Previous chapters can be found at
http://home.earthlink.net/~tannim/index.html. Once again,
thanks go to Mark for pre-reading.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: gs4.txt
Disclaimer: You think I'm going to try to make money of off this? I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid.
Guardian's Soul
Chapter 4: Encounters, Plans, and Lessons... Oh my!
"Pretty," Conner observed, "what do we blow up first?"
Emeralda giggled, while Ranma and Deedlit groaned at the comment. The scenery was pleasant. Rolling hills and thick woods surrounded the REF outpost on the southwestern tip of England. It was even more pleasant in light of the fact that they had just arrived a few minutes ago, after spending several cramped hours in a transport shuttle. The transport they took to reach the outpost had lingered long enough to let them out, drop it's cargo pods, and pick up a second set of cargo pods before leaving. Most of the Veritech squadron had left with it. The four that remained were being serviced in the hanger below.
"That does seem to be our slogan sometimes, doesn't it," Ranma replied. "Remember the Repo-Bot squad?"
"If you four are done watching the grass grow," Ryoga called from below, "the base commander's coming in."
As one, the three leaped off the hanger roof, with Ranma carrying Deedlit, and touched down lightly on the ground. Dusting themselves off, Conner led the way to the command post, where the rest of their companions waited.
"Who is this guy, anyway?" Conner asked.
"We don't know," Pirotess replied. "His assistant just told me that he would be coming back from his patrol in a moment."
"Did she give any other details?"
"No," Drizzt replied. "She just said he would be back soon and showed us the door. Though there was something odd about her. She showed us around the office and all but tossed us out the door, without opening her eyes."
"Closed eyes?" Emeralda's eyes widened. "Did she have black hair? And was she wearing a blue uniform?"
"Yes, does that mean anything?"
Emeralda paused for a moment. "I hope not."
"No such luck," Conner said, pointing to a pair of approaching shapes. The apparent size of both indicated that they were gears. The lead one was rather unimpressive, gray and maroon in color, though it carried a large sword. The second gear was made of a strange gold metal, and resembled a robotic demon. "Aren't there enough loons here already?"
"It could be worse." Emeralda commented.
"How?"
"Last I heard, Big Joe was touring the Pecos Empire."
"Point taken. How that psycho made it out of Mexico alive is beyond me."
"Would someone," Ranma interrupted, "explain what's going on here?"
"The base commander is in that gold gear," Emeralda explained. "His name is Kahran Ramsus. He's from the same world as I am. My friends and I had to fight him many times. After the war, he became less obsessive, and with the help of his four subordinates began to lead a relatively normal life. After the transfer, the five of them offered their services to Thrawn. I guess this is where they were sent."
The gears landed, and walked toward a special hanger. Once the doors opened, the companions could see three other, rather odd looking, gears inside. One was styled like a shark, another looked like a winged lion, and the third resembled a prehistoric flying creature. Deedlit was glad Ranma wasn't paying much attention to what was in the hanger. The giant lion might cause him to "go cat." It wasn't just the violence and property destruction that worried her, though. They had discovered a while back that when Ranma looses control, a psychic backlash moves along any mental connections. This includes the emphatic bond that they shared. The surges often left Deedlit dizzy, sometimes unconscious, with a headache that would take hours to fade.
"So," Ranma asked, "what's this guy like?"
Conner answered him. "Large ego, skilled in combat, obsessed with being the best, can't accept a defeat. Sounds familiar." Conner ignored the protests from his last statement. "Hopefully he's calmed down over the last three years."
Of course, those five gears weren't the only mecha on the base. Besides the flight that had arrived with the supply shipment, there was a full wing of Veritechs (Highlander wing, some of the jokers replaced the normal hills and sword insignia with a katana and the words 'there can be only one'), another squadron of hover tanks, two Triax Ulti-Max suits, a detachment of forty Cyclones, and one American style Glitter Boy. In fact, the supply shipment contained mostly ammunition, with some fuel and several miscellaneous items. The outpost was self sufficient in terms of food and clothing, so those items were not required. While it appeared to be a rather large amount of firepower, and personnel, for an outpost, in reality it was not. Working in an area where demon attacks were a daily occurrence, not to mention other unfriendly natives, necessitated strong fortifications.
