squeeze-bottle drop and rocked himself forward, onto hands and knees, and then - slowly, laboriously - up. He staggered a couple steps sideways, kicking the bottle accidentally, and then deliberately braced his feet and stretched. Everything twinged. The nudge came again, query query query; not even words, barely coherent, just question. An edge to it of more than confusion, and Jensen stood there, his hands loosely at his sides, concentrating.
Jared,what, hurt? Okay?
Good, from Jared, a brief flash of a 'ponics tank, bright fish, a dizzying curtain of bubbles going up and up the sheer filtration wall, mist and green and bright, silvery bodies, a pattern without pattern that soothed, almost hypnotized.
What-? Jensen thought, and then the nudge came again, but this time, it wasn't a nudge, it was a punch; it was someone reaching, pushing, grabbing, panicked; someone utterly lost and undone. Someone else.
Query query query, like a klaxon, and Jensen shoved back, startled, bewildered.
Jensen Qemuel identify, stand down, Jensen thought, loud, and everything stopped. And then…
Qemuel...query query hurt lost...assist helpme Qemuel assist assist assist…. Wavering, now - wavering and fading, muddled, getting fainter. But familiar, oh fuck, so, so familiar.
"Kane," Jensen breathed. And he was running again.
Jensen skidded into the med bay, crashing a shoulder into a wall and clawing at the pressed bio-stuff panel, getting it under his nails. He shoved off and staggered upright moving, gotta keep moving, gogogo.
The adrenaline rush acted like a go-pack, making everything too bright and too damn slow, his breath rasping in his throat, but eventually he reached med bay A, where Tiamat troops lay amidst generation webs and air beds and, for some, the slow hiss and huff of respirators. A was where Kane was, Jinx, Five - all of them, every one that had survived. And Kane had been given the vaccine, even though there were worse there. Kane one of the first, because Jensen just needed…needed someone from his ship, from his unit, from his family, there with him.
He staggered up the line of gurneys and air beds, already-aching legs throbbing. A knot of medicos and Diaboli surrounded Kane's bed, trying to hold him down, trying to get him under restraints, cursing and frantic.
"Kane!" Kane Sariel here stand down safe steady steady safe Loud as he could, hard as he could, pushing with all his might, and he felt Jared recoil, away in the 'ponics room, and then what Jensen coming, and-
Qemuel assist Qemuel Jensen help where hurts
"Let him go! Let him go!" Jensen waded into the mess of people trying to hold down the kicking, twisting, punching shape that was Kane. The web was torn, the rack of monitors all beeping alarms and distress, a wrenched-out tube hanging off the edge of the bed, steadily dripping. Kane was utterly silent except for his gasping breaths; waxen-pale skin, blue eyes fixed wide open and his mouth twisted in a snarl. Terrified.
"Kane, Kane, Sariel, fuck, get off him, off!" Sariel, stop, safe, you're safe, steady, steady, you're safe, safe, stand down Jensen got an elbow in the rib, one of Kane's feet in his belly, and then a wildly flailing hand across his throat, a glancing blow, all knuckles. He hissed, shouldering at the bodies in his way, one hand finding Kane's web-wrapped shoulder.
"He's gonna hurt himself!"
"Fuck, I know that, let him go, let me, get off, go!" Jensen shoved, with his considerable strength, uncaring, sending medicos and a Diaboli reeling, knocking the air bed askew and finally, finally, he got both hands on Kane. Sweat-soaked cloth under one palm, Kane's fever-hot, sweat-slicked shoulder under the other, he pressed down, every way he could.
"Kane, listen, it's-" Jensen Qemuel I'm here, you're safe, stand down stand down, Kane, stop STOP! Everything he had, in that last command, every bit of strength he could gather, and Kane dragged in a rattling, ragged lungful of air, rigid under Jensen's hands. Distantly, Jared yelped, flinching and reeling back against a bubble-lift wall, and Jensen sent sorry, I'm sorry, Kane….
Kane was arched, trembling, mouth wide, a thin thread of sound coming out of him. Jensen shook him, his own heart pounding painfully fast, afraid he'd shocked Kane into some kind of seizure, or relapse, or...something.
As quickly as he'd reacted, Kane went limp, crumpling onto the bed, his eyes drooping shut. The three or four centimeters of hair that had grown out on his scalp was bedraggled, matted into spikes. Sweat gathered in beads at Kane's temples; ran like tears from the corners of his eyes. Or maybe those were tears, fuck. Jensen shook himself and gave Kane the tiniest of pushes, gentle as he could.
Kane? Kane in home safe here you're here Kane Sariel easy stand easy safe safe safe A rapid flood of emotion, images, words. ANGEL in the 'net, just like before, just like always, just like home….
Kane just breathed, jerky and too quick, shoulders quivering under Jensen's hands. Kane's hands, curled into fists, slowly unclenched, and his eyes slitted open a fraction, query query query in the 'net. Fear, and hurt and lost nothome where; twitching at every beep and trill from the monitors. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, and he was staring at Jensen, pupils tiny in a sea of fractured blue. Qemuel "Qemuel?", Kane's actual voice a rasping whisper that hurt to hear, his lips dry and peeling.
"Yes, it's me," you're safe, all in, stand down.
"What," Kane said, his hand shaking as it groped for Jensen's, fingers thin and cold and dry, nails broken, blue at the base. Jensen caught it, curling his fingers around Kane's, cradling them. Tiamet, report, where, how are we, how, query, query…. Fading out again, his eyes lost focus, fluttering, closing, and then he was out, just gone.
Jensen pulled Kane's lax body half off the bed, crushing him close and tight, breathing in his stale hospital smell, sweat smell, ANGEL smell. His bones were too prominent and his muscle was gone to toneless laxity, but it was Kane, all the same, and Jensen wasn't sure he could let go.
"Jensen?" Okay? You okay? Kane! Jared, staggered in, red-faced and breathless, hands on his knees and his hair in his face, staring. "Jensen, I could- I heard him. Kane, I...I could…." Both, heard you both, fuck, what's happening, what is it, he okay?
"He's okay, he's okay, he-" Better now, he'll get better, he will "What did-? What did he feel like?" Jensen asked, and Jared leaned on the bed, watching as Jensen reluctantly eased Kane flat, arranging his arms, stroking his fingers back through Kane's ridiculous explosion of hair.
"Like...like you, kinda. Afraid. Like-" Home safe brother, Jared thought, and Jensen could feel the grin on his face, and the sudden, hot prickle in his eyes.
Family
The medicos that had been hovering all that time, far enough away to be off Jensen's radar, moved in, disapproving, nervy. Jensen stepped back a pace or two and let them fuss around Kane; fixing the tube, stripping away the ruined generation web, finding a fresh tunic to expertly wrap around him. One dabbed at Kane's mouth with a wet puff of fiber, another checked his pupils. Someone finally shut off the damn monitors, quieting the racket, and then they were sliding away, leaving a fresh sheet lying over Kane's hips.
"Doc's coming," one said, and Jensen just nodded and leaned there, staring down at Kane. Jared came and leaned next to him, hip and shoulder bumping, us we in the 'net.
Us we...three, now. Us? Jensen thought, wanting. Hoping. Jared laughed softly, and his warm, calloused fingers touched Jensen's chin, turning his face gently towards him. He was grinning, his eyes bright, lashes wet, and Jensen knew...so were his. Just the same.
"Yeah, Jensen. Yeah," Us we three of course, of course, us.
"I can-" do it fuck off don't need help. "Fuck!" Kane snarled as the resistance machine beeped at him and shut down. "Fucking-" idiot machine bullshit rig it can do it not fucking sectioned "Shit!"
"Kane, fuck's sake." Jensen hovered a few steps away by his own machine, ready to go over to Kane and...do something, though fuck if he knew what. He could feel Kane's anger, and his impatience. He could feel his fear, at not coming back to what he was used to. To himself. Not being….
Not right fucked up never be right wrong all wrong wrong wrong
Kane, no-
"Hey," Jared said, turning up in the gym doorway, his hair a mess and dirt-stained gloves tucked into the pocket of his ugly, brown coveralls. Come up from the 'ponics rooms, smelling of water and fish and earth and green, so quiet in the 'net but always there. Always hearing, always knowing. "Hey, Kane-" I know, I know, not wrong, you're not, promise, Jared thought, and Kane made a disgusted, furious sort of noise.
