like_jonah_from_the_whale9

Like Jonah From The Whale
by Xenutia



Disclaimer: You all know this by now.
Rating: It's still a PG-13' overall, but most of the icky stuff's past.
Author's Note: At this point I don't have much to say in these little notes except thanks again for the feedback, and I hope you still like my story.

*** 9 ***


Harper tried to keep his cool, but hearing that voice, hearing what it said, made it impossible to prevent it entirely from reaching his face. He smiled, ruefully, his heart a muffled pound in his screaming, heavy skull. His temples felt like lead.

The captain, Eric, stood silently beside the operating table, making no attempt to reach for his weapon, only smiling that dulcet, tempered smile. His stillness, his acceptance of the woman's spectacular entrance, unnerved Harper more than a little bit. For perhaps the first time in his life, Seamus Zelazny kept his mouth shut.

Eric said, smoothly, conversationally - he might have been out for a stroll for all the concern in his tone. And here was I expecting you to ask for your cargo. What has this boy ever done to deserve your attention?

Harper wished he could turn, see his rescuer's face - he was sure she was beautiful when she was mad - but the straps held him down, bound to the table, and he couldn't see anything but Eric, and the lights overhead, and the woman's elegant shadow streaming up the far wall to his left, everything thrown into sharp relief by jagged spikes of shadow and light.

What has he done to deserve you doing this? she shot back, and Harper could hear the anger tremoring softly in her barely controlled voice, waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to break free.

Cerebral ports aren't cheap, Beka. And the FTA must have a hundred patrols in the Rauros belt. I wasn't about to hide these prints in the computer or put them in one of my crew if I had any other options. He was a stowaway. A mudfoot. He presented another option.

Well, now you've got your precious blueprints here, you don't need him. Let him go, Eric. I don't give a damn about the blueprints, it's pretty clear I couldn't sell em, whatever they are.

Eric feigned hurt, but that vicious amusement lurked beneath it, lending his shadowed face a surreal, hateful quality. To somebody who already hated the sight of the man, the effect was ghastly. Beka, you know what they are. They're...

I know what Stamp and Price told me, she returned, her out-of-shot voice hard, unbending. They're prints for a sail-barge. For her son. Except they're not, are they, Eric?

Harper listened raptly to the negotiation, his heart leaping wildly when she said that last - he knew exactly what they were. What they were for. What would happen. His survival instincts clamoured for him to keep quiet, not to attract any more of the captain's anger, but he owed this woman, big time, for even trying to help him.

They're weapons, he said, quietly, hoping she would hear. He couldn't raise his voice anymore; he was too weak, in too much pain, the room revolving around him in hazy, black-edged tumbles. They...they're top-secret...I haven't seen anything like em before...

There was a silence, weighty, dark, a tableau out of a nightmare - then, the woman, Beka, spoke.

Weapons, Eric? And here was I thinking you'd changed.

Eric, much to Harper's disgust, bowed. There was no sign of the neuro-technician - he must have run at the first shot.

You don't have to fight me, Beka, Eric said, gently, persuasively. It made Harper's flesh crawl, a thousand tiny feet creeping long his flesh, and he shivered, helplessly. He was listening to the discussion which would decide his life. If she caved...if she changed her mind...he was dead. I could cut you in. Twenty thousand, wasn't it? What do you say, Valentine? It'll be just like old times.

She wavered, and Harper's heart sank at her hesitant voice. You...you could?

Eric nodded. Yes. Of course I could. I could always find time for you, Beka.

That silence went on forever. Harper's eyes darted from Eric to Beka's long, supple shadow on the wall to his left, her slender arm pointing a gun at Eric's head.

C'mon, Beka, don't do it. C'mon, lady, don't let him buy ya out, whaddya say, huh? C'mon...

She said nothing. Slowly, the movement almost balletic in its suppleness and grace, the shadow beside him lowered its weapon. The two opponents continued to stare at each other, eyes meeting over him like two predators over a prize.

she said at last. Then if you don't mind I'll buy him with my share. The shadow-gun jerked back with a snap, its sights on Eric, and there was the steady, reverberating hum of an energy cylinder charging up.

Hands tugged at his restraints, loosening them enough for him to free himself, and he saw brief flashes of blonde hair and one creamy bare arm out of the corner of his tired eyes. Come on, Harper, she said, briskly. We're getting outta here.

