Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 5.4

"Hands up where we can see them." A stern voice bled off behind a muzzle, one that was trained towards Page...and Dara. Their gut sank. They couldn't imagine what Page must be feeling. What was happening? Dara didn't do anything. Well, if sneaking an outsider into basecamp counted, perhaps they actually did. But it would be a problem for the counselor to sort, and not...soldiers. "We have orders to eliminate on sight."

Dara jumped in front of Page, waving their arms to get the soldier's attention. They squinted at the entire platoon spread out in front of the gadgetry tent as if to block their exit. Peeking past the tight, suit-like armor was red skin. Dara's gut sank further. The Rohai-rau. What were they doing here, in a neutral basecamp? The Sivr-id were supposed to be a race that didn't corroborate with violence of the nonsense the Rohai-rau perpetuated.

"I did not turn the Viz'ni in," Dara blurted. "How did you find them?"

Someone shouldered past the array of armed soldiers. Small, hunkered stature, the spotless white robe, the sunset-pink skin, and the conspiratorial gaze trained to Dara—it was none other than the counselor themself. "You are to thank for that, young Sivr-id," the counselor said, their hands tucked behind them by habit. "Without you, the Rohai-rau would have missed the Viz'ni Doix. While I am against smuggling outsiders into our basecamp, I have to commend you for luring them here."

Dara whirled to Page, expecting to find some resistance or rage in the Viz'ni's face. When they found none, they turned back to the counselor who fanned themselves with their hands. "No heavy feelings, Doix," the counselor said to Page. "I am merely doing what is best for my territory, and turning you over to the Rohai-rau now will ensure our existence tomorrow." The counselor jerked their chin at Dara. "This is for you as well, my young Sivr-id."

A hand clamped on Dara's shoulder, stopping the torrent of thoughts and glitches in reasoning blossoming from the back of their mind. They whirled to find Page stepping forward. Dark eyes swiveled to the side, followed by a weak smile from Page. It didn't even occur to Dara how hard they were clenching their hands until Page smoothed the pressure out with a light brush. "I know what you're doing in that scrapyard," Page whispered, their breath tickling Dara's ear. "You are sent to look for my kind, are you not?"

Dara opened their mouth, but their words died in their throat. Of course, every Sivr-id were to report to their counselors if they encountered anyone who weren't Rohai-rau, but Dara had purposefully left out Page's name for a simple reason—Page was interesting. They weren't like the Viz'nir Dara had encountered before, and maybe—just maybe—Dara wasn't looking to do more harm in this stupid war between races they were too naive and stupid to grasp fully.

"I do not hold it against you. You have done nothing wrong. I even have to thank you for your help." Page raised their arms, daring the Rohai-rau soldiers to shoot. "But for the next part, I apologize in advance."

Before Dara could ask the reason for the apology, their eyes landed on a metal stick in Page's hand. It connected to a wire which disappeared into the gadgetry tent. A detonator. No way—

"I am sorry, Dara," Page said with a sad smile. Then, their finger jammed on the detonator's only button.

The world exploded into a haze of orange, red, and yellow—a perfect sunset if not for the blazing heat.