Skysong

It was difficult to imagine speech that consisted of clicks, but how much more different were clicks from the rumbling, earthy tones of Khaladi than the melodious Persian language? Far more amazing was that there was such a wide variety of languages on a single planet, and for each of them a culture with unique customs and traditions. Earth was huge, it seemed, both in size compared to Khalados and in the diversity of its populace. He was glad to know someone who understood more than one culture; it gave him a bit of a leg up in seeing the big picture. If the smells outside the restaurant had been wonderful, they were almost overpowering now that the food was actually in front of him. And what a feast! There was far more than he could eat, he was sure, but he resolved to give it a valiant effort. Hesitating a moment, he watched Mona carefully. With a little observation on his side, he began to grasp the function of the strange eating utensils placed before him; the spoon was familiar to him, as was the knife, but not so the fork. Fortunately, he was able to use it with modest proficiency after seeing it used. "Thank you," he replied to her compliment about his English, beaming with pleasure; it was a good thing Physicus had spoken in a very unaffected way. She brought up the possibility of a language repository, and he nodded, sobering somewhat. "That is an excellent suggestion; we'll have little use for Khaladi here, but it would be a shame to... lose a piece of home, is the best way to put it. I'll see if I can contact them." Taking another eager bite of his absolutely delicious dish, an explosion of flavor the likes of which he'd never thought possible, he chewed, swallowed, and spoke again. "Despite the vast number of living languages here, then, I imagine there are also many which aren't spoken any longer."

Despite his unfortunate position, Zakitaj grinned again. "I never was a very good prince, I'm afraid, in more ways than just this." He felt his kinetic projectors silently finishing their recharging and raised both hands; he needed to get himself out of this situation before it got any worse, and before any of the packet-bearing zombies escaped. One bolt invisibly lanced out, striking one of the zombies full in the chest, but it didn't so much as stagger. Khaladi curses running through his mind, Zakitaj fired his second at the one he'd seen Fulcrum punch; it had been a good punch, too. There was more evidence for that when the zombie, caught by an assault from both sides, was dented inward from both torso and back. Slowly it sank to the ground with a clatter, disabled. There was no time to rejoice; the undead mob still surrounded him, and that meant that he was still very much in trouble. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fulcrum was now out of reach of the ravenous steel undead, but Lukos and Physicus weren't nearly so lucky; one of the creatures fastened its jaws around each, doing their best to rend and tear with their deadly reinforced teeth. Zak's armor was holding, but only just barely; he'd suffered no more ill effects than painful pressure and an off-balance stance that made it difficult to defend against further attacks, but that was starting to add up. Meanwhile, two of the packet bearers began to try to shamble around Lukos to escape out the door while he was occupied with their fellows...

Yep, the metal-zombies are beastly tough; I'm using a sort of modified "ablative" protection, though, so their toughness decreases with each hit regardless of whether it causes injury. Lukos's axe swing leaves his target bruised. Fulcrum's punch leaves her target staggered and stunned. Zak's first bolt does pretty much nothing. His second downs the one Fulcrum injured. Lukos, still being flanked, is hit this time. Roll a DC 23 toughness save.

Zakitaj watched in fascination as Dead Head created the strange ritual symbol; it seemed crazy that something powered by lines and rocks in the dirt could accomplish... well, anything. But he'd learned by now that Earth didn't seem to play by the rules he knew, so he tried to keep an open mind. When prompted, he reluctantly took the zombie-man's corpselike hands. And then the chanting began, and things got even stranger. Words and mud circles were, apparently, the equal of his people's technological achievement. The thought was rather humbling. And then everything changed in a flash. Zakitaj wasn't used to feeling cold while wearing his suit, which was very well insulated against any such extremes, but this cold pierced him to the marrow of his bones and flooded every cell of his body. If there was such a thing as a soul, as Dead Head's abilities seemed to imply, his was shivering as it passed through that strange place. A cacophony of voices rang out in his ears, opposing one another; his suit should've compensated to block the loud noise, but it was sluggish, just as he himself was. It was impossible to move, or even to feel; he could only ponder a sudden feeling of great and terrible insignificance in that vast void. And then he was pulled away as though through jello, emerging with a squelching pop beside an entirely new building. Unsteadily he braced himself against the wall. "Er... So am I. That seemed like it would be a bad place to linger. There are people here experienced enough to teach you how to do that? What a strange, strange planet."

