I hate volcanoes. You know that don't you? GLARGH.
Let's start that again, shall we? Howdy! Seeing as I'm currently stranded on the other side of the world with no hope in hell of getting home for several days yet, I found myself submitting to the plotbunnies and writing a new Ace fic. Oh yes.
So here we go. The Ace Chronicles: part three. After three years of being Ace, Rimmer heads to Blerios 5 for some advanced training in swordsmanship and unarmed combat.
I'm going to write this a little differently - not continuous prose per se, but in time-lapsed bursts. This first chapter is the prologue, but the next four chapters will cover snapshots of each month, covering his four months (or 124 days) of his training.
Reviews are greatly appreciated. Especially as the highlight of my day is currently visiting the supermarket - the only shop within miles of this hotel, cleverly set in the middle of nowhere. Thank you.
Kada hated Blerios 5 with a passion. Nothing but markets and sand.
From the shadows, he scanned the dissipating crowds of cat-like Blerions; the receding sun forcing the traders to pack up their goods for another day. As the evening desert wind began to bite, he pulled his woollen cloak tighter around his shoulders and sneered. This planetoid was so backward. Unlike his home planet of Sydias 12, where the industrial revolution fifty years previously had brought them wondrous technology and advancements, Blerios 5 was still ancient in comparison. The ageless sandstone buildings and dusty markets were home to such a simple race, still clinging to traditions and ways of living that should have died out long ago in this ever-changing cosmos.
Not that it was an entirely bad thing, Kada reasoned. Sydian traders such as himself had long taken advantage of the cheap deals on gold the Blerions could offer, selling them on in trading posts in the Sydian sector for three, perhaps four times the price.
He glanced back at the Lati Temple, patting the lump in his pocket with a sharp-toothed grin, which echoed that of his wolverine ancestors. Not as good as a five-fingered discount of course.
As he crossed the market, he fought to keep his pace slow and measured. To run now would be far too risky; suspicion following his every step like it was his partner in crime. After all, the relationship between the Blerions and the Sydians was tense enough as it is, and he was already attracting tight-lipped looks from the remaining traders with his presence alone.
He stopped at a tea-seller on the corner of the alley that led to the spice stalls. Peppermint would soothe his nerves. He flicked the vendor a single silver coin in payment before slipping into the cool shadows of the alley, his nonchalant air only betrayed by the trembling clay cup grasped in his hands. All he had to do now was return to his ship and get the hell out of there.
A commotion started in the market behind him and he risked a glance over his shoulder. A trio of Blerions dressed in red and gold uniforms were gesturing wildly. His stomach plummeted. Lati hekmat. It was the law.
Scrabbling back, he half-turned and immediately collided hard with an unseen figure before him, the clay mug casting out its contents before smashing on the dusty floor.
"Someone's in a hurry."
Kada glanced up and immediately scowled as he took in the figure's clothing. His silvery grey robes, now splashed with herbal tea, were tied in at the waist with a simple red belt. This, coupled with the oversized hood masking his face in shadow, suggested he was one of the Maitiaki - the ancient religious guardians of the Blerion cities. Another meaningless order that the Blerions couldn't seem to let go of. All they did nowadays was chant and pray for goodness sake.
"What's it to you?" Kada raised his nose in a habitual gesture, picking up immediately on a sharp smell against the air of spilt peppermint. "Hologram," he added, almost spitting the word.
The figure raised his hands, an appeal for calm. "Let's not get personal," he replied evenly. "After all, I believe it was your good self who ran into me. And gave me the complimentary herbal tea bath."
Kada snorted derisively as he looked him up and down. "The Blerions must have really lowered their standards if they're training the likes of your kind in their ridiculous, old-fashioned ways."
"Just - " The figure drew back a sigh, as if reigning in some choice words, " - let me pass," he concluded tightly, squeezing past Kada's shoulder in the narrow alley.
But the Sydian was far too amused not to play ball; his baser instincts taking precedence as he grabbed him roughly by the arm. "Hey, hologram!" he sneered. "I was talking to y- "
A pained gasp caught in Kada's throat as the figure suddenly spun back, a gloved hand shooting out - rattlesnake-fast - and seized him by the wrist, twisting it back awkwardly. As the hologram glanced up, the hood lifted back teasingly to reveal the instantly recognisable dark eyes and wisps of blonde hair, still etched in shadow. It was then that Kada realised, far too late, who he was really dealing with.
"Oh dear, squire," he tutted in a smooth, deep tone, his voice edged with dark amusement. "Now I can say it was self-defence."
Time moves in strange ways.
Rimmer had learned this all too well over the years, especially during his time as Ace. Some parts of your life seemed to be all too brief, flitting past as beautifully and fleetingly as fireflies. Others dragged, elongated and punctuating like painful yet important lessons.
And this is how he would always remember his training on Blerios 5.
In fact, it had been this very alley, 124 days earlier, that this new chapter of his time as Ace had begun.
