Gryphons
Chapter Nine

Rating: R
Category: Original Fiction
Warnings: Violence, egos, some angst.
Summary: Draephus is sick, Raski is suspicious, and Dahli discovers that things can always get worse.
Notes:

Raski's black air con settled down onto the hard surface of the hospital parking lot with a quiet sigh. The door slid open, and he leapt out of the dark interior, running into the huge, impersonal grey structure that served as the temporary hospital until the new one could be built. He barely managed to avoid a stretcher being pushed by an orderly, and went at a dead run for the doors of the critical ward, where he knew Draephus would be. He almost made it, but at the last moment two large men dressed in hospital uniform caught him. Raski struggled and kicked in protest.

"Let go of me, my best friend is in there!"

"Donsa, you can't go in there," one of the men informed him, trying to keep his patience with the wriggling Jervyas.

"But I'm all the family he has!" Raski struggled, then, deciding this was going nowhere, tried to climb over the man like a very large cat.

"Donsa if you do not calm down we will be forced to sedate you!"

The orderly grabbed Raski, wrenching one arm behind his back, using his free hand to get him by the scruff of the neck. The grip was extremely painful, and most people would have gone down to their knees. But most people hadn’t been trained to behave counter to what pain told them. Raski flung himself backwards at the wall, stunning the orderly. The grip released as the man slumped to the floor, just in time for the second man to pounce on Raski.

"Release me you clart!” Raski snarled at him. “What kind of hospital hires people to beat up concerned relatives?"

"Donsa Jervyas, if you and Donsa CZimcocious are related, then I am the Emperor."

"Pleased to meet you." Raski grabbed the orderly’s arm and, using his own body weigh as leverage, threw the man over his shoulder.

“Raski!”

Raski looked over his shoulder, and was relieved to see Dr. Arang walking towards him.

"How is he?" Raski asked.

Dr. Arang was a very tall man, quite imposing, with dark hair turning grey at the temples. During the war he had led troops in battle, and now found he preferred putting people back together as opposed to blowing them apart. He had known Draephus and Raski for a number of years, and dreaded saying anything to Raski about Draephus’ condition because he knew how badly he would react.

"It does not look very good. We are doing what we can, but he arrived in very bad shape. To be truthful, I'm afraid for him."

Raski swallowed. "I want to see him."

"Later, we can't let you in right now."

Raski suddenly had a horrible feeling; one borne of his own experiences in a hospital during the war. His blue-white eyes became large.

“What did you do with him?”

“We haven’t done anything with him,” Dr. Arang tried to assure him.

“Then why won’t you let me see him?”

“Because we are still working on him!”

“You mean you’re warehousing him for body parts, don’t you? Using bits and pieces of him to save other people with a better chance.”

“Raski, that does not happen in civilian hospitals, and the only time it happens in military ones is in times of extreme crisis, and only with patients who have…”

The knife was enormous; Raski kept it in a spring-loaded device that attached to his arm, hiding under his sleeve. With a flick of a switch it would appear in his hand. It could even be simply aimed and fired like a gun, though the spring was not powerful enough to send the blade very far. Raski clicked the switch and the huge blade shot into his hand. He pointed it at Dr. Arang, eyes crazed.

“You’re going to take me to Draephus and you’re going to do it now!”

“No,” said Dr. Arang, calmly, firmly. “You’re going to put the knife down before I call security and have you shot.”

Raski was outraged. “You can’t shoot me, I’m a war hero!”

“And so am I, and I out-rank you. So sit down and shut up.”

The egos came out to play, one diplodocus as large as the other. “I’ll have you know I have an Order of the Empire and an Imperial Gryphon, awarded posthumously, I might add!” Raski snarled.

Dr. Arang looked puzzled. “Posthumously?”

“Long story.”

“I’ll bet. But the truth is a drunken monkey could get an Imperial Gryphon! I was on the ground, down with the troops. I’m a real war hero, not some sissy fighter pilot!”

Raski stared at the man in astonishment, blinking, asking himself if he had really just heard what he thought he had. Then he let out a blood-curdling shriek of pure rage and hate. He lunged for the doctor, who realized belatedly he had just intentionally pissed off a man with a knife. He tossed his clipboard to an orderly and ran for all he was worth; Second City’s greatest doctor being chased by its most beloved sepulchord player. Dr. Arang fled into a storage closet, slamming the door shut and barring it just seconds before Raski hit the thing, running full speed and leaping to throw his entire body weight against the door. It shuddered and cracked, but for the moment, it held. Raski staggered back, stunned and panting, and suddenly felt something poke him in the shoulder muscle. He spun around to find himself face-to-face with another doctor, who waggled an empty hypodermic needle at him.

“Nighty night, Donsa Jervyas.”

“I’m putting your name in my book of people to be rude to,” said Raski. Then he dropped gracelessly to the floor.

***---***

It was dark when Raski opened his eyes. He was sweaty and uncomfortable. For a long moment, he was unable to think of a way to amend the problem, but then he thought maybe he should kick off the blanket. He did, then, with a movement much like a dead fish on a line, sat up. The world was a little confusing, and he had to think about where he was. Then a figure on a bed next to the stretcher he occupied moved, and Raski recalled where he was.

