Picking Up The Pieces
Cally sat down on the bed of the small cabin to which Blake had shown her, too stunned to take it all in properly.
So much had happened - she hadn't expected to even be alive by the end of this day. That morning, she had fully intended to launch her attack on the communications centre and be killed in doing so. She had had no other aim - with the resistance group decimated and no way off Saurian Major (not to mention a home that would not take her back even if she achieved this), there was nothing else she could think of. And a part of her had wanted to be dead, hoping that perhaps this would bring her some kind of peace, easing the guilt at her survival when all the others had been killed and completing the silence in her head that had seemed so absolute since leaving Auron.
But then, by some bizarre twist of fate in which she did not believe, she had encountered this group of unlikely revolutionaries and their miraculous ship.
It had all been so sudden, surreal almost; coming across Blake and hearing him state so calmly that he believed he and his two companions could achieve in a few hours what she and her group had not managed in months, years even. From the moment she had met the three Earth men, she had existed in a state of almost total disbelief - that these people were what they said they were, that they could do what they said they could, that they would succeed to any degree, let alone survive. Then to be taken aboard this ship - what did they call it? The Liberator? How very apt - and be offered this second chance that she would never have believed in a number of millennia she would ever get.
The specifics of her new situation - namely the semi-hostile looks and barbed comments directed at her from the ship's pilot, not to mention the somewhat precarious arrangement that held this group together - she would have to deal with as she went along.
Besides, how could she have turned Blake down? He'd offered to take her back to Auron, and she had found she was too ashamed of her exile to admit to him that that was not, and would never be, possible. So instead a quiet little lie about 'failure' which, should he choose to investigate, would be backed up by the reputation of her people. Among the more traditionally minded at least, failure was not looked upon well, any more than speaking out against the precious "Will of the People" that she had tried to change, to get them to open their eyes to the very real danger of the Federation, who would surely not respect Auron's neutrality indefinitely.
(Don't think about that, the little voice inside her said, quietly but very firmly. No good can come of it, only hurt. Don't think of it).
And besides, Blake offered her more than she had ever dared dream of, even before leaving home. With his experience, his objectives and this ship, they stood a real chance of hurting the Federation - if not actually finishing it, as Blake so obviously intended.
Standing next to his enormous all-encompassing hatred of the Federation and fearsome determination to destroy it, her work with the group on Saurian Major seemed almost inconsequential in comparison. She looked at the small scale, freeing planets from the Federation one at a time, working on a personal level with the native people to assert their independence and force the Federation to leave them be, a kind of slow death-of-a-thousand-cuts method. Blake went for the Federation itself, severing its links with the outer worlds to weaken its power beyond its major power base, and then smashing that base once and for all. The ambition of the man took her breath away. She could only imagine the furore he would have caused on Auron.
But she could make up for her narrow vision; her life and her death could mean something, really achieve something. Not just one small achievement, as it would have been on Saurian Major, but something great. (And there will be people around you again, her inner voice added. Not 'real' people, not telepaths, but it's better than nothing, isn't it? The voice sounded hopeful. Better than silence). Whether this group would really take her in was another matter.
The Saurians had grown used to her, but never really made her feel that she was one of them. They were too unused to aliens, other than those in black uniforms invading their home. The people on Liberator seemed a little more open-minded, but she didn't believe that they would accept her totally.
She'd been taught endlessly on her own planet that no telepath could ever expect 'normals' to understand them, to see them with anything other than suspicion, however used to them they grew or how useful they saw them. Even Blake, who perhaps could see her potential better than any other, had seemed a little unnerved at her abilities. Although that may have had a little to do with how they'd met. Still, she told herself, at least she'd proved herself in that first encounter, regardless of what Avon claimed about having a gun held on her all the time.
Now he was an unusual one; a real enigma. It had taken her a while to adjust, after leaving a community of telepaths where keeping anything hidden was near impossible, to not being able to see into a person's mind, to find out who they were right away. The realisation that she could never do this with non-telepaths had been a shock, realising that she would have to work to get to know people the hard way, and also that she could never show them who she was other than through word and deed. In short, she would have to prove herself, rather than having it accepted at, well, face value made it seem rather shallow, but if someone could really see who you were and what you could do instantly, there was no real need to prove it before it was accepted as true.