Zakitaj nodded. "They say it's easier to learn other languages the younger you are, and the more exposed you are to them, which is especially true when you understand the context behind the expressions. I've certainly been immersed now; hopefully I'll speak more modern, relevant English with time." Then she spoke in another language, one he had never heard before, which could only assume was the language of Iran. He listened closely, seeking patterns among the syllables. All Earthling languages he had encountered so far had some patterns in common, but also tremendous differences. This was no exception. "It's very beautiful," he said quietly. "With some of the features of other languages I have heard, but strikingly different in inflection. Is it always spoken like this? There's a... softness to it, a flow, like spoken art. The tongue of my people sounds very harsh indeed in comparison."

Zakitaj felt a twinge of pity for Dead Head as he spoke of his means of transportation; if the poor zombie-man remembered being alive, it had to be a painful shock to have been made into what he now was and forced to travel in ways he never would've previously imagine. And then he asked the question that everybody seemed to ask: could Zak's battlesuit fly? He was getting a little irritated at this Earth-craze for flying battlesuits. Why would he fly? For all his power, he was still effectively an infantryman, not a vehicle, and certainly not the equivalent of a city cab. Brushing aside his irritation, he tried to do the same with his incredulousness. "First speaking to the dead, and now teleportation? Is there nothing 'magic' cant't do? Well, you're the expert." Somewhat nervously he watched as Dead Head unwrapped himself from his bizarre position, then spoke up again. "Physicus's body is... being held at Trinity Hospital, in the West End. And you say you can just take us there? Just like that?" He tried to snap his fingers for emphasis, but it didn't work too well through his armor, and he sheepishly lowered his hand.

Sounds like a good plan to me, Doc. It's always satisfying when you're spared the necessity of fudging rolls because the dice gods are with you. I also don't see any reason why Physicus's body shouldn't be at Trinity Hospital; the place is close to the Khaladi, and presumably has a morgue.

Okay, mobsters down and C's gone! We're getting to the rotting, unpleasant meat of the matter. The zombies attacking Fulcrum flank her, so this attack actually hits because of the flanking bonus. Make a DC 23 toughness save, please, Dariusprime. Despite the bonus, Lukos is not hit.

From all the *whack*, *thump*, and *crash!* sounds that Zakitaj heard, he guessed that the mobsters were being dealt with, which was a very good thing; the other zombies were getting very close around him now, cutting off his escape as they worked their disgusting and rotted but surprisingly strong jaws. He managed to maneuver one of his hands to point at the creature that had fastened its jaws around his other arm and, charging his kinetic projectors, blasted it away. It must've been the one he'd hit previously, because it flew backwards and skidded across the floor until it struck one of its comrades with an unpleasant *thunk*. The other zombie pushed it along as it shambled forward. The momentary gap in the wall of putrefying flesh revealed Fulcrum, in full costume and ready to fight; of course, she'd probably already been doing that. Taking an instant while his kinetic projectors recharged, Zak caused his helmet to become transparent and called out to her. "Fulcrum! Always a pleasure, especially in times like these. This is twice now you've arrived to rescue me. I seem to be getting behind." His face suddenly turned serious. "Make sure the other ones don't get away. I can hold out here for a little while." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Physicus was buried again. The steel teeth of the zombies clamped shut like the gates of hell, trying to smash damned souls between them, and this time Zak grunted in pain. At least these ones were staying put, though; with Mona here, their eventual defeat was certain in his mind. Meanwhile, two of the creatures broke away from the main group and lumbered toward the amazonian heroine. They swung their leaden arms at her, trying jerkily to bat her away as though they had flails attached to their shoulders; having moved up on either side of her, as their fellows had done with Zak, they made it difficult for her to dodge away. The zombies clutching the packets used much the same tactic on Lukos, who was guarding their escape route. Not at all intimidated by the young hero, mostly because they lacked the capacity to be intimidated, they surged forward, a mass of teeth since their arms were full. Their attack, however, was less than effective; the young man was able to easily evade their snapping jaws.

