Firefly: The Geshen Wars: The Rrift

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Chapter 1: A Stranger in a Strange Land

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I don't own the Firefly franchise in any capacity. If I did, it would still be playing.

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"Do you want to know what Hell is? I'll tell you, if you'd really like to know.

"Hell is when the one person in all Creation who means the most to you is taken from you by monsters.

"My name, in the worlds of humans, is John Smith. It's not my real name, of course. But I suppose you can tell that by looking at me.

"I come from a sunlit world with light blue skies and sparkling azure seas, seas made for swimming. I remember swimming in them when I was small, barely hatched out of my egg, darting through the water, first one way, then another. It was so much fun. Like flying.

"The females who tended to my group of hatchlings were nervous, of course, and with good reason. There were, after all, a number of large predators in those seas, in spite of the sonic impulse drivers that were supposed to keep them at bay, and a small one of my kind would make a tasty mouthful. But I was careful (and perhaps a trifle overconfident, the way young of many species are); even at that young age, I knew to avoid any areas where I could not see. It's the places you can't see where danger abides.

"And there is so much of the universe you can't see…

"But I'm babbling.

"I trudge onward through the snow and ice, wrapping all four of my arms around my upper torso, in a vain attempt to conserve what body heat I have left. My heatsuit gave out on me long ago, its capacitator losing its tiny war with the cold, and now my reptilian biochemistry is struggling to adapt to the intense chill. If I'm not mistaken, it's getting colder.

"But I keep going. I will not stop until death claims me, which, my rational mind tells me, won't be very far off now. The only light in my entire life, the one person in all the worlds whom I have ever truly loved, River Tam, has been taken by the Rrift, beings who look like me but who are nothing like me. The cold is biting; I feel it like a live thing has settled onto me and is gnawing away on my bones.

"I don't care.

"I only know I must find her. I must get her back. I must return her to the worlds of men. They have not been kind to her, but they are preferable to the Rrift.

"So I trudge onward through the ice and snow, each step becoming harder and harder. I will, of course, die. The thought does not bother me, unduly. If only I can rescue River, I will gladly surrender to the Great Darkness. I do not care what happens to me; River is all.

"I am a four-armed, betailed, scaly reptilian alien being from a world whose homestar humans can't even see without the aid of extremely powerful telescopes, who is hopelessly, madly in love with a descendant of warm-blooded primates. And I will not stop.

"I will not stop.

"I will not stop.

"I will…not…stop.

"I…"

….

The three figures, wrapped in as many clothes, jackets, headgear and footgear as they could find and squeeze into, stared in amazement at the tableau in front of them.

Lying on its side before them, ice crystals beginning to form on it, was the most bizarre creature any of them had ever seen. It was bipedal, but there all resemblance to humanity ended.

The creature had a wedge-shaped reptilian head with a kind of spiny collar, a collar now folded against the neck. It had four eyes, set far back in the skull, and protected by bony ridges. It was covered in overlapping scales, with four arms, each one terminating in viciously clawed, seven fingered hands, wrapped around it. The creature itself seemed to be huddled in a semi-fetal position, legs drawn up underneath it. There was a tail jutting from low on its backside, an armored prehensile-looking appendage, wrapped around those. It was impossible to measure its height, curled up as it was, but it seemed to be about the same height as a man, perhaps a little taller. Overall, a more vicious-looking creature could hardly be imagined, yet, for all that, it was huddled here, either dying or already dead. "What is it?" asked one, in a hushed whisper. Like he was afraid of waking it up.

"Is it dead?" asked another, almost simultaneously.

One of them produced a small hand-held sensor unit, adjusting it for the flying snow around them. The blizzard hadn't let up for two days now, and it played hob with the instruments. He shook his head. "Can't tell. It's either dead or," he nodded towards the thing in the snow, "maybe in some kinda hibernation. Either way, I'm not gettin' any readings."

"So whadda we do?" asked the smaller of the two men. He shifted, nervously. The thing before him evoked every primal fear humanity had of reptiles. "I vote we shoot it. Just to make sure."

The first one who'd spoken, a woman, thought a moment. Then, "We take it back with us. You, and you…get those ropes out. Tie it up. Then, let's see if we can figure out some way—*"

"I ain't touchin that thing!"