A flood of images, then, in the 'net; Jared when he'd first got the 'cure' at Salome. Jared taking his first, wobbly-kneed steps without a 'skele in years. Jared, thin as a wire and aching in every joint and every muscle, pushing, working, panting. Hurting. Fighting a body that had been warped almost beyond reclamation. Fighting it, and sometimes losing, but always, eventually...winning.
Takes time, you'll get there, promise, it hurts, I know, you'll do it, so much stronger than me, you're good, you're so much better already….
Kane sniffed, slumped on the bench of the machine, the skeletal, glassine and steel 'arms' at rest behind him, like some ancient Terrestrial insect Jensen had once seen a picture of. Kane's hands dangled down between his knees, shaking ever so slightly. He sniffed again, and reached for the towel slung over a bar. He scrubbed at his face; scrubbed the towel back through the sweaty spikes of his hair, grimacing.
"Fuckin' hair is nasty, man," he said, his voice a little thick, a little rough. The hot, prickling feeling of held-back tears, that they could all feel in the 'net, was ignored.
"You should see Jared's at the end of the day," Jensen said, and Kane grinned, crooked and hesitant. But real.
So fucking good, thank you, love you Jensen thought, not even sure if he was thinking it at Jared or Kane or ...just...all of them. All fifty-seven Angels who were now awake, in some way or another. Coming back, slow but sure, and more on the way. More, currently, lying in the med bay and fighting through the last of the cytokine storms that were wiping out the old, flawed 'net, clearing away the cancer-ridden, booby-trapped debris left in the Company's wake. Clean slate for new growth, new 'nets.
New lives. Some of them remembering their old ones, now, as Company psy-blocks faded. Nightmares, and longing, and nostalgia mingling in their dreams.
"Need to do some cooldowns," Jared said, kicking off his muddy boots and sprawling down on the padded floor. He patted the padding next to him, and Kane snorted.
Fuckin' mom, Kane thought. But he levered himself creakily up and off the machine, breathing hard. Jensen decided enough was enough for him, too, and powered his own machine down. As Kane slowly got down onto the floor, Jensen grabbed some squeeze-packs of electrolyte drink from the 'fridge and joined him, passing Jared the disgusting blue, keeping red for himself. Kane liked purple, though fuck knew what it was supposed to taste like. It made his teeth sort of lavender, which Kane thought was hilarious.
Gonna get 'em tinted like that. And my eyes, Kane thought, carefully leaning down over his stretched-out legs, a leering image of himself with dyed teeth and eyes pushed into the 'net, and Jared made a horrified face. Jensen snapped the end of his towel at Kane's knee.
"Fuckin' weirdo," he said, grinning, and Kane shot him a truly filthy little snippet of memory; shore leave, Glory station, Jinx and Kee and Jensen and Kane, a box of lavender-tinted toys, and way too much vodka. Interest came back, encouragement, Angels in the 'net intrigued or amused or just bored. Egging Kane on.
Jared made a squeaky noise of pure shock, mentally backpedaling, physically covering his eyes and moaning into his palms. "Nooo...don't make me...my braaain!"
"Oh, you ain't seen nothin', Kane said, floodgates opening wide, and Jensen felt laughter, in all of them, expanding up and out like bubbles of sheer, crystal light. Pure joy.
"So, look, here," Raleigh said, leaning his arm on one bent knee, the curving bulk of his belly poking over the waist of his trousers. "If we strip out the backbone and the synapse rig, we can skip over all that mess in the sync cluster-"
"If we skip the sync cluster, it won't fucking sync," Malik said, and Raleigh shook his head.
"No, yes, it will, here-" Raleigh tapped out something on his dataspot, and a holo glowed to life above it, showing the neural 'net of the half-disassembled ANGEL armor that hung from hooks and hoses above them, different colors for different systems. Blue and green and yellow and white; enviro, weapons, coms, hydraulics. It was like seeing a person stripped to veins and nerves, only double - triple. The ArchANGEL armor wouldn't sync with the new 'net, and half the Angels awake were trying to figure out a work-around. It kept them busy, at least; kept them from that deadliest of down-time trooper diseases: boredom.
How in hell never figure that out so confusing, Jared thought, and Jensen glanced up at him from where they sat on the squishy, plastic-grate floor. They were both cleaning and repairing armor parts, bits and pieces fanned out around them, marked with grease pencil and ragged strips of tape in an attempt to keep them in some sort of order. Jared had lubrication oil smeared on his nose, a bright green smudge.
Only fuckin' geeks get it Jensen thought back, and Malik reached without looking, picked up a shin plate, and chucked it at Jensen's head. Malik was, actually, one of the few Angels who didn't have issues talking with people without a 'net; he could actually form whole sentences and keep a coherent conversation going for hours at a time. A lot of the others...really struggled.
Fuck off, loser, you wish you knew as much as I do
Geeeeek
A ripple of amusement went through the 'net, quick and light, and Jensen bent down over the gunked-up servo he was trying to clean, grinning so hard it almost hurt. Sous was there with them, and Five, Kerrin, and Grieve. Others, too, whose names were images in his head, all sensation and color: a Principality, skin dyed in vivid starbursts; a couple of Thrones, surgical-tall ears tufted in pale blues and yellows. And others, not Tiamat; a handful of Angels from the Apsû, dark-skinned, with metallic tattooing that mimicked the circuitry inside the armor; a few from the Wu Zetian. They, like some of the others, kept their heads shaved, their bodies slickly clean, in a dogged hope of getting the armor to work again like it used to. All that skin seemed almost odd, now, to Jensen. Most everyone else had some kind of hair growing back, down to a ridiculous but intriguing beard on Malik.
New Angels, new names, new memories, new ways of doing things. New family, in the 'net, more every day. Jensen kept waiting for it to stop working, for the 'net to stop reaching, for some of them to be in their own little web, like before; platoons and divisions and ships all kept separate.
Divided us so we'd never know someone thought - Ji-yun, one of the Wu Zetian Angels. Jensen glanced up to meet her gaze, almond-shaped eyes in a delicate mask of elaborate makeup; some kind of flower, all pinks and yellows.
Stronger together Jensen thought, agreeing in that oblique way of the 'net, following a thought without really having to conceptualize or explain it.
Us we they us now all, from Jared, which made Ji-yun smile, and that ripple again through the 'net - amusement, affection, agreement.
"...so overclocking, here, and piggybacking the coms array means we can completely eliminate the sync cluster, see?" Raleigh was saying, as Jensen tuned back in. Malik stared at the holo, where Raleigh's tapping finger had highlighted some areas, darkened others, and twisted other parts together.
"What? No, no, that's-" Malik stopped, his head jerking up, and Jensen's too, and Jared, Sous - the whole room of Angels, as if on cue - their heads coming up like robots, busy fingers going still as something else came through the 'net.
"What?" Raleigh said, oblivious.
Query query report hurts hurts where query A new Angel, waking up, pushing out a confused static of panicked questions.
"Should we-?" Jared said, grease pencil gripped tight in his fingers, and Jensen reached out and curled his hand over Jared's whitening knuckles.
"No, it's fine," he said. Jinx has them, Sunni, Max…. The scattered, too-fast mess of question and emotions from the waking Angel peaked and then settled as Jinx eased in and soothed them down, explained what was happening. Images, a jumble of words, impulse and emotion, all rote, by now. Sunni came in, too, his presence in the 'net so calm; warm. And Max, like quicksilver, always a hint of laughter running under her thoughts; the least intimidating Angel Jensen had ever had in his head, until you gave her a target and a weapon.
Safe now, free now, listen, feel, family, all family, you're healing, you're safe Jared chimed in, and Malik, and then Jensen, too, showing this new Angel - whose name was something dark, a shifting swirl of light and shadow (Storm) how wide their new family was.
There was confusion, and then relief, and then...sorrow, profound and aching, as Storm reached for someone that wasn't there. Might not ever be there. Max, away in the med bay K, opened a roster on a dataspot and started searching, and Jensen eased out, letting her work, letting Jinx and Sunni comfort this newest member of their family. They were over five hundred, now, growing steadily, Angels waking nearly every day. The vaccine was being doled out to more and more as the worst cases, those in the most danger, were healed, and those who hadn't been in such immediate danger were inoculated in bigger groups.
