Better the Devil You Know

By Emery Fowles

Disclaimer: This all belongs to Syfy/Trion. Clearly, this story will strike out from the show and go its own way, seeing as how only one episode has aired at the time of this publishing. Despite that, I hope you still enjoy!

Chapter One

The blinds in the window sliced the sunlight into neat horizontal lines, which radiated across Amanda Rosewater's office, signaling that morning had finally come. The sounds of Defiance would soon drift through the walls: rollers riding through gravel lanes, gates squeaking as they uncovered storefronts, mixed shouts of greeting and annoyance as the morning routine met the onslaught of time. Amanda's eyes followed a line of rigid sunlight to the credenza against the wall, where it illuminated a thin layer of dust. Who was in charge of cleaning the Mayor's office these days? She used to handle such mundane details before she acceped the post of Mayor from her mentor, Nicolette Riordan. Now, she saw how integral she had been in her old job as Chief of Staff; she had relied on own deputy, Ben, relentlessly in the four weeks she'd held the highest office in Defiance. Since Ben's death, she had been mired in much larger details. Still, the line of dust, the pile of unsigned paperwork sitting atop it, rattled her.

She stared down at her Hailer, which lay on her desk atop the scattered photos of the forty-one dead townspeople that had fought against the Volge. Many of them had fought before, in the battles of the Pale Wars, and eagerly suited up again to defend their town. Irithi, Indogene, Castithan: the principles of the Armistice had stayed with them, and they continued to live together, fight together, and die together. Amanda's thoughts had yet to morph into words, and the cursor of her Hailer blinked, waiting for her to begin her speech.

A soft knock at her door startled her, mainly because she was unused to hearing it. In the first month of her term, her door had been consistently open, a literal signifier of her open-door policy. But since the battle with the Volge a fortnight earlier, she'd kept her door closed, accepting visitors only from her new Lawmaker and the benefactors that helped keep the town running while she attempted to figure out just who had ordered the attack on her town. She averted her eyes from the strip of sunlight. Rarely did she see the sun rise and fall from her own home anymore. "Come in," she called.

Lana popped her head into the room, the hexagonal surface of her skin glowing even in the low morning light. "Good morning, Mayor," she said, once again ignoring Amanda's charge to simply call her by her given name. Nicolette had carried the title well, but Amanda didn't; it made her feel encased in a role that wasn't quite hers. "I just sent to you today's appointment schedule for your review." She held up a cup of coffee. "And I have this."

Lana had never understood the human obsession with the liquid drug that tasted more like tarsands than anything remotely edible, but for the past four years she had dutifully brought steaming cups of it into the office. First, for Mayor Riordan and now for Mayor Rosewater. Although she refused to drink it, she did enjoy the smell of it as it steamed up to her sense organs. She set the cup on the Mayor's desk.

"Thank you, Lana," Amanda said gratefully, taking a long sip of the hot liquid as she eyed the draft schedule that flicked across her tablet. "And thank you for leaving the morning open," she continued, glancing up at her. "I need these hours to round out my speech." She glanced quickly down at the mocking cursor on her hailer.

"Of course." Lana ran her fingers over the credenza, frowning at the smudge of dust that appeared on them. "I'll remind Hintofren that 'cleaning' the office doesn't just mean taking out the trash," she said with a shake of her head. Amanda studied her curiously for a moment before rounding her desk.

"Listen, Lana, I appreciate all you've done in the wake of Ben's... absence." She cleared her throat. "I need to fill his position. It would be a bit of a salary increase, but a lot more responsibility." She studied Lana's eyes, attempting to judge whether she should continue her offer, but Indogene eyes never gave much away, and she continued on a leap of faith. "Would you be interested?"

Lana was calm, but a spark of accomplishment flashed in her blue, lashless eyes. "I would very much appreciate the opportunity, Mayor. Should I allot time in your schedule for a proper interview?"

Amanda laughed. "I think we can dispense with the interview. I'd like you to start today as Chief of Staff." She shrugged. "Staff of two, at the moment, but we'll need to fill your position as Clerk as soon as we can."

Lana nodded. "Of course. Do you have a preference? Human, Castithan, Indogene..."

