jia ting

It used to be that I didn't remember much of life before age eight. When I first landed on Earth--No, that makes it sound too voluntary. I was shoved--dumped, abandoned, discarded, cast away--onto that miserable planet, alone and scared, with no memory and sicker than I have ever been; thrust into a miserable, derelict hospital where children died around me and screamed into the night. The most I did remember back then were small moments, bits and pieces that would flash into my mind at the oddest moments; when they moped up the vomit, when I took my first steps on earth, at the smell of Magnolia blossoms--but these vignettes usually faded quickly, flashing across my senses in blinding, numbing, intensity before disappearing completely to the blackness that is my soul. Usually they would be nothing more than a brief sensation, a smell, a sound, the snippet of a conversation, the taste of something sweet, the caress of another's hand, the haunting depths of another's soul. Never complete, never illuminating the mystery of my past; just...there. I cried a lot, back then, frustrated at my inability to know who I was. What I was.

I was a blank slate...or almost one, would have been one and much happier I think, except for one memory. One memory that has always stood out clearly to me, because it was the only thing left to me before my long, cold exile into space. The memory haunted me and--in a rather sick fashion--comforted me. I suppose it's because it's the only clear memory I have of my mother, the only clue that I have to half of myself. But even then the memory is tainted, not a happy moment but rather one of agony as I am thrust away from her side, pulled back by some shadowy figure as equally important as the woman who gave me life. Her tears, her wails, the touch of her hands, the soft perfume of her hair are all burned into me as the guards drag her pitiful form away, haul her before that most hated man; before Zarkon whom I truly believe is the root of all evil--and then from his throne to the scaffold where she is killed before my young eyes. The worst part is I can't even blame the one who steals me away, hauls my shocked form to an unwatched craft and shoots me out into space all alone, cold and helpless; I can't hate that man because he is why I am alive and though I curse him in my rages, I bless him in my prayers. Unknown, most hated benefactor, I would thank you and kill you at once.

The couple that adopted me say that it's normal for a child of trauma to experience amnesia; a self-defense mechanism to repress pain and allow for a fresh start. And I suppose there is nothing more traumatic than watching your mother be executed...

~~~

Keith was sweating as he struggled to get the small ship under control, force the craft to further speeds. The wounded vessel lurched and bucked under his hands, thrown into sickening spirals by the asteroids that bombarded it.

Of all the stupid--This is the last time I trust Lance's 'evasion maneuvers'. He swore under his breath, blinking away the salty drops that stung his eyes. Come on, baby, just a little further. I know you're hurting, but just get me through this asteroid belt and I promise that I'll get Hunk to do everything possible to make you better than new. Come on, come on, come on... He breathed in the moist air, aching as each breath pushed his cracked ribs. The klakons of a hundred different alarms hurt his ears, but that didn't matter; all he needed to do was get into the clear and then it was just a quick warp home to Arus. Yeah, and then I'll climb Olympus Mons with out a space suit. The craft shuddered and groaned and Keith swore again. Don't fail me now, baby.

"Life Support System At Fifty Percent." The automated voice droned out the warning, broken and impersonal as it signaled Keith's end. "The Pilot Is Advised That Life Support System Will Fail In Approximately Ten Minutes."

Shit! Well, that explains why it's so hot in here. Keith scanned the console before him, appraising himself of all the damage done to his injured ship. Damn. One engine's shot to shit. Looks like I might have a Core breach too. Fun. Okay, new plan. Find a hospitable planet. ASAP if not sooner. He cast his eyes on the Navi-comp, so close and yet so distant. He dared not take his attention away from the dangerous asteroid belt to check for the nearest port. Shit. I hope that the computer system can still process voice commands. Well, only one way to find out...

"Computer, search quadrant delta-zero-five for hospitable E-class planets found nearest to current position." He mentally crossed his fingers as the seconds ticked by, waiting for the confirmation.

"Affirmative." The navi-comp panel flashed to life, blinking and making strange whirring noises as it searched its data files. "Search Complete. Five Planets Found."

"Input co-ordinates for nearest planet."

"Affirmative. Inputting Co-ordinates Now."

Keith glanced down, quickly marking the position of the planet before focusing once more on the obstacles before him. An asteroid near him exploded into a thousand, smaller, sharper pieces that caused his shield to flare up in a beacon to his pursuer. Great. He's catching up. Okay, screw being careful. I need to get out now.

Gritting his teeth, Keith blasted his way free of the last of the rocks, pouring all of his reaming fuel into reaching the distant hope of the planet. The craft whined and groaned under the strain, shuddering beneath Keith's hands, protesting this new task. But Keith wouldn't let the craft go that easily, and he pushed it further, breath coming in short, strained pants as he neared the planet.

Ten klicks, five klicks, four klicks, three, two...Then he was in the atmosphere, surrounded by a fiery aura as he forced his way through the outer shells, breathing a sigh of relief as the craft bounced and shook in the turbulence, glad to be free of his pursuer. He cast his eyes over the holographic map, looking for a large clearing to land, not paying attention to the alarms that continued to wail in the background until, suddenly, the craft spun, and smoke filled the cabin, and he was trailed by a blaze as a laser hit his ship, tossing him in his safety harness and he forwent the easy landing, just needing to get down. He was hit again, and again, the craft breaking apart and Keith choking on the smoke. The ground rushed up to him, jagged teeth of green trees reaching up to swallow him, red earth speeding toward him at an alarming rate. Then everything was earth and pain and he was thrown forward, snapping the metal restraint bar, trapped beneath buckling metal and sparking wires and all he could think about as the blackness descended was how disappointed Hunk would be with him for wrecking the craft.

