SG: Aurora #42 - Old Friends I - Part One of Four

[frobozz]

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The Ninety Second Recap
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    Aurora -- a Canadian organization dedicated to protecting the public
against supernormal threats as well as interfacing with existing
superguys and providing essential services to them -- has just recently
investigated the Changeling Society, which is a fellowship of survivors
of the Days of Hell(tm) on Earth. Though initially suspected of having a
sinister agenda, the Society's spiritual leader was found to simply want
to make a grand statement to the world at the end of a march on Aurora's
headquarters: a surface-to-orbit Beanstalk which is located in southern
Ontario.
    Tensions ran high on both sides, as confrontations normally do, but
the march seemed to be a peaceful one until an unknown third party
assassinated the Reverend from afar. This was a spark struck in an
oxygen-rich environment, which caused both Aurora's troops and the
Changelings participating in the march to take up arms against one
another.
    Meanwhile, inside the Beanstalk, Arthur Doyle -- Computer
Personality and current head of Aurora -- was locked down from his own
computer systems. He was then captured and tortured by an unnamed
assailant and his own lady-love, Colleen.
    Outside the Beanstalk, Al Peterson has assumed control of Aurora's
power-armoured troopers, splitting them up into two squadrons, both of
which will attempt the Beanstalk's highest levels separately in the
hopes that their change of tactics will confuse these far-too-prepared
invaders. The troopers use a transponder system to allow themselves
through the otherwise-impenetrable shield which blankets the Beanstalk,
but destroy said transponder once inside so that no one can use the
system to get back out again. Cut off from the outside world, the
troopers make their initial foray, which is to raid the day care level
of the Beanstalk and remove the children still there back to the first
level, where a few of the troopers stay behind, guarding the children in
a reasonably secure location. Meanwhile, the two squads have split up
and begun their individual climbs. Peterson's squad has been making good
time up the 'stalk, but not as good as he'd like. During a sleep-break
from the climb, he lost three companions to unknown forces and had to
resume the climb without them.
    Arthur Doyle remains in his captors' custody, subjected to torture
in the hopes that he will turn his coat and join with the enemy. His
silent partner, Xenophon (and also a Computer Person), has managed to
slip Doyle's bonds on several occasions and render help. Peterson and
company engaged in their first fire-fight with the enemy, who had
managed to ambush them via the elevators. Outside, Rae has been able to
communicate within the supposedly impenetrable shield, informing those
within of their enemy's identity.
   Meanwhile, inside the Beanstalk the as yet unidentified enemy is
tentatively identified as hailing from the Superguy altiverse
001SUPERGUY, with which Aurora had brief dealings some time ago. Worse,
it is revealed that the first head of Aurora - one Nicholas Treis - was
left in the care of 001's Aurora counterpart, Strike Force Borealis, to
recover from an assassination attempt. Peterson calls a halt to their
ascention in order to give his troops a fast party, in the hopes that it
will keep their spirits raised for the trek ahead. Sentries report that
Borealis is moving towards their position. Auroran troops set up a
defensive line and successfully hold off the opposing forces, but due to
a quisling in their ranks, Peterson takes a disabling wound. Following
protocol, DeVrai is put in charge of the troops and continues upwards,
while Peterson and Chambers (who has herself sustained significant
armour damage) stay behind.
   Nicholas Treis wakes up in his prison in 001 and realises that he's
been a bird kept in a gilded cage for too long. Despite being an old
man, he overcomes his physical limitations and makes an escape attempt.
Meanwhile, in 000, Peterson and Chambers hear someone headed for their
position. They draw weapons and prepare to make a final stand...
 Which is where we last left our intrepid adventurers...

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

               Chris Angelini/Frobozz Magic Productions

                             -and-

                       Mademoiselle Muse Inc

                       -in association with-

           'We Didn't Mean To Colour The Sky Pink, Honest!'
               Industrial Special Effects and Magic

                              -and-

       The Overworked and Underpaid Lisa MacDougall (producer)

                            -present-

                            AURORA #42

                         "Old Friends I"

                        'Keys to Ascension'

