Aftermath: Out of the Shadow of Death

by Scorpius

Describes events during and immediately after Wolf in Sheep's Clothing--from the perspective of Lt. Braca and Scorpius

AFTERMATH
Out of the Shadow of Death

Warning: contains major spoilers for the end of season three.

Braca rubbed at his stinging eyes and stifled a yawn. It had been thirty-seven arns since the small crew had escaped the imploding Command Carrier. Scorpius, along with a few Peacekeeper soldiers and techs who were loyal to him, had taken the Captain's private yacht, Defiance, and fled. Since the beginning of the disaster, Braca had been enmeshed in frenzied activity. He had gathered his men, and had as much equipment, supplies, and data transferred onto the yacht as was possible in the short amount of time they had. Braca oversaw the evacuation of the dying Command Carrier for as long as Scorpius would allow, and even longer: he almost had not made it back to Defiance in time. After giving some final orders to the watch, Lieutenant Braca left the bridge. Sooty, sweaty, his face and tunic still streaked with dried blood from a long gash on his temple, Braca did not look at all his typically flawless PK self. It had been forty-nine arns since he had slept. He had sprained a wrist and an ankle getting back to the yacht, and his ribs were sore, possibly cracked by debris that fell on him. Numb with shock and exhaustion, he wearily limped aft in search of his commander. From the beginning of the tragedy, they had known there was no way for all the crew of the Command Carrier to be evacuated. Some were simply too far from escape pods to reach them in less than an arn, with all the confusion and many routes of escape blocked by collapsed bulkheads and water. The unfortunate ones nearest the hanger where Talyn was starburst were consumed immediately. Hospital patients had been given priority, but one ward had been destroyed outright, with no survivors. Braca shuddered as a vivid image flashed across his traumatised mind: children, trapped by rising water, locked into their classroom by bulkhead doors that were programmed to shut when hull breaches were detected. There had been no way to open the damaged doors. The Lieutenant felt sick. Staggering a little, he stopped and leaned against the gleaming, curved black walls of the passageway. He breathed in a certain pattern he'd been taught, and soon the nausea passed. Stay frosty, he told himself. It would not do to dwell on recent events. He knew he had to hold it together for the crew, and for his commander. He struggled to focus on the present, but Braca was unsuccessful at completely blocking the horrific images that endlessly replayed in his mind. He had still been salvaging a few last things from the dying hulk even as the fires intensified and time ran out. Falling debris had trapped him briefly, but he had struggled free of it with the help of two techs. Struggling through passageways choked with smoke, debris, and bodies, Braca had barely managed to make it to the yacht in time to escape. Looking back, he knew it was a miracle he had made it. There was already catastrophic damage to the Command Carrier as he started rounding up his men, and assigning them duties. They were working in a contaminated atmosphere, with the temperature rising by the microt. Although some of the carrier's crew found air packs, many did not, due to debris, and Braca saw several PKs lying dead from smoke inhalation in one corridor. Near the officer's quarters, he had to climb over the bodies of three young techs who had been crushed by a falling structural beam. After stowing what he had come for in a survival pack, and transferring some data to Defiance, he had to navigate his way back to the yacht through hot hallways choked with thick black smoke. Shielding his face with his hands had caused the backs of them to blister from the intense heat. All the while, the ominous sounds of distorting metal accompanied him. It took him longer than he had expected, and when at last he made it back to the yacht, dirty and bleeding, he was a bit surprised to see it still there. When the Lieutenant finally appeared on the bridge of the yacht, after he had stowed away the last of his dearly rescued items, he expected Scorpius to be angry with him. His commander, after all, had risked destruction in the final moments, waiting for Braca to return. However, Scorpius had not criticised him for his lateness, but had only given him a cryptic look. Braca would never forget the haunted, indescribable expression on Scorpius' face. They had immediately taken off . Defiance as a rakish craft, outfitted with cutting edge weaponry. From stem to stern she was a symphony of sweeping curves. A stealthy ship, and a very fast one, she would prove very useful to them. For arns after their departure, Braca was busy supervising precautionary evasive flight ops. Encouraging the Peacekeepers to presume them dead on the ruined Command Carrier now was their best chance of survival. During each brief lull in activity, however, memories of their recent escape filled Braca's consciousness. Escape, he thought. Our escape. It hit him hard to realise the Peace Keepers might well be after them now that the Command Carrier was destroyed. Though he did not see it as Scorpius' fault, Braca knew Central Command would use the astrophysicist as a scapegoat. He was, after all, only a hybrid to them, and at the moment it was clear Central Command viewed both Scorpius' work, and the man himself, as threats to the 'Scarran treaty'. Braca shuddered. The fools, he thought bitterly. The madmen! He was sure that the last best chance of his people had been destroyed by a combination of alien terrorism and foolish panic on the part of Central Command. So, while hundreds of escape pods, transports and prowlers fled the doomed Command Carrier like so many srata from a sinking ship, Defiance had plotted a different course. Fugitives now, they would try to join up with a cell of the Sebacean underground resistance movement. They would not be the only ones who thought a treaty with the Scarrans suicidal. Having first defied