Beacons in The Dark

Chapter 3 - Daggers from The Dead

"We love ourselves to death." - Maruvian Proverb

Memories flashed before Blue’s eyes as his walk turned into a sprint, Nami had sent an encrypted databurst that he was under attack as well.

He remembered the warm sunlight of the Superplanet Alphanas, thousands of times larger than the original Terra. He remembered Flame, Loremaster then, telling him that he was a culmination of Zeks, of thousands of cycles of wisdom.

He didn’t know what that meant as a child, but as he got older, the fact that he had no true biological parents  revealed the fact that he was an amalgamation of differing genes, a created genetically engineered human, highly illegal in many Sectors. but Loremaster Flame had kept that secret tightly, and so did Blue.

Historians had a high place in society and were known assassination targets so they were permitted to dispatch when necessary. An auburn haired woman passed Blue by, cocking her head to the side and asking if was alright, when a bright scarlet slash ripped across her arm.

With surprising deftness, Blue held his hand up, taking the dagger squarely through the hand, stopping it from embedding itself into his forehead, where it could have done irreparable damage to his memory stores, maybe even making it impossible to sync with a backup copy.

“Ah!” the woman screamed and Blue jumped up, seeing that the proto-troll had a deathtrap..upon his demise, an automated microwire had sent sparks of electricity through his now nonliving flesh and with minor circuitry and programming, was able to send a deadly projectile at the killer of the man, Blue in this case.

Jumping up and pulling the blade out with a decidedly audible grunt of pain, he switched his corneas to ocular scanning mode, noting trace minerals and metals, but detecting no poisons..which was fortunate for he did not know if the woman, the innocent bystander, was augmented.

“I’m so sorry.” he apologized, looking at the trickle of blood running down her coat, “I can send you the credits for a new one...or, ah, one day I could buy you a cup of something.” he said with a grin.

“Maybe.” she replied with a small grin, sending him a databurst, allowing him to contact her at a later date if he felt so inclined...but with murder close at hand, he might never see her again. “Don’t worry about the coat, though, it’ll repair itself...its the blood that’s a bitch to clean out.”

And she walked away.

Taking a small metal pen looking apparatus from his right coat pocket, he made a sigil on the wall, marking him as a Historian (but not which rank) and telling what had happened because an investigative squad would be on its way momentarily and he didn’t have time to waste, but had to go and help Nami.