Rain (Honorverse, G, gen)

[extrapenguin]

Title: Rain
Rating: G
Wordcount: 494
Synopsis: Theisman briefs Saint-Just on his plans for a Manty attack. Or rather, everything else around the briefing.

I'm tired of being strong
and holding my breath
    as if it were a caged bird.
I want to open the cage and let dreams come
and let the bird walk on the eaves
    and drink rainwater
drip drop.

 

It was raining in Noveau Paris. The dark clouds let down a steady stream of droplets, not heavy enough to be a downpour, not light enough to be a drizzle. Mere rain fell, without even the drama of thunder and lightning to punctuate the steady patter of raindrops on hard surfaces.

If the sky had gone by Citizen Admiral Thomas Theisman's mood, the sky would have been enveloped in thunder and lightning.

 

The Citizen Lieutenant piloting the landing craft touched down. Theisman and Citizen Commissioner Denis LePic left the warm craft and walked into the rain.

The rain fell, searching out all the cracks in Theisman's defense, penetrating layers of clothing, playing the long game of compromising all his defenses. Water dripped into his shoes.

His feet weren't the only things soaked by the time they'd reached their aircar. The aircar took off, bringing them to Saint-Just.

 

The office had a window in it. The rain still fell, drawing vertical streaks in the air. Saint-Just was particularly small today.

“Citizen Commissioner. Citizen Admiral.” Conversational opening.

“Citizen Chairman.” Response. Eighteen syllables of nothing.

“You have your plan on the defense of Haven in case of Manticoran invasion.”

“Yes.”

LePic was sitting. Theisman began to talk, well-worn words falling into yet another pattern, novel or repeated. Well-worn words, battered around the edges, slightly faded, yet still carrying their intended meaning. Like the rain-striped vista out the window. Like Theisman himself.

Concepts were translated into word-patterns, transmitted over sound waves to be translated back. A primeval form of file compression. Concepts dwindled, words ran out.

Questions. Inevitable errors in translating back into the language of the mind. Searching for clarification, eliminating ambiguity. Suggestions. Attempts of breaching the void of what was not said. Replies and deflections, some skilled, some not.

End. All the pieces slotting together in the receiver's mind, perhaps even in the intended pattern. Good-byes. Politeness. Conversational deadweight.

 

The rain fell while they walked to the shuttle. It fell through clothing, regardless of its material. It fell through hopes, fears, dreams and delusions, leaving behind only a gray dampness. Soaking one to the spirit.

The shuttle launched. Still the rain fell, unchanging. Constant.

They rose. The clouds came nearer, nearer until they could be seen no more. Noveau Paris disappeared from sight. The rain ablated. Still they rose.

Stars peeked through wisps of cloud. The clouds fell away, and the sky was full of stars.

 

On his flagship, Theisman turned to LePic.

“Now.”

To his credit, LePic only nodded.

 

     Thus rain
slowly ablates outlines
and makes everything look softer;
ablates the lines of the cage
    and the lines that denote a black bird and destiny;
ablates a light fugue from the eaves,
chased chords
    bird drink.