Roughs for Meant to Be
Jan. 15th, 2007 07:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThis sequel has been on my mind for a long time. I always meant to settle the matter of the Draconis...and of course I heart Pyotr (as do many others). Kekeke.
Prologe and first chapter, though mind you they're still rough. The prologue I think I've posted the first part of before.
Prologue
Planet 2154014 (Tredad), Chelsan Manor
“I hate uncontrolled climates. I never understood why anyone would choose to live here.”
“Sir,” the IG private said, ignoring the sour comments, “if you’ll come this way.”
“Yes, yes.”
Turning neatly on his heel, the private led the way across the small field, shoving easily through the snow, seeming not to notice the biting, howling wind that threw ice and snow in his face.
“I hate this confounded planet.”
“Ah, Lower Chancellor, you are at last arrived.”
The Lower Chancellor glowered at the speaker, a white-skinned human with dark green eyes and military-trim brown hair. He wore the dark blue uniform of IG soldiers, with the marks of a Captain and the tri-star crest of those who did interplanetary work. “Captain September,” he said, voice as cold as the storm outside. “Everyone is being remarkably unhelpful in explaining to me why I have been dragged back to this freezing hell.”
“Knowing you, they were too terrified,” September said bluntly.
Rolling his eyes, the Lower Chancellor shucked off his cumbersome fur-lined coat and gloves, then sat to strip off his snow boots. He was a stern looking man, medium-blond hair trimmed short, wispy strands falling over his forehead. His pale blue eyes were cool, at complete odds with the impatience obvious in his tone and manner. He was slender, and taller than everyone else in the room. Smoothing out his steel gray sweater and black slacks, he accepted a steaming mug from a private and then finally returned his attention to the patiently waiting September. “So let’s have an end to the mysteries.”
“She murdered her husband and then killed herself,” September said. “We are still determining motive.”
The Lower Chancellor frowned. “Bloody idiot. What was she thinking?” He grimaced in disgust. “Of course she wasn’t thinking, when did that fool ever think? How?”
“Knife. She stabbed him several times and then slit her wrists.”
“How typical of her,” the Lower Chancellor replied, though he could not keep the horror completely from his face. He frowned into his drink, then pinned his pale blue eyes on September. “Why could this not simply be reported to me back at Zero?”
Silence. September stared at him, clearly surprised. “I know you did not speak with your sister often, sir, but surely you knew…”
“My sister and I were dead to each other. What do I not know that was so important it woke me up and forced me to rearrange several days’ worth of work and meetings?”
September looked almost panicked. “Sir…you’re his only surviving relative.”
The Lower Chancellor went still, then slowly and carefully set his mug down. “Only surviving relative?”
“Your sister had a son.” September motioned to a door at the far end of the room. “He and his caretaker were the ones to find the body…”
“Leave it to my sister to be that cruel to her own child. At least she didn’t kill the boy as well.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair agitatedly. “What am I supposed to do with a child?” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then released it as a long slow sigh. “No wonder no one wanted to tell me anything,” he muttered Striding across the room, he shoved open the door September had indicated – then stopped.
The boy curled up in a large chair, sobbing hard enough to make himself sick, looked so much like himself at that age it was terrifying. The Lower Chancellor hastily withdrew, wholly unprepared to deal with the situation. He was a Lower Chancellor, well on his way to High Chancellor. His sister had always fallen just short of being dragged off to Rehab. He’d managed to escape his worthless family. She had reveled in being part of it.
What was he supposed to do with her child? The easiest recourse would be to have the boy shipped off to where he could be cared for, educated, and eventually adopted. Wash his hands of his infernal family once and for all.
But the sobs tore at him. How many nights had he done the very same thing as a boy, growing up in the scummiest parts of Tredad with a family that had thrived in the scum?
He couldn’t bring himself to do that to this boy, though how he was going to raise a child only the stars knew. The Lower Chancellor sighed. “What’s his name?”
September looked at him in surprise. “So you’re going to take him?”
The Lower Chancellor sighed. “I might be a bastard, Captain, but even I am not so cruel as to abandon a child. I repeat – what is the boy’s name?”
“Pyotr.”
Twenty years later
Planet 000000 (Zero), Palace of Eternity
There was blood everywhere. The bodies. The floor.
The screaming young man who wouldn’t let go of his dead parents, his stunningly-beautiful features twisted by shock, fear and pain. He clung to his mother and father, oblivious to the blood that covered him, soaked into his silk robes, his long, unbound hair. Tears streamed down his face and his voice was already getting raw and hoarse from screaming and sobbing. Pale skin turned into a sick pallor and everyone watching wondered that the poor thing hadn’t already passed out.
Several people tried to drag him away as the authorities and medics arrived, but no one succeeded. Every time they tried, long, sharp nails raked whatever flesh they found first. Minutes passed as people hovered, uncertain what to do, until at last one man broke through the crowds and dropped down beside the screaming young man.
Nails lashed out as the man tried to pull the boy away, but they couldn’t get through the heavy brocade of his formal jackets, and eventually the sobbing young man was at last torn away from the bodies he’d refused to let go.
“Jade, shh, Jade…I’ve got you.”
Collapsing into his arm, Jade sobbed harder than ever, choking and gasping for breath but unable to stop sobbing long enough to truly breathe. “Go-Gory—“
“Jade, hush. Calm down.”
Anger let him breathe. “Calm down! I cannot calm down! How dare you when they-they-they-“ The shouting abruptly turned into a moaning sob, and Jade collapsed into the arms of the man who held him.
Gory Cohen smiled at the tall, pale man who had sedated Jade. “Thank you, Pyotr.”
