Hey guys. It's been a while, huh? This chapter's been sitting around and I almost gave up on it. College is tough, exhausting even, my interests wavered. My writing's gone miles since I began this – I actually finished my own book. Edited it all; someone I know is looking through it. My improvement's all down to beginning here. To be honest I still get follows and favourites on this, though I've assumed for over a year that nobody was still reading...

...But we'll get there.

Lifeforce: Chapter 105

"...weariness seemed to settle on him like a coating of dust."
― Maria V. Snyder, Magic Study

One Day We'll All Look Back On This And Laugh

Ratchet had lived through many a revelation in his life.

First, that he wasn't Solana born.

Second, that he was part of an honoured race that was driven out of this universe.

Then that his father had been murdered by some creature, which had been getting away with horrific things for as long as the lombax had been living.

Clank being made by the Zoni. Alister Azimuth being the arbiter of everything that happened.

Ickabar being a Thora. Ickabar being dead.

The universe could re-set because mortal beings kept getting too big for their technological britches.

And now there's another two. Orange was alive, ready to destroy whatever uneasy stalling he'd been conjuring up. Oh – and that kid over there was apparently another Tachyon waiting to happen. For a frozen moment nothing happened; then a murmur ripped through the cragmite forces surrounding them.

It was surreal, watching it happened to...somebody else for one. Ratchet felt more like an invader than he ever had in Ickabar's memories; at least they were vital to him. But considered everything that had happened –maybe this was, too. By a long, long shot.

Isn't nice, huh kid?

Then the shock on Tachyon's hideous face shattered. Ratchet almost swore he could hear it.

"What?" The cragmite practically cracked his teeth on the consonant. And everybody moved. Wilt swung out the arm-holstered gun of his, Skii's spear came twirling off his back, Clogg had hunched – Ratchet raised his weapon; senses going into overload because he had no foggy idea who to aim at. The looming ambush of Tachyon's forces shifted into action, too, brandishing their weapons.

Ratchet turned his head, by chance. And met Skii's eye.

It happened in a faint, quick instance – they shared a glance, and Ratchet felt a thrill of cold spark in the back of his brain. Well. He'd been dosed on this stuff long enough to know that meant something.

And then it happened.

There are theories that say time is relative. Up to interpretation. And that it works differently on inter-dimensional levels. In a moment, Ratchet's eyes glazed over, and for a moment, an overlay slipped before his eyes. Tinted pale blue, a colour he'd never again associate with, heh, anything good.

...

Thousands of years ago, Emperor Maliko reined. His symbol is a shield; three-points jut from the top, their ends elongate and swirl to the right, to coil around the right half of the body. Leaving the other side open.

His seal is printed on Skii's skin. Ratchet might've seen it and not paid attention; it has faded from dull red to purple and blends with the assassin's skin.

Emperor Maliko had no children. He took up the mantle of the war along with the crown. He had no succeeded his father, for his father hadn't been Emperor. His cousins, the twins, had been unfit to rule. Spoiled and silly. Maliko had not desired it. An odd cragmite.

But he became the most cragmite-like creature he could. Make no mistake, he was ruthless, he was decisive. But he had no time for family.

He had a sister, and a brother, that much we knew. His sister married a nobleman, the cunning Zurrian. Zurrian, who experimented in his labs – looking for new ways to improve the soldiers. To stop the stalemate.

For the stalemate had been going on for years. Hunters, warriors – they can breed through death; males die and replace themselves with three newborns. But this is a last resort, this was not the species' designated way of breeding. It was back-up.

But the war meant this became common-place; less cragmites were born of mothers. They were smaller, weaker, the genes were faltering. Assassins started adding themselves to the ground soldiers, and died without leaving any children. They thinned out.

The Empire was eating itself away from within; the pillars were chipping away. Just a straw was all it needed.

And Lord Zurrian did what he did anyway.

...

Wilt has hair. It covers one half of his face. He's bigger, stronger, than most cragmites. Aside from Clogg. His brother with the mangled arm? Born when his father died. The difference between them? Wilt had a mother. His genes were varied.

That's why Tachyon has eyebrows, Ratchet thinks. What a useless bit of information to learn in the midst of all this, eh? But everything matters, every minute detail...

...