~~~

The strange thing is, I know my father inside and out. Hard not to when he's so damn famous. Everywhere I go, it's all about 'Jason Ogden' and how great he was, how brave he was, exploring space like he did. All my teachers rant about how handsome he was, and how charming and how much everybody loved him. How the hell am I supposed to live up to these standards?

But then again, it's probably better than the people who think I'm nothing but a bastard child. I suppose it's only natural, considering how little I take after him. No blond hair, no sparkling blue eyes, no charming, magnetic personality. All I got was a vague resemblance, something about the chin and the nose, enough that the first thing they did to me was genetic testing. Not going to let them pull something like that again, though. Not without my consent--and knowledge. I don't know if I should be glad or pissed that the test was so muddled up that they can't tell what race my mom was. I guess I would sort of like to know, but then again, maybe not. Maybe it's better this way.

You know, as time went by, I began to remember more. Longer segments. Things that I really wish I'd kept hidden away. They...frighten me. Make me cry. Still, even now after I've settled into this life. There's been many a room mate whose shaken me from a screaming fit, because of these things. The thing is, they're not even scary. They just all turn...dark. Oppressive. It's as if I'm not allowed to do the things that I do in my dreams...memories...whatever. There's always the feeling of suppressed panic surrounding me; I think that's why I scream.

It's the little things that make me cry, really. I remember being held by my mother a lot. And by another little boy--I think he's my brother. At least I like to pretend he is. He features the most in my memories; even though I can only form the vaguest of images. I think that he has blond hair--very blond, almost white in the halogen lights that illuminate all of these scenes. He's pale too. As though there isn't enough sun where he lives. He has the brightest smile, though, and this open, loving face--for some reason I think of elves every time I remember him. Or perhaps I just create him in my mind to comfort me. Either way there's something about his eyes...something about the way that they reflect the false light. They're...flat. Very black in the center, like mine and our mother's, but pale? I'm not quite sure. He's so strange, really. Nothing like me--nothing like our mother. He doesn't have the silken black hair, the dark raven hair, that I have--that she had--or the strong body. He's sort of lithe, almost serpentine I suppose. Still, he has the oil-black eyes, and he calls me jakutei and...Kuro.

Black.

