part0189

What a day , Maxar thought, wondering what would happen next. Their worm generator was permanently blighthearted. Jaydon had told them the “damned piece of equipment is terminally buggered.” The drive had nearly cost them their lives, but they were surviving despite the handicap.

It had been Tremmilly's idea to slip through the Entho wormhole after the Ashamine ship. The maneuver was risky, but the odds were better than the alternative. We barely made it, Maxar thought, shaking his head. He was surprised the decrepit old craft had held together. And now they still had to make it to Eishon-2 before all their atmosphere slipped out the compromised hull. We don’t have much surplus.

Their fun little escape had been further complicated when they saw the battle between the Ashamine ship and the Entho bi-pyramid. Maxar felt no remorse for the Ashamine dead. They deserve no pity. The Enthos on the other hand...

Creepily, the Revenge had ended up in the very system they’d sought in the first place, Eishon. Maxar watched Tremmilly go pale when they realized where they were, adding to his own feeling of unease. He’d tried to talk to her, but she just mumbled, “Leading or intuition?” in reply.

She is one strange girl, Maxar decided. Not that he didn't thank both her and the drunk for getting him off Bloodsport, but he firmly believed they both had issues. Somehow, the two were growing on him though. Maxar didn't know how to feel about that.

Tremmilly's home planet was small, out of the way, and lightly populated. He'd never heard of it, so chances were no one would know who he was or that he'd been sentenced to Bloodsport. Since the Enthos destroyed an Ashamine vessel in system, investigators will come and poke around, but they have no reason to go to the planet. It would be a great place to lie low for a while.

They were flying as fast as they could towards Tremmilly’s home on Eishon-2 when Jaydon let out an exclamation. “I fund shomthing.” Maxar had Tremmilly engaged in a game of Castle, but they both rose to see what the drunk had found.

When they arrived, Maxar saw nothing interesting, at least initially. After closely examining the terminal screen, he realized why Jaydon had called them. The terminal showed a stationary blinking dot in proximity to them. It was located along the vector the Ashamine and Entho ships had followed after leaving the worm. Maxar thought he knew what it meant, but Tremmilly didn't.

“What is it?” she questioned.

“It's han scape boat,” Jaydon returned, words slurred.

“You mean someone actually survived that... that...” Maxar said, uncharacteristically at a loss for the word to sum up the battle.

“Well, ushually those sings honly blip lihike that when there is shomething shtill kicking insidesit.” The owner and captain of the A'Tal's Revenge was fairly inebriated and his words came out in a rush. Maxar had spent little time with the man, but he’d already realized the captain had a major thirst for booze, of any kind, at any time of the day or night. “Do ya whanna gho pickit up?”

The question hung in the air, neither Maxar nor Tremmilly answering. Maxar was ready to tell the drunk to keep flying towards Eishon-2, but before he had the chance, Tremmilly answered. “Yes. If we can help someone, we should do it.”

“The margin of safety for making it to the planet before we suffocate is precariously thin.” Maxar didn’t want to tell her straight out that she was wrong, but they were risking enough already. “Adding more people will slice the supply further. Is it worth the risk to rescue unknown, possibly hostile Ashamine personnel?”

“Maxar, we can't just leave someone to die,” Tremmilly replied, a disapproving look on her face.

Jaydon, not seeming to care either way, began piloting towards the pod. Maxar turned to the girl and spoke, making sure he was loud enough Jaydon was included in the conversation. “If we take Ashamine soldiers back to your planet, they’ll bring blightheart down on us. Anyone who’s watched Bloodsport will recognize me, and if one of those solders is a fan, another Ashamine battle cruiser will be breathing down our necks in no time. Even if none of them recognize me, at the very least we’ll all be questioned about the destruction of the Ashamine ship. We will be required to testify. I, for one, don't want anything to do with that, especially since I so recently escaped incarceration.”

Maxar thought he’d never seen someone look at him with so much incredulity. “You, of all people, should be able to empathize with someone in need of rescue. I still don't understand why I came to get you, but I can see a clear reason for helping whoever is in that escape craft.” Maxar wasn’t one to allow someone to correct him, but Tremmilly's words cut deep. He didn't let it show, a trait he’d learned while pitted against the most vicious criminals in the Akked Galaxy.

Jaydon dutifully brought the ship closer to the Ashamine escape pod, navigating surprisingly well considering his condition. The time to cover the intervening distance passed in silence. Maxar didn't feel like finishing the game of Castles, and Tremmilly didn't seem interested either. Jaydon continued drinking, something he apparently did as a hobby.

The pod’s hull was intact, with no visible damage or atmospheric leakage. Maxar still thought taking on survivors was a bad idea, but he held his tongue, not wanting to provoke Tremmilly any more than he had already. Why does this girl have power over me? Jaydon tried hailing the small craft, but received no reply.