Ratchet sees him. For a moment, in some shred of form, he's standing in a dark, but sharp interior of a lab. Bottles that were bulbous, twisting and connected with tubes. His nose wrinkles when he sees how organic they look – like someone's insides. The red liquid doesn't help.

A cragmite with dark, purple-grey skin stands with his back to him; tapping a thing claw-like finger against a vial. Bubbles rush to the surface, he turns his head – and he sees Tachyon's face with minor difference, a smirk that suddenly turns his innards to frost.

It's not his fear; it's someone else's recorded fear. It's a note left by somebody else telling him this creature was evil.

...

Then he's in an odd sort of room, decorated with slightly intimidating tapestries and a mirror in the shape of a diamond; framed in black spikes that dig into the wall in a kind of abstract display. Ratchet sees his own reflection in the mirror, but the two little cragmite woman do not.

One is dressed in finery and is adjusting the crown, modest in comparison to Tachyon's. There's aloofness in her gaze, her skin is pale – he recognises something about her jaw and her head-fins.

The smaller cragmite female turns her head, and it looks like something had distracted her. He knows her face. Because he's seen the kid, and their names blend into one, stamped into his head. Yup.

Phoewin, Phobose.

...

Their mothers had been friends. But would that matter to Mr Appreciation Day? Ickabar had been his friend, too.

Ratchet sees one more before this ends, before this flip through the mind-archive ends. He's in a valley. Skii is staring at nothing. Whoa. He looks – young? Ratchet squints, sees Skii's shaking hands. Trisby was there?!

Skii turns his head. There's blood, cragmite blood, staining his robes.

Am I wrong?

Their eyes meet. The young cragmite leans forward just a little, his face creasing in bewilderment. Their eyes meet. Ratchet feels his entire form jolt like a spasm in a hologram because this is wrong, wrong, he's looking across layers and layers like a mirror in a mirror, and yet there's been a link that is too strong, it tangles everything up.

...

The look on Skii's face said it all. The way his brows flew up, the dawning realisation. Ratchet was painfully aware that he'd just done something pretty stupid, though he wasn't sure what. Strangely he didn't feel like he'd jumped out of the world for half an hour, if felt as though a second had gone by.

Orange's cackle came drifting out to aggravate the situation further.

The lombax jerked on the spot, teeth flashing as he forced down a grown. That kid – the tiny cragmite in the midst of it all, was staring. Little hands clasped at his uncle's collar. Clank glanced between him and Ratchet, mouth ajar and Ratchet knew he was torn –

"Phobose!" Orange called, the name rolling off his tongue, so much softer than Tachyon's irksome name, "Why don't you say hello to your cousin?"

...

So he had been deceived. Again. By something so obviously plane. A child with a precious jewel dangling around his neck? With his 'uncles'? Sent to the future? They were no family unit. They were his body-guards, shabby, reckless protectors. Who should have come crawling to him with the truth the moment they breathed air again.

A shared look. Tachyon and Phobose stared at each other in a second that could've lasted an eternity; even from this distance he saw the frozen, empty expression clouding the boy's face. Blanching with guilt, was he?

Why not tell him the truth, if there was no treachery to hide?

Is this what he laboured for? Is this the relative he'd sought, some cretin aiming to usurp him? Or had he known all along that such things were how the race reined stronger than every other kind?! He had been naive as a youth.

He would not be taken for a fool.

And yet, the sting tried to prod at him. Betrayal. How loathsome it was, but he'd had the worst of it – he could endure.

"Cousin?" He echoes, dangerously level. That assassin's stare is defiant but he refuses to meet it now – he will not play this insolent jock's game. "Is that so? So you crept behind my back, spoke to me on false pretences?"

The boy's face twists. "I didn't. I didn't mean to."

"Do you honestly expect me to see that as innocent?" Tachyon sneered, his sceptre falling into his other hand where he tapped it against his palm – one, two, three, like someone wielding a bat or cane. The boy's eyes follow the gesture with apprehension. Good. They have an understanding.

He has mere seconds. Tachyon can feel the fury prickling below his skin.

Black brows sink down, shadows danced over the cragmite's crooked features. "Give him to me."

Horror lights up on the ragtag group below in different variants. How quaint. The only one looking vicious enough to worry him is the one-eyed hunter. Skii's face practically seeps with bitterness. "No."