Maybe that's my real name. The few times I can hear my mother's voice she calls me that too. Appropriate, really, when compared to him. So pale. So protective too. Funny that. I don't think he's more than three years older than me--if that. I'd like to think that this pale boy is my brother. I like to think that we are related--I would be proud of a brother like this. A better blood relation than the great Jason Ogden...

~~~

"Wake up."

A boot kicked him in the side, a soft, sickening thud that sent white pain radiating through his sore body. Keith moaned, gasped and coughed, opened eyes that were heavy with some sticky, gummy liquid. He blinked at the shadows playing on the wall before him, wondered at the cold air that cooled his heated flesh.

A cave? How?

The boot kicked him again. "I said wake up."

Keith slowly placed his arms beneath his body, pushed up and gave a sharp cry at the sudden crack as his right arm gave way. Whimpering, he curled in on himself, cradled the broken limb. The pain was amazing, an intense white wave that seemed to carry his consciousness away. A sigh was heard above him, and two strong hands grasped the tattered collar of his uniform. He was hauled upright to stare into a pair of yellow eyes with flat, deep pupils.

"Pathetic." The word was spat out, and Keith was thrown back to the hard floor, felt one of his ribs crack and add to the ache. He rolled over and glared up at the blue skinned man who had captured him.

"Lotor. Do you think so little of me that you leave me untied?"

"Hah! You can barely breathe, let alone flee." Lotor kicked him again, broke another rib, before stepping over Keith's prone form and sitting down on a boulder near the fire. "You gave me a good chase, but I've finally got you."

"You may capture me, but you will never 'have' me." Keith crawled to a wall and edged his way into a sitting position, taking stock of his wounds.

Not bad. A couple of broken ribs, and a broken arm, maybe a dislocated hip, but I can pop that back in--God I hate doing that...The rest of it's all superficial. Just have to wait for the pain to disappear, really. Then I can escape. He touched his forehead with his good hand, hissing softly at the new burst of pain as his searching fingers found a deep gash over his eye. Explain why my eyelids were stuck together. Wonder why Lotor rescued me.

"Why would I want you?" Lotor snorted and poked the fire, sending a bright spray of sparks into the dark cave. "I've never met a more pathetic opponent."

Keith ignored the other man, and frowned. He needed to immobilize his arm before he did some serious damage to it. To bad my shirt's pretty much gone. I think that my pants should have enough material left. Sighing, glancing quickly at the shadowy figure of Lotor, Keith carefully eased out of his battered red pants, trying to keep him movements as small as possible. He felt strangely ashamed to be sitting there in his boxers and shirt--especially in front of Lotor.

He grabbed the soiled cloth and bit into part of the waist band, gripped a nearby tear, all set to rip himself some bandages with the soft click of a gun caught his attention. He looked up to see Lotor pointing the gleaming shaft of a laser at him, sight trained right between his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

Keith spat the cloth out and glared at Lotor. "Making a bandage. You can't seriously expect me to not attend to my injuries."

"Perhaps you're not as helpless as I thought." Lotor stood, gun still trained on him. "Make even one suspicious move and I shoot." He walked over to Keith, ripped the pants out of his hands. He felt the cloth, grunting in approval at the durability. "Not exactly iron manacles but it should do." He moved away slightly and put down the laser, needing both hands to tear the strips of cloth. Keith watched him, wondered if maybe he could turn this situation into his advantage.

"Lotor. What if we work together?"

"What makes you think I need your help?" Lotor ripped another strip. "What makes you think you could help me?"

"You're stuck here too, aren't you? You're craft is just as broken as mine--otherwise you wouldn't still be here."

"So what?" Another strip torn. "I just need to salvage some of the pieces off of your craft, and then we're both off to Doom." Lotor laughed. "I bet you're looking forward to that."

"So who do you think is going to come first? My friends or your father? If you help me; if you just denounce your father--"

"Denounce my father?" Lotor moved faster than Keith thought he should be able to, suddenly in front of him and hauling him upright, hot breath blowing in his face. "Denounce the only family I have? Hah!"

"Family? Zarkon isn't a family, Lotor! He--"

"Shut up!" Keith was shaken, violently, and he felt sick from it. Lotor threw him back down, grabbed the strips of cloth and roughly bound him, eyes blazing and breath coming in heavy starts.

"Zarkon doesn't want you, Lotor."

Why am I still talking? Why am I making him angry? Keith, I think that crash shook something loose.

"And you think your friends do? Well, I'll fix that. I'll make it so that no one wants you. Ever." Rough hands grabbed him, yanked at his boxers, pulling them down. Keith braced himself, prepared to rear up, attack though he was at a very distinct disadvantage.

"What's this? A slave tattoo? My tattoo?" Lotor's fingers traced the blue design on Keith's hip and he froze at the words.

That was its purpose? That was what the design meant? The blue snake on his hip--the design that he had tried so desperately to hide for most of his life, just because it marked him as different--marked him a Drulean slave? Keith closed his eyes, swallowed hard at the cruel amusement in Lotor's voice, felt his captor's fingers grip him harder.

"Oh ho, so the little captain is a run away slave--better, one of my slaves." Lotor's hot breath tickled the back of Keith's neck.

"No." Keith shook his head in blind denial. "No, you're lying."

Lotor laughed, hard and cruel, one hard knee forcing Keith's legs apart. The long strands of his white hair brushed Keith's skin, and Lotor's arms slipped around Keith in a tight embrace, a mocking imitation of the intimacy of a lover's embrace. "Face it, Keith. You are mine. And I can do whatever I want."