                             Part Seven

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

      Auroran trooper Langly remembered being awakened many times every
night. Usually this awakening took place suddenly, assisted by either a
splash of cold water to the face or else by someone yanking her up to
attention, beating her around the shoulders and legs if she stumbled. On
some level that she couldn't explain to herself, Langly found herself
mortified that her tormentors ignored the filth that was beginning to
spread in her cell, due to a decided lack of facilities. Mercifully,
last night (or had it just been part of a night? Or even a day? She
hadn't seen the sun in... in... two days? Three? One? A month?) had been
an exceptions; she'd been questioned periodically when she'd wanted
nothing more than to sleep, but each time she had been awakened without
startlement.
   Still, some things never changed. Langly's Questioner (that was all
she knew him as. He posed Questions and did nothing else. She met his
Qu--questions unflinchingly and never gave a thing away, she told
herself) had come in for each session, trailing along two silent goons
who did nothing but enforce his will upon her body with their damned
rubber clubs.
  Each Questioning period, the Questioner had firmly asked Langly for
information.
  Each Questioning period, Langly had refused to provide her Questioner
with any information (she told herself).
  Each Questioning period in which she refused to give anything away,
Langly expected to receive another beating.
  ...or to even see that flash of brutal anger on his face, the one that
she knew he'd been trained to show whenever he wanted to, but still
couldn't bring herself to care that it might just be feigned because the
beatings WERE so real and they hurt so much...
  ...except really hadn't the beatings just started to get into a
routine where she didn't even really notice and almost looked forward to
them because at least then she felt half alive and human instead of
being a rat trapped in her filthy nest...
   Deep breath, girl, Langly told herself, digging nails into her arm.
Got to resist this; got to keep a strong will; got to keep on not
telling him anything except... no... got to go on not telling him
anything. That was what you did when you were in these situations,
right? You smiled and snarled and kept your lips shut and why didn't
they ever tell you how fuzzy your brain got after just a day or maybe
two or a month...
   Strangely, in all the Questioning periods she faced during the night,
Langly's Questioner didn't seem to care one bit about It. In fact, she
wondered why he didn't mention It at all, not even to gloat. He couldn't
have forgotten about It; the Questioner would never forget about It and
it had only been a day since It had happened... or had it? Maybe it was.
Langly had slept a few times, not long, but maybe she'd actually kept
herself unconscious more often than she'd expected. So maybe two days,
or three, or a month or six or... something. She'd slept. That much she
knew. She'd slept and not well. So maybe a day. A day seemed right since
It. She could be sure about that (almost).
   Why hadn't he said anything about It?
   Langly winced as her door opened again. She rolled to her side and
ignored the pain that such a move caused her, determined to see what was
going to happen. Langly wouldn't be closing her eyes again. She had once
thought it would have made things easier but it hadn't. She would see
what, exactly, was in store for her. Two goons entered. She glared at
them, waiting. Soon, something would happen. Soon they'd do something to
her. All she could do was wait and hope she could endure it.
   They did indeed do something. It did surprise Langly, but not in the
way she imagined it would.
   They started cleaning her cell.
   Despite her promise, Langly closed her eyes; but that was so she
could open them again to make sure she was seeing right.
   Yep. She was seeing right. It was still true. The two goons who had
caressed bruises onto her skin with their clubs were cleaning up her
cell and despite it all, she loved them for it. The odour of strong
industrial cleansers filled Langly's nose and it was the most beautiful
perfume she'd ever smelled. It was a smell that could only mean Clean
and the total destruction of all that was Dirty and there was no way
that the smell could mean anything but. Even better, the smell was so
strong that it completely blocked the smell of anything still Unclean,
even though nothing would remain Unclean for very much longer. It masked
the smell of no washroom facilities for two days (or three or a month or
a week or sixteen years or...). Langly wanted to invest in the company
that made the cleanser and then roll around naked on her stock
certificates.
   She was giddy. She was happy. It couldn't last. It didn't. She spied
her Questioner, standing at the entrance to her cell, watching the work.
He wasn't helping out; of course he wasn't getting his hands dirty. The
Questioner had to remain lily-pure and probably bathed in strong
industrial cleanser to ward off the stink of anything impure. Of course,
Langly would have given anything to take a long cleanser bath herself,
right now...
   As Langly's guards were very efficient at their jobs, be that
cleaning or total brutalization of the flesh, it didn't take them long