What is storm? someone - a Xevioso Angel off in the 'ponics - wanted to know, and a half-dozen Angels, and Jared, supplied varying images and explanations, boiling clouds and veils of rain and lightning in five distinct colors vying with 3D maps of air currents, spinning planets, water evaporation. Jensen shivered at the mental sensation of cold rain, wind that pushed like a hand at your back, thunder so loud it vibrated in the bones. All of them lost in sensation and memory, until the clatter of a piece of armor, slipping from someone's hand, brought them back. Maybe a minute gone. Maybe less.
"We're not under attack, are we?" Raleigh asked, and Malik shook his head and took a long breath.
"New Angel," Malik said, and Raleigh made a kind of 'oh' expression of understanding. "This is not gonna work, man. Look here," Malik said, finding a stylus and stabbing at the holo Raleigh still had up, and Jensen huffed out a small laugh and leaned into Jared's shoulder, still feeling a ghostly chill.
Storm. That's a good name, Jensen thought, pushing it out, making sure they heard.
I like it, Jared thought, doing the same, and a tiny curl of pleased surprise sparked in the 'net. Welcome back, Jared added, and they all bent over their work again, the 'net humming with curiosity and reassurance and - ten minutes later - a fragile and growing joy, as Max found Storm's squad in the med bay.
Six months passed, with Angels waking nearly every day, until there were just under four thousand hair-trigger, clannish, stir-crazy soldiers making life...interesting, to say the least. Interesting, Taichou-san remarked, watching a room of fifty or more Angels erupt into a near-silent, vicious brawl, is a curse in some circles.
Jensen could believe it.
The new ones - the greenies - were the worst. Never really suited to be Angels in the first place, sent in as replacements to platoons and ships that didn't want them and couldn't deal with them, they were a constant source of tension and upset in the 'net. Especially once the psy-blocks were gone, and they (everyone), started to remember just how fucked up their mustering-in had been.
A few didn't make it; bottomless depressions of nothingness in the 'net that, one day, surged and flared and were gone, just as they were gone. Slashed arteries, space-walks suitless, whatever it took.
After the third one, the Quo and Doc and the arcology med staff buckled down and brewed up something that seemed to help. It smoothed the jagged edges and eased the racing thoughts and racing hearts. What was left of the oldest Angels took it upon themselves to pull the kids in and just…be there, in the 'net, in ways the kids hadn't ever really experienced before. Not in the constant state of fight/flight/rut the Company and the drugs had kept them all in for fucking months. Years.
They slowly settled, bit by bit, and people started sleeping again; started laughing again.
Raleigh and Malik had finally figured out a work-around for most of the armor. Weaponless suits had been assembled and tested obsessively in the halls and rooms of the arcology, sometimes with less-than-optimal results. It was a distraction, at least. It helped a lot with the greenies, whose working knowledge of the suits had been scoured out with the old 'net, and now they came to it like the veterans did, by sitting on their asses and breaking suits down, cleaning, oiling, building them back up again. Over and over and over.
The Quo requested that armored Angels stick to only a few decks, and then only with advance warning to arcology residents. Stalking on armored legs, with the bulk and hydraulic-assists, even the hulking Quo could get hurt by someone getting a little too enthusiastic
A few of the new kids even had decent skills, and Jensen saw new decorations being painted or etched into armor plates, colors and shapes and words, making the sameness beautiful.
Troop-ship crews - what were left - had spent hundreds of hours bringing the ships that were in the best shape back online; testing, fixing, cleaning, re-stocking. Six ships waited, now, spangled with running lights and humming with power, to skip out and do...something. Anything.
And gradually, they fell into a state of waiting that was uncomfortably like those final few hours before a go-pack kicked in. Tension sparked in the 'net like pins-and-needles, a constant frisson that could make you crazy, if you let it. To combat it, Angels spent a lot of time in the gyms; in the armor; in the ships, helping to make them ready; or in the blanket-draped 'quarters', working out as much aggression and hyper energy as possible in the least destructive (to others) way. Jensen had seen the embarrassed, curious, and sometimes envious looks from various arcology residents. Fortunately, most of the Angels didn't care about an audience, and most of the arcology residents only lasted a minute or two, at best, before fleeing.
The drop-ship and regular crews - Air Force Space Command - had come in with only partial Angel systems, to allow them to handle the delicate, hyper-responsive controls of the ships. All of them had opted for the vaccine; scared of the Company's traps and chemical bombs; scared of what might happen. Their presence in the 'net - curious, tentative, hopeful, delighted - was much like Jared had been. He still was, when dozens of Angels were together and the thoughts and emotions, ideas and impulses, memories and desires, flew thick and fast; so much, and so intense, you could lose minutes - hours - to the flow.
when are we going what are we doing fight them kill them take it to them this is war war war
green so green soft like hair like skin like water but solid, but what is, what is, what is...taste taste it green, alive
want to fly miss it skip the line in the between ride the bubble she goes she goes want to go feel her fly
there fuck more deeper oh touch, touch me there yes more all c'mon us we in come in in me you us all all
Sometimes, it was too much for the newest, the youngest - the most hurt. The effective range of the 'net had increased with each addition of several hundred newly vaccinated Angels, so now only a few places in the arcology were far enough away to fade it to near silence. Jared, and a few others, sometimes hopped a skimmer with a Quo or two and toured the system a little, getting some relief.
All of which meant… they needed to go, to do, to end this, or the Company, soon. Very soon. Jensen knew that the Diaboli, and the Quo, and the arcology citizens, had begun debating, strategizing their next move. Morgan - and oh, he was dark rough warm gentle such a distraction, in the 'net - had taken some of the last few officers and some Angels along to a couple of those sessions, but things got heated, fast, and now it was down to just a Major and three drop-ship pilots to argue the military side.
It seemed to have been going on forever - really, only about fifteen days - when the decision was made for them.
"All residents, unknown ship incoming. Please relocate to any secure hold or safe room. Please do not stray into corridors or lifts. Repeat: all residents, unknown ship incoming. Please relocate." The firefly chanted its alarm again and again, following Jensen and Jared as they careened through the corridors (Off limits, please find a secure hold), and into a bubble-lift (Lifts are not secure if there are hostile actions, please relocate).
The further they got, the more agitated the firefly became, pulsing faster, the recording repeating louder, the 'voice' becoming higher the longer they ignored it. It even, Jensen was sure, wincing, slipped in some 'sonics; anything to reinforce the message. As they stepped off the bubble-lift and jogged toward the obs-con deck, more fireflies zoomed in from other corridors and rooms, all of them sounding the alarm, a half-dozen colors flashing brighter and brighter, the voices overlapping and muddling into an incomprehensible babble.
"Chugn! Jensen snapped, flinching from the circling, diving motes. "Chugn, fuck, I hear you!"
"I don't think they care," Jared said, panting, waving his hands at the dive-bombing fireflies. They finally made it into observation and control, where seemingly every firefly in the room started toward them.
"Hakase! Hakase, get 'em off us!" Jensen called, spotting the head of obs-con in a huddle with a dozen or more others, humans and Quo. Hakase lifted their head and made a long, wavering sort of sound that dipped into sub-sonics, basso vibrations Jensen could feel in his bones. It made him wince, and Jared stumbled, gasping. But the fireflies stopped, all at once, glowing impossibly bright for a few seconds and then settling back to their normal, pastel glows, darting away to wherever they were supposed to be.
"Fuck." finally, ow, damn Jared rubbed his temples, grimacing, and Jensen pulsed agreement, his own head thumping along with his bootheels on the deck.
"Thanks, Hakase," he said, as they strode up to the knot of techs and scientists and Diaboli. Hakase dipped their long-nosed head down, furry arms spreading wide.
"Su, su, su," they hummed. "Aah..pol-gees." And then something in Quo, all hisses and rumbles. "So sorry to have disturbed", a firefly translated, blinking pink-white, and Jensen bowed his head a little, Quo manners.
"No damage done. Can you tell us... what's coming? Who's out there?"
"Shhhipah," Hakase said, and Jensen felt the spike of panic from Jared, instantly squashed. Felt every Angel in the arcology notice; a sudden prickling, thrumming sensation as query attention attention query query rushed at him from all sides.
Stand by stand by stand by, Jensen thought, loud and steady, and the ghost-sensation of a crowd - a mob - all standing at his back, tense and breathing hard, faded a bit.