Raski hopped off of the stretcher, a little afraid to get too close to this person before he verified exactly who it was. Dr. Arang had been dealing with Draephus, and consequently Raski, for years, and he wasn't above putting Raski’s drugged form in the psychiatric wing.

Dr. Arang was not as fond of Raski as Draephus was.

Raski drew close to the still form on the bed, reaching out one dark hand to rest on the soft green covers, breathing a sigh of relief as he recognized him. The room was dim, and it was difficult to see clearly, but Draephus didn’t look good. Of course, the dermal patches on his temples that monitored his heart, breathing, and brain didn't help, nor did the eerie glow of the small machines that pulsed and blipped to themselves. Raski put his hand over Draephus' and squeezed gently, then glanced about the room nervously. The silent hospital frightened him, and despite the sleepy feeling that still gripped him, Raski felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He recalled the feeling from days when he and Draephus would start to get jumpy down in the Cylinder, waiting for something to happen. He hated it, and he hated this hospital.

He glanced about for a receiver, not seeing one. For a moment panic gripped him, then Raski breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. He had not slept in a silent room since the war. Silence scared him. Silence meant the Grey Boys had severed communication and were coming to get you. And hospitals were usually where they brought you to finish you... slowly. He looked down at Draephus once more, unconscious and helpless. Maybe the Kyphisians were all gone, but why take any chances? Raski climbed onto the bed, putting himself between Draephus and the door, determined to hold vigil all night.

The hours of darkness slowly dragged by. Raski stared into the night and thought about what his life had been like just a few short years ago. Things were definitely easier now that he was simply a musician, and he didn't have to hide in the fouled and psychotic depths of the Cylinder. But after a lifetime of fear there was no place to leave the strange little paranoias that had become an essential part of his survival. He never turned the receiver off in his home, and he didn't own a Visual because of the fear of monitoring beams being projected through it. He'd heard things about the Grey Boys being able to transmit subliminal hypnotic messages through the telcom, and only had one because there were times when they were needed. He had dozens of little traps all over his house; floors would be covered in a fine layer of dust, delicate threads were strung across doors and windows, clothes arranged just so in drawers and closets and covered with a thin layer of scented beads...all set up so there would be no getting into the house undiscovered. Not that Sferkkaa was so lacking in technology that there was no electronic surveillance equipment. Raski had some of the best, but he was familiar with such things. He knew that sensitive equipment could be rewired, but that there was no way to get around a hall full of powder without disturbing it.

Surveillance equipment could fail, but dust never sleeps.

A nurse came in at daybreak, gently shooing Raski off of the bed before examining Draephus, leaving after only a few moments. Despite having been told not to, Raski once more settled himself onto the bed, waiting for daylight.

Dr. Arang was the next person Raski saw, and he was a little more firm about not being on the bed. He sent Raski into the hallway while he looked over Draephus, and Raski stood by the door, shifting anxiously from one foot to the next, looking like an overly large child. After a short time, Dr. Arang walked quickly out of the room and almost managed to dodge Raski, but he planted himself squarely before him. Dr. Arang stopped and sighed heavily.

"Doesn't he ever get sick of you?" Dr. Arang snapped.

"Oh, there's a question, like I'm the one that breaks into his house at fourhour just to see what he's got in the cold box. How is he?"

Dr. Arang gazed a Raski for a long moment. He tried to recall if he had ever seen Draephus without Raski, but couldn't. How two people could stand to be around each other so much was beyond him. He was opening his mouth to answer, when Raski heard someone call his name. Dr. Arang looked in the direction of the call and sighed loudly, rolling his eyes as he saw the three remaining clowns, Khandid, Yuri and Mars, accompanied by their other little pal, Delaes.

"He's not good,” he said, answering Raski quickly in order to escape the group.

"He's not going to die, is he?" asked Raski.

"I doubt it, but it's a possibility that can’t be ignored at this point. He was doing well for a while but the monitors are starting to indicate a build-up of fluid in his lungs, and there are indications of other problems. Now if you will excuse me..." He brushed past Raski and was gone.

"How is he?" Khandid asked as he walked up to Raski.

Raski stood quietly, shaking and upset. He pushed his hand through his hair tensely. "Sick," he said quietly. "Really sick."

He turned and walked into the room, followed by his friends. Raski seated himself on the edge of the bed, the others positioning themselves about the room, all eyes on the motionless form.

"Someone should call Vesper," said Mars.

"I would if I knew where he was." said Raski. "But we can't very well get on the telcom and place a call to Vesper when he's somewhere in the South Continent in the Hiscoth Mountain Range.”

"Any one else we can call?" asked Khandid.

"As far as family goes, we're it," said Raski. He looked at Delaes. "What brings you here?"

"Well I heard on the receiver that he was sick so I called Khandid and Yuri and I thought that since they were coming down to see him that I should perhaps tag along as well even though personally I'd rather not be in a hospital they really rather make me uncomfortable did you know..."

Raski put a hand up, stopping Delaes' endless sentence. "I meant, what brings you to Second City? I thought you were in Avalair, recording."

"Oh yes I was but the session was brought to rather a rude close you know the clart we've had playing quinticord for the last two years finally up and quit right in the middle of a track so I'm without a quint player not that I miss him not that anyone misses him but it would have been nice to have had some warning now I'm not so sure I have a band and honestly someone ought to take the lot of us out into a yard somewhere and shoot us."

