Light in the Storm: Touching Darkness

It took him precious seconds to located a hatch in the carpeted floor and work his way down into the under-works of the shielded lab. Lance was private in his personal projects; from the outside, no-one had access for entry, only intercom and radio. A quick scan had come back dead beyond the walls, and he didn't have the tools to force the doors physically – not these ones. Instead, Rogan found himself braced and half curled up amongst a mesh of tightly configured system maintenance panels and connected cables, beneath the lab itself. That the man was probably only a handful of feet away from him, through blast-reinforced metal, was a galling thought, but as long as he could get access to wherever Lyntael was, that was all that mattered right now. He began to work.

It wasn't his strong point; he knew that. Having Lyntael on the inside was what let him approach jobs that he would never have normally taken on. Without her to support him, hiding his dive was more or less out of the question, and even breaking in at all was... less certain than he wanted. His side ached; he ignored it. One attempt failed, then, a minute later, another. He tried different approaches, one after the other, but nothing progressed far enough to give him an edge. Eric was always the better one for system cracking. Eric would have gotten through this in seconds... especially if it was for Lyntael. Rogan cursed under his breath as another probing attempt frayed out and failed.

“Alright friend... I think that's close enough, don't you?” Lance's voice cracked in his ear piece and Rogan froze. Sure enough, another call signal had patched its way through to his PET. There was no feed to Lyntael this time, just the self-assured voice.

“Don't know what you're talking about. I gave up ages ago. I'm halfway to Netfrica by now.” Rogan tried to keep his response light, suppressing the disgusted anger that roiled beneath the mask of his calm expression. In his ear, Lance laughed.

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure. So let's cut the pleasantries then, right? You ain't getting in here, not unless you've brought a whole pack of high yield explosives with you. I doubt it. Now, normally I wouldn't bother myself with all this, but see... this little navi we've picked up... she said some interesting things...” Suddenly, the line clicked and Rogan heard Lyntael's voice. Between the tormented sounds, she called out to him, begging him to hurry. A few seconds later she cried for help again, speaking Eric's name instead. Rogan grit his teeth. The voice clip played a second time, a recording on repeat, then the line clicked back.

“And I heard that, and I said to myself, I said, Lance... What are the odds, do you think, of someone saying those two names, together. What are the odds, really?” He tetched down the line. Rogan focused on the connection, studying the data stream as he tried to concentrate. There was a way in here, there had to be. Lance continued – thank all sense of good fortune for people who thought they were clever. “Now, you're alone out here... and I don't know which prodigal brother you might be... It doesn't really matter, of course. You did it together, after all. You have any idea what you two left behind? The mess you left? I doubt you care, but I am not going to pass up a chance to pay you both back for it, now that you're here.” The words stirred thoughts and memories that Rogan generally avoided thinking about, but he had to keep the man talking while he worked. Lance Fitzpatrick wasn't a name that meant anything to him, not even distantly, other than being from the right region... but he wasn't surprised there had been fallout.

“Okay, Lance... what's your plan, then? You've got me here... now what?” Rogan kept his voice even, but he was altogether too conscious of the passing seconds. Lance laughed down the line.

“Oh, it's very simple... Are you Rogan, or Eric? I never knew you personally of course, this seems more like a Rogan thing, but this navigator... the Rogan I know about would never make a thing like this, or put himself in danger to save it.... Anyway... it's simple. Just justice, vengeance... pure and straight forward things. You suffer, and maybe you die, or, maybe you live, and you go back to your brother broken and cowed. You were both so tight; I break one of you, and I know it'll hurt the other as well. It would only be a small vengeance, but maybe enough to resist killing you here and now, perhaps.”

“And you're going to do that by deleting a program?” Rogan fought to keep the tightness from his voice. He only needed to make the barest connection, even just a hairline little tunnel – as long as the PET could see where Lyntael was, and reconnect with her. He didn't need to break the whole thing open, just get through.