Cally leaned down and began to unlace her boots, conscious only now in this gleaming space ship of how in need she was of a shower and a change of clothes, something that had seemed irrelevant earlier. Well, when planning a suicide mission, sartorial issues were hardly the highest priorities, were they? And it wasn't as if her appearance was something that had ever really seemed important to her, even before she was living with a group of guerrilla fighters in the middle of a jungle. A knock at the door startled her - on top of everything else that had suddenly changed in her life, it seemed she would have to adjust her social skills again as well to get used to being part of a group that did not camp out in the hills, where privacy was no longer a luxury that could be ill-afforded; among the resistance group, a desire for privacy had been to invite suspicion as to what that person was trying to hide.
Cally got up and opened the door to find the blonde pilot, Jenna, standing outside, a pile of clothing in her arms.
"I brought you these," the other woman said coolly, extending the clothes towards Cally but making no move to enter the room. "I thought that Blake would probably forget to tell you about the garment room. Men rarely consider things like that."
Cally took the proffered items, noting that they seemed rather plain in contrast to what Jenna was wearing, but still a lot more showy and impractical than what she herself had become used to. All the same, she couldn't help but feel more than a little grubby next to the impeccably groomed Jenna.
"Thank you Jenna," she replied, unsure of what else to say. She remembered Jenna's earlier words, spoken about the rather peculiar sounding situation involving cloned warriors trying to take over the ship that had occurred while she and the others were busy on Saurian Major, but also partly directed at Cally herself,
"It seems to me it should have taught us something," Jenna had said. "Something about the wisdom involved in bringing aliens aboard."
Cally had decided not to retaliate, and also not to mention the fact that she herself was, after a fashion, a clone.
"Seven of us can run this ship properly," Blake had said, apparently choosing to reply to Jenna's comment and to ignore it at the same time.
"I'll leave you to settle in, then," Jenna said, turning to go.
"I'm not a threat to you," Cally found herself calling out.
Jenna paused, looking back at Cally with a quizzical expression.
"It must be odd for you," Cally continued. "To have a stranger appear on your ship and to have your captain invite me to stay-"
"Blake isn't our captain," Jenna corrected her, but she seemed almost amused at the thought.
"But my intentions are worthy. I intend to make myself useful to you all," Cally told her firmly, storing away Jenna's reaction in her memory for future reference. "I don't mean any harm."
"I think I'll be the judge of that," Jenna replied stonily
"I know that those who are not telepathic are often uncomfortable around people with my abilities. They do not think that -"
"I don't think our thoughts are any business of yours, do you?" Jenna snapped, turning on her heel and marching away.
Cally watched her go, a sinking feeling in her heart.
"Well, that was a good first impression," she remarked to herself, but she was unsurprised. Her words could have been better chosen, but at least she knew how Jenna felt about her telepathy. She closed the door again and dropped the clothing onto the bed. Never mind; there would be plenty of time to make better acquaintance of the crew. As for right now, she wanted to clean up and change out of her grimy, jungle-stained and battle-worn clothing. Stripping off the combat suit - and for lack of anywhere better to put it, not knowing where she could launder the garment, she removed all her weapons from it and dropped it on the floor as she headed for the tiny wash-unit in the corner of the room.
Habit made her carry the blade from her boot with her, and she was glad of this when, mid-way through washing away the Saurian dirt from her skin and her hair, she heard the door to the cabin open. Leaving the shower running to cover up the sound of her movement, she wrapped herself in a towel and, picking up the knife, stole back into the room.
In the middle of the room, standing calmly with his arms folded, as if he had every right to be there (which, she was forced to admit, he probably did, more than she did. She'd only been on board a few hours, after all), was the dark-haired, enigmatic man, Avon.
Lowering the blade - although not putting it down - she confronted him.
"What do you want?"
"I came to see how you were settling in," he replied, with that peculiar smile of his, implying that that wasn't what he wanted at all, but that he wasn't going to tell her the real answer.
