tsaiko | Original: First in Flight, sci-fi

Proof that I am writing something other than a completely ridiculous Victorian based fantasy story. Only been roughly proofed.

The prototype fighter landed in the hanger with a delicateness that belied its size. Trinden watched it settle on its struts, his eyes and ears taking in everything. There were no grinding sounds from the air intakes. The landing thrusters seemed to be working fine now. The tweaks to the rear fin weren't causing any issues. Mipt seemed to have worked out the wiring issue in the hydraulic control jacks, and none of them appeared to be sticking or sparking randomly. Most importantly the hum of the engine was clear and strong.

Maybe this thing was finally, finally, finally done and Trinden could move onto another, more interesting project.

He was doomed to disappointment.

"Nope," Usha said as soon as the cockpit cover popped open. She didn't even bother taking off her flight suit. Hell, she barely removed her flight helmet and was still strapped into the pilot's seat before she started talking."There's still something wrong in one of the side thrusters. It shimmies slightly when you veer to the left."

"Still?" Trinden said. Half of the bay crew was swarming over the prototype Usha had just landed, hooking up sensors and downloading flight data from the recorder. Trinden typed a few commands into one of the terminals, waiting until a connection was made with the fighter's computers. A few minutes later, it was spitting pages of readings onto the screen "Computer diagnostics says everything is fine."

"Well, it's not," Usha replied as she climbed down to the hanger floor. She bared sharp canines and growled as she walked across the hanger and looked over Trinden's shoulder. Trinden didn't take it personally. Usha held the computer in contempt, not him.

"I believe you, I believe you. I'm just not sure where the problem is coming from." More data from the test flight was coming in as the spoke. Trinden brought it up the raw data on the screen, scrolling through the lists of numbers and mentally taking them apart. "You said it happened when you veered left?"

Because this was far from the first flight she'd had in Trinden's prototype, she already knew what the next question would be. "About fifteen minutes into the flight. When I was doing the barrel roll."

"I'll bring up the video feed and start around fourteen minutes…"

"This whole project wouldn't be behind schedule and over budget if you used an engineer that was willing to ride in the prototype itself during a test flight, Mr. Itmer."

Trinden froze at the sound of that voice, his fingers stilling on the keys and the lines of numbers blurring together. No. It couldn't be. But he was sure it was. So sure that when he turned around, Trinden wasn't even surprised to see him standing there.

Raim.

"Mr. Newcomb is our top engineer. I have every faith in his abilities," replied Sneitos Itmer, CEO of the engineering firm that Trinden worked for. Trinden didn't recognize the other two men, but he knew enough that if the Mr. Itmer was showing them around, they were more important than he was. Usha obviously felt the same, or maybe she actually recognized the two strangers, because she bowed awkwardly at the waist to them.

"Thank you, Sir." Trinden got to his feet and copied Usha's bow, holding it a second longer. "We have almost completed the prototype. Captain Usha was just helping us work out the last few kinks."

"And now long will that take? A month? Two? Or maybe another couple billion in bullion is what you need to get it down," Raim said. His eyes - dark red like the purest ruby and Trinden had forgotten how beautiful they were – looked at him like he was mildew found growing on a compressor coil.

"Raim," one of the strangers said. "That is enough."

"It will be done when it is done and it will take as long as it takes," Trinden replied with as much dignity as he could. His legs were shaking slightly, but that was fine. The console was right there. He hand lay on it, and the warmth of the computer helped steady him. "I am not letting a ship that is not 100% leave my hanger bay."

"Well said." This came from the stranger that had spoken earlier to Raim – the one with orange colored eyes and the body type that proclaimed him to be from the planet Nildine. Just like Raim. Could they be mated? Trinden could barely breath through the conflicting emotions that thought brought. "Mr. Itmer, are there other projects going on? I would like to see them."

"Of course. Right this way." The group was led out of the hanger by Mr. Itmer, though Trinden could still feel Raim's eyes glaring daggers into the back of his head. Only once the feeling went away did he relax.

"What was that about?" Usha asked. Trinden winced. He'd forgotten about Usha and the entire bay crew. They were all staring like he had all the answers. "That Nildina? He did not like you."

"I know," Trinden replied. Usha was looking at him expectantly. He knew that if he didn't say something, anything, about what had happened, she would be offended. Personal matters were personal matters, and Usha never pried. But personal matters had just become very public and if Trinden pretended that nothing had happened, Usha would take it to mean he didn't trust her. Trinden had spent too long building a relationship with the Onk to ruin it now. "He's an ex-lover of mine. We were going to be mated. It didn't happen."

Usha made a sound that was almost a whistle, but not quite. Whistling was one of those sounds Onk had problems making, what with their extended canines. "This is why we bond quickly and you fight to the death to break it. That way there is no disgruntled lover left to strike at you."

"I don't think I could kill him even now," Trinden replied with a small laugh. There was no humor in it. Usha grinned.

"No, but he would have cheerfully taken you out. Same outcome." That did startle a genuine laugh out of Trinden, for all that it hurt to realize Usha was right. Raim would have killed him.

It also made him realize just how use to the very idea he was. Trinden had definitely been spending too much time around Usha.

"Okay, enough about my personal life." Trinden sat back down in front of the console and began pushing buttons. "Here is the video feed. This is from around minute fourteen and…"

***

Trinden was in the middle of a nightmare.