“That would be too plain, don't you think? No, no... Vigilance is currently entertaining himself with your navi... normally I'd put a stop to his perversions, but see... this navi of yours... One of you made this, with such care and precision... One of you loves this program, loves it like a real person. Like... like a daughter? Maybe? So, just deleting it would be a waste. Would you like to see what they're up to? I think you should.” Lance's voice grew sharp and vindictive as he spoke, and as Rogan worked on carefully building a narrow tunnel through the nigh impenetrable security his display changed.

He saw the room with the two navigators again, then wrenched his eyes away, bile rising in his throat. He'd only seen it for a second, but it had been a second too much; the damage, the blood, the act taking place; he felt sick to his stomach and fought off the need to retch. He spat to one side, trying to get the acid taste out of his mouth. In his ear, sounds accompanied the scenes, and though he'd thrust the PET's view screen away from himself, the sounds continued.

“Stop! Just stop! You've made your point, now what do you want!?” It came out as a growled shout, all thought of keeping his voice down gone. He just had to get her out; as long as he got her out, everything else could be repaired. He knew it wasn't true even as he thought it. Rescue would not be the end of this now, the damage was done. Was being done. His stomach turned and he swallowed hard, his jaw hurting as his teeth ground. The sounds stopped, but the image he'd seen burned in his mind in a way he knew he'd struggle to forget.

“I told you what I want... You can stay and watch your navi suffer for as long as Vigilance feels like tormenting her... or... Or... you can cut this call, and run away. That's what you're good at, isn't it? Cutting ties and running off? Leave the girl and go, cut the connection, and then you never need to see or hear what happens to her. I've pulled my people back... you can run, if you want to. Just run away again. Go on.” Lance's voice was cold and dark now, but Rogan pushed every other thought to the side and focused on his work. He was almost there, gentle and subtle, using the call itself. Be careful, don't let Lance know what he was doing, and get through.

By instinct, Lyntael resisted the urge to retch, and tried to stay afloat above the feelings of helplessness and disgust. She tried, again, to tell herself that she wasn't here; that it wasn't real, but there was too much to ignore. Above her, Vigilance found a rough, forceful rhythm, squeezing the hand around her neck tighter. Her vision began to narrow down, multi-hued, distorted splotches filling in her periphery. She fought the urge to struggle against him now. It would only give him what he wanted. She could barely make out his face as her head swam, but then the grip disappeared and she drew an instinctive breath, gasping. The hand started to grip and squeeze at other parts of her body instead, rough and careless now. It hurt, but not enough to break through the the other sensations. She felt numb all over, now, save for the wretched, sick feeling. How much longer before Rogan found her? He would rescue her from this... and then... Would it be over?

Vigilance sighed again, lost in himself, and muttered another vulgarity under his breath. She tried to shut it out, let the creeping numbness take over entirely, but he looked down, meeting her eyes. A second later his hand moved, whipping up and then down again; a fresh pain seared white hot across her mid-section, parting the numbness and dragging a fresh shriek from her lips before she could stop herself. Her eyes tracked down without thought, to see a thin red line welling and beginning to seep across her middle. Vigilance thrust harder, but the new pain won out in her senses as the cut bled to one side, trailing down onto the metal below.

“That's it. Scream for me, gorgeous... just like that.” Along with the breathless voice, his hand whipped again. This time the line of sudden scalding pain scored across her right breast, and her voice broke as the scream ripped out of her. All thought scattered as her brief, detached sense of clarity collapsed. He struck again, on the other side, drawing a diagonal line that just missed her nipple, and she cried out again, gasping air unconsciously just so that her body could put voice to this new violation. His movements were faster, rougher, slamming at her body now. His hand plunged down, and she felt the dagger stab hard into her thigh, burying itself all the way. Even as the pain voiced itself again, he was there, leaning in close to her as his hips hammered, one hand gripping her jaw as he thrust his lips against hers. She felt his teeth bite, filling her mouth with a fresh taste of blood. She couldn't scream again; her body struggled to draw air, convulsing as she writhed. He pressed down tight against her, his movement halted as he pinned her down and forced himself in hard. She felt him grunt, growling in his throat as his body held a rigid, iron hardness against her. Inside her. Revulsion churned in her gut. Her body convulsed again and Vigilance pulled away suddenly, one hand on her bleeding chest as he stayed forced against her groin. She tasted bile as a sob became a series of dry, acid heaves. She managed to turn her face to the side as the sharp taste displaced the blood in her mouth with a fresh stinging. Rogan would come. He would come.

