aptap tap, it was a gentle rhythm. Tap, it sang. Tap-tap, it whispered.
The pendant of a woman's necklace, charred, ashen, beaten; a fragment of cloth caught in the wind; the melted husk of an action figure, wound up, snapping as it sputtered through its routine, struggling against the jagged edges of plastic warped by the heat.
Poppop-pop, sang a response in the distance. Then again. And again. Each time faster than the last, perforated now by shouting and more replies in the distance. The replies grew louder, now echoing off the walls of the intact corridors branching out from the shattered terminal; and as they did, chaos had been stoked, not unlike the flames that still spread from the heart of the airship port. As they grew louder, and as the voices behind them grew clearer, it was evident that the explosion was but the curtain rising.
A firefight had broken out.
Standing at the foot of a hulking ship, Kaneda kept an ear turned toward the terminal, listening for anything to use, for whatever guidepost was present to usher the three others along safely. The gunfire was expected. Draw Arkadian security's attention, then hold it for as long as possible.
Leave him and his to their task, THE task, the objective for which the toll had been paid.
The ship imposed on the landscape, even with the chaos that swept the port in the distance, it managed to consume the backdrop. It was a full four or five times larger than the other ships around it, built from large beams of metal more than wood or plasteel. Even sleeping, so to speak, it flaunted a veritable arsenal. In the skies above Tellus Mater, the ship would have been absent equal. It was a testament to the military might of the Alterion regime and the Masons behind the curtain.
Here in the port, silent, it bared its fangs, but like the four mounds of soldiers that were heaped at the foot its ramp, it had been found wanting. The distraction had called enough attention away. Little more than a token force. That was all that awaited them, to be dealt quickly, silently, and preferably without loss.
“We-- we're in,” the voice trembled from a few feet away. Tully, he said his name was. He'd been uncomfortable with the anonymity. The other two hadn't shared the sentiment. But, Kaneda felt a pang of pity; the four of them dealt with stress differently. Kaneda had long since honed the rush of adrenaline into a dagger. The other two bottled it up, shooting looks over their shoulders into the cold. They offered distrust and clung tightly to the hope that they'd escape the night. Tully, on the other hand, resigned himself to it, seeking companionship, even at the cost of being known and diminishing the hope of ever returning home.
Kaneda gave Tully a nod. It wasn't pity, no. It was admiration.
And regret.
With a pop-hiss, the door lifted to the darkness of the hold.