"Do you always keep a weapon with you when you shower?"
"Only if I believe that I might need it. Such as if someone else is going to come into my room when I would otherwise be defenceless."
"Defenceless? What do you imagine is going to happen to you?" Avon asked.
"Well you tell me," Cally retorted, but she put down her blade. "You're the one in my room."
"I was merely - interested in your welfare."
Suddenly, Cally felt exposed under his gaze, aware of how little of her the towel covered. She pulled it around herself tighter.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"I wondered if we might speak. When you're fully settled in, of course," Avon added, still smiling.
"About what?"
"About many things. But among them... I find your telepathy fascinating. I would like to know more about your abilities."
Again, Cally was unsurprised. Aside from Jenna's reaction, this was one of the most common responses from a non-telepath, or so she had been told.
"Perhaps. But if you wouldn't mind-?" With her free hand, Cally gestured towards the door, indicating that he should leave.
"Of course."
And with that, he left, leaving Cally to resume her shower.
Later, when she was finishing dressing herself in one of the least impractical outfits that Jenna had brought her, she heard the door open once more.
Instinct again taking over, the knife was in her hand instantly as she whirled towards the intruder. This time there was a different man on the receiving end of her blade - not literally, although the expression on his face said otherwise.
"Er, hello?"
Cally recognised him as the third man she'd met on Saurian Major; the thief, Vila.
"You can put that down you know," he said, his eyes not leaving the tip of the wickedly sharp knife. "I'm harmless."
"Déjà vu," murmured Cally, recalling their first encounter, but she put the knife away all the same, tucking it into her discarded combat boot - Jenna had neglected to bring footwear and she was currently barefoot, unwilling to soil the new clothes by putting the boots back on.
"What did you want?" she asked Vila, but not harshly, remembering how easily she'd scared him before and telling herself she should at least make some effort for this crew to like her.
"I came to see if there was anything you need?" he ventured. "You know, to help you feel at home."
Home. Cally almost laughed at that. But it was a kind offer, if it was meant.
"Such as?" she asked.
"Well I can see you've got new clothes," Vila said, trying not to be obvious as he looked her up and down and failing miserably.
"I take it Jenna gave you those?"
Cally nodded. "She said they were from the garment room, but she didn't bring shoes. Do you know-?"
Vila's eyes lit up.
"Say no more! I can get you into anywhere on this ship!"
"Anywhere?" Cally queried, following him out of the room. The floor of the corridor was metallic, cold under her bare feet, completely unlike anything she'd grown used to these past months.
"Of course!" Vila seemed offended that she questioned his abilities. "Have you forgotten how I got you all into that control room down on the planet?"
Cally noted the way he had so casually included her in with the rest of the group and was surprised at how pleased that made her.
"My apologies," she replied, only partly in jest.
Vila led her towards the garment room, pausing outside another door a little down the corridor.
"You er, might like to have a look at this room too," he said, trying not to give anything away, but his face was alight with an emotion Cally couldn't quite define. At a guess, it seemed closest to the look she'd seen on those in the grip of religious awe.
Curious, she let him open the lock, trying to ignore the fact that he had to pick it open and wondering why it was locked in the first place. The moment Vila pulled the door open however, her unspoken question was answered. Material wealth was of little interest to her personally, but the contents of this store room took her breath away. So much... and not just money but precious metals and jewels, both in their natural shapes, polished to a high shine, and shaped into ornaments.
"You like?" Vila asked eagerly, as if he had created this room and its contents just to please her.
"It's - unexpected," Cally managed, trying to take it all in. "Where did all this come from?"
"I don't know. It was already here when we arrived."
"And is it all still in here now?" Cally teased, well aware that a talent for opening doors was usually accompanied by a habit of emptying the rooms behind those doors of their contents.
"Of course!" Vila protested, all innocence.
"So a few items haven't found their way into your possession?" Cally pressed lightly. "Just a few small items no one will miss?"
"Well there's always things that won't be missed," Vila told her, straight-faced. "See anything you like?"
"Not really to my taste," Cally replied, amused. "Although I could use a time-piece. Preferably not one made out of gold or diamonds or anything."