“Hahh... I'm going to remember this for the rest of my life, little Lyntael... hahh... you're amazing....” he shifted his hand and jammed two fingers into the cut on her breast, forcing it apart and tearing another shriek, weaker and strangled from her. “Fucking amazing... and we've got a little time yet... hahh... until the boss man says...”

“I hope you've had your fun, Vigilance. Time to finish up. Our friend has gotten close enough.” Another voice, one Lyntael barely registered, filled the room, and Vigilance cursed aloud. He looked up and around without focusing on anything, then wiped his face and stood back from Lyntael. She could still feel him on her, even after he moved away and snapped his fingers to fix his clothes.

“Right. Fuck. Right, but come on, boss... Look at her. Isn't...” He cast about, suddenly desperate. “Isn't she, you know, just, exactly the kind of thing we're after? I mean, she'd be perfect for, two, maybe three of the things you've got going, wouldn't she? You couldn't ask for a better custom to just fall into our laps, right? She isn't just custom, you know... you've seen the scan. 'Custom' doesn't come close with this one. It'd be a fucking waste not to keep her, wouldn't it?” There was a moment of silence, and Vigilance remained still, tense.

“Depends on the purpose. This has become a very personal little matter now, and I'm not taking any chances. They love this little program? Then they suffer. I know you want to keep your new toy, Vigilance, but not this time. Finish up. That's final.” Vigilance sighed and his shoulders slumped. He cracked his neck.

“Right. Fuck. Right, fine. Just so you know, I object. It's a crying shame and a damn waste.”
“Yeah. You aren't wrong. But the order stands. I need to talk to our guest again now, and I'm not taking any chances. No mistakes and no stalling.”
“Right.” Vigilance turned to one side and punched at one of the other benches with another curse, then stood straight and drew a breath, before turning back to Lyntael with a smile. She looked to face him, eyes bleary and sore. The endless flow of electricity hadn't released her yet, and even the shots of pain when she shifted her wrists or ankles had faded into numbness beneath it. She could barely feel anything, barely think anything, and her mind grappled trying to hold onto the words that had been spoken. Rogan would need to know.

“Well, little Lyntael... guess we don't have that long after all. Shame. Hope your operator gets his rocks off good to that little show, because it's the last one he'll be getting.” He stepped in close, looking over her naked and abused form, but focused on her eyes. “We've got to do something about those sparks. I... Need... to seem 'em for this...” She lost sight of him as he walked around her, and distantly she heard the sounds of a terminal working. “Let's see if this'll do it...”

When he returned, Vigilance was holding something metal in his hands, but she wasn't focused enough to make it out clearly. He stepped in and gripped her face, straightening her head; she felt too weak to resist now... everything was numb and sore, or throbbed in the back of her senses. Something cold touched the side of her head, then again on the other side, and suddenly the incessant stinging in her eyes was replaced by a more concentrated, localised needle of discomfort on either side, shooting a line of narrow pain across her vision. Something was digging into her skin at the edges of her eyes, and she couldn't move her head at all now.

“There... Perfect... Well, almost.” She blinked, and found it hard, as Vigilance came back into view above her, nodding and smirking to himself, He leaned in close, fixing her gaze with his. “There're those broken green beauties I want. There's something I've got a see, Little Lyntael. Something important...” He smiled, and let out a long breath. He was almost panting for some reason. “Hah... I'm hard again just thinking about it. Now don't move...”

He straightened up, looking over her again, and then his hand reached in to clamp around her throat again, hard enough to stop her breath and then some. She felt her body react, struggling on its own despite how little she could actually move at all now. Vigilance watched, then leaned in close, bringing his face to within inches of hers. There was a pressure behind her eyes, and she couldn't even squeeze them shut from his leer.

