Operation: Pacifica, Alliances
by CP, aka DeadLock the Feral (NYAR!)



Time: 2am
Place: DTT Iowa


        "Alright, Sam," said CP into his head-set, "I'm taking a
  break."  The computer's monitor popped as the resolution returned to normal
  from the higher one of an extended Quake game.


        "Wuss!" teased Samhain from behind his monitor, elsewhere in
  the fleet.


        "Yeah, yeah, yeah.  We'll see who's frag count is higher
  when I get back."


...



        "Evenin', Sir," greeted the man on duty as CP walked past
  him.


        "Evenin'"  CP strode out onto the empty aft deck of the
  _Iowa_ with a long mahogany box tucked under his arm.  He looked around,
  found no one, and scoped out a place to sit.  The light of the waxing moon,
  nearly full, streamed down onto the fleet between ever-shifting layers of
  dark, fast moving clouds.


        He found his spot, sat down into a cross-legged position,
  and laid the box across his lap in one seamless movement.  CP ran his hand
  across smooth, polished wood and pondered the wisdom of his actions.  Even
  with hard wood and a metal scabbard between his flesh and the blade, he
  could feel the mystical energies throb and pulse as though it were a living
  thing.


        Did it notice his attention?  Was that a slight shift in its
  rhythmical pulses?  Or was that a trick of his own perceptions?  Owsen had
  left it in his possession, with instructions to keep it safe, but could he
  do that if the blade were not at his side?  What if this was all a bad
  decision?


        "Screw it," decided CP as pulled back the lid with an
  authoritative motion of his arm.  The exposed hilt and couple inches of the
  Barney Slayer's scabbard caught the moonlight and sparkled brilliantly.  The
  scabbard continued to catch the moonlight as the box's lid slid farther
  open.  CP looked down at the weapon as it lay in a soft bed of lush, royal
  purple velvet.


        "Interesting shimmer ... Hmmm ... you're not acting like a
  sword.." CP caught himself holding a convo with an inanimate object.  Maybe
  himself; he couldn't be quite sure.  "Stop talking to yourself.  You look
  silly."  He laid the box on the deck and gently plucked the long sword from
  its case and stood.


        Almost immediately, the world seemed to twist, to change, to
  become something different.  Subtle waves of magical energy washed over CP's
  forearms making his hairs stand up on end.  The effect continued until he
  felt immersed in a swirling current of something ... Holy?  No.  He'd
  experienced the sacred many times in his stay on this planet.  This was
  something different: Divine.


        Owsen had spoken from time to time of the Barney Slayer's
  nature, that it had been given to him by a deity he refused to name, to
  destroy permanently the Hell Wyrm.  Now CP was beginning to understand as he
  felt the subtle emanations of the blade wash over him.


        He grabbed the hilt.  Its cool metal seemed to wrinkle
  slightly from his touch, as though the weapon itself were uncertain of the
  hand holding it.  Annoyed at his indecision and hesitation, CP pulled the
  Barney Slayer free from its scabbard in one crisp tug.


        "THIEF!!" screamed the Barney Slayer in his mind.  Flames
  erupted from the sword as it writhed like a serpent his hands.  "You'll be
  a' lettin' me *GO* ya theivin' BASTARD or I'll 'a cut yer heart out!"


        "I *didn't* STEAL YOU!" snapped CP as he felt the blade's
  sentience begin to invade his psyche.


        "Owsen be me owner and you're *not* 'im!" shrieked the blade
  in a thick Gaelic accent.  "You 'a murder'd 'im and took me fr'm his body!"
  The artifact's psyche lunged at the human, and it touched his thoughts.
  Then it understood.


        "LOOK YOU PSYCHOTIC, OVER-GROWN EXCUSE FOR A LETTER OPENER!
  I.."


        "Ther's isn't a need to b' all rude like that, now is
  there?" thought the Barney Slayer in a placid tone.  CP felt the blade's
  psyche touching, in uncertain and hesitant motions, the outer shell of his
  consciousness.  Its touch, almost a caress, exchanged memories at the speed
  of thought.   An understanding, born of shared experience, grew between the
  sentients.


        "Well, I didn't know how else to approach you," he replied
  to new information about how Owsen handled the artifact.


        "Now what be ye?  You're neh human enny more n' I'm a rusty
  ol' mornin' star," thought the blade.


        "That's a long story."


        "I understand ye need, but I a' cannot be helping ye until I
  know these things.  Now what are ye?"


        "If I tell you, you will aid me, correct?" spoke CP in
  distant, icy tones.


        "Of course I will."


        "Ok, we've a deal, then.  My memory begins..."



...




        CP looked down the mahogany box, wished it farewell, and
  tossed it into the roiling waters in the wake of the _Iowa_.  He watched it
  fall, a dark spot against the sparkling white, moon-lit waters, and
  disappear underneath the waves.


        He slid the thick, well-polished leather strap of the Barney
  Slayer across his broad, muscular chest and tightened the buckle.  He turned
  around and headed back towards his cabin, the continuous pulse from the
  Anti-Barney's nestled between his shoulder blades.


  CP
Copyright, Pyrokinetic Productions, Inc. (1996)