Centurion

89. Ch11 S19&20

Nov 05, 2024

My dear and cherished Sparks. I hope you are well.

Celebrate with me, YAY! This is my hundredth post! So, CENTURION has a dual meaning. It’s Luke, here in his role of seasoned leader, protector and champion, but also my century post.

Strictly speaking this is Episode 89 of BE, but with all the little bits in between, Index, Profiles and Kindling, make up to 100 posts on this site. That’s super awesome! Can’t believe I had it in me… I almost missed it, too.

I’ve been caught up in this story to the exclusion of all else. I can’t think past it. The need to reach that final conclusion is overwhelming. I can’t help myself. Even while I’m driving. Even while I’m cooking, feeding lambs and pigs and the calf, tending to meerkat and children. My mind buzzes with it, replaying the scenes, rehashing the arguments over and over and over.

This here below👇, plus a little more, tumbled out of me over the past three days. The rest still needs a little work, but it’s already too long for a regular post, so I decided to split it, and give you all a bonus this week. I hope to have the rest of it down and up to scratch by Friday. Should be.

Oh and sorry, last post has an oops. It probably don’t matter much to most of you, just a small detail, but I noticed it and had to fix. Logan expressed concern over their inaction given the brutality in Misty’s last memory share. Luke told Logan that since it happened fifteen years ago, there’s not much they can really do about it. It was supposed to be eleven years, not fifteen. I’ve fixed it on the online version, but your email version will still contain the oops. Sorry. Surely it’s one of those things that would be caught in the final edit, which I have yet to do.

Anyway, here we pick up where we left off and as for the story…

Previously: Misty asks Luke for help processing some of the memories that haunt her. After seeing Misty meet James, and her first punishment Luke and Logan disagree on how to interpret what she’s shown them and Misty feels lonely and left out.

I watch Misty sitting at the edge of the pool, her back to me as her feet dangle into the water. The thin stringed blue bikini, shows off her athletic physique, finally filling out again after she got so thin. She looks out the window, then looks at her feet, kicks them a little. She seems lost in thought as the water casts gentle ripples, the morning sunlight reflecting, catching on her perfect milky skin.

My mind is intent on remembering that there should be lines on that back, scars, discoloration, any testament to what she’s endured, to prove it was real, but there’s nothing. Maybe it’s better this way, after all it’d be a grisly sight and girls want to look good, don’t they? Vanity aside, it’s better that she doesn’t have to cover it up, she doesn’t have to carry a hidden reminder of it.

I remember what it felt like when Luke tried to pull us out and couldn’t. A small part of me reveled in it, despite my own aversion to what we were seeing. Like it was some sick comeuppance for Luke to have her take control, make him feel what it’s like to not have any choice in reliving a memory. He hasn’t said a word about it, but I know it bothers him. It’s why he hasn’t brought the tower up again.

My mind wanders back to the conversation that led me here.

Luke was busy in the lab, fiddling with his pipettes and slides, working, methodical. He barely acknowledged I was there, never mind engage in discourse. He’s thrown himself headlong into some new research, or revived an old project or I don’t know what, but I’ve hardly seen him since that night in the Library.

I asked if we should talk to Misty about the session in the Tower. His response was noncommittal at best. Maybe I’m just overthinking the whole thing, but it seems to me, Misty wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important to her, and us just moving on, ignoring it, feels like Luke’s usual callousness.

Everything seemed to have got back to normal. Misty trains alone - no grav-control, thank the Deity - and Luke is back at his work, and here I am in the middle trying to figure out how to feel about the whole thing that they seem to be denying even happened.

It was a big deal wasn’t it? Not just what she showed us but the fact that she did in the first place. It’s huge that she wanted to communicate, it’s huge that she trusted Luke enough to let him in her head, given that she’s been forced before. My heart breaks knowing that Luke can’t see how much it cost her to allow it, what a surrender it was.

"Misty, can I talk to you?" I ask, unable to bear the cascade of thoughts any longer. I see her shoulders tense and wonder if I startled her. No, she must have known I was here. I can almost feel her retreating inwardly. She doesn’t want to face me.

“Please?” I add softly. “It’s been a few days. I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay after everything.”

At last she glances back, her expression unreadable, but she pulls her feet up from the water, crossing her arms over her knees. Wordlessly, she projects a resignation that asks what there even is to talk about.

I take a seat at the pool’s edge, leaving some space between us.

“I know it wasn’t easy for you, to show us… those things.” I pause, choosing my words carefully, “And now… It feels like we’ve just gone back to normal. But it’s not normal, Misty. Nothing about it is.”

“It is for me.” She whispers, her fingers gripping her ankles a little tighter.

The simplicity in her answer sends a shiver through me. I swallow, struggling to process the quiet passivity in her tone.

“What do you mean?”

“James.” She says meeting my gaze, and flooding my mind with the idea of repetition. I understand. He used her memories to punish her, making her relive the most painful parts over and over, until she stopped resisting. To her it was just another replay.

“Oh,” is all I can manage. This adds a whole new layer to the macabre of it.