Out of the gear hanger came two figures. The first was a young woman with white hair, wearing a maroon uniform. The second was a slightly older man with a black and silver uniform and light blond hair. Quickly, the man approached where the companions were standing.
"I only received notification of your arrival an hour ago," he said, "but no details. What is going on?"
"Always the businessman, aren't you, Kahr," Emeralda was on the verge of laughter.
"I don't have time for this. If you will not tell me why you need to use the equipment and personnel under my command, the I must ask you to leave the grounds."
"We're after Miang," Conner said.
That stopped Ramsus, and a bitter smile slowly spread across his face. "In that case, how can I help?"
Conner did the talking now. "Full access to facilities on the base. Unlimited use of the flight that arrived with us. Other than that-"
"Not that you ask for much."
"-we should be leaving within a few days."
Ramsus turned away, walking toward his office. "Very well. You have my authorization. Just don't get in the way." As he walked off, they heard the two figures discussing the latest attacks from the local giant tribes.
"That was quick," Ranma commented. "When should we head for New Camelot?"
"Tomorrow," Drizzt replied. "At the moment we are tired from out journey. We should allow ourselves a day to recover. Besides, it is approaching sunset, and we may not wish to spend the night in the city."
"Good point," Deedlit commented. "Tomorrow, around mid morning?" Heads bobbed in agreement. "In that case, I think we should meet the people we rode in with."
A woman's voice came from behind them. "We were wondering when you would get around to us."
Turning, the companions were treated to the sight of four humans in flight suits. The speaker was a woman with short, red hair pulled tight against her scalp. Just behind her was a tall, dark skinned man with a splotch of white in his otherwise short, black hair. Standing beside the woman was a nondescript man with sandy brown hair, and behind him was another of that description, with darker, and longer, hair.
The woman continued. "I'm Lieutenant Jean Talvert, commander of three flight from Sierra squadron, out of Rogue wing. My callsign is Stiletto." She gestured to the man behind her. "This is Ensign Terrence O'Hearn, my Beta pilot, also known as Zero" Another gesture, this time at nondescript-number-one. "Lieutenant Lance Casey, my wingman, called Iceman. (1) And behind him is his Beta pilot Ensign Max Garrett, or Maestro."
"A pleasure," Conner said. "So what did you four do to have Maniac stick you with us?"
Zero and Iceman coughed nervously, while Maestro tried to look innocent, and Stiletto just looked angry. "Something about the daughter of one of the best Special Operations team leaders." She turned to Maestro. "You're lucky Clark let you live after that stunt."
"Hey," Maestro protested, "is it my fault her husband overreacted?"
"Yes," Zero said, "especially since the husband is Clark's second in command."
Ryoga shook his head. "I really don't want to know."
"Neither do I," Conner commented. "Anyway, was there anything else?"
"No," Stiletto said. "We'll be in the short term barracks. We can be in our planes and in the air with five minutes notice."
"That won't be necessary," Conner replied. "We'll let you know when we are ready to leave in the morning." The four nodded, then walked off.
"I guess that's it for now," Deedlit said.
"Indeed," Drizzt drew Ranma and Ryoga aside. "Meet me in the training room in two hours." Once the boys nodded, the companions broke apart, heading to separate sections of the base.
*******
The pistol could barely be called such. The barrel was nearly two inches in diameter, and the cartridges resembled shotgun shells. The cylinder that held the ammunition was even larger, designed to hold six such cartridges. All in all, it looked like a revolver with a glandular condition. It also looked too heavy for a human to wield.
So it was no surprise to Ranma when Ryoga began carrying one, and used it one-handed. He found the lost boy practicing on the bases shooting range, a few minutes before their meeting with Drizzt.