"I'll do it," whispered voice, and Raski's attention snapped down to the figure on the bed.

His eyes were still closed, but there had been no mistaking the voice. Draephus lay still for a moment later, then he drew in a laboured breath and spoke. "Course, if my life was half as confusing as yours I would have shot myself by now." He opened his eyes and looked around. "Everyone's here. Am I going to die?"

"No, groutnoll, we just wanted to yell at you for trying to drown yourself,” said Raski.

Draephus smiled. "That's what I keep you around for."

Raski smiled at his friend. Then, moments later, Dr. Arang came into the room with several other people and some ominous-looking devices.

"You'll have to leave now," he said quietly. He looked pointedly at Raski. "That includes you."

"You can't make me leave."

"Donsa Jervyas," he said, holding up a syringe. "Either you leave, or I stick this in you and your friends carry you out."

Raski stared sourly at the needle, then leaned closer to Draephus. "They're kicking us out in order to perform some horrible experiment on you, but I'll be back later."

Draephus smiled, then reached a hand up to touch Raski’s face. "I'll be here. Feed my Faylans. And don’t give Bacca any fish, he’ll barf it all over the rug."

Raski grinned. “I should give him a bucket of it to pay you back for worrying me. We’ll be back later.”

He kissed Draephus softly, and then he and the others left.

***---***

Later that evening, Dr. Arang walked into the hospital room, and looked around at the four weary figures. He sighed and shook his head, understanding their concern and indeed paranoia about leaving Draephus alone in a hospital, but was still irked by their constant presence. It was like having to wade through a chamber full of guard animals to check his patient.

“Well,” he said, drawing their attention. “Since you are here, I am obligated to ask if you have all had your blood work done. Can’t have you spreading nasty diseases.”

They nodded. Khandid sat back and yawned. “We all had that done ages ago.”

“Do any of you have anything that might affect Draephus’ recovery?”

“No,” they droned, like bored school children.

“Nothing in the ‘A’ category?”

“No,” said Khandid. “I have F-17 and K-4, but that’s it.”

“I have A1-2,” said Mars quietly.

Raski, Yuri and Khandid all snapped their attention to Mars, staring at him in shocke.

“Mars…” began Khandid.

“I’m just a carrier of the dormant virus,” said Mars quietly. “I could potentially give it to any children I fathered, but it’s not doing anything to me, and I’m not contagious. I just can’t have kids, and if at any time I start to vomit blood then I know it’s become active and some nice soldiers will have to come shoot me and burn my body before I start an epidemic.”

“I had no idea,” said Raski. “Mars I’m so sorry…”

Mars just waved him off. “I’m fine.”

“You were in Avalair at one point during the war, weren’t you?” said Dr. Arang.

“We all were,” said Mars.

“I thought so, that’s the only place I know of where you can pick up an ‘A’ level virus. Have you been checked recently?”

“I go in every week, like they tell me.”

Dr. Arang nodded. “I’m still going to schedule someone to look at you.”

Mars nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Dr. Arang gazed at him for a while, feeling a profound sympathy for Mars, wishing he could help. But as of yet, they had no means of fighting the ‘A’ strain viruses. Finally he turned to Yuri and Raski. “What about you two?”

Yuri yawned. “Q-233.”

Dr. Arang nodded, then looked at Raski. “And you?”

“C-3, and C-4.”

Dr. Arang looked surprised. “Really? C-3 and C-4?”

Raski nodded. “That’s what they told me.”

Dr. Arang walked over to him, taking his head gently between his hands and looking into his eyes, his expression sceptical as he examined Raski.

“You play sepulchord, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“That takes a lot of dexterity. Ever have any trouble speaking?”

“No.”

“Ever suddenly drop things you are holding, or have your knees give out from underneath you?”

“No.”

“Ever soil yourself?”

“Not since I was three.”

Dr. Arang smiled. Mars sat forward in his chair, his expression one of curiosity.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“Well,” said Dr. Arang, “neither C-3 nor 4 is especially problematic on its own. However in combination they work to destroy the brain’s ability to tell the nerves and muscles what to do. People with C-3 and 4 develop tremors, they have trouble walking, speaking, holding onto objects, things of that nature. In more extreme cases the bowels will cease to function, the eyes begin to vibrate, and the heart and lungs will either cease to function, or will behave so erratically as to cause death.” He picked up Raski’s hands and examined them. “I don’t see anything here to make me think Raski has C-3 and C-4. Where did you have your blood work done?”

“Second City Health.”

Dr. Arang nodded. “They’re good, but they’re also very busy, and ‘Jervyas’ is a relatively common surname. It’s possible they mixed your test results up with the results of another ‘R. Jervyas’. I think it’s best we test you again.”

“I hate needles,” Raski muttered. “And if I find out I have AA-1 then I won’t be amused.”

“Well if you have AA-1 then your friends will have to start looking for a different sepulchord player, because I will be legally obligated to quarantine you immediately and permanently. Not that I haven’t often wanted to. But I don’t think you have AA-1. If you did, I suspect you and the rest of the band would be dead by now, or at the very least be bleeding out of your eyes.”

“Eyew,” muttered Khandid.

“Hate when that happens,” said Yuri. Mars snorted with laughter.

