The Quarry

[Rage Menelas]

[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The day before arrival at Pella'agre Laura came on the bridge. He smelled her before he saw her, which effectively broke the reverie induced by his gazing out at the stars.

“Hi... how you doing? ...your head still hurt...?” he asked.

“A little bit,” she admitted and sidled up next to him. Ryan pulled out a chair for her. She smiled sadly and sat down next to him. Clearing her throat, she said, “I want to ask your forgiveness,” touching his arm gently with apparent concern.

“Forgiveness...?” This surprised him. She had nursed him through some very difficult times. It wasn't her fault he was being held. She was as much of a victim as he was. “For what...?”

“For being a part of the ruse... I knew what the Sky Fathers were doing. I knew they were using me to attract you into the dream world, where the Sky Mother mated with you. I should have told you... especially after I began... we...” she trailed off, looked down into her lap.

If a brick had hit him in the face it couldn't have hurt more. He assumed he had been having erotic fantasies about her in his drug-induced sleep. But instead she had been knowingly used as bait for the evil Baeliwiks to experiment with him sexually. “You knew what was happening?” he asked aghast.

At his tone she looked quickly into his eyes, read the disgust there. “I did,” she admitted, sighed and looked away. “I was told that my village would be destroyed if I didn't comply... was assured that it was quite harmless to you... and everyone else that was involved... that the Sky Fathers needed this in order to be made whole again.”

“I see...” Just his luck! Here he was thinking he was starting to regain the old feelings he had lost with Shell's death, thought he had a chance for love again. Now it looked like some kind of bizarre hoax. He snorted angrily and turned on her. “So, let me get this right... every time I dreamed of us together it was that...” he gulped down the rising bile, “that Dalq'chette...?” he spat out the name like he was spitting out the bile. A shiver ran across his spine; he suddenly was in dire need a shower.

She nodded, melancholia falling across her face like a black veil, tears streaming unabated. “It was wrong, and I knew it... but... I was weak... and I'm... sorry... I beg your forgiveness.”

He sighed, shook his head. He honestly wished to God he didn't know; it had been much nicer when he assumed he was just having wet dreams about her. He stared back out at the stars. How did this change his feelings for her? He wasn't sure, needed time to digest it all. After awhile—him not speaking, refusing to look at her—she simply left...