“Watch me...” His voice was a whisper. “Show me your eyes... Let me see it...” The edges of her vision began to fade into dark splotches. He eased his hand just enough to let her draw half a breath, before another sensation filled her awareness. Intrusion; not pain, just intrusion. Something sharp, sliding inwards, beneath her left breast and upward, slicing and piercing within the numbness that had taken over her body. It was cold. A feeling of freezing cold, in that place in her chest. She gasped, trying to suck air, eyes wide, but Vigilance clamped down harder on her neck, staring back at her with captivation. Her body spasmed and shook as her vision collapsed inward again. Just his leering face, and his staring eyes. Where was Rogan? He was looking for her. Her thoughts spaced out to nothing. He was looking for her. She had to hold out. All sense faded into void; no sight, no scent, no sound or taste. Even the cold and the numbness faded down to oblivion. There was a crack, then a sound like shattering glass, then nothing.

Rogan glared at the screen in front of him, keeping his features smooth and his breathing steady. It was a race, but any trip or fall would stop him reaching his goal at all. Lance was waiting for his response, and he had to keep the bastard on the line. He had to change the play field somehow. A new approach.

“Alright. I'm not running anywhere this time, not until I have what's mine, back. I am a resourceful man, Lance, and I have a lot of skills.” His fingers worked, and Rogan was painfully conscious of the sound of each keystroke. He knew the PET's own audio wouldn't pick them up, but they still sounded loud to him in this moment. In his ear, the other man laughed again.

“What's this? Threats? Are you sure that's wise...?”
“Not threats.” Rogan was quick to respond, and it wasn't entirely a part of his new act. “No... think of it as an offer, Lance. I'm useful. But first, call off your dog and leave her alone... and let's talk like businessmen.” There was quiet on the line for several long seconds, before the voice responded.

“I'm intrigued. I should have guessed your loyalty would blow with the wind, but... I'll listen.”
“My navigator?”
“You'd best talk quickly, hadn't you?” Rogan could hear the smirk in the words and the snarl that escaped his lips in response was out before he'd even thought about it. He only bit the sound back part way; it supported the act at least.
“Fine. You were not wrong: our Sharo friends have no ownership of me. I'm a free agent, and they contract my skills. I am a valuable asset and my skill set, in this modern day and age, is very close to irreplaceable. Given the work you do, I would be an invaluable asset to you; physical acquisitions of information and data, and its removal from others, even well secured others, is something of a speciality of mine. You could make a lot of progress with my abilities at your disposal.” He was almost there. The tunnel was holding. He didn't trust any deal that he might make with Lance in this situation, but if it was stalling him long enough, that was all that mattered.

“And I suppose you want your navi back, undamaged... or near enough, eh? ... and safe passage out of here, right?” There came a small chuckle. “I haven't forgotten you came here to steal information from me. I would need to take certain... precautions... to ensure that you didn't do any kind of back selling or defecting again... especially when you're as untrustworthy as all this, hmm? Maybe I need to keep your little girl here just to make sure you stay loyal?”

“I need her for my work,” Rogan felt his chest tighten as he picked his next words, even before he spoke them. “She is unique. Irreplaceable.” There. Was it enough? A hair-width of clean data along the back of Lance's call, and into the shielded space beyond. The screen of the PET showed unintelligible raw data bytes; there wasn't enough clearance to waste on visual depictions of the systems inside.

“Irreplaceable? Oh I can see that... It's an interesting offer, but I have one problem with it...” The PET began a simple scan, searching the internal networks it could now see. All that mattered was it finding her, and reconnecting. He barely spared any focus for the voice in his ear.

“Okay, what problem?”

“I have another clip to show you first.” The display window-boxed a visual feed to the call again suddenly, while, behind it, the device continued to search for a match to Lyntael's data. The screen showed the lab again, and Rogan tried not to see it. Vigilance, slashing a knife, one hand around her throat. He focused on the incomprehensible data instead, but couldn't block the window out of his peripheral.

