nymeria_dw (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nymeria_dw) wrote2010-02-24 10:44 pm
nymeria_dw) wrote2010-02-24 10:44 pm
Entry tags:
JIRL TALK
Jirl Talk
(a Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: the Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Rating: PG
Settings and Spoilers: midway through Season 4
An older story, one that for some reason I had not posted yet...
***************************************************************************
"Aeryn, wait!"
"What now, Chiana?" Irritation barely concealed beneath a thin layer of politeness.
"Where's– where's the rush? You in a hurry to get back to Moya?"
"We have finished our business, here. There is no reason to delay–"
"Ain't you– well…*sick* of life on Moya, sometimes? Don't ya want to do something– different?"
"Different." An almost resigned sigh. "What do you mean with 'different'?"
"Ya know, have some fun. Take some time to– to yourself. Drink and chat with a friend…"
"Here?" A sweep of the hand points to the sandy terrain, and makeshift constructions, of a cheerless settlement on an equally dismal commerce planet. "I'd rather take some 'time to myself' in one of the amnexus conduits!"
"Listen, let's– let's just take a look–"
"No. We're already back at the pod, anyway."
"Come on, Aeryn–"
"Aeryn!" The male voice calls out at the same time as Chiana's plea. Both women turn around. "Aeryn Sun!"
A man is fast approaching them: tall, rugged, solid – a bright smile shining through the unkempt beard.
"I wasn't sure, at first, but–" he's reached both women by now. "–frell, it's really you! It's good to see you!"
"Kremiss." Aeryn dips her head in greeting, the bare shadow of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Good to see you, too."
Chiana gapes at each of them in turn, the puzzled look on her face giving way to a frank appraisal of the man, but he's oblivious to it, and keeps staring at Aeryn in pleased disbelief.
"Are you here on…er…busin–"
"No." Aeryn interrupts quickly. "Not anymore. I– I've joined up with old friends." She looks edgy.
"Oh…Good…I–" His fumbling attempt at conversation is suddenly cut off by a shout coming from a nearby shuttle being boarded by several men, all sporting the same rough air as Kremiss.
"Hey, Kremiss, we're ready to take off!" They add something else, pitched only for their hearing, and the group explodes in a bawdy laugh.
"Coming!" Kremiss shouts back, then turns to Aeryn. "Well– Have a safe journey…wherever you're going."
"You too." Another nod, and Aeryn collects Chiana by the elbow and steers her toward their pod, while Kremiss moves quickly to his shuttle and the waiting companions, not without turning back several times.
"Who's that?" Asks one of them when he steps on the landing ramp. "One of your sweethearts?"
"No." He answers quietly over the roaring laughter. "She was with my team. For a while…"
#
Briefings held in the hangar bay. Faces looking back at him – very different faces: some of them impossibly young, little more than children, really; others lined or permanently scarred by hard life.
But his attention was invariably drawn to a very special face: a strange and compelling mix of softness and hard planes, light and darkness, grey eyes and thick black hair held in a tight braid, a stern and reserved bearing, apparently devoid of any emotion.
In the brief time after joining his team, Aeryn Sun had quickly established her competence and quick reaction time in the most unexpected of circumstances, and Kremiss had quickly learned to rely on her in matters of efficiency: yet he found it impossible to overcome the impenetrable wall she erected between herself and other people, keeping everyone at a distance.
She'd left after Tequaen, as if something had unsettled her, or maybe his group had been only a stopover in a longer journey…
#
"Just a few missions, then she was gone."
"Didn't like your ugly face, eh Kremiss?" More rowdy laughter.
"Who knows?" The thunder of the shuttle's engines all but covers his soft reply.
"Who's that?" Chiana is puzzled by her friend's protracted silence, and fixed stare. "Hey, Aeryn, c'mon…"
"Someone I worked with, for a while." The voice is remote, distant.
She's sitting at the pod's controls, but makes no move to start the lift-off sequence, and watches instead the rapidly disappearing shuttle.
"What happened? Were they the– the–" The word 'assassination team' sticks in her throat.
"No." A tired sigh. "No, just…mercenaries."
"And…?" Silence. "C'mon, Aeryn, I'm here! Talk– talk to me…"
Aeryn stares into the distance for some time, then seems to reach a decision, and switches on the comms:
"Pilot?"
"Yes, Aeryn?" Comes the immediate reply.
"Are the others back already?"
"Not yet. Should I contact them?"