“Of course Lower Chancellor. Shall I take him for you?”
“Yes, please. Put him in my rooms here, and I will take him home shortly. Stars, I hope Cyan…”
Pyotr nodded and lifted the slender boy into his arm, barreling his way through the crowds that parted for the solemn looking man. He towered over most of them, his fine hair nearly white, eyes a sharp, pale blue. In the black and silver uniform of the Infinitum Government, he made a stunning sight. In his arms, Jade Alexander was slender and fine-boned, far too beautiful for his tender sixteen years. Tears smudged his face, still so tense even as he lay sedated.
Ignoring the fervor around him, Pyotr continued through the halls of the palace until he finally left the panicked crowd behind, wending his way until he reached a suite of rooms that opened at his touch. Inside, the warm scent of vanilla and clover filled rooms richly appointed in deep lavender and dark honey-gold.
Gingerly he laid Jade out on a plush settee, then smoothed back his gold-brown hair. He grimaced at the bloodstained clothes and began to strip away the outer robes, leaving Jade in only his pants and short under tunic. Tenderly he wiped away the drying tears, splashes of blood, murmuring softly as Jade made the most piteous, heart-wrenching noises.
When the cries only worsened, Pyotr bundled the young man close, offering all the comfort he could. “Jade…”
The sound of doors opening and closing, strained voices speaking in terse, anxious tones, drove him to set Jade back down upon the couch, though he held fast to Jade's hand.
“Pyotr,” Gory said, face tight with strain and misery. “Thank you for your help. I will take him home now.”
“Yes, Lower Chancellor.” Pyotr obediently stood and watched as Cohen ordered an Authority to pick the boy up, then led the way from his rooms. Once they were gone, he forced himself into motion, to go back to his duties and the people relying upon him.
Chapter One
Planet 00000000 (Zero), Palace of Eternity
“Floor’s a bit unnerving, yeah?” Zon grinned.
“Yeah,” Valendel agreed, unable to take his eyes from it. The floor of the Palace of Eternity was famous across galaxies, mostly because no one had ever quite been able to duplicate its splendor. It was made from a special glass, immune to scuffs and scratches, slow to wear, and perfectly clear. Beneath the glass was water, filled with colorful plants and fish, diminutive castles and other such decorations. It gave all who traveled across it the impression they were walking on water; that below them was a much smaller, less significant world. “It’s something.”
Around him the group of men he was with chuckled, all of them well familiar with the famous floor and enjoying the rare sight of a new visitor young enough to show how impressed he was.
Valendel felt his cheeks heat and looked away, casting his gaze across the room as they began to move again, traveling straight down the grand hallway, people stepping aside for them to pass, and on toward the rooms they would be using the length of their stay.
“Here we go,” Zon said and keyed in a code faster than Valendel could follow. The door swished open to reveal a salon of sorts, decorated in a rich deep red with black and gold accents. The furniture was all long, twisting and deep, meant to seduce its occupants into never moving again. “Royal Rooms, we call them. I think there’s probably a fancier name.” He shrugged, fingers drumming restlessly on his thigh, light catching the profusion of metal in his dark skin and hair. “If you need anything, just ring for help. I’m going back to my ship, unless you need anything else from me. The rest of the group is around here somewhere…”
Valendel half-listened to the conversation that continued, smooth Coni accents mingling with the rougher non-accent of Zon, the more modulated accents of the scientist who had traveled with them. He was more interested in what Zon had said – ‘the rest of the group is around’ – was Dr. Bikendi here? Valendel felt his heart speed up at the thought. To finally meet the man himself. Surely he was dreaming.
Dr. Itzal Bikendi was one of the most respected scientists in the world, famous throughout all four quadrants for his work with genetics, evolution, and a specialty in mutations. Like he was. Notoriously reclusive, somehow High Chancellor Kavalerov had convinced him to leave his private studies and attend the debate over the Draconis.
After terms and terms of work in their different quadrants and planets, the members of the High Chancellor’s hand-picked team would be meeting at Zero. They would meet the opposition, those who though the Draconis should be annihilated rather than saved. In a matter of days, the debate would begin.
For terms his part of the team had been railing about the High Chancellor’s habit of keeping everything to himself. Only the High Chancellor knew all the members of his team and what precisely they were doing. It wasn’t until a week ago that they’d known Dr. Bikendi himself would be here.
He still could not fathom it. Valendel had every book, every article, every paper Dr. Bikendi had ever published. Though he’d never been able to attend the man’s lectures, he’d watched them via data screen. He’d even read all the transcriptions, had read every book associated with Dr. Bikendi in anyway. It wasn’t just the research, the sheer brilliance of the scientist that drew him…it was the man himself, so afraid of his own power and strangeness that he’d holed up on some obscure moon and forbade anyone to visit. He was brilliant, powerful, and completely different.
Valendel had always quietly sympathized with the ‘different.’ There was no Draconis like him, and no one knew what his magics were – so far he’d not been able to use them. The theory was that they would be tapped when he matched. But his color and the strangeness of his unusable magics were not in the original coding. He was as much a mutant as it as possible to be.
He was crucial to the argument Pyotr’s team had been building. An argument Dr. Bikendi had been helping to build. Which meant he’d get to meet him. Perhaps it was stupid to be excited about something so trivial when the fate of his entire race was at stake…but for as long as he could remember he’d wanted to meet Dr. Bikendi. Ask him all the questions carefully compiled in the data pad that never left his side. Just listen to him speak of all he knew. Stars, he’d be happy if Dr. Bikendi just let him stand close and listen as he talked to everyone else.