The answer is low and practised. Tachyon's lip twisted. "If you do not hand him over."

He leaned forward, his voice an octave away from shattering the air around them. His sceptre pointed – along his own sight it lines up nicely with the skinny assassin below; the gold curve directly beside him like a fly swatter. "I will kill you all."

"Alright, stop it!"

Why that wretched little –

...

Either Orange was as self-destructive as an already-dead Thora, or he was as dense as Qwark after reading yelp reviews! Now? Seriously? Of all times? Ratchet stepped forward an instantly a chorus of clicks from pretty much everywhere singled him out as the array of cragmites' target. But he was about as worried as steel facing straw.

Clank slowly placed a hand on his shoulder. Inhale, exhale. Tachyon's furious face turned to him and he didn't give a chance to start spluttering derogatory terms, "Don't you use what's happening?! This is bigger than any of us, than any of our grudges or quarrels!"

With a sweep of his arm he gestured down at the group of wayward cragmites, "The whole damn universe is gonna implode on itself if you don't give us back the artefact."

"Please try to think logically." Clank added, with the air of someone who knew it was pretty futile. Of course Tachyon guffawed, eyes intently staring Ratchet down with malice, "Implode on itself? Is that the best you can come up with?"

"It's true! It will kill us all!" Skeet yelled over the incessant buzzing of the planet-wide shield. "You HAVE to give us back the artefact!"

If they got it back, they could repair it.

They could trap Tressakay – or whatever was left of her – again.

Or not, because Tachyon was dense. Tachyon waved a hand at his troops – and they started closing in. The legs of his mech bent – and he leaped down from the rocky ledge to land with a thunderous slam before the group below.

They had seconds. Ratchet clenched his fists. This stupid, idiotic, ruthless little –

"You're first, wretch." Tachyon leered, a vicious spark lighting the yellow of his eyes. He rounded on Skii and Wilt overlapped the assassins' sneer with a loud, gruff snarl. Clogg was preparing for the troops; arms out, face set and heavy.

Phobose's quivering hands rose and clasped his headfins. Then he scowled so vehemently Ratchet felt his chest spring in shock.

"Stop it!"

Once again, the loud exclamation from such a tiny, itty bitty cragmite left them all silent for a few seconds. And Phobose slid down his uncle's back to the ground. He evaded him when he tried to scoop him up –

- by rolling into a little pill-bug ball just like other cragmites, slipping between their legs, and springing back up with a stumble.

Right in front of Tachyon's enormous throne. Even Ratchet had to appreciate the strange awe of the scene before him. This tiny little creature, facing off with the most monstrous being in the galaxy.

Phobose raised his head to stare, and Tachyon returned it with a rueful kind of surprise; teeth showing in his sneer. But he made no move to crush him, or seize him. Nobody moved.

The little cragmite straightened up, and cast Ratchet a glance. Inhaling, he faced his...cousin again.

"...It was so bad." He said, in a soft, wavering voice. "Back then. We couldn' trust anybody."

Tachyon's gaze didn't flinch.

Phobose lowered his own. "I was 'fraid." A little louder, he added, "We – I think we all were. Everything fell apart, and now everyone's gone. But us. Everything's new. And you – I didn't know who you were. You...you were bigger n' me."

Puzzlement tip-toed into his tone, along with uncertainty. "You were a 'lil egg." Phobose said, as if still trying to piece it all together himself, "And now you're bigger than me."

Something. Something in Tachyon's face shifted. Perhaps for a moment his tight, horrible expression loosened.

For a moment. Phobose dared to look him in the eye again. "...The ghosty lady was going to kill us all. All of us. We got n'other chance but..."

Another chance? Ratchet's brow creased.

But she was out for their blood to begin with. Why would she do that? Why would she change her mind? What's her agenda? There's something I'm missing here, something big.

Tachyon's look turned low, but thankfully less murderous. But that didn't mean anybody was off the hook. "If you do not come with me now, your lives are all forfeit. I cannot be lenient. Do you understand, child?"

Once again that odd, empty face housed Phobose's features. The sombre sorrow, the gentle pain was gone in a dissolve. He looked over his shoulder at Skii.

No words were exchanged, But Ratchet could guess. No, that wasn't going to happen.

...

