Title: Rescue Run

Author: Lady Rheena

Genres: Alternate Universe, Action/Adventure, Romance

Rating: R

Disclaimer: If you recognise it from a fandom, I probably don't own it. That includes the world of The Matrix, all its characters and the concepts it entails. The idea of the Fleet and the Planetary Coalition are technically my own, but you'll probably recognise bits and pieces from various sci-fi media.

Chapter notes: PAAAAARRTY!

Part 12- Going Native

The Temple was indeed absolutely packed. It wasn't at all difficult to believe that there were a quarter of a million people in Zion, nor that more or less every one of them was present. Sparks guided Dena deftly through the swarms of people up onto the crew ledge to where Ghost was standing near the back. Dena spotted Niobe nearer the front of the cavern, up on the main ledge with Lock. And that was as she'd expected.

She didn't bother to listen to Hamaan booming on about whatever he was booming about, although she gathered it had something to do with her or the Logos judging by the way the crowds below kept glancing at the ledge as if trying to search her out. But she was grateful that Sparks and Ghost had chosen a spot near the far wall which left them obscured from the view of the people by means of several other crews standing in the way.

Once Hamaan was done a loud cheer made the walls shake and then from somewhere on the other side of the immense cavern what sounded like a set of complex drum beats started up. Most of the people on the floor promptly began bouncing up and down with the beat, waving their arms about in a manner that reminded Dena of the rave clubs she'd once frequented during her Academy days on Mars. The only things missing were the strobe lighting and outrageous costumes, although the latter not so much since some of the outfits were pretty brief- obviously specialised Temple party gear. In fact the whole thing reminded her vaguely of some kind of ancient tribal dance, the kind that usually heralded a mass orgy or some such thing afterwards; the easiest way to keep a large group of people who didn't get much in the way of fun in a happy, docile mood. Considering what she'd seen of Zion culture so far she doubted things would get quite that far, but there was definitely a carnival atmosphere that seemed to promote a rather more liberal state of affairs than would perhaps be permissible under ordinary circumstances.

'Here's the part where we sneak off and find the cider,' Sparks said in her ear. He was standing a little closer than she liked, but owing to the crush of people around them she let it pass. 'Look for the Temple aides, they're dressed in blue.'

'Over there,' Ghost said, pointing. They all started in the appropriate direction, Dena unable to shake the rather amusing sensation that she was undergoing some kind of rite of passage specific to the small crew of the Logos. The tiny little woman in the blue robe was quite amiable, grinning and nodding at Dena since conversation was almost impossible with the drumming in full flow by now. The trio each took a rather hefty mug of whatever alcoholic brew it was and retreated to a corner out of most of the noise, taking a sip simultaneously. Dena coughed and swallowed hard, trying to get the burning sensation out of her throat the moment she tasted it. Ghost squinted and then gulped a second mouthful, and Sparks banged one fist briefly on the wall before downing his own. Then he gasped and glared accusingly at the mug.

'Holy shit.'

'I think that's more coolant than usual,' Ghost remarked idly, then without hesitation drained the mug, not giving so much as a single splutter. Dena grimaced hard but managed to swallow the remainder of hers by taking a series of tiny, rapid sips although Sparks mimicked his shipmate, giving himself a shake.

'Phew. Must've opened one of the old ones. What d'you think, Dena?'

'Never tasted shit like that in my life.'

Both men howled with laughter.

'Remember what Cipher used to say?' Ghost said. 'Only good for degreasing engines and killing brain cells!'

'Cipher?' Sparks snorted. 'Now there was one stupid, evil shit.' He and Ghost banged their mugs together in some silent toast that was beyond Dena's comprehension, but of course the cups were empty.

'Okay, that was pointless,' Ghost observed, looking into his mug as though he'd never seen it before.

'Yeah,' Sparks agreed. 'Although at the risk of losing the use of my tonsils, I'll settle with the empty.'

'Only take it in small doses, huh?' Dena asked, half shouting in order to be heard.

'If you value your throat!' he yelled back.

'Fuck my throat,' Ghost said in an unusual display of eloquence. 'I'm getting some more.' And with that he walked off, although there was a definite uneven keel to the motion and Dena gathered that the gunner didn't hold his drink all that well. She herself felt only a mild sense of vague light-headedness as the drink took effect, which wasn't really all that unwelcome, and when she moved she was pleased to discover that all her limbs were still obeying her orders. Sparks seemed virtually cold sober, for his part, but she was glad he hadn't decided to wander off and leave her lost in the sea of swaying people.

'Better than program algorithms, eh?' Sparks shouted at her.

'It's growing on me,' she shouted back, but before she could say anything else he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the throng. 'What the hell are you doing?'

'Come on, don't they dance on Mars?'

'Not like this!' she exclaimed. 'Besides, I look like an idiot.'

'You don't look like an idiot-'

'I do when I dance!'

'Well then since everyone here looks, as you put it, like an idiot, you're looking like more of an idiot by not joining in. It's called going native, Captain. You might even enjoy it!'

'I told you to stop calling me captain!'

'Then stop acting like one for five goddamn minutes!'

'Fine!' she gave him a shove, which barely made him move an inch, and then shook her head in a vague attempt to clear it somewhat. The last thing she needed tomorrow was a hangover. But the beat, reverberating as it was through the very walls of the cavern and making the clinging stalactites shake, was contagious. Trying to remember her cadet days when looking like an undignified prat hadn't meant anything, she attempted to mimic the movements of the people around her, but only succeeded in reducing Sparks to helpless laughter.

'What?' she spread her arms and glared at him. 'This was your idea, you bastard!'

'You know you wouldn't be half bad if you stopped watching everyone else to make sure you were doing it right,' he said, still half-laughing. 'Here, gimme your hands. Come on,' he insisted when she wouldn't. Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly held them out. He took them in his larger ones and stepped back from her a little.

'Move your feet apart. Bit more. Okay. Now stop thinking about what you're doing and just do it.'

She obeyed, trying not to laugh, and in fact was concentrating so hard on not concentrating that she didn't notice he had failed to let go of her hands. Then he started to laugh again and she gave in all thoughts of remaining sober, throwing her arms above her head and letting her entire body sway in time with the booming beat, her eyes sliding closed. They quickly flew open again when she felt Sparks settle his hands on her hips- not grabbing, just lightly resting, but she was aware that the contact brought them, however innocuously, considerably closer together. Exactly how do you define 'going native', mister? Opening her eyes, she rapidly tried to formulate some way of politely yet firmly making it clear this wasn't quite what she had in mind for 'a little R and R' but the moment she did so he was kissing her and for some reason that put the notion clear out of her head. Unable to quite believe what she was doing, she let her eyes slide closed once more and twined her arms around his neck, melting against him as he took a proper hold of her waist to pull her closer still. The heavy drumbeats seemed to somehow fade into a vague background thrumming and the ground under her bare feet became impossibly distant as all thoughts of the Logos, the Gormenghast, the machines, Phobos base and more or less everything else dissolved into minor considerations.

That was a definition she decided she could live with.