"I'll see what I can find," Vila said, clearly delighted to have to a semi-legitimate opportunity to poke about the storeroom.
"The clothes are all in the room with the blue panel on the door."
"Thank you."
She left Vila to it and headed along the corridor towards the garment room. Pushing the door open - an unlocked one this time - she was met by an array of material almost as dazzling as the content's of the previous room. Racks and racks of garments stretched out in front of her, neatly displayed and arranged into sections.
She spent a few minutes just wandering through them, making a mental note of what was there, before opening one of the cupboards at the back of the room. As she'd suspected, they contained shoes of every kind, ranging from practical combat boots much like her own to pairs of shoes that she didn't think it would even be possible to walk in, let alone be comfortable. More to Jenna's taste, perhaps. Selecting a pair of plain black boots, she slipped them on, picking up a spare set of flat-heeled shoes as well.
As she turned to go, she became aware that another person had entered the room, but hidden among the racks of clothing, she could not tell who it was.
"Hello?" she called out, sternly telling herself to stop thinking that everyone was going to attack her. Old habits died hard, obviously, and once she had trained herself to react as if every person she came across was a potential enemy, her new situation would take some getting used to.
Providing of course, that they weren't going to attack her.
A curly head popped up above one of the racks - the last member of the crew (barring the computer anyway; secretly she wondered if it wasn't a little strange for a leader to count a computer as a member of his crew), Gan.
"Oh, hello," he replied, giving her a friendly smile. "I didn't know you were in here. How are you finding everything?"
"I'm fine," she said, pleased at his warm reception. "I was just getting some shoes."
"Yes, there is an awful lot, isn't there? I never used to be bothered about clothing, but with so much here, I don't know, it seems almost rude not to," he commented, with the ease of someone who makes conversation because they want to, because they enjoy it, rather than to fill an awkward silence.
Cally wondered if the man was as true and straightforward as he appeared to be, and if so, what he was doing with such a disagreeable lot as the rest of the crew. He'd expressed no surprise at her appearance, no objection at her joining the crew, seemingly welcoming her without question.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked, remembering the state he'd been in when she'd first teleported on board Liberator.
"Oh yes, much better thank you. Where did you learn your medical skills?"
"I would hardly call them skills," Cally replied, a little surprised. "I was taught the basics in a field unit on Saurian Major. Before that, I suppose I had some training on my own planet."
"Well, I'm very grateful that you did," Gan told her. "I can't understand half of the machines in the medical unit."
"Neither can I," Cally confessed with a smile. "Much of this ship seems to be beyond my comprehension, if I am to be honest."
"It is an astounding vessel, isn't it?" Gan agreed. "Has Blake shown you around yet?"
"A little."
"I could give you a tour, if you like," Gan offered. "I can't promise that I'll be able to tell you everything about the ship, but I can show you around at least."
"Thank you, I would like that." Cally was touched.
At least two of the crew seemed to be making an effort to welcome her, which was more than she had expected. Based on first impressions, Blake and Avon seemed more interested in her abilities, what she could bring to the crew, than in her for herself, and Jenna hadn't bothered to hide her distrust, although perhaps that was just their way. She suspected that Vila was trying to get on her good side because he was nervous of her. Well, she had almost killed him on their first meeting, although his obvious talents in opening locks and doors went some way to overcoming her contempt for his just as obvious cowardice.
She let Gan guide her around Liberator, taking in as much as she could. She wasn't particularly used to spacecraft, but she realised that, if she was going to remain on board, it was probably a good idea to understand as many aspects of how to run this ship as possible. She was a quick learner and, once the shock of not being dead had worn off, she knew she would most likely enjoy the challenge of mastering new skills.
And that wouldn't be the only challenge; Blake had made it quite clear that he considered Saurian Major to be a relatively small target, and that there would be many, many more such targets taken down in his quest to destroy the Federation. Cally herself would have to adjust her vision in order to follow this man, but it was something she knew that she had to do. She didn't believe in luck, or in fate, but something had led to her and Blake meeting, and she intended to do everything in her power to capitalize on that.