The computer had explained to him that since he'd only survived the last three years as Ace depending on firearms and a crap-ton of lucky timing, it was time for some more advanced training.
"But computer," Rimmer insisted, "won't my trainer think it a little suspicious if I'm supposed to be already adept at all of this?"
He had to admit, although the last three years had allowed him to shed a lot of his old nervous habits and develop some well-honed firearms skills, he still felt like he was in the deep end of this seemingly endless ocean of his alter ego.
"Not to worry," she assured. "Your trainer is fully aware of who you really are. He's been training your predecessors for the past thirty years now. He knows the score."
Shielding his gaze against the ferocity of the desert sun, Rimmer's eyes scanned the market, flitting across a stream of unfamiliar faces. "So how am I supposed to know who he is?" he sighed nasally. Old habits die hard.
"Patience is a virtue, you know," the computer clucked. "Just head down that alley to your right. You can cut through to the spice stalls that way. You'll know him when you see him, don't worry. He's an old friend. A familiar face."
"Right," Rimmer offered uncertainly. Waving away the persistent calls of a tea seller on the corner, he hurried past and slipped into the cool dark shadows of the alley.
An old friend, he echoed to himself. That sounded odd. He'd met a whole host of people on his travels but he'd never visited Blerios 5 before.
His nostrils flared. Typical.
The computer relished throwing him in at the deep end and seeing if he'd sink or swim. He'd often return to Wildfire after defeating an exotically new and dangerous threat, bedraggled, wounded, and ready to fire a whole host of abuse at the mainframe for not warning him sufficiently. But she'd then remind him how swiftly he was learning new skills and tactics and conclude that, at the end of the day, he'd survived despite the odds. All well and good, but he didn't particularly enjoy the unexpected dangers that came with being Ace. You never knew what was creeping up on -
An unseen figure grabbed him from behind, a long, thin dagger held to his throat. Case in point.
A deep, rumbling voice tickled his ear. "Hand over your credits," it hissed menacingly. "And if you're nice about it, I'll think about not slicing you open like a melon."
Rimmer growling inwardly. He really didn't have time for this.
Artificial adrenaline coursing through his system, Rimmer's instinct kicked in quickly. Delivering a swift elbow to his attacker's stomach followed by a hard mule kick, he swivelled back to face his attacker, whipping out a gun to his head.
"Oh, I don't think so, squire," he replied evenly. "I'd skip along home if I were you." He grinned mockingly. "And if you're nice about it, I'll think about not shooting you in the head."
His attacker swiftly sheathed the dagger and raised his arms in surrender, his grey hood obscuring his face in shadow. "I'm sorry - " he offered before grabbing Rimmer's extended arm and twisting it awkwardly, pulling forth a shocked cry of pain as he bent double. His attacker delivered two sharp knee kicks to his abdomen before wrenching the gun from his grasp and casting it behind him so that it skittered into the shadows. "But I think I'll have to insist."
Rimmer tried to steady his jaw as it threatened to jabber in panic. This guy was far more lethal than he first imagined.
Spinning free of the twisted grip on his wrist he staggered back, watching as the attacker drew forth the dagger once more. With the blade winking in the shards of light that pooled on the floor, the hooded figure launched himself towards him.
Crap.
His arms shielding his face, Rimmer winced as he blocked the fierce onslaught of the dagger's attack. Although he was fending off the blows, he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the white-hot slices against his forearms. Then just as suddenly, they stopped.
"Pathetic," sniffed the figure.
Parting his arms, he was just in time to see his attacker deliver a swift kick to the stomach, and he bent double with a pained wheeze. A windmilling fist caught him clean on the jaw snapping back his head, and a concluding sidekick to the solar plexus sent him crashing back to the floor, gasping and heaving in shock.
A dark shadow crept across the glare of the sun and he winced against the harsh edges of his silhouette. His attacker finally slid back his hood to reveal an all-too-familiar face.
"Tonga?" he spluttered.
In Dimension 357, Rimmer had spent the last three months helping to bring the survivors of the simulants reign of terror to the Exodus Colony. Its creator and founder, Captain Tonga, had understandably become a firm ally of Rimmer's. It seemed in this reality, Tonga had never left to join the Blerion Star Fleet, choosing instead to join the hallowed ranks of the Maitiaki on his home planet.
Tonga shook his head in disdain. "If you think you're going to survive out there using just your guns, then you thought wrong." He folded his arms, sliding his hands into his voluminous sleeves. "Your counter-attacks and blocks are clumsy and basic at best." He turned to leave, his booted steps echoing across the walls of the alley. "Your training begins tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. "Lati Temple. Sunrise." And with that, he was gone.
Rimmer let go of a strained cough. "He couldn't have just explained that to me verbally?"
The computer restrained a giggle. "He has a very hands-on approach to the Ace training, I'm afraid," she confirmed.
"How long do I have to stay here for?" he whined.
"As long as it takes," she replied simply.
Rimmer groaned as he curled up in a ball. He had the sneaky suspicion he was going to be here for longer than he'd first thought.