Zakitaj breathed in sharply; this wasn't anything like any starship he'd ever seen. He'd only traveled on vessels approaching the speed of light, but the idea of a wormhole... It had been known to the scientists of the Khaladi, but they'd never tried to actually open one. It had taken him eight long years to travel to Earth, frozen in cryogenic slumber. With a device such as this, that journey could theoretically be completed almost instantly, depending on who you believed when it came to wormholes. He sat down and strapped himself in; he had no idea what this experience was going to be like, and foolish bravado might well get him splattered across the ceiling. "Amazing," he whispered to himself. "They're much further ahead of us than I could've imagined."

Though Zakitaj put more stock in science than faith, which wasn't difficult because he didn't put any stock in faith, he knew very well how destructive religious conflict could be. Among the Khaladi, different clans often worshipped different gods, or sometimes ancestors rather than any gods at all. Despite the setting of an official planetary religion, many clans practiced their own beliefs in secret, and cult warfare was classified as clan warfare and not considered criminal until civilians were endangered. Several hundred people a year died in such battles, a number which was insignificant compared to the population of nearly a billion but important because it was the second largest after territory conflicts. It was one of the things he'd hoped to put an end to when he became a superhero of Khalados, as he'd dreamed. He wondered what the fate of these cults would be now that there were fewer of his people than the number of religious-related deaths each year; hopefully the Khaladi would move beyond their divisions in the face of annihilation. Her thoughts about embracing democracy brought him into deep thought as well; it was exactly what he'd said about the fear of losing his culture now that better options were available. He didn't want to see tradition lost, but he didn't want to be bound by it either; Mona's dilemma was easy for him to understand. "I am beginning to learn that the balance of new and old isn't an easy one, and that people will always disagree on it, though I do find it both amusing and amazing that your planet is so much larger than ours that it's possible to have culture shock without finding another world." The clans were different, of course, but not so different that two Khaladi of different clans wouldn't understand one another's customs. The establishment of a single racial language and planet-wide legal code had begun the slow trend of blending all the clans together, and after thousands of years they had each contributed something to a single new culture that was emerging. In another thousand years, clans might have existed only in historical texts. Yet it seemed that Earth, being much larger, was taking longer to move in that direction if it was moving there at all. "I imagine they speak a different language in Iran. Was that difficult? There are expressions in Khaladi that I never could quite voice in English, and also the other way around. Vice-versa, I think the term is."

Physicus's body would probably be located in the West End, close to the neighborhood now inhabited by the Khaladi, but the thread isn't that long yet. Do you want to start a new one? I'll leave it up to you.

Though a bit taken aback by Dead Head sudden request to see Physicus's remains, Zakitaj quickly decided that it was the best course of action. Everything here was crazy, but the zombie-man hadn't lied about his ability to get information from the photo, so why would he lie about getting more information from the body? And what if something remained to be said? Besides, his questions had been encouraged; he responded to this with a nod of approval as he accepted the photo and tucked it away. That was something to respect in a man, even one who happened to be semi-dead. It had been an uphill struggle just to get him to believe that some sort of readable spiritual essence persisted after death, and he was still trying to come up with a better explanation, so he wasn't sure about this whole "spirit being unsure where to go" thing, but what did it really matter? He would go with what he had seen for himself: Dead Head knew what the dead knew, and Zakitaj wanted to know that, too. Whether it worked or not, at least he'd tried. It wasn't an opportunity he could pass up. "Alright... thank you. Should I call a taxi or, forgive me for asking, are people used to seeing you walking around?"

No worries, I'd be one helluva hypocrite if I criticized someone else for posting delays.

