Hounds of Orion

Logan fought hard not to sigh as he was led to his quarters. A servant, a young blonde-haired woman in her early twenties had jumped at the chance to walk him back. Her youthful and bubbly voice grated on his nerves as in the five minutes since they had departed the dining room, she had not shut up.

“My uncle served you know? In the guard I mean. By the stars he went on and on about you. Youngest ever captain of the guard, fought like a hungry wolf in battle, an amazing pilot and man he said.” She was speaking about a mile a minute, practically bouncing down the hall with every step.

“Hmm. Give him my regards,” Logan grumbled with a nod, feeling a headache forming towards the back of his skull. It had been a week since he last uplinked, and withdrawals were setting in. It was always the same. First there were the mood swings, then the migraines. He hoped he could get back inside his crusader before the nausea and vertigo took hold. If that happened, he was sure this girl would have vastly different opinions of the mighty Logan Rake.

“Well, here we are, Master Rake,” The girl said, stopping at a heavy oak door. She opened it and Logan was silently thankful that the lights were off.

“Oh dear, let me get some light-”

“No!..” He said, cutting her off a bit too animatedly, causing the girl to look at him, her face flashing with concern. He felt his ears burning hot from embarrassment. Thinking quickly, he cleared his throat, attempting to smooth things over.

“I mean… It's okay. I can figure it out from here.” He said, forcing a smile that she seemed to take a face value, returning the smile and giving a nod. Logan passed the girl walking into the dark room. He reached and was getting ready to close the door when she continued to speak.

“Is there anything you need?” She asked, batting her lashes while looking at him doe eyed. “Anything else I can do for you?”

The invitation was appreciated, but right now, it was all that Logan could do to keep his hands from trembling as the ache started to encompass the rest of his brain. He didn’t have the time nor the patience to let her down gently, barely getting out a growled “No,” before slamming the door in her face.

Finally alone, Logan’s facade melted away. He felt his mind swim and spin with fog, causing him to grip the wall, holding on for dear life. He slowly made his way down the hallway, where it opened up into a grand bedroom, full of tapestries and antiques that were probably more expensive than his crusader unit. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, each beat pounding against his eardrums. He couldn’t wait much longer. He needed a spike.

He took two steps before the vertigo became too much and dropped to his knees, crawling like a toddler, while his brain did its damndest to crawl out of his skull. He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming as his stomach rolled. His eyes scanned the room in the darkness, searching for his satchel. Eventually he spied it on a nearby lounge chair and he scrambled as fast as he dared over to it. With doubled vision and shaking hands, he ripped open the bag, dumping the contents until he found what he was looking for; a sharp three-inch metal spike with a handle at the end. He breathed a sigh of relief as he took it in his hand, while lowering his head, resting it on the cool stone floor.

Then he took a breath, and reached back, stabbing the spike deep into his cerebral uplink point. He gasped, feeling the pressure burst at the bottom of his skull, feeling the binary nectar flood his system, as a wave of euphoria washed over him. Just like that, his symptoms were gone. His head felt clear and focused, his stomach settling, and he could once again feel the stability of his hands returning.

Letting out a sigh of relief, he sat up, removing the spike and tossing it in a nearby waste bin. He was down to one more spike. One more hit before he needed to return to the crusader's chassis. Something had to give. His symptoms were worsening over time and not even Vic could help him find a solution that would keep the withdrawals at bay. Such was the coin flip of being threaded. The process had made him a terror on the battlefield, but what cost?

He made a decision then. As much as he enjoyed beating on that whiny punk of a prince, he would be useless if he continued on without uplinking. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a black tablet. He turned it on, the screen coming alive with the gentle writing of E-Ink. Then he went to work, marking in coordinates to the expansive royal gardens, selecting a time, and pressing the schedule drop button, setting his plan in motion, before tossing the table to the floor next to his bag.

“If only they knew..” he muttered to himself, crawling onto the bed as he pulled a silver box from one of his cargo pockets and opened it, revealing a line of clove style cigars. He pulled one from its resting place, placing it between his lips before lighting it and taking a long drag, savoring the way the smoke filled his lungs as he inhaled.

“If only they knew how weak I really am…” He blew out a plume of smoke as he stood, walking towards the window. Looking out through the thin linen curtains, he gazed up into the night sky counting the stars, wondering just how many of them he had fought on, how many more he would visit, and which one would be the place where he would fall.