Wandering down the hall, too restless to wait for the others, Valendel peeked into each of the open rooms, wondering if anyone would be offended if he just claimed one of them. Each had a single bed, meaning they wouldn’t have to share – that was a relief. He stopped at the end of the hall, at the last room, and shoved the door all the way open, stepping inside to more thoroughly explore.
It was as sumptuously decorated as the salon, but instead of red and gold it was done all in a softy, silvery gray and a darker fabric that shifted from blue to violet depending on the angle of light. The few lamps in the room had shades of blue and violet glass, and Valendel felt more strongly than ever that he was dreaming. No doubt in a few minutes he would wake up in his room, shivering because he’d left his window open again, stomach growling because he’d forgotten to eat.
“You must be Valendel,” a warm, pleasant voice said from behind him. Valendel spun around, then smiled and bowed. “You are Lady Jundel. It is an hour to meet you.”
Jundel smiled. “You are as exotic and pretty as I have been told, Valendel.”
“Please, Val is fine.” He ducked his head, feeling the heat in his dark cheeks. ‘Exotic and pretty.’ He would roll his eyes except he had desire to be rude to the Lady Jundel, a true star of the Draconis. Even the fact that her son had been convicted of murdering his own father had not dimmed the brightness of the woman who fought harder for the Draconis than anyone.
He was anything but ‘exotic and pretty.’ He knew what people called him. ‘Strange’ was usually the nicest epithet. The original coding the for the Draconis matched the lizards that had formed the base, meaning that Draconis color range should have been limited to red, green, yellow, brown, black, blue, orange, and of course albino white. Variations were of course possible, as other species had been drawn from to make the Draconis what they were.
No where, however, should violet have been even remotely possible. It was a color found in precious few species, and none of those had been involved in building the Draconis; not even remotely. Nor could it be blamed on his parents; he was full-blooded Draconis.
It was impossible for him to have pale lavender skin covered by dark lavender scales, dark lavender hair and pale violet eyes. Equally impossible was the fact that he seemed to have dormant magics.
Yet he existed, a strange, unfathomable purple mutant.
“You are kind, Lady Jundel.”
Jundel laughed. “There are many who would disagree with you. Have you met everyone?”
“Most of the team, yes I have.”
Jundel motioned him forward, her pale green scales glinting in the light. When Val reached her, she looped their arms together as though they were the greatest of friends. “Come and meet the rest then; I can assure you that all are most eager to meet the keystone of our argument. If we save our race, my darling, it will largely be due to you.” She patted his arm and smiled warmly. “The times ahead are going to be hard, for many reasons. Never forget how important you are to us, hmm?”
“Yes, Lady,” Val replied, feeing overwhelmed by the sudden, solemn words.
“I have heard through the chain that you are quite the student of Dr. Bikendi’s work. I believe his ship will be arriving in an hour or so.”
Val nodded, feeling hot and incapable of holding still. Dr. Bikendi. An hour. His fingers twitched, wanting to pull his data pad from the thigh pocket of his loose pants, reread all the questions he’d recorded, all his ideas and theories.
Not that such a famous scientist would waste time with a dumb kid, but he could hope…
Jundel’s soft chuckles broke into his thoughts and Val cringed. “My apologies.”
“None necessary,” Jundel said. “You remind me of my son. He loved science, and has immensely enjoyed his contact with so many for the purpose of saving the Draconis. Here we are.” She led him back into the luxurious sitting room and situated them on a long sofa, then poured two cups of tea. “Bangkok Dragon Flower,” she said, holding out a fragile-looking pale yellow tea cup filled with a dark pink liquid.
Gingerly Val accepted the cup and sipped the dark pink tea. It was surprisingly sweet, feeling almost thick on his tongue.
Jundel smiled. “Quite fine, is it not? I profess a weakness.”
Nearby, a man Val didn’t recognize chuckled and countered Jundel’s fondness, and the debate over tea soon expanded to include the entire room, until the nervous anxiety that had seemed to color everything eased a bit and the group of strangers began to relax.
Then a chime sounded. Jundel set down her tea. “Someone has arrived.”
A moment later the main door opened and a gold-scaled Draconis entered the room, followed by one with green scales who was instantly familiar. This was Mendel…which meant the gold-scaled one was Karmikel. Val felt his heart speed up as they approached. Two such notorious Draconis, and the Lady Jundel. He felt so insignificant next to such well-known persons. In a room full of famous and highly-respected people.
Stars, he should have stayed in his room.
Somehow he managed to murmur greetings, the two new Draconis as well as the humans and Fornarian that came in behind them…followed by a man he didn’t know but who screamed power and caused the rest of the room to fall into a startled silence.
Every last bit of the man said he was well-used to power, wealth, every luxury. He had fair skin and hair the color of dark Jupiter ink, his eyes like precious aquamarines. Handsome to the point he was almost but not quite pretty. He must be in his forties, but Val thought that at two hundred the man would still be handsome.
“Oh, my…” Jundel said softly beside him, her eyes fastened on the stranger as though unable to look away. She stood up and moved toward him. “I have never seen you, my lord, but I know you on sight anyway. They said you had retired to your moon and would never leave it.”
The man flashed a smile that was no small part of his fame. “My old friend the High Chancellor is persuasive.”
Val frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “I’m sorry if I’m rude.”
The man laughed. “There is a question I have never been asked. You are not rude, young man. I prefer directness.”
Jundel smiled and beckoned him forward, glaring at the laughs and titters that filled the room at Val’s question. “Valendel, may I present to you Tresnor Daie, the greatest lawyer the stars have ever seen.”
