Recombinant Bridgehead

Rush

Waves crashed upon a rock with the rhythm of a heartbeat, seemingly doing nothing to the impervious surface, but in fact, the patient sea was in the long process of carving. In time, the sharp edges would be round, and the coarse surface made smooth. Years upon years, the waters would have its way and reshape the old into something new.

Quaritch awoke from his dream feeling better than he ever did. His stress not only melted away in his nap, but he felt restored of all vitality like his body had been left to soak in a hot spring. It was nice, he thought, but his cogitations were interrupted when he took note of the subtle hum that vacillated in strength like the above lights. Quaritch observed the phenomenon, thinking the electricals were going "screwy," but then he noticed his bioluminescence—it was doing the same thing. He held out his arm for study. The optical effect appeared like waves were rolling across his forearm towards his chest, as stripping his shirt soon revealed. When he tracked the luminous rings closing in on his most vital organ, the unsettled man reacted by hastily redonning his tank. Quaritch sought to get to the bottom of the mystery. He stood in silence to trace the source. After discovering the hum was coming through the very wall he had been resting against, he set his ear upon it, but all he could discern was the creaking of metal—then his fingers began drumming on their own accord. Immediately, the Marine retracted. The wall was succumbing to some unseen force that warped and rattled the bulwark like foil. Quaritch shuffled so far back, with arms guarding his face in preparation for whatever might come bursting through, that he hit the opposite end. With nowhere to retreat and disaster imminent, the prisoner made himself small in preparation. In his scrunched position, he grabbed his head when the undulating infrastructure gave way in a plangent nightmare.

Only when the last clang reverberated into nothingness and the dominant electric hum reigned again did Quaritch unfold. Now, before him, was a gaping rupture, blown inward and revealing the contents of another cell. It was a sight that held him frozen. Glowing inside was a sphere of blue distortion, rippling with light. He squinted his eyes and detected a form at its center.

"What...the...hell...?"

Intrigue beckoned him closer to the Kiri girl, meditating like Buddha and thrumming her songcord—an action that seemed mechanical, as if her body was left on autopilot while she went off to dream. Around her, floating over the surface of the sphere, were objects of various shape and size. He leaned forward, squinting hard at the weightless wonders, which turned out to be captured bits of metal debris. Suddenly, an invisible hand snatched something around his neck and yanked. He was slammed against what remained of his wall, fingers gripping and dragging over serrated metal as he fought the pull. The culprit emerged from his shirt—his dog tags. The whole beaded chain was suspended in animation and taut in her direction. He growled from sheer pain and threw his head down last minute, letting the necklace slip off his head before it could decapitate him. It instantly flew towards her, where it was captured by the orb and lulled into a relaxed swim.

Quaritch slumped down behind the jagged crescent of his former wall. He went to work stripping himself of anything metal: his watch, his belt, even his boots—just to be safe. Down to his shirt and pants, he remerged before the sphinx with deliberation. He assessed the phenomena with staunch practicality: her forcefield was compromising the structure's integrity. Even if she had the potential god powers to atomize him, Quaritch had to get her to stop somehow. He tried shouting—no effect; it was like she was shut off from the world. By fate's cruel irony, he had to do the last thing that he wanted: get closer. He arched a leg over the rubble and let his bare toe connect with the ground—a surge of power rushed through him. He frantically slapped and stroked his arm until the sensation dissipated. Quaritch cupped his maw and pinched his lips in thought—another foreboding rumble; he had no time to hesitate. He bent low, ignoring the consequences, and proceeded, ever cautiously, to side-crawl towards the conjurer, ducking his head to avoid the speeding shrapnel careening for the sphere—little bits, here and there, streaking his skin as they ricocheted off his arm but found home again in her orbit. His foot slid onto the next tile, and the sphere reacted to his presence with a defence of a brighter light. Miles winced from the intensity of her aura—an aura so puissant it disturbed his innermost being and awoke the deepest fears inside his breast. Every memory, every emotion, every aspect of his character—all his impurities were stirred up and swirling around in the well of his soul, making him nauseous, yet he was compelled forward.