He knew it was a nightmare, not that it really did him much good. This, at least, was a familiar nightmare. A known quantity. Comfortable. Though sometimes that just made it worse, because Trinden knew what was going to happen, and knew too that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The ship was already wrecked. Explosions had ripped down the side, taking out the engines and gravity well, but somehow missing life support and the cabins. Trinden could tell the engines were out because the ever present hum of them was gone. There was only sound was of air moving half-heartedly through the vents. The emergency lights were still functioning, bathing the bare-bones, impersonal furniture of his cabin with an eerie amber glow.

There was no telling how many were dead. Later Trindon would find out nearly 3,000 were dead, but at the point in time shown in the dream he didn't know. He didn't know if there were any survivors. If he was the only survivor. Would rescuers bother looking for survivors if everyone else was dead?

Most of the furniture was bolted to the floor in case of emergency. All of his personal items weren't. His suitcase, various pieces of clothing, pens, and a shoe floated up near the ceiling. Trinden was wedged into the corner. It seemed like the safest place

Which was ridiculous. Trinden wanted to scream at his dream self. There was no place which was safe. No where. Nothing he could do to protect himself.

The first touch of something foreign, something alien, was light. Like butterfly wings against his head. Trinden whimpered, but his dream self didn't know better. His dream self, his younger self, wasn't concerned.

After all, everyone knew that there were no telepaths outside of a bonded pair. No one could read another's thoughts unless they went through the ceremony. Even then, it was only strong, surface feelings. Anger. Lust. Contentment. Not even the most skilled could tell what thought was causing the feeling and even the extent of the feelings sent varied from species to species. Humans, for example, were notoriously bad at projecting feelings even in a bonded relationship.

Trinden had whole heartedly believed that until the incident.

The coldness in his mind was increasing. Trinden flinched from it, as icy with the flavor of bitter almonds touched his mind, a sensation that seemed to come from inside his head. He'd been told once that there were no sensory nerves in the brain itself and that headaches came from the nerves in the head itself. He wasn't sure he believed that because Trinden swore he could feel the alien touch in his brain.

As suddenly as it appeared, the touch was gone. His younger self relaxed, letting out a shaky breath. Trinden whimpered. False sense of security. It wasn't over. Never over. No. No. No.

Then the presence was back. Only worse. Much worse. Trinden was screaming as something picked apart his mind. He could feel him sense of self – thoughts, feelings, memories, preferences – disintegrating around the edges as the alien presence rifled through his mind. He kept trying to keep things together, but it didn't work. He was losing himself. Locked in a mind that no longer felt like his.

His sense kept trying to process something that they had no frame of reference for. The smell of fake strawberries and ozone. The taste of burnt toast. The feel of a thousand icy insect crawling in his skull. Irregular flashes of pink and orange light on the inside of his eyelids. There wasn't pain from the process itself, but Trinden was in pain. His throat was raw, and the scratches from where he'd clawed at his head throbbed.

The pain couldn't distract him from what was happening. There was no passing out. There was no stopping it. It went on and on, an entire eternity made of minutes or possibly hours. Nothing he could do. Nothing. The alien presence was destroying his mind from the inside out and he couldn't do anything.

Held in place by another mind. Mentally touched against him will. Make it stop. Make it stop.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

Trinden woke up in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat, curled into a fetal position as if that would somehow protect him from the nightmare. His heart was racing and his breathing was harsh. He was shaking.

He swore he could taste burnt toast on his tongue, could feel coolness on the inside of his skull. Trinden got shakily to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Once there he turned the shower on full blast as hot as he could take it. The blazingly hot water washed away the sweat and chased the memories away. It also plastered his boxers to his skin, but Trinden could not care less.

It was okay. He was here, on Earth. Not in space. Not on a disabled space liner with an alien presence in his mind. Safe. In his apartment.

Thirty minutes later, Trinden turned off the shower. He felt not exactly whole, but at least better. It had been months since he'd last had a nightmare about the incident. Not that Trinden was particularly surprised at the nightmare. In fact, he knew exactly what had caused it to resurface.

Raim.

It wasn't Raim's fault but he actually was triggered this in two ways. First, there was the stress of suddenly seeing Raim again and knowing that he hated Trinden. Then there was the failed bonding ceremony. Rain didn't know it, but the reason it had failed was because of what the alien presence had done to his mind years ago. Trinden couldn't mentally bond with anyone. Not any more.

Classifying the situation helped Trinden calm down even more. Trinden knew he still had post traumatic stress disorder. Despite years of therapy, the nightmares had never truly gone away. He'd finally had to stop therapy because it was making it worse. No one believed him when he said something had violated his mind. The therapists had all said that it was because his mind was trying to shield him from the trauma. It made him want to laugh. He wished his mind had tried to shield him.

Of course, his family had bought the therapist's diagnosis hook, line, and sinker. They were the experts. Trinden was the traumatized victim. The total disbelief had at times been worse than the violation itself. Finally, Trinden had decided he had had enough. Living with the occasional nightmare and a fear of leaving Earth was better than no one believing what had happened had, indeed, happened.

That was part of the reason he had never told Raim. The fear that once again, someone he trusted and loved wouldn't believe him. Trinden had never gotten up the courage to tell Raim what had happened to him during the disaster before they'd started the bonding ceremony. When the bonding failed, Raim and the priest performing the ceremony had both jumped to the conclusion that it was because Trinden was already bonded. He hadn't corrected them. He didn't have the nerve to.

Maybe he deserved to be alone.

Trinden decided that was enough wallowing. There was no way he could get back to sleep. He didn't even bother trying. Instead he pulled on clothes, and headed to the hanger. The rest of his life might be a chaotic mess, but something productive to do for work was something he could always count on.