It was a moment when time stood still.
I listened to the Armor's presentation of my new knives with such intensity the room faded until all that existed was Deson, myself and the
With great patience Deson explained the unique use for each of my new blade types, how they would react, what their specific uses were.
The holding pouch he made from bio-materials and was formed with me in mind as he was sure it would remain with me in morph so I’d have no trouble
with loosing the weapons if I had to evade a dangerous situation by blending into the surroundings.
The B.E.G’s knives I found most interesting as they’d deliver enough voltage to kill, but depending on how I used them they could stun a being
leaving them alive, disabled and easy to capture.
The Neo-Knife would poison, kill in 2 minutes, the Black-Mon’s would cut through anything - live or non.
Now the mantle of responsibility passed to me. Deson had done his part, now it was up to me to lean to throw them, a practice I’d dedicate myself
to willingly if not obsessively.
Directing me to his side Deson reached out with both hands and bending down slightly as if to bow he cupped his warm dry hands, one on each side of me
knee and from there, in tandem, began to moving up the skin of my inner thigh.
Where his hands came to rest circling my skin my flesh tingled and grew warm.
The Armor mumbled something under his breath before pulling his hands away to stand erect once more.
Bringing his fingers back together to form the ‘O’ - the girth of my leg - I now understood. He’d taken the measure of my thigh and was
eyeballing the circle between where his thumbs and his first fingers met in figuring the circumference.
Stepping out of my line of sight I tried not to think about the warmth of his hand and the liquid flush he’d caused to travel up my leg.
Returning, Deson bent almost double and this time instead of his hands touching me a soft material clung to my skin binding itself together tightly
but not uncomfortably.
Righting himself Deson explained the sheath was made of the same material as the ‘pouch’ and I shouldn’t loose it during morph, but, I may have
to practice. It would hold any of the knives, two if I used the keeper on the inside and the outside.
Laying his hand on my shoulder the Armour looked at me squarely, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to match his eyes. As the color climbed
up my cheeks I hoped Deson didn’t know his touch was responsible for my blush.
"Use them in good health, may they serve you well, may they strike true.’ He said solemnly. ’The weapons master back in my old Herd
told me the same thing when he gave me my first lance when he felt that I was ready.’ Deson said while tilting his head in almost a benediction.
Deson’s dropped his hand, and without another word moved back behind the working bench.
The spell was broken. I was back in the armory, the room in full view where I could see and hear Chumley making his way towards us from the rows of
weapons where he’d been making his choice of sidearm for our mission.
Deson, pleased with Chumley’s choices congratulated the guard and improved on them by supplying the perfect accouchement of projectiles.
Deson’s own weapon of choice was a stunning example of the Armors expertise. Refined and modified by and for the armor I hoped one day he’d allow
me to accompany him to the firing range so I could try out his personal ‘Vinny’ myself.
Our next surprise came in the form of a vehicle. Deson not only had designed the buggy for his own use but for my trips to Ship’s Center when long
distance ventures were called for.
Chumley, quite beyond himself at the arrival of the Waldo jumped into the drivers seat even as Deson indicated we should choose who drove. Admittedly
I was dying to get my hands on the control ‘sticks’ but my main reason for asking Chumley to move into the passenger seat was based on the mission
‘Chumley, move over.’ I commanded and to my shock the guard just gave me a dirty eyeball.
‘Look Chum, it’s either you drive, or, you ride Carbine.‘ I shot my eyebrows up and wiggled them at the guard. ‘You can’t do both. Now
choose.’ I knew his choice already but still held out my hand. ‘Give me your weapon and you drive, or, I drive and you...’
Chumley swung the Carbine as far away from me as he could without letting it go and moved over into the opposite seat as Deson jumped lightly onto the
back of the vehicle.
‘What’s that you posted on the door?’ I’d never seen anyone use paper to post on doors and I was too curious for courtesy, I wanted to know
what it read.
Deson gave me the chin to go look, I read the post and began to laugh. ‘We’re a long way from fishing in the Center Deson, a long way!’ But I
appreciated his humor and laughed again climbing into the driver’s seat of the Waldo.
‘Now tell me which way to drive so I don’t crush poor Carpet.’ I asked Deson for the back way to Ship’s Center so I didn’t have to take the
main halls. The driving sticks proved to be so simple to learn, he Waldo so responsive to my touch we moved off as smooth as if I’d been at the
‘Make your way to the back of this big bay, behind the weapon storage racks. There’s a connection to the storage bays from there and from the
storage bays we can move into Ship’s Center pretty much right where your new quarters are.’ Deson replied enjoying the ride and his new Waldo
being put to good use.
Chumley, hardly able to sit still in his seat kept making forward motions with his tentacles. He obviously wanted me to go faster.
No more encouragement was needed, I pressed forward on the sticks, the Waldo responded by lurching forward so even Deson had to scramble a bit to
Taking the corners wide and whipping back to hug the inner wall was no less than thrilling. After the second curve I don’t know what pleased me
more, Chumley's growing unease at the speed reached by the Waldo or Deson's uncharacteristic whoops of joy as we rounded each bend fishtailing
slightly on the slick unprotected floors.
‘The main storage door to the Center is your next on the left.’ Deson shouted from behind me even though the Waldo was surprisingly quiet as it
Not bothering to slow down, the door was still a clip or two ahead I couldn’t resist and put on a last burst of speed marveling at the Waldo as it
ate up the distance.
The next moment went from thrilling speed, to thrilling spills.
The door before us opened, a U-Man stepped out.
From where I was at the stick time slowed for the second time that day.
I saw the U-Man from the Penelope’s raiding party step into the path of the Waldo, the lights glaring across his eyes, the look of fright in the
man’s expression stood out in stark relief on his face.
Pulling back on the sticks with all my might my antenna vision caught Deson as he leap lightly from the Waldo to break into a gallop beside us. He
obviously knew what was coming and wanted no part of it.
The Waldo came to a noiseless halt so abruptly Chumley and I were launched from our seats and went soaring over the hood of the buggy.
Chumley landed first, the wind knocked out of him in an audible whoosh, his weapon went flying from his hands but Deson was there, caught the weapon
before it hit the ground and neatly spun in place to turn the muzzle on the U-man.
I fell on top of Chumley his bulk cushioning my landing where he was sprawled not a stride from the U-Man.
‘I’m going to have to adjust those breaks a bit I see.’ Deson said to no one in particular his aim of the Agnes never wavering from the
‘You going to give me a hand up?’ I reached for the U-man from where I sat on top of the winded Chumley not having a clue what else to say to the
raider who stared down at me with a look of surprise, relief and then recognition.
Edit by request
[edit on 4/8/09 by masqua]