to render her cell spick and span. Dimly Langly hoped that they were
being paid enough for all of this. But that was stupid; of course they
weren't. No one ever paid sanitation workers enough. Didn't people
realise that if all the plumbers up and quit, humanity would all be
doomed?
   Deep breath, girl, Langly thought. Don't go madly off in all
directions just yet... got to be strong. Got to resist. Got to be
strong... got to push past It... it.
   Then they left. She wished they wouldn't because the Questioner
hadn't yet left. She wished they'd clean him out of her cell along with
the mess, but maybe he was one of those tough-to-get-out stains. Langly
made a mental note to demand a Stainmaster cell the next time she was
captured by the enemy. For some reason, the thought didn't seem as funny
to her as she'd hoped it would and a wave of depression swept over
Langly, though she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though she had plans to
be captured again...
   Her Questioner fixed cool eyes and and cooler smile on his
C--captive. He took his time in talking. For some reason, Langly found
herself impatient for him to begin.
   "Good morning, prisoner twenty-three," he began, in cool, strangely
dulcet tones. "You're looking like Hell(tm), though one shouldn't speak
ill of the imprisoned. I was growing quite disgusted with conditions in
this cell so I thought I'd have them adjusted to my preference. Just
like that. I willed it and it happened. Do you know how easy it is for
you to take control of your life, prisoner twenty-three?"
   Langly remained silent, stubbornly refusing to rise to the bait. She
was sure he had more tricks up his sleeve and, if she couldn't resist
being drawn out, she at least wanted to wait for a better lure.
   She refused to let It happen again.
   The Questioner had paused a moment for Langly's answer. When he was
convinced that she would give none, he shrugged and continued. "Offer me
something, prisoner twenty-three and you shall have control again. Think
of your information as a tether. This tether does not connect you to
your unit. They have moved beyond you, Prisoner. In fact, most of the
information that you hold has already been obsoleted by time. What this
information -does- tether you to is this life of misery. This... filth.
It's no longer me who's keeping you here, Prisoner Twenty-Three, in the
filth. It's you. I suppose deep down you enjoy wallowing in all of this,
since I can't think of a rational reason -why- you'd want to stay here
like this, when freedom is just a few words away."
   Langly kept her mouth shut and her eyes averted. She didn't want him
to see, or hear anything that she had to say right now. She also didn't
want to hear what wanted to come out of her mouth. So she kept that
mouth shut tight. She didn't think of It. She didn't think of It no
matter what he said. She wouldn't think of It... how clever she was, she
thought with a mad unvoiced giggle, not to think of It.
   "Well," replied Langly's Questioner, rising as he seemed to divine
her thoughts anyway. "You may remain tethered if you like. You may
wallow in your body's leavings if you like. Your cruelty to the troops
whom you led is remarkable, prisoner twenty-three." The Questioner
turned to leave, then paused as though he had just remembered the merest
bit of trivia he wished to impart. "Ah, yes, though you have one less
person to torture, prisoner."
   "W-what?" Langly asked, through cracked lips. Her eyes began to water
and she told herself that it was because of the cleanser fumes... and
not It... not It... please don't let it be his promise to h--It...
   "I now have one fewer prisoner. As promised. I had been under the
impression that a leader was meant to be responsible to her troops
first, and to obsoleted information second. But I suppose you barbarians
in this universe do things differently than we do."
   "W.. who..." Langly managed to mouth, barely hearing herself. But
apparently her Questioner had. And that was enough.
   "Number twenty-two."
   "Who was he... who *was* he?"
   The Questioner turned fully. He met Langly's eyes, then smiled. "I do
not address prisoners as anything but their number."
   Langly stared at him in shock. She had to know. She had to know which
of them she'd failed. She'd failed someone, how could she have failed,
she thought she'd done everything right but he'd killed one of them
anyway and she'd broken down once but kept her tongue, but he'd seen her
collapse and promised It if she didn't talk but she'd kept her tongue
and refused to believe It to let herself believe It and now she didn't
know and she'd have to wonder who it was and she wasn't even allowed to
know and soon her cell would be all dirty again like she was dirty and
she just wanted to be clean and NO THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT no what's
important are her men but that was wrong they were both important so
important and what did that say about her and...
   ...and the words started to flow. Langly couldn't stop them. They
just came tumbling out and didn't stop even halfway into her third warm,
glorious, cleansing shower when she began to vomit bile instead of words
and she wasn't sure which one burned more coming up...

***

[CONTINUED IN PART TWO WHICH IS BLOWING IN THE WIND.]

---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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