Year: 75,350 A.A.
Location: Lírterno - ESC Site "Occult"
Designation: Baltair Orazon - Chief General

⊶⊶⊶ ❖ ⊶⊶⊶

    Baltair paced back and forth before Marek's bed as he explained all that had occurred at the meeting in Ternio. Marek's expression shifted to one of utter shock when he revealed the capture of the Glacíen Triumvir Initiate, but shock soon became horror when Baltair recounted the task he'd been assigned...and what he would face should he fail.

    When he felt that Marek had all the preluding information he might need, Baltair set into why he had originally come to Site "Occult" to speak with him. "I gave them no names," he explained, "but truthfully, I have my suspicions about who these mercenaries are. Do you remember about seven months ago now when I told you that the sister of one of my mercenaries had contracted the plague?"

    Marek nodded. "I remember. You think it was her brother and his partner?"

    "Maybe." Baltair ran a hand down his chin, scratching at the stubble on his jaw that he'd been neglecting amidst everything else. "I don't know. Zandyr Wethyn is usually the sane one of the pair. But his sister's loss hit him hard, and I think that if he had the opportunity to try to rescue her, he'd take it."

    "Besides, there's the fact that they were going to take a leave of absence, but suddenly changed their minds and accepted another mission. It was from the ArchImperator and would take them to Nimlüv. They took an ESC ship rather than their own."

    "Nimlüv is close to Nësťys," Marek mused. "But you mentioned they were able to mask the ship's call sign even from the Glacíens before landing in the Q.Z. How were they able to do that? No one has been able to sneak onto Nësťys before."

    Baltair flashed him a wry grin. "That would be Malak's work, I assume. He's the insane one of the two. Mal's got some type of cybernetic enhancements, though not quite like ones I've ever seen." He trailed off swiftly when Marek's body gave a harsh flinch, his eyes growing wide. At once, he recognized his mistake. "I'm sorry," Baltair apologized. "I didn't mean to remind you of..."

    Marek waved a dismissive hand, though Baltair didn't miss the way his fingers trembled. "Continue."

    Still, Baltair hesitated until Marek's slight trembling had eased. "My question for you was whether or not Humans can actually last longer than the month most usually do. I suppose knowing doesn't make that much of a difference, but it can at least tell me if I'm close to being right in my guess that they're behind this."

    Marek was silent for several minutes, but at last, he answered. "I've never heard of a victim lasting seven months, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. I've had theories on the progression of the plague and how it might differ from our current understanding, but not ones that I've been allowed to pursue."

    "Then there is a chance." Baltair turned away, his eyes closing against the memories pushing at his mind. There was a chance, however slight, that a person could survive the plague longer than they thought. If only Remena and their boys had been given that chance.

    Perhaps he should've considered himself lucky. Rather than having to watch them be taken away to live out their last days in the Q.Z., Ethelyn had them brought to the emergency quarantine chambers here in the compound. He'd been able to be with his sons and offer them what comfort he could in their last moments.

    He'd even ignored Ethelyn's protests and entered the chamber, rather than just standing outside. He'd had an arm around each of his boys as they died, more than what he'd been able to give Remena. Ethelyn had not allowed him to be there when they performed the operation that had spared his youngest son from his mother's fate.

    Only when Benat was born had Baltair been admitted in, and he'd been holding the infant when Remena slipped away in silence, not having woken from the surgery and unable to even say a word in parting. He'd barely even noticed when his sister took his child from him. And only Marek was able to persuade him to leave the room hours later.

    Baltair drew a measured breath and blinked back the burning in his eyes as he pulled himself from his memories and turned back to Marek. "What theories?" He asked, voice slightly hoarse. "Why wouldn't Ethelyn allow you to look into them?"

    "I've wanted to request victim files off of Nësťys for a while now, so we can see what the Glacíens have been witnessing in them, but she doesn't allow it, and says the Glacíens will never consider it." Their gazes locked and Baltair stiffened, something in Marek's eyes sending warning signals through his brain.

    "She's been sending them all of our research on Ben. It used to only be every few months when we had something of interest, but now it's everything. Down to the smallest detail. But she won't tell me why or what they're doing with it and I've been barred access from any of her data collections and files."

    "What? I wasn't informed of this. Why didn't you tell me?"

    Marek's eyes narrowed. "I only found out after the last time you left, and it wasn't something I could send over a radio. Not when my guards monitor all of my communications and report them to her. I had to wait for you to come back."

    Baltair only shook his head. "Gods, what is she thinking?"

    "I don't know, but she's up to something, and I don't trust whatever it is."

    Before Baltair had the chance to reply, footsteps sounded from the corridor and the door hissed open. They both relaxed upon seeing Doctor Reve, but it was short-lived. "Ethelyn is on her way back."

    Baltair glanced at Marek when a hand wrapped around his wrist. "She can't find me here," he said. "She'll know something happened."

    "You're not ready to be up yet," Doctor Reve protested. "I can come up with some excuse."

    Marek shook his head. "The rest of the faculty might tell her they haven't seen me in a while. They need to see me now, and she'll have to see me when she arrives. Where are my new guards?"

    "Not here yet," Baltair answered. "I'm having two of my soldiers come up from the base. They'll arrive this evening and in the meantime, everyone has been informed that you've been accompanied by Ben and I."

    "Good, that's good," Marek sighed, "but I still have to be up. She can't suspect. She can't suspect anything or else she'll...she'll..." He broke off with another harsh shudder that lingered in his hands even after his body had stilled.

    Baltair looked to the Doctor. "Will he be all right if we get him up now?"

    "I strongly advise against it," she replied. "But if he doesn't over-exert himself right away and rests more than he works, I suppose he can if he must."

    Marek's grip on his wrist tightened. "My chair," he urged.