"It's a troop ship," Alinx said, not even glancing up from her half-circle of hovering consoles, her fingers flying over the surfaces, data flowing like water in their wake. "Angel ship, yah? But not...it's…. Ibn il-homaar," she muttered, scowling, and Jensen glanced over at her assistant, who shrugged, tapping away on a dataspot and shooing the inevitable half-dozen fireflies that followed Alinx everywhere.
"Alinx, damnit, what-?" Jensen said, and Alinx murmured something to a firefly and sent it zooming away.
"Shhhipah," Hakase said again, and then a long string of something in Quo, rumble and hiss and boom, and Alinx nodded along, her own personal translator firefly whispering in her ear.
"The profile is...off. Same general silhouette; there's a skip array, and dropships, yah?" She listened again, head cocked. "The echo's close, sub-sonics…. But this is...bloody shit, aspidochelone, yah?"
"What?" Jensen said, and Alinx's assistant - Jensen could never remember his name - blew a firefly away from the tip of his nose.
"Means buggering huge," he said.
"Huge compared to what?" Jared asked.
"Usss," Hakase said, and they gathered up the Quo in the huddle and strode away to some other, larger gathering across the deck.
"Fuck, fuck, fucking- Sorry, I gotta- Yah?" Alinx wheeled around to follow, moving fast, the consoles and her assistant struggling to keep up, the fireflies chiming and glowing, a whirlpool of agitation in her wake.
"What is she-? What-?" What ship who is it Angels troops Company? Jared looked bewildered, his eyes wide, and Jensen leaned into him, one hand going up to grip Jared's shoulder.
Report, damnit, Qemuel, sit rep who is it what how long? Kane, loud and demanding, his voice rising above the indistinct hum of the rest; tension like a plucked wire, thrumming through the 'net. Others joined him, query query query, more and more, that hum jangling up to something else, too hard, too fast.
Stand by stand down no actionable intel hold, hold hold! Jensen thought, pushing hard, and after a moment Jared echoed him, and then Kane, Jinx, Max, others; a cascade in the 'net until it settled again into the usual rushing, hissing static that meant the line was open - they were waiting. Listening.
"Raleigh, what's going on?" Jared asked, as the man drifted to a stop beside them, his hands in the pockets of the big, Quo-style, beaded coat that he'd taken to wearing just lately.
"What Alinx said. It's a ship, and it's massive. It's in the between. Thing is-" Raleigh twisted his head, rolling it on his shoulders, and Jensen could hear faint crackling, grinding noises coming from the vertebrae in Raleigh's neck. "It's not really headed here. It's just...out there, like it's trying to find us but it's not quite on track. It's wrong," Raleigh said, and then Alinx's assistant hustled over with a dataspot and a floating console for him, and Raleigh drifted away again, hands working on the machines, all his attention fixed on the sliding, shifting data.
"Fuck,"Jensen said. He relayed that on through the 'net, and then tugged Jared with him to the massive viewing port. They stood there, the target of occasional fireflies and a few wandering Quo, for another hour. Jensen couldn't keep his gaze from the system beyond the thick, clear pane; he couldn't see the ship, but it was almost as if he could…feel it, or hear it, somehow.
Out there in the dark, skimming the line, riding the bubble; calling through space and time, a digital scream.
Maybe they're lost, Jared thought, hope like a warm hand, like a kiss. Maybe it's more Angels that got away, or… "It doesn't have to be bad," Jared said, and Jensen reached up to cup Jared's cheek, letting his fingers slide back to pet through the long, slippery-soft strands of Jared's hair. That hope and that warmth, fragile-sweet, going out through the 'net.
"Maybe," he said.
Another hour passed, and another, with Angels resorting to sparring, or eating, or fucking - anything to break the tension. Jared thought about going to the 'ponics room watch the fish clean the filters something, but he couldn't quite make himself leave Jensen, and Jensen was glad. They made out for a while, tucked into a nook in ops-con, just trying to relieve some of the tension. But that attracted some curious Quo, which made Jensen nervy, which made Jared laugh, so they stopped, after a while, fending off pornographic memories and fantasies from half a hundred Angels, intent on passing the time in the most lewd way possible.
As the third hour ticked over, and the hum of the 'net started to rise again, jagged and chaotic, Jensen made up his mind to go find Hakase, or Taichou-san and demand they do...something. Any-fucking-thing; anything but this endless, frustrating standby.
He didn't have to, though; even as he stepped away from the port, looking, a Quo waddled toward him, moving fast. It was Shoumei, and she was showing a round, pushing belly in the gap of her coat; carrying maybe six, eight kits, Alinx said. Jensen...couldn't imagine it. He'd never met a woman who'd opted to carry; they all used the machines, exogenous wombs. There were Quo children in the arcology, but mostly they were in their own section, protected and shielded, and not allowed around strange humans and chancy Angels. Jensen had only seen them once, through the 'net: a school group, it seemed, touring the 'ponics, blinking up wide-eyed at Jared in his 'skele as Jared had moved great crates of fish food into a storage area. Quo children were...very fluffy.
"Jen-zen," Shoumei said, and her fireflies were in a tight little halo around her head, pulsing fast and bright. "Iynght srahzss, we do iynght srahzss. Puuull, bring they."
"Like you did with the troop ships?" Jensen asked.
"Su, su, su."
"Fuck. When, Shoumei? When will you do… that?"
The Quo tipped her head to one side, and a firefly danced free of the halo, pulsing bright, whispering. "Thhhree…tchk." She said something to the firefly, and the firefly zipped over to hover in front of Jensen.
"In five hours, iynght srahzss will commence."
"Five...okay. That's- Thanks, Shoumei, I-" Jensen nodded his head, distracted. He heard Jared asking Shoumei something, taking up the slack, because Jensen's mind was racing, the information going out, strategies, contingencies, and the Angels were taking it up and running with it. The 'net went from a whisper to a roar, and Jensen forced orders through the noise, designating Kane, Jinx, Ji-yun, a half dozen others as Command, trying to put some order into the flow.
And then Morgan - Morgan - was in the 'net, as he seldom was, reinforcing everything Jensen was putting into place, backing Jensen with his own years of experience, of command. Backing him, not overriding him, and for a moment Jensen wavered, inundated. Can I can I don't know, don't, fuck
You can, Jared thought, warm and strong and there. And then Malik was there too, and Grieve, and Sous, and more of them; a cascade of affirmation and attention and yes yes yes you go do tell ours lead go
His Angels - his - every one of them.
Part twenty-four.
And of course, my eternal thanks to the ever-patient and lovely
darkhavens for her beta-ing and help and general awesomeness. On AO3.
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all— "
T.S. Eliot - 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'
"It's been almost three damn weeks, Doc. Why aren't they waking up?"
"They were a hell of a lot more hurt than you were, Jensen. It takes time."
"Fucking-" Jensen snapped his mouth shut, jaw clamping tight. Yelling at Doc wasn't going to fix anything, no matter how good it might feel to just let loose on her. But he had to do something, because he'd been on the razor's edge for days now - weeks - and he felt as if, inside his skin, there was a monster, with diamond claws and poison fangs. A monster of fire and buzzing, deadly energy, hissing and spinning and ripping at his insides, desperate to get out. And if (when) it did….
"Just...just keep me in the loop," Jensen muttered. Doc didn't say anything, just looked at him from behind her optics, her own face drawn with tension, her hair a mess and her white coat crumpled and dingy. Nobody was doing okay. Jensen turned on his heel and strode away, a fast walk that turned into a jog and then a full-tilt run, dodging through the corridors of the arcology.
He headed for the gym, for the sparring room, for the only place he could really let go. He needed somewhere he could exhaust himself, throw himself against padded bags and walls and automated machines; batter his body into a daze; pummel his brain into something quieter.
He could feel Jared, off in the new, human section of the arcology, in the 'ponics room. He was concerned, and unhappy, but staying put. Jared might have more strength, more speed now, than he had before, but he still couldn't match Jensen when Jensen was going full out. And he knew Jensen didn't want him there; too worried he might get hurt; too worried, in his blind ferocity, that he'd launch himself at Jared all unknowing. It had gotten to be routine, this; add it to the list of things that Jensen hated.
But it worked, mostly. In the gym, he threw himself into a brutal workout: running, lifting, pulling, pushing - sparring with the machines or just hitting, kicking, punching. Wilder and more frenzied by the minute, until he hit the wall, and started, inevitably, to come down.
