Deep beneath the free city of Zion, something was stirring for a second time.
It began as a simple, distant rumble; no more than a whisper against the silence of the many dank caverns and ancient sewer ducts that lay beneath that place. It was unremarkable, without question.
That is, at first.
But then it began to wake.
Slowly and suddenly, the dim running lights along the sleek ebon-hued hull of the vessel flared to life, outlining the polished empty space along the steel that normally laid berth to the identification plate of such a hovercraft. With a shivering, electric crackle, the hover and stabilization pads along the sides of the vessel ignited on their own, one by one, their tendrils of blue-white lighting screaming outwards and along the metal of the ship and the surrounding cavern of rusted steel and corroding brass. The cockpit flickered to life behind the plated glass of the observation port, like a single speck of bright in a sea of moist, oppressive black. With a squealing of the metal landing struts retracting back into the lower hull of the vessel itself, the hovercraft, slowly, pulled itself from the floor of the massive, vaulted chamber; its exhaust vents spewing engine fumes like streamers of colored smoke.
Inside the cockpit, Chemuel eased the controls that she had once known so intimately into their proper positions and placements, the tactical holographic readouts that flashed about her outlining her innocent, adolescent features in a gentle blue-green glow of neon. The girl could feel the sleek, streamlined hovercraft creak of distant steel as it lifted itself slowly from the floor below it. It had been far too long since she had flown, Chemuel knew.
But she would about fixing that now that he was back.
"Feeling alright, sweetie?" a tinny voice crackled gently from an audio feed that lay welded directly into the console to Chemuel's right.
"Fine, Tam." Chemuel rested her slender fingertip over the primary thruster control for a moment before flipping the switch and bringing it online with a distant, mechanical rumble. "Just fine."
The tactical readout to the Masque's side flickered in response, shifting itself from the measurements of the nearby cavern bulkheads to the prismatic squiggle-equation that Chemuel knew to be the form that Tamur4 took within the Mainframe of this particular vessel. "C'mon baby, don't be that way. Tell me. I won't; I promise."
"If only you were programmed to make promises," Chemuel sighed in soft resignation. "Just worried, Tam. Just worried."
"About him?"
"Yeah."
The prisma-code leapt about in its place slightly across the surface of the small screen. "You know how he is, Chemmy. He's more than fine, I promise."
Chemuel eased the vessel forward, feeling the hull lurch in that familiar way beneath her bare feet. "Yeah, I know." But she was lying, and both of them knew it. Either way, now, Chemuel knew, only one thing was a certain thing. The Masquerade breathed once more.
And that, for now, was enough.
For now.
~V
It began as a simple, distant rumble; no more than a whisper against the silence of the many dank caverns and ancient sewer ducts that lay beneath that place. It was unremarkable, without question.
That is, at first.
But then it began to wake.
Slowly and suddenly, the dim running lights along the sleek ebon-hued hull of the vessel flared to life, outlining the polished empty space along the steel that normally laid berth to the identification plate of such a hovercraft. With a shivering, electric crackle, the hover and stabilization pads along the sides of the vessel ignited on their own, one by one, their tendrils of blue-white lighting screaming outwards and along the metal of the ship and the surrounding cavern of rusted steel and corroding brass. The cockpit flickered to life behind the plated glass of the observation port, like a single speck of bright in a sea of moist, oppressive black. With a squealing of the metal landing struts retracting back into the lower hull of the vessel itself, the hovercraft, slowly, pulled itself from the floor of the massive, vaulted chamber; its exhaust vents spewing engine fumes like streamers of colored smoke.
Inside the cockpit, Chemuel eased the controls that she had once known so intimately into their proper positions and placements, the tactical holographic readouts that flashed about her outlining her innocent, adolescent features in a gentle blue-green glow of neon. The girl could feel the sleek, streamlined hovercraft creak of distant steel as it lifted itself slowly from the floor below it. It had been far too long since she had flown, Chemuel knew.
But she would about fixing that now that he was back.
"Feeling alright, sweetie?" a tinny voice crackled gently from an audio feed that lay welded directly into the console to Chemuel's right.
"Fine, Tam." Chemuel rested her slender fingertip over the primary thruster control for a moment before flipping the switch and bringing it online with a distant, mechanical rumble. "Just fine."
The tactical readout to the Masque's side flickered in response, shifting itself from the measurements of the nearby cavern bulkheads to the prismatic squiggle-equation that Chemuel knew to be the form that Tamur4 took within the Mainframe of this particular vessel. "C'mon baby, don't be that way. Tell me. I won't; I promise."
"If only you were programmed to make promises," Chemuel sighed in soft resignation. "Just worried, Tam. Just worried."
"About him?"
"Yeah."
The prisma-code leapt about in its place slightly across the surface of the small screen. "You know how he is, Chemmy. He's more than fine, I promise."
Chemuel eased the vessel forward, feeling the hull lurch in that familiar way beneath her bare feet. "Yeah, I know." But she was lying, and both of them knew it. Either way, now, Chemuel knew, only one thing was a certain thing. The Masquerade breathed once more.
And that, for now, was enough.
For now.
~V
