Things Best Left Alone
Written for the prompt : Blake's 7, author's choice, the eerie sound of a child crying somewhere on the ship
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Cally woke suddenly, unnerved by the sound of crying. She lay silent, letting her breathing calm, her body relax before turning her mind back to what had woken her.
Crying . . . the sound of a child crying. Blake had said nothing about any children on the ship. She had seen no sign of any, heard no mention between the other crewmembers, but perhaps that meant nothing beyond them not trusting her with the truth.
Avon for one had made his distrust clear. He had been a difficult one to read . . . not like most of the others. Gan and Vila were like open books to her, guileless for the most part, although she'd sensed layers to Vila, degrees of concealment. Judging by the comments of the others, that could perhaps be more to do with his career as a thief rather than anything more complicated.
Blake . . . not quite an open book, but certainly one willing to be read, wanting to be seen as good and honorable and fighting for justice. She wondered for a moment what he might have thought had he realized she'd also been able to sense his urge for vengeance, for some degree of power and control that he could wield over others, even if for now it were only this meager crew. He'd probably be horrified, whereas in truth, it had been what had drawn her to accept his offer.
Jenna. Jenna had been different again. Jenna had been antagonistic, reluctant to accept Cally's presence on board 'her' ship. Jealousy and rivalry had been at the heart of it. Jenna was a woman used to fighting her corner, protecting her territory and Blake and the Liberator fell quite clearly under that title for the present. Beyond that she'd got little.
She felt the crying again and that was odd in itself. It was a feeling, no longer a sound. She rose and pulled on some clothes, heading out of her door to explore the ship a little more to find the source of the crying.
Her thoughts drifted to Avon again. He'd been like a wall, somehow able to block her attempts to read him and all she'd got was resigned hostility. It was nothing personal, just a sense of not wanting her there, not trusting her not to destroy this refuge they'd made for themselves.
She hadn't pressed, it wasn't her skill to read below the surface and it wasn't really anything she'd ever wanted to do. She couldn't help but agree when people said that it was an invasion of privacy of the untrained mind. She would read the superficial without qualm, much like others would take note of body language and the like, but she wouldn't not dig in deeper.
She liked them well enough for the moment to want to build their trust, earn a place here in their midst where she could fight with the Rebel forces against the Federation.
She padded softly through the corridors towards where Blake had pointed out the others sleeping quarters. There were still no signs of life, no sounds of children, yet still that sense of a crying child was ahead of her.
She paused at the end of a corridor, let her sense feel out ahead of her. She remembered this was where Blake had said he slept and Jenna was in the same area. She closed her eyes and let her sense drift outward. The crying did not come from here.
She moved on further, deeper into the ship, following the crying.
She stopped dead, not daring to approach any closer. She can sense the men behind the doors to these rooms. Avon and Vila, there is no baby here, she knows that now. No child crying behind closed doors of the present.
This is something from the past, something that only breaks free when its guardian is asleep. One of these men was that child in the past and Cally doesn't need to try pressing any further to find out which one of them it is. She wouldn't be thanked for it.
She backs away and hurries back to her own room, determined not to think any deeper about what those sounds of crying might mean.