The Quicksand Singularity ArQive: Array.init:0

A0T5.1 The Vampyre Syrenn (Part 1)

"Mine?" Hal scoffed, "Never. It is a name others gave her."

"Obviously. How it came about that others referred to her as such was rather more to the point."

"Until recently, she was Soulstar's Prime Gatherer."

Wander scowled. Ignominy was all that title ever carried with it. Those whose names were ever once associated carried that shame and disgrace even beyond the grave, passing diminished portions of it to their descendants. Looking into her eyes again, Wander understood the weight she carried. Once, long ago, he too had borne that burden. The world was different, then, back when Earth was all humanity had and those two words meant so much more than a convenient metaphor.

"What happened?" Wander asked, rubbing his chin.

"It's...not worth getting into," Hal said, with some hesitation.

"I need to know," Wander insisted.

"There was a...situation on New Rio," Hal answered, "I retained the services of a certain mercenary to handle it."

Bearfist, it would have been. The Great Unbroken, Hero of Monikyn, and the last man of any principle in New Rio. Wander had heard tales of this living legend; a warrior without equal, a lone gun prowling dark, long forgotten corners of New Rio at the behest of the Galaxy's wealthiest and most powerful. Somehow, though, as if to defy all that New Rio was, he had transcended even his trade. No petty mercenary was he, and what tasks he took were but the ferryman's fare—not to cross the Styx, but to plumb its depths and hack it its heart, writhing in its foetid abyss.

It was this, perhaps, that gave him success where others found only failure. Many had tried their hands hunting bounties on New Rio, and those who survived vowed never to make the same mistake twice. Bearfist, though...he had done what was considered impossible, and knew well its value.

"And Bearfist's Price was The Weathermaster?"

"Had I known the consequences—" Hal began.

"You would have handled it yourself?" Wander cut off, incredulously.

"The arrogance," Hal chuckled, assuming Wander's response.

"Hubris," Wander corrected, "it was wise of you to let he who has dedicated his entire life to the mastery of his craft ply it in your stead."

"Losing The Weathermaster was a high price to pay," Hal pointed out.

"Indeed," Wander agreed, "but perhaps it is fortuitous."

"How so?"

"It is a hard task," Wander said, "what you had her do. It takes its toll. Think what manner of chaos and subsequent grief has been spared you by her resignation."

Hal sighed longingly. She did not need to remember what had happened all those ages ago. The stories he had told her throughout the epochs remained, and they were enough.

"I knew she wasn't well," Hal admitted, "had I known the price, it would have made it easier."

"But you know there was no ending to that chapter where she ever forgave you."

"Even First Marines are not without their struggles against the repugnant necessities of the world we live in," Hal sighed, sadly. "Would that I had the insight of my sister...."

"Hers was a blessing," Wander said, "never forget that."

"Every epoch, Wander. Tabula rasa but for a mote."

"That is the burden of the pact you made," Wander replied.

"Pax Deorum," Hal murmured.

"When Sedna and Silla went to war," Wander recalled.