"Qualified."

"Easy enough," Lana said. "I'll put out a notice."

"Oh, Lana," Amanda called, halting her. "Do you mind calling over to Soothi's and seeing if my gray suit is ready to pick up?"

Lana frowned, not an uncommon expression in the Indogene, but one that generally meant something was indeed wrong. "I called yesterday, just to make sure I didn't need to pick anything up for today's memorial, but Soothi has nothing for you."

Amanda put a hand to her temple. "Shtako," she muttered. It had been awhile since she'd been home long enough to take notice of anything other than food and her bed. She checked the closet at the far end of her office, but was met only with her leather jacket and another belt holster. "It's at home." There was no time to book Soothi's for a tailored fitting, not when the memorials was slated to begin in less than two hours. "I have got to remember to buy more suits," she murmured.

"Did you want me to run by your house and pick up the suit?" Lana asked, attempting to be as helpful as possible, just as her predecessor had been.

Amanda frowned as she turned back to her desk. "No," she said, too quickly. She guarded her home with an intenseness that at times caught her off guard, as if it were a lair that she was intent on protecting from any prying eyes. "No," she repeated, this time her tone more relaxed. "I'll get someone else to do it." She took another sip of her coffee. "Thank you, Lana."

Lana nodded and turned. Amanda watched her leave, the caffeine already hitting her system, prickling her anxiety further into gear. "You can leave the door open, Lana," she said, only smiling when Lana looked at her, giving her an understanding nod.

Kenya's hailer rang beside her head, but it sounded tunneled and far away as it pulled her slowly out of a dream. It was a familiar dream, one that she was hesitant to leave, but the hard human chest underneath her head moved, pulling her the rest of the way into the stark reality of her bedroom. Nolan was already awake, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of one hand. "What a god-awful ring," he admonished, raising himself to a sitting position as Kenya reached over and picked up the mobile, recognizing the nick-name that plastered itself across the front.

"Listen, Bee, I love you, but not this early in the morning." Kenya ran a hand along Nolan's thigh, brushing the short hair through her fingers as she tried to focus on the sound of her sister's voice. Nolan watched the path of her fingers, hoping they would continue their trek downward, but they stopped. "The gray one? When do you need it?" He heard her sigh, her black hair tickling his chest as she tossed it over her shoulder. "Fine, but I'm stealing breakfast from your place."

She tossed her phone back on the table beside the small bed and Nolan watched the small bumps of her spine move under her skin. "Whatever you have to do," he said, "I hope it doesn't require you leaving this bed for another fifteen minutes."

She looked up at him with a laugh, trailing her fingers lower. "Wow, fifteen minutes." She playfully slapped his stomach. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid it does."

"Oh no," Nolan tried, shaking his head. "Whoever this 'Bee' character is, you just tell him the Lawmaker said he'll have to wait."

Kenya smirked up at him. "Oh, but I do believe the Mayor trumps the Lawmaker in these parts. Especially since she pays your salary."

Nolan's smile fell, as did his enthusiasm for an early morning tryst. "That was Amanda?" He sighed, banging his head against the wall behind him. He watched Kenya climb out of the bed, pulling a robe over her lithe, pale figure. "Where's 'Bee' come from?"

Kenya ran her hands through her hair. "It's a nickname."

Clearly, she wasn't offering any more insight than that, and Nolan checked the timekeeper on his hailer. "It's barely past dawn," he said with a groan. "No offense, but does your sister ever make the time to get laid?"

Kenya tossed him an amused glance. "For the right woman, she does."

Nolan cocked his head as he let the new information sink in. "She and Nicolette weren't...?"

This time Kenya rolled her eyes, the amusement leaving her face. "Get out of my bed, prick, and get dressed," she said, tossing his pants at him. "Don't you have a memorial to prepare for, too?" She tossed him his shirt, but at least this time, she was gentle about it.

Nolan pulled the garment over his head. "I do." He watched her look through her closet, her back to him. "Aren't you coming? You were at the battle."

"I don't do memorials."

"You don't."

Her back stayed to him. "Everyone grieves in their own way." She finally turned to him, a dress in her hand and a glint in her eye. "I do my grieving at night."

