My Pearl cannot be this weird!
Another warp. Another rock-called-a-planet. Not even a sign of life.
A groan rises up on the bridge. Bet's called in, and coin exchanged in the manner of the judicially ignored.
Emerald tilts her head slightly, a warning to cut back without an actual warning. That would mean an official reprimand. Not something she wants to hand out, just as she made her bridge the way she liked.
Silence as she speaks, all actions stilled, "Peridot, record another failure, as expected."
"Of course my Emerald!" Peridot says, and ignores how her partner nudges her ribs. Peridot was so certain that the deep range scanner would work this time.
"And, fuel-check."
"Yes, my Emerald!" A different Peridot says. "… Outside expectations, half-full!"
Unfortunate, depending on the local deep space currents, more or less fuel may be spent. "That gas giant seems suitable, send enough shuttles to reach three-quarters."
"At once, my Emerald!"
"Good. Now, standard work, get to it."
The bridge returned to activity, navigators and operators and engineers returning to their tasks. The busywork of command.
But, why was Emerald on edge? What was causing her hackles to raise?
She felt eyes on her back. Two. Starry eyed and soft.
Right. The Pearl.
"Sing." Emerald turned, leaned just slightly against the side of her throne. Better to face her entertainment.
The Pearl sung. Her notes sharp but low. A rhythm that wove between the bustle of the crew, and rose just above, dominating the room not through volume, but through its clarity.
The words were a hymn to the ship, praising the nature of exploration, and the valiance of the explorer. Pride was plucked and sharpened, and Emerald could almost see how her eavesdropping crew stood just a little straighter, just a little stronger.
The Jaspers clutching their spears, military straight, were slowly moving their lips. Mouthing out the words.
Emerald felt generous, and pressed the intercom button, so that the whole ship may hear.
It was pleasant enough, but something was wrong. Something about how the Pearl sang, eyes so bright, was uncanny.
It hit her on the second chorus, with a rumbling rhythm the crew tried to step in time to. Not once has the Pearl blinked.
Emerald leaned forward, staring down the Pearl hard.
There was a hitch in the song. Noticed only by Emerald's heightened awareness. And the Pearl's gaze focused on Emerald's. Bright eyes against suspicious.
Emerald blinked.
The Pearl continued to sing. But, as if, she had just realised, the Pearl blinked too. Eyelids slowly closing, methodical movements towards the middle. And they opened.
A moment later, another blink, just as rigid and precise. Precisely consistent. Precisely measured. Not reflexive, but chosen specifically.
Emerald slowly reclined back in her chair, an attempt to relax, and simply enjoy the song. But some portion of her mind lingered on those eyes.
<Beautiful>
There is a new rumour about. Well, to be fair, on a ship as large as Emerald's. As storied and ancient, there is
always rumours.
But this one is rather more fantastical. Not like so and so failed something or other, or how that one or this one sabotaged this or that.
This ones about the monster stalking these halls.
A misshapen gem. Somehow surviving the Kindergarten purge. Somehow making it to a Warp gate without being detected. Somehow making it aboard an Emerald's personal ship.
They say it wails on the off-cycles. Haunting the corridors and rooms and feasting on those who should be resting, and not wandering the halls. Weeping constantly, for what it does, and what it is.
Clod-bait, a weapon's gunner mutters, an overactive imagination.
This one's different! The junior technician whispers, I have recordings.
Emerald passes by, inspections well underway. She hears the tinny noises from the hidden crystal. Volume tuned as low as it goes.
She ignores the lessor's huddle, as is her nature, but she does not ignore the screams from the recording.
It is ghastly. It is haunting. It is undeniably a persons sobs. And undeniably a wail of fear and anguish.
It reminds her of the wretched noises some Gems make, when they are dragged to the harvesting chambers.
A night later, after she has dismissed the Pearl, after she has dismissed her Jaspers and Peridots. She finds herself restless, and walks the ship alone.
Everyone else is at rest. The ship groans the groans of a ship. Silent, save for the shift of crystal and metal as gravity slowly changes the strength of its pull. Silent, save for the soft tinkling. Micro-matter too small to see impacting the hull too fast to see.
There is a scream, and Emerald remembers the recording. It sounds awful.
It's coming from the door down the hall.
It wails again as she places her hand on the door, screechy and overused to the point of scratching. Wet, and nasal.
Emerald pushes the door open.
On the other side, there is a figure small and lithe. Too dark to see. Hunched over a basin, two claw-like hands gripping the rim tight. The head a mess too spiked, wild and sharp. It leaps away from where it stands as Emerald reaches for the lights.