"Yes you are." He still looked stubborn. "Do as you're told. Besides," she said, "it'll be tied up. And …" An idea sparked in her mind, "Worst comes to worst, we can always use the meat. C'mon," she said, "I bet it tastes like chicken."

That put things in a different light.

….

I awaken. My first sensation is one of light and warmth, though not much of either. My second is that my arms and legs—and tail—are securely tied with what appears to be some form of fastenings, so that I can barely move.

I open my eyes, turn my head, and see the human sitting at a small table across the room from me. He seems to be playing some kind of card game. Solitaire, or some variant, no doubt. He notices me moving, and I see fear coming onto his features. It occurs to me that I've always been able to decipher human facial expressions, even Before.

He hits a small button on the wall. No personal communicators? But perhaps they have them, but simply choose not to use them for some reason or another. "Hey, this thing's awake."

"This thing"? But of course he means me. I can hardly expect anything else. Memory comes back, and I remember passing out in the snow and the cold. I was unable to shapeshift, so quite naturally, they found me in my true form. Naturally, I'm a "thing" to them. I'm not really surprised.

Two more humans, also bundled up against the cold, which reaches even into this area, enter by the door. One of them, an older but by no means old, female, looks at me long and hard. It makes me uneasy; in both our species, the female is considered the more dangerous, and rightly so. Were my hands free, I would use my uppermost hands to cover my eyes, a polite gesture of respect and nonthreat among my people. But of course I can't do that with them bound.

To those of my kind, our eyes are more than just optical receptors. We can also enter the minds of others, sometimes forcing them to do our will, hence the gesture. It shows that we come in peace. However, thinking about my situation—I am clearly a prisoner, not a guest—perhaps it is best I keep that particular ability to myself, for now.

Put it another way, I have yet to determine if indeed I do come in peace.

"Can you understand this language?" the woman asks. I can see, by their body stance, that they are both afraid and disgusted by my appearance. Pity; I had hoped for a more positive attitude. But perhaps that is something I can achieve, with a bit of effort.

"Yes," I reply, as best I can, my mouthparts not being flexible enough to enable me to be fully capable of human speech. I do not have the translator from my ship, which would render my words into something much more intelligible to these obviously frightened humans. Seeing that fright, I myself feel fear: humans have been known to do some pretty horrible things to others—even of their own kind-when afraid.

Unfortunately, humans are not the only ones capable of doing horrible things to others. But at least they have that excuse. "Yes, I can understand this language. I apologize if my words are not always intelligible." Perhaps this is a good way to allay some of their fears: an apology up front.

It does seem to work. They relax, slightly. But I remind myself that humans are very complex. Just because their fears are allayed in this one area does not mean they will kiss me and welcome me with open arms.

The woman looks at me, scrutinizing me up and down. Then, "Who are you?"

"Among humans, my name is John Smith." Their expressions harden; did I say the wrong thing? "I adopted that name because my real name is unpronounceable in any human tongue."

"I see." She still seems afraid, and maybe a bit hostile. "I suppose that makes sense. But that means you've had dealings with humans, right? So…'John Smith'…who, exactly, are you, and why are you here?"

Now I must think of a suitable lie. It would not do to tell them my true reason, yet it must be close to the truth in order to be believable. "My ship crashed, several of your miles away. I…well, I went looking for help." Which is true, in a way. Sort of.

"Help?" mutters one of the men, "how could you expect to get help out here? What kind of help?"

I see immediately what he is actually asking: How could I, an alien monster, possibly expect any rational human to help me? "The help of one intelligent being to another." I turn my head in his direction, no easy task, considering my bindings, and I notice he chooses not to look me in the eyes. Does he know, or suspect, about my people's ability? Or does he simply not wish to look at the monster? "I am not an invader. I am, after all, only one being, and not a warrior, at that. I wouldn't make much of an invasion force, if that's what you're thinking."

"Never mind what we're thinking." She pauses a moment. Then, "How is it you speak English so well?"

"I have studied it. It seemed only logical to study and master the local languages of the people I would be likely to contact here." And polite, I think. The Rrift would never bother.

"So you're here…on purpose? You came to…contact us? This is just a 'first contact' sort of thing? 'Take me to your leader?' 'E. T. phone home?'" I have no idea what this last sentence means. "Hm. I'm not sure I believe you. Your answers seem just a little too…too reasonable. Almost like you had already studied, decided on, what to say were you captured by humans… You say your ship was damaged? How did it happen?"

