Skyreign

8: Sorrowed Talks

Never did Laura think she would see the day, where she would be the one staring down the barrel of a plasmar aimed at her in point blank. Never did she expect it would be Miya holding the weapon.

"Just a precaution, Commander, you understand," Miya added as her Captain noted the weapon, "I wouldn't want you making any rash decisions. You still have some--maturing--to do."

"And you, Miya, seem to have some loyalty issues—"

"Hardly," the pistol's grasp became just lighter, the hand somewhat more trusting, "I've only done you favours thus far. I took out Darrick. Edge. Haren. Olsein. And even Rose. All for you, Laura."

"I didn't ask for any of that," Laura scowled, "committing assaults on my crew members is not my idea of doing me favours!"

"Admittedly, I needed to prove a point," Miya sighed, gesturing her weapon to Laura's, "put the gun down. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'd much better believe that if you hadn't pointed a gun at my face," she retorted.

"Fair enough," Miya took a step back, sitting into the Captain's chair, "but--I find you much more--what's the word—compliant. And I like that about you, Laura, you just—follow everyone else around, and pretend to be on top of it all. It's cute, at best. Now, be a smart girl. Put it down."

The gesture again. And this time, Laura did slowly put her weapon down. But as she did so, she never took her eyes off Miya. Her eyes took a glance at a glinting brooch square on the black chest armour she was wearing.

The insignia of a trio of silver rectangles pointing inward to a black circle. While simple in its appearance, it spoke volumes.

Volumes that would be titled Trilithe Masons of Majestia.

Volumes that told tales of the most discrete, mythical and nonexistent arm of the Behraanese government known only to a select few.

Volumes that were rife with assassination.

"Why are you really here, Miya?" the Captain stepped away from her only protection.

"Well," Miya smirked, placing the pistol on the arm of the chair, crossing her arms, "I hope you don't have anywhere to go. It is quite a tale, I assure."

"I've got all night," Laura sat in the pilot seat, using Darrick as a stool for her feet, "and I assume you have something better than a gun to protect yourself with?"

"Better than your whole crew combined," she smiled a sinister, dooming smile, "but, that is not the point. You see, I feel you ought to know a little--more--about your crew. What happens thereafter will depend on your reaction."

Laura sat quietly.

"As you know," she cracked her fingers, staring blankly in Laura's general direction, "Behraan Code dictates that all those deemed non-Behraanese, by descent, must be put to slavery, or death, as they are imperfections of the Behraanese Destiny."

"Common knowledge," Laura nodded, "but we're all Behraanese, so this can't be why you're—"

"So sure, are you?" she smirked, "you see—we have a gift, our guild. We have a rare, powerful technological application, that allows us to see people for who—or at least what—they really are."

"Divination?" Laura guessed.

"Genetics," Miya frowned, "Behraan Code also dictates that all use of non-mainstream methods of science, such as divination or telekinesis, are strictly outlawed and punishable by death. We certainly would never be such hypocrites, no matter how--tempting--it might be."