Dr. Arang held out his hand to Raski. “Come along, woolly lamb. Let’s take you down to paediatrics and get your blood work done. If you’re good I’ll give you a sweet.”

“Groutnoll,” grumbled Raski, but followed Dr. Arang out of the room.

***---***

Dahli awoke suddenly, and lay perfectly still, listening to the sounds around her. An alarm was ringing off in the distance, somewhere in D Section. Across the room Crystal and Ember stirred and sat up, also awakened by the alarm. All had heard this sound before, during drills, but the detention centre didn’t do drills in the middle of the night. The girls were quiet, making no move. Dahli wondered if her roommates were as frightened as she was.

A guard ran by, followed by two more. The alarm continued to ring, on and on without abating. That was unnerving in itself, but there were other sounds, too. There were yells and screams, and once she thought she heard the strange, throaty hum of a laser pistol. Dahli huddled under the covers, eyes squeezed shut, pillow over her head in an effort to escape the sounds she heard. The alarm rang on, and now Dahli could hear other inmates prowling about like restless animals, nervous and uneasy.

Another group of guards ran by, five this time. Dahli sat up. "What's happening?" she asked.

"Sounds like something down in D Section," said Ember. "I wonder how bad it is?"

"Bad," said Crystal. "Real bad, listen to it." The three were silent. The noise was louder now, shouts and commotion reaching a higher pitch.

"That's more than a couple people trying to break each other's necks," said Crystal. "Sound like a riot."

The noise wore on, neither growing nor fading. It seemed the fray was still contained within D Section. Then a second alarm went off, of a different sound than the first. This one seemed closer.

“Can’t be a riot,” said Ember. “If it was a riot they would have the old siren on, the one that makes that sharp beep.”

“Well it’s something,” said Crystal. “I think it’s getting closer.”

"Have they broken into this section?" asked Dahli nervously.

"I don't think so," said Ember. "I'm not even sure what that is."

The alarm rose and fell, howling away into the darkness. No lights had been activated; the only illumination came from small emergency lanterns. A series of laser pistol shots exploded, these frighteningly close, and seconds later two youths ran by, clad in detention centre uniforms.

"It's broken out," said Dahli, her heart pounding.

“It’s not a riot,” insisted Crystal. Then she sniffed the air, catching a whiff of something.

"What's that smell?" Ember asked. Down the hall someone began to scream, answering their question for them.

“Fire! The whole place is burning!”

The alarm wailed as several more people ran by. Then the fire was upon them, sweeping down the hallway like a wave, fast and violent. Mercifully it was a short blast, as if it was the warning shot of a dragon. Trapped in their cell, the trio screamed as something in the room exploded into flames, igniting one of the beds. Dahli leapt out of bed while Ember grabbed her flaming mattress and turned it over. It hissed and crackled, sending up billows of black, oily smoke as Crystal used a cup to throw water on it. Dahli grabbed her own mattress and threw it on top of Ember’s to smother the flames. Smoke filled the room and rolled out into the hallway, covering everything in soot, plunging the room into reeking darkness. They could hear other inmates screaming, adding to the calamity. Another siren went off, virtually unnoticed amidst the chaos, while guards began herding hysterical inmates towards the exits.

Dahli searched around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. She had a feeling that she may need one. She examined the metal frame of her bed. It was one solid piece, welded together.

‘Obviously’, she thought wryly, ‘so no one can take it apart and use a portion of it for a weapon. Duh.’

She looked about for anything else that may have possibilities, but there was nothing. Should the electronically controlled doors fling open, there was nothing she could use with which to defend herself. Outside the cell, bodies clashed and fought behind a thickening veil of smoke, rats struggling to see who would die last. The noise all around was like that of a battle. The flood of bodies had stopped flowing by and was now clogging the corridor. Dahli could no longer see Crystal and Ember in the room. She felt only a growing terror as the air became a toxic cloud, and her throat and eyes burned. She heard herself screaming as she began throwing herself against the cell door, trying to escape certain death.

Something exploded, and with the mad confusion of animals stampeding, the wall of bodies began to move on. Some ran back the way they'd come, most moved forward. Then all was plunged into total blackness as even the small emergency lights went out, and there was only the non-light of the fire in the distance. The electronic door slid open, and without a second thought, Dahli was through it. She paused in the hallway, disoriented, then, choosing the least obstructed route, ran down the hallway.

It occurred to her to head for the yard, and wait there for the nightmare and chaos to end, but she had no idea where that was in all the smoke. It was as if the detention center had become an alien landscape. She dodged down unfamiliar halls, strange and frightening in the dark. At one turn she saw a body lying across her path, and like a wild animal she chose the next opening she saw rather than cross the corpse. There was no sense to the route she had chosen; all she wanted was to get out of the building. Here and there she encountered small spot fires and the smoke was not so thick, but she could still hear the screaming in the distance, and try as she might, she could not seem to escape it.