~~~

My brother. What can I say about him? There's just so much. I think that he was the only good thing about my old life. Kind of sad, that.

Anyway, my brother was named Shiro--well, that's what I called him anyway. He was--five years older than me? Doesn't matter much, really. He was my only friend back then, I know that much.

The clearest thing I remember about him was this time we were playing swords. He was bragging about how his sword was so much bigger and I told him it was only because he was older. Stupid, huh? I mean, the clearest thing I can remember about him is just this trivial little argument about sword size.

I wonder where he is now. I wonder if he still laughs like he used too. He had this great laugh; really big and hearty and everyone was always so surprised that it came from someone as small as him. I wasn't though. It suited him well, to have such a happy laugh. He was always a happy child.

Me? I was a sort of sullen child. Repressed would probably be the better word. Shiro always seems to be talking in my memories and I just tag along behind him, listening and adoring. Well, he talked more than enough for both of us.

The best gift I ever received from my foster parents was a locket my 'rescuers' had found on me--damn bastards had kept it from me for most of my life. They tried to pretend that it was a new locket, put their pictures in it. But that couldn't hide the true pictures, the little paintings of my brother and mother. They're really tiny and a little cracked in my locket, but clear enough. Even if I can't make out all of their features, it's enough. It certainly helped me remember so much more about them--more than I had thought would be possible.

They're clearer now. Everything is clearer now.

~~~

Lotor laughed in contempt as Keith disposed of the contents of his stomach, sweat and blood flecked body lurching and heaving. "You really are pathetic."

Keith ignored him and kept heaving, stopping only when there was nothing left to purge, when the tang of blood and acid burned his mouth and the pain of his throat could, for a little while, relieve the other pain. The pain from his violation. He curled in on himself, whimpering softly to himself and shivering. Lotor smiled, wondered if he had finally broken Keith's spirit. A milestone indeed if he had.

The glint of gold around Keith's neck caught the light of the fire and Lotor stalked over to the curled form, snatching the golden chain from his captive's neck. "Slaves have no need for jewelry."

"Give that back!" Keith uncoiled, suddenly, violently, formerly glossy eyes blazing. "Give it back!"

"Oh you want this?" Lotor dangled the locket in front of Keith's face, laughing as the captain struggled against his bonds. "What's so special about it anyway." He cracked open the little oval and looked inside, gasping at the subjects of the miniatures inside. He growled and knelt down beside Keith, angry, grasping the golden necklace hard enough for the small chains to bite into his skin. "Where'd you get this? Tell me!"

"Give it back! That's my family, you bastard! You don't have any right to look at them!" Keith squirmed against the cave floor, leaving small smears of blood in his wake.

His family? No...It can't be. He--he can't be Kuro! But if he's not, then why does he have this locket? Why is my picture in it; my mother's picture? There can't be a duplicate.

But he can't be Kuro.

"How old are you." Lotor pulled Keith up, face a mixture of curiosity and--something else. Not anger, not anticipation, but a somewhere between. "Tell me." He shook Keith again. "TELL ME!"

"Eighteen."

No!

Keith fell from Lotor's suddenly numb fingers, head slamming against the rock. New pain covered him, this time followed by a black nothingness. He blinked, slowly, eyes unfocused, moaned softly the name of his childhood protector, "Shiro."

Lotor stared down at him in shock, wanting desperately not to believe that this--that his most hated enemy was also his most beloved brother. It can't be. But if not, than how would he know that name? Why does he have that locket?

"Kuro?"

Keith slowly turned his head toward that questioning voice, blurred vision barely making out his surroundings, battered mind believing that he was back in a safer place--in a happier time. The pale form above him came closer and Keith slowly smiled. "Shiro. I knew you'd rescue me. You always rescue me."

"Oh Kuro..." Lotor reached out a hand to gently touched Keith's bruised face, ashamed at what he had done to his brother. I didn't know! I didn't know. "I'm so sorry Kuro."

"s'ok." Keith closed his eyes, feeling tired and safe, distant from all of his pains. "Love you anyways, oniichan. Always will."

And into the darkness he slipped, led on by the memories of a child.