It was like hitting the end of a go-pack; gasping for air, heart pounding, every muscle aching and shaking, gut knotted and his head just...empty. Jensen staggered sideways and sat down, hard. One leg curled under and one sprawled out in front of him, he flopped forward over his knee and just...tried to breathe. He wished - almost, not quite - for a down-pack; opiates and electrolytes and everything else to blunt the edge, to let him just...drift. A machine beeped at him, insistent and annoying, registering his elevated heartbeat, his wheezing lungs.
"Shhut…up," Jensen gasped out, rolling sideways a little to escape its arm, the sensor array at the tip. "'M...fine."
"Cardiac distress, respiratory distress, electrolyte distress-" the thing piped, and Jensen levered himself upright and flapped his hands at it.
"I'm not...in distress. Just need to...rest and...need a drink. Replenishing drink," Jensen said, and the machine hummed and whirred away, trundling back a few moments later with a chilled squeeze-bottle of some kind of pale-blue drink. Jensen took it and just drank, so the thing would leave him alone, and after another moment or two of humming and beeping, it did.
Well, he'd sat long enough, his heart was slowing, his lungs were doing their thing, he was fine, of course he was fine.
He finally focused on the hand holding the bottle, and winced at the split skin and swelling knuckles, the bruising that was climbing from his fingers to the backs of his hands. His left knee ached, his gut did too, and his feet felt shredded from pounding into anything and everything. His whole body seemed to throb in time with his heart, muscles and joints protesting the punishment he'd handed out.
But in a day - two, max - he'd be...good as new.
He felt a little nudge from Jared, and pushed back okay all good tired, not wanting to deal with that, just then. He drank more of the stuff in the bottle, finally registering the taste - salt-sweet-chemical-blue - and the temperature, which was sub-zero and almost painful on his raw throat. But it was helping, as nasty as it was, and so he finished the bottle off and sat there with it in his belly like a ball of ice, wondering if getting up and getting more was worth it.
That nudge again, only this time it had an edge of confusion, and Jensen frowned. He let the squeeze-bottle drop and rocked himself forward, onto hands and knees, and then - slowly, laboriously - up. He staggered a couple steps sideways, kicking the bottle accidentally, and then deliberately braced his feet and stretched. Everything twinged. The nudge came again, query query query; not even words, barely coherent, just question. An edge to it of more than confusion, and Jensen stood there, his hands loosely at his sides, concentrating.
Jared,what, hurt? Okay?
Good, from Jared, a brief flash of a 'ponics tank, bright fish, a dizzying curtain of bubbles going up and up the sheer filtration wall, mist and green and bright, silvery bodies, a pattern without pattern that soothed, almost hypnotized.
What-? Jensen thought, and then the nudge came again, but this time, it wasn't a nudge, it was a punch; it was someone reaching, pushing, grabbing, panicked; someone utterly lost and undone. Someone else.
Query query query, like a klaxon, and Jensen shoved back, startled, bewildered.
Jensen Qemuel identify, stand down, Jensen thought, loud, and everything stopped. And then…
Qemuel...query query hurt lost...assist helpme Qemuel assist assist assist…. Wavering, now - wavering and fading, muddled, getting fainter. But familiar, oh fuck, so, so familiar.
"Kane," Jensen breathed. And he was running again.
Jensen skidded into the med bay, crashing a shoulder into a wall and clawing at the pressed bio-stuff panel, getting it under his nails. He shoved off and staggered upright moving, gotta keep moving, gogogo.
The adrenaline rush acted like a go-pack, making everything too bright and too damn slow, his breath rasping in his throat, but eventually he reached med bay A, where Tiamat troops lay amidst generation webs and air beds and, for some, the slow hiss and huff of respirators. A was where Kane was, Jinx, Five - all of them, every one that had survived. And Kane had been given the vaccine, even though there were worse there. Kane one of the first, because Jensen just needed…needed someone from his ship, from his unit, from his family, there with him.
He staggered up the line of gurneys and air beds, already-aching legs throbbing. A knot of medicos and Diaboli surrounded Kane's bed, trying to hold him down, trying to get him under restraints, cursing and frantic.
"Kane!" Kane Sariel here stand down safe steady steady safe Loud as he could, hard as he could, pushing with all his might, and he felt Jared recoil, away in the 'ponics room, and then what Jensen coming, and-
Qemuel assist Qemuel Jensen help where hurts
"Let him go! Let him go!" Jensen waded into the mess of people trying to hold down the kicking, twisting, punching shape that was Kane. The web was torn, the rack of monitors all beeping alarms and distress, a wrenched-out tube hanging off the edge of the bed, steadily dripping. Kane was utterly silent except for his gasping breaths; waxen-pale skin, blue eyes fixed wide open and his mouth twisted in a snarl. Terrified.
"Kane, Kane, Sariel, fuck, get off him, off!" Sariel, stop, safe, you're safe, steady, steady, you're safe, safe, stand down Jensen got an elbow in the rib, one of Kane's feet in his belly, and then a wildly flailing hand across his throat, a glancing blow, all knuckles. He hissed, shouldering at the bodies in his way, one hand finding Kane's web-wrapped shoulder.
"He's gonna hurt himself!"
"Fuck, I know that, let him go, let me, get off, go!" Jensen shoved, with his considerable strength, uncaring, sending medicos and a Diaboli reeling, knocking the air bed askew and finally, finally, he got both hands on Kane. Sweat-soaked cloth under one palm, Kane's fever-hot, sweat-slicked shoulder under the other, he pressed down, every way he could.
"Kane, listen, it's-" Jensen Qemuel I'm here, you're safe, stand down stand down, Kane, stop STOP! Everything he had, in that last command, every bit of strength he could gather, and Kane dragged in a rattling, ragged lungful of air, rigid under Jensen's hands. Distantly, Jared yelped, flinching and reeling back against a bubble-lift wall, and Jensen sent sorry, I'm sorry, Kane….
Kane was arched, trembling, mouth wide, a thin thread of sound coming out of him. Jensen shook him, his own heart pounding painfully fast, afraid he'd shocked Kane into some kind of seizure, or relapse, or...something.
As quickly as he'd reacted, Kane went limp, crumpling onto the bed, his eyes drooping shut. The three or four centimeters of hair that had grown out on his scalp was bedraggled, matted into spikes. Sweat gathered in beads at Kane's temples; ran like tears from the corners of his eyes. Or maybe those were tears, fuck. Jensen shook himself and gave Kane the tiniest of pushes, gentle as he could.
Kane? Kane in home safe here you're here Kane Sariel easy stand easy safe safe safe A rapid flood of emotion, images, words. ANGEL in the 'net, just like before, just like always, just like home….
Kane just breathed, jerky and too quick, shoulders quivering under Jensen's hands. Kane's hands, curled into fists, slowly unclenched, and his eyes slitted open a fraction, query query query in the 'net. Fear, and hurt and lost nothome where; twitching at every beep and trill from the monitors. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, and he was staring at Jensen, pupils tiny in a sea of fractured blue. Qemuel "Qemuel?", Kane's actual voice a rasping whisper that hurt to hear, his lips dry and peeling.
"Yes, it's me," you're safe, all in, stand down.
"What," Kane said, his hand shaking as it groped for Jensen's, fingers thin and cold and dry, nails broken, blue at the base. Jensen caught it, curling his fingers around Kane's, cradling them. Tiamet, report, where, how are we, how, query, query…. Fading out again, his eyes lost focus, fluttering, closing, and then he was out, just gone.
Jensen pulled Kane's lax body half off the bed, crushing him close and tight, breathing in his stale hospital smell, sweat smell, ANGEL smell. His bones were too prominent and his muscle was gone to toneless laxity, but it was Kane, all the same, and Jensen wasn't sure he could let go.
"Jensen?" Okay? You okay? Kane! Jared, staggered in, red-faced and breathless, hands on his knees and his hair in his face, staring. "Jensen, I could- I heard him. Kane, I...I could…." Both, heard you both, fuck, what's happening, what is it, he okay?
"He's okay, he's okay, he-" Better now, he'll get better, he will "What did-? What did he feel like?" Jensen asked, and Jared leaned on the bed, watching as Jensen reluctantly eased Kane flat, arranging his arms, stroking his fingers back through Kane's ridiculous explosion of hair.
"Like...like you, kinda. Afraid. Like-" Home safe brother, Jared thought, and Jensen could feel the grin on his face, and the sudden, hot prickle in his eyes.
