Unnamed Journal Volume 2, Issue 4 - Page 16

He looked at them, trying to see if they were processing the point. They remained silent as graves. Lang sighed. "The things I don't remember are as much a part of my life as the things that are. So, I decline your offer." And with that, he smacked the GR-90 down on the operating table. For a moment, he was afraid he'd hit it too hard. The explosion of blue light damn near sawed the table in half. But when he pulled it back up, the long whip of bright blue light came up with it, pouring like a fountain from the wand in his hand. The Alera opened her mouth wide like a shark and tried to envelope him, to repulse and shove him down, but Lang was too fast for her. He whipped the wand around in a 360, slashing The Alera and the Covey Copy in half in the space of a second. The top parts of them sprayed apart like the dust they were and disintegrated into piles on the ground. Their bottom parts stamped their feet with rage and started gathering and regrowing themselves. Lang walked briskly out of Sick Bay, following the red lights outside. He heard no sound of alarm but the rush of dust through the filter system. It would try to stop him. Lang smiled. Fifty yards down the corridor, he saw a wall of dust two inches thick barring his way. It made itself look like brick but Lang was not fooled. He took a run and a jump and slashed it to ribbons with the wand. It fell apart like a house of cards and Lang went on, faster. The lights grew redder as he passed the mess hall. Redder and redder and redder still. His heart grew in excitement as he ran, partly from the effect of the red on his neural patterns, partly because he knew the pattern meant something. And partly because of the joy he had felt in slashing Alera Zool's shitty xenocopy in half. He had enjoyed that a great deal. Lang walked briskly out of Sick Bay, following the red lights outside. Copies of the rest of the crew tried to jump him just at the entry to quarters: Kronz and Hunstail in the front, Gaussman and Luntz on either flank, Fulgor and Willems from the rear. It was comical. They couldn't lay a dusty finger on him, just try to repulse him in another direction and confuse him. A few brutal slashes with the blue death-whip and they redistributed to constituent parts. The only problem was they made no sound. The lights in the Quarters was red, red, red: red as blood, red as dying stars. It served only to heighten Lang's breathing and widen his eyes. He was on the right trail, he could smell it. He ran on intuition's direction towards Alera Zool's quarters. In front of him was a whirlwind of dust, blowing, shaking the air around it, muttering mad imprecations. Lang sneered and raised his wand. He was going to strike when a gust of hot air blew from the whirlwind and knocked him over. The wand clattered away from him and the blue energy scorched his scalp as it went down. He yelled in pain and lay on the floor, panting. The whirlwind swirled around him and blew another gust at him. It lifted him from the floor and knocked him back. Then it came at him again. They could blow me off the ship, Lang thought, if they wanted to. Shove me in the airlock and take their chances with the Admiralty board. Once they got to Proxima, it hardly mattered anyway. He