It is gone.
Emerald very carefully steps forwards, her gaze hyper-focused. She closes the door, locking it behind her. The room has only one exit – it cannot get away.
(She thinks it is the Pearl, a confrontation will get answers.)
She approaches the basin, sees the mirror above it. This is a room for washing up, removing any dirt caught in crevasses while off-ship. The basin seems scratched. Material made rough and jagged by sharp fingernails.
There is something in the basin. A box. One simple. Black material, latched. Slowly, Emerald reaches towards it.
The door unlocks and opens.
"Something wrong, my Emerald?"
Emerald does not shriek. She does look sharply.
It is the Pearl. She stands straight, tall. Pristine and perfect. Hair spiked, but groomed and carefully placed. There are no tear tracks. There are no signs of distress. Her voice is soft, pleasant. Not raw, grief-rent.
Emerald considers her, then glances down at the basin. She decides not to open the box in front of the Pearl. She looks back to see the Pearl's eyes somehow brighter and sharper.
"… There
is something wrong. My ship has been damaged," her fingers ran over the grooves. Carved by fingers sharp as knives. "Go fetch something to burr these unsightly lines out."
The closest tool for this job would be in the hanger – the grinder used to burr out damage to shuttle hulls. It would have the Pearl going far away, and staying gone for long enough for Emerald.
A hand too soft to break anything lifts up a block of sandpaper excitedly. "I have this, my Emerald!"
Emerald glares, "So you have," she steps to the side, leaving the box where it is. "Correct the issue."
"With pleasure, my Emerald!" And she does, practically skipping.
With the basin returned to smooth grace, the Pearl stands aside proudly. As if showing it off.
The box is still in the basin, and Emerald reaches for it.
The Pearl stares, Emerald touches the basin's rim instead, inspecting the finish.
The Pearl stares, Emerald withdraws her hand, and looks at the Pearl.
The Pearl keeps looking at Emerald, and reluctantly, Emerald leaves the room with her trailing behind.
The box stays in the basin.
Emerald never sees it again.
<Delicate>
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Silence in the room. Hurry up and wait.
The sentiment persists even this far up the command chain, Emerald muses.
Backs rigid, bodyguards still.
Smile soft, the Pearl stiller.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
"… Dance for me." Stop staring at me.
"Of course my Emerald!" Immediate, without warning. Viridian dances as if she was merely waiting for Emerald. As if she could read Emerald perfectly.
(She couldn't, right?)
Pirouettes perfect and graceful, as if the Pearl was made to do this. Perhaps she was. Viridian's toes were outstretched, long slim legs balanced so precariously, but so precisely. They beat a rythmn in the ground as she moves. A shape traced by her dance.
The diamond.
She stops, spinning in place. Her arms, once pinned so close, stretch out wide. Slowing her speed until her motions could be seen for their precision. Her head rarely left the same direction. Facing Emerald even as her neck twisted. Until it could no longer twist more, and in a blur she rotated her head, until she faced Emerald again. Neck turned the other way, so she can face Emerald for longer.
Her arms return inwards, spin speeding up. But instead of returning to her chest they rise up high. Upper arm's sticking out straight, parallel to the floor. Her forearms aiming up, hands sharp as knives. Towards a point above her head.
The triangle.
Her routine changes again. The spinning stops. And in motions so fluid, as if any other Gem's proprioception would not have been shot, the Pearl, Viridian, started leaping. Delicate graceful leaps flowing into twirls and movement high and low. Somehow, a ribbon has started to trail after her hands. The fluttering flickering emerald green catching the eyes. Flying free and fast, and around and around Viridian's body.
A circle.
Emerald cannot help but see these symbols. Always in her dances. No matter how wild or flowerly or gentle or soft, no matter how varied. It always came down to those three symbols. Traced in her movements, her gestures, her actions.
Leap. Slide. Sway. Spin.
Diamond, triangle, circle.
Diamonds are the symbol of the patriot. The pinnacles of Gem society.
Triangles are the symbol of the pyramid. The greatest and most important are housed within.
Circles are symbols of nothing. Yet Viridian keeps making them. A motif clear to even the thickest Ruby.
Swoop. Dip. Ascend. Spin.
Those circles, always. Circles on circles on circles.
The guards stand rigid, seemingly uncaring of Viridian's grace. But Emerald can see the smiles. So can the Pearl. Some of those movements… Even though Viridian's gaze never left Emerald, her dance clearly was for them as well.