Nolan looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn't, instead slipping on his pants and buckling his belt at his waist. "Up to you," he said, moving toward the door. "If you want, I can help you grieve again tomorrow night." Before she could respond, he slipped out with a grin, shutting the door behind him. He made his way down the back steps of Kenya's apartment and into a small alleyway that lead to the bustling morning street.

The Lawkeeper's building was nestled in the middle of town, which meant he didn't have a far walk. Hopefully, by the time he got to the apartment above his office, Irisa would still be asleep.

"Morning, Lawkeeper," a voice called as it passed by him, and Nolan turned and nodded, giving a quick salute. Luckily for him, he'd been able to prove himself in battle before taking the post as Lawkeeper. He hoped to stretch the respect he'd earned as far as he could. He'd seen enough frontier towns in his time, but Defiance wasn't like any of them. The town had found peace outside of the cookie-cutter arms deals and trade swaps that formed peace in other larger, bigger cities, and he liked the patch worked harmony that wove the races together. It was just like it was right after the armistice, when people banded together in order to survive in a new terraformed Earth that held surprises for everyone, Votan and Human alike. Something about this town seemed fated, as if he were meant to return to it. He hated the silliness of his fellow Humans at time, their obsession with figuring out the meaning of things. All he knew was his own tie to St. Louis. And for now, that was enough to keep him here.

He buzzed himself inside the main office of the Lawmaker precinct, which reminded him of the cop shows he used to watch as a kid: a couple of desks behind a small, chipped counter, with a small closet that served as a coffee station and a narrow hallway that lead to the station's one cell. He stopped short, surprised to see Tommy already seated at one of the desks. To his chagrin, Irisa was sitting behind Nolan's desk, her feet propped up on its surface, her journal in her lap. He had never read it, and didn't want to, seeing as how he mostly caught her scribbling furiously in its pages after he'd managed to screw something up. "Good morning," he said, overly cheerful.

Irisa wasn't amused, and set her large eyes on him. "You know, we have a crappy apartment upstairs," she stressed, pointing to the ceiling. "There's really no need for you to sleep at the NeedWant anymore."

Nolan accepted the dig, but he simply shook his head, grinning down at her. "At least she ain't married. Cut me some slack."

Nolan gave Irisa a pleading look, one that she had seen all too often in her two decades with him, but one that never failed to work. She rolled her eyes, returning them to the pages of her journal. She watched her father as he made his way to Tommy, patting his large hand on his deputy's shoulder. "How you doing, Lasalle?" he asked, and his concern surprised Irisa, although she had also wondered how Tommy was coping with Clancy's death. As much as her own father rattled her Irathient nerves, she didn't want to imagine the world without him. But, those were the thoughts she kept confined to her journal.

"Fine, sir," Tommy said quickly, seemingly just as surprised by the gesture as Irisa. "I wanted to write up a daily report and hand it over before you left for the memorial this morning. We got word that the Stasis Net is facing some difficulties in being repaired." He handed over a small computer tablet, which Nolan scrolled through, his face scrunched in concentration.

"We're going to need some ark tech to power this thing up again," he said. "How long if they're rebuilding from scratch?"

Tommy pointed casually to the computer. "It's there in the report, sir." He caught wind of the annoyance in his new boss' face, and continued quickly. "It could be two months before the shield is effective again."

"Shtako," Nolan muttered, tossing the tablet back to Tommy, who struggled to catch it, only barely landing it safely back on the desk. Defiance had the technology it needed, mostly, but not enough to treat it so casually. "That leaves us wide open for another attack," Nolan continued. "Which means we've got to know everything that happens in this town, you got it? If someone's having a relative visit from out of town, I want to know about it. If there's a fucking breakfast buffet happening at the hotel in the next over, I want to know about it. If the deadbugs are mating, I want to know about it. Intel is our best defense right now."

"You got it," Tommy said. "I can start making rounds this morning."

"Me, too," Irisa piped from the desk, eager to do something besides sit. After the adrenaline of battle, the past few days had been a stark bore.

Nolan raised a finger. "Uh uh. You're coming with me this morning."

"I don't want to sit and listen to another speech. Irathients aren't ones to sit around and listen to politicians."

