Legacy CH 2 - Lae POV
The singing corpses haunt me, my body gasping, shocked, convulsing in a curled-up ball in my chair. In a moment of procedural clarity, I unclasp my seatbelt and tumble cumbersomely onto the floor, the cool metallicity providing some calm as I lay my cheek against it. I can hear blood rushing to my ears, and I feel wet drip from my face onto the floor, sweat turning into tears as I tremble. Rationally, I know what’s happening. I’m having a panic attack, but the rational part of my mind is having a difficult time peaking through the cloud stupor coursing through me.
In my haze, I hear Dad’s voice calling out to me in the halls; he must be able to hear me.
Coughing raggedly, I rasp his name while I watch through my periphery as he spots my pitying form, dashing up to me.
He grasps my arms and pulls me into an embrace, one I’ve always found comforting and congenial; now utterly lacking. My harsh breaths are marred by the shirt I’m inhaling into, trying with all my gusto to explain why the hells I’m falling apart like this.
Some wild gesture must have worked, though, because I see the blurry figures of two of his operatives stride wearily towards the window at my frenzied request, and keel back when they catch sight of the—
I vomit again, luckily missing most of my dad and adding to the abstract portrait I’ve constructed with my bile.
“HolyfuckingMaker,” the Legionnaire I now recognize as Jayce Krin spurts, placing a tentative hand on the wall next to her head.
My head is clearing, the hysteria seemingly going as quickly as it arrived. Dad hoists me up by my underarms as he used to do when I was young, keeping a hand at my elbow to stabilize me. He cranes his neck, gaping when he catches what we’re all rocked by.
“That would explain the lack of response,” he mutters, stepping over my vomit and placing himself carefully in my flight chair, not bothering to buckle in.
He expertly disables the alarm sirens, and the remaining panic dissipates swiftly, my shoulders slumping in relief. I was taught to always approach a problem from a level-headed and grounded place, and that feels more feasible now that I’m not sobbing on the floor.
“Lae,” he starts, though we both know what he’ll be asking, “Are you—”
I cut him off, “I’m fine, Dad, I swear. I’m coming with you.”
He peers at me for a moment before nodding gravely and turning back to the console, entering a few commands and then standing up, motioning for us all to follow him.
His subordinates eye me carefully, no doubt having heard of my excellence, only to find me rolling on the floor in a rather sorry state. I just roll my eyes; they can think whatever they want, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be correct.
“Docking bay was left open,” Dad explains as we meaner into our pods, me into Dad’s as his flyer.
“By whom, though?” I say distrustfully, strapping into my spot.
I’m sure that, as I look around, there’s got to be some sort of hands-off communication system in here, and my suspicions are confirmed when I hear a crisp voice come from the ceiling, “What the hells does that mean; by who? I’d assume the dead people.”
Dad butts in, “It’s whom, and there’s no reason to assume that. There must have been someone else on that ship at some point, so what’s to say they aren’t still there?”
I don’t hear a response after that, smirking lightly as my dad and I share a look.
Launching out of my Chimera, his Legionnaires pulling behind us into triangular formation.
We shift into the docking bay cautiously, smooth in formation just as I was taught, when out of my periphery, I watch Cassian shoot off into the Fold, leaving our two ships, the only whisper of its remnants; the soft glow of debris in its wake.
Dad notices this, glancing worriedly in my direction before he yells out to Jayce, “Get ahold of him, please!” The little flashing dot signaling its location now vacant from my set.
The response from Jayce comes quickly, verifying what we both already know, that for some stupid reason, that Legionnaire has made some dumb decision, and of himself; an enemy of the Legion. I’ve heard enough of my parents’ stories to know that that is not the most brilliant idea.
As though a thought from the Maker Themself compelled them, the bay doors snap shut ricketily, certifiably shutting us into the deathtrap. Dad does the smart thing, as usual, and radios command, letting them know that this is no longer a silly situation and is now a real conspiracy. I always used to love hearing my dad’s stories about when he was younger, a fresh graduate on the run from every government body everywhere, ragtag group of friends and such. Every time, though, after he’d finish telling me about some close call, he’d remind me that although it seems cool and valorous now, at the time, he was bruised beyond recognition and living off of crackers and spite. That’s kept me on the straight and narrow most of my life.
When he’s done talking with De Stoy, Dad turns back to me and says sternly, “I want you to get out of here, Kiddo. This is real stuff, and your mom would kick my butt from here to tomorrow if anything happened to you. I’m serious.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad, I’m the best flier in my year. I grew up with you, for Maker’s sake. I’m not a little kid.”
He peers at me for a moment more, “You can stay here,” he points to exactly where I’m standing, “No moving at all; you need to be able to get out of here. I’m serious too.”
I raise my hands in surrender, “Deal.”
He just nods once, piercing me with what I can only call a parental warning, and walks out of the port and onto what could very actually be enemy territory. It comes to me, rather embarrassingly late, that he clearly doesn’t think it’s too big of a threat, though, because the damn bay doors are closed.
I’ve waited for ten minutes when Dad’s voice echos in our pod, “Lae? Open the doors, please.”
I do just that, leaning over to the button from my chair, turning my head in the direction of the hall he’ll be coming from when I hear fraught voices speaking in Syldrathi.
“Dad? Is everything okay?” I can hear his calm responses as he links me assuringly. When he pulls around the corner, I see that he is followed by three Syldrathi women, the youngest looking maybe sixteen, and the oldest well over fifty, though it can be hard to tell. The elder one has something familiar about her, which I dismiss when I notice that she’s covered in blood as just the fact that there aren’t many Syldrathi at the Academy. She looks at me for a second, and almost seems shocked, and when I glance at Dad, his expression mirrors hers.
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Legacy Chapter 1
Legacy Chapter 3
Masterlist
Sorry this chapter took so long, life has been very hectic lately and writing went to the backseat for a while.
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