Skysong

Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to work around a whole lot of things; life isn't getting any less complicated. I feel about as tired as Zak does.

As soon as the old superhero's eyes were shut, Zakitaj's face became blank; he looked weary in both body and soul, slumped there, watching the drawer retract. It nearly took his hand with it, his fingers still interlaced with those of a dead man. Heaven? He didn't know whether he believed in any such thing, and from his point of view it didn't really matter. Physicus had been passed on, and Herbert had passed on. He didn't look up even after Dead Head's words for some time, but his face became screwed up in concentration. I have not cried since I was twelve, he told himself, and I will not cry now. When he finally did look up, his features were smooth again. "Yes," he replied, "I'll be okay. I... don't know how to thank you. You didn't have to do any of this. I started out fighting you and thinking you were totally insane, and you go and do more than anyone else possibly could... If you ever need anything, look me up. I owe you." Pushing himself off of the wall and back fully onto his feet, Zakitaj extended a hand for Dead Head to shake. After a moment, he spoke up again. "We'd best be getting out of here before someone starts asking awkward questions."

Zakitaj wasn't exactly enjoying being pulled around like some sort of doll, but beggars can't be choosers, and at least he wasn't being eaten anymore. He couldn't really get a good look at whoever was fighting at the door, and he stopped trying when Fulcrum unleashed her breath of fury. His eyes grew wide; even from this distance his suit shimmered in anticipation of kinetic energy absorbtion. "You never told me you could do that," he said, awe in his voice. Several of the zombies, metal bones or no, staggered backward, and as soon as they did they were lost. The wee lifted into the air and slammed into the far wall of the warehouse, where they lay unmoving. Determined to make a contribution, Zakitaj aimed his recharged kinetic projectors at the ceiling beam he'd indicated as his target. With luck, it would be just enough to rip free the bolts holding it in place without taking all of the beams down and collapsing the building on the heroes. The accuracy wasn't perfect, but the damage was enough. The jiggled when the first shot hit it, then tore free with the second, smashing into the ground and crushing several of the survivors of Fulcrum's attack. ------------------------------------------------------ Lukos wasn't having tremendous difficulty keeping the zombies back, even if he wasn't killing any of them either. Behind him, however, the door gave way; one of the packet-bearing zombies began to lumber toward the maze of alleyways that meant escape.

Heh... good memories of the DMV... not. So, getting toward wrapping things up; this has gone too long because I'm slow. A solitary zombie survived both Zak and Fulcrum's ingenuity; there are still four surrounding Lukos, one of them badly damaged, another about to escape.

Initiative: 15+4=19 Star Wars provided an interesting explanation for sound in space: when a ship raises its shields, it traps a bubble of air through which sound can travel. Probably still not scientifically sound, but pseudo-sciencey at least.

Zakitaj raised an eyebrow at Jack, especially at being called "Zak-Attack", but found himself chuckling at the man's words despite the awkward half-hug. He was not, at heart, a serious person, which was why his new responsibilities weighed on him so heavily. He hoped that the superhero's way with words wasn't his only good quality because it would not save them from enemy starships, though it certainly might provoke them into making a mistake. Turning back to the shapechanger, he pondered once again just how many laws of science were being broken by his existence. And then he burst out laughing, his formerly grim demeanor breaking entirely. "What a shame you can only throw a car a few feet," he said as he tried to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes only to discover that his suit was active when his hand bumped his transparent faceplate. Realizing that he had just divested himself of his dignity, he drew himself back up. "Er... sorry. People expect me to be able to do that sort of thing, and I can't at all, so your statement... nevermind."

Zakitaj didn't understand, really; his people had always been so desperate merely to survive that both sexes had been hardy and gender equality was an unquestioned necessity. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of anyone telling Mona how she should run her life; such a person would have to be very foolhardy or very zealous, since the truly brave knew discretion. Still, he understood that it wasn't an easy topic for her, and regretted bringing it up; she'd brought back his less fond memories, to put it mildly, and it seemed he'd unknowingly returned the favor. His heart dropped a little bit when she said "multiple lovers", but his mind saw the irony: he, the son of a man who slept with any woman with a pulse, was a virgin; she, the daughter of a woman who was very conservative on the subject, was not. Each was a rebel in one way or another, and the fact that the universe had brought them together across six light years was deeply amusing. If he believed in a higher power, he would've complimented its sense of humor. He waved away her apology. "That's alright. My people have a proverb: if you make a road from mind to sound, there will always be bandits on it." He thought for a moment; there was a question he was interested to have answered, but he didn't want to push Mona further into memory than she wanted to go. "As the child of a single parent, I have to ask: was your father involved in your life? If you'd rather not talk about it, I understand; this is meant to be a pleasant time, not an interrogation." He smiled, his eyes containing interest and cautious friendly concern.