She turned a corner and accidentally plunged headlong into a small knot of fighting people, blundering straight into the midst of about ten combatants taking advantage of the situation to settle old scores. Two of them turned on her as she crashed into them, and she felt one of them seize her arm. She turned and struck out at him, but was thrown to the floor before managing to make contact. She rolled quickly, not waiting for her attackers to pin her. A hand seized the collar of her shirt, two more grasping her ankles, and she was thrown onto her back. She could see one of her attackers now, a rangy, dark-eyed youth with a pock-marked face. Dahli struck out wildly in terror, and it was an act of divine intervention that guided her hand to his nose, striking the soft cartilage and breaking it. Blood spurted, and he retreated, howling in pain.

With her assailant suddenly on the defensive, Dahli felt a rush of rage well up inside of her. As he sat with his hands over his bleeding nose, she snatched up a length of pipe someone had discarded and brought it down across his ribs. There was a loud crunch, and he screamed in pain. Wielding the pipe once more, she broke his knee for good measure. Her second assailant fled. Dahli let out a crazed war cry and charged after him, scattering people as she went.

She pursued the youth for some distance, but eventually lost both him and herself. Tired and winded, she seated herself upon the cold grey floor, looking around. This area of the building was unknown to her. It was badly damaged; doors hung open and askew, blankets, clothing and mattresses lay scattered, shredded and burned. The metal frames of beds were leaning against walls or thrown haphazardly into the hall. There seemed to be no one else about, at least not close at hand. In the background, the ominous sound of fighting rumbled on, but it was far off and of no immediate danger. However the stench of smoke still hung in the air, and the thought of the building burning down with her in it was very much on her mind. She rose to her feet and began searching for an exit, still hearing the alarm ring.

Dahli made her way down the hall, moving slowly and carefully as she searched the area. She roamed the dark halls, finding nothing, not even a flight of steps that led downstairs. She would have to go back the way she had come; assuming could find her way back. She hadn't realized the detention centre was so large. Every corner she turned revealed only more cell doors, more debris on the floor. She knew that in her flight from the fire and subsequent rioting that she had gone up a set of stairs, but where?

She found a mattress, one which was not as badly burned as the others, and sat upon it. The alarm still rang on, but when she strained to hear any other sounds, she could not detect any. Had the riot stopped? If so, then why was the alarm still on? She wrapped her arms about herself, feeling the cold of the building take hold. On the wall beside her sat her silhouette, formed by the soft glow of an outside light coming in through the barred window.

The alarm stopped abruptly. Dahli had become so accustomed to the noise that she had almost ceased to hear it. Now the quiet was louder and more worrisome than the clanging. Still and silent, Dahli awaited the small night lights to come on, to send out their soft, sterile glow and announce all was well. The lights did no come on, and as time passed, the dark and stillness began to nibble at her like a deranged mouse. She stared nervously around, wishing so strongly she was home in her own bed that her stomach began to feel ill.

She closed her eyes and visualised her room; the large spreading dresser with its huge mirror, the soft blue-grey carpeting with the little bald patch near the closet door where a mouse had chewed it. She could see her reading lamp, and her bed with its Mortified Gryphons bed sheets. She and Diza had painstakingly made these themselves. There were dark blue, with soft grey and light blue constellations painted over the background. An open patch hung in the sky without any reason for being, a rope ladder dangling from it. A man hung onto the ladder, looking down at an immense gryphon, which stared back with a malicious cartoon smile. It was the cover from one of the older recordings; `Nice knowing You'.

Draephus came to mind then, and the letter he had sent; the apology she would not accept in person. She didn't know if she accepted it now, but it would have been wonderful to have his imposing frame seated next to her. Perhaps she would write him, if the letter still existed and she still had his address. She wondered if he would make any further attempt to contact her. She couldn’t imagine why he would, other than to possibly seek compensation for what she had done to his vehicle.

There was an unexpected scream of feedback from an intercom coming to life. Dahli's attention snapped towards the source of the sound, a small startled gasp escaping her. She waited anxiously for the voice to come on and announce all was under control. What did come out was not comforting.

"We've taken over!" a voice raved fanatically. In the background Dahli could hear banging and pounding, loud authoritative voices demanding the door be opened. The voice in control of the microphone laughed crazily. "No way! This place is ours!"

The voice droned on, screaming with all the zealous insanity of a new dictator. She listened as he broke into song, howling the words to a Bad Influence song in a voice that quavered and cracked, or lay as flat as a dead man's pulse. He sang the wrong words, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Alone in the dark of the emptied section, Dahli found it the most frightening thing she'd ever heard.

"...I'm gonna take off all my clothes,
And shout and run around,
I'm gonna jump right off a cliff
And land right on the ground..."

Dahli knew the song, had it at home in fact. When Delaes Randerick sang it, it was merely another bizarre and pointless Bad Influence song. When this guy sang it...well...he sounded like he would do it, but not without taking someone with him.

A voice suddenly cried out in the dark; a yell, then running feet. Dahli leapt back into the security of a darkened cell. Crouched down behind the destroyed remnants of a bed, she watched as a youth ran by, pursued by two others. She listened as their footsteps faded; remaining huddled down behind the bed. The voice on the intercom continued on. It seemed the whole place had gone mad.

She remained hidden for hours, listening to the insane voice. The light of an exterior lamp slowly gave way to day. Outside the window she could hear birds chirp and trill, oblivious to her plight. Her stomach began to growl, and her mouth had begun to feel like the stuff that filled the mattresses. Still she would not move from her hiding place. She had already had a sample of what would happen to her should she be found by the wrong people; and she wasn't too fond of the idea of being raped or beaten, or both.