"No need, Pilot. Just checking."
"And when are *you* coming back?" Rygel cuts in, sounding quite irritated. "I'm sick tired of having to watch that yotz all by myself!"
"We still have some things to take care of, Rygel. You'll manage." Aeryn cuts the connection, then turns toward Chiana: "Let's go."
"Where?"
"You wanted to talk. Let's talk."
The tavern is not bad, for a place like this: it's dark, and somewhat dusty, but otherwise reasonably clean. Quiet.
It's the middle of the afternoon, and most of the regular patrons will not start filling the tables until well after sundown, so they have the room almost completely to themselves.
They've been sitting here for close to an arn, though, and all they've been doing is drinking raslak. In silence.
Chiana feels a pleasant buzz – the raslak is surprisingly good – yet refuses to give herself up to it; she's still waiting for Aeryn to say something, but there is no indication that her friend is ready to talk, despite her earlier assertion: shoulders squared, spine straight, she sits in the crude chair as if expecting a superior officers' inspection.
Only the eyes betray something: they are brighter than usual, and focused on some distant place – or time.
When she starts talking, her voice is soft, subdued, and yet manages to startle Chiana, after so long a silence.
"When I…left Moya, I joined up with Kremiss' group. Some of them former Peacekeepers, like him, others…well, no one looked too closely at their past."
"And…something bad happened?"
"Nothing "bad" happened, Chiana."
"You seemed…ya know, kind of spooked by that man…"
"It's not him. I was reminded of–" Aeryn picks up her glass again, looking inside it as if searching for the right words, then drowns the contents and goes on. "The last mission I ran with them brought up…things. Things I was trying to–"
"Then I was, I was right!" Chiana refills both their glasses, spilling some raslak in the process. Her hands are getting a little unsteady. "Something bad happened. To you."
"I would not call it bad, Chiana. Not exactly…" There's the ghost of a vicious smile on Aeryn's face, a hint of cruelty too quickly dispelled to leave a mark. "It just pressed me to…move on. Search for something more…demanding."
"Something to, to help you forget?"
Aeryn nods, wordlessly, and empties her own glass in one gulp. Her shoulders slump a little, and she rests her forearms on the table, leaning over and closing the distance between them.
Dropping the barriers.
⁓then⁓
"The raiders' tactic is always the same: reach the outpost, or the colony, take all the able-bodied men and the youngest women, and kill the rest. The…harvest is sold to slavers." Kremiss detailed the situation to his team, and then added, grinning: "This time it will be a bit different. We have a frelling surprise for them."
He nodded toward the man standing beside him: middle-aged, with a weary face and a determined expression.
"We have grown tired of living in fear, so we called on you to put an end to the raids: I come from the outpost of Tequaen – we're small, isolated and unprotected. And we know we're the next target. So we've decided to merge with a larger colony, and use our place, our home–" his voice quavered a little, then firmed up "–to create a trap. A deadly one."
"We'll evacuate the colonists, and put explosive charges all through the settlement." Kremiss continued. "Once the raiders are on the ground, we'll set them off. End of frelling story."
"Won't they think it strange to find the place so empty?" Aeryn was looking for flaws in the plan, as usual.
"No." The reply came from the colonist. "They will think we're hiding. We've heard they enjoy hunting for people trying to avoid capture: they make a sport of it." The man was bitter. "So…no, they will think everything is just the same as in other…places."
"We have to be quick." Kremiss took over again. "The raiders have been spotted in the Nahra system, which means they can be at Tequaen in three solar days. We go in, transfer the people, set the charges and get the hezmana out of there before they arrive. More questions?" None were forthcoming. "Good. Let's go earn our frelling money!"
Two solar days later, the operation was in full swing: the first waves of refugees had been transferred to their new home, and the team was back to take on the last load and set up the trap.
Kremiss found Aeryn checking the people dejectedly embarking on the transport.
"Sun, take two men and do a last sweep of the place: I don't want to risk leaving anyone behind."
She nodded curtly, then replied:
"Once everyone's aboard you can lift off. I'll take a final check of the charges, then join you at the agreed coordinates with my Prowler."
"Good. Take Joofer and Bryn: they're the most reliable."
Aeryn left with the two men, directing them to check the housing compound, while she would take care of the industrial area: another quake shook the ground – the planet was slightly unstable and a series of shocks has disturbed the operation since the mercenaries landed; this time it was very intense, and they heard a faint metal screech in the distance, probably some collapsing structure.
