I, ET: The Outsider
Series: Companion Chronicles, Season 1
Author's Note: This is a brief ficlet for "I, ET." Includes a brief reference to "The Way We Weren't."
I know you were given a hard choice
and took it,
unprepared as you were
to do nothing
when there's nothing left to do.
~ James McKean "Just in Case"
- Hynerian -
The Peacekeeper is no different than the rest of her kind. She cannot be trusted.
Carefully, closely he watches her from the airvents. In her cell (he likes the idea of her in a cell) she keeps to a strict routine from the first arms: clean weapons, exercise, bathe, sleep. Upon waking, it's much the same: exercise, bathe, clean weapons.
Multiple times, she has purposefully pulled the healing skin from the bite he left on her arm. It will scar, as she desires - he knows what that means. Revenge. After she's had her form of twisted justice, she'll use a dermal regenerator to erase the scar; until then, the mark is a constant reminder of what he's done.
He revels in that thought.
Peacekeepers - they're all the same.
- Delvian -
Sometimes a softness crosses the Peacekeeper's face, and she almost looks like a child. This only happens when she forgets herself, forgets anyone is watching - and even then, it's very rare. Her thoughts are seldom peaceful.
The angry tread of the Peacekeeper's boots on the deck are a harsh reminder of her true nature. She only moves silently when she's hunting, stalking prey she can see but never catch.
There is no stillness to her. Like all her kind, she is a scorching flame; cut off from the fuel of others like herself, she flares and smothers, fated to sink to embers.
She is a mote on the wind, soon to pass away.
Kihalin, Kihalin.
- Human -
The last time he saw a woman this physically strong, he was watching Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. And although this isn't television, she just might throw him across the room if he gets too close. It's not like it'd be the first time.
Here, in the make-shift gym she's scrounged together, she beats the dummy time and time again. When she gets tired of the dummy, she looks for something alive. Then, he runs.
Now and then, he catches her looking at him, an almost puzzled expression on her face. He can almost guess what she's thinking: Peacekeeper? Not Peacekeeper. Sebacean? Not Sebacean. Lesser species. But she doesn't talk much.
Snap!
The dummy has cracked off its base, surrendering to her endless assault. She's glaring down at it, furious.
Time for him to disappear.
- Peacekeeper -
I stand alone in Command, finally free of the other's eyes.
Three prisoners and a brain-deficient idiot. Tauvo, you were the fortunate one.
Captain Crais, you're the madman Velorek said you were. I'll never forgive you for what you've done, punishing me for something I didn't do. Just remember, Bialar, you're a captain, but I'm a commando.
My teammates will come for me. Soon we'll all be having a drink and a laugh about this whole mess.
Soon. Not soon enough.
13-The Flax: CPR Basics
Series: Companion Chronicles, Season 1
Author's Note: This is a brief ficlet for "The Flax." It's a bit experimental as the text is nothing but dialogue.
I have ten fingers
but I am all thumb.
~ Ruth Stone "A Little Chart"
"We don't have time for this."
"God, Aeryn - This is my life. We have time. Lay down."
"Fine."
"On the floor. Lay down on the floor."
"Frell it -"
"Okay, good. Now, the first thing you do is tip my head back - gently, don't break my neck just because you're pissed. Like this, one hand on the crown, two fingers under the chin."
"Why?"
"To make sure I haven't swallowed my tongue or anything."
"Swallowed your - are you joking? This is no time for joking."
"I'm dead serious now shut up so I can go on. Next, you put your hand right above my heart - like this. Sorry, not trying to cop a feel here, just demonstrating. Put your other hand on the top of the first, lace your fingers, and use the heels of your hands to begin compressions. Please, please try not co crush all my ribs by pushing too hard, but it does require some force to pump the blood from the heart."
"That's not my heart, Crichton."
"Dammit, Aeryn, I know that isn't your heart, but in your ribcage -"
"No, you idiot, you're not even on the correct side of the body for the heart."