Nolan rolled his eyes, but could tell that chastising her would only go so far. "You were a soldier in that battle," he reminded her. "This isn't about what the Irathi do or don't do. It's about what soldiers do." He swiped her feet off the desk and pointed his thumb up the stairs that lead to the apartment above the office. "Now put on something that won't embarrass me."

She rolled her eyes back at him, but rose from the desk. "Tommy, I'll join you on your rounds after the service," she called over her shoulder, giving him a backwards wave.

"Sure thing," Tommy replied. "Just ring my hailer..." he trailed off as he felt his boss' eyes on him. "Or don't..." he muttered under his breath.

"Listen," Nolan said, keeping his voice low. "Keep your rounds to the square for now. We'll hit up the Hollows later on together." He started toward the back steps, but turned. "Not that I don't think you can handle the Hollows, Deputy. I just want spoil some of the fun." He grinned before bounding up the stairs, intent on getting the town's mourning out of the way; who knew how soon they'd need to fight again.

Kenya waved at Lana, whose head was angled towards a computer screen, absorbed in her work. If it weren't for the blindingly white skin and the hairless head, the assistant would have reminded Kenya of the way Amanda used to lose herself in her work, requiring her to snap a finger in her face in order to get her attention.

"Laundry service!" Kenya called as she stepped into the Mayor's office. "Madame Mayor, your apparel has arrived." She draped the black suit across the credenza against the wall. Amanda dropped the hailer that she had been reciting into and rounded her desk, lifting the suit while brushing off a couple of dust balls on the back and giving her sister a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you so much," she gushed, closing her office door. "I didn't have time to get it because of this godawful speech."

Kenya bounded toward Amanda's desk and picked up the coffee cup that there, tipping it back, disappointed that it was empty. She thought about pouring herself a glass of the Scotch that sat in the corner, but imagined she should probably wait until the sun was higher in the sky before she began drinking. "Haven't you learned by now that you don't need a speech?" she said lightly. "What comes out of your mouth comes straight from that golden heart of yours. That's all you need."

Amanda shook her head. "What's going through my heart right now isn't the most inspiring of thoughts," she said. "I don't need to scare anyone."Kenya watched as Amanda maneuvered her arm out of its sling, tossing it on the couch that sat against a far wall. Amanda nodded toward the blinds. "Do you mind closing those?"

Kenya rolled her eyes, but heaved herself off of Amanda's desk towards the window. "Who in the world could possibly see you way up here?" she asked. "Some volcan birds, perhaps?" When she turned, she couldn't help but catch the burn marks that raked up Amanda's arm, covering it in a hardened scar tissue.

Amanda felt her sister's eyes on her, and knew the quiet that was her worry. "It's not as bad as it looks," she said lightly. She pulled the dark gray woven jacket over her shoulders, buttoning the small silver buttons as she turned around to face her. "How do I look?" she asked.

"Grieved."

"Good." Amanda walked into the small, narrow bathroom that Nicolette had wrangled to install in the office; it had taken over a year, with Amanda doing most of the wrangling with contractors. She turned to the mirror, pulling out her braid with her good hand and attempting to smooth her hair into something presentable.

Kenya moved toward her, now staring at both of their reflections as she took her sister's blonde hair in her hands. "Remember how you used to hate it when I asked to braid your hair?" she asked, combing the strands out into a soft waves.

Amanda laughed, glancing at her in the mirror. "Of course. But it was the only thing that would keep you quiet. Why do you think mom and dad never let me cut it short?" She watched Kenya's reflection closely, judging her small intake of breath, the fine line her lips became as she clenched them together. Over the years, they had each become more comfortable talking about their parents, but it was always the odd memory that brought out a grief so raw it was as if they had just died yesterday.

Kenya let out a small laugh, refusing to spiral into the sadness that inevitably came with such memories. "If they just would have sprung for a few more toys and gadgets, I wouldn't have had to content myself playing hairdresser all the time." She sighed as she pinned Amanda's hair into a small, neat bun, and pressed a kiss in the center of it. "Done. Now you look like a proper adult."