Family
The medicos that had been hovering all that time, far enough away to be off Jensen's radar, moved in, disapproving, nervy. Jensen stepped back a pace or two and let them fuss around Kane; fixing the tube, stripping away the ruined generation web, finding a fresh tunic to expertly wrap around him. One dabbed at Kane's mouth with a wet puff of fiber, another checked his pupils. Someone finally shut off the damn monitors, quieting the racket, and then they were sliding away, leaving a fresh sheet lying over Kane's hips.
"Doc's coming," one said, and Jensen just nodded and leaned there, staring down at Kane. Jared came and leaned next to him, hip and shoulder bumping, us we in the 'net.
Us we...three, now. Us? Jensen thought, wanting. Hoping. Jared laughed softly, and his warm, calloused fingers touched Jensen's chin, turning his face gently towards him. He was grinning, his eyes bright, lashes wet, and Jensen knew...so were his. Just the same.
"Yeah, Jensen. Yeah," Us we three of course, of course, us.
"I can-" do it fuck off don't need help. "Fuck!" Kane snarled as the resistance machine beeped at him and shut down. "Fucking-" idiot machine bullshit rig it can do it not fucking sectioned "Shit!"
"Kane, fuck's sake." Jensen hovered a few steps away by his own machine, ready to go over to Kane and...do something, though fuck if he knew what. He could feel Kane's anger, and his impatience. He could feel his fear, at not coming back to what he was used to. To himself. Not being….
Not right fucked up never be right wrong all wrong wrong wrong
Kane, no-
"Hey," Jared said, turning up in the gym doorway, his hair a mess and dirt-stained gloves tucked into the pocket of his ugly, brown coveralls. Come up from the 'ponics rooms, smelling of water and fish and earth and green, so quiet in the 'net but always there. Always hearing, always knowing. "Hey, Kane-" I know, I know, not wrong, you're not, promise, Jared thought, and Kane made a disgusted, furious sort of noise.
A flood of images, then, in the 'net; Jared when he'd first got the 'cure' at Salome. Jared taking his first, wobbly-kneed steps without a 'skele in years. Jared, thin as a wire and aching in every joint and every muscle, pushing, working, panting. Hurting. Fighting a body that had been warped almost beyond reclamation. Fighting it, and sometimes losing, but always, eventually...winning.
Takes time, you'll get there, promise, it hurts, I know, you'll do it, so much stronger than me, you're good, you're so much better already….
Kane sniffed, slumped on the bench of the machine, the skeletal, glassine and steel 'arms' at rest behind him, like some ancient Terrestrial insect Jensen had once seen a picture of. Kane's hands dangled down between his knees, shaking ever so slightly. He sniffed again, and reached for the towel slung over a bar. He scrubbed at his face; scrubbed the towel back through the sweaty spikes of his hair, grimacing.
"Fuckin' hair is nasty, man," he said, his voice a little thick, a little rough. The hot, prickling feeling of held-back tears, that they could all feel in the 'net, was ignored.
"You should see Jared's at the end of the day," Jensen said, and Kane grinned, crooked and hesitant. But real.
So fucking good, thank you, love you Jensen thought, not even sure if he was thinking it at Jared or Kane or ...just...all of them. All fifty-seven Angels who were now awake, in some way or another. Coming back, slow but sure, and more on the way. More, currently, lying in the med bay and fighting through the last of the cytokine storms that were wiping out the old, flawed 'net, clearing away the cancer-ridden, booby-trapped debris left in the Company's wake. Clean slate for new growth, new 'nets.
New lives. Some of them remembering their old ones, now, as Company psy-blocks faded. Nightmares, and longing, and nostalgia mingling in their dreams.
"Need to do some cooldowns," Jared said, kicking off his muddy boots and sprawling down on the padded floor. He patted the padding next to him, and Kane snorted.
Fuckin' mom, Kane thought. But he levered himself creakily up and off the machine, breathing hard. Jensen decided enough was enough for him, too, and powered his own machine down. As Kane slowly got down onto the floor, Jensen grabbed some squeeze-packs of electrolyte drink from the 'fridge and joined him, passing Jared the disgusting blue, keeping red for himself. Kane liked purple, though fuck knew what it was supposed to taste like. It made his teeth sort of lavender, which Kane thought was hilarious.
Gonna get 'em tinted like that. And my eyes, Kane thought, carefully leaning down over his stretched-out legs, a leering image of himself with dyed teeth and eyes pushed into the 'net, and Jared made a horrified face. Jensen snapped the end of his towel at Kane's knee.
"Fuckin' weirdo," he said, grinning, and Kane shot him a truly filthy little snippet of memory; shore leave, Glory station, Jinx and Kee and Jensen and Kane, a box of lavender-tinted toys, and way too much vodka. Interest came back, encouragement, Angels in the 'net intrigued or amused or just bored. Egging Kane on.
Jared made a squeaky noise of pure shock, mentally backpedaling, physically covering his eyes and moaning into his palms. "Nooo...don't make me...my braaain!"
"Oh, you ain't seen nothin', Kane said, floodgates opening wide, and Jensen felt laughter, in all of them, expanding up and out like bubbles of sheer, crystal light. Pure joy.
"So, look, here," Raleigh said, leaning his arm on one bent knee, the curving bulk of his belly poking over the waist of his trousers. "If we strip out the backbone and the synapse rig, we can skip over all that mess in the sync cluster-"
"If we skip the sync cluster, it won't fucking sync," Malik said, and Raleigh shook his head.
"No, yes, it will, here-" Raleigh tapped out something on his dataspot, and a holo glowed to life above it, showing the neural 'net of the half-disassembled ANGEL armor that hung from hooks and hoses above them, different colors for different systems. Blue and green and yellow and white; enviro, weapons, coms, hydraulics. It was like seeing a person stripped to veins and nerves, only double - triple. The ArchANGEL armor wouldn't sync with the new 'net, and half the Angels awake were trying to figure out a work-around. It kept them busy, at least; kept them from that deadliest of down-time trooper diseases: boredom.
How in hell never figure that out so confusing, Jared thought, and Jensen glanced up at him from where they sat on the squishy, plastic-grate floor. They were both cleaning and repairing armor parts, bits and pieces fanned out around them, marked with grease pencil and ragged strips of tape in an attempt to keep them in some sort of order. Jared had lubrication oil smeared on his nose, a bright green smudge.
Only fuckin' geeks get it Jensen thought back, and Malik reached without looking, picked up a shin plate, and chucked it at Jensen's head. Malik was, actually, one of the few Angels who didn't have issues talking with people without a 'net; he could actually form whole sentences and keep a coherent conversation going for hours at a time. A lot of the others...really struggled.
Fuck off, loser, you wish you knew as much as I do
Geeeeek
A ripple of amusement went through the 'net, quick and light, and Jensen bent down over the gunked-up servo he was trying to clean, grinning so hard it almost hurt. Sous was there with them, and Five, Kerrin, and Grieve. Others, too, whose names were images in his head, all sensation and color: a Principality, skin dyed in vivid starbursts; a couple of Thrones, surgical-tall ears tufted in pale blues and yellows. And others, not Tiamat; a handful of Angels from the Apsû, dark-skinned, with metallic tattooing that mimicked the circuitry inside the armor; a few from the Wu Zetian. They, like some of the others, kept their heads shaved, their bodies slickly clean, in a dogged hope of getting the armor to work again like it used to. All that skin seemed almost odd, now, to Jensen. Most everyone else had some kind of hair growing back, down to a ridiculous but intriguing beard on Malik.
New Angels, new names, new memories, new ways of doing things. New family, in the 'net, more every day. Jensen kept waiting for it to stop working, for the 'net to stop reaching, for some of them to be in their own little web, like before; platoons and divisions and ships all kept separate.
Divided us so we'd never know someone thought - Ji-yun, one of the Wu Zetian Angels. Jensen glanced up to meet her gaze, almond-shaped eyes in a delicate mask of elaborate makeup; some kind of flower, all pinks and yellows.
Stronger together Jensen thought, agreeing in that oblique way of the 'net, following a thought without really having to conceptualize or explain it.
Us we they us now all, from Jared, which made Ji-yun smile, and that ripple again through the 'net - amusement, affection, agreement.
