The Aviator Awakening

Terr’s altered midnight frame blended convincingly into the hub’s dark interior. His Imperial bands showed proudly, glinting against muscled arms while he sulked into the shadows. “You don’t take the security measures as seriously as you should,” he scolded. “He’s dangerous.”

“He hasn’t done anything—,” Amara’s defense broke as soon as Terr raised a silent eyebrow, “—um, recently,” her words trailed off as she recalled Nerzogk’s bruises at the start of the project.

Terr’s frown deepened. “This lrend training is only making the asset more dangerous. Seriously, you need to be more careful. You’re already under scrutiny because of bringing that plasma knife into the unit on your first visit. If you keep this up, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Amara protested. “Besides, it’s not as if they would actually deport me. Your infuriating department hasn’t given any of us space to breathe since the start of this project. They’d kill me before considering sending me off to Nes-Fedora on probation while this case is active.”

Terrokk broke eye contact, and his voice softened into a whisper. “Don’t overvalue yourself. They’re not messing around with this one. You’re an excellent operative. Even so—you’re not far off with your guess about the extreme measures that might be taken.”

“They wouldn’t seriously consider offing me. They don’t have enough pawns to toss any of us aside.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Amara glared at him. “Don’t joke about this.” She slumped against the hub’s control panel. “You didn’t have to tell them about that slip-up back then, you know.”

“It’s my job.”

Amara scrunched her nose at him.

“It was caught on surveillance,” he muttered. “There’s a limit on how much I can cover for you. Not to mention that I won’t always be around to watch your back.”

Amara sighed and softened her stance. It didn’t make sense to guard herself against someone she’d once considered her dearest friend. “He was barely able to walk. What could he have done? Besides, that was long enough ago.”

“That’s not the point. The protocols are in place for a reason. He’s valuable. And unstable. You know that.”

“It’s been made abundantly fucking clear,” Amara scoffed as she slipped her plasma pocket-knife from her belt, twirling it to distract herself from the dismal reality facing every human in this day and age. The red edge on the blade gave the dark hub a soft glow. Terr’s white gemmed armband caught the light, more visible in the dark than the rest of his frame. And, in the dark, she could nearly imagine him as the man she once knew, picturing his smooth pale skin instead of his current transformed texture. Her body heated with intimate memories. Then cooled like the muted essence of his scent as he approached her with an unamused frown. The dim light from the holos and her plasma knife finally gave him shape, and she met eyes she didn’t fully recognize anymore.

“You brought that in there? Again?”

“I forgot I had it.” Amara deflected with a shrug. It was the change in his scent that discomforted her the most. Fewer musk glands after the transition. She was getting used to seeing his altered body—but every now and then she simply didn’t know who she was speaking to anymore.

Terr rubbed his brow. “Leave it here, ‘Mara. I won’t say anything about it this time.”

Amara ignored his demand and spun the plasma knife in her usual way, daring him to confiscate it.

Terr’s hand dropped from his brow with a sigh. “Fine. Keep it.” He fixed her with a stern gaze. “I know you don’t agree with the asset’s containment measures, but they are what they are.”

“Why do you insist on calling him that? He’s one of us. Not a tool.”

“We’re all tools,” Terrokk muttered.

A shiver ran down Amara’s spine. “Hasn’t he basically been cleared back into operative ranks? Why do the precautionary measures need to be so extreme?”

Terr’s vorgonized voice dropped an octave, getting serious. “Even if he is cleared to return to the operatives, it’s in title only. And with all due respect, Amara, the council’s decisions have never been up to interpretation. You have no right to modify the terms.” He sighed and switched to speaking in old Fedorian, their secret way of passing messages when they’d been in the reserves. It sounded unnatural now with his altered voice. The words didn’t roll off his tongue like they should. “You’re indulging him. It’ll do him more harm than good in the long run. And you, too. Getting too involved with that asset won’t have a good outcome.”

Amara laughed, then responded in the same language, “Oh my Nirguard, you’re jealous.”

“I’m protective. There’s a difference.” His stern gaze hardened. Silence hung between them as he made sure she returned eye contact. “I know what’s waiting for him, how he’ll end up. You don’t want to get caught up in that mess when it falls apart.”

“What do you mean?” Amara reactivated her pocket-knife’s plasma edge. The transformed agent in front of her was increasingly incompatible with her memories of him.

“These new abilities weren’t the focus of the doctor’s procedure. They only distract from the bigger picture.” He ignored her activated knife and stepped in closer, whispering in her ear, his altered vocals harmonizing into a purr-like effect. “They’re all scrambling to figure out what to do with him. General Larkkon has somehow convinced enough of the council that the asset’s individual potential is worth exploring. But—Doctor Lsar is running low on specimens and unable to replicate her success. Which means she’ll need him back in the lab soon enough. That’s where he belongs. In the Research Department—not with the operatives. The rest of the council will be forced to agree as soon as their glimpse of vorgon revival starts to fade out of reach.”

“Isn’t this classified?” Amara asked, both glad and sad when he pulled away. She spun her plasma knife between her fingers to distract herself and keep him from reading her reaction.

“He’s been cooperating lately.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, ‘Mara.” His expression hardened like the metallic scales he’d had fused to his skull, and he switched back to speaking in Vorsone. “Stop treating the asset like he’s one of us. He’s not. He’s not like anything that’s lived before. Not even the Niribian Guard could do the shit he does. He’s a machine. An unreliable prototype. Get that through your head—before your fate gets tied in with his.”