“The truth is, I don't make deals with filth like you, and you're never getting your precious toy back.” The voice was positively vicious this time. The PET found a match for Lyntael's data and Rogan gave the extraction command. In the corner of his eye, he saw the other navi lean in, pushing his blade into the girl's chest, just as the image froze and snapped off again. The PET confirmed an emergency retrieval with a small beep and Rogan hurriedly detached it from the panel he was using and jammed the cords into a spare pocket. In his ear, he heard Lance curse a moment later.

“You little... Just try and run then. You won't get away.” The call ended but Rogan was already moving to extract himself and get moving. His side complained again as he pulled himself out of the cramped space and made his way back towards the main maintenance tunnel. He ignored it.

“Lyntael, you're safe. We're getting out.” He whispered the words as he closed the device and slipped it into his pocket. There was no answer, but he wasn't surprised, given what he'd seen. Words wouldn't be enough... not that he had anything else to offer the girl. For now, escape was the goal. He couldn't afford to risk a run through the jungle itself; his body was tired enough. This facility would have shuttle pads, just like the other one had. That would have to be his best option. The sound of running feet echoed further off as he pulled himself out of the tunnels and stood on the thick carpet of the hallway again. Rogan ran.

Vigilance ran his tongue across his teeth, watching the limp, prone form in front of him. She lay still now, with various fluids dripping to the floor in an otherwise silent room. The power had stopped, fading away to nothing moments after she had expired. He closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the look of her eyes in those last moments, and the life, true life, fading away with a whisper. The beautiful sensation had a bitter twist as he opened his eyes and looked at her again.

Such a damn waste. He spat and shook his head. A stupid, bloody waste, to throw away something like her. He walked around the dimly lit play space, looking at her from every angle. Depite being specifically made, the cuffs had warped and deformed, melted almost all the way through. Beneath them he could see burned, torn flesh that no longer bled but still oozed slowly. The circuit had kept the rest of her body clear of the electricity, but it had destroyed those focal points of power. Her face, too, bore a torture mask of burns around her eyes now. If only they'd found something neater. He glanced at the array of power converters around the room for a moment, then turned his attention inward again. The little thing had almost overloaded the data space anyway, before the end.

With a growl, he punched at a side tray, then, when that wasn't enough, upturned the whole cart and sent it crashing against the wall. It was a damn, stupid, pointless waste! After a moment, he took a slower breath and looked at the body again. It was still here, and the data space wasn't doing anything to preserve it. Most navigators, even most custom commissions, were still a light-weight shell, or container, which housed their core, and the black box that made up their personal AI... There wasn't, in all reality, that much holding them together. Even himself, he knew. Get through the protection, or bypass it, give them a deletion shot, and the whole navi would just fall apart and disintegrate, most times in seconds. Sometimes it took a little longer than others, but never very long in the end, unless something intervened to preserve them.

This one... she wasn't the same. The density of code that constructed her – the magnitude of extreme detail and meticulous construction. No shortcuts anywhere, no simplification or generated closures... Just... her. And now, there wasn't a collapse, or a rapid disintegration of code, or an unravelling, or anything falling apart. He'd checked the scan – it was beginning to happen, slowly, but at this rate it might be hours, or even days before her data broke apart entirely, on its own. Damn Lance and his personal vendettas. He reached out to run one finger around the rim of the shattered emblem on her chest, then pulled back quickly as a shard of it nicked his fingertip like glass. He sucked the finger, and wished he could taste the blood properly, like he knew she'd been able to. He was going to savour these memories for the rest of his life, but still... damn waste.

He settled back, leaning on a bench at the edge of the room with his arms folded, watching the body with a grim, dissatisfied expression. Lance was going to have instructions, when the situation with her operator was done, and he was finished with the recordings; for now, there was nothing to do but wait, and brood – two things Vigilance was exceptionally good at.