I'll give Fulcrum an HP for pulling Zak's arse out of the fire, but it's your call as to what you want to do, Dariusprime.

Zakitaj cut him off again by raising the little film capsule, and his mentor grinned again. "See? You'll get on fine without me." A lump formed in the young alien's throat, and he did his best to swallow it. "I thought I had to. I guess I still do." The quiet didn't last long before he remembered something else. "Erik wants you to know that he didn't understand back then, but he does now. He's sorry; he misses you." Physicus nodded, and some of the tension eased from his features. "Thank you for telling me that, Zak. It makes this all a little easier." The old man raised up the hand Zakitaj wasn't holding and used it to turn his face toward Dead Head. "Thank you for this chance," he told the zombie-man quietly. "I don't know what's waiting, but I think... I think I'll get there more easily now, no matter where it is." He turned his head back to his student. "Zak, I want you to know that you have my blessing. Be the next Physicus. Zakitaj always sounded more heroic than Herbert anyway." His final grin crossed his features. The alien nodded in reply; he didn't know what to say. Turning back to Dead Head, the aged superhero spoke one last time. "I'm ready."

Briefly the young alien summarized his flight from Khalados and arrival on Earth; two days past, it was still vivid in his mind. With some hesitation he told of his visit to Physicus's family earlier that day, and of the honor he had asked for. "But now that you're here, I won't need to do that, will I?" Physicus was quiet for a moment, then spoke with a more level and subdued voice, the voice of wisdom that Zakitaj had long respected and heeded. "I don't think it works that way, Zak." Both of them fell into pensive silence. Zakitaj broke that silence. "What... what was it like?" "Being dead?" Physicus laughed nervously. "Until now, I had no idea of what was going on. It was like... like a bad concussion. I was out like a light; no thoughts, no knowledge of the passage of time, but this vaguely uncomfortable feeling in my head. I... hope it won't always be like that." He laughed again, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Zakitaj clapped him on the shoulder, and he reached up and grasped his pupil's hand, giving it a quick squeeze. They were quiet again, but this time Physicus spoke first. "Zak, you should know something. The reason I left Earth... it wasn't just the Moore Act. See, I never told you, but when I teleport..." "It ages you," Zakitaj supplied as the older man's words slowed. "Erik told me." Physicus nodded. "Maybe it was selfish, though I had myself convinced that it wasn't, but I was looking for some way to.. to turn back the clock, to give me more time. And I almost found it, too. I left something behind when I left, something I want you to have..."

It was the moment of truth. Silence weighed heavily on Zakitaj's ears, threatening to tear them from his head if he himself did not first out of the unbearable anticipation. And though the corpse's mouth remained peacefully set in the crooked head that held it, Dead Head began to speak. It was strange, listening to the seemingly one-sided conversation, stranger even that the reading of the photograph. But there was no more time to question whether all of this was madness. It didn't matter anymore. He tensed as Dead Head touched the body, but forced himself to remain as calm as possible. It might yet all be worth it. Surely it had to be. Fire was a bringer of destruction, a primal, uncontrollable force, or so the alien prince believed. And yet, when it seeped into the corpse's pale, chilled face, it was a bringer of warmth, a bestower of life. It was a further twisting of a mind that had already been twisted sideways and backwards in the course of half an hour, a rubber band drawn so taut that a tenth of a newton of force would shatter it like ice. And when those eyes, those eyes of stunning sea green snapped open, they weren't the only thing that snapped. A wave of pain dragged at his heart like a falling anvil. It had happened. Triumph, and yet despair. "Zak!" Physicus laughed, the hearty sound his student remembered distorted by his bent windpipe. "Fancy seeing you here! You're looking well!" "You're not," Zak joked back, a slight quaver in his voice. Physicus reached up one hand to tap the jagged gash that had ripped through his spinal cord at the base of the neck. "No," he replied, wincing, "I bet I'm not. What happened, exactly?" "It didn't go as planned." "We had a plan?" Zakitaj laughed; there was no doubt that this was his old friend.