~~~

A few days before I left for Arus I had a revelation. I realized that I'm actually better off than some people. At least I have the memories to comfort me. Some people don't even have that.

I was actually talking to Lance when it happened. Not so strange, really--I usually have most of my best moments around him. For once an Academy ploy actually worked; well, I suppose it was inevitable that if they threw me at enough misfits like me that one would be able to deal with me. I'm sure that there are many who are surprised at how easily he became my friend, but they shouldn't be. Yeah, sure, he's my opposite in many ways--loud, daring, reckless to name a few--but in his own way he reminds me of Shiro. Besides, he knows what it's like to lose your history.

I think that I should be glad I don't remember much of my family. At least I'm not haunted by their ghosts like Lance is.

You know, it's the strangest thing, but I feel protective of him. Odd that the person who so resembles my childhood hero should evoke such feelings in me.

But this is about family. And I'm really very lucky in that department. My foster parents were really very nice. But they are a pretty shoddy replacement for a real family, for a real home.

I wonder what my old home was like, sometimes. Most of what I remember are four rooms and a bit of hall. I don't think I ever saw the outside, saw what the planet I was born on was like. There's a source of great fantasy for me. Sometimes I dream that it was a beautiful place, with bright skies and warm sun and lots of green grass. Other times--and these ring strangely true--I dream that it was desolate, a black, twisted place full of black, twisted people; I dream that the sky was full of roiling clouds and sharp lightening, that the trees were dead and formed as if in agony, and that the air was full of harsh sand and harsher poisons.

I think that living in such a place would taint even the brightest soul.

~~~

"Keith?"

Lance's voice brought him out of blackness, into the painful wakefulness. He squinted against the bright beams of light that pierced through the darkness, swallowed hard, wetting his dry mouth.

"Keith? Are you in here?"

"Hello?" The word came out a whisper, and Keith grimaced at the raw feeling in his throat. "Hello? Who's there?"

"Keith!" Footsteps echoed against the walls of the cave, the bright beam coming ever closer. "Thank the Gods you're all right." He bent down beside Keith's prone form, reaching out to gently touch the cuts that marred Keith's face. He frowned and pulled out his comm, the click and static loud in the silence. "I've found him. Bring a ship around to these co-ordinates; he needs medical attention pretty badly."

"Lance." Keith sat up, frowned as something warm and soft fell from his shoulders. He couldn't feel the damp of the cave floor either, and the cloth which had bound him was gone as well.

A blanket? And pants? My arm! He gazed at the bound limb in confusion, wondering if the night before had been a dream. Shiro!

"Shiro?" Keith grasped the sleeve of Lance's shirt. "Lance, have you seen him?"

"Who?"

"My brother! He was here! Last night!" Keith slowly stood, looking desperately around the empty cave.

"Sorry, Keith. You were the only one in here." Lance slid one arm around Keith's waist, lending his support. "Maybe you just dreamed it. After all, you were in a lot of pain and you feel pretty feverish."

"Yeah. Probably." Keith laughed slightly as he was led out of the cave. "Yeah, it must have been a dream. I mean my brother looked like Lotor."

"You have the weirdest hallucinations, Keith." Lance sat his friend down outside the cave, scanned the air for the promised craft. "Still, I got to tell you, the weirdest thing happened this morning while we were looking for you; the co-ordinates for this planet and your name kept appearing on all the computers, even in the lions. Guess we should be glad--that glitch probably saved your life."

"Yeah." Keith kept his eyes on the ground, trying to sort out the strange memories of the night before. They were too...real to be feverish hallucinations like Lance thought. But if they were--he didn't want to think about the consequences.

He stuck his good hand in the pocket of his borrowed pants, wondering if there might be a clue in there. His questing fingers found a slip of paper and he pulled it out, unfolding it to read the message scrawled in charcoal.

Keith, Kuro, whoever you are:

I'll come back for you, I promise. And then...we'll see. Watch for me.

Lotor (Shiro)

Keith looked up at the sky. All right, Shiro. I'll be waiting.

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