"I’m sorry,” she conveys mentally, sensing my response, and my heart breaks all over again.

“Misty, you don’t have to be sorry. You never have to be sorry. None of it was your fault-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupts, turning her eyes back to the water.

“It does matter.” I insist, pulling her hand into mine. “What you went through… It’s .. it’s horrible, and you’ve carried it alone for so long.”

“You don’t—” She breaks off, rolls her eyes, sighs heavily, then switches to mental, “You don’t understand! It feels like I’ve made everything worse. Now you see my suffering. You see my weakness. And Luke is scared now, he won’t do it again. I’m nothing but a burden!”

“You’re not a burden, Misty.” I say simply. “If there’s more, we can take it.”

“There’s more than you can imagine, Logan. I was there for four sunscycles. It only took one for them to break me. I spent the other three putting myself back together,” She smiles wryly, “Well, just enough to run away.”

It hits me like a punch in the gut. Four sunscycles—years. The gravity hangs heavy between us and the wry smile she tries to muster only twists the knife deeper.

“Just enough to run away?” I repeat softly, almost not trusting my own voice. “You must know that it’s more than that. You didn’t just run, you survived, you—” I stop myself struggling to find words that don’t sound hollow in the face of what she’s endured.

“I know you think I’m strong. You have no idea. I’m not even sure I do…” She pulls her hand away, folding her arms around her knees again as if shielding herself. Her gaze turns distant, and I feel her blocking me out again, denying me the chance to share in the memories she knows I can barely comprehend. “Power, strength, resilience—it doesn’t mean anything. All you’ll ever see is this. What it’s turned me into. What I’m… hiding.”

A silence settles between us, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Finally, I take a deep breath, reaching for a truth that’s settled into my bones. “Misty, you don’t ever have to hide from me, or Luke. We’re a team. If this—sharing these memories—helps you find peace with any of it, we’re here for you. Both of us.”

She blinks, almost as if surprised, and for a moment, a glimmer of something vulnerable flashes across her face.

“If you really mean that… There’s one more thing I need to show you.” She closes her eyes, exhaling a long shuddering breath. For a moment it’s as if she’s letting go of something she’s held onto for far too long. “It won’t be easy.”

* * *

The lab is filled with the quiet tinkling of glassware and the soft hum of machinery as Luke meticulously potters away with his microscope and samples. I lean against the doorframe, watching him work in silence for a moment, the unease in my chest growing heavier.

“Hey, Luke,” I finally say, breaking the stillness.

He glances up, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’s up, Logan?” For the first time I notice the lines around his eyes, the few silver hairs between the neatly combed light brown ones.

I hesitate, looking for the right words. “Misty, she uh… wants to have another go at it.”

Luke shifts his focus back to his work, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know you think that it’s retraumatizing her, that it’s not necessary for us to know for us to understand, but it’s not that simple. What she showed us… it wasn’t just memories. They were parts of herself. She’s hurting now, even though she won’t admit it. We can’t just act like everything is the same as before.”

“You don’t seem to understand, son. What I saw in her head was dangerous. The amount of intel there… And the fact that I’m not reporting it—it’s treasonous. If anyone were to find out, we could end up in serious trouble.”

“Seriously? That’s what you took away from it?”

“No, of course not.” He pinches his nose bridge and sighs. “I know that, that’s not what it’s about but that’s what it comes down to. I would never betray her to the PG, but I can’t keep—”

“Well she says it’s just one more thing.” I interrupt, irritated by his apparent disinterest.

There’s a long pause as Luke contemplates my words. I can see the gears turning in his mind, the battle between his instinct to protect Misty and the understanding that she needs more from us.

“Alright,” he finally says, his voice low but steady. “I can see how much it means to you. If you really think we should do this, then I’m in, but it’s my last one.”

* * *

It’s different this time. Misty is nervous. I feel the tension radiating off of her as Luke takes his position, palms to temples, closes eyes, connects. There’s no conscious resistance, she wants this, but the memory doesn’t want to be shared. It comes in flashes, fragments. At first it doesn’t make sense, but after a few moments, the fragments get stronger, the connection deeper. I feel myself settling deeper into Misty… Becoming Jenina again…

* * *

Teag opens the door, late, with a syringe in his hand. Jenina spent the night with James because she let Lia hit her in the sparring room and hasn't had much sleep. She is sullen, and refuses to sit still. Eventually Teag jabs her in the neck. The drug feels… strong. It’s the hackers’ formula, that robs her of her will to resist. It makes James’ work less effective so they don’t often use it. At least it means James night not be around today. She hopes…

* * *

We follow numbly behind our trainer as he leads us through the complex. Our heavy feet dragging, we plod along. There are six guards when we stop in a strange place. The lights are very bright. The room isn't very big, maybe four times the size of the cell. The bright light ahead is mounted to a rounded wall. The door is locked. Teag puts us in a hard, cold chair, and straps us down, arms legs, chest. We can’t move. Teag nods at someone. In the corner behind us, James snickers like a hyena. We can’t see him but we know…

* * *

The guards stay close. It doesn’t matter. The hackers’ formula makes fighting feel pointless. James is here anyway. Nothing matters…

Wait. The light is changing. The rounded wall is actually a window. The light comes on in there. It’s Mommy! That’s Mommy! Why is Mommy in there? I want Mommy! I can’t move. No. It’s not that I can’t, I don’t really want to, do I? Mommy looks scared. Mommy matters, doesn’t she? Why don’t I want to move? My head feels fuzzy. Oh…

Teag checks the straps, and fastens a kind of helmet thing to my head and to the backrest, so I can't turn and look to the sides. “Start the drain.” I hear him say as everyone walks away, “Five percent, for now.”