A change in the air made his eyes flicker to the edges of the closed space suddenly and he stood, tense and ready to act. What was– A flash of light shot into the space from one corner of the room, striking towards the body of the girl and enveloping her in a flickering beam. Vigilance leapt forward, but he knew already that there was nothing he could do on his own. Before he'd taken a step he opened a line to Lance.

“Boss! He got through, pulled her out!” He heard his operator curse, and snap something vitriolic back down the call he was obviously still using to talk to the girl's operator. The call snapped off in the same second, but it was too late; the body was long gone. A second or two passed, before his operator spoke to him directly in a forced calm that shook at the edges.

“When you say 'her', Vigilance... I know you mean 'the navigator's remains', or possibly 'the scrap data that was previously a navigator'. I know you mean that, because I told you to get it done, with no delays and no mistakes.” The obvious threat in his words rolled off Vigilance without bothering him. He'd done his job.

“Yeah. Don't worry, the job's done. Much of a fucking waste as it is. He didn't get anything but a corpse.” He kicked at the overturned cart and sent a clatter of metal implements skittering across the floor. “You've got the damn recording, you know I watched her die.” On the other end, he heard a slow sigh of breath.

“Good.” Lance sounded much more relaxed in an instant. “Good. Well, if they catch him they catch him, if not... well... he's learned a little lesson today, and there'll be more in the future. Good. Very good, Vigilance.” Vigilance nodded to himself and waited for what he knew was coming next with a grimace. There it was... Lance chuckled to himself, then laughed aloud for several long seconds. Vigilance looked at the now empty, blood-smeared table and punched a wall.

Still running, Rogan crashed through an external door that led out into cold night air. Flood lights swept slowly across the landing pads ahead of him. One held a large twin-rotor helicopter, the other held a shuttle bearing the paint job and emblem of this ridiculous cover group. He let the door close and seal behind him, but at a glance couldn't see anything to bar it with. Their base keeping was apparently too neat for convenient barrels or crates. He shook his head and ran towards the waiting shuttle. He had no doubt that the helicopter would have weapons stowed in it, but while he could fly it he doubted any of his access cards would work and he couldn't risk the delay. The shuttle was surer.

His steps were uneven; one part of his mind registered it while he crossed the tarmac, as the rest of him shut the information out along with everything else that wasn't important right now. The door behind him opened just as he wrenched open the driver's door and slipped into the seat. The bark of gunfire accompanied him swiping his stolen access ID and setting the engine to humming. Something put a hole in the glass of his door as it slammed shut, sending cracks across the side window. Rogan felt a grim smile spit his lips as the shuttle lifted up and he dragged the controls around, setting the craft to spin and plunge suddenly down from the edge of the complex, down the cliff edge and across the tree tops. So much for stealth. Well, Varda and her family could take a leap themselves anyway... her intel had been wrong, and he'd been expected.

The shuttle swept up again, and he levelled out once it was far enough away from the complex to avoid any particularly determined gunfire. He didn't know if they'd give chase. He'd deal with that if they did. As soon as the craft was stable and turned towards civilisation Rogan pulled the PET out of his pocket and examined it.

“Lyntael, we're heading away. Are your injuries healed?” His breathing was laboured and he pushed away the urge to cough, swallowing the iron taste. There was no answer, not even the sounds of her struggling with her emotions. He looked at the device more closely and tried to bring up her status but it responded instead with a warning message. The warning replaced the normal PET interior display, and even when he pushed it over to her personal vitals, a different set of warnings replaced the normally excessively detailed medical readouts. Rogan swallowed, reading them.

The navi link had been successfully re-established upon a ninety-eight percent data match, the emergency system had successfully recovered the navigator data. Extensive, critical damage had been assessed and recovery and restoration was in progress. Re-verification of all integral data would be performed after restoration was completed in full; the damaged program could not be reactivated until this verification had been completed. Rogan felt his fingers clench and his teeth grit tight. Had he been too slow? It said it was working... the process projected several hours, but it was working, and wasn't complaining of errors or failures. He tried to relax the tension in his body without success. No use. He set the PET in the dash holster for it and tried to focus on flying the shuttle, but gaze drifted back to the small black device. Why had he done that, really? Black suited him, but the device was for the navigator in the end. Would it have been so bad to leave it in the original, brighter colours Eric had made it for her? His eyes returned to it every few seconds as he flew.

