Feld opened his eyes underwater and watched the bubbles of his dying gasp float away to freedom. He was barely aware of the pain in his jaw, the gash on the back of his head, the reopened wound on the side of his head, each cut and scratch and bruise on his body from his descent into this drum-shaped tomb, his lifeblood adding a reddish tinge to the wavy illuminations cast by the egg-shaped crystal lanterns, and the frigid embrace of the water. Feld’s rational mind was beginning its familiar retreat from this nightmare of a life into the steel core center of his psyche.
Throughout his life, he was never sure where the rage came from. Pride? Fatigue? Survival instinct? The injustice of it all? He only knew that when he was in difficult situations, and his death seemed imminent, it was best that he relinquish control and give his baser instincts free reign. It was not a facet of his existence that he was particularly proud of, but it had guaranteed his continued existence on several occasions. Occasions like this one.
The transformation was complete when Feld closed his eyes and, when he blinked them open again, the wild rage could clearly be seen. With a sharp jerk, Feld spun himself to a squatting position, lunged out of the water, took a deep breath and submerged himself again. Instead of awkwardly running through the water, he swam back to the left stairway, plotting the hundred or so ways he would kill Lucretia.
Feld broke the surface of the water within an arm’s reach of the stairway. The water was now chest deep and very dangerous. He needed to assault the valve drain platform and he needed to do it now. As he forcefully made his way to the stairway, his heightened awareness pinpointed Lucretia’s position as she slowly, noiselessly descended the stairway toward him. Climbing the stairway out of the water, he shifted just as she attempted to kick him again. Grabbing her gray kicking foot in one hand and thrusting his other hand along her inner thigh, twisting, he launched a startled, shimmering Lucretia into the water at the base of the stairway. Not content with the minor victory, and growling audibly, Feld launched himself onto the struggling assassin and, catching her throat with one hand, punched her repeatedly in the face with the other. When he felt her body go limp, Feld released her to the fates, watching her float away face up.
Finally, Feld was able to climb the stairs and gain the platform. He threw himself at the valve wheel and tried in vain to turn the wheel clockwise and counterclockwise. It didn’t budge. He was about to try the lever, when a noise above made him jump backward to the edge of the platform and assume a defensive stance.
An unnoticed hatch above unnoticed iron rungs in the concrete wall behind the valve opened up and Feld felt T’Malka’s pheromone sense slide across the steel core surface of his psyche and seep into its seems. With surprising agility, T’Malka skittered down the ladder and spun around to face her quarry.
As Feld looked into T’Malka’s eyes, he felt his rage give way to another base instinct. T’Malka in turn gave Feld a full visual inspection as she walked over to him. In spite of the matted blood in Feld’s hair and beard and the assorted cuts and scrapes, T’Malka hugged Feld and kissed him hungrily.
“Feldy. Oh my Feldy. It’s been too long.”
“Yes. Yes, it has. Much too long.”
“Feldy. Stop trying to run away, sweetling. You know you don’t want to. Look at me. We were meant to be together.” She put her hands to his face and looked into his eyes. “Come away with me. There is so much we can do together. So many adventures to live. So much love to share. Stop trying to fight fate. Please tell me you’ll do it. Please tell me you’ll stop fighting me. Can you? Wlll you stop fighting me and run away with me?”
Feld paused for a second, only a second. He pulled T’Malka tight against him, closed his eyes, and said, “Yes. I’ll stop fighting you. I’ll go with you wherever you go. Together, bound for eternity.” Then he kissed her with all the passion and feeling he had left in him as their hands reacquainted themselves with each other’s familiar places.
This was a new experience for Feld, in spite of the familiarity. In all previous encounters, save T’Malka’s capture in Thuunvaal, Feld’s sense had been brushed aside like a speck of dust. In Thuunvaal, years of combat had dulled his pheromone senses, so T’Malka’s pheromones had nothing to react with. Now was different.
Feld had been in a battle frenzy with his rational nature suppressed, sealed within the core of his psyche. T’Malka, however, was still able to infiltrate his senses. The cold steel protective core that hid his rational self had been compromised and his mind’s eye saw the shell shatter into several million fragments, each one melting and coalescing, trying to reform into something else, each one absorbing both Feld’s and T’Malka’s sense and influence.
In the meantime, Feld’s battle frenzy turned toward lust. His hands worried their way through T’Malka’s clothing to get to the smooth, scaly skin within. Hands about her waist, he pulled her closer and kissed her deeply as his mind’s eye took the shattered shards of his psyche and formed an image of love incarnate, an Askaran goddess descending from the heavens. When the goddess burst into flames and buffeted his mind with chunks of burning flesh, he knew his end was near.
“Frell you both!!!” screamed Lucretia as she violently shoved the couple off the edge of the valve platform. As Feld looked up, all he saw of her was a partial, dark gray face, evidence of their recent scuffle.
T’Malka and Feld separated in mid air and hit the water hard. Momentarily stunned, he fought his way back to the surface and started swimming toward the right hand stairway. As he did so, Lucretia pulled the lever on the valve and a large metallic groaning sound filled the tank. Vibrations could be felt in the water and soon a strong, clockwise whirlpool formed as the water began to drain from the tank.
Furiously, Feld began swimming against the circular tide and tried to reach the safety of the stairway. Meanwhile, T’Malka, who had fallen toward the center of the tank, began crying for help as she fought against the strengthening vortex. Lucretia, for her part, scampered up the ladder and sealed the hatch above the valve platform.
“Feldy! Feldy! Save me!”
The current continued to prevent Feld from reaching the sanctuary of the stairway. Instead, it carried him backward around the tank’s wall and towards the ever-widening vortex. When Feld allowed himself a glance inward, he could see T’Malka trying to swim with all her strength straight away from the vortex and around and around its center.
“Feldy! Please, come get me! Please! Please, help me!!”
Feld carefully considered his next move. The need for survival overcoming all else, the air was free of T’Malka’s pheromones. Still, he briefly thought of rescuing her. But, Feld had no real choice. Turning a deaf ear to T’Malka’s panicked screams, he spun around and swam in the direction of the current and toward the left stairway. He reached its safety as T’Malka’s screams died in the draining wash.
Feld huddled on the steps and waited for the water to fully drain, all the while trying to keep warm. He was cold, he was naked, he was bruised, he was battered.
But he was alive.