No worries!

The wording is fine. Everything looks good! Thanks again for setting all of this up; I hadn't initially planned for this thread to accomplish everything it has, but I'm very, very pleased with the way it's turned out. Just goes to show that this sort of writing really is meant to be a collaborative effort.

Zakitaj's eyes got really, really wide as Atlas shapechanged. He half-muttered half-sputtered something about the law of matter conservation, then shook his head, agape. He should know by now that science rarely applied to metahumans as it did to everyone else, but he was still shocked every time he saw something like this which he couldn't possibly explain. He was distracted a moment later, however, by Arrowhawk's words; the man was clearly agitated, but they were going to need him, and that meant that he needed to be calmed. "I understand your qualms here," he began cautiously. "My people banned slug-based weaponry three hundred years ago because such weapons cannot easily be used to subdue but kill all too easily. I have my own code against killing even my most hated enemies, because to do so is to become like them. I know a thing or two about computers and starships; perhaps I can take a sensors position and help identify crippling but non-lethal targets?"

Zakitaj suppressed a laugh at Dead Head's description of his friend, trying to stay serious; the situation was, after all, hardly a laughing matter. Still, he wasn't the sort of person who could remain grim forever, which was one of the reasons his newfound responsibility weighed on him so heavily. Turning his thoughts back to the immediate problem, he wondered what his zombified companion meant; surely talking to each body would take just as long as merely looking at each of them, and they really didn't have the time for either. There were going to be awkward questions if the two of them were spotted. And then, as one, they rose. Zakitaj's stomach turned, and he wondered whether all of this had been some sort of hallucination. What if Physicus had left behind a safeguard along with his hidden film capsule? Maybe he was just seeing what some twisted part of him wanted to see, because things just kept getting more and more impossible. Dead flesh shouldn't be able to move or speak, much less make other dead flesh do the same. He wasn't afraid of what was happening, but it definitely made him feel more than a little sick. Still, he was going to take advantage of it if he could. He walked along in front of the bodies, witnessed their death wounds; he had seen worse, and in greater quantity, but it saddened him that the first morgue he visited on this new world was full of the violently slain. He could only hope that none of them held some sort of lingering danger; they were, after all, in a special chamber designed to hold the abnormal dead. Midway through the circuit, he spotted Physicus. The old man's eyes were closed peacefully, his mouth set in a vague smile as he sat up through unknown means. "That's him," Zakitaj said, as levelly as he could. His mentor had short hair, more white than grey now. His head lolled at an odd angle on account of his broken spine, the injury that had slain him. He looked so different than he had all those years earlier, as though whatever he had done between departing Khalados and returning to it had weighed on him heavily. If he had anything to say, now was the time to find out.

I'm just glad you can work out the mechanics; I'll leave the complicated stuff to you. Sad part is I recognize that strip from back when I had enough time to spend most of it browsing random stuff on the internet. Ah, the good old days...

Well, Physicus died a violent, unexpected death before he could so much as talk to Zakitaj, so it makes sense that his spirit would indeed linger. And given that Dead Head is a character I'd be happy to do threads with in the future, it would be best if he weren't just leading Zak astray. I hadn't thought up any specifics as to the location of the body; if you have something in mind, go for it. I'm interested to see what this idea of yours is.