"Be thorough, but be quick: we have no time to waste. And keep the comms open." Then they separated.
The industrial area really consisted in nothing more than a couple of dilapidated sheds, housing some heavy machinery the colonists had to leave behind; the noise of rending metal she had heard a short while ago was coming from there, and Aeryn first checked that the charges were still operational and had not been damaged by the last quake.
All was in order in the first shed, but in the other one she found that some metal racks had fallen down, spilling their contents on the ground.
Once assured that the charges were still well hidden and correctly primed, Aeryn moved toward the exit to rejoin her squad when she felt some movement from the far side of the shed, followed by a soft moan: pulse pistol in her hand, she backtracked cautiously.
"Who's there? Is there anybody here?"
"Help me!" A faint voice answered from the corner where the racks had fallen. "I broke m'leg..."
"Frell! Everybody should be at the lift-off site by now!"
Proceeding further inside the dimly lit shed, Aeryn's prepared to vent her anger on the unknown idiot, who didn't know enough to follow instructions.
"I needed to take somethin'..."
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Aeryn shunted away this sensation, focusing on the tactical details of the situation - but only until she reached the injured person, lying on the ground under a piece of scaffolding, the right leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
Even in the faint light filtering from the outside it was impossible not to recognize the gross body, the dirty and baggy coveralls, the oily, scruffy hair: Aeryn felt a sudden, blinding flare of hate.
"Furlow."
Her voice was cold and controlled, but not enough to prevent the flash of abject terror, quickly masked, she saw in the other woman's eyes; the mechanic tried to cover it with the usual cheekiness:
"Well, nothin' better than an old acquaintance in a moment of need! With a lil' help I might even manage to get–"
"What are you doing here, Furlow?"
Furlow slowly retracted the hand she was holding out, understanding that she would have to work hard to get some help.
"I live here now...well I really should say 'lived', seein' as we must leave this place. I moved here after I left Dam-ba-da.."
"After you ran away, you mean. After you sold everything and everyone to the highest bidder."
"Hey, I'm a business–"
"What I want to know is what you are doing *here*, instead of the lift-off site!"
"I needed to get back somethin' important .."
It was then that Aeryn noticed how the floor around Furlow was littered with high-denomination kryndars, a small fortune, judging from the sheer number of the pieces strewn on the ground.
Following the direction of Aeryn's look, and completely misunderstanding it, Furlow blurted out:
"We can't leave that here for the frelling raiders, can we? There's enough for both of us… Why, for the three of us! I'll be happy to split up with Johnny too…by the way, where's he? The two of you are always closer than a trelkez's heads–"
"John's dead." The forced flatness of Aeryn's tone brought Furlow's tumble of words to a dead stop. "Radiation poisoning. Your fault. Yours - and your greed's."
"You're wrong! I told him, told him not to be a hero…"
"These–" Ignoring the interruption, Aeryn gave some of the kryndars a shove with her foot "–these led you here. Enjoy them."
She started toward the exit at a deliberate pace, stopping only as Furlow cried:
"You can't leave me here! I don't wanna die!"
Fixing the other woman with a look as cold and level as her tone, Aeryn replied:
"You don't deserve to live, Furlow."
"Hey, that's…that's not fair! How d'ya call this, uh?"
"I call it justice."
Turning her back on the mechanic, Aeryn moved away, ignoring the other woman's pathetic entreaties, and the equally pathetic, useless threats - until her voice was cut off by the closing shed door.
Silence dominated the mercenary transport's control room: they had been able to leave the planet a short time ahead of the landing raiders' ship, and to hide behind the moon orbiting the planet. Waiting for the inevitable outcome.
Kremiss' eyes were glued to the screen, while he counted down under his breath:
"Four…three…two…one…"
On the monitor, the loutpost erupted in great balls of fire which greedily enveloped it.
In the control room the mercenaries broke out in loud cheers, and a good deal of back-thumping.
All but Aeryn, standing slightly apart from them, eyes riveted to the screen.
Kremiss approached her and saw that her usually reserved expression was taken over by a smile – more of a feral grin, really. A surprising show of emotion from her.
He put his hand on her shoulder and asked:
"You all right, Sun?"
Aeryn focused on his face, as if coming out of a trance: the vicious smirk was now gone, replaced by a half-smile which nevertheless failed to warm her eyes. As cold and remote as they always were.
