"Go back over the video, a little further - there! Freeze."
"So," said one of the others, "some sort of force shield?"
"Essentially correct."
"Uhm," said one of the shadowy figures. "This doesn't sound good at all."
"Evil shall not be suffered to live."
"Wait a minute, you can't -"
"One of the outer rooms just blew out into vaccuum, highlighting position on main screen," said one of the bridge operators. "Automatic seals are in place. Sending for a repair team."
Tessa blinked and checked the schematic. An unused storeroom that was left over from station construction. "Well, at least nobody was over there to be hurt."
"Odd that it just blew like that," said the operator. "Maybe there was some leftover fuel tanks from the big welders?"
"Have someone look into it," said Tessa, most of her attention on the approaching shuttle. "In the meantime, I suppose I should go to the docks and receive our guests."
In another world, another time, he would have been a different person. With powers of magnetism at his command, he would have gathered to his side persecuted individuals. They would have fought similarly empowered defenders of the humanity that had persecuted 'his kind.'
Erik Lehnsherr was different here. He was a survivor of World War II where he'd been a Jew named Erik Eisenhardt and had been in a concentration camp. He'd seen the horrors that had gone on there, and had managed to survive long enough for that war's end and freedom. He'd gone to the United States, become a father, and become a grandfather in the flow of time.
When his grandchildren had begun developing psychic abilities, he'd been delighted to learn that he himself - having watched the same programs - was now developing a touch of telekinesis himself.
This peaceful life ended in 1972 when his granddaughter, a concert pianist he was particularly proud of, disappeared after giving a concert in West Germany. After some inquiries, including the use of police psychic 'tracker' or psychometrist, it was determined that Russian agents had kidnapped her.
Erik Lehnsherr vanished himself. Only to turn up in Russia, his telekinetic abilities having become more powerful and his rage honed to a razor's edge. He'd discovered what had happened to his granddaughter and was ready to wage a one-man war against entire nations in vengeance.
He was branded an international criminal, a terrorist, a threat to all concerned. Finally he was found and killed by a barrage of military ordnance sufficient to pulverize the city block he'd been in.
Or so thought the world.
Erik 'Larson' finished scattering the rice seeds into the fish pond. It was a symbiotic relationship, the irony of which caused an unexplained smirk to appear on his face from time to time.
He was old. He'd been fourteen in 1939. It now being 1991 meant he was 66 years old. There came a time when one retired from being on the frontlines of a battle, passing the torch to others.
In the lunar base known as Clarkesville, Erik listened to the report of the explosion and wondered if he should investigate this further. A peaceful retirement while letting others continue the fight might not be his fate after all.
"What the heck was that?" asked Cadet Kaname Chidori, working Comm at the moment.
"Backtracking its orbit and... too many ships have crossed that path, it could have come from any of them," said Kyoko. "Hmmm. The Mozhaiski left their filed flightplan. Maybe they at least saw something."
"Can you reach them?" asked Kaname.
"I'd have to clear any communications with the day watch since this isn't strictly speaking on my 'job list' - you know how that goes," said Kyoko. "Oh heck. O'Malley's Tavern has another fist fight going. What is with that place?"
The comm officer heard this last bit as she walked around and decided to answer. "O'Malley waters his drinks down, lowering the alcohol content. He gets by though, because he gets ahold of some of the more exotic stuff. Even has a microbrew beer he makes on premises - that one doesn't get watered down. It's frequented by Russian and Chinese shippers and Irish dockworkers."
"So why is it they get into brawls?" asked Kyoko.
"Mainly because it's an Irish bar with watered-down drinks," said the comm officer. "Cadet Chidori? You're scheduled for Comm duty for the rest of the day?"
"Yes ma'am," responded the Cadet, looking over her board. Had she messed something up?
"Then why," asked the Communications officer with some amusement in her voice, "have you pulled up the duty roster for a 'Sergeant Sosuke Sagara' on your datapad? And why... dear kami. Someone must really have a grudge against him."
Kaname blinked and looked. Sure enough there was that sort of data, and... mucking out hydroponics vats? Repair of starboard commlink antennae array? Repair of sewage lines in Gray Sector? Snipe hunt? "What the heck?"
"I thought he was a pilot, so why is he doing things like 'grease trap inspection' that should be handled by EVS?" asked the Comm Officer, reaching past Kaname to manipulate the screen. "Mardukas? Well, he's got the authority."
Kaname blinked as she digested what she'd seen. Sosuke was going to have to run ragged to do all that. He had less than four hours of sleep a day scheduled for the next two weeks. In several cases, he had NO sleep time scheduled.
She just might have to pay him back for defending her when she'd been drunk, as he was certainly going to need help in the time directly ahead.
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(Posted Sat, 23 Jan 2010 16:14)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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