Val’s eyes widened. “Oh.” No wonder everyone was laughing at him. Tresnor Daie. The Lord of Bangkok, though he had retired to the moon of Bangkok when his wife died. His sons, known as the Jewels, saw to the active ruling of the infamous planet. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
Tresnor snorted and pulled a cigar case from a hidden pocket of his jacket. His suit was a pure, rich black made of Parthon silk, fine silver pinstripes adding a sharp gleam. A small black jewel gleamed on his left ring finger, its twin in his right ear. “Would anyone take offense if I smoke?”
“Only if you do not share, my lord,” Jundel said with a teasing smile.
“Oh?” Tresnor asked, quirking one fine, dark brow in amusement. He held out the case. “By all means, my lady.”
Jundel accepted the offer, selecting one of the short, thin, dark-blue cigars.
From just behind Tresnor stepped a short, slender man with dark, silvery hair – truly like silver, shining with a metallic gleam in the light. His eyes were dark blue, skin pale, features sharp. He had a severe, haunting beauty about him, enhanced by his solemn pain. He held a light to the cigar Jundel placed between her lips, then did the same for Tresnor.
“Call me Tresnor, please,” he said as he smiled at Jundel. “This is our star Draconis?” he said, motioning with his cigar at Val. “I can see why you cause such a stir.” He winked. “If you ever need a place, Bangkok would welcome you.”
Valendel stared.
“Leave the poor thing alone, Tresnor,” a voice said with dry amusement from behind them. Val really wished he’d just stayed hidden in his room. Now standing before him was the Grand Chancellor Arkadii Kavalerov himself. “You have more than enough pretty things on that planet of yours, stop stealing the few left to the rest of the stars.”
Tresnor chuckled but made no reply. “Is that our famed scientist standing behind you?”
“Yes,” the Grand Chancellor replied, stepping aside.
Val suddenly found it hard to breath, staring. Dr. Bikendi. Dark copper skin, pitch black hair touched with white, features striking rather than handsome and eyes—
Pain flashed through his head, flooded his body, turning into a deep, aching burn. As though he’d swallowed flames. It turned almost immediately into a bone-deep chill, and Val found it hard to stand. Hot. Cold. Then he began to feel things he’d never felt before, but knew all the same. Magics.
Then realization flooded him, blending with supreme happiness. Matched. He was matched. To Dr. Bikendi.
“Stars, where is that good for nothing Pyotr,” Bikendi snarled, glaring hatefully around the room. “He did this on purpose.”
“Did what on purpose?” Jundel asked.
Val froze as dark purple eyes locked with his, bright with rage. What had he done wrong?
“That,” Bikendi said, pointing a figure accusingly at Val. “That bastard Pyotr knew good and well I’d match with that Draconis. No wonder I never knew there was a purple Draconis. He said there was a remarkable mutant…I should have known…that conniving bastard. I would have refused to help and he knew it.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Val said, stepping forward, anxious to do something, anything.
“Get away from me,” Bikendi snarled, stepping back, away, the anger in his face growing as he stared at Val. “I want nothing to do with you, and I will not forgive anyone for forcing a match upon me. Stars take you all, I hid on the moon for reasons. Now you have quadrupled the problem.” He turned sharply to the Grand Chancellor. “I hope your nephew is pleased with himself.” Snarling more curses, Bikendi stalked away from the group and from the room.
Val stared after him, fingers going to his precious data pad. He swallowed, blinked rapidly, and fled as quickly as he could from the sympathetic, pitying glances being directed his way.
Back in his room, he quickly locked the door and then sat clumsily down on his bed. Stared the floor without seeing it. A million times he’d thought about finally matching. What Draconis didn’t? A single moment changed their entire lives; a moment over which they had no control. Some changes were good, some bad. In all those imaginings, he’d never once ever dared to dream that he would match with Dr. Bikendi. The man was far beyond such fanciful thoughts.
So happy. For one brief moment he’d been so happy. Matched. To Dr. Bikendi. A secret, impossible dream come true.
Except Dr. Bikendi hated him.
Val buried his face in his pillow and recited formulas until he finally fell asleep.
Prologe and first chapter, though mind you they're still rough. The prologue I think I've posted the first part of before.
Meant to Be
Prologue
Planet 2154014 (Tredad), Chelsan Manor
“I hate uncontrolled climates. I never understood why anyone would choose to live here.”
“Sir,” the IG private said, ignoring the sour comments, “if you’ll come this way.”
“Yes, yes.”
Turning neatly on his heel, the private led the way across the small field, shoving easily through the snow, seeming not to notice the biting, howling wind that threw ice and snow in his face.
“I hate this confounded planet.”
“Ah, Lower Chancellor, you are at last arrived.”
The Lower Chancellor glowered at the speaker, a white-skinned human with dark green eyes and military-trim brown hair. He wore the dark blue uniform of IG soldiers, with the marks of a Captain and the tri-star crest of those who did interplanetary work. “Captain September,” he said, voice as cold as the storm outside. “Everyone is being remarkably unhelpful in explaining to me why I have been dragged back to this freezing hell.”
“Knowing you, they were too terrified,” September said bluntly.
Rolling his eyes, the Lower Chancellor shucked off his cumbersome fur-lined coat and gloves, then sat to strip off his snow boots. He was a stern looking man, medium-blond hair trimmed short, wispy strands falling over his forehead. His pale blue eyes were cool, at complete odds with the impatience obvious in his tone and manner. He was slender, and taller than everyone else in the room. Smoothing out his steel gray sweater and black slacks, he accepted a steaming mug from a private and then finally returned his attention to the patiently waiting September. “So let’s have an end to the mysteries.”