"Yes, Kremiss, I am all right. I've never felt better."
⁓now⁓
"Frell! You did right, Aeryn. That tralk desh– deserved it!" Chiana pounds her hand on the table for emphasis, rattling bottle and glasses.
"Yes. She did." Flat voice. Flat eyes.
Chiana makes an effort to emerge from the raslak-induced fog inside her head, realizing she might be more than a little drunk and feeling the need for clarity, and focus.
"But it didn't…didn't help you. R– right?"
"No."
On impulse, Chiana takes Aeryn's hand in her own, expecting the other woman to pull it back: when it doesn't happen, she feels emboldened enough to say:
"Because the, the pain was still there…"
"The pain never goes away, Chiana. You only learn how to deal with it."
"Thas– that's why you came back?"
"Yes. And no." Aeryn draws a deep breath, then goes on. "I tried to– to get back to my old life, to what I used to be, because it felt safe, ordered, detached. It took me a while to understand there was no going back. Only forward."
"And he was here."
"So I thought." Aeryn's voice is hard. Harsh. Veiled by pain.
"He's– he's *here*, Aeryn. Trusht me." Chiana squeezes the captive hand in emphasis. "He must learn to– to stop lookin' back. Like you did." She nods in approval of her own words. "Then he'll–"
"It's late, Chiana." Aeryn gets up suddenly, retrieving her hand. "We should go back."
Chiana starts to reply, but something in the other woman's face prevents her from going on. Getting up with a sigh, she wobbles unsteadily on her feet, the room suddenly spinning around her.
A hand at her elbow - Aeryn's - steadies her, gives her something to lean on, find her balance.
"You drank too much." The voice is not unkind, there's even a trace of amusement.
"I drank ash– as much as you. And I'm fine." A few, tottering steps belie her words, but she forges on with determination.
"Yes, I can see that." A smile finds its way on Aeryn's face, while they reach the street. The pale orange sun is low on the horizon.
"Ya know. He c– he cares about you. And the narl." Chiana leans on Aeryn's shoulder, for support - but also to lend strength and conviction to her words. "He doesh!"
The smile does not leave Aeryn's face, it becomes only slightly brittle. Then she places an arm around Chiana's shoulders, gently, and leads her toward the landing field.
"Let's go, Chiana. Let's go home."
(a Farscape fanfiction)
Author: Nymeria
Disclaimer: the Farscape universe and its characters do not belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
Rating: PG
Settings and Spoilers: midway through Season 4
An older story, one that for some reason I had not posted yet...
***************************************************************************
"Aeryn, wait!"
"What now, Chiana?" Irritation barely concealed beneath a thin layer of politeness.
"Where's– where's the rush? You in a hurry to get back to Moya?"
"We have finished our business, here. There is no reason to delay–"
"Ain't you– well…*sick* of life on Moya, sometimes? Don't ya want to do something– different?"
"Different." An almost resigned sigh. "What do you mean with 'different'?"
"Ya know, have some fun. Take some time to– to yourself. Drink and chat with a friend…"
"Here?" A sweep of the hand points to the sandy terrain, and makeshift constructions, of a cheerless settlement on an equally dismal commerce planet. "I'd rather take some 'time to myself' in one of the amnexus conduits!"
"Listen, let's– let's just take a look–"
"No. We're already back at the pod, anyway."
"Come on, Aeryn–"
"Aeryn!" The male voice calls out at the same time as Chiana's plea. Both women turn around. "Aeryn Sun!"
A man is fast approaching them: tall, rugged, solid – a bright smile shining through the unkempt beard.
"I wasn't sure, at first, but–" he's reached both women by now. "–frell, it's really you! It's good to see you!"
"Kremiss." Aeryn dips her head in greeting, the bare shadow of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Good to see you, too."
Chiana gapes at each of them in turn, the puzzled look on her face giving way to a frank appraisal of the man, but he's oblivious to it, and keeps staring at Aeryn in pleased disbelief.
"Are you here on…er…busin–"
"No." Aeryn interrupts quickly. "Not anymore. I– I've joined up with old friends." She looks edgy.
"Oh…Good…I–" His fumbling attempt at conversation is suddenly cut off by a shout coming from a nearby shuttle being boarded by several men, all sporting the same rough air as Kremiss.
"Hey, Kremiss, we're ready to take off!" They add something else, pitched only for their hearing, and the group explodes in a bawdy laugh.