You got my vote, he slurred, staggering shakily to his feet. His vision was beginning to fail, the room misty, the woman's - Beka's - face a pale blur beside him. He felt her hand steady him, wrapped around his upper arm tightly.

Can you run? she asked.

From them? Hell, yeah.

She began to drag him from the room, her gun still trained behind her at the motionless Eric, and Harper's feet instinctively followed her lead, and carried him out of the room that had almost been his final destination.

***

The external defences of Ambrosia's expensive mansion activated the moment they set foot outside, bursting out into daylight that made Harper blink, unused to it after these last few days. Beka tugged at him, urging him in the direction of a fringe of trees two hundred yards away.

Ah, man, we'll never make it! he whined, eyeing the distance, jerking away from a laser beam striking the gravel inches from his feet.

Sure we will, she said, cockily.

The next couple of minutes were hard to recall after the event, and they were hell to the stumbling, fainting Harper, giddy with starvation, thirst, and fatigue. His wound was letting fresh blood in cold, sickly streams down his neck, and his feet didn't feel his, barely responding as he threw himself forward, Beka catching and urging him on when he faltered. The two dodged the barrage of beams shooting out across the grounds, exploding in showers of gravel and sparks too close for comfort.

Over here! Quickly! Beka yelled, and thrust him behind the wall of trees and out the other side. The weapons fire, now that they had passed out of range, died out, and for the first time, Harper could stop, and look at what she had led him to.

It was a ship, standing silent on its leg-like armatures in the middle of the glade. Light knifed through the trees, lending the rays a green, liquid quality, illuminating the bulky, unattractive ship in romantic, flattering spills and flares, like a painting.

The Eureka Maru, Beka supplied, a hint of pride entering her breathless voice.

A figure emerged from the ship, distant, small, looking like a doll from this distance. It was dressed in what appeared, to Harper, to be red robes, but the image was foggy, the approaching figure blurring in and out of focus. It looked...it looked brown, furry, but that must be his imagination...mustn't it?

The figure was close now, coming up beside him, and Harper opened his mouth to say something, to thank them for saving his life, anything that wanted to come...but nothing would come, just a thin whistle of air in his throat and a flush of blackness over his eyes. As he collapsed, he felt hands, large, angular, furry hands, catch him under his arms, and lift him gently from his feet.

That was the last he was aware of on Favra Prime.

***

He awoke to feel a steady, purring vibration shooting through his body, tingling, comforting, not in any way unpleasant, and the enticing, familiar smells of metal and engine oil and coolant, the smells of a ship, and that purr was the forward motion and the active engines...the surface beneath him wasn't the hard, pitiless texture of a surgical table, or the cracked ground of his home, so far away now; it was the soft, giving, warm surface of a bunk bed. He was in a ship's bunk, and they were heading out into open space.

He opened his eyes, finding it dark, brooding, restfully quiet aside from the engines. A single view port, tiny and partially concealed by loose wiring like spider's webs in the dark, looked out on an array of stars. He had always dreamed he would visit them, be among them, someday, and now he was. He was really free.

He turned his head a little on the pillow, making his temples scream, dots circling his vision, making him almost pass out again. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and counted slowly until the pain went away.

I wouldn't try to open them, just yet, a voice said beside him.

Harper jumped, stirring that bolt of agony again. It wasn't Beka. It was a low voice, a gentle, lulling tone, but the lilt was scratchy, gravelly, rough as sandpaper. It didn't sound like anyone he had ever heard before.

The figure, he remembered, groggily. This must be them. Him. For it was undeniably male.

Good idea, he muttered, in reply. There was a pause, the stranger emitting only a small, satisfied grunt. Harper lie still, waiting for the man to speak, not having the energy, for once, to do so himself.

You had a lucky escape, the man said. A few moments later and it might have been too late.

Great. Way to make me feel better, guy, Harper grumbled. But there was no real side to it; he was too grateful, God was he, to be alive. Again. Alive when he shouldn't be, when the odds had been against him. Just the thought gave him a fresh headache to add to the one already pressing and gnawing at his too-small skull.

I did not mean it to distress you. I am merely stating that the Divine must like you. There was a rueful, and patient, hint of amusement in that statement, and Harper smiled back, bitterly, even though he couldn't see who his smile was returning to.

Ya think? If he liked me so much why'd he let me get sliced up like a prime rump steak in a grill house?