Save room? How in all the cosmos was he supposed to do that? Back on Khalados, it was a severe offense to the host not to eat everything provided, a custom dating back to the days of nomadic hunting when no food could be spared and an offering of any was a tremendous gift and sacrifice. On feast days, when families traveled from household to household to enjoy one another's hospitality, it was customary to eat nothing all day, and sometimes for half the day before, in order to get up enough of an appetite to devour everything at several houses. And then she made mention of the fact that customs were different on Earth once again. It was interesting that he had been given too much food knowingly; he didn't really understand why, but it was a relief, certainly. Though he actually hadn't eaten anything in more than a day, and technically more than eight years, he still wasn't sure he could've finished off a second course. "Oh, thank you," he laughed, though it was clear that he meant his words sincerely. "I was getting worried." Then she asked about dating, and he tried to think up a brief explanation; he was still afraid of boring her. "Well, yes and no. There's a certain expectation among my people that all successful relationships lead eventually to marriage, but the road that goes there is left unmonitored. There are certain rules of behavior that determine whether or not you're perceived as polite, and they're very detailed and intricate rules, but there are always those among us who are attracted to those who break the rules, so it works both ways. Sometimes breaking the rules means not getting married at all; the elders frown, but nothing else happens." He thought for a moment, then spoke up again. "Of course my father, charmer that he was, was one of the people who didn't play by the rules. But he was a prince, and then king for about twelve seconds." A shadow of pain passed over his face at that last bit, then vanished as he went on. "And no matter how much he disrespected the elders, laughed at them and mocked them, they never dared disrespect him, so he got away with what he liked. I wouldn't call what he did 'dating', exactly, but if he hadn't I wouldn't be here, so I can't complain overmuch." Pausing, he reflected on some of her earlier words. "Interesting that your mother was much the opposite of my father. You said she was conservative; what does she think about this sort of thing?"

Though the idea of an isolation morgue made sense, it still irritated Zakitaj; Physicus had done a lot for the people of Freedom City, and though it hadn't been enough for him to have been well-known, he was certainly deserving of respect. The alien wondered for the billionth time whether he himself was being respectful by allowing this strangeness to continue near the body of his friend, but he pushed the thought away; it would all be worth it for just a minute or two with someone he never even got to bid goodbye. The hospital's lower reaches were calm and clear, squeaky clean and with a sort of warm, somewhat sharp smell Zakitaj assumed came from whatever cleaning agent was used here. Though the Earthlings were technologically primitive in many ways, medicine included, they at least understood the basics: keep things clean and you'll cut down on disease. Even the hardy viruses of Khalados had been eradicated nearly two hundred years earlier, but it was heartening to know that this planet was at least on the right track. Very, very quietly, the bastard prince pushed the doors open; if this morgue was secured, it didn't show it at the entrance. A circular receptionist's desk sat nearby, but it was empty. Beyond it were three more doors, one set into each wall. Zakitaj peered through the windows at the top and breathed in sharply; every visible wall of the chamber inside was covered in compartments, most of them presumably containing corpses. Though he couldn't tell except through sensors because of his armor, and Dead Head probably couldn't because he was dead, it was already cold; inside the chambers, it would be frigid. It hadn't been important where Physicus's body had been stored until now; Zakitaj had been facing his mentor's death in his own way, and looking at the corpse wasn't part of that way. Now, though... "Assuming twenty seconds to check each body, we'd be here for at least two hours. That's too long. Where might this friend of yours be?"

The DC remains 23. Your attack roll is good enough to hit.

"That's better," Zak laughed as he was borne up and away from the zombies, dead flesh and exposed steel falling away from him on all sides; his voice was filled with mirth, but Mona could detect no small amount of relief in it too. He'd been worried. "When I start talking about a rescue," he joked, "that's what I mean. Nothing less than a pretty, airborne lass who could bend me into a pretzel for my stupidity but chooses not to swooping in to pull me out of trouble again." Raising both of his hands as he was borne toward the escaping creatures at the door, he unleashed another volley, this time aiming at a single zombie. At least they didn't seem to be as tough as Dead Head, he reflected; his shots hadn't even scratched that zombie, which was just as well given that he'd turned out to be a friend. The two shots both slammed into one of the packet-bearing zombies scrambling for the door, but again it didn't even stumble, and Zak let out a low, rumbling curse in his native language. Then he chanced to look back at the large metal beams in the ceiling. "Most of them are in one place for now," he told his mighty rescuer. "Maybe you could drop something one them that's even denser and tougher than they are." A pointed finger indicated what he meant. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The *clank* brought about by Lukos's axe sent the zombie from which it originated backwards; it stood there dumbly for a second, staring at him with absent, rotting eyes, then collapsed backward with a combination of *squelch* and *kachunk*. The packet of zombie dust slid from its hands, skittering across the floor, and one of the zombies trying to reach the door dutifully backtracked to retrieve it. The other reached the exit, but the door had a handle, and the function of turning it seemed to have been lost to the ravenous dead. Instead the creature bashed the obstacle with heavy metal arms, and it buckled in its frame, though it didn't give way. The zombie still remaining to attack Lukos did so again, but this time he was better prepared, and the snapping teeth closed on empty air. With both Fulcrum and Physicus now out of range, the mass of zombies that had been working on slowly tearing the armored hero to bits turned and slowly lumbered toward the fighting.