"Huh? Oh wait - In Sebaceans, is the heart on the right? For humans, the heart's on the left."
"Wonderful for you. I'll try to remember. Is that all?"
"No, no. no. You do fifteen compressions, then blow two breaths of air into my mouth to fill my lungs."
"You're insane."
"I'm serious! Aeryn, you've got to do it, or I'm dead!"
"And what a loss that would be. Fine, fine, I'll do it - if it becomes necessary. Anything else?"
"No. Um, well, you should probably know. . ."
"Spit it out, human."
"Well, exactly. In almost 90% of all cases, a human revived via CPR will vomit out the contents of their stomach."
"Disgusting!"
"It's just reaction, Aeryn. I'm not going to yak up on you on purpose."
"I will not have your vomit on me as thanks for saving your life. Go back to the waste receptacle and evacuate the contents of your stomach right now."
"Aeryn -"
"Now, Crichton. Would you rather stay dead?"
"It doesn't work that way -"
"Make it work that way."
"We don't have time for this."
"Oh, now we're short on time."
"Fine. I'll give it a shot."
"All of it, Crichton. I saw what you ate this morning, and I have no desire to see it again."
##END##
16. A Human Reaction: Moving On
Series: Companion Chronicles, Season 1
Author's Note: This is a brief ficlet for "A Human Reaction."
I will catch your eye and wave.
I mean, remember how far
and which way you have come.
I mean, go on where
I cannot follow.
~ James McKean "Dead Reckoning"
When he first said he was leaving, you thought he meant he was "going for a drive." You didn't know he meant he was leaving permanently.
"Hey, you're always telling me to go away," he jokes.
But not like this. Seven monens, give or take - has it really been that long? Has it only been that long? And he isn't a Peacekeeper, isn't Sebacean, but he is a shipmate and a friend.
"You'll come with me, right?" he asks hopefully.
Me, on a planet full of you. The words are a memory, but still true. They don't have space travel there - no more racing among the stars. They don't have chakkan oil - no more pulse weapons. They don't have Sebaceans - no more Peacekeepers. Earth: isolation, alienation, complete foreignness that would never end.
"You'll fit in just fine," he promises.
It's not a lie because he really believes it's true.
Crichton is going home, and you'll be alone. This is the beginning of the end - or, the rest of the end. It would be more than easy to see Rygel go, but Zhaan or D'Argo will probably be next. After a while it'll just be you and Pilot and Moya. What then?
I've never been on my own. . .
Time to learn.
So you keep your chin up, don't weep and whine at his departure like that tech did. You watch him dance around his quarters, taking precious few things with him, only the essentials, just like a soldier. Some rock he picked up somewhere, a foodcube, a shiny bauble Zhaan give him. Everything else gets left behind.
"Won't be needing this anymore," he says as he hands back the pulse pistol you found for him.
And though you've sworn to make this no more difficult than it has to be, as you grasp the weapon, you say, "Was it so hard, being here on Moya with us?"
He'd do something foolish if you were that tech, something like pull you close or grasp your hand - but if you were Gilina, you'd be packing, too, ready to go with him in an instant.
But you're not Gilina. He lets the pistol's weight sag into your grasp, saying, "Only sometimes."
The human is going home. You're pleased for him. He's so foolishly happy, how can you not be pleased for him? He's like a first year cadet being sent out on his first mission, already flushed with success even though he's yet to leave. And like a drill master, you won't watch him go, because in all odds he won't be back. You've kept him safe, forced him to learn what he needed to survive, and now he'll go, to live or not.
You won't say goodbye. He doesn't understand why, but soldiers never say goodbye. That tech couldn't say goodbye enough times, and you won't say it at all, but both of you are now alone.
Crichton's getting ready to go, saying his final words to the others.
His eyes search the shadows for you, and you meet his gaze one last time. Slowly, slowly you nod - he seems confused, then nods back just as slowly.
And then you turn away, set one foot before the other. You're pleased for the human. He is going where you cannot.
May his homeworld honor him as he deserves.
He was a good shipmate, and a good friend.