"...so overclocking, here, and piggybacking the coms array means we can completely eliminate the sync cluster, see?" Raleigh was saying, as Jensen tuned back in. Malik stared at the holo, where Raleigh's tapping finger had highlighted some areas, darkened others, and twisted other parts together.
"What? No, no, that's-" Malik stopped, his head jerking up, and Jensen's too, and Jared, Sous - the whole room of Angels, as if on cue - their heads coming up like robots, busy fingers going still as something else came through the 'net.
"What?" Raleigh said, oblivious.
Query query report hurts hurts where query A new Angel, waking up, pushing out a confused static of panicked questions.
"Should we-?" Jared said, grease pencil gripped tight in his fingers, and Jensen reached out and curled his hand over Jared's whitening knuckles.
"No, it's fine," he said. Jinx has them, Sunni, Max…. The scattered, too-fast mess of question and emotions from the waking Angel peaked and then settled as Jinx eased in and soothed them down, explained what was happening. Images, a jumble of words, impulse and emotion, all rote, by now. Sunni came in, too, his presence in the 'net so calm; warm. And Max, like quicksilver, always a hint of laughter running under her thoughts; the least intimidating Angel Jensen had ever had in his head, until you gave her a target and a weapon.
Safe now, free now, listen, feel, family, all family, you're healing, you're safe Jared chimed in, and Malik, and then Jensen, too, showing this new Angel - whose name was something dark, a shifting swirl of light and shadow (Storm) how wide their new family was.
There was confusion, and then relief, and then...sorrow, profound and aching, as Storm reached for someone that wasn't there. Might not ever be there. Max, away in the med bay K, opened a roster on a dataspot and started searching, and Jensen eased out, letting her work, letting Jinx and Sunni comfort this newest member of their family. They were over five hundred, now, growing steadily, Angels waking nearly every day. The vaccine was being doled out to more and more as the worst cases, those in the most danger, were healed, and those who hadn't been in such immediate danger were inoculated in bigger groups.
What is storm? someone - a Xevioso Angel off in the 'ponics - wanted to know, and a half-dozen Angels, and Jared, supplied varying images and explanations, boiling clouds and veils of rain and lightning in five distinct colors vying with 3D maps of air currents, spinning planets, water evaporation. Jensen shivered at the mental sensation of cold rain, wind that pushed like a hand at your back, thunder so loud it vibrated in the bones. All of them lost in sensation and memory, until the clatter of a piece of armor, slipping from someone's hand, brought them back. Maybe a minute gone. Maybe less.
"We're not under attack, are we?" Raleigh asked, and Malik shook his head and took a long breath.
"New Angel," Malik said, and Raleigh made a kind of 'oh' expression of understanding. "This is not gonna work, man. Look here," Malik said, finding a stylus and stabbing at the holo Raleigh still had up, and Jensen huffed out a small laugh and leaned into Jared's shoulder, still feeling a ghostly chill.
Storm. That's a good name, Jensen thought, pushing it out, making sure they heard.
I like it, Jared thought, doing the same, and a tiny curl of pleased surprise sparked in the 'net. Welcome back, Jared added, and they all bent over their work again, the 'net humming with curiosity and reassurance and - ten minutes later - a fragile and growing joy, as Max found Storm's squad in the med bay.
Six months passed, with Angels waking nearly every day, until there were just under four thousand hair-trigger, clannish, stir-crazy soldiers making life...interesting, to say the least. Interesting, Taichou-san remarked, watching a room of fifty or more Angels erupt into a near-silent, vicious brawl, is a curse in some circles.
Jensen could believe it.
The new ones - the greenies - were the worst. Never really suited to be Angels in the first place, sent in as replacements to platoons and ships that didn't want them and couldn't deal with them, they were a constant source of tension and upset in the 'net. Especially once the psy-blocks were gone, and they (everyone), started to remember just how fucked up their mustering-in had been.
A few didn't make it; bottomless depressions of nothingness in the 'net that, one day, surged and flared and were gone, just as they were gone. Slashed arteries, space-walks suitless, whatever it took.
After the third one, the Quo and Doc and the arcology med staff buckled down and brewed up something that seemed to help. It smoothed the jagged edges and eased the racing thoughts and racing hearts. What was left of the oldest Angels took it upon themselves to pull the kids in and just…be there, in the 'net, in ways the kids hadn't ever really experienced before. Not in the constant state of fight/flight/rut the Company and the drugs had kept them all in for fucking months. Years.
They slowly settled, bit by bit, and people started sleeping again; started laughing again.
Raleigh and Malik had finally figured out a work-around for most of the armor. Weaponless suits had been assembled and tested obsessively in the halls and rooms of the arcology, sometimes with less-than-optimal results. It was a distraction, at least. It helped a lot with the greenies, whose working knowledge of the suits had been scoured out with the old 'net, and now they came to it like the veterans did, by sitting on their asses and breaking suits down, cleaning, oiling, building them back up again. Over and over and over.
The Quo requested that armored Angels stick to only a few decks, and then only with advance warning to arcology residents. Stalking on armored legs, with the bulk and hydraulic-assists, even the hulking Quo could get hurt by someone getting a little too enthusiastic
A few of the new kids even had decent skills, and Jensen saw new decorations being painted or etched into armor plates, colors and shapes and words, making the sameness beautiful.
Troop-ship crews - what were left - had spent hundreds of hours bringing the ships that were in the best shape back online; testing, fixing, cleaning, re-stocking. Six ships waited, now, spangled with running lights and humming with power, to skip out and do...something. Anything.
And gradually, they fell into a state of waiting that was uncomfortably like those final few hours before a go-pack kicked in. Tension sparked in the 'net like pins-and-needles, a constant frisson that could make you crazy, if you let it. To combat it, Angels spent a lot of time in the gyms; in the armor; in the ships, helping to make them ready; or in the blanket-draped 'quarters', working out as much aggression and hyper energy as possible in the least destructive (to others) way. Jensen had seen the embarrassed, curious, and sometimes envious looks from various arcology residents. Fortunately, most of the Angels didn't care about an audience, and most of the arcology residents only lasted a minute or two, at best, before fleeing.
The drop-ship and regular crews - Air Force Space Command - had come in with only partial Angel systems, to allow them to handle the delicate, hyper-responsive controls of the ships. All of them had opted for the vaccine; scared of the Company's traps and chemical bombs; scared of what might happen. Their presence in the 'net - curious, tentative, hopeful, delighted - was much like Jared had been. He still was, when dozens of Angels were together and the thoughts and emotions, ideas and impulses, memories and desires, flew thick and fast; so much, and so intense, you could lose minutes - hours - to the flow.
when are we going what are we doing fight them kill them take it to them this is war war war
green so green soft like hair like skin like water but solid, but what is, what is, what is...taste taste it green, alive
want to fly miss it skip the line in the between ride the bubble she goes she goes want to go feel her fly
there fuck more deeper oh touch, touch me there yes more all c'mon us we in come in in me you us all all
Sometimes, it was too much for the newest, the youngest - the most hurt. The effective range of the 'net had increased with each addition of several hundred newly vaccinated Angels, so now only a few places in the arcology were far enough away to fade it to near silence. Jared, and a few others, sometimes hopped a skimmer with a Quo or two and toured the system a little, getting some relief.
All of which meant… they needed to go, to do, to end this, or the Company, soon. Very soon. Jensen knew that the Diaboli, and the Quo, and the arcology citizens, had begun debating, strategizing their next move. Morgan - and oh, he was dark rough warm gentle such a distraction, in the 'net - had taken some of the last few officers and some Angels along to a couple of those sessions, but things got heated, fast, and now it was down to just a Major and three drop-ship pilots to argue the military side.
It seemed to have been going on forever - really, only about fifteen days - when the decision was made for them.
"All residents, unknown ship incoming. Please relocate to any secure hold or safe room. Please do not stray into corridors or lifts. Repeat: all residents, unknown ship incoming. Please relocate." The firefly chanted its alarm again and again, following Jensen and Jared as they careened through the corridors (Off limits, please find a secure hold), and into a bubble-lift (Lifts are not secure if there are hostile actions, please relocate).
The further they got, the more agitated the firefly became, pulsing faster, the recording repeating louder, the 'voice' becoming higher the longer they ignored it. It even, Jensen was sure, wincing, slipped in some 'sonics; anything to reinforce the message. As they stepped off the bubble-lift and jogged toward the obs-con deck, more fireflies zoomed in from other corridors and rooms, all of them sounding the alarm, a half-dozen colors flashing brighter and brighter, the voices overlapping and muddling into an incomprehensible babble.