“She murdered her husband and then killed herself,” September said. “We are still determining motive.”
The Lower Chancellor frowned. “Bloody idiot. What was she thinking?” He grimaced in disgust. “Of course she wasn’t thinking, when did that fool ever think? How?”
“Knife. She stabbed him several times and then slit her wrists.”
“How typical of her,” the Lower Chancellor replied, though he could not keep the horror completely from his face. He frowned into his drink, then pinned his pale blue eyes on September. “Why could this not simply be reported to me back at Zero?”
Silence. September stared at him, clearly surprised. “I know you did not speak with your sister often, sir, but surely you knew…”
“My sister and I were dead to each other. What do I not know that was so important it woke me up and forced me to rearrange several days’ worth of work and meetings?”
September looked almost panicked. “Sir…you’re his only surviving relative.”
The Lower Chancellor went still, then slowly and carefully set his mug down. “Only surviving relative?”
“Your sister had a son.” September motioned to a door at the far end of the room. “He and his caretaker were the ones to find the body…”
“Leave it to my sister to be that cruel to her own child. At least she didn’t kill the boy as well.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair agitatedly. “What am I supposed to do with a child?” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then released it as a long slow sigh. “No wonder no one wanted to tell me anything,” he muttered Striding across the room, he shoved open the door September had indicated – then stopped.
The boy curled up in a large chair, sobbing hard enough to make himself sick, looked so much like himself at that age it was terrifying. The Lower Chancellor hastily withdrew, wholly unprepared to deal with the situation. He was a Lower Chancellor, well on his way to High Chancellor. His sister had always fallen just short of being dragged off to Rehab. He’d managed to escape his worthless family. She had reveled in being part of it.
What was he supposed to do with her child? The easiest recourse would be to have the boy shipped off to where he could be cared for, educated, and eventually adopted. Wash his hands of his infernal family once and for all.
But the sobs tore at him. How many nights had he done the very same thing as a boy, growing up in the scummiest parts of Tredad with a family that had thrived in the scum?
He couldn’t bring himself to do that to this boy, though how he was going to raise a child only the stars knew. The Lower Chancellor sighed. “What’s his name?”
September looked at him in surprise. “So you’re going to take him?”
The Lower Chancellor sighed. “I might be a bastard, Captain, but even I am not so cruel as to abandon a child. I repeat – what is the boy’s name?”
“Pyotr.”
Twenty years later
Planet 000000 (Zero), Palace of Eternity
There was blood everywhere. The bodies. The floor.
The screaming young man who wouldn’t let go of his dead parents, his stunningly-beautiful features twisted by shock, fear and pain. He clung to his mother and father, oblivious to the blood that covered him, soaked into his silk robes, his long, unbound hair. Tears streamed down his face and his voice was already getting raw and hoarse from screaming and sobbing. Pale skin turned into a sick pallor and everyone watching wondered that the poor thing hadn’t already passed out.
Several people tried to drag him away as the authorities and medics arrived, but no one succeeded. Every time they tried, long, sharp nails raked whatever flesh they found first. Minutes passed as people hovered, uncertain what to do, until at last one man broke through the crowds and dropped down beside the screaming young man.
Nails lashed out as the man tried to pull the boy away, but they couldn’t get through the heavy brocade of his formal jackets, and eventually the sobbing young man was at last torn away from the bodies he’d refused to let go.
“Jade, shh, Jade…I’ve got you.”
Collapsing into his arm, Jade sobbed harder than ever, choking and gasping for breath but unable to stop sobbing long enough to truly breathe. “Go-Gory—“
“Jade, hush. Calm down.”
Anger let him breathe. “Calm down! I cannot calm down! How dare you when they-they-they-“ The shouting abruptly turned into a moaning sob, and Jade collapsed into the arms of the man who held him.
Gory Cohen smiled at the tall, pale man who had sedated Jade. “Thank you, Pyotr.”
“Of course Lower Chancellor. Shall I take him for you?”
“Yes, please. Put him in my rooms here, and I will take him home shortly. Stars, I hope Cyan…”
Pyotr nodded and lifted the slender boy into his arm, barreling his way through the crowds that parted for the solemn looking man. He towered over most of them, his fine hair nearly white, eyes a sharp, pale blue. In the black and silver uniform of the Infinitum Government, he made a stunning sight. In his arms, Jade Alexander was slender and fine-boned, far too beautiful for his tender sixteen years. Tears smudged his face, still so tense even as he lay sedated.
Ignoring the fervor around him, Pyotr continued through the halls of the palace until he finally left the panicked crowd behind, wending his way until he reached a suite of rooms that opened at his touch. Inside, the warm scent of vanilla and clover filled rooms richly appointed in deep lavender and dark honey-gold.
Gingerly he laid Jade out on a plush settee, then smoothed back his gold-brown hair. He grimaced at the bloodstained clothes and began to strip away the outer robes, leaving Jade in only his pants and short under tunic. Tenderly he wiped away the drying tears, splashes of blood, murmuring softly as Jade made the most piteous, heart-wrenching noises.
When the cries only worsened, Pyotr bundled the young man close, offering all the comfort he could. “Jade…”
The sound of doors opening and closing, strained voices speaking in terse, anxious tones, drove him to set Jade back down upon the couch, though he held fast to Jade's hand.
“Pyotr,” Gory said, face tight with strain and misery. “Thank you for your help. I will take him home now.”