Amanda reached up, pressing a hand against it, voicing her gratitude before making her way back to her desk. Kenya made herself at home in one of the chairs that sat in front of the desk, crossing her legs. "How is your new Lawmaker doing on the job?" she asked casually. "Do you like him?"

Amanda didn't dwell on her sister's curiosity, although she knew Kenya well enough to know that the question stemmed from a place other than her general concern for the well-being of Defiance. "He's rash, unpredictable, and a live wire," Amanda replied, grabbing her hailer and scrolling through the messages that had popped up in the minutes she'd been away from it. "But, he's one of the Defiant Few, he's all we've got, and he lead us through battle. So, I'd say that he'll do." She raised her head, humoring her. "What do you think of him?"

Kenya gave nothing away. "I think he's got his hands full, lugging around an Irathient daughter in this town."

"Relations between Irathients and Castithans have remarkably improved in the last eight years," Amanda reminded her.

Kenya smirked. "Hey, I'm not the public, I'm just your sister. No need to go politically correct on me."

Amanda rolled her eyes. Her sister always had a way of bringing her down a peg or two, which in many ways, helped her keep both feet on the ground. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the memorial?" she asked.

"I'd rather not spend the afternoon watching the Tarrs and the McCawleys bawl it out over whose the bigger hero," she said. "Although, my money is on McCawley any day of the week."

Amanda honed in on her. "Why do you say that?" she pressed, a familiar tightening in her stomach. "The Tarrs have been very generous to this town and to this office. They're just as valuable as the McCawleys."

Kenya waved her hand in the air. "I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me about the importance of money changing hands," she said. "But, it's no secret that Datak Tarr runs shtako over in the Hollows. You can overlook that all you want, but the man is no Rafe McCawley." She paused, putting a finger against her lips as she thought. "Although it is cute, what his son and Christie have going." Her voice sung out dramatically. "The perils of inter-species love."

"I'm not well-versed on the gossip surrounding the Tarrs," Amanda said quickly, hoping that Kenya would change the subject.

"Well, you should be," Kenya replied, leaning forward and unwrapping a chocolate that sat in the small bowl on the table in front of her. She popped it in her mouth. "Did you know that Datak's wife, Stahma, was essentially royalty up in Daribo or wherever?" Amanda angled her head back to her desk, already feeling the flush creeping up her neck, but Kenya didn't cease her wondering. "She must hate it here."

Amanda pressed her hand against her desk, finally chancing a look at her sister. "Look, I don't know and I don't care about what the Tarrs did on their home fucking planet, Kenya, okay?" She sighed, regretting the heat in her voice, and took a small breath. "Nicolette trusted them. That's all that matters."

Kenya brushed off the outburst, more than aware that Amanda had more on her plate than she wanted at the moment. Still, the constant comparisons to Mayor Riordan always struck her harshly; Amanda had grown to trust the woman like a guardian rather than a mentor. "Mom used to say that the only thing you can trust is your own reflection."

"Well, Mom and Dad were wrong about more than a few things."

Kenya ripped up from her chair, balling the foil paper from her chocolate into a small ball and tossing it at Amanda as she leaned over the desk. "Don't say that about them," she said, her eyes as fiery as her lipsticked mouth.

Amanda handled the small foil ball, rolling it between her fingers. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly, shame overriding her guilt. Kenya straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've got everything under control, Kenya," she continued. "You don't have to worry." Kenya's eyes weakened, revealing the younger sister that Amanda had cared for on her own for over twenty years. They quickly recovered, once again steeling back to a harsh blue as Kenya backed away from the desk.

"I never worry," Kenya reminded her, the usual adage coming out as flippant as always. "I have you." She grinned as Amanda tossed the foil ball back at her and waved her out of the room. It was true; she never had to worry with her sister by her side, but the fire blast from the battle had shaken her resolve. It had been a long time since the two of them had fought to survive, but now Amanda had to worry about protecting more than just her younger sister; she had to protect Defiance.

Stahma smoothed her pale hair behind her shoulders, pulling the dark gray cloak over her head. She hated the dark colors of the human world, and preferred the usual white-colored clothing of her race, she gave Humans this small courtesy. She had learned over the years that Humans were all too quick to appreciate a common thread, anything that wove the various species together, and never more so than after a tragedy. She pulled her cloak further around her, the gray cloth stark against her pale hair.