It ends. Emerald doesn't say anything, but points to her side.
Viridian returns. Perfect silence, perfect stance. Her gaze still on Emerald. Not judging, nor appraising. But not, not those.
She worries what she wants.
<Paradisaic>
Madness is, perhaps, seeing what others do not.
The crew love the Pearl. They show it in the glances, the humming, how whenever Viridian is sent on some minor task, the Gems cannot help but help with as much fervour as they do Emerald.
Even worse, when the day of work is done, and her entourage is dismissed; the free Gems crowd around Viridian, and drag her out of Emerald's sight. They cannot seem to get enough of the Pearl, and wish to be with her even during off-time.
Far from Emerald's opinion, for when the Jaspers, rowdy in their Quarters, request that Viridian – Not Emerald's Pearl, but Viridian by name – participate in their weekly tournament, Emerald stamps her seal with vigour.
Well, Emerald says tournament. But really its a brawl club. A ring scratched into the floor. The lights above broken until only one spot-lights the rings. Two or more enter, one stays, the rest dragged out.
It is brutal, violent. Only the Jaspers's skill, and that weapons are forbade, ensure each gem is intact. Although, nearly none leave without some gouge or scratch in their hardlight flesh.
Viridian is returned with nary a scratch in her frame. The Jaspers grin and laugh.
And when Emerald passes them by in the corridor, just far enough ahead that any conversation between any one to any who can be ignored, the Jaspers talk.
They mock and jeer at Viridian, but they also mock and jeer each other so that means nothing.
What means more is how they touch Viridian. Arms over shoulder, claps on back, nods of respect and almost hugs.
What means more is what they say.
"Pearlie! Rematch when you can, 'key? I had you dead to rights and I
tripped! I swear I'll give you a proper one next time, yeah?"
"Hey Twigs! You were right – she
does think about me that way. Can't believe I was to dumb to realise myself!"
"Vers – next song you give, can you do that one about the moon and her love? It- I… I would like to hear it again okay?"
Next week, Emerald receives another request to have Viridian. She fears they are subverted.
(Viridian stares, and Emerald cannot find it in herself to say no.)
<Pearl>
Gems do not need to eat or drink or sleep, true. But that merely makes the hydroponics abroad and the Quarries luxuries, instead of necessities. Some Emeralds, Emerald knows, rations their usage ruthlessly. The simple beds and hammocks and soft paddings of each Quarry strictly allotted to the high achievers every week. And a feast prepared for the Gem of honour of this or that skirmish.
Emerald thinks rather fairer, and allows her Gems a goodly six hours each day for Quarry use– eight, for the communal ones– and is always free with the choice fruits that flower.
This is because she herself enjoys them, and flagrantly so. Who was she to deny her crew the base pleasures she enjoys? Just the appearance of her personal Quarters alone should attest to that.
There is the soft bedding, Some wool-like material from avian life. With great plumes that trailed down and after them as they flew amongst the clouds. Camouflage, the Peridots say. Last Emerald checked, there remained a sizeable population on their home planet. Predicted to last until it dies.
There is also the gentle bed curtains, strung from above and cascading down. Silk from some strange organic beasts. Taller then man, many legged and many eyed. They made for good hunting, and their supply of silk made it so that the artisans and the sedate nobles pretending to be hunters clamoured for them. Well after the beasts home planet was drained worthless.
By the bed, a table. Holding a single silver platter. What once held soft-pink plant-flesh. Well. Until she finished it, and her Pearl disappeared the refuse away. Somehow, in the moments where Emerald was not looking.
There is also Viridian. Standing there. Just at the foot of the bed. Eyes bright and shining in the dark. Stare blatant against the back of Emeralds head.
She pulls the cover closer, tighter and deeper in.
Viridian was dismissed. Along with her bodyguards. They were to find amusement for themselves, somewhere else. While Emerald rests.
At some point, Viridian returned. Silent, and unnoticed until Emerald glanced to the left. And saw Viridian's blank shining eyes, ramrod straight against the wall.
Emerald shivered. The bed was too soft. It had a herbal scent to it. One that was pleasing to Emerald.
She did not apply it. No Peridot or Jasper or even the Pebbles would have done such a thing. Something so, so, luxurious. Only a Pearl would even consider. The frivolous things.
(When did she have the time to do it? Emerald made sure Viridian did not leave her side all day.)
(No creature can exist in two places at once.)
(She hopes.)
Viridian's eyes gleam in the dark, so dearly noticed and unwanted by Emerald.
Fin.