Did Sferkkaan men commit rape? Or was that just something Kyphisians did? Oh man, she hoped it was just something Kyphisians did! She huddled in her hiding spot, terrified. Surely the chaos couldn't go on much longer, surely someone would have been called in to help deal with the mess. The voice on the intercom droned on. A brief scuffle broke out, uncomfortably close. Dahli squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the remains of a blanket over herself, hoping to pass as debris.

The voice suddenly changed from fanatic to frantic. "HEY...HEY! LET GO YOU CLART! YOU ŠUKAT YOUR MOTHER, GROUTNOLL!" There was the thud of an object striking flesh. "LET ME GO YOU GREY-BOY SYMPATHISER! YOU USED TO WORK FOR THEM, DIDN'T YOU?"

The screaming voice faded away, and a second calmer, more authoritative one took over.

"This is Warden Shayer. The fire is out, the riot is over, and we are resuming command of this centre. Those of you who have barricaded yourselves in D Section are commanded to release your hostages immediately and surrender, and no further time will be added to your sentences."

Dahli gasped in horror as laughter broke out not far away, and something smashed against a wall.

"Listen to him, will you? `Release your hostages.' EAT CLART!"

The voice echoed from a point down the hall. Suddenly she began to wonder just what section she was holed up in. She heard no more from the voice down the hall, but she didn't have to. She only had to think about the words it had uttered to know where she was.

She decided to stay where she was, hiding in the debris, waiting for the people down the hall to fall asleep and then try to find her way out. Whether this was a good idea or not, she didn’t know, but the thought of being trapped on the wrong side of a barricade with a group of hostage-holding lunatics didn't much appeal to her.

***---***

The hours dragged on. She had become stiff and uncomfortable; her legs had gone to sleep from being in the same position for too long. She shifted as slowly and quietly as she could, and stretched her legs to let the blood move. She heard nothing from the voice down the hall, and she wondered how many people were down there.

Dahli turned her head to look out the cell window. It was small and square, horizontal bars crossed by diagonal ones. From outside she heard the sleepy titter of birds starting to awaken. The sky was heavy and dark, the clouds thick, obscuring the soft haze that was the sky.

Dahli dozed off for a brief time, sleeping in starts and stops. Once she was awakened by the intercom starting up with its usual scream, and the voice of Warden Shayer again demanding that D Section be opened up. This was met with yells and obscenities, the strident voice of one individual rising above all to state that the hostages would be killed if their demands were not met.

"What do you want?" Shayer asked. "What are your demands?"

"We'll get back to you on that, now get out of our ears."

Dahli swore that, come nightfall, she would try to find her way out of D Section. With any luck she would be able to avoid the crazies down the hall. They seemed to be keeping to the one cell for the most part; presumably that was where the hostages were being kept as well. She wondered what sort of weapons they had. Laser pistols were a possibility, if they had managed to capture one or two of the guards. Clubs were more likely than the pistols, or knives. She couldn't think of what else they may have. She knew from conversations with former soldiers that people could make weapons out of anything. Dahli shifted herself into a more comfortable position and listened hard for any nearby movement.

It was going to be a long day.

***---***

`It's strange to be here,' Draephus thought, `very strange. It's funny how things take on a different perspective when you know you aren't supposed to be alive.'

He had died in his sleep. Dr. Arang had told him he had simply given up and stopped breathing. Draephus drew in a laboured breath and wondered why he had taken that midnight swim anyway. He hadn't thought he was trying to kill himself, but what other reason was there for what he had done? The fact that he had very nearly succeeded scared him, and the knowledge that the mucous that now tried to plug his lungs still may get him was even scarier.

‘Welcome to wanting to live, clart-head. Welcome to being hooked up to a half-a-dozen machines and having to deal with the thought that death may come and get you without your consent.’

What had he been thinking when he had jumped into the water? Was he out of his mind? When he had opened his eyes after his brush with death Dr. Arang had been there, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Congratulations," he drawled. "You've got the worst case of pneumonia we've ever seen. We think it may even be a new strain. You're famous."

Draephus couldn't speak, but he did manage an obscene gesture, which seemed to please Dr. Arang to no end. He gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving him in peace. This lasted roughly ten minutes, then Delaes and Raski blew in, armed with a huge collection of wildflowers. Flowers would have been Raski's idea, picking them on their own would have been Donsa Hyperactive’s. Delaes was the single most tense and nervous person Draephus knew. He never sat down for long, went for days without sleeping, and started every morning with a run, going for miles at a pace that left most in the dust. Draephus had once jokingly asked Delaes what he was running from, and Delaes had screamed with hysterical laughter for a long, uncontrolled time before collapsing in tears. Draephus never asked him again. They all had their pursuing monsters. As Raski approached the bed to talk to Draephus, Delaes vibrated quietly in a corner.

"Delaes and I brought you some flowers," he understated. The huge, crazed collections of flora exploded from their glass containers, filling the air with the scent of the summer Draephus was missing. He smiled slightly.