Datak moved behind her, pinning a small Defiance emblem to his jacket."How does this look?" he asked, his voice as tight as his features. His ambition, which she had so loved over the years, had turned into a nervous energy that had tired his light eyes. "Is it straight?"

She reached up, turning it just a bit to the left, and nodded. Datak kept his eyes on his own reflection. "I have to play this exactly right," he reminded her. "The human death toll was higher than Votans. Which means McCawley will take the crowd. Five of his own miners were killed in the battle with the Volge."

Stahma turned to him, playing the role of responsible wife. "You fought alongside Rafe McCawley and his miners in that battle. This town recognizes you as a warrior, also, Datak. We lost fifteen of our fellow Votans; let's not forget that in the name of playing politics."He shook his head, a manner he had taken more and more with her over the past few weeks, as if she wouldn't understand his thoughts, or the complicated strategies that ran through his mind. She reached up, cradling his jaw, and felt it stiffen for a moment under her fingers before relaxing. "This isn't about winning or losing," she said. "It's about loss. Remember that."

"The ones we lost, my dear, aren't worth mourning. The only good they did was get me a seat on the Security Council."

Stahma pulled her hand away from her husband's cheek. "You mustn't take that attitude in public," she said, a hint of chastisement in her tone.

"Of course not," he said, inching behind her, wrapping a hand around her waist. "In public, I will mourn our valiant lower-caste Castithans who fought and gave up their worthless lives so that the races of Defiance could live together another day." His hand inched higher, delving inside her cloak. "You must remember, Stahma, we deserve to rule this town." His fingers caressed her, but they left none of the fire that they had years ago; instead, they trapped her against him. She smiled at him in the mirror, studying her own convincing reflection.

"It certainly won't help your image if we are late to the memorial," she said, coaxing his hands from her.

He took her hand, holding it hard in his own before he brought it to his lips. "Shall we go, then?" She followed him down the white stairs to the front hallway.

"Amsha!" Datak called, shaking his head as their servant's footsteps were heard from the back of the house. "Why are they never where they need to be?"

Stahma smiled, reaching for the door that held their cloaks, but Datak's hand caught hers, his eyes prideful and suspicious. "Have you forgotten your place?" he asked. "Wait for the servant."

Amsha hurried into the hallway and slipped into the small closet, returning with the long cloaks that they reserved for ceremonies. She held her head down, apologetic, as she handed them over. "Pardon me, sir," she offered weakly.

Datak snatched his cloak, pulling it over his shoulders, and Stahma gave Amsha a small, forgiving smile as she took her own, angling her head so that her husband wouldn't see the exchange. Even on her home planet, she had invoked the wrath of her mother and father for not strictly following caste protocol; it was a habit that had never come easily to her. She soon heard Alak's steps above her.

"I don't understand why I need to go to the Memorial," Alak said, plowing down the stairs in a pair of black sneakers. At least he had the coloring right, although he mostly dressed in darker colors now. Stahma allowed him this rebellion, among others, hoping that the room she gave him would keep him from turning against her. Alak was the last bit of gentleness she had in her life, and she wanted to preserve it as long as she could.

"As long as you live in my - " she hesitated as Datak looked back at her " - your father's home, you will do what needs to be done." She extended her hand toward him, and was grateful that he didn't shrug it off. The two stepped into the sunlight, and for a moment it was too bright for Stahma, and she closed her eyes to it. In the split second her eyes were closed, she saw the familiar image, the familiar stirring inside her. It was always the same figure, whether it came at night when she lay beside her husband or whether she shut her eyes for a moment against the daylight. The figure was always there: blond, warm, and strong.

Stahma exhaled, following her husband and son to the roller. She would sit beside her husband among the mourners, holding his hand as she listened to the grief play out across the town. It would be a somber occasion that would sear itself into the townspeople's psyche. But the only image that would burn itself once again in her mind, an image that would come to her in her dreams that night, would be Amanda Rosewater.

Thanks for reading! Half the fun is hearing from you guys - I appreciate your kind comments.