====

The airport hotel sleeper room was barely more than a capsule really. A single flat, hard bed, with a foot of space around it, white fabric, white walls and the universal airport carpeting. A dark coat, stained with blood, hung on the divide between the small sleeping room and an even smaller bathroom that contained a sink, mirror, toilet and a narrow standing shower.

The sink was scattered with reddened sods of cloth, cut gauze and thread. Bloodied water still clung to the edges of the drain and lingered in small pools on the white surface. Two bent metal slugs sat to one side of the sink. The third had left a clean exit wound, at least. In the shower bay, a discarded pile of fabric made the shape of a bloodied shirt and pants. The space was quiet, almost silent save for the background sounds of a busy airport, humming, muffled through the walls.

Rogan's eyes remained watching the PET that rested on the end of the bed as he moved and stretched cautiously, testing his work. As he drew a long breath and let it out again, his left hand slipped down to press against the freshly applied bandages around his middle. A few careful stitches to help the wound close, underneath what was now the second set of bindings – these ones weren't bleeding through, so that was good. He checked the wrap around his thigh as well; still clean, no bleed through there either. Good enough. Three more scars. Choices he'd made; his own and no-one else's. He looked at the device again. Could he have been faster? Maybe. Surely he could have been faster, somehow.

He'd left the shuttle in one of the outer parking bays and abandoned it. Someone was going to have questions about the bloody mess he'd left in the pilot's seat, but he wasn't going to be around to answer them. He'd be on a plane tomorrow afternoon, and between then and now, he would make himself suitably scarce. The device was almost finished. Satisfied that nothing was bleeding through any more, he reached across to retrieved the fresh shirt and slacks he'd picked up on his way past the airport shops. The shirt wasn't in the cut or style he preferred, it was really the very furthest concern right now. He pulled the new clothes on carefully.

Minutes later, the PET chimed and Rogan's attention came back to it. Everything read green; he passed his eyes over the read-out without really understanding many of the lines, then set the device in front of him on the bed and let it run everything at its own pace. A few moments later a hologram appeared standing upon the screen. Rogan let out a soft sigh and his body sagged. Bright green eyes, clear skin unmarked by cuts or injuries. From the tips of her spiky hair down to a simple, sensible pair of sport trainers. She smiled up at him softly.

“Lyntael. Good... Are you well?” The program blinked and tilted her head slightly, then inclined her head and smiled up at him again.

“I'm not reading any errors or incongruities. Everything is working correctly.” A sensation gripped Rogan's chest like a vice. Something was wrong. She'd barely moved from the neutral stance she'd appeared in, and her voice was calm, soft and gentle. This wasn't right.

“Lyntael, what's happened? What's wrong?” Her brow creased briefly and she tilted her head back the other way, then closed her eyes slowly. They opened again after another second.

“Nothing is wrong. I've double checked. Everything is fine, Rogan. Can I assist you with something?” Rogan fought of the urge to recoil from the navi's reaction as he stared down at her. This wasn't right, not at all.

“You're distressed, Rogan. If you need help I can't assist with, I can contact...” she glanced aside briefly, “this airport's help staff for you?” He shook his head, holding up one hand.

“No. No, Lyntael. Just... Just wait. Rest. I... I have to check some things.” She nodded smoothly in one graceful incline of her head to him, before her hologram faded away again and returned to the device. Rogan snatched it up and looked through every reading he could find. There was nothing... nothing wrong, according to anything anywhere. The restoration had been a full success, it claimed. He felt an urgent panic rising through him and shoved it away. The PET creaked in his hand and he relaxed his grip, almost dropping the device in shock.

Tomorrow afternoon was too long to wait for his flight. He needed help, and there was only one option. He needed to be on a plane now. He shoved the remainder of his things into his bag, threw his coat on and fled the room.

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((To => Seeking Solace))