“Yes, Lower Chancellor.” Pyotr obediently stood and watched as Cohen ordered an Authority to pick the boy up, then led the way from his rooms. Once they were gone, he forced himself into motion, to go back to his duties and the people relying upon him.
Chapter One
Planet 00000000 (Zero), Palace of Eternity
“Floor’s a bit unnerving, yeah?” Zon grinned.
“Yeah,” Valendel agreed, unable to take his eyes from it. The floor of the Palace of Eternity was famous across galaxies, mostly because no one had ever quite been able to duplicate its splendor. It was made from a special glass, immune to scuffs and scratches, slow to wear, and perfectly clear. Beneath the glass was water, filled with colorful plants and fish, diminutive castles and other such decorations. It gave all who traveled across it the impression they were walking on water; that below them was a much smaller, less significant world. “It’s something.”
Around him the group of men he was with chuckled, all of them well familiar with the famous floor and enjoying the rare sight of a new visitor young enough to show how impressed he was.
Valendel felt his cheeks heat and looked away, casting his gaze across the room as they began to move again, traveling straight down the grand hallway, people stepping aside for them to pass, and on toward the rooms they would be using the length of their stay.
“Here we go,” Zon said and keyed in a code faster than Valendel could follow. The door swished open to reveal a salon of sorts, decorated in a rich deep red with black and gold accents. The furniture was all long, twisting and deep, meant to seduce its occupants into never moving again. “Royal Rooms, we call them. I think there’s probably a fancier name.” He shrugged, fingers drumming restlessly on his thigh, light catching the profusion of metal in his dark skin and hair. “If you need anything, just ring for help. I’m going back to my ship, unless you need anything else from me. The rest of the group is around here somewhere…”
Valendel half-listened to the conversation that continued, smooth Coni accents mingling with the rougher non-accent of Zon, the more modulated accents of the scientist who had traveled with them. He was more interested in what Zon had said – ‘the rest of the group is around’ – was Dr. Bikendi here? Valendel felt his heart speed up at the thought. To finally meet the man himself. Surely he was dreaming.
Dr. Itzal Bikendi was one of the most respected scientists in the world, famous throughout all four quadrants for his work with genetics, evolution, and a specialty in mutations. Like he was. Notoriously reclusive, somehow High Chancellor Kavalerov had convinced him to leave his private studies and attend the debate over the Draconis.
After terms and terms of work in their different quadrants and planets, the members of the High Chancellor’s hand-picked team would be meeting at Zero. They would meet the opposition, those who though the Draconis should be annihilated rather than saved. In a matter of days, the debate would begin.
For terms his part of the team had been railing about the High Chancellor’s habit of keeping everything to himself. Only the High Chancellor knew all the members of his team and what precisely they were doing. It wasn’t until a week ago that they’d known Dr. Bikendi himself would be here.
He still could not fathom it. Valendel had every book, every article, every paper Dr. Bikendi had ever published. Though he’d never been able to attend the man’s lectures, he’d watched them via data screen. He’d even read all the transcriptions, had read every book associated with Dr. Bikendi in anyway. It wasn’t just the research, the sheer brilliance of the scientist that drew him…it was the man himself, so afraid of his own power and strangeness that he’d holed up on some obscure moon and forbade anyone to visit. He was brilliant, powerful, and completely different.
Valendel had always quietly sympathized with the ‘different.’ There was no Draconis like him, and no one knew what his magics were – so far he’d not been able to use them. The theory was that they would be tapped when he matched. But his color and the strangeness of his unusable magics were not in the original coding. He was as much a mutant as it as possible to be.
He was crucial to the argument Pyotr’s team had been building. An argument Dr. Bikendi had been helping to build. Which meant he’d get to meet him. Perhaps it was stupid to be excited about something so trivial when the fate of his entire race was at stake…but for as long as he could remember he’d wanted to meet Dr. Bikendi. Ask him all the questions carefully compiled in the data pad that never left his side. Just listen to him speak of all he knew. Stars, he’d be happy if Dr. Bikendi just let him stand close and listen as he talked to everyone else.
Wandering down the hall, too restless to wait for the others, Valendel peeked into each of the open rooms, wondering if anyone would be offended if he just claimed one of them. Each had a single bed, meaning they wouldn’t have to share – that was a relief. He stopped at the end of the hall, at the last room, and shoved the door all the way open, stepping inside to more thoroughly explore.
It was as sumptuously decorated as the salon, but instead of red and gold it was done all in a softy, silvery gray and a darker fabric that shifted from blue to violet depending on the angle of light. The few lamps in the room had shades of blue and violet glass, and Valendel felt more strongly than ever that he was dreaming. No doubt in a few minutes he would wake up in his room, shivering because he’d left his window open again, stomach growling because he’d forgotten to eat.
“You must be Valendel,” a warm, pleasant voice said from behind him. Valendel spun around, then smiled and bowed. “You are Lady Jundel. It is an hour to meet you.”
Jundel smiled. “You are as exotic and pretty as I have been told, Valendel.”
“Please, Val is fine.” He ducked his head, feeling the heat in his dark cheeks. ‘Exotic and pretty.’ He would roll his eyes except he had desire to be rude to the Lady Jundel, a true star of the Draconis. Even the fact that her son had been convicted of murdering his own father had not dimmed the brightness of the woman who fought harder for the Draconis than anyone.
He was anything but ‘exotic and pretty.’ He knew what people called him. ‘Strange’ was usually the nicest epithet. The original coding the for the Draconis matched the lizards that had formed the base, meaning that Draconis color range should have been limited to red, green, yellow, brown, black, blue, orange, and of course albino white. Variations were of course possible, as other species had been drawn from to make the Draconis what they were.