He is going home.
##END##
21. Bone to Be Wild: First Trust
Series: Companion Chronicles, Season 1
Author's Note: This is a brief filler ficlet for "Bone to Be Wild".
Freedom of choice if the essence of all accountability.
~ Frederick Douglas 'Narrative in the Life of a Slave'
"You want me to go aboard." The plan is Crichton-esque in its stupidity. She's trying to be gentle with Pilot, but, frell, the idea that she should try to bridge the gap between Moya and Baby is just farbotz.
"Moya gave you permission," Pilot says quickly, and she can hear the plea in his voice.
"But does the baby?" she counters. Pilot bobs his head and watches her with his wide, innocent eyes. She knows he won't push, and so with a grumbling sigh she turns away, muttering about an EVA suit.
*
"Unbelievable." It's the only decent word she can use to describe what she's seeing. Leviathan, gunship - both. Hybrid. Amazing. Frelling unbelievable.
No wonder the Peacekeepers want it back.
"This is astounding, Pilot," she says over the link. She wants to explore, run from station to station - she's a pilot, and this ship is beyond incredible. But for all that she's been allowed on board and into Command, this ship - a living ship - has yet to establish if her continued presence will be permitted.
And it doesn't help that she can't see much of what's going on around her.
"I need light," she says, as much to herself as to Pilot.
Suddenly a small blip starts flashing on the forward console. It can't be that easy - or can it? The ship is alive. . . She slowly walks over to the station and touches the blip.
"I have light," she announces. It is that easy.
Unbelievable.
Pilot says something about the communications array. Again she is led to the proper place.
"How did you find it so quickly?" Pilot wonders.
The answer is obvious. "I think I was supposed to."
Behind her, from the myriad pattern of lights on the deck, comes a beeping trill, short bursts of sound that quickly draw her attention. She turns towards it, slowly approaches and sinks down beside the light. Did she imagine. . .? But this ship is alive.
"Hello," she says, half greeting and half question.
Immediately the lights flicker, the trilling comes again.
She laughs, delighted and amazed and struck with wonder.
This ship is every pilot's dream.
Unbelievable.
*
A few arns later, and it's still unbelievable. At this point she doesn't think she'll ever overcome the magnificence of the ship. She's shed the upper part of the EVA suit in order to better climb under the consoles; she's dropped her helmet in a far corner so she won't trip over it as she repeatedly crosses the bridge. The ship is amazing, amazing, amazing! She hasn't felt this excited since her first attack run in a prowler.
But the Peacekeeper scan comes again, and suddenly she has to convince the (unbelievable, amazing, incredible) ship to power down or risk discovery.
"Make him understand," Pilot pleads, both for himself and Moya.
She tries logic and reason, but the ship does not respond. Maybe it's her imagination, maybe it's Pilot's remaining DNA, but she can almost feel the ship trying to tell her. . . trying to tell her. . .
"Look, it's true, in a perverse way, you do come from them," she admits. Frell, she's talking to a ship. But it's a living ship. . . "But so do I," she adds. She waits, but nothing happens. "Look," she says again, dropping to her knees beside the central light. "I wish there was more time for this, but there isn't any time. You are going to have to decide if you are going to trust your mother - us - if you're going to trust me," she says bluntly.
She's never been good at diplomacy, never felt the need to be. The situation is what it is, and no amount of pleasantries are going to change it.
I trust you, she thinks to the ship.
The central light flashes and trills softly. Suddenly the lights dim, the power is audibly reduced.
She lets out a sigh of relief, nods to herself.
The first trust is always the hardest.
*
Arns and arns later, it's still unbelievable. When Chiana and Rygel start yapping about using it as a weapon, she answers flatly, "I am not dragging this ship into a conflict not of its making." She puts a hand on the low ceiling, making her words a vow.
This ship is amazing. It's alive. It's beautiful. It's going to live a long time in freedom.
Anything else is unacceptable.
Anything else might, as Crichton would say, break her pilot's heart.