"Coming!" Kremiss shouts back, then turns to Aeryn. "Well– Have a safe journey…wherever you're going."
"You too." Another nod, and Aeryn collects Chiana by the elbow and steers her toward their pod, while Kremiss moves quickly to his shuttle and the waiting companions, not without turning back several times.
"Who's that?" Asks one of them when he steps on the landing ramp. "One of your sweethearts?"
"No." He answers quietly over the roaring laughter. "She was with my team. For a while…"
#
Briefings held in the hangar bay. Faces looking back at him – very different faces: some of them impossibly young, little more than children, really; others lined or permanently scarred by hard life.
But his attention was invariably drawn to a very special face: a strange and compelling mix of softness and hard planes, light and darkness, grey eyes and thick black hair held in a tight braid, a stern and reserved bearing, apparently devoid of any emotion.
In the brief time after joining his team, Aeryn Sun had quickly established her competence and quick reaction time in the most unexpected of circumstances, and Kremiss had quickly learned to rely on her in matters of efficiency: yet he found it impossible to overcome the impenetrable wall she erected between herself and other people, keeping everyone at a distance.
She'd left after Tequaen, as if something had unsettled her, or maybe his group had been only a stopover in a longer journey…
#
"Just a few missions, then she was gone."
"Didn't like your ugly face, eh Kremiss?" More rowdy laughter.
"Who knows?" The thunder of the shuttle's engines all but covers his soft reply.
"Who's that?" Chiana is puzzled by her friend's protracted silence, and fixed stare. "Hey, Aeryn, c'mon…"
"Someone I worked with, for a while." The voice is remote, distant.
She's sitting at the pod's controls, but makes no move to start the lift-off sequence, and watches instead the rapidly disappearing shuttle.
"What happened? Were they the– the–" The word 'assassination team' sticks in her throat.
"No." A tired sigh. "No, just…mercenaries."
"And…?" Silence. "C'mon, Aeryn, I'm here! Talk– talk to me…"
Aeryn stares into the distance for some time, then seems to reach a decision, and switches on the comms:
"Pilot?"
"Yes, Aeryn?" Comes the immediate reply.
"Are the others back already?"
"Not yet. Should I contact them?"
"No need, Pilot. Just checking."
"And when are *you* coming back?" Rygel cuts in, sounding quite irritated. "I'm sick tired of having to watch that yotz all by myself!"
"We still have some things to take care of, Rygel. You'll manage." Aeryn cuts the connection, then turns toward Chiana: "Let's go."
"Where?"
"You wanted to talk. Let's talk."
The tavern is not bad, for a place like this: it's dark, and somewhat dusty, but otherwise reasonably clean. Quiet.
It's the middle of the afternoon, and most of the regular patrons will not start filling the tables until well after sundown, so they have the room almost completely to themselves.
They've been sitting here for close to an arn, though, and all they've been doing is drinking raslak. In silence.
Chiana feels a pleasant buzz – the raslak is surprisingly good – yet refuses to give herself up to it; she's still waiting for Aeryn to say something, but there is no indication that her friend is ready to talk, despite her earlier assertion: shoulders squared, spine straight, she sits in the crude chair as if expecting a superior officers' inspection.
Only the eyes betray something: they are brighter than usual, and focused on some distant place – or time.
When she starts talking, her voice is soft, subdued, and yet manages to startle Chiana, after so long a silence.
"When I…left Moya, I joined up with Kremiss' group. Some of them former Peacekeepers, like him, others…well, no one looked too closely at their past."
"And…something bad happened?"
"Nothing "bad" happened, Chiana."
"You seemed…ya know, kind of spooked by that man…"
"It's not him. I was reminded of–" Aeryn picks up her glass again, looking inside it as if searching for the right words, then drowns the contents and goes on. "The last mission I ran with them brought up…things. Things I was trying to–"
"Then I was, I was right!" Chiana refills both their glasses, spilling some raslak in the process. Her hands are getting a little unsteady. "Something bad happened. To you."
"I would not call it bad, Chiana. Not exactly…" There's the ghost of a vicious smile on Aeryn's face, a hint of cruelty too quickly dispelled to leave a mark. "It just pressed me to…move on. Search for something more…demanding."
"Something to, to help you forget?"
Aeryn nods, wordlessly, and empties her own glass in one gulp. Her shoulders slump a little, and she rests her forearms on the table, leaning over and closing the distance between them.
Dropping the barriers.
