Young People, Old Hearts -- Mount Arreat

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Date Posted: 20:35:32 04/07/02 Sun
Author: Rupicolous
Subject: Young People, Old Hearts
In reply to: Via 's message, ""We need Draconium, NOW!"" on 19:04:28 04/01/02 Mon

Shoulders hunched, wrinkles in his forehead more prominent than ever in times of deep introspection, Rupicolous felt very old sitting here. The others were quick to anger, to allow their emotions to dictate their desires. These were the great leaders of the Dracan populace? Certainly they kept their people separate from the Cybertronians above on Omicron II, but the cities and the grav tubes on the surface were evidence enough that the old ways were changed. These leaders simply kept blinders over the Dracans eyes with flowery words and confident speaking.

Rupicolous clenched his fists. Confidence, false confidence was a mask he despised. Tal'Rune tossed out the notion that Draconium had been reduced to dust, its power dissapated. What did he know of geology before the priest of Dracon? Yet his followers, his peers, what did they know? Words spoken with surety ring true even when they might well be false. No, the value of Draconium extended beyond its radioactive halflife, and a collapsed shaft merely meant the Draconium was once more compressed within the strata of the softer rock of the astEroid itself. THAT was the real problem; the asteroid was composed of basic quartz, shale, and other elements the rock priest knew intimately. Draconium, while unstable, could cut diamond under the proper controlled circumstances. And now the Asteroid contained less Draconium than it had when the mining operation first began.

Gamma needed reinforcement, a framework of metal embracing the outer portions of the asteroid as well as the tunnels within. Sooner or later they would have to face the fact that, as large a chunk of rock as it was, nothing could be carved like swiss cheese ad infinitum; perhaps gathering smaller asteroids in orbit and methodically disassembling them aboard Gamma would take the place of mining the larger asteroid.

Would any here consider that? Was this new generation too isolated, or did personal motives guide them? Shalara had been different. She cared about her people, Baal'boa forsaken though they may have been. And against the disapproval of her peers, she had been one of the first to recognize the value in expanding one's horizons. Rupicolous closed his eyes and saw, as he had every day since it happened, how ill-fated her timing had been....

He stood proudly by his wife's side as they disembarked from the shuttle. The other priests and priestesses scorned her actions. What kind of example was this to set for her people? Certainly some Dracans would have to supervise their Cybertronian friends, but the majority were above such menial tasks. They would be pure, would stay on the planet below. On the lowest class of Dracan would be sent to the metal tomb above.

Rupicolous was impressed, both by the size of the metal giant which greeted them and by the compassion in his voice. The Dracans were right to trust this species at least he realized. After the metal demons who ravaged their people were conquered by Jyaaku, the Dracans were understandably distrustful of outsiders. But a joint venture like Mining Colony Omicron? He had been nervous about separating himself so far from native soil but had come for Shalara's sake. Now as he walked through the metal corridors, looking through the clear reinforced glass at the beauty of the Draconium rich rocks dancing amid the stars outside, he felt as in touch with his planet as ever. So lost was in the beaty of it all, and the sootthing tones of Shalara's voice as she outlined her ideas, he didn't know something was wrong until he realized she had stopped speaking. He turned and read the tragedy on her face moments before it happened. Looking out the other side of the corridor he saw what had horrified and silenced her so. Though the craft were unfamiliar, the intent of the attacking species was clear enough. The explosion threw Rupicolous back against a metal bulkhead, where even his durable bones were shaken.

When he awoke on the shuttle racing desperately back to the surface he was alone, save for his injured and loyal pilot. And clutched in the palm of his hand he now found a single gemstone, encased in gold on a fine silk string. A gift to his wife, one she had worn always. A gift now stained by their mingled blood. She was gone, and he would have to carry on for his people, if they survived this second cataclysmic attack...

They were all looking at him now, and he noticed that he had dug his nails into the palm of his right hand, drawing blood. Folding it beneath his cloak and lifting his eyes if not his head, he spoke:

"Could we not reinforce the mines from without? It would take time, but these Cybertronians are gifted in the science of engineering. I am certain the Draconium within might be more salvageable than Tal'Rune thinks..."

He lowered his eyes once more, his piece said. There was no need to say more now, to bore them with detailed geological explanations they would neither understand nor appreciate. They would eventually vote and choose a course of action for those above, deciding the fate of Dracans and Cybertronians most would never meet or deign worthy enough to speak to. It was a different Draco than when Shalara held a position. But then for Rupicolous, everything was different since she was taken...

"When ideas fail, words come in very handy."
-Goethe (1749-1832)

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Replies:

"Now that's a little better!" -- Via, 21:29:30 04/07/02 Sun