Commandant Grayza and thus Central Command, and then having his alien 'guests' destroy the Carrier, Scorpius, and those loyal to him, would have little alternative. They had to flee, or face death. Braca did think it suicide for Central Command to sue for peace with the Scarrans, and very foolish to be scurrying about making treaties with all the other sentient races in the sector. According to Scorpius, this would appear only as panic and weakness to the Scarrans, and Braca believed him. Many times he had observed Scorpius debilitate himself by working such long hours on his tech. He knew his Commander had dedicated his life to finding a way to stop the Scarrans, whatever the cost to himself. Had he not nearly died trying to get the last bit of tech out of Crichton's chip?. Nurse Narya had told him how Scorpius would at times awake from nightmares screaming untranslatable Scarran words. Braca knew something of Scorpius' past, so he was inclined to trust his Commander knew the Scarrans far better than any soft bureaucrat at Central Command possibly could. Moving slowly down the corridor, he struggled with the tragedy that had claimed them all. How could people under protection of Scorpius' hospitality betray him so completely? Braca shook his head. So much was lost, all because of madmen and traitors. As he passed the open door of the captain's galley, Braca glimpsed Scorpius sitting on one of the benches, transparencies and dataspools spread out before him on one of the mess tables. Best report, Braca thought, before retiring. Though dazed from shock and lack of sleep, Braca still paused a microt. He ran his hands through his dishevelled hair, smoothing it, and wiped some of the soot and blood from his face and uniform before reporting to his commander. He did not appreciate that, given the circumstances, his adherence to this military habit was highly ironic. For Braca, there was still an unbroken chain of command. The galley was cool and dimly lit from wall sconces, not overhead lights, as Scorpius preferred. Braca saw that the Scientist was leaning back against the gleaming metal bulkhead, his eyes closed. His posture was uncharacteristically relaxed. Scorpius' head was tilted back slightly, and his arms lay open handed at his sides. There on the table before him, among the scattered dataspools and transparencies, was his syringe gun, with two empty vials beside it. With a rush of adrenaline, Braca started forward. Was Scorpius dead? Had he taken his own life out of despair? The Lieutenant suddenly remembered the look in Scorpius' eyes just before Defiance took off. His heart racing, the Lieutenant slowly moved towards the motionless body of his commander. In the dim light, it was hard to see. Braca bent close over Scorpius, and finally saw his chest slowly rising and falling. Letting go of the breath he was holding, Braca felt relief wash over him. Without Scorpius, surely they all were doomed. Braca quietly stepped back, and heavily leaned against a metal ship's knee. Confused emotions and thoughts whirled through his sleep-deprived brain. Scorpius, with the wormhole data and it's tenuous promise of hope, they still had, thankfully. The Command Carrier was totally destroyed. The enormity of this single fact was beyond imagination. Then there was Commandant Grayza: she had ordered Scorpius, and he had refused. Braca had remained loyal to his commander, knowing all the while that by doing so he had sacrificed almost everything. The last two days had seen the loss of his home, his career, and his status as a free Sebacean. Any dreams he had had of future advancement among the Peacekeepers were forever smashed. Yesterday, he had been a powerful man; today he was a fugitive; arns ago he had been the second in command and aide to a genius working to save the Sebacean race from extinction. Now he was...what? Still Scorpius' man, obviously. Loyalty and decency dictated that he continue to fight for what he believed was right. At least I still have that, he thought grimly. Braca believed Scorpius about the Scarrans, and believed Central Command mad to want to treat with them. So, to save his species, the Lieutenant had made his choice. He found that he did not regret it, even now. Braca looked over at his commander. Scorpius had not moved. The last thirty-six arns had taken a great toll on him. The hybrid had overheated several times during the evacuation of the Command Carrier. Due to the fires and the distortion of structural members, the ship's air temperature had steadily risen to the point he needed a new coolant rod every quarter arn. Naturally this had depleted his energy reserves. His pale face, more ashen grey than usual, was now peaceful in sleep. To what would he awaken? Braca wondered. He understood that Scorpius had lost far more than he had: his command, so impossibly won through a combination of intellect, cunning, and an indomitable spirit, and his magnificent ship, of which he must have been justifiably proud. Who would ever have believed a hybrid capable of reaching a position of such power among people who in most cases, hated him for his Scarran blood? Most devastating of all, Scorpius had lost his research facility, and Braca thought he knew what that had meant to him. Everything. It was his reason for living. Crichton! he had betrayed Scorpius' trust, flaunted in the face of his hospitality, for the guarantee of which Scorpius had risked his career and his life. Obviously the human had no problem with Crais destroying a ship with a fifty-thousand person crew, including children. Braca now thought Crichton was as depraved as Crais. The Lieutenant sadly realised that he had half expected Scorpius to be dead by his own hand. What could the scientist do now to thwart the Scarrans who had darkened his life forever, and who now threatened all Sebaceans? Braca was glad his commander had not ended it all, but he knew Scorpius would face terrible challenges on awakening; they all would. There would be no time to grieve. This, Braca thought, was defeat. It would test the character of them all to the limit. The Lieutenant thought his small