"It was targeted by military ordnance. I was lucky to escape with my life, and what ship I still had around me."

"Who attacked you?"

"They are called the Rrift."

"Never heard of them."

"Be glad that you have not."

She seems to be struggling to determine whether or not I am telling the truth or not. I cannot tell her the whole truth. First, she would not believe me, and second, she would consider me a threat. And, if she knew and believed about the Rrift, she could easily panic. To be completely honest, I'm not far from panicking myself. "Why should I believe you?"

"I can prove what I say, to a degree."

"Oh?"

"I can take you to my ship, what remains of it. You could see for yourself the damage. Perhaps you are familiar with how such ships can be damaged by hostile fire."

"How would I know you weren't fired upon by human forces?"

"You would not. Except that if humans had damaged my ship, I doubt they are far behind me."

One of the men turns to her. "He's gotta point there. If an Alliance patrol ship shot him down, they'll be looking for it. They'll come here." This possibility seems to alarm him.

For the first time, it occurs to me that I may have fallen in with brigands, those on the run from their own kind. If so, it changes a few things.

"So…you can take us to your ship, eh?" I can almost see the chain of thought in her mind: an alien ship, many parts damaged, perhaps, but something to be salvaged…unknown, and therefore potentially valuable, alien technology…and, worst comes to worst, an invading alien monster to turn over to this "patrol," no doubt for a substantial reward.

Not exactly the welcome I had hoped for. But I am prepared for it. "I can." I try to rise, but am restrained by these hempen ropes they have. I wonder where they acquired them; almost all human bindings I have encountered before consist of a rubberized plastoid. These ropes are nearly antiques.

I hope they won't mind if I have to break them.

"Alright." She turns to the large of the two men. "Untie him."

The man looks shocked. "You're crazy! That…that…thing…! We can't just, just untie it! What if it's got, like, poison fangs or something?"

"That's why we've got guns," she says, hefting a large caliber slug thrower. She turns to me. "You bite anybody, or anything like that, it'll be the last thing you do."

"I understand. No biting." I have more subtle means at my disposal, anyway. "I shall make no hostile moves."

The big man moves slowly to undo the ropes. "Cover me," he says to the smaller one. He's clearly wary of me; well, I suppose I can't blame him. Or them. My hands and feet are released, and I rub my wrists in a gesture I share with humans, to assist the circulation. They watch, nearly hypnotized, seeing the coordination between my upper and lower sets of arms. I remember River also had that reaction, when we first met. I suppose it's understandable. "How far away is your—wait. What did you just do?" She is referring to the brief hitch of breath I made, when I thought of my love in the cruel claws of the monstrous Rrift. Of what they might be doing to her, even now.

"It…is nothing. I am not completely compatible with your atmosphere. Occasionally, I have difficulty with it." The lie comes easily to me. I look up at them, an expression of honesty on my face, even though I am sure they cannot decipher it. "I am used to a bit more oxygen. Sometimes it causes that reaction. It is unimportant." They don't seem to know how to respond to that. "To answer your question, I am not absolutely certain of the distance, to my ship, in your miles, and during my sojourn outside, I fear my ability to gauge the distance suffered, due to the cold. As you have no doubt guessed, my kind are cold-blooded." I want to warn them: if the Rrift are in this area—and my experience indicates they most definitely are—we are all in very serious danger. But I sense they do not really believe me when I talk about the alien menace.

It is a huge gamble, taking them to my ship. I can only hope I can persuade them to assist me in repairs, perhaps in exchange for some of my less necessary technology (always assuming they do not simply wish to acquire it all, which they could so easily do; my corpse would be unable to keep them from doing so), or perhaps, should I be able to convince them of the danger, from fear of the Rrift. Or, perhaps…other means at my disposal.

I would hate to do that. But I will do anything, even the unspeakable, to rescue my love from the clutches of the vile Rrift.

I am quite willing to die in so doing, if only I can. River means all to me.

There is nothing I would not do for her.

….