There was a gruff, guttural laugh, and Harper wondered, briefly, if maybe this guy had something wrong with him, to sound like that. The ways of the Divine, I regret, are often...hard to understand. All I know is that there is a reason. Even if we cannot see it.

Harper gulped, unconsciously; wanting to believe what this crewman of Beka's told him. God, he wanted to believe there was some sense to his life, some sense to anything...but he didn't know if he could. You mention the Divine a lot. What, are you religious, or something?

I am a Wayist. I follow the path the Divine has set for me. Even if it is sometimes difficult.

Difficult? You got that right.

Harper stopped, taken unawares by a coughing fit that hacked its way up his parched throat like a knife shaving the skin away, and he lurched up in the bunk, choking. He felt the rim of a bottleneck bump lightly against his lips, urging him to drink, and he took the bottle offered him in both hands, and drained the water inside thoughtlessly.

Not too much, the man warned. It will only make you sick.

Harper reluctantly took the advice, and lowered the bottle, but his throat and mouth cried out for more. He had experienced thirst plenty before now; he knew what it meant to drink too much, too fast.

There was a silence. Harper leant over gingerly, moving by inches to keep the pain from flaring up again, and set the bottle down on the deck beside his bunk, feeling his way in the dark. He could barely make out the man's silhouette against the wall behind, a faint grey outline, indistinct and blurry. He wanted to say thankyou, as he had wanted to say thankyou to Beka, but couldn't form the words. Instead, on a whim, he asked: Have you ever heard the story of Jonah and the whale?

The man considered, a rattle in his throat as he cleared it to speak. Jonah and the whale? Yes, I believe I am familiar with it.

Do you remember the end? See, I know this Jonah guy, he was asked by his god to do something or other, I'm a bit hazy on that part, but I know that Jonah, he was his own guy, right? He didn't want to do what he was s'posed to do, so he took off. Only his ship got caught in a storm and he was swallowed by the whale. Harper hesitated, hoping for some response. He got none, and knew that the man was waiting for him to complete what he started. After that...I don't remember what happened, he admitted. I don't know if he got out or not.

The shadow beside Harper's bunk nodded, seriously. Yes. Jonah was given the task of preaching to the sinful city of Nineveh. But Nineveh was no place for a religious man, and so he attempted to avoid his commission. He was indeed swallowed by a whale. But he was released by his god to complete the task that was set for him. What were you escaping, Harper, when the whale swallowed you?

Harper turned his eyes probingly on the shadow, wishing for light, wishing he could see the man's face. The question stunned him, and left him speechless. Um...what makes you think I'm escaping from something? he asked, falteringly.

Only you, the man replied. What you tell me. What is this thing you run from, Harper?

Harper gulped. I...I guess it's...all the violence. Where I'm from there's always somethin'. Raids, attacks, storms. It was join the resistance against the Nietzscheans and the Magog or be killed by em. I just wanna live my own life, ya know? I don't want any of this.

When the man spoke again there was a stilted, guarded quality to his voice, flat and reflective, that hadn't been there before. You...you sound as though you hate the Nietzscheans and the Magog far more than you bear grudge against the likes of Eric Guldavian.

What's not to hate? They're murderers, scum, they just destroy everything in their path. There's nothing to choose between em, you ask me. They're all the same.

The silhouette nodded, sagely, that rumble sounding in his throat again. So you ran from the chaos. And now that you have been delivered from the whale, I suppose you will fulfil the task the Divine has chosen for you.

Harper sat upright, bumping his head against the underside of the bunk above. Wh..what? What task? I'm free, man. I'm free of earth and it's high time I did me some livin'.

Hmm. You may say so now, Harper; but when you're ready, your way will find you. It was what the Divine spared you for, all this time.

It's a nice sentiment and all...but I'm not a Wayist.

the man laughed. Everybody in the universe is a Wayist. They just don't know it yet. Being free is a wonderful thing, and is not to be squandered; but with it, comes responsibilities. Are you ready to accept them?

Harper smiled bitterly, once more sending that smile out into the darkness, knowing it wouldn't be seen; but may, perhaps, be felt. He was about to reply when the lights flicked on overhead, and the man beside him was thrown into stark, white light.

Harper stared, frozen to the spot.

he rasped.

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: I really enjoyed writing Harper and Rev's first meeting, in what I hope is a new way; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.