crew loyal, but under these circumstances he felt wary. Not wanting to leave Scorpius without a guard, and knowing all other personnel were busy elsewhere, Braca decided to stay. So as not to disturb him, he didn't sit down on the bench. Instead, he held his aching ribs and slowly lowered himself to the floor beside the document-covered table. Carefully leaning back against the leather bench, the Lieutenant told himself he could manage to keep watch. He was almost right. An arn later, Scorpius awoke. Momentarily disoriented, he looked about, until he realised where he was. A bleak present, and a bleak enough future greeted him when he emerged from forgetful sleep; that, and a headache so agonising it blurred his vision. A grim expression settled on his ashen face like a pall. It was not, however, physical pain that riveted his attention, but something worse. Shame bit at him, guilt gnawed his heart, that he had trusted that human kratagh! And I am worse, he thought. He had allowed himself to be tempted away from the Command Carrier by the chance to travel inside a wormhole. Scorpius remembered that flight as one of the most profoundly spiritual experiences of his life. The human had given him that precious gift, but only as a means to distract and destroy him. Scorpius berated himself as a fool for ever thinking Crichton a man capable of keeping his word. His gamble had meant the lives of so many, and the loss of a vitally needed ship. He was overcome with horror at what had been destroyed. His command was in ashes, his magnificent research facility, obliterated. The tenuous hope of finding a way to save the Sebacean race, gone. They had been so close...so very close. A black wave of grief drowned his mind, and he sat for a long time staring blank-eyed into space. Braca, at his feet, went unnoticed until he made a slight sound in his sleep. Drawn back to the present out of his dark reverie, Scorpius saw his Lieutenant had come to keep watch. The man was exhausted, that much he could tell from his energy signature. Scorpius noted his face was streaked with blood, and his uniform scorched in places. His Lieutenant, so eager to serve, had lost his career due to his commander's folly. Scorpius was well aware that Braca had risked everything to stay loyal to him. In his hour of black despair, he found Braca's fidelity deeply meaningful. Feeling regret that his poor judgment had brought down not only the Command Carrier, but such a loyal man, Scorpius reached out to awaken his Lieutenant, but before touching him, drew back his hand. I should let him sleep, he thought. Here was a Sebacean who stayed loyal to a hybrid, Scorpius mused, not without wonder. In a gesture of thanks, he briefly placed his gloved hand on top of his sleeping Lieutenant's head. He did not awaken, and Scorpius was glad. In defeat, he felt immense gratitude for Braca's loyalty, but he knew it would not be wise to show the weakness of emotion, even to his most faithful aide. Wanting to save Braca the stress of being found asleep at his watch, Scorpius leaned back and closed his eyes again. It wouldn't hurt either of them to rest a little longer. Half an arn later, he heard Braca softly speak his name. He pretended to awaken, and ordered his Lieutenant to report to Nurse Narya, and afterwards to get some sleep. Arns later, in his ready room, after having planned the yacht's evasive course through the sector for the next day, Scorpius knew he had to get some real sleep. He had a tech put away the starcharts and dataspools he had been consulting, and bidding the young woman to get some sleep herself, headed to his quarters. The yacht was not a large ship, and the captain's berth was not spacious. He never had liked his grandiose quarters on the Command Carrier. He had found them...rather more decadent than was to his taste. However, after they'd been stripped of Crais' disgusting trophies and other vanities, they had been tolerable. Now, Scorpius was glad he still had Defiance and this small efficient berth. Somehow, it seemed to suit him better. At any rate, an escape pod was not a ship to which he was eager to trust his life, though he had done so once as a boy, and once again, as a young man. Strange, he thought, to be on the run again. It brought back many dark memories. Scorpius shut the door behind him, and stood thinking in the darkened cabin. Life. What was left of his? He had maintained control though the crisis, but now...now he had time to reflect. If they did find a resistance cell, there was no guarantee they'd accept him, a half-Scarran. Even with the wormhole knowledge safe in his excellent memory, his mixed blood was enough to make him an object of hatred to any Sebacean. Should he simply accept that his revenge was forever out of his reach, and that there was nothing he could do to prevent the Scarrans from overrunning the sector? Perhaps he should go as far away as possible, find some obscure planet, and live there in secrecy. A chill ran down his spine. Even the thought of such a purposeless existence horrified him. What was there now to live for? Without his research facility and all it's priceless tech, could he do anything to prevent the nightmare that was about to unfold? Was there now nothing he could do to save his people? Switching on the low lights with a word, Scorpius wearily moved to the bar and poured himself a tall glass of cold water. As he turned towards his bed, his eyes fell on something that sent a shock straight through him. Scorpius' water glass fell from his fingers. Rylani's flower. Impossibly, it had been saved from the destruction of his Command Carrier. On the cabin table, in a standard PK water ration bottle, the vivid blossom stood, a miraculous survivor of tragedy. Like a bolt of lightning, the sight of it illuminated his path. Through the darkness of despair and doubt, his purpose shone. Scorpius knew then what he must do.

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February 5, 2002
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fiction ||Scorpius|| 2002
Provided for the illumination and edification of Scorpians everywhere