Lloyd considered. Here was a golden opportunity to get off this cesspool of an asteroid. This thing—this alien—it no doubt had some sort of advanced tech they could exploit, sell, at the very least. Maybe if they could learn to use it themselves. No doubt the thing had weapons, even if those weapons had been damaged, they could be repaired. Just the fact that the thing was here in the first place, in the 'verse, implied tech more advanced, or at least different, than anything humans had. It obviously came from somewhere outside the solar system—the 'verse—but how was that possible? She'd always heard there was nothing outside the 'verse, that the Reavers went mad from going to the very edge of the system and looking at the nothingness outside…yet here was proof that there was something out there. It had to come from somewhere…and that meant the space outside the 'verse wasn't the empty nothingness they'd heard. So…there was no way this didn't represent opportunity. "Alright," she told the creature, "take us to your ship. We'll see then…what we'll see."

"I need to recharge my heatsuit," said the thing, in its sibilant voice. "I'm afraid the capacitator has lost its charge."

"I wondered how you got as far as you did," she murmured. Now that she looked, she could see that the thing was wearing some sort of fine-woven net of some sort of material around its torso, legs, and arms. She covered the creature with her gun. "How do you recharge it?"

"Lloyd, you can't be thinking of-*!"

"I most definitely can and shut up. You," she gestured towards the alien with her gun. "Get up and see if we have any usable ports you can charge your suit from."

I get up, still rubbing my wrists, legs and tail—the last of which is least affected by the cold—getting the circulation back into them. I am disappointed by the reception given me, but, in retrospect, I suppose it could be a whole lot worse. The only thing that matters if finding River, rescuing her from the Rrift. Everything else is, at best, secondary. "I should be able to use this one," I tell the human female, who is evidently in charge, indicating a small port fastened to one wall. My heatsuit's adapter will be able to handle the voltage of any human-designed charging system; it already has, on multiple occasions.

I wonder where the others are, Mal and his group. The Serenity, I hope, has not run afoul of the Rrift; if so, I fear for them.

There is no such thing as an unarmed Rrift ship, and no such thing as a nonhostile Rrift.

….

"Your ship much farther?" the female asks me.

"It is not much farther," I tell them. In truth, I am not sure precisely how far it is. The constant snow reconfigures the landscape every day, or at least, what passes for a day here. But I believe it to be close. "There," I say, pointing to a small hillock, covered with ice. "It should be there."

"Better hope, for your sake, that it is. If it ain't, me, I'm gettin' hungry for some chicken," says the smaller of the two men accompanying us. I don't know exactly what he means, but I can guess.

Disgusting. He and the Rrift would get along just fine.

…..

River Tam came to a gradual, headachey consciousness. There was a bright light shining directly into her face, and she felt sore, all over her body, as though she'd fallen down a hill. Where…? Then she remembered.

The ambush, the beings John had called the Rrift, their getting separated in the confusion…she'd tried to raise the others on her communicator, but had gotten nothing but static. Either they were out of range, or the Rrift were blocking transmission.

Rrift gunfire was turning the ground around them into land mines, and she grabbed him, pulling him with her. He'd tried to shake her off—no, you go, get away!—but she would no more leave him than he'd leave her. Then a particularly close explosion had robbed her of consciousness.

Now she woke up, feeling as though she'd lost a battle with a hundred Reavers. She found that she was securely bound, her hands over her head, and her feet together, in an upside-down "Y" formation, her head down, locked into the framework with some sort of metal or ceramometal cuffs. So tightly bound was she that she could barely breathe. That was probably deliberate; a prisoner who can't draw a full breath is at a distinct disadvantage already.

She could only turn her head so far. She seemed to be in some brightly lit, circular room, with a ledge overhead. It brought back some horrific memories of the Academy, where unspeakable experiments had been performed on her in the name of "education," and medical students had gathered to watch. That experience alone had scarred her, that anyone would want to watch what they did to her, even if the experiments, the "treatments," as they called them, hadn't done an even better job. Now, as always, she felt…incomplete.

Until she met John.

John? Where are you? Are you here, anywhere? But she knew the answer to that. If John still lived, he would be here. Which meant…

River had heard the term "damsel in distress," and, like most things in her life, had simply not understood it. Jayne had used it on occasion, but always sarcastically, so its true meaning had eluded her. But she fully understood the "distress" part.

"Distress," unfortunately, had been a major part of her whole existence.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sibilant hissing sound from her right. A door swished open, and several reptiloid bipeds entered, carrying implements whose use she didn't really like to think of. Knowing John as she did, she recognized the overall species—John's people called themselves the Geshen—but one look at their body language, and her intuitive powers told her the awful truth: these were not Geshen.

They were not Geshen at all. They were Rrift.

Perhaps she was the damsel in distress, after all.

To be continued…