“I whonder if heir chomms got damaged or shomething,” he remarked, the seriousness of his tone almost lost in drunken slurring.

Before he really considered what he was doing, Maxar bent over a terminal and initiated a transmission. “Listen,” he said, voice cold and commanding, “if you don't talk, we aren't going to pick you up. If we don't pick you up, you are going to float for a very, very long time.”

When he’d finished, a young boy’s voice responded, “We are running from the Ashamine. Will you help us?” The directness of his statement took Maxar aback.

While he was still contemplating his answer, an older voice came on, one of a woman. “I'm sorry, my son is somewhat distraught and doesn't realize what he’s saying. We were running from the supernova, not the Ashamine. May I ask who we are speaking to?”

Maxar had no idea how to answer that one, so he shut his mouth. This time, Tremmilly answered, “We are friends. We'll get you and your son out of there and to safety.” Her voice sounded wispy and odd. While she spoke, Tremmilly reached her hand up to her head as if she were experiencing a headache. Maxar shook his head in amazement. He had never been around someone like this. Such an odd one... That was OK he supposed, at least it had caused her to come to Bloodsport to save him.

“Thank you very much,” the woman replied.

Maxar could hear something familiar in her voice, but couldn't quite place what it was. Do I know her? That sounded impossible, but he guessed it wasn't out of the question. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he understood. Clipped tone, not quite emotionless, but close. It was the speech patterns of someone used to getting respect. Perhaps she was a Bloodsporter? But why would she have been on the Ashamine ship? Most likely some type of officer. Regardless, her tone spoke of someone used to being in control. Best stay on guard.

Amazingly enough, Jaydon didn't smash either the Revenge or the small escape vehicle in the tricky docking procedure. Maxar didn't care what happened, so he relaxed, but Tremmilly uttered nervous noises every time Jaydon narrowly avoided slamming the two crafts together.

The docking complete, Jaydon rose to usher in his new guests. After several long blinks, he fell back into his seat. “Will yhou both khindly welcome the new ar-ar-arrivals?” he asked. Maxar could barely understand the sot, but he made out the request. He didn't want to do it, but he supposed he couldn't expect Tremmilly to go alone or with only Beowulf for support. It was possible those on the escape vehicle would attempt to capture the ship, but Maxar thought it unlikely.

Tremmilly led the way to the docking port, Beowulf and Maxar trailing behind. She pressurized the short section connecting the two vessels and then opened the ship's end. The escape vehicle was still closed, the fresh door paint making the disrepair of the Revenge more apparent.

Maxar, standing behind Tremmilly, saw her touch her head in much the same way as she’d done on the command deck. “You got a headache or something?” he asked, trying not to sound exasperated because of their guests’ delay.

“No, not really,” she said absentmindedly. Maxar waited for her to continue, but when it didn't seem likely, he spoke again.

“You just keep putting your hand up on your head, like it hurts or something. You’re sure you’re alright?”

Still taking little note of what Maxar was saying, Tremmilly did manage to answer. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little distracted. It's a strange feeling. I can sense something on the other side of this door.” Beowulf emitted a high-pitched whine as Tremmilly finished speaking, making Maxar start.

What does she mean? He decided, yet again, that the girl was definitely not mentally right. Sure, Tremmilly was attractive, but by the Founder, she had a strange personality. Can't let myself get too attached, Maxar thought, and then felt surprised when he realized he needed to warn himself at all.

The sound of an opening hatch broke into Maxar's thoughts. The woman stepping through immediately impressed him as hard-headed, stiff-necked, and by-the-regulations. Dislike immediately rose within Maxar. He couldn't tell why exactly, but he still felt his instinct to leave the escape vehicle had been the correct choice. Then, he noticed her fatigues and his first impressions were confirmed. Military. Great, he thought sardonically. Things hadn't gone perfectly escaping Bloodsport, but they had proceeded well enough. Now, he feared all that had been for naught.

Maxar carefully schooled his face to look neutral and betray none of his inner turmoil. When the kid stepped through the hatch though, it became exponentially harder.

The youth was small and scrawny, black hair messy and unkempt. His clothes were mostly clean, but they hung on him, making him look even smaller. These qualities weren't what disconcerted Maxar so much, however. His eyes. Orange. Just like the Founder’s. Maxar had never seen such eyes anywhere but in the vids of the Founder. And this kid takes the leader’s direct and penetrating gaze to a whole new level. The kid peered into him, digging down to his soul. Maxar gazed back, unable to pull himself out. Deeper... Deeper...

Then the woman spoke and broke him out of his trance. “I'm 3rd Class Enlightened Felar Haltro. This,” she said, pointing to the twig Founder, “is my son Jon.” Everyone stood motionless in the following silence. Tremmilly, waking from her strange behavior, broke it.

“My name is Tremmilly. This is Maxar,” she noted, pointing to him. “This large dog here is my friend, Beowulf. Don't worry, he's big, but his kindness is as massive.”