In rapid succession, six bolts of blue-white energy spat from the weapons barrel. All six came within an inch of the center of the bullseye twenty meters away.
"Getting better, pig boy," Ranma said, watching Ryoga eject the spent cartridges and pop in another speedloader. "Aren't those things a little expensive to be practicing with? Not to mention that we probably won't be able to buy more from Naruni. Not after what we pulled with them."
Ryoga pointed to a blue stripe that marred the chrome surface of the cartridge. "Practice shots, designed by Thrawn's people. Same range, weight and recoil, but with less than one percent of the stopping power. I doubt a person would get much more than a minor burn from these."
"Oh," was all Ranma could say. "Better put that thing away, Drizzt wants to talk to us, remember?"
They found Drizzt in the gym, meditating in the center. For many, meditation generally involves being clam, and examining one's inner self. This usually involves sitting still (or, in the case of some, hovering a few inches above the ground). Drizzt was not one of these people. The room itself had been cleared in the center, leaving a large, empty space. In the center of that space, Drizzt danced. There was no other word for the act, resembling a cross between Ranma's forms and a ballet, with swords. From what they could see, the drow was weaving the exotic pattern with his eyes closed. For all intents and purposes, Drizzt was oblivious to everything.
"I guess this is a bust," Ranma said.
"Pretty, though," Ryoga said. "I doubt either of use could do that."
"If I practiced for a while, I'd be able to do the same."
"Think for a moment, Ranma. In the two years that we've known him, have we ever seen Drizzt use any sort of forms? I think this is spontaneous."
"It doesn't matter, he's not paying attention, so the meet must be off."
Appearing to be part of the dance, one of the scimitars was tossed in the air. Since their attention was drawn to the spinning blade, the two boys didn't notice when Drizzt, never breaking the dance's rhythm, pulled a dagger out of his boot and threw it at the boys. The short, thin blade hit the floor exactly halfway between the two, and stayed there.
Drizzt finally broke his dance. "Never assume someone or something is unaware. I believe Catti-brie taught you that quite a while ago."
"You asked for us to come here," Ryoga stated, suppressing his embarrassment.
"Indeed. Once we find out about freeing the trapped souls, the next destination is Africa, am I wrong?"
Ranma shrugged. "Yeah. Deed says the Horsemen may be arriving at any time."
"And they have to be found before they are fought." More nods. "Then I wish you luck in finding them."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Catti-brie and I will not be accompanying the rest of you to Africa. We are staying behind here, to insure that rune weapon's destruction."
"We may," Ryoga said, "need you when the time comes."
"And we shall be there. But initially, you will be on your own."
"There's more to it," Ranma deduced.
"Yes. I have a vague feeling that I will be needed here, for a short time, anyway. We shall see."
"How will you catch up?"
"We have access to two aircraft that can fly in excess of eight times the speed of sound. Getting to where you are will not be a problem."
"Is that what you called us here for?"
"No," Drizzt shook his head. "What I called you here for is to give my last lesson to you, my students."
The two boys immediately stiffened and bowed. "What is your wish, Sensei?" they asked in unison.
Drizzt paced in front of the two. "Before I met you, each of you fought with your body, and heart. There was little I could teach you, except for fighting with your mind. Strength of fist and of will is fine, but unless you can outthink your opponent, unless you can analyze the entire course of a battle in an instant, you will fail against a stronger opponent." Drizzt gave a proud smile to his students. "You have learned well, and I am proud to give you this final lesson."
Stepping up to the boys, he placed his hands on their arms. "The core of a true warrior, the essence of a hero, though I do not like that term, is not here." A ebon finger tapped two foreheads, "or here," moving down, Drizzt palms rested over their hearts, "or even here." Moving away, he continued. "Those who think with their bodies believe might makes right. Those that think with their minds measure every step, rarely trusting their instincts. Those that think with their hearts often find a cause to dedicate themselves to. These are but segments of the path of the warrior. And the path of the warrior is but one road to take on the journey of a hero. Those that pass beyond that path, that learn to fight with body, mind, and heart, and are still found wanting, find the next step."