"Oh. Sorry." Mildly embarrassed by his misinterpretation of Myshel's speech and the pointlessness of his attempts to match it, Zakitaj nevertheless stayed focused on the situation. He had very, very clear goals in undertaking this mission, so clear that the altruistic part of him nagged at his conscience, trying to remind him that he should be willing to do as much for anyone and everyone. He stepped aboard the Flarerider with the others and began to look around. Almost immediately he wished for one of the sleek exploratory shuttles used by his people, but he remembered that they'd had no weapons and had been easily incinerated by concentrated Broan fire. A few exposed wires was a small price to pay for better armor and (presumably) weaponry, and he could hardly complain given that the ship he'd reached Earth in hadn't had any sleek features at all. It was clear that Myshel was more than just a competent pilot; she was good, very good. It was a wonder that the Broan had managed to force her down at all; the ambush that damaged the ship must've been fast and well-planned, though that didn't surprise him. His enemies might not have much in the way of culture, but in the field of killing they had made many advancements. He stood with one hand calmly pressed against the hull as the ship launched; a shimmer passed over his armor, absorbing the kinetic energy that might otherwise strain his outstretched arm. It wasn't a new feeling to be in space; he'd done it a dozen times or so, though only once for a long journey. But the Flarerider wasn't the sort of ship he was used to, and its unfamiliarity made it unique. Though not like the others, who gasped merely at the thought of being beyond their homeworld, Zak was amazed in his own way; amazed that his people had, in some ways, been so far beyond even the privateers of another civilization.

That's all good, quote. Your attack is good enough to hit; the shelf is wide enough that Andy can't get out from behind it fast enough to avoid being trapped. Despite being very heavy, it is not too heavy for Lukos to push over. Go right ahead. Your interpretation of the map is also correct; sorry it was ambiguous.

Zakitaj listened quietly to the woman's tale. This "Lorr Republic" was known to him; the first Physicus had passed through it on his journey into the stars, but he had found that interstellar politics were no more to his liking than the terrestrial version. Krak-En Vas was also a name he had been taught. Though Physicus was a street-level hero who had never tangled with the likes of the so-called "Captain Kraken", he had heard stories of those who had battled the alien pirate, and knew him to be fearsome indeed. Kidnapping young royalty seemed like the sort of thing he would enjoy. The young girl's image reminded the prince of himself, though he hoped she was not so haughty and arrogant as he had been at her age. Of course, he had been determined to involve himself the moment he learned that the Broan were interested. He hadn't had nearly enough revenge yet, and if his enemies wanted this princess, he was going to make sure they didn't stand a chance of taking her. Besides, as the de facto leader of the Khaladi people, he was still technically a force in the galaxy's politics, however minor; earning the trust and gratitude of the Lorr could be valuable to his people. And then he heard the super beside him reveal his name, and he was certain he was going with this privateer. "Jack of all Blades," he said, smiling ruefully. "I have heard much of your skill in my time here; if only we met under better circumstances." Mona had complimented Jack when speaking to him, and if he had her respect and was embarking on this mission, that was good enough for Zak. Turning to Myshel, he spoke again. "I am Prince Zakitaj, once of Khalados, and I know what it is to lose allyfriends and crewfamily to the Broan. Though I am one of this world's protectors now, I will gladly help you to finish your mission; I remember that my place was once among the stars."

Zakitaj wracked his brain for some way the strange corpse-man could know this information; to him, and presumably to Physicus's possessions, the entire event was only a few days in the past, and he had told no one of it. Where the ship had come from remained a mystery, but it was no more strange that Dead Head was in league with the aliens Physicus had acquired it from than that he was actually talking to his departed soul. "That... is very convincing," he said slowly. "I still can't begin to understand the how of all of this, but I can't think of any way you could know that which makes any more sense. In that case, I suppose I owe you another apology for doubting you and wasting your time with my incessant questioning. I tend to try hard to disprove that which I doubt." The alien thought for a moment, then spoke again. "Does he... does he have anything else to say, or is the connection too tenuous?" He suspected he already knew the answer, and if not, he almost hoped for it. It was best if his old friend was at peace; he had lived so much of his life for others; it was time for him to find oblivion's rest. Though the thought was a deeply sad one, it was also strangely beautiful, and scientifically feasible. This "magic" stuff still made his brain hurt.