⁓then⁓
"The raiders' tactic is always the same: reach the outpost, or the colony, take all the able-bodied men and the youngest women, and kill the rest. The…harvest is sold to slavers." Kremiss detailed the situation to his team, and then added, grinning: "This time it will be a bit different. We have a frelling surprise for them."
He nodded toward the man standing beside him: middle-aged, with a weary face and a determined expression.
"We have grown tired of living in fear, so we called on you to put an end to the raids: I come from the outpost of Tequaen – we're small, isolated and unprotected. And we know we're the next target. So we've decided to merge with a larger colony, and use our place, our home–" his voice quavered a little, then firmed up "–to create a trap. A deadly one."
"We'll evacuate the colonists, and put explosive charges all through the settlement." Kremiss continued. "Once the raiders are on the ground, we'll set them off. End of frelling story."
"Won't they think it strange to find the place so empty?" Aeryn was looking for flaws in the plan, as usual.
"No." The reply came from the colonist. "They will think we're hiding. We've heard they enjoy hunting for people trying to avoid capture: they make a sport of it." The man was bitter. "So…no, they will think everything is just the same as in other…places."
"We have to be quick." Kremiss took over again. "The raiders have been spotted in the Nahra system, which means they can be at Tequaen in three solar days. We go in, transfer the people, set the charges and get the hezmana out of there before they arrive. More questions?" None were forthcoming. "Good. Let's go earn our frelling money!"
Two solar days later, the operation was in full swing: the first waves of refugees had been transferred to their new home, and the team was back to take on the last load and set up the trap.
Kremiss found Aeryn checking the people dejectedly embarking on the transport.
"Sun, take two men and do a last sweep of the place: I don't want to risk leaving anyone behind."
She nodded curtly, then replied:
"Once everyone's aboard you can lift off. I'll take a final check of the charges, then join you at the agreed coordinates with my Prowler."
"Good. Take Joofer and Bryn: they're the most reliable."
Aeryn left with the two men, directing them to check the housing compound, while she would take care of the industrial area: another quake shook the ground – the planet was slightly unstable and a series of shocks has disturbed the operation since the mercenaries landed; this time it was very intense, and they heard a faint metal screech in the distance, probably some collapsing structure.
"Be thorough, but be quick: we have no time to waste. And keep the comms open." Then they separated.
The industrial area really consisted in nothing more than a couple of dilapidated sheds, housing some heavy machinery the colonists had to leave behind; the noise of rending metal she had heard a short while ago was coming from there, and Aeryn first checked that the charges were still operational and had not been damaged by the last quake.
All was in order in the first shed, but in the other one she found that some metal racks had fallen down, spilling their contents on the ground.
Once assured that the charges were still well hidden and correctly primed, Aeryn moved toward the exit to rejoin her squad when she felt some movement from the far side of the shed, followed by a soft moan: pulse pistol in her hand, she backtracked cautiously.
"Who's there? Is there anybody here?"
"Help me!" A faint voice answered from the corner where the racks had fallen. "I broke m'leg..."
"Frell! Everybody should be at the lift-off site by now!"
Proceeding further inside the dimly lit shed, Aeryn's prepared to vent her anger on the unknown idiot, who didn't know enough to follow instructions.
"I needed to take somethin'..."
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Aeryn shunted away this sensation, focusing on the tactical details of the situation - but only until she reached the injured person, lying on the ground under a piece of scaffolding, the right leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
Even in the faint light filtering from the outside it was impossible not to recognize the gross body, the dirty and baggy coveralls, the oily, scruffy hair: Aeryn felt a sudden, blinding flare of hate.
"Furlow."
Her voice was cold and controlled, but not enough to prevent the flash of abject terror, quickly masked, she saw in the other woman's eyes; the mechanic tried to cover it with the usual cheekiness:
"Well, nothin' better than an old acquaintance in a moment of need! With a lil' help I might even manage to get–"
"What are you doing here, Furlow?"
Furlow slowly retracted the hand she was holding out, understanding that she would have to work hard to get some help.
"I live here now...well I really should say 'lived', seein' as we must leave this place. I moved here after I left Dam-ba-da.."
"After you ran away, you mean. After you sold everything and everyone to the highest bidder."
"Hey, I'm a business–"
"What I want to know is what you are doing *here*, instead of the lift-off site!"
"I needed to get back somethin' important .."
It was then that Aeryn noticed how the floor around Furlow was littered with high-denomination kryndars, a small fortune, judging from the sheer number of the pieces strewn on the ground.