    "It's in your room."

    "I'll bring it," Doctor Reve offered.

    Marek shook his head. "Just take me there. I need different clothes and a shower anyway."

    "I'll make sure there's no one around for you to run into." The Doctor slipped out of the room once more.

    Baltair faced Marek as the man released him and pulled the thin sheet away from himself. Even through the white pants he'd been dressed in, Baltair could see the outline of his bony legs. Marek cleared his throat and Baltair shook his silent regrets away. Marek hooked an arm over his shoulder while Baltair lifted him, and once more, it took more effort than he wished to ignore the man's lightness.

    He carried him into the hall which was devoid of people, as Doctor Reve had promised, and they made their way to Marek's room. Once they arrived, Baltair followed Marek's directions and left him in his seat. The man refused any further offers of help, so he merely watched while Marek gathered a change of clothes and wheeled himself into his bathroom.

    As the door closed behind him, some small semblance of relief crept through Baltair. How odd that even after so many years, he had to remind himself that Marek was still more than capable of taking care of himself, even with his disabilities. They had almost destroyed him in the beginning, and it had taken so long for him to adjust. Baltair was doing him no favors by still holding onto those images of him from that time, or from the time before, and comparing him now to then. And yet...

    Marek emerged from the bathroom, freshly clothed in one of his usual outfits, a simple long sleeved black shirt and matching pants, and his wet hair curling slightly over his ears. "I know what you keep thinking," he said, tossing his medical clothes aside and reaching for a discarded pair of shoes. "I'm rather out of shape."

    "A bit," Baltair agreed.

    "And I look nothing like I used to."

    "In body only. Your face is still the same." Marek glanced at him with a skeptically arched brow. "Maybe a little more tired, and just a bit older."

    "Yeah, well, yours too." That coaxed a chuckle from him and Marek echoed it, then sobered. "If you're worried about me, you don't need to be. I'm doing fine. Or, I was. And will be."

    "No," Baltair murmured. "Don't tell me that. Something needs to change. There's so much happening with you and Ben that I haven't been aware of. Part of that is my fault, for not being here, and I'm going to do better. But I think you need to start being honest with me too. Tell me when I need to be worried, whether it's about you or Ben."

    "Tell me, so I know what's going on. Because..." He shook his head and met Marek's gaze, his own growing hard as flint. "Marek, if I hadn't gotten here when I did, you still might've died. Or Ben would have been the one to find you. He needs you. Honestly...I think he needs you more than me."

    Marek only nodded when he'd finished. "All right." Baltair glanced over him, and when he was satisfied that Marek meant his agreement, he turned towards the door. But again, a hand caught his wrist, stopping him. "And stop blaming yourself," Marek added. "None of it was your fault." He forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat as Marek's hand slipped away. "The restraints," came the quiet reminder.

    Baltair crouched to activate the magnetic clamps around his legs and ankles, hating the harsh clank as they locked into place. He lifted his head as Marek rested his arms in place. He could only stare at his wrists, still bruised from when he'd been struggling against the restraints.

    "Your new guards have been ordered only to report to me," Baltair found himself whispering. "And I've told them to release your hands as often as they find opportunity, even outside the lab. They'll have to carry the sedatives for appearances sake, but they don't intend to use it unless they genuinely believe you're a risk to yourself."

    "Thank you." Baltair looked up, meeting his gaze. Understanding flickered through Marek's. "You won't have to regret that," he promised. "I'm not going to harm myself, no matter what she says. I couldn't do that to you and Ben."

    "No matter how badly you may want to escape?"

    Marek's throat bobbed. "I had a chance to escape before. But my failure cost me everything." He drew a slow breath, and Baltair tracked the way his chest rose and fell, finding relief in the ease of the motion. "I was lucky enough to be given another chance, though it took me too long to see that. I won't repeat my mistakes with Ben. Nor will I take another person from you."

    Baltair had seen his hand inching closer, but this time when it moved to cover his, he didn't flinch away or stop it. He simply let himself feel. Let himself acknowledge the sensation and weight of another Human touch. The comfort and familiarity in it. The very reasons he shied away in the first place.

    His life was one of rigid structure. Cold aloofness. Harsh discipline. Remena had been a warm and gentle reprieve from it. Marek was not warm or gentle. His skin was cool, calloused. He had been honed by the same structure as Baltair, and then sharpened anew by his life in this compound.

    But his touch was the softest he'd felt in fifteen years. Had been the only touch he'd felt since then, when he could bring himself to accept it, save his son's embraces. There was a faint question in Marek's gaze when he met it once more. Baltair only remained still as Marek rotated his hand in his lap, and his thumb began to trace the deep grooves lining his palm.

    Baltair drew a sharp breath and averted his eyes, ignoring the feeling that crept through his stomach before spooling through the rest of his body, setting his heart pounding. This was why he was loath to accept his touch. Each one felt like a betrayal. Left these feelings that he couldn't decipher. Wasn't sure that he should. Feelings that he'd long thought buried with his wife.

    What would she say? What would Ben say should he ever find out? And his sister... Marek was her husband, even if there was no love between them. Even if she kept him shackled like this. Even if she'd lied to his guards about the sedative. It was wrong. In so many ways, it was wrong.

    "Stop," he rasped.

    Marek obeyed, and returned his hands to the arms of his chair. Baltair didn't look at him as he activated the cuffs and watched them slide into place. Someday he'd rip the cruel devices off this damned chair. Someday, Marek wouldn't need that either.

    "I have to go," Baltair murmured. "I should go back to Ternio before Ethelyn gets here, and I need to say goodbye to Ben. I promised we'd talk more about something bothering him, but now..."

    "He'll understand," Marek answered. "Just so long as you come back and keep your promise."

    "I will," Baltair promised once more, and left the room before he could make another one.