No where, however, should violet have been even remotely possible. It was a color found in precious few species, and none of those had been involved in building the Draconis; not even remotely. Nor could it be blamed on his parents; he was full-blooded Draconis.
It was impossible for him to have pale lavender skin covered by dark lavender scales, dark lavender hair and pale violet eyes. Equally impossible was the fact that he seemed to have dormant magics.
Yet he existed, a strange, unfathomable purple mutant.
“You are kind, Lady Jundel.”
Jundel laughed. “There are many who would disagree with you. Have you met everyone?”
“Most of the team, yes I have.”
Jundel motioned him forward, her pale green scales glinting in the light. When Val reached her, she looped their arms together as though they were the greatest of friends. “Come and meet the rest then; I can assure you that all are most eager to meet the keystone of our argument. If we save our race, my darling, it will largely be due to you.” She patted his arm and smiled warmly. “The times ahead are going to be hard, for many reasons. Never forget how important you are to us, hmm?”
“Yes, Lady,” Val replied, feeing overwhelmed by the sudden, solemn words.
“I have heard through the chain that you are quite the student of Dr. Bikendi’s work. I believe his ship will be arriving in an hour or so.”
Val nodded, feeling hot and incapable of holding still. Dr. Bikendi. An hour. His fingers twitched, wanting to pull his data pad from the thigh pocket of his loose pants, reread all the questions he’d recorded, all his ideas and theories.
Not that such a famous scientist would waste time with a dumb kid, but he could hope…
Jundel’s soft chuckles broke into his thoughts and Val cringed. “My apologies.”
“None necessary,” Jundel said. “You remind me of my son. He loved science, and has immensely enjoyed his contact with so many for the purpose of saving the Draconis. Here we are.” She led him back into the luxurious sitting room and situated them on a long sofa, then poured two cups of tea. “Bangkok Dragon Flower,” she said, holding out a fragile-looking pale yellow tea cup filled with a dark pink liquid.
Gingerly Val accepted the cup and sipped the dark pink tea. It was surprisingly sweet, feeling almost thick on his tongue.
Jundel smiled. “Quite fine, is it not? I profess a weakness.”
Nearby, a man Val didn’t recognize chuckled and countered Jundel’s fondness, and the debate over tea soon expanded to include the entire room, until the nervous anxiety that had seemed to color everything eased a bit and the group of strangers began to relax.
Then a chime sounded. Jundel set down her tea. “Someone has arrived.”
A moment later the main door opened and a gold-scaled Draconis entered the room, followed by one with green scales who was instantly familiar. This was Mendel…which meant the gold-scaled one was Karmikel. Val felt his heart speed up as they approached. Two such notorious Draconis, and the Lady Jundel. He felt so insignificant next to such well-known persons. In a room full of famous and highly-respected people.
Stars, he should have stayed in his room.
Somehow he managed to murmur greetings, the two new Draconis as well as the humans and Fornarian that came in behind them…followed by a man he didn’t know but who screamed power and caused the rest of the room to fall into a startled silence.
Every last bit of the man said he was well-used to power, wealth, every luxury. He had fair skin and hair the color of dark Jupiter ink, his eyes like precious aquamarines. Handsome to the point he was almost but not quite pretty. He must be in his forties, but Val thought that at two hundred the man would still be handsome.
“Oh, my…” Jundel said softly beside him, her eyes fastened on the stranger as though unable to look away. She stood up and moved toward him. “I have never seen you, my lord, but I know you on sight anyway. They said you had retired to your moon and would never leave it.”
The man flashed a smile that was no small part of his fame. “My old friend the High Chancellor is persuasive.”
Val frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “I’m sorry if I’m rude.”
The man laughed. “There is a question I have never been asked. You are not rude, young man. I prefer directness.”
Jundel smiled and beckoned him forward, glaring at the laughs and titters that filled the room at Val’s question. “Valendel, may I present to you Tresnor Daie, the greatest lawyer the stars have ever seen.”
Val’s eyes widened. “Oh.” No wonder everyone was laughing at him. Tresnor Daie. The Lord of Bangkok, though he had retired to the moon of Bangkok when his wife died. His sons, known as the Jewels, saw to the active ruling of the infamous planet. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
Tresnor snorted and pulled a cigar case from a hidden pocket of his jacket. His suit was a pure, rich black made of Parthon silk, fine silver pinstripes adding a sharp gleam. A small black jewel gleamed on his left ring finger, its twin in his right ear. “Would anyone take offense if I smoke?”
“Only if you do not share, my lord,” Jundel said with a teasing smile.
“Oh?” Tresnor asked, quirking one fine, dark brow in amusement. He held out the case. “By all means, my lady.”
Jundel accepted the offer, selecting one of the short, thin, dark-blue cigars.
From just behind Tresnor stepped a short, slender man with dark, silvery hair – truly like silver, shining with a metallic gleam in the light. His eyes were dark blue, skin pale, features sharp. He had a severe, haunting beauty about him, enhanced by his solemn pain. He held a light to the cigar Jundel placed between her lips, then did the same for Tresnor.
“Call me Tresnor, please,” he said as he smiled at Jundel. “This is our star Draconis?” he said, motioning with his cigar at Val. “I can see why you cause such a stir.” He winked. “If you ever need a place, Bangkok would welcome you.”
Valendel stared.
“Leave the poor thing alone, Tresnor,” a voice said with dry amusement from behind them. Val really wished he’d just stayed hidden in his room. Now standing before him was the Grand Chancellor Arkadii Kavalerov himself. “You have more than enough pretty things on that planet of yours, stop stealing the few left to the rest of the stars.”