"Chugn! Jensen snapped, flinching from the circling, diving motes. "Chugn, fuck, I hear you!"
"I don't think they care," Jared said, panting, waving his hands at the dive-bombing fireflies. They finally made it into observation and control, where seemingly every firefly in the room started toward them.
"Hakase! Hakase, get 'em off us!" Jensen called, spotting the head of obs-con in a huddle with a dozen or more others, humans and Quo. Hakase lifted their head and made a long, wavering sort of sound that dipped into sub-sonics, basso vibrations Jensen could feel in his bones. It made him wince, and Jared stumbled, gasping. But the fireflies stopped, all at once, glowing impossibly bright for a few seconds and then settling back to their normal, pastel glows, darting away to wherever they were supposed to be.
"Fuck." finally, ow, damn Jared rubbed his temples, grimacing, and Jensen pulsed agreement, his own head thumping along with his bootheels on the deck.
"Thanks, Hakase," he said, as they strode up to the knot of techs and scientists and Diaboli. Hakase dipped their long-nosed head down, furry arms spreading wide.
"Su, su, su," they hummed. "Aah..pol-gees." And then something in Quo, all hisses and rumbles. "So sorry to have disturbed", a firefly translated, blinking pink-white, and Jensen bowed his head a little, Quo manners.
"No damage done. Can you tell us... what's coming? Who's out there?"
"Shhhipah," Hakase said, and Jensen felt the spike of panic from Jared, instantly squashed. Felt every Angel in the arcology notice; a sudden prickling, thrumming sensation as query attention attention query query rushed at him from all sides.
Stand by stand by stand by, Jensen thought, loud and steady, and the ghost-sensation of a crowd - a mob - all standing at his back, tense and breathing hard, faded a bit.
"It's a troop ship," Alinx said, not even glancing up from her half-circle of hovering consoles, her fingers flying over the surfaces, data flowing like water in their wake. "Angel ship, yah? But not...it's…. Ibn il-homaar," she muttered, scowling, and Jensen glanced over at her assistant, who shrugged, tapping away on a dataspot and shooing the inevitable half-dozen fireflies that followed Alinx everywhere.
"Alinx, damnit, what-?" Jensen said, and Alinx murmured something to a firefly and sent it zooming away.
"Shhhipah," Hakase said again, and then a long string of something in Quo, rumble and hiss and boom, and Alinx nodded along, her own personal translator firefly whispering in her ear.
"The profile is...off. Same general silhouette; there's a skip array, and dropships, yah?" She listened again, head cocked. "The echo's close, sub-sonics…. But this is...bloody shit, aspidochelone, yah?"
"What?" Jensen said, and Alinx's assistant - Jensen could never remember his name - blew a firefly away from the tip of his nose.
"Means buggering huge," he said.
"Huge compared to what?" Jared asked.
"Usss," Hakase said, and they gathered up the Quo in the huddle and strode away to some other, larger gathering across the deck.
"Fuck, fuck, fucking- Sorry, I gotta- Yah?" Alinx wheeled around to follow, moving fast, the consoles and her assistant struggling to keep up, the fireflies chiming and glowing, a whirlpool of agitation in her wake.
"What is she-? What-?" What ship who is it Angels troops Company? Jared looked bewildered, his eyes wide, and Jensen leaned into him, one hand going up to grip Jared's shoulder.
Report, damnit, Qemuel, sit rep who is it what how long? Kane, loud and demanding, his voice rising above the indistinct hum of the rest; tension like a plucked wire, thrumming through the 'net. Others joined him, query query query, more and more, that hum jangling up to something else, too hard, too fast.
Stand by stand down no actionable intel hold, hold hold! Jensen thought, pushing hard, and after a moment Jared echoed him, and then Kane, Jinx, Max, others; a cascade in the 'net until it settled again into the usual rushing, hissing static that meant the line was open - they were waiting. Listening.
"Raleigh, what's going on?" Jared asked, as the man drifted to a stop beside them, his hands in the pockets of the big, Quo-style, beaded coat that he'd taken to wearing just lately.
"What Alinx said. It's a ship, and it's massive. It's in the between. Thing is-" Raleigh twisted his head, rolling it on his shoulders, and Jensen could hear faint crackling, grinding noises coming from the vertebrae in Raleigh's neck. "It's not really headed here. It's just...out there, like it's trying to find us but it's not quite on track. It's wrong," Raleigh said, and then Alinx's assistant hustled over with a dataspot and a floating console for him, and Raleigh drifted away again, hands working on the machines, all his attention fixed on the sliding, shifting data.
"Fuck,"Jensen said. He relayed that on through the 'net, and then tugged Jared with him to the massive viewing port. They stood there, the target of occasional fireflies and a few wandering Quo, for another hour. Jensen couldn't keep his gaze from the system beyond the thick, clear pane; he couldn't see the ship, but it was almost as if he could…feel it, or hear it, somehow.
Out there in the dark, skimming the line, riding the bubble; calling through space and time, a digital scream.
Maybe they're lost, Jared thought, hope like a warm hand, like a kiss. Maybe it's more Angels that got away, or… "It doesn't have to be bad," Jared said, and Jensen reached up to cup Jared's cheek, letting his fingers slide back to pet through the long, slippery-soft strands of Jared's hair. That hope and that warmth, fragile-sweet, going out through the 'net.
"Maybe," he said.
Another hour passed, and another, with Angels resorting to sparring, or eating, or fucking - anything to break the tension. Jared thought about going to the 'ponics room watch the fish clean the filters something, but he couldn't quite make himself leave Jensen, and Jensen was glad. They made out for a while, tucked into a nook in ops-con, just trying to relieve some of the tension. But that attracted some curious Quo, which made Jensen nervy, which made Jared laugh, so they stopped, after a while, fending off pornographic memories and fantasies from half a hundred Angels, intent on passing the time in the most lewd way possible.
As the third hour ticked over, and the hum of the 'net started to rise again, jagged and chaotic, Jensen made up his mind to go find Hakase, or Taichou-san and demand they do...something. Any-fucking-thing; anything but this endless, frustrating standby.
He didn't have to, though; even as he stepped away from the port, looking, a Quo waddled toward him, moving fast. It was Shoumei, and she was showing a round, pushing belly in the gap of her coat; carrying maybe six, eight kits, Alinx said. Jensen...couldn't imagine it. He'd never met a woman who'd opted to carry; they all used the machines, exogenous wombs. There were Quo children in the arcology, but mostly they were in their own section, protected and shielded, and not allowed around strange humans and chancy Angels. Jensen had only seen them once, through the 'net: a school group, it seemed, touring the 'ponics, blinking up wide-eyed at Jared in his 'skele as Jared had moved great crates of fish food into a storage area. Quo children were...very fluffy.
"Jen-zen," Shoumei said, and her fireflies were in a tight little halo around her head, pulsing fast and bright. "Iynght srahzss, we do iynght srahzss. Puuull, bring they."
"Like you did with the troop ships?" Jensen asked.
"Su, su, su."
"Fuck. When, Shoumei? When will you do… that?"
The Quo tipped her head to one side, and a firefly danced free of the halo, pulsing bright, whispering. "Thhhree…tchk." She said something to the firefly, and the firefly zipped over to hover in front of Jensen.
"In five hours, iynght srahzss will commence."
"Five...okay. That's- Thanks, Shoumei, I-" Jensen nodded his head, distracted. He heard Jared asking Shoumei something, taking up the slack, because Jensen's mind was racing, the information going out, strategies, contingencies, and the Angels were taking it up and running with it. The 'net went from a whisper to a roar, and Jensen forced orders through the noise, designating Kane, Jinx, Ji-yun, a half dozen others as Command, trying to put some order into the flow.
And then Morgan - Morgan - was in the 'net, as he seldom was, reinforcing everything Jensen was putting into place, backing Jensen with his own years of experience, of command. Backing him, not overriding him, and for a moment Jensen wavered, inundated. Can I can I don't know, don't, fuck
You can, Jared thought, warm and strong and there. And then Malik was there too, and Grieve, and Sous, and more of them; a cascade of affirmation and attention and yes yes yes you go do tell ours lead go
His Angels - his - every one of them.
Part twenty-four.
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