Moving closer, Drizzt continued. "Dying for a cause is commendable, but is also incomplete. To welcome death is to release hope, and responsibility. I was once held captive, maps to kingdom of my dearest friends being scoured from my mind. Even them, I did not accept death. Instead of ending my life, I attempted to end the lives of my interrogators. When escaping, my companions and I faced tremendous opposition, yet we fought to escape, and escape we did. That is the mark of a hero. A warrior who fights with his soul finds a task worth living for, never giving up. Suppose you soon face a foe that you cannot defeat, yet if you do not defeat it, many will suffer. What will you do."
Ranma shrugged. "Keep fighting, no matter the cost."
"Even if it means your death? You would willingly die?"
"Yeah."
"Then you are a fool, and you will die. Even if a task looks like suicide, you must always strive to live through it. If you die, your work is cut short, and countless people will suffer, because you cannot help them. If you cannot face that responsibility, if you give up that hope and dedication, then perhaps you are a coward."
Before Ranma could reply to that remark (a reply which included frying the drow with an energy bolt), Drizzt picked up his helmet, and sealed his armor. Drawing his scimitars, he nodded to the two boys.
"Now is the time for you to prove what you are made of. And it is time for you, Ranma, to test that new weapon of yours."
Ranma smiled as he unhooked the staff that had been hanging from his belt. Slightly longer than his leg, the staff was covered in leather and wire, resembling an overly long weapon hilt. Toward the center, three jewels were set in a triangular formation, with a red one in the center. Two other jewels, set in the corners of the triangle closest to each end, were blue. The final, clear, gem was set next to the red one, in the center of the staff.
"Never seen that before," Ryoga said, summoning his war hammer, Aegis-Fang.
"Deed and I just finished the enchantments yesterday," Ranma replied, pressing both blue jewels. Instantly, a blade half as long as the staff shot from each end, locking into place. Pressing the clear jewel, a faint, blue corona surrounded the blades.
"This is a practice session," Drizzt commanded, "no offensive magics." Following his own rules, Drizzt was not using his normal scimitars, but a pair of practice blades, enchanted never to break.
Ranma nodded and quickly pressed the clear jewel twice. Instantly, the blue light faded away.
"Let's dance," Ryoga said.
Dance they did, circling each other. Behind his facemask, Drizzt smiled. None of them were striking the first blow, but instead waiting to see what their opponents would do. Often they had done this exercise, and earned a humiliating defeat for whoever struck first. This taught the boys patience. However, patience was not the lesson of the day, so Drizzt charged between them, bringing his scimitars up to strike was he rushed past.
Ranma was ready for him, parrying the blade and bringing his staff around to cut Drizzt off at the knees. The elf was ready for him, however, and leaped over the second blade, bringing his hand back with a punch to Ranma's face. Ryoga simply parried Drizzt's other blade, and brought the hammer about in an overhead strike aimed at Ranma. Ranma was barely able to being his trailing blade up in time.
That was the rule of their sessions, a three way battle. Each would be facing off against two highly skilled opponents. There could be no coordination, no alliances, just battle. Each of them had to posses the skill to see his own openings, and the speed to exploit those same opening on his opponent. As usual, Ryoga was the first to fall, being unable to keep up with the speed of his two friends. He did smile, though, when he saw that the two had slowed, tired from having to parry his blows. Glancing at the chrono on the wall, he saw that they had been fighting for almost half an hour.
A few minutes later, the fight came to an end. Ranma began a thrust, a heart shot that would have been mortal if it connected. Drizzt saw this, and charged in, his scimitars aiming for Ranma's neck. If the attack continued, and this had been a real battle, Ranma would kill his opponent, only to be beheaded by his enemies dying action.
That did not happen, largely because Ranma remembers what he is taught (most of the time, anyway). Unable to halt his forward momentum, he instead threw his body back, catching Drizzt with a flip kick, catching the drow on the chin. Staggering to his feet, Drizzt pulled off his helmet. Sweat had matted his white mane to his scalp. "Well done, my students. You have learned well."