Tresnor chuckled but made no reply. “Is that our famed scientist standing behind you?”
“Yes,” the Grand Chancellor replied, stepping aside.
Val suddenly found it hard to breath, staring. Dr. Bikendi. Dark copper skin, pitch black hair touched with white, features striking rather than handsome and eyes—
Pain flashed through his head, flooded his body, turning into a deep, aching burn. As though he’d swallowed flames. It turned almost immediately into a bone-deep chill, and Val found it hard to stand. Hot. Cold. Then he began to feel things he’d never felt before, but knew all the same. Magics.
Then realization flooded him, blending with supreme happiness. Matched. He was matched. To Dr. Bikendi.
“Stars, where is that good for nothing Pyotr,” Bikendi snarled, glaring hatefully around the room. “He did this on purpose.”
“Did what on purpose?” Jundel asked.
Val froze as dark purple eyes locked with his, bright with rage. What had he done wrong?
“That,” Bikendi said, pointing a figure accusingly at Val. “That bastard Pyotr knew good and well I’d match with that Draconis. No wonder I never knew there was a purple Draconis. He said there was a remarkable mutant…I should have known…that conniving bastard. I would have refused to help and he knew it.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Val said, stepping forward, anxious to do something, anything.
“Get away from me,” Bikendi snarled, stepping back, away, the anger in his face growing as he stared at Val. “I want nothing to do with you, and I will not forgive anyone for forcing a match upon me. Stars take you all, I hid on the moon for reasons. Now you have quadrupled the problem.” He turned sharply to the Grand Chancellor. “I hope your nephew is pleased with himself.” Snarling more curses, Bikendi stalked away from the group and from the room.
Val stared after him, fingers going to his precious data pad. He swallowed, blinked rapidly, and fled as quickly as he could from the sympathetic, pitying glances being directed his way.
Back in his room, he quickly locked the door and then sat clumsily down on his bed. Stared the floor without seeing it. A million times he’d thought about finally matching. What Draconis didn’t? A single moment changed their entire lives; a moment over which they had no control. Some changes were good, some bad. In all those imaginings, he’d never once ever dared to dream that he would match with Dr. Bikendi. The man was far beyond such fanciful thoughts.
So happy. For one brief moment he’d been so happy. Matched. To Dr. Bikendi. A secret, impossible dream come true.
Except Dr. Bikendi hated him.
Val buried his face in his pillow and recited formulas until he finally fell asleep.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-18 01:16 am (UTC)The screaming young man who wouldn’t let go of his dead parents, his stunningly-beautiful features twisted by shock, fear and pain. He clung to his mother and father, oblivious to the blood that covered him, soaked into his silk robes, his long, unbound hair. Tears streamed down his face and his voice was already getting raw and hoarse from screaming and sobbing.
Urgghh. The raw emotions and grittiness of this scene just slays me. It paints such a vivid picture in my mind that i actually want to draw it, which leads me to a question: Would you mind if I drew the scene and asked about, eh.. 30 or so questions to try and get the details right?
no subject
Date: 2007-01-18 01:17 am (UTC)I would not mind a bit. You can ask here, email, or ping me on aim. I'm there, just invisible.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 05:21 am (UTC)Jade is wearing "silk robes." So what style of robe is this? Robe covers such a broad range of possibilities I'm not sure exactly which style to draw. On the same topic how are they fastened? Do you have any specific colours or colour schemes in mind? And are they patterned, and if so, what type of pattern?
When you say "long, unbound hair," exactly how long is long? A rough estimate relative to the body would be useful here because I've seem "long" used to refer to anything from chest-length and down. Also, about the colour. It's stated that he has "gold-brown hair" which is nifty, but do you have any specific thoughts on what the undertones are? Is it more yellow gold based, or red gold? Is it a hazel brown, a more earthy brown, or some other brown? If you have a picture of the colour you were thinking of that's probaby be the easiest to work with. Not to mention I'm not sure how dark "gold-brown" should be. Also, what is the texture of his hair? I've been thinking straight, but now would be the time to correct me if I'm wrong.
Just to double-check and clarify: Jade has pale skin, right? That's what i remember, but I haven't had time to go look up the description in Kidnapped. And again I'm wondering if you had a specific undertone/tint in mind. Often people with pale skin have either a pinkish, blueish, peach or slightly gold cast to it since no one is actually pure white and grey is terrible for shading if you want it to look alive.
You mention that Jade has his "long, sharp nails " and again I'm curious about specifics. Do you have any idea of about how long they are? Also, in later years they are painted, are they at his time too? And if so, what colour?
Moving on to background stuff.
What was Jade's position relative to his parents when they got shot?
I've been assuming they were shot from the from front meaning the bodies fell backwards, is this correct? And where were they shot, head, chest, multiple wounds?
A quick description of the parents (hair colour, general body shape and height/size relative to Jade) and their clothing would be nifty as well.
Oh, I nearly forgot. Footwear. What kind of shoes are they, and Jade wearing? I'm not sure this will be used, but it might.
Background. i doubt I'll do anythign detailed with this, but what is the basic setting and colour scheme? If it's a specific type of architecture that'd be useful too. Mm, and di you have any specific thoughts on the floor? Colour, type of flooring etc.
This is kind of extra, but hey I might draw another picture.
Jade's height relative to Pyotr.
What style are the IG uniforms? And where is the "black and silver" on them distributed? I've been imagining mostly black with silver accents.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 05:22 am (UTC)Sorry.