"I'm doing it so we don't look conspicuous."

Oh sure, sure. Because planting yourself up against the wall, arms and legs akimbo, doesn't look conspicuous at all. Dinkles set his face in a frown and sent Nefarious a hard look; and threw in a foot-tap for good measure. The robot in turn fixed him with a look that promised punt-kicking retribution if he kept nagging at him.

"No wonder the Loki tossed you out of your own head..." The robot drawled, insisting a furious bristle from the cat. Ah, too easy. "Now all we need is a ship. You tagged along with the purple furball, you probably know all about high-jacking ships."

... Hang on. Speaking of. Nefarious glowered down at the cat with blatant suspicion. "Why haven't you involved the purple freak? Don't get me wrong, I'm internally rejoicing at his absence, pest, but aren't you two usually glued at the hip?"

Folded arms and a continued seething glare. O-kay. With a pronounced harrumph, Nefarious once again checked that the coat was clear and began sneaking towards an idle ship, back arched, feet on tip-toe. The cat trailed after him in a blur of yellow.

Aha! There's the perfect ship, just a shuttle, nothing fancy. Nobody would even notice it was gone...

An old-fashioned fuse-lock bust later, and in he went with a theatrical step. Dinkles looked dubious as he slunk in behind him.

Now was the time for a triumphant cackle. One leg to the left. One to the right. Slamming metal against metal with a satisfying clunk. Deep, unnecessary breath, for he no longer had organs.

"AH –"

Dinkles gawked in silent mortification. Nefarious had frozen, jaw open and chest thrust out. Tenahee was sitting in the pilot seat; one hand on the controls, the other sat awkwardly on her knee. Eyes wide and her mouth downturned in disbelief.

"..."

...

With a swoop, the ship left the chaotic battlefield, and nobody saw it go. Nefarious had a knack for making almost impossible get-aways.

The three beings stared forward into the endless stars. Tenahee's shoulders hunched, lips pressed together in a straight, awkward line. Nefarious was tapping his fingers against the console. Dinkles had placed his paws behind his back and focused his big-eyed stare at the glass of the windshield.

The hum of the engine only made this incredibly uncomfortable situation worse. It seemed they'd gained a party member. Time to go on an adventure.

Improv. It's harder than it looks.

...

"Enough. Get them."

Oh son of a –

On cue the white-blue aura thrummed from Ratchet's shoulder-disc, and he dodges the first rain of shots tossed at him by the troops. Down below, a shadow swooped over Phobose's tiny little form. The hand of Tachyon's spider-like throne had taken a swipe at him, attempting to scoop him up –

A wire sprung out from Wilt's strange gun-like weapon, coiled around the tiny cragpole's middle, and hoisted him back fishing-rode style. Tachyon let out a shrill noise of fury.

Ratchet dove off the ledge; hover-boots blasting to life to aid in his descend. The troops were pouring in and the buzz above was getting erratic.

"Ratchet, we cannot fight! We must get to Skii and the others, and get the artefact!"

Right. Plan. Incredibly shot-in the dark, but, hey. Plan it was. Ratchet rocketed towards the group. Skii was slipping back as Wilt readied his weapon; Clogg roared at the oncoming horde and they seemed to hesitate. The big guy could put on an imitation show like no other.

Tachyon loomed over them just as Ratchet dropped between Skii and Wilt and then...

A high-pitched, jet-like sound ripped through the air. Something lean, purple-blue and topped with yellow.

Blinking little balls showered down between the horde. And promptly blasted into yellow-tinted immobilisation fields. It took out at least half.

Tenahee dropped down from the ledge. Tachyon spotted her with a surge of viciousness, as well as shock.

Then Nefarious barrelled right into him. Ratchet, heck, everyone gawked as the tall villain elbowed him aside, ignoring the cragmite's loud hollers of fury, and scrabbled for –

Dinkles wrenched the artefact from where it had been stashed below Tachyon's peg-legs, scuttled down Nefarious' back –

- and tossed it into Ratchet's waiting hands.

SMACK. Tachyon had thwacked the robot off his throne with his sceptre. Dinkles spiralled off his back and managed to snag onto the outstretched arm, unnoticed.

Shoulders heaving and face twisted in loathing, Tachyon pointed his sceptre down at them.

"KILL THEM!"