*******
When morning came, the combatants worked the stiffness out of their muscles while the Veritech pilots readied their planes for flight.
"What's the plan?" Emeralda asked.
"Relations aren't all that friendly with New Camelot," Pirotess replied, "so we have to land about an hours walk away from the city. We're also meeting a native guide at the landing point."
"How will we know this guide."
"His name is Jarax," Deedlit explained, "the druids assured me that he'll be the only one there."
"If we're meeting these druids," Conner asked, "then why are we going to New Camelot? I thought they didn't like each other."
"Our contact is in Camelot," Deedlit replied. "Now come on, it looks like they're ready."
They found Ranma standing by one of the Alpha's. "Hey, Stiletto?" he asked the redhead. "If this is your jet, how come the name says 'Panther?'"
"Because I don't fly a recon unit," was the reply. "But one was requested for this mission, why we weren't given a systems tech is beyond me, and that one was chosen."
The names and kill marks stenciled onto the fighter's chassis in gray were the only blemishes on otherwise black skin. The other three planes had their share of kill marks, most consisted of Coalition robot and power armor units, Splugorth Slaver vehicles, and a rock-like humanoid shape (the companions were told it represented an earth elemental) on Iceman's. The Alpha with the longer cockpit, on the other hand, only had a few marks, though enough to mark the pilot as an ace.
"So who is this Panther guy?"
Maestro looked like he was about to say something, but Stiletto cut him off with a glare. "He's a recruit from this planet, not one that transferred over, like we did. He showed up at the base about a year and a half ago, and promptly breezed through most of the training program."
"So why are there so few kills?" Ryoga asked.
"He comes and goes. The Admiral trusts him, even thought he's not officially an officer. Even Maniac respects him."
"Shouldn't we be going?" Drizzt asked.
"Hop in," Zero instructed, moving towards his Beta. "We'll be leaving as soon as the cloaking devices are tested."
Maestro began to grumble, loudly, while heading for his own Bbeta. "Too bad project Shadowcaster didn't do their job right the first time, or we wouldn't have to keep recalibrating the bloody things."
"They didn't know about the kinds of energies we have to deal with here," Zero shot back. "Of course, you can forget about recalibration, just don't complain next time we're over a nexus point."
"No, thank you. I don't like the idea of being near that kind of reaction. I rather like being alive, sane, and human."
*******
<Egypt>
It was big, green, and had a long tail like a scorpion's. The tauton's form was meant to be intimidating, but Ashram was not impressed. Reaching up, the demon knight clamped the crocodile mouth shut, then dragged it's head down so the two could see eye to eye.
"The Pharaoh has requested our presence," he told the thing. "Do you truly wish to earn his disfavor?"
The thing tried to growl, but all that came out was a mumble. An attempted tail strike ended with Ashram slicing said tail off.
"That hurt, did it not? Do you wish more pain, or do you wish to cooperate?"
"For the Pharaoh," the thing growled, and slashed at Ashram once again. The knight was mad, but he was also in a hurry. With those two factors fighting each other for dominance, it only took the tauton ten minutes to die, rather than the hour of painful suffering Ashram would have preferred.
"Interesting," Ashram commented as he wiped the blood from his gauntlets. "That type of loyalty is usually reserved for Set himself. Rama-Set must be powerful to win such favor."
"He's in the process of summoning the second most efficient engines of destruction to this planet," Miang explained, "of course he's powerful."
"Why couldn't he summon the first?"
"It was destroyed three years ago in another dimension."
"So they are now the most powerful."
"In a manner of speaking." Pride battled reality. (2)
The sound of clapping interrupted their argument. Turning, the pair spotted a human (very rare in those parts, outside of the slave pens, that is) sitting on the palace steps.
"Brovo," the man said. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to kill six of the royal guard, just to get to the palace."
"Who are you?" Ashram growled.
"Temper, temper. I am the man that will show you to the Pharaoh."