"There's something to be said for adversity, though only so much," Zakitaj replied to her comment about Humans arising in deserts. "My people had a philosopher many years ago who became convinced that, by creating conflict, he would forge great heroes, so he sowed chaos and caused a civil war. He was quite right; heroes rose up from the common folk, but they did so only to defeat him. It just goes to show that such things can't be controlled." To her words of doubt concerning her heritage, he smiled and replied, "I would be deeply surprised if you were the first mighty warrior to emerge in your cla... excuse me, your family." Mona's touch was a surprise, but certainly not an unpleasant one. Her earlier embrace had been a gesture of utility, a means to an end. This was... well, it was a gesture of kinship. His people didn't exchange physical contact lightly; Khaladi culture was a maze of verbal pleasantries and customs that had to be navigated with great care, lest someone be offended. Of course, Zakitaj had never really been expected to become well-versed in such things on account of his father, who was more concerned with getting into the pants of any woman he came across than talking with her. That was just as well now that he was on Earth; clearly touch was much less taboo here. She spoke of preserving his culture, and his eyes finally did become distant for a moment. "I don't know what we'll do here. It's probably a light in the lives of the common folk to be in a place with so much opportunity, a much gentler and more open land. And who would want to keep the customs of a homeworld without freedom when the very name of this place is freedom? It's easy for me to say that things should be preserved; time will tell whether they really are." She made her apologies, and he waved them away. "It is better to get used to talking of it; I suspect I will do so a great deal in the coming days." His eyes refocused, and he smiled at her again, shaking dark thoughts from his mind. "So, tell me of your family. You said that you also know what it's like to find a clash between old ways and new ways. Do you come from a culture distant from this one in some way?"

Sorry for the long wait, gang; real life hit with all the force of an angry, starved, sex-crazed, rabid, mentally retarded, steroid-enhanced rhinoceros. Trimester finals, as it turns out, were only the tip of the iceberg. I've finally put up my posts now. Below is the updated map.

Throwing down the packets of Zombie Dust, the C's scattered, running past the super and through the main door. They never even looked back before vanishing into the night. All of them except for Romeo and his two closest cronies, that is. The three of them staggered about, eventually collapsing in a corner of the warehouse. The world was spinning and twisting before their eyes, and in the back of his mind Romeo wondered whether he'd been supposed to use the entire packet. Yet his brain was so muddled that this though was quickly torn from him and replaced by simple confusion. He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there, but the rainbows were very, very pretty. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Four of the zombies shambled over to the packets and scooped them up off the ground, cradling them in their rotting embrace, before moving off toward the service entrance the dealer had fled through only moments before. It would take them a while to reach their escape route, but if they got away, they would be almost impossible to find despite their slowness. The Fens were full of things that stank of rot; in places, they were even full of corpses. And if these creatures escaped, there would be more corpses before long. The other seven dragged themselves toward Physicus, arms outstretched, heads rolling about on their muscle-less necks but their jaws opening and clamping shut as they walked, as though promising to rip the flesh from his bones. The first one that lunged at him missed; he easily sidestepped it, allowing it to slump past him. But when the next one lunged, he found that it was much harder to maneuver now that he was flanked. The creatures kept coming, and while most were too far away to attack, the third one found that he couldn't twist away so easily with dead flesh on every side. It sank bony teeth into his liquid-like armor, and while they couldn't pierce the powerful suit, he felt the pressure even through its energy-absorbent materials, pressure sufficient to leave a bruise. The teeth had to be metal, too. When the rest of them arrived, he was in big trouble.

Panicked fire continued to ring out in the northern end of the warehouse; two of the mobsters tried to open fire on Fulcrum, but she moved way too fast for them, and their shots went wide yet again. Meanwhile Andy, all on his own, tried to shoot Lukos; after all, he'd hit the strange axe-man once, so he might be able to do it again. No such luck; he dropped his opponent easily, and dodged out of the way with equal ease. Andy ran deeper into the warehouse; no normal Human was going to catch up with him at the rate he was running, and he could only hope that the axe-man was exactly what he appeared to be: insane and mighty, but not a Meta. With Boris and Tony down, he was going to need all the luck he could get. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Zakitaj realized almost too late that his plan wasn't going to work; if he kept the C's fighting the zombies they would be eaten alive, and he didn't want anyone to die here. "Just give them the dust and run! If you don't, they'll never stop hunting you." Terrified, the gang members threw down the remaining packets and made to flee through the door. Zak would let them go; they would surely reconsider their way of life after the horrors they had witnessed and the near-death experience they'd just undergone. Of course, he couldn't let the zombies get away with the dust, either; it would just be resold to some other criminal group, or perhaps to simple bystanders looking for a quick fix. That was exactly what he'd come here to prevent. Of course, he now stood alone against eleven metal-boned zombies, some of which were about to recover the packages while the rest moved to tear him to bits. Raising his hands again, he released another kinetic bolt from each, this time targeting a single zombie with both. Once more, his aim was true; a loud *clang* and the creature stumbled back. Yet a moment later it pressed on, continuing to shamble toward him. He frowned; hopefully Mona or the strange newcomer would finish off the mobsters soon, because he was clearly in no small amount of trouble.

