A Thing of Fire

Posted on Sat 18th Aug, 2018 @ 10:40pm by Purulence Addams

1,354 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Oblivion
Location: The Addams Place, Tivoli Gardens

Previously, on Star Trek: Starbase 109

A radiance which was not light poured from her, beautiful and terrible, inspiring love and loathing in equal measure. Wings of fire which burned but consumed nothing unfurled behind her, stretching out and up beyond the confines of the room.

And then, she was naught but an old, old woman, sitting in her chair, reaching for her teacup and taking a sip.

And now, the continuation!

Great-Grandmama Addams sighed. "And now that I've alerted every psychic and sensitive on the station to my presence, do you give credence to my words?"

What was THAT?! Purulence thought, stunned after the bright flash of light and the sheer presence that had momentarily manifested. Okayyy... My great-grandmother really is a Vorlon--er, one of the Nephilim. "That's going to take some getting used to," she said after a moment. "Do Mom and Dad know? And when may I paint you? Because I can't not paint that."

And she couldn't. It was like an urge to suddenly burst into joy-filled song at the top of her lungs, to shout it from rooftops. If she could have called a paintbrush and canvas into being in her hands at that moment, she would have.

"Your parents know only what you knew this morning," Great-Grandmama answered. "And painting will have to wait. Purulence, you are the apple of my eye, the worm in my heart, but I didn't actually come here about your man. He is alive and well, and that situation will resolve on its own."

"I'm not worried about that," Purulence said and waved the comment off. "You already told me Ignatius is fine. So, as Ischemia asked, why are you here?"

Ischemia said nothing for a long while. Her rational, practical mind was trying to process what her eyes told that mind they'd seen. Could it be some form of hallucination induced by the old woman? She gazed steadily at the woman she'd formerly known as a grandmother figure, and realized she would never be able to see her in that role again. The brain could easily be fooled by someone who knew the tricks of doing it, and she'd bet her last chip of latinum that this woman did.

"Sometimes a skeleton is just a skeleton," she said at last, "and sometimes it's something else entirely. You're the one who taught me that. Now I'll have to ponder whether what you just did proves you are simply a skeleton, or something else entirely. Either way, I hear you saying there's some other purpose for your presence here in Chlamydia's home, different from what you've told us so far. Presuming for the moment that everything you've told us and shown us is truth, why us and not our parents? And tell me, why did you choose to talk with us without my elder sister present?"

Purulence blinked, her train of thought stopped dead on its rails at that question. "Good point," she said to Ischemia.

Great Grand-mama smiled fondly at Ischemia. "Skeptical to the end, and piercing directly to the crux of the biscuit. No wonder you're such a success at law, my dear." She took another sip of tea, and then sighed. "I am talking to the two of you because your parents are elsewhere, having their own adventure. And I need help; help Chlamydia can not provide."

Ischemia shook her head. "I can believe Mama and Papa are having an adventure somewhere, but what could either of us possibly do that Chlamydia can't? She's more capable than both of us put together. Alright, 'Hoch ja' maHvaD!' as the Klingons would say." Glancing at her sister and seeing her puzzlement, she clarified. "Tell us everything ... spill the beans."

"You can speak Klingon?" Purulence said to Ischemia. "I get migraines, just trying to read it, much less pronounce it." She lifted the tea pot, which was still warm, and offered to pour another round. "I'm not used to being told I can help where Chlamydia can't, Great-Grandmama, so say on."

"And that, my dears, requires another story." Great-Grandmama smiled at her descendants. "Thank you for not wincing too visibly."

"In a sense," the old woman began, "every Human who is rhesus negative is my descendant, or of one of the other Nephilim. But it has been almost eleven thousand years since the others died, and even my progeny have spread beyond my ability or desire to track. I pay attention only to those who carry my mitochondrial DNA, or a significant proportion of Anunnaki DNA. You girls have a double dose, because both of your parents are descended from me.

"There are certain tells that a person is one of my Elioud, and I don't mean just the fingers and toes. A tendency toward physical abnormalities in general: hunchbacks, conjoined twins, hairisuitism, melanism...." she trailed off, looking at her many-times great granddaughter. "It's almost entirely unknown in Humans outside my line."

She paused as Thing came up the back of her chair and settled on her shoulder. "Hello, dear," she said to the handy little creature, giving it a fond pat. "Did you know that in Scandinavian mythology, the sun will be eaten by a wolf in the end times?" She patted Thing again with a smile. "But time, and love, and a warm fire to rest beside turn wolves into chihuahuas."

Purulence snickered. "I'll take the sun-eating wolves. At least they don't yip-yap or make love to my leg."

"It is simpler to say such things when one is not a thing of fire," Great-Grandmama answered. "Where was I? Ah, yes. Certain signs. Beyond the physical, there is a tendency for disregard -- not to say disdain -- of social norms. A certain fuzziness of ethos, a mad devotion to one's own cause. Jane Addams was one of mine, but so was Lord Henry Addams, known as Spring-Heeled Jack.

"And yes, Ischemia; I have a point and I am getting to it. The gift my mother gave me, and which I have passed to my descendents through the mitochondria, is a certain ability to call upon... well, it has had many names over the years. The Power Cosmic; Void Energy; Vortex Flow. A way to imbue oneself with abilities that stretch the imagination. The ability to walk away from the flames of an execution, out of a furnace. The ability to bound over walls and rooftops higher than one's own head. The ability to hear the wings of Death, or to speak with the recently deceased still lingering upon the near shore of the River of Woe."

"Wait, back up a minute," said Ischemia. "The furnace. That's more than our dear stained glass window, isn't it." It wasn't a question the way she said it. It was a fact of which she was sure. "Are you saying Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walked out of the fiery furnace because they were yours, too? That it had nothing to do with their belief in their one God? Because if you are, then I have to ask why all those who were burned at the stake in the Inquisition didn't just walk away ... or at least some of them. Surely you had descendants there, too."

"I was thinking more of the holocaust," Great-Grandmama answered, looking sad. "But that's getting off topic. The short answer is that the potential to access the Power Cosmic doesn't mean that any particular individual will access it in a particular way. You, for example, have the potential to access the Protean gift, but I believe you are unaware of that potential."

The old woman waved her hand as if brushing the topic aside. "But not the point. The point is, Perverto Addams did not have access to the Power Cosmic."

"Thank God for small mercies," Purulence muttered under her breath. She eyed her grandmother. "I'm going to guess you know he's dead?"

Great-Grandmama nodded. "And that, my dear, is the crux of the biscuit."

 

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