"Then lead us to him!" Ashram roared. Before he could say any more, Miang silenced him with a touch.
"Forgive my companion," she said, "these past few days have been rather irritating. If you would please show us where we can find Pharaoh Rama-set, it would be much appreciated."
"So civil, hardly befits someone in these parts."
"And if you don't," Miang continued in the same tone of voice, "Ashram will be forced to perform the 'Death of One Thousand Cuts' on you."
"Interesting," the man said as he led the pair into the palace. "I am not familiar with that form of execution."
"It's simple, really," Miang said, watching for an ambush. "It involves cutting off the fingers, toes, hands, feet, ears, nose, genitals, as well as removing the eyes and tongue, one joint at a time, with a knife."
"How brutal," the man commented as they entered the throne room. "I rather like it. Though I have heard of it before, just under a different name."
"Of course," Miang replied, watching the man approach the throne, "now will you show us the Pharaoh?"
"I already have," the man said, his voice deepening. His skin turned a brilliant emerald green as he picked the crown up off the throne. An extra pair of arms grew from his sides as a tail pushed out from his back. Clothes faded away, reveling skin with triangular scales. Hands and feet turned to claws as the face became more saurian. Finally, the best grew, it's head filling what had been and oversized crown on the human.
"Once again," the dragon rumbled, "I must say that I am impressed with how you were able to take out my guards. Your reputation precedes you, Ashram of Marmo."
*******
<England>
"So how are we going to recognize this guide?" Ryoga asked.
Deedlit shrugged. "I'm not really sure. All I know is his name and that we were to meet him here."
"That's not much to go by."
"We didn't have time to set up a recognition system," Pirotess commented. "Besides, he should be around here."
A cleared throat brought their attention to the edge of the clearing they were dropped off in. Standing calmly in the shade of an oak tree was a squat figure. In poor light it might have been able to pass as an ugly human, but the light was anything but poor. The companions noted the oversized jaw, greenish skin, and tusks.
"Orc," Conner stated. That word sent the companions into action. Conner drew his pistol (he had left his Cyclone at the base) and aimed it at the creatures head. Ranma, Drizzt, Ryoga, and Catti-brie drew their weapons and formed a circle around Deedlit and Pirotess, protecting the spell casters from the coming ambush. Emeralda's hands reconfigured into a sword and hammer, while her hair became a morning star and chain.
"I say, dear boy," the orc suddenly spoke in perfect American, with a British accent, "would you mind not pointing that gun at my face?"
Conner stared, so did everyone else.
"Not what you were expecting?" The orc continued. "I'm a little disappointed in you chaps. You of all people should know not to judge people by appearances. Isn't that true, Master Do'Urden?"
"So you're Jarax?" Deedlit asked.
"If I wasn't, would I have called attention to myself?" Jarax sighed. "Come on, the Nog Henge Druids don't like being kept waiting."
"Now?" Ranma asked. "I thought we were going to Camelot?"
"Change of plans."
The companions looked at each other, did a simultaneous shrug, and stood down from their vigilant state.
"Alright, boys," Jarax called, "open fire!"
Seeing the reaction from his charges, Jarax was soon rolling on the ground, laughing. "You blokes need to learn how to take a joke."
End Chapter 4.
Notes:
1: I know, I know, Iceman was his father in WC, but since he didn't really have a callsign in the game, it seemed appropriate.
2: She was part of that other system, of course she would think it the best.
Sorry if the philosophy lesson took so much space, but it will be important in later chapters. Plus I had to explain sometime what the heck the titles mean. I also had to do a little venting after reading the discussions on suicides that pop up from time to time in relation to Ranma fics, seeing the movie Gladiator, and reading several rather dark novels (then again, what would you expect from a title like "Ruin"). I was kinda hoping to have them on their way to Africa by now, but it'll have to wait another chapter. I plan to have them in Nerima (why? you'll have to wait and see) by chapter 8 to finish off this book and yank out a few strings... I mean, tie up the loose ends.