There’s a click, and a buzzing sound and then I start to feel cold and weak, as if the air is slowly sucking the warmth out of my body.

I try to hold onto myself as Misty’s mind engulfs mine at the moment of connection. When she first came to us, my every attempt was met with an impenetrable stonewall; now she’s let down her defenses, entry is almost automatic. I find myself fighting to keep from losing my identity in the tangle of her mind. Her bond with Logan complicates it even further. Their minds are almost inseparable now, and though his natural resistance is easy to bypass, our thoughts mingle and mesh into what’s almost an amalgamation.

The drug that Teag injected Jenina with affects her mind, not her body—some kind of GABA enhancer, I suspect, though I force myself not to dwell on its composition. I feel her numbed senses, her warped perception and dulled instinct to resist. Suggestions become imperatives, her own will inconsequential.

When her mother appears in view there’s a primal, instinctual urge to go to her, to be held, to feel safe. It’s quickly stifled when her body refuses to cooperate, but she still cries out: Mommy. Her heartbreaking sobs threaten to choke the breath from me, the visceral raw agony welling up, threatening to consume all three of us.

I have no choice but to pull back, anchor myself, forcing my mind to an observational stance, if only for Logan’s sake. Usually, I can avoid emotional entanglement during these kinds of sessions, but this time is different—her terror, her despair; it’s woven through every thought. As the memory unfolds, getting stronger each second, I feel a strange, ominous buildup. Her volatile power coils and gathers, like a storm that’s about to break, dormant but waiting. I dread what might come next, and focus on the moment.

Jenina’s mother looks just like her. The small straight nose and high brow, only her hair is different—brown not black, waist length and hanging loose in waves down her back. She wears a smart little navy blue suit that shows off her long smooth legs and tiny waist.

Jenina falls quiet as the draining machine kicks in. In spite of my immersion, I can’t help but wonder at the possibilities that technology could unlock for us. It sucks the warmth out of the air around her, reaching into her lungs, down her throat right down to her core. She tries to hold the energy back, she tries to resist, despite the drug, but it’s no use.

A large man with an overgrown red beard walks up to the frightened woman and catches her by the hair. Her feeble struggles mean nothing as he drags her off and slams her chest down onto the nearby table. There’s a blade lashed down that he tears loose. It’s too long for a dagger but not quite a sword and its edge flashes brightly in the light. He pulls the woman’s head back, and presses the blade against her throat, makes her look into the window opposite her. She screams at something Jenina can’t see, redoubles her fruitless efforts to get away.

Redbeard bends over her body. Smells her. Rubs his calloused hands all over her soft skin, licks her neck. She tries to kick him off. He backs away, and slits her thighs, just below the buttocks with one clean stroke of the shining blade. He tears off the ruined skirt, as a blanket of red hides her legs. I can tell little Jenina didn’t understand at the time what she saw, though Misty’s adolescent mind now grasps the concept of rape.

Jenina struggles weakly, instinctively withholding her energy in an attempt to slow down the drain instead of letting it infuse her muscles to give her the strength to break free. She cries and fusses helplessly. When Redbeard is done, he picks up the woman’s head by the hair again, and slits her throat, letting death finally deliver its mercy.

Something breaks in Jenina then, that primal instinct takes over. Her power surges, more than the drain can sap at once. Her hands start to glow, her muscles finally responding with strength she never knew she had. The thick leather straps, snap like twine and she breaks free. With the drug still coursing through her veins, the struggle is as much mental as physical, but she wrenches the helmet from her head and pushes to her feet. Her small fists beat on the thick glass. She screams wildly: “Mommy, Mommy! Let her go!” But she’s too small, too weak.

More power rises, the glow bursts into flame and thin fractures splinter through the window like webs under her assault. Two guards rush in, but Jenina turns on them with the fury of a cornered beast. Her power flashes, bursting from her hands, consuming them. Their bodies crumple to the floor with sickening finality, their blood pooling at her feet.

Then as her rage threatens to spill over, a cackle resounds through hidden speakers, mocking and triumphant. The lights cut out and the machine roars to life, sucking even more energy away. The flames on her arms flicker as they wane, the strength is sapped from her bones. Her struggles slow.

I dare to hope that it’s over.

Next Time: After watching her mother’s brutal death, Jenina thought she’d been through the worst, but Teag and James have an even greater surprise in store for her.

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Centurion

89. Ch11 S19&20

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