#END#
22. Family Ties: Alternatives
Series: Companion Chronicles, Season 1
Author's Note: This is a brief ficlet of alternate endings for S1's "Family Ties."
The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
~William Blake "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell"
1. "A crowing achievement for who?" Aeryn demands, watching Crais prowl around the bridge, from console to console, side to side, as if this was his ship. Bringing the traitor captain here had been a farbotz idea, and she never should have agreed to it. But they are desperate, worse than desperate.
She will not be made helpless. Crais made this frelling situation, and he can frelling well get them out of it. Her hand tightens on the pulse rifle, and her eyes narrow as they follow him across Command.
He makes some reference to her intelligence and promotion; she can't resist taunting, "Pity, I don't think a referral from you would mean anything now."
He wants to make some scathing retort, she can tell, but he's not her superior anymore, and she's the one with the gun. So he only shrugs and says, "To answer your question, this ship will have zero effect on Scorpius, no matter how it is used."
He's not telling the truth. Once that would have been a traitorous thought, but now it seems completely natural. This is the supreme irony: the Peacekeepers taught her to trust nothing, and now she doesn't - not even them. Especially not them; especially not Crais. She watches him through narrowed eyes as he continues to stroll about the deck.
"This ship will have no part in our escape until he is fully grown," Crais says finally, coming to stand at her shoulder.
She meets his gaze. "So let's leave him right out of it."
Crais' eyes shift downwards, he begins to walk away.
Suddenly she knows, can see right through his charade. Has he always been this transparent, or is it a result of the Chair? It doesn't matter - he's lying and she knows it.
She brings her weapon to bear on the back of his head. "Get back in here and tell me what you know," she instructs him coldly.
*
"What do you mean, Aeryn's taking the baby?" Crichton echoes Pilot's claim as he races down the corridors into Command.
"I don't know how else to tell you." On the clamshell, Pilot looks as frantic as he sounds, head bobbing, eyes blinking rapidly. "The offspring won't talk to Moya!"
At the main console, D'Argo is pounding at various arrays. "Aeryn, what are you doing?"
"We've already been through this," Chiana mutters, sliding into the room to stand beside Crichton.
"It's not me this time," Rygel puts in, zipping his thronesled up behind the Nebari.
"No, but Crais is with Aeryn," Zhaan says, glancing at the Hynerian. "He must have disabled her, stolen the ship."
"Son of a bitch," Crichton growls. "Aeryn, you okay over there?"
The comms wobble, but Aeryn's voice comes through steadily. "Crichton," she answers, "Crais has revealed this ship's true capabilities. I'm going to incapacitate the Command Carrier. Use the time to escape."
"Officer Sun - Aeryn!" Pilot cries. "Moya is very worried for her offspring, and she insists that you return him at once."
"His name is Talyn, Pilot," Aeryn responds evenly. "Please tell Moya I'm very sorry, but this way, she'll survive, and so will the others. She can have other offspring. Talyn - he knows he's different - "
"Aeryn, get back here," D'Argo demands.
"Too late," Zhaan says grimly. "The Carrier has locked onto them."
"Crais, I know you're behind this," Crichton roars.
"Quite the opposite, Crichton," Crais answers. "I have strongly encouraged Officer Sun against this course of action."
"I'm sorry, but it's the best chance we have," Aeryn says, no room for argument in her voice. "Don't frell this up," she adds. "Get out while you can. And - be well."
"Wait, Aeryn, wait - " Crichton begins.
A great explosion of light blinds the forward viewport. Moya is hurled backwards. Pilot cries out for Moya or Talyn or both. The crew is scattered across Command, tossed to the deck or thrown into tables or consoles.
Crichton crawls to his knees, nauseous from more than being rolled into a bulkhead. "Aeryn, wait," he rasps. "There are other alternatives."
2. Captain Crais storms into his quarters, one hand latched firmly around the upper arm of Scorpius' "pet." He hauls the wretched, howling creature along beside him, casually tosses her to the floor at the foot of the stairs. "Your orphan wanted to see you," he snarls, turning to go. "The marauder isn't going to wait."