"Hey," said Raski, "Dr. Arang says you're going to get better as soon as they remove the extra teeth you use for biting people's heads off. You'd better get out of here soon; I'm really getting rather tired of babysitting your Faylans and people calling me at all hours to ask how you are. You won't believe who called this morning. J'Vanni Dei Syncopius, the crazed composer. The first time anyone has heard his voice and he breaks solitude to ask about you of all people. Someone should tell him the war is over and it's all right to make music now."

Delaes spoke up. "He makes music he just doesn't sing you know I really wonder if he exists or if he's some sort of fictional character I mean has anyone ever seen this man?"

"He has to be real, he called me," said Raski. "And I can understand why he doesn't sing, he's got the strangest accent I ever heard. Like a seductive computer, some kind of machine experiencing feelings it shouldn't. Put the hair up on the back of my neck to hear it. Hey is our presence a bit too much for you right now? We can leave if you're tired."

Draephus smiled and shook his head. Delaes had turned on the small Visual and had begun to listen to the news. From its place on the wall opposite from where Draephus lay, it began to broadcast the day's events quietly.

Raski took Draephus' hand, then said; "Hey Delaes, turn that off."

Delaes made a move to do so, but Draephus shook his head, indicating that he wanted the device left on. The Visual spat out sounds and images of what had occurred over the day. Another revolution was happening on the Southern Continent. That happened so often that it was a wonder anyone bothered to report it. Then on to the cute stuff. The Emperor was remodelling his bathroom, obviously a story of political importance. Draephus wondered if anybody had noticed that he had reconstructed an entire castle. No one had done a news report on that. Then story came on about a fire and riot at Second City Youth Detention Centre. It seemed six people had taken hostages and barricaded themselves into one of the sections. As of yet no one had asked for anything.

“Well they may not have asked for anything,” said Raski, “but I suspect they’ll get something, all right. And it will probably leave bruises.”

The news reporter prattled on. "...also believed to be amongst the hostage-holders is Dahli Sandiniti, the young girl who caused something of a fire in the scholastic system when she stole a dead Faylan from her school on what she called `political grounds.' It is not known if the two incidents, the theft and the riot, are linked in any way, but the possibility is being examined."

Silence fell in the hospital room as jaws dropped. Delaes uttered a short, shocked laugh.

"What is she doing?" asked Raski, still trying to comprehend what he had just heard.

Draephus suddenly began coughing loudly. He gasped and struggled to breathe as though his lungs had just collapsed. A delicate beeping came from the many monitors, and an attendant ran into the room. Seconds later Delaes and Raski were evicted from the room, ingloriously shoved into the hall. They remained there for a short time, until Dr. Arang came to say that Draephus was all right, but he was going to be asleep for awhile and they would have to come back later. Then the pair wandered off. Raski and Delaes left the hospital, getting into Raski's black vehicle and driving away. Delaes turned on the receiver, and out came the latest syrupy tune from Vortex.

"...It's so nice to see you,
smiling like you do,
you know I love you,
I hope you love me too.
I think about you all the time,
even when you're not there.
I think of you when I brush my teeth,
and when I comb my hair..."

Delaes shrieked and turned off the receiver. "That group is really atrocious I cannot believe the Emperor declared them a government-protected band they really ought to have that status revoked but then that is probably the only thing keeping people from killing the whole group be a shame about the quinticord player he's the only one with any talent how come they have Straif Mannechek who is extremely talented and cute and I have Marachani who is mediocre and ugly like a feralyke's back end but oh yes he quit didn't he?"

Raski let Delaes rattle on as he drove easily down the quiet streets towards his home.

`Like a little bird,' thought Raski, 'one of those little ones that get up at fourhour in the morning and trill outside of your window non-stop until you want to pull its cute fluffy head off.’

He tried to think of what else made a continual racket, and almost instantly Draephus’ Faylans came to mind. Bacca and Czanda would perch fifty feet off the ground in the great wooden beams of Draephus’ castle and trill non-stop, calling and cackling to each other and scarcely draw a breath. Draephus loved it, and often incorporated the sounds his Faylans made into his music. There was definitely something very compelling about their cries and calls. Many of their vocalizations were truly unearthly and beautiful… much like the singing style of a certain lead vocalist Raski knew.

Raski glanced at Delaes as he rattled on. Nah. Couldn’t be.

Could he?

“Hey Delaes, you know that song ‘Avalair Grey’?”

“I should hope so I did write it.”

“That cry you let out towards the end, is that you, or is that synthesized or a millitron or what?”

“How dare you of course it’s me you know very well I don’t synthesize my vocals I’m very proud of my voice.”

“Well you do have a beautiful voice but… come on. One musician to another. It’s synthesized.”

“Oh you are SO asking for a slap it is my voice and it has not been altered in any way!”

“Well then let’s hear it.”

Delaes gave him an annoyed look, miffed his talent should be held suspect. Then he let forth a haunting, mournful cry that rose and fell, lingering for an impossibly long time, hanging in the air like the wafting perfume of despair. It brought tears to Raski’s eyes just hearing it, sending a shiver down his spine. That cry had made Delaes and his band famous. It also sent Draephus’ Faylans into a complete frenzy, and they would return the call, matching it note for note, then repeat it for hours, almost as if it held some significance for them. Raski glanced at Delaes again, studying the small face, the long delicate limbs, large eyes, and slender build. He’d seen it before, but not on another Sferkkaan.

Dahli and Draephus both claimed Faylans were intelligent beings, and not merely humanoid animals.