What? Nonsense! Seriously, though, thanks. Since Lukos is no longer all-out attacking, a double epic miss for the mobsters... again. Oh well. The zombies are doing fine.

"And you, Mama Marta," Zakitaj said as the woman excused herself. "Quite a character indeed." His words were meant kindly. "Not nearly so interesting as it is here," he replied to her question about his home's cuisine, his eyes fixed on her to prevent them from becoming faraway. "Khalados was a dustball of a world; no plants, and only a few animals. For thousands of years, we ate meat exclusively; there was nothing to flavor or season it, and no alternatives, so we never really saw food as a pleasure until we were able to chemically synthesize artificial flavors." "Even then, we didn't get far with food science; just keeping us all safe took priority, and we devoted most of our resources to that." And just look how it turned out, he wanted to say, but he swallowed the words; he wasn't here to be bitter, but to enjoy Mona's company. "You would find our food tough, dry, and sour; at least, that's how an Earthling described it to those who didn't know any better." Physicus had enjoyed Khalados's people, but the food had nearly driven him insane; Zakitaj amusedly remembered some of his more cutting criticisms of the meat that formed the everyday diet of all Khaladi. "We had nutrient pills, too; one little capsule could keep you going for a whole day. The problem was that it tended to overload your digestive system and led to all sorts of liver problems, so we only used them when absolutely necessary. In short, we can't really compare our food to yours; it's much too limited." He paused, hoping he hadn't bored her, then continued. "As for our way of life... well, I didn't see much of it. I lived easily. But others, they were all like cogs in a machine. We were so far beyond this planet technologically, but we sacrificed freedom for it. We all fit into precise roles and repeated them until someone else took over. It was survival instinct. Life here seems much more pleasant."

"Oof!" The Broan staff smashed into Zakitaj's side, a lance of pain and a sound that he remembered all too clearly. Other heroes were arriving; he didn't care. One of his foes was down; now he was going to make the others wish they'd never set foot on Earth. Raising his face, now contorted with both rage and pain, he lifted his hands to shoot another mighty bolt into the one that had hit him. And yet the tusked aliens were in full retreat, and before his projectors were recharged they were gone into the sky. "Finish what you've started, beasts!" His cries bounced pointlessly off of the hull of the fleeing starship, leaving him to stand below with a hollow feeling in his gut. Awareness of the larger situation surged back to him, and his twisted countenance softened into one that was pale and sorrowful. The Broan had taken someone else's loved ones, and from right under his nose. Had he been faster, he could have spared this alien woman the pain he himself had felt not so long ago, but he had failed. Her wail meshed with his feelings, and it felt like a tremendous weight had fallen onto him; the pain of the Broan staff was nothing compared to the angry helplessness that now invaded his gut. He looked up at the man with the bow upon hearing his pronouncement; he didn't even know him, but he'd never agreed with anyone more in his entire life. "Yes. We will." He could see in the other man's eyes that he, too, understood. Whether the others would... that remained to be seen. Realizing that he had been single-minded and lacking in courtesy, he approached the Tempestborn woman and, when she had had time to mourn, gently extended an armored hand. It was what life was about, he had discovered; learning to get back on your feet, even when it seemed that nothing was left, though he would more than understand if she didn't see it that way. Still, he had to make the offer. If they were going to set things right, as much as they could be set right, they would need her help.