From the ornate chair at the head of the stairs, Scorpius cooly watches Crais depart. The creature from the plant-infested asteroid watches him with wide, hungry eyes, and makes a pitiful howling noise.
"I'm hungry!" she wails.
Scorpius slowly stands and descends the stairs, watching how the odd attachments on the sides of her skull have begun to pulse with a scarlet light. "Why did you ask for me?" he questions calmly, fighting down his anger at Crais. Could the man do absolutely nothing right?
"I'm hungry," M'Lee wails again. "Before - before, Crichton said you could help me! I must eat!"
Scorpius halts a short space from her. "Crichton said I could help you obtain food?"
*
Crais storms back into his quarters an arn later. Despite his earlier threat, the marauder has waited, and he is anxious to have its crew underway. The sooner they are gone, the sooner they'll find Crichton, the sooner Scorpius will be gone. The sooner he'll have that traitor Aeryn Sun in the Chair.
But when the doors split and slide open, he finds a quite unexpected sight. Scorpius is nowhere to be seen, but a giant blob of some jelly-like substance is soiling the foot of the stairs, and the halfbreed's coolant suit is melted into it.
The creature, Scorpius' pet, runs over to where he stands regarding the pile. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you. I feel much better now."
Crais glances from the blob to the creature, makes the logical connection but can't quite believe it. "Lieutenant Braca," he says over the comms, "it seems Scorpius' orphan was very hungry, and had no alternative but to satisfy her appetite. Get someone in here to clean this mess out of my quarters."
He smiles slowly at M'Lee. "So, you like halfbreeds. How do you feel about commandants? I can think of at least one that comes in a special Heppel oil sauce."
3. "This is John Crichton, from somewhere in the universe." He clicks the button, sets the recorder on the table. A sense of closure follows the action; a chapter in his life is over. Almost over.
The others are waiting for him. Chiana calls it a thank you meal. He knows it's more like a last meal. The Last Supper. Is that a blasphemous thought, and, if so, does God make allowances for humans lost in the UT's? Everything is blasphemous here - everything that isn't wondrously sacred, anyway.
He walks down the corridor to the Central Chamber. He's going to miss Moya, her golden walls and silver silences. And Pilot, her gentle partner. He's going to miss Chiana's wild energy, Zhaan's quiet wisdom, D'Argo's fierce loyalty. And Aeryn, and what might have been.
He doesn't expect to miss Rygel, unless he misses him as one misses a suddenly healed toothache.
He doesn't expect to survive this. He's going to tell them, somehow, how much they mean to him, the doe-eyed kid from the backwater planet. He's going to tell them now, at this last meal, because he probably won't get another chance.
He palms the door open, steps inside to find -
- Hell. Horror in hell. Chiana, slumped over the table, her sightless eyes bulging, a hand at her throat. Rygel, face-down in his plate of food. D'Argo, both hands wrapped around his Qualta blade, flat out on the floor. Beside Zhaan, curled onto her side, disbelief etched into her dead features. And Aeryn - Aeryn, half on, half off the bench, a pulse blast in her temple. Her lips are pulled back in a permanent snarl.
The world stops. He can't do anything but stand in place, swaying slightly from side to side. Not possible, not real. . .
Crais is holding Aeryn's pulse pistol on him. "Fitting, isn't it?" the Peacekeeper says lightly. "If only you hadn't trusted so much, or if they hadn't trusted so much. You didn't really expect me to betray my own people, did you? I'm not a traitor."
Not like Aeryn, he means. But why the others. . .
Crais follows his gaze. "Expendable. They were only prisoners, after all. But you - you have a special future ahead of you. The Chair was only the beginning. You alternatives aren't just limited now, Crichton - they're completely depleted."
Not real, not possible. . .
"You might actually have succeeded, if things had been a little different." Crais smiles. "But things are as they are. No use dwelling on what might have been."
Crichton closes his eyes.
*****