Mona clearly knew exactly what she was doing when it came to this sort of food; not only had she known exactly what she wanted the moment she walked into the place, probably even the moment she thought of it, she also seemed to eat in a specific manner. It was something Zakitaj could only catch glimpses of, uninitiated as he was in the art of dining, but once he saw it he began to watch her even more carefully. When she offered him a bit of her dish he accepted with a smile and an elegant incline of his head, then gathered some with his knife and fork, using them as gracefully as he could manage. He nodded at her continued talk of languages; the idea of countless forms of communication was an amazing one indeed. The thought of other dimensions, however, he blocked out as quickly as he could. Khaladi scientists had been working on the "Negative DIstance Theory", which stated that a person could effectively travel a negative distance by entering an opposite plane of existence, for two hundred years. It was entirely possible that, beyond the barrier of time and space, a race of opposite Khaladi lived; perhaps they had soundly defeated the Broan, or even taken their place. When Physicus has arrived, his teleportation had been studied, but never successfully mimicked; the "zero barrier" of space had never been broken, but he'd learned more than he ever wanted to about it in school. And if the opposite Khaladi spoke an opposite language, how many languages must there be on an opposite Earth? Had the Earthlings cracked the zero barrier with their comparatively primitive science? Mona seemed to speak of other dimensions casually. Then she asked about his food, and he decided not to bring it up; it was more than a little embarrassing. "On Khalados," he said, "Not only was there no food with any desirable taste, but there were no oceans. My first experience with an ocean was when I dropped into one from orbit this morning, and I couldn't have imagined it until I was mere feet above its surface. This food; it's rather like that. No description could've explained it to me until I tried some myself. And while I don't really have anything to compare it to, it's... it's marvelous. I don't know the specific words to describe it, but it's marvelous." He thought for a moment, then spoke again with a laugh. "I would ask how yours is, but I just had some, so I know you chose well."

Zakitaj wasn't sure how this planet could be any fuller of strangeness than he already knew it to be, but he kept his mouth shut; Dead Head had been right so far, and he didn't want to see any more examples provided if he could avoid it. His brain hurt already. The zombie man's tirade about undeath seemed utterly nonsensical, but there was probably something deep hidden in it. He was pretty sure his companion was indeed utterly mad at least fifty percent of the time, but he wanted... needed his bizarre skills. He sighed internally as DH once again noted the limited functionality of his suit; he supposed that someone who could survive just as much punishment, and perhaps more, without using such a device could criticize as he liked, though his shovel was rather lacking next to the elegant Khaladi kinetic projectors. "No, no stealth systems. Perhaps I should look into that, though. At any rate, climb on, I suppose... We'd better find a sheet or something to cover you with, in any case. I can't imagine that most... patients that look like you do, no offense intended, are left uncovered for hospital visitors to see as they're wheeled by."

Hmph. You guys are too fast for me. I need to be more efficient. You're fine, quote; no grappling involved. Fulcrum is able to pull Zak away without any trouble; the zombies cannot reach her.

So, wormhole travel wasn't instantaneous; that answered Zakitaj's first question. Like the others he unbuckled himself, noting that the ship stabilized once they were actually within the wormhole. He stood and walked to the front of the ship, some of his dark mood lifting as he engaged in one of his favorite passtimes; trying to figure out how things worked. He'd done his research into Earth technology, and he knew the technology of his own people well. It blended well with another of his favorite passtimes, one which Physicus hadn't been able to cure him of: showing off. "Well," he began in response to Jack's question, "Unless I miss my guess, this one monitors thrust. It's not showing anything now, seeing as we're in a wormhole and traveling in excess of the speed of light without using our engines. This one monitors shield power and hull integrity, so if it starts blinking red, that's when we need to worry, assuming red is the color for danger in the Lorr Republic. Here we've got weapons, and here's life support, which is the other one we need to worry about." Turning to Myshel and actually smiling for the first time since this strangeness began, he confidently asks, "Am I right?"