Following the direction of Aeryn's look, and completely misunderstanding it, Furlow blurted out:
"We can't leave that here for the frelling raiders, can we? There's enough for both of us… Why, for the three of us! I'll be happy to split up with Johnny too…by the way, where's he? The two of you are always closer than a trelkez's heads–"
"John's dead." The forced flatness of Aeryn's tone brought Furlow's tumble of words to a dead stop. "Radiation poisoning. Your fault. Yours - and your greed's."
"You're wrong! I told him, told him not to be a hero…"
"These–" Ignoring the interruption, Aeryn gave some of the kryndars a shove with her foot "–these led you here. Enjoy them."
She started toward the exit at a deliberate pace, stopping only as Furlow cried:
"You can't leave me here! I don't wanna die!"
Fixing the other woman with a look as cold and level as her tone, Aeryn replied:
"You don't deserve to live, Furlow."
"Hey, that's…that's not fair! How d'ya call this, uh?"
"I call it justice."
Turning her back on the mechanic, Aeryn moved away, ignoring the other woman's pathetic entreaties, and the equally pathetic, useless threats - until her voice was cut off by the closing shed door.
Silence dominated the mercenary transport's control room: they had been able to leave the planet a short time ahead of the landing raiders' ship, and to hide behind the moon orbiting the planet. Waiting for the inevitable outcome.
Kremiss' eyes were glued to the screen, while he counted down under his breath:
"Four…three…two…one…"
On the monitor, the loutpost erupted in great balls of fire which greedily enveloped it.
In the control room the mercenaries broke out in loud cheers, and a good deal of back-thumping.
All but Aeryn, standing slightly apart from them, eyes riveted to the screen.
Kremiss approached her and saw that her usually reserved expression was taken over by a smile – more of a feral grin, really. A surprising show of emotion from her.
He put his hand on her shoulder and asked:
"You all right, Sun?"
Aeryn focused on his face, as if coming out of a trance: the vicious smirk was now gone, replaced by a half-smile which nevertheless failed to warm her eyes. As cold and remote as they always were.
"Yes, Kremiss, I am all right. I've never felt better."
⁓now⁓
"Frell! You did right, Aeryn. That tralk desh– deserved it!" Chiana pounds her hand on the table for emphasis, rattling bottle and glasses.
"Yes. She did." Flat voice. Flat eyes.
Chiana makes an effort to emerge from the raslak-induced fog inside her head, realizing she might be more than a little drunk and feeling the need for clarity, and focus.
"But it didn't…didn't help you. R– right?"
"No."
On impulse, Chiana takes Aeryn's hand in her own, expecting the other woman to pull it back: when it doesn't happen, she feels emboldened enough to say:
"Because the, the pain was still there…"
"The pain never goes away, Chiana. You only learn how to deal with it."
"Thas– that's why you came back?"
"Yes. And no." Aeryn draws a deep breath, then goes on. "I tried to– to get back to my old life, to what I used to be, because it felt safe, ordered, detached. It took me a while to understand there was no going back. Only forward."
"And he was here."
"So I thought." Aeryn's voice is hard. Harsh. Veiled by pain.
"He's– he's *here*, Aeryn. Trusht me." Chiana squeezes the captive hand in emphasis. "He must learn to– to stop lookin' back. Like you did." She nods in approval of her own words. "Then he'll–"
"It's late, Chiana." Aeryn gets up suddenly, retrieving her hand. "We should go back."
Chiana starts to reply, but something in the other woman's face prevents her from going on. Getting up with a sigh, she wobbles unsteadily on her feet, the room suddenly spinning around her.
A hand at her elbow - Aeryn's - steadies her, gives her something to lean on, find her balance.
"You drank too much." The voice is not unkind, there's even a trace of amusement.
"I drank ash– as much as you. And I'm fine." A few, tottering steps belie her words, but she forges on with determination.
"Yes, I can see that." A smile finds its way on Aeryn's face, while they reach the street. The pale orange sun is low on the horizon.
"Ya know. He c– he cares about you. And the narl." Chiana leans on Aeryn's shoulder, for support - but also to lend strength and conviction to her words. "He doesh!"
The smile does not leave Aeryn's face, it becomes only slightly brittle. Then she places an arm around Chiana's shoulders, gently, and leads her toward the landing field.
"Let's go, Chiana. Let's go home."