Maybe Dahli and Draephus were right.

Maybe Faylans and Sferkkaans could cross breed after all.

They arrived at Raski's house. It had begun to rain by now; a heavy ocean storm that turned the sky black and obscured the view from his windows. Raski hurried up the walk to get out of it, but Delaes stopped to stomp in the mud puddles. Raski paused on the porch to watch him, a leggy, skinny figure blurred by the falling water, dancing with a surreal grace, a black smear in the darkness of the storm, laughing.

"Delaes!” Raski cried. “Get in here, or else I won't let you sit on the furniture!"

Delaes came running, metal-tipped boots scraping sparks off of the flagstone walk as he continued to dance, bouncing past Raski and into the wide entrance of the house. Silver beads of water were flung from his hair and scattered about the room, striking the large windows and melding with the raindrops that slid down them. Raski grinned at him.

"Want some music to go with that performance, Delaes?"

Delaes whirled to stop, eyes bright. "Do you have `Birdseed Tea'?"

"I'll look in the kitchen."

"NNOOO...that's not what it is groutnoll it's a J'Vanni Dei Syncopius song."

"In that case, no, I don't."

"What do you have?"

Raski checked his music collection. "'Bragging to Fire' and 'Pensive Moments in the Fifth Hour'. Then we have the classic 'My Songs All Have Really Long Titles, Therefore My Album Should Have One Too.'"

"I don't really like those ones oh here I have one in my pocket." Delaes fished the thin silver cylinder out of his pocket and threw it to Raski. "It's his latest."

Raski caught the object and turned it over in his fingers to read the name on it. He felt a mild chill go through him, as though he had been overheard in a private conversation. The cylinder was titled; 'Don't You Wish you Knew What I Looked Like?'

Raski stared at it for a long moment, and thought about the accent he had heard when speaking with J’Vanni – an accent he kept thinking he should be able to place. He then tossed the cylinder back to Delaes, who bounced over to the stereo. The broad, shiny leaves of the amp plants twisted like primitive radar, following him in anticipation. Raski walked into his kitchen and picked up the telcom, punching in the number Donsa Syncopius had given him earlier that day. He heard the device ring at the other end, then heard it being lifted.

"Hello?" spoke the strangely accented voice.

"J'Vanni? This is Raski."

"How is Draephus?"

"Fine, he's fine. He sends his regards. Hey, I was just listening to your latest recording. It's very good. Love the title."

There was silence from the other end of the line. Raski waited a moment, then said; "So what do you look like?"

The pause continued, then the voice came back, speaking quickly.

"I am glad to hear Draephus is doing fine. Send him my love. Good day, Jervyas-Kaif."

The line went dead. Raski stared at the device for a long moment, once again startled by the man's abruptness. Slowly, he hung up, still trying to place the accent.

"`Kaif'?" he repeated softly. Like the accent, he knew that he should recognize the word, but it too eluded him. "What is a `kaif'?" He then called to Delaes; "What is a kaif?"

"It's a hole in a mountain!" Delaes yelled as he bounced into the room. He had removed his coat and was dressed in a tight black leather outfit that was just a little tighter than it ought to be. Raski studied him critically.

"Are you getting fat?"

Delaes paused, blinking. "Fat? Me? I think NOT what is to eat I'm ravenous which is really strange because I was positively ill this morning."

There was a bowl of reddish-orange settins on the table and Delaes picked one up. Holding the fruit with both hands he tore into it voraciously, hardly bothering to chew, a clear thin line of juice making its way down between his fingers. He ate the soft fruit, seeds and all, then walked past Raski and to the coldbox, opening the door. He leaned inside, Raski watching him.

Oh there was something very odd going on here. Something very odd indeed.

"Do you have any almaniki juice because I am positively dying for some oh yes you do here it is."

Delaes stepped back, holding a carton. Raski watched Delaes up-end the carton of juice and drain the entire contents down his throat.

"Delaes, you hate almanikies, you said the smell of them alone was enough to make you gag."

"I know which is why I can't figure out why I want them so badly now."

"Delaes, are you quite all right?"

Delaes blinked innocent brown eyes at him. "Never better just hungry."

"Well help yourself to the coldbox. But those pants don't fit you right as it is."

Delaes shrugged. "I'll get new pants."

Raski continued to scrutinize Delaes, his mind working. There was something definitely up. Delaes hated almanikies. The small blue fruit were an acquired taste, and people who did not like them tended to continue not liking them throughout their lives. They didn’t wake up one day and start gobbling them down. Then a light went on over Raski’s head.

Pregnant. Delaes was pregnant. He had an artificial uterus put in and… no he couldn’t be pregnant. Candidates for the artificial uterus were screened carefully, and they were not given to just anyone, not even wealthy and famous musicians. Delaes would have had his health checked, his friends would have been interviewed, and he would have to be able to prove he had a calm and stable home life as well as a partner to help him raise future children. Delaes was a bundle of nerves, and so far as Raski knew he didn’t have a husband. The fact that he lived in Avalair, albeit on the outskirts, was in itself enough to get him refused. And even if Delaes didn’t say anything about having such a device implanted, news of these things tended to leak. People would know…

Of course, if he was half-Faylan he might not need an artificial womb. He might already have his own…

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw