There was a certain quarter-skipping, quarter-hopping movement which was associated with trying to get dressed on the run, and the total on those qualities only added up to half because the remainder was 'nearly falling'. Ben was almost sure that a few more years of bearing the Omnitrix would eventually let him figure out how to manage the non-run with dignity.
It was almost unfair. The watch casually put a degree of clothing on the majority of Ben's transformations. (The exceptions were usually aliens like Goop: that form seeped through just about any kind of cloth, and nothing Earth could bring to bear was capable of getting the stains out.) So in theory, it should be possible for Azmuth to install an almost incidental Get Dressed function. Hit the interface, ready to go.
...then again, the old Galvan would probably say something about risking the possibility of smoothie-based explosions. Plus if you took the watch's sense of 'humor' and applied it to outfits, then Ben was likely to wind up taking on the majority of alien confrontations in a tuxedo.
He was trying to keep pace with his grandfather (because you try to run and put on pants at the same time), heading for the cells. Having to talk on the move wasn't exactly helping. Most of the words were being jarred loose.
"-- and you're getting a brain scan when this is over," the senior Plumber half-snapped. "I want to make sure she wasn't doing anything else in there."
Ben wasn't exactly in a position to argue. Especially when trying to don that one (and still possibly only) jacket had momentarily left that position leaning against a wall.
It's Sunday. This should have just been a lazy Sunday...
(Kevin preferred lazy Saturdays. It was probably something to do with being Jewish.)
"You were going to tell me about Ahuizotl," the teenager reminded his grandfather as a slim arm pushed against the cool ceramic surface and young legs tried to get moving again. "He's been here before?"
"Or he's been using the name of his species," the old man declared. "Or it's a title. But they're old legends, Ben. Centuries. For the Aztecs, the name basically works out to 'spiny aquatic thing'. Or 'water dog', even when this one's a little more like a cat. And they've been blamed for deaths."
Ben blinked, nearly lost sight of the next crucial turn. "They've killed?"
"We don't know," Max sharply stated. "Not with any certainly. Sometimes aliens get blamed for what a human was planning to do anyway. It's a convenient excuse, to use what was seen as a monster to cover up your own actions. But Hernán Cortés -- explorer, Ben: sixteenth century, the reason the Aztecs lost their empire -- claimed that an ahuizotl killed one of his men."
The teenager forced himself toward, got the jacket's left sleeve down. "And he might have done that himself?"
"Hard to say," the old man grimly told him. "He was accused of murdering his first wife and when it comes to conquest, he had at least one massacre on his record. Which makes it a little easier to believe that he'd go for a local excuse. But when it comes to the aliens -- they're supposed to live in deep lakes. And the native legends say that they snatched people from the edge of the water, or out of boats. Looking for precious stones. You could negotiate with them, trade part of a fishing catch for freedom -- but if they didn't like the offering, they would --"
The old man hesitated.
"-- eat the human's eyes." A little more hastily, "Then their fingernails, toenails, and teeth. Nothing else. Which is possibly blaming the effects of a disease on what was seen as a monster. But if they had a corpse, then only a priest was allowed to touch it. Just in case it was a curse." And somewhat more softly, "But it's all legends, Ben. Things become distorted, and it's been centuries since those tales were first told. Words change, and so do people. We can't know for sure. We just have to be careful."
"And ready for a fight," the adolescent decided: this coincided with the moment when his right shoe nearly came off. "But you said Aztecs. That's Central America." He'd been there, although that had been for an issue with a Mayan god. Alien. A sword, and the Forever Knights --
-- Ben's life was complicated.
"Are there multiple portals?" he asked. "Coming in from where they are? Or can this one have the exit moved?"
With just a little bit of open frustration, "We don't know. Hang on..." He reached down to his belt, removed a small box and pushed a button. "Tennyson. I need a search in Storage. We're looking for something. It may be the reason for all of this."
"I can get someone on that," the box crackled. "What's the piece?"
The old man's arm angled back, pointing the box at his grandson. "Ben, describe that item she showed you. As exactly as you can."
He did.
"On it," the box said. "I'll send a rookie down." And crackled into silence.
A coronet which could potentially control a sun...
The implications were incredible. You could make a planet give you whatever you wanted. It was a way to get into a position of power and stay there. The equine and her sibling could have placed a yoke onto an entire world. And if Ahuizotl was truly trying to free everyone...
"We'll know if it's in Rushmore soon enough," Max grimly said. "We've gotten enough pieces of technological flotsam coming out of that wormhole. 'Magical' wouldn't be a surprise."
And the Plumbers kept everything. "Would the records show how old it was?" Immortal...
The old man shook his head. "Carbon-dating doesn't work on most of this stuff. Neither do some of the other tricks. All I can tell you is that once we knew there was a weak spot here, we did some digging. Some of the ejecta was here long enough to be buried."
They were almost at the cells. Ben stopped to adjust a shoelace. You had to be very careful with shoelaces. Anything which was snapping at your heels loved to go for a loose shoelace.
"We're going to have company," the senior Plumber announced. "I've got people with weapons on each side of the door, out of sight. Just in case. Ben --" and the concern took out every other tone "-- are you up to giving me Pesky at least one more time? Because this may be our last chance to figure out his real intentions before he wakes up."
"Yes."
Sharply, "Any signs of looping?"
And then Ben had to make a decision.
"...yes." Followed by, at full vocal speed, "But it's just the first stage. Doing my hair like Pesky's. I spotted it. I'm telling you, so you can spot if it's getting any worse. I'm on top of it, Grandpa. I can do one more change. At least."
There was a moment when the old man stopped moving.
"Thank you for telling me, Ben," was just a little too quiet.
"...you're -- welcome?"
"As your grandfather," Max Tennyson stated, "I don't want you changing into Pesky again. Not for at least two weeks."
Ben froze.
"And a a Plumber who has to head off what might just become a crisis," the senior reluctantly added, "I'm... going to be grateful for having been given the truth. Trust the young man who was willing to tell me that. And keep a very close eye on my grandson. Get the Omnitrix ready. Pesky's going back in."'
There were four armed Plumbers in the hallway outside the cell. Two on the left of the door, two on the right. They looked tense.
Ben checked the viewing panel. The alien was still asleep, with tiny eyes rapidly shifting behind the misplaced closed lids. But the grasping digits kept flexing, the tail was twitching, and the strange quasi-hand which had replaced the tuft was starting to claw at the floor...
"Last report from Medical said it's still in REM sleep," the tallest of the reinforcements told his grandfather. "But the brainwaves are shifting, and there's increased activity in multiple control centers."
"So it could be waking up." Aged fingers were already starting to work the controls. "And Pesky can keep it under, but not for long."
Ben wasn't sure. Multiple doses...
"Which means this is probably our last chance to talk," the old man told them all, "before we get our first chance to talk. Let's try to see if we can get this one to wake up in a good mood. Ben?" (Who nodded, waiting.) "I'm opening our side of the airlock. Ready?"
There was only one possible response.
"Yes."
(It didn't have to be the truth. It just had to be said.)
The outer door opened. Ben went in, quickly sat on the cold floor. Pushed back the battered jacket's left sleeve, exposing the Omnitrix.
The alien's movements were quickening. More than that: they had spread out to the entire body. A low, constant vibration. As if it was shivering.
Another look at the Omnitrix. The interface panel, and the display of a fragile silhouette.
You've been cooperating this whole time. Not one mischange.
So you still think this is important. For as much as you think at all.
I've got to trust you.
He briefly thought about adjusting the position of his sonic antenna. Just in case --
-- I'm Ben.
I'm human.
Something which would only be true for another second.
His right hand moved...
The little alien who was sitting on the too-cold floor wasn't entirely sure about where it was most hoping to appear. Next to the visitor? In front of the equine? In a place of solitude, because control had been lost and safety felt like a joke? Any of the three would create immediate issues, and with the first two...
Figure out some way of dealing with the hero.
Or the villain.
The roles had yet to be fully assigned.
Ben had seen the possibilities in the control of a sun: the ability to exploit all those who lived on the planet which relied on that radiance. It was... a terrifying power. The sort of thing which had to be in the right hands, and there was no way to be sure that it was currently being pressed between the proper hooves.
Because Ben had been at this for a while. He was very familiar with those who tried to get close to him, pretended to be allies and partners and so much else because the Omnitrix and its bearer were something which could be exploited.
(Kevin tried to exploit Ben, almost from the very start. Almost. It could be argued that the two youths had been bonding before Kevin had learned about the Omnitrix.)
(Kevin, who had already been absorbing energy because that was how the runaway survived.)
(Had already been going insane.)
That the equine taught him... that was no guarantee of her true intentions, much less her real personality.
Especially with someone who basically said that it's common for others to assume she's evil.
Ben did believe her about a few things. One of them is what the coronet was meant to do. As lies go, that one would be a little too far up the significance scale for ready believability. And when she talked about the moon being controlled, and another dealing with the sun... yes. He felt that wherever she's from, whatever kind of world it is -- that is exactly what's happening. In a way, he had seen a little too much to not take that seriously.
Normally, there would be a chance that she was only talking about another's ability and was seeking the coronet for herself, hoping to usurp --but the visitor's words offered confirmation. It's her. Somehow, she's moving a moon. Her sister deals with a sun. And there are times when they might switch roles for a while. Or one could take both, to give the other some time off.
This might explain why she wasn't able to maintain a constant presence in the visitor's dream. It may not just be a need to rest, or even do something so basic as get a meal or hit the bathroom. (Ben wasn't quite able to picture a equine bathroom, and Pesky hadn't been doing much better.) It was possible that taking care of a moon's orbit required all of her concentration, and did so at a given time on every night. Whenever her night is.
She controlled her world's moon. The little alien agreed with Ben: that was exactly what was going on. But it didn't mean she was in the right. The other one could be the ultimate freedom fighter, trying to depose a pair of tyrants by stripping them of exclusive control. And even if that's the truth of the matter -- the coronet may not work. If the system is damaged to the point where no one has control any more, then an entire planet might --
-- would --
-- who's the hero? Who's the villain? And was it even that simple?
There were times when Ben had wished the cartoons had gone into a lot more detail, because afterschool animation didn't seem to have left him completely prepared for the hero's life. But Ben... wasn't quite present just then. Because memories were retained, and Pesky couldn't imagine what Azmuth had to do in order to manage that -- but the brain's structure had been changed. When it comes to personality, outlook, and everything else which goes into sapience -- biology did have a say.
Humans could be viewed as an apex predator. A Nemuina was closer to a prey species which got evolutionarily lucky.
Small.
Fragile.
Vulnerable.
The little alien released the yellow dust, watched it cycle through the small sampling chamber. Waited to be pulled into the one place where it once had control --
-- the jungle is empty.
The Nemuina could say it's been like that all along. It's the equine, or the sapient whose dreamworld this is -- well, the version which the equine has altered -- but nothing else. There's heat and humidity and breezes -- given the humidity, there just isn't enough of that last, although there's a cool one now -- and plants move along with all of it. But when it comes to animal life... nothing.
No equine. No visitor. No sign of either one. And the little alien is hovering above the tall grass, with only so much time to work with in a place where even time itself becomes uncertain, while the visitor comes ever closer to waking.
It needs to find at least one of them. (The equine had said to find her, but... how much can the Nemuina trust her? How far?) Searching is going to consume duration, and the Omnitrix is forever counting down.
At least there's a cool breeze ripping through the grass.
...the grass is rippling.
The air is rippling.
The little alien can see it now. Outbound waves of disturbance. And where they pass, the rosewood trees subtly warp.
...Ben saw this, didn't he? When he pushed. Trying to get the equine out of his dream. It produced a ripple across the fur, and nothing more. And when he was starting to wake up, the entire dreamworld...
The effect isn't that strong. Not yet, and the Nemuina doesn't feel as if waking is an immediate threat. But the ripples are familiar. And they're cool. The little alien is very attuned to what happens within dream and it's noticed that when the equine is upset, the ambient temperature tends to drop. It's guessing this is something she can do in the real world. Another facet of her magic, being imposed here.
The ripples are moving outwards. So if Pesky moves towards their presumed source...
A guess. But it's all the Nemuina has to work with. A guess, and very little time in which to use it.
The little alien starts to fly. The glowing trail shows where it's been, and there's nothing to be done about that. A problem for a prey species, when the best means of escape told the predator exactly which direction its meal had gone. It's part of why Nemuina are meant to move in groups. Criss-cross the trails, cover for each other.
But this one is alone.
It exists for only a few minutes at a time. It is Ben, and yet it is not. And when it comes into the world, into the place where there is no control... it dearly wishes that it had more friends.
The ripples are becoming more closely-spaced. The sonic antenna is starting to pick up sounds from up ahead. Growls and snorts. Nothing which can be recognized as words. But emotion can be assigned to those noises, and it's so easy to hear the rage.
The wind is getting colder.
Then it becomes colder than that.
...air -- isn't supposed to be this cold...
The Nemuina didn't evolve from an insect base -- but there's a certain similarity in the structure of fey wings. It's something which suggests a warm climate, with very little need to add body mass and extra blood flow as insulators against a world where what Ben knows as a true winter only appears near the poles.
The chill is starting to go deep. There isn't much muscle mass to block it from the bones, and as for the skin... that's always been a fully ineffective armor.
If the garment is a dress, then it could at least be an insulative --
Wings are starting to ache. The flight slows. What had been a flow of light is now emerging in clumps.
It's not real.
None of this is real.
It doesn't change anything. Pesky doesn't have control.
The noises are becoming more intense, as growls and snorts turn primal. It almost has to be a fight. But... the further the little alien goes, the colder it becomes. And it has no defenses against that biting, gnawing chill. Vulnerable to so many things...
...the Omnitrix is counting down.
Their visitor is on the verge of waking, and there's no guarantee that the translators will work.
This may be the last chance.
Stiffening wings are forced to flap. The Nemuina pushes on. And the sonic antenna begins to lock in place as strands freeze to each other, eyelids are harder to open after every blink, the spots on cheeks and chin are turning black and it just keeps pushing because that's all it knows how to do --
(How long has it been searching?)
(It's trying to count. And even that is being consumed by the cold.)
-- there are trees ahead of it, blocking the view. Icicles hanging down from branches. It tries to push a few of them out of the way, and the wood shatters. Thin fingers feel as if they'll be next.
Then there's a clearing, one too small to contain the twinned shout of rage and conflict.
And the little alien sees them.
Sees the battle.
(Maybe he hunted for her. Perhaps she sought him at the last.)
(It doesn't matter.)
Ben's grandfather told him that a horse could kill. This one, put up against a human, would have already managed the feat a hundred times over.
Silver-clad forehooves are striking whenever they can, and that turns out to be just about anywhere because the wings can get the equine in the air. It allows her to pick up extra speed, choose approach angles and try to swoop in for horn strikes. Metal and keratin and something not quite bone are all being brought to bear against the other alien and while that's happening, every last part of the mare is bringing death to the mere concept of warmth. The grass is frozen. It breaks every time either of them moves against it. Stones crack. Something radiates from her, and molecules pause to pay attention.
And the other is... ignoring it.
Or trying to.
He's trying to hit her. The forward claws, that tail-ending fist. Fangs snap at what isn't a fully tangible mane. And for the most part, she's staying out of the way: she can move in the air, dodge in additional dimensions. But it keeps trying, and... the cold doesn't seem to reach him. Everything except him. The air is almost cracking in half and the large quadruped (and he's larger than she is, considerably larger and when put against Pesky, he becomes a giant) is moving with the warmth of life.
The visitor growls. Constantly. And at this distance, it's just possible for a fast-freezing antenna to make out the words.
"No-no-no-no-no..."
And the equine's fur ripples. Over and over, as if being struck at close range by repeated gusts of strong wind.
He's trying to treat her as a figment. Rejecting what she brings to the dream. And he can't quite manage to expel her -- but at the same time, the cold hasn't reached him.
The Nemuina doesn't quite know what the plummeting temperatures are meant to do. Trick the body in some way, make it believe that there's a new injury and the healing sleep must continue? Or is it possible to do real harm in a dream?
It must be, because the little alien's wings are about to crack.
It tries to flap them. To move into a position of safety from which it can observe, and -- make a decision. Because there's a battle, and Pesky doesn't know which of the two needs to win --
-- but its wings will not move.
The joints refuse to shift. The axilla feel as if they've completely hardened.
The Nemuina, chilled to the point where it feels as if its very organs are covered in frost, cannot fly.
It falls.
The small body drops into the grass, just barely manages to hit in a way which prevents wings from breaking. And the impact makes a little mouth open, so that the frozen air can be broken by a trill of pain.
The equine's dark gaze immediately shifts to the left --
-- she sees the small body. Sees the pain and the cold working its way ever-deeper.
And the chill vanishes.
It happens all at once. The icicles flash-melt, grass begins to shift normally, the fragile wings feel normal again, eyelids are no longer threatening to freeze together and the Nemuina can move.
So can the quadruped. And with the cold gone, the visitor has one less thing to deny.
It leaps. A paw swipe catches the equine's left wing, bends it in an unnatural manner. The mare begins to plummet towards the ground, and the leap begins to shift course. It's turning into more of a pounce. He's going to come down on top of her, and the too-long mouth is baring white fangs --
-- Pesky's wings can move again.
The Nemuina can fly. It can get away. It has no control here. It can't be part of this fight.
Except that's not who Pesky is.
The fey wings buzz. The little alien gets between the plummeting giant and the equine --
-- the quadruped's hind paws slam into the jungle's soil. The fore, which end in grasping digits, seize the small body. Pull it close to eyes and tiny nose and those white, sharp teeth.
"Stay out of this, dreamwalker," those fangs growl. "You should not be part of this conflict. You don't understand --"
The equine is trying to recover, but she's going to need at least a few more seconds and the quadruped is denying everything she does as he draws Pesky closer to that huge mouth, the Nemuina is struggling and thin limbs don't have enough strength to escape because the little alien is weak and helpless and vulnerable and that's a really good way to have the enemy bring you in close.
Pesky's hands and wings generate a sort of chemical dust. A substance which, when it appears in dream, can't exactly put anyone to sleep.
Ahuizotl knows what one dreamwalker is capable of, stands ready to deny anything the mare could do. The little alien is hoping that he can't fight off two. And a tripled blast of dust particles, aimed directly at tiny misplaced eyes from point-blank range, is still something of an impediment to sight.
When you're vulnerable, you have to be creative.
The glowing yellow substance goes directly into the tiny face, into the eyes, and the quadruped screams in pain. Recoils, stumbles backwards as its foreleg grasping digits let go of the Nemuina. This also means it's staggering in reverse while balanced on its back legs, and that isn't a state which can be maintained for long.
Ahuizotl falls over. The equine is getting up.
"We may discuss your timing later," she tells Pesky. "For now..."
The horn goes down. Forehooves scrape at the dirt. Getting ready to charge --
"-- NO!"
It's not exactly a hissy fit, and it doesn't emerge as a tantrum either. More of a demand.
Pesky flies. Gets between them, and the mare's head snaps up. Bringing the horn out of charge alignment, as the little alien desperately turns towards Ahuizotl. The quadruped is writhing on the ground, pawing at tiny eyes as the mouth endlessly roars in pain.
"We can talk about this!" the Nemuina cries out. "Therrrrre has to be some way! And --"
Pesky just had a thought. An inspiration. And the little alien knows Ben would approve.
"-- you don't have to be alone! Not any more, not as the last! I have something which might be able to brrrring back your species!"
It's within the realm of theory. More than that: possibility. The Omnitrix can get a DNA sample. From there, you move to cloning --
-- the roars stop.
"But then," the pained quadruped gasps, as words emerge without thought to block them, "there would once again be others sharing in the treasure. My treasure, of strength and speed and time. None were worthy --"
And then Pesky understands why there is no life in this jungle.
The true alien writhes. Twists in a way which lets it regain footing, gets up and begins to run. Moving away from the dreamwalkers, retreating into the trees as a new ripple starts to enter the world, everything starting to shake and vibrate in concert, everything except Nemuina and equine --
"He wakes!" the mare tells Pesky. "I can try to keep him asleep, but it will not hold for long: not after he has already been in the nightscape for so much time! A minute, perhaps, no more --"
Which is when the beeping starts.
There have been times when Ben was almost impressed by Azmuth's exact choice of alarm tones. The beeping of the Omnitrix approaching timeout is a sonic incarnation of existential dread.
"-- you can pick up on movement near the portal?"
"Yes!"
"Get to it! Be rrrready to open it all the way! I'll do what I can!"
The dark eyes are staring at him, and do so even as the dreamworld begins to crumble.
Softly, "...why? I felt you had doubts about me, even after..." She stops, and those dark eyes close. "Why?"
There's no time to explain. Not now. But...
...she spotted Pesky, and did so in the middle of the battle.
Her first instinct was to help.
You have to trust your friends.
The world goes white --
-- it felt as if his legs were half-asleep. The other half consisted of 'frozen', and it was all giving Ben some trouble in getting up.
"BEN!" Coming from his grandfather, it was a cry of relief. "What happened? I almost went in there! Pesky was shaking --"
"-- get the door open, Grandpa!"
The old man stopped talking, briskly nodded. Buttons were pushed, and the outer barricade began to slip into the wall.
Ben glanced back. Looked at Ahuizol, and the way every limb was moving now. The cessation of movement behind the tiny eyelids, as all of the legs began to subconsciously ready for a push.
We don't have much time...
The teenager scrambled into the hallway, stopped while still in front of the open door and immediately focused all of his attention on the senior Plumber.
"We're sending him back," he told the old man. "She's got a prison waiting on the other side, and the trip will knock him out again. He can't stay here."
There was a certain advantage to having a family member within the government bureaucracy. Some base leaders probably would have wasted several hours on getting the full reason before postponing any final decision via triplicate. Max Tennyson simply nodded.
"So how do we start?" his grandfather asked. "Because he's waking up. Fast."
"Just keep him in the cell," Ben decided. "Once the watch recharges, I can --"
Which was when everyone heard the pounding footsteps coming towards them.
A very young adult, so fresh to the Plumber uniform as to have portions of it still trying to decide what they were supposed to fit, came running around the corner. The object in his right hand swung back and forth with his movements, and the lower end came close to ripping the fabric.
"Mr. Tennyson!" the rookie gasped -- then looked at Ben. "Mister... Tennysons? Is this it?"
He held out the item and Ben, acting on reflex alone, grasped it by a platinum spike.
The metal was warm to the touch. A little too much so. Six opals turned the base's lighting into inner rainbows.
"I think so," Ben breathed. "I think..."
And then they all heard the growl.
Slowly, Ben turned. Looked through the viewing panel, directly into the cell, and did so as the frightened courier backed away. Leaving him as the only living thing within the alien's view.
Oh.
Yeah.
Definitely bigger than Wildmutt.
The tiny misplaced eyes were staring at him with open, naked greed.
"Grandpa," Ben mouthed, trying to keep his lip movements minimal, "can you please put him to sleep for a while?"
Under different circumstances, "How?" would have felt like a reasonable question.
"I don't know. He's immortal. Maybe just flood the room."
"Water dog," the old man reminded him. "The medics didn't tell me if his lungs could process liquid, but... Ben, he's in the cell --"
A cell which, like the hallways, was mostly made from a ceramic composite. Something stronger than just about anything on the planet. Just about the best science had to offer.
Ahuizotl reared up, and the height difference with Wildmutt became that much more extreme.
Claws slashed.
Claws which had a different kind of power behind them.
The inner door broke.
Pieces rained into the airlock space. Fragments skittered into the hallway. Several of the smaller bits came to a stop against Ben's shoes.
"Oh," the teenager softly said. "Magic sucks..."
The growling alien took a single step forward. Nothing about the furious rumble came across as words.
The tiny eyes were staring at Ben.
My sleeve slid down my arm when I got up. The Omnitrix is covered. He can't see the symbol.
So he doesn't know who I am.
He's got no reason to single me out and attack --
-- oh.
Right.
The alien took another step. The tiny gaze had focused down and to one very specific side.
I'm the one with the coronet.
"New guy?" Ben whispered.
"...what?" drifted in from the side.
Ben's left arm slowly reached out. "Pass me your squawkbox." A small rectangle was pressed against his palm, and half-numb fingers closed. "Thanks. So anyway... I'm gonna run now."
You picked up a lot of odd skills, when you were trying to be a hero. Getting dressed while on the move was still a work in progress. Spinning on one heel to make a break for it without falling over -- that had been mastered before his eleventh birthday.
Ben was on the short side. Slim. Right now, it was that much less mass which had to overcome inertia.
He ran. He ran knowing that the alien would have to chase him, was fixated on the treasure, and he heard claws moving against ceramic, struggling for purchase as Ahuizotl roared, a sound which required no translation at all, and almost lost in that was the tiny hum of Plumber weapons which had just seen their safeties switched off --
"HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
Max Tennyson's order didn't quite come in time. Ben heard two of the beam blasters go off. There was a twinned sizzle, and -- that was all.
They hit him. It didn't do anything.
And now he's told them to stop shooting because those guns are still going to do something to me.
...and they can't try to shoot him with anything else, as long as there's a chance that they might hit me.
He could hear the big body picking up speed. Getting closer, and he didn't dare look back because that was going to cost time --
-- Ben was on the small side for his age. Somewhat skinny. Factors which meant he had less mass to get moving when starting a run, and just as little to redirect when making an emergency left turn into the first available hallway. Ahuizotl, who had a few hundred extra pounds contesting with inertia, skidded past the intersection.
There were twenty blessed seconds when the only thing following Ben was the roar. Twenty more seconds for the Omnitrix to work its own sort of magic.
"Come on," Ben panted. "Recharge, recharge..."
He raised his right hand, and the dangling coronet spike nearly cut his thigh --
-- easier to shake the left arm. He didn't have to do that much of it before he spotted the interface. It was still glowing red.
"Recharge...!"
It was amazing, really. Ben wouldn't have thought it was possible to pack smug sadism into a hue, and yet the proof was right there.
Something smooth-edged and heavy slammed into the corridor, about twenty feet behind him. Ben grinned.
They're dropping the blast doors. Blocking him in.
He kept running anyway. He'd been a hero for several years, and part of maintaining that state was knowing that --
Several seconds passed, and then the echoes of crashing ceramic fragments caught up to him.
-- and he's also getting through the blast doors.
Blockades didn't always work.
He raised the squawk box to his mouth, pressed a button and hoped. "It's Ben! Who have I got?"
"It's your grandfather," the reassuring crackle told him. "What's the plan, Ben?"
"I'm trying to buy time! Stay ahead! Once I get a recharge, I'll knock him out myself!" He took another corner, changed direction again as he heard claws and roars closing in. There was also some stranger sounds mixed in: high-pitched whines and abrupt sonic burrs. None of them seemed to be doing anything. "Just try to slow him down for me!"
This particular "How?" was definitely looking for suggestions.
"I don't know! Use the base defenses! There's some weapons in the walls, right? Maybe a few of them will work!" It was hard to talk while running at this speed, but at least his shoes were in no danger of coming off. "Set them to target any non-human DNA and autofire!"
With the odd calm which could only be found in the heart of terror, "We have been trying to shoot him, while you've got some distance. We're producing some burns, but that's been it. We need stronger weapons. Things we can't necessarily use in the base. And when it comes to targeting non-human DNA -- what happens after you transform?"
Oh.
Right.
I really do get in the way sometimes.
Another direction change. He had to stay in the hallways, because the doors were made of the same material as the walls. If he wound up being cornered...
"Start using the base's environmental controls!" Ben panted. "She was using cold against him! He's from the jungle: he likes it hot! Cold might slow him down!"
"On it!" the box told him. "But it'll take a couple of minutes before you feel a difference!"
Every bit helps. And he was still running, he saw a young woman starting to come out of a side door and then go diving back in, but he had to stay in the corridors, he was running and he wasn't used to distance sprints, the sound of claws was getting closer and there was a flash of red in the wall up ahead on his left, something embedded in a small alcove --
-- fire extinguisher!
Ben went directly for the cylinder, shifted the coronet's left spike so that it was held by his waistband, pressed between belt and boxers. (Putting it down the front of his pants had been right out.) Anchored the squawkbox in a jacket pocket, grabbed for cool metal --
-- and he had it.
It didn't weigh very much. There were a lot of words written along one panel, and something made of clear plastic was hanging from the side. Ben ignored all of it, turned to face the direction from which he'd come and saw the alien charging towards him.
The muscular shoulders were very wide, especially when compared to the narrow waist. There was something clear dripping from the fangs. And it kept shifting its head, checking the sides because it had almost no peripheral vision, and yet it was still completely focused on Ben and the coronet --
"You don't like cold?" Ben yelled, and aimed what didn't feel so much like a nozzle as the business end of a flexible desk lamp. "Try this!"
He squeezed the trigger.
A yellowish beam of light coated the air. Saturated the atmosphere, then dripped down the walls.
The quadruped skidded to a stop. Tilted its overlong head slightly to the left, almost peacefully sat back on its haunches, and just looked at Ben. It was the look that a flyswatter gave any insect which had given it the courtesy of not moving.
"...oh," Ben said. "No cold foam. Technology, right?"
The alien stood up. Took another step forward, took a breath --
-- the huge mouth opened all the way. Gulped at the air, over and over. Then it tried again, as the dark body began to slump to one side --
Oh.
It's doing something to the air. Because fire can't burn without oxygen, so if you negate that for a while --
The alien's ribs were desperately heaving. It couldn't find anything in the atmosphere which its lungs could use, and without that --
Ben grinned.
Then he noticed that he couldn't breathe very well.
...oh.
Green eyes went down, and fuzzy vision found dangling plastic.
So that's an oxygen mask hanging off the side.
This is probably in the protocol book.
Somewhere.
I've really got to read that thing.
He made a vow to do so as he reached for the air supply, and forgot about all fifteen hundred pages of the results before the first blast of oxygen hit his lungs. And the alien was slumping, coming closer to total collapse, a few more seconds and --
-- the fire extinguisher made a small, shrill sound.
The yellow light went out.
Ahuizotl gasped. Huge lungs pulled in new air.
Ben looked at the expended cylinder.
"Technology, right?" he told the alien. "Grandpa said it marches on. Then it hits the end of the block and turns around --"
He threw the empty canister at Ahuizotl, grabbed a coronet spike, and was running before he got to see that the toss had come up seven feet short --
-- more turns, but the claws were still too close behind, he'd found a staircase and was trying to work his way up, but -- no matter what he did, the alien remained on his trail. He was starting to wonder if Ahuizotl could smell the coronet.
How much time...
There were things Ben kept meaning to do in his life. Read the protocol book (eventually). Finding a way of riding in Kevin's car without messing anything up. Having a good date. And maybe getting a digital assistant. It wouldn't have to do much. Just notice when the Omnitrix had timed out, and then count off the time until recharge. If the watch happened to get some power back early, it could tell him about that. Sure, it was something of a specialty market because he was going to be the only user, but when the programmer considered the importance --
-- he was trying to take the steps two at a time because his legs weren't long enough for three, he didn't know how much time had passed and the alien was still too close behind him, he could feel the air getting colder now but it wasn't stopping his lungs from burning and there was a landing up ahead, a landing and then the ascending stairs went back the other way --
-- he thought of something.
Or perhaps it was instinct.
Ben reached the landing. Made the turn, hit the next set of stairs, and ran up four of them.
Then he waited, watched, and at the instant dark fur came into sight, vaulted the railing, dropped onto Ahuizotl's back, and rammed the lower platinum spike into alien flesh.
The metal sunk in, and did so with very little resistance. Something reddish-brown and faintly acrid spurted from the fresh wound.
The alien roared. And somewhere in the middle of the sound, it turned into an anguished scream.
"So maybe it's magic that hurts you!" Ben triumphantly panted from his place on the quadruped's back. "Stuff from your own world! Or maybe we just needed knives all along!" He pulled out the spike, lined the coronet up for another shot --
--- he'd been anticipating some trouble in staying on, because that was something which took raw strength and Kevin was the one who thought mechanical bull riding was a good idea. It was why he'd aimed for the narrow waist during the jump, had done his best to wrap his stupid not-as-long legs into a secure position. So he was ready when Ahuizotl reared up, tried to buck him off, clung to the fur with his one free hand and didn't get tossed, tried to use the coronet to gouge a second point, and altogether considered himself to be doing famously right up until the point when the tail arched over the alien's back and that hand grabbed Ben's jacket.
"Oh sh --"
The front of the alien went down. The back end reared up. The hand pulled, then threw.
He didn't have time to twist. To roll. He just hit the wall above the landing, with his left shoulder going into it first.
The pain jolted his entire body, nearly doubled as he fell to the floor. And the alien was closing in again, the fangs were bared and dripping, but -- it was moving more slowly. The cold, perhaps, combined with the fresh wounds. But those tiny misplaced eyes were still fixed on the coronet, Ben was on the floor and he just needed a few seconds to get up, he just needed to think of something and if the still-turning head got any closer, he could try to get a spike into it again, but Ahuizotl would be watching for that and --
-- there was a sound.
It was a little on the high-pitched side. Something meant to draw attention. That was followed by three tones with some degree of overlap, accompanied by a momentary soft green glow near Ben's left wrist.
It was exultation as electronic symphony.
Ben grinned.
"You've been really good this weekend, Omnitrix," he painfully whispered as Ahuizotl's head arched forward and the clear fluid began to drip onto Ben's hands. "Tell you what. You call it."
He flipped the coronet, let his left hand grip the spike. The right pushed back the sleeve and, in the split-second after Ben saw those tiny eyes widen with shock and fresh want, slammed the interface --
-- there was a flash of light.
Ahuizotl blinked.
Stared.
And before it could reconcile what had happened, an alien hand came up.
It came in from the right. It was at least twice the size of a human hand, had three fingers and a thumb, and the red skin rasped against fur like low-grade sandpaper as it grabbed one side of Ahuizotl's narrow face.
"Got your three!" the alien called out in a voice which seemed to emerge from an underwater gravel pit, and did so just before the left hand came in from the other side. "Got your nine!"
A quartet of green eyes seemed to glow with joyful malice. And then the other right hand came up.
Well... technically, it was still a hand. But the proper description would have been 'fist'.
"HI, NOON!" Fourarms bellowed, and punched Ahuizotl dead on.
The quadruped's body jerked. But it didn't wind up being punched down the stairs, because the upper right and left hands were holding its head, keeping it lined for for the next punch from the lower right arm. The lower left was busy securing the coronet.
"Can't really see anything to the sides, can you?" Fourarms half-burbled. "It's why you keep turning your head all the time! To check on what's coming --"
Another dead-on smash, and then the Tetramand let go of the intruder's left side, anchoring the long head on the right and with a freshly-added chin grab. It gave him some freedom to launch the left hook.
Two of the smaller fangs broke. The larger alien started to stand up, dragging Ahuizotl into the vertical as it did so.
"-- and if I just keep you still enough --"
The quadruped jerked. The tail twisted, came forward, and that hand tried to claw -- but it didn't have the strength or the leverage to work with, Fourarms landed another punch --
-- the dark blue neck, whose powerful muscles had to support the weight of that head, jerked back with all its strength, and Fourarms lost the grip. A trio of arms immediately tried to find new places to grab, while the fourth played keep-away with the treasure --
-- but that wasn't what the intruder currently wanted.
The tiny eyes focused on the hourglass symbol: something which, on a Tertamand, appeared at the center of the belt. The head lunged, and fangs snapped --
"-- NO!"
The Omnitrix couldn't be conventionally removed. It could be cut away or gouged out of flesh, and Fourarms knew it. So did a number of enemies, and that was why the reaction was immediate: because Ahuizotl hadn't been the first to try that trick.
Three fists came crashing down on various parts of the long head, and the intruder's chin slammed into the floor. Ceramics cracked.
"You've got three graspers there!" the Tertamand rasped. "I guess the Omnitrix decided to one-up you! But you aren't doing much with fists! Here, I'll demonstrate --"
He got the intruder up with the free left arm, and then both of the rights came swinging in at the same time. The results went for a short flight.
After a few seconds, the Tertramand decided to just jump down to the lower landing. Looked at the red-brown acrid fluid, judged the state of the closed eyes and slow-heaving ribs, then picked up the quadruped with both right arms and held it against his broad chest.
Part of the intruder touched the belt, and the hourglass flashed yellow. Fourarms barely noticed.
"CLEAR THE WAY!"
They were opening doors for him. Vacating staircases. Making sure every passageway was empty, because there was a Tetramand with a burden and while the weight wasn't a problem, the Omnitrix was. Fourarms was only going to be capable of carrying his opponent for so long, and then Ben was going to be half-buried under reeking fur. And the red alien could keep giving Ahuizotl punches while on the run to keep him under, jumping down staircases was faster than any other method, but the clock was ticking and Fourarms didn't have a lot of speed. Being significantly taller than a human gave him a longer stride, and powerful muscles meant he could try to cover ground in a series of bounding mid-range leaps, but -- that was it.
XLR8 would have been there by now.
Fourarms possessed a series of slightly-blurred memories from the time when a malfunctioning Omnitrix had started to play mix-and-match with forms. He'd wound up with a Lepidopterran's body odor and wings too small to get him off the ground. Apparently a true combination of strength and speed had just been too much to ask for.
But the Plumbers were clearing his path. And he vaulted stairs, bounded down hallways and there was the front exit, he was out at ground level and racing past pines as his burden made enough of a rumbling sound to justify another jaw crack, broad feet kept pushing --
-- Ben had actually looked it up once: how the primary contact points for a human foot when running were the heel and two of the toes. Tetramand evolution had just trimmed away the non-essentials.
There was a squawk box on Fourarms' waist, and it was giving him directions as he charged forward under a still-rising sun. Sending him to a clearing about six hundred yards west of the Presidential Trail --
-- he saw it, in the center of it all. Surrounded by pines whose branches bowed inwards as the wormhole opened wider, with something on the other side perfectly aware of all the movement. The center glowed slightly, and around that... the entire world rippled. As if the park was nothing more than a dream, with the sleeper about to wake.
Which reminded him to give Ahuizotl another punch. One for the road.
The Tetramand reached the weak spot. Pushed the intruder against the portal, saw the long head distort, start to vanish as stray pine needles were picked up by the ripples and began to go along for the ride, the neck was gone now, he'd pushed it in all the way to the narrow waist and that was when the beeping started.
Fourarms immediately put a quartet of shoulders into it. Shoved.
There was a flash.
The last thing Ben saw before the wormhole closed, staring up as a worn-out human body collapsed to its knees... was a rippling, quavery tail-mounted distorted hand fading out of existence. And but for the way every digit had gone limp, it almost could have been waving goodbye.
The medical team had treated his shoulder. (Fourarms had been able to ignore the pain. Ben was at the maximum dosage and waiting for his next pills.)
He was sitting with his grandfather in the Rushmore cafeteria. Ben had a microwave burger, which qualified as edible on technicality. It was still better than sharing whatever Max was having for lunch, especially since the burger had stopped moving. However, none of the vending machines could manage a decent smoothie.
"I checked the records," the old man finally said. "The coronet was about eight inches underground when we started checking the spot. It's safe to assume it was sitting there for a while." He put the fork down, and several of the items on his plate instinctively squirmed away from it. "There's still the question of why it got here. Disposing of it because it might not work is one option, but..."
Ben slowly nodded.
"If the portal's exit could be moved," he considered, "then maybe... they were trying to keep it away from him. One of his own people. They saw a South Dakota winter, and shoved it through."
"Or it was a mistake," the senior Plumber considered. "An accident. Just... not their problem any more. It's not as if we can ask."
Because the wormhole had closed.
What's that world like?
How many new species are on the other side? There's at least two. It could be a lot more.
What sort of things can they do?
Ben might never know.
"I want to keep you here overnight, " his grandfather told him. "You were exposed to that blood, and we had a lot of people around when containment was breached. Medical thinks you'll all be fine, but I'd like to make sure."
The grandson nodded. It was the safest thing to do.
"We'll get you to school on time for Monday," Max added.
Ben took a breath.
"Grandpa?"
"Right here, Ben."
"I'm staying in school."
"Oh?"
"I -- think I've still got stuff to learn."
Each took a drink.
"Good work," the old man smiled.
"Thanks."
And for a few minutes and too many disconcerting bites, that was enough.
"You went off for a while after your shoulder got wrapped," Max eventually noted. "Any reason?"
Honesty seemed best. "I contacted Azmuth."
The brown eyes looked him over. Very slowly.
"Because the Omnitrix acquired new DNA?"
"That's part of it." He'd checked. Ahuizotl's silhouette was available from the interface. But...
...no. Not without a lot of research.
He didn't want to lose his grandfather. That was natural. But there were times when personality traits came with a change, and... he wasn't going to use the quadruped unless it was absolutely necessary. He certainly wasn't about to propose that Max Tennyson become the creature, not unless he was completely sure that it wouldn't touch the core. Because he loved his grandparent, and that meant wanting to keep the most precious aspects of the man safe.
The humanity.
"But it's mostly because he's coming in three weeks," Ben continued.
Max nodded. "Running scheduled maintenance. You think the Omnitrix was damaged in the fight?"
It was Ben's turn to shake his head. "No. I asked him for an unlock."
"A new alien?" The old man looked vaguely intrigued. "Which one?"
"Nothing new," the teenager said. "I asked him if he would unlock for the species I've already got."
"How could he --"
"All of the female forms."
The brown eyes blinked.
"...why?" the old man carefully asked.
"Because there are girls who can do things boys can't," Ben rationally explained. "You see it all the time in nature. Especially with alien biology. Just for starters, female Tetramands? They're stronger. That fight would have been a lot shorter if I'd been hitting harder. And with the others... I could find new whole sets of powers. Stuff I don't have now." He took a sip of fully disappointing water, swallowed. "I don't want to miss any possibilities, Grandpa."
In full neutrality, "And what did Azmuth say?"
"That he'd think about it." Ben lightly shrugged. "And when he doesn't call a request stupid or say I'm an idiot for making it, that usually means yes. So... three weeks." Paused. "What do you think?"
Several bites went by.
"I think," Max Tennyson eventually said, "that I would have felt a lot better about that fight if it had lasted half the time. We'll see what Azmuth does when he gets here. And after that... I guess we'll just see what they can do."
The grandson exhaled.
There was nothing wrong with it, after all. There was a good chance that he'd been changing into girls the whole time. (Pesky, if female, was an exceptionally tough and courageous one.) Getting new powers, or enhanced versions of the old ones -- that would be a bonus. Explore all of the possibilities.
And he was absolutely not going to change into a girl in private just so he could feel himself up.
Most of his aliens didn't even have breasts.
Except for the ones that did. Like Tetramands.
...although the blouse would probably stay on. Pulling down Fourarms' pants had been bad enough.
Anyway, the Omnitrix was ultimately supposed to be about understanding other species through living as them. Any tactile exploration was therefore just about understanding the form.
So there.
The little alien is sitting on a schoolyard swing.
Ben likes this swing. Not that he got to use it much. Cash and J.T... well, a lot of people wind up with bullies when they're growing up. Ben got pushed off swings a lot, in the days before the watch. But his bullies grew up, and... they're better than they used to be.
A ten-year-old used to ride this swing when the bullies weren't looking. And pretended he could fly.
Pesky can fly. But in some ways, the pretending was just as good --
-- the Nemuina slowly becomes aware of its position. Of the thin fingers grasping the swing's chains, and that's followed by the inarguable fact that it's not supposed to be here --
"We have placed him in the cell," the cool voice says from behind the Nemuina. "To that extent, it is over. The state of the coronet?"
Slowly, the little alien turns on the seat. Looks directly into dark eyes.
"The coronet?" the equine repeats. "It is a necessary detail."
"The... porrrrtal closed," Pesky slowly trills.
"Yes," the mare agrees. "And then I opened it again, very slightly. To check on you." With a soft sigh, "I intend to monitor you every now and again, Benjamin Tennyson. And to continue your instruction in dreamwalking, as it is a poor teacher who abandons her student after a single session. And..." Her wings twitch, and the ribs shift in and out. "...because heroes need guidance."
"I sorrrrt of felt like..." The little alien pauses, weighs the words. "...you didn't like heroes."
"There are times when they are necessary," she tells him, and takes a step closer to the swing. "It is why we have several of our own. I simply wish that they were generally smarter. And, if at all possible, less destructive. But you acted, Benjamin Tennyson. Where I could not." Another step. "And you... chose me."
"Someone had to do something."
"Yes."
Closer still. She leans in, and the cool horn gently rubs against the little alien's thin shoulder.
"I would wish for them to be smarter," she semi-repeats. "But with those who know they may be hurt, and act regardless -- I will not say 'gone'. The coronet?"
"It's still with us. Under heavy guard." The rookie, who simply hadn't thought to not bring a requested item to the boss, had suffered no true penalty. "No one's going to try and use it. And if you need it, for an emergency... we can send it through."
The mare nods.
"What happened during the battle?" she asks. "You might imagine that he was reluctant to provide details."
The little alien tells her --
-- she's staring at the Nemuina. The left forehoof scrapes against the playground's foam mat.
"Prrrrincess?"
It was not the last time Ben met the equine within what she insisted on calling a 'nightscape', and perhaps he would have given up a weekend and half a summer for it to have been so. Because she would return to his dreams again and again, forever listening.
"You possess access to a form --"
Forever critical.
"-- which could have put him to sleep instantly -- and you chose to trust random fortune. Followed by repeated physical impacts, when you could not be sure whether that would work."
And no matter what the species... a bossy girl was exactly that.
"You idiot."