To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time

To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time - Part I

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle. Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Shakespeare's Macbeth

The sky was dark and overcast with the promise of rain.

No, not rain - an impending storm.

Niko shivered and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the biting cold. She turned eastwards, looking towards the horizon, where Xanadu's twin moons should have risen by now.

It was then that her lips parted with mute shock, for it was not the red outlines of Ezri and Yakima she saw, but a pale monolith hanging threateningly above the windswept plain.

The light was eerie and silvery, nothing like the warm orange glow she had come to expect. Another shiver shook her, this time more violently. Everything was wrong and yet she couldn't move, couldn't even scream. Her body stood frozen, the wind howling around her and picking up in intensity. And although she could hear the sounds of the storm, at the same time a strange silence reigned inside her head. Her eyes closed in mute horror.

"Niko?"

The touch on her shoulder was gentle, strangely familiar. She turned slowly, awkwardly. The green, slightly amused gaze of the blond stranger in front of her seemed oddly familiar, too. Judging by the way his massive frame towered over her, she should have panicked even more, but she just felt curiously reassured.

"I know you like the scenery, but that's a mighty strange time you've chosen for your little walk." He smiled, and let his hand rest lightly on her elbow. "This storm looks as if it has the potential to become quite nasty, so I think we'll rather go inside, shall we?"

Niko tried to think, but somehow coherent thoughts eluded her. So she just stared into those green eyes without understanding.

"Who are you?" she managed to ask. The man seemed taken slightly aback by the question. He watched her carefully.

"Is this a joke or something?" he frowned.

Niko tried to grasp the connection that seemed to hover at the edge of her memories, but the harder she tried, the further away it slipped. God, she was not even sure there was a connection!

"I don't know you!" she insisted. It felt so wrong.

Everything felt wrong! She wanted to shake him, shout at him to leave her alone. But she couldn't because then the link would be lost forever. She had to maintain it, at any cost.

The link? Link to what?

She wanted to ask him, because he looked so dominant and self-confident, but her lips had hardly opened as she saw the deadly flash of blaster fire. It seemed to come out of nowhere.

She wanted to warn him, throw herself in front of him or something, but her movements had that unnatural slowness about them and she could already see the beam eating its way through his chest, the steaming gash becoming larger and larger as more flesh and bone vaporized. And then she saw his eyes turn sightless as his body slowly crumpled to the ground.

Now the scream finally came. It erupted from her throat, long and loud and bloodcurdling, like the wail of a wounded animal. Her eyes were already open by then, although she didn't notice at first. She just sat on the bed, covered in sweat, clutching the sheets to her breast. Her breath came in short, laboured pants.

Looking to the left she could see the curtains fluttering, partially obscuring Yakima's red shape. The moon hung low this night, and, for once, the crimson color bore a striking resemblance to freshly shed blood.

To the Last Syllable of Recorded Time

From Betamountain.org