Sure it is, Maxar thought, good story. Ignore the fact you saw him tear out throats back on the orbital dock.

Felar and Jon noticed the big wolf-dog then for the first time, and they reacted as if they’d heard Maxar's thought. Twig boy let out a high-pitched yelp and clutched the woman, who, reacting with a fighter's reflexes, reached for a weapon that was not holstered at her belt. Maxar noted the movement, filing the slice of data away for analysis later.

“Don't worry, he won't hurt you. I promise. See?” Tremmilly stroked Beowulf, his long, lustrous coat flowing through her fingers. The wolf-dog normally looked quite intimidating, but with the gorgeous girl petting him, he lost some of his ferocity. He even had the good sense to roll onto his back to further the illusion of harmlessness.

Twig boy poked his head out from his mother, and after watching a few moments, cautiously walked to the dog and began petting him. Beowulf's right rear leg kicked the air in pleasure, but the boy, not understanding the movement, jumped away. “No, no, he just does that when he likes what you’re doing,” Tremmilly said. The boy resumed petting the dog, which was quite brave considering the previous scares.

“This isn't my ship,” Tremmilly said, standing up and looking at Felar, “but make yourself at home. If you would like to meet the captain, he’s on the command deck.”

Felar scrutinized her surroundings and decided nothing was an imminent threat. The look on her face made it evident she thought as much of the ship as Maxar did. “Alright,” Felar replied curtly. She seemed to note the near hostility in her voice, because when she spoke again it had vanished. “We are both grateful you picked us up.” Felar gave Maxar an appraising look and then asked, “Are you military?”

The directness of her question caught Maxar off guard, and he didn't immediately know how to respond. “No. Why do you ask?” She looked at him suspiciously, but the look disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“You have the bearing of a soldier,” she said dismissively. Maxar stole a look at Tremmilly and said a silent thanks the girl wasn't giving anything away. Given she was so transparent most of the time, it was a minor miracle. “What caused the holes in the hull?” Felar continued, catching Maxar off guard yet again.

“In our haste to escape Haak-ah-tar, we accidentally flew through some space junk. I think an Ashamine ship had just jettisoned it. Must have torn us up pretty good because we're venting atmosphere. Should have enough to make it to Eishon-2 though.” Maxar tried to say the last bit as nonchalantly as possible, hoping she would drop the subject.

“Really,” was all Felar said in reply, sounding less than convinced.

“Well, let's go see if the great Captain Jaydon is still conscious,” Tremmilly said cheerily, smoothly transitioning them from the awkward silence following Felar's last statement. Maxar let out a single bark of laughter at the girl's pronouncement.

They all followed Tremmilly through the litter-strewn ship to the command deck. Maxar brought up the rear, not wanting the soldier woman or the twig-boy behind him. Beowulf amicably trotted at his side, happy with Maxar's companionship.

When they reached the deck, they found Jaydon unconscious, his bottle lying on the floor. Some of its contents had spilled on the grimy deck. Beowulf trotted over and began licking at it. When Tremmilly realized what he was doing, she scolded him. He trotted back, head low.

“Is your captain always this way or is this how he welcomes guests?” Felar's tone was hard to interpret. He couldn't tell if she was joking or if she was being sarcastically cutting. She continued, and it quickly resolved his indecision. “I thought the maneuvering of the ship was erratic. It was highly irresponsible for you to allow this man to pilot a ship while intoxicated, let alone attempt a rescue. Jon and I could have been killed.”

Ingrate, Maxar thought.

“He is usually like this,” Tremmilly said timidly, answering Felar's original question, “although I haven't known him for long.” Whatever Felar made of this answer, she gave no outward sign. Instead, she started a new topic.

“What is your destination? Can you fly the ship or must we wait for the captain to sober up?” Maxar could see the woman was trying to plan several steps in advance, always a desirable trait in a soldier. He’d never thought her inept, but a small amount of respect arose in him.

“Well, we are headed for Eishon-2. There aren't a lot of flights off that world, so I don't know how long you'll be stuck there, but it's better there than floating in space, right?” There was a note of conciliation in Tremmilly's voice, apparently wishing the older woman would forgive her for Jaydon's drunkenness.

“That's fine,” Felar responded, too quickly. She tried to stay emotionless, but Maxar picked up the momentary flash of eagerness that crossed her face. This too was filed back in his mind for later review. Then something clicked.

Why is someone who is active military traveling with her son? It was obvious the woman was on duty due to the fact she was in uniform. Something about Felar and the twig-boy didn't add up. Maxar didn't want to figure it out though, he just wanted to get away from them. Anyone connected to the Ashamine would have a duty to subdue him, and barring that, at least report his escape.

“Either myself or Maxar can fly this craft though, so don't worry about having to wait for Jaydon to come back to the land of the living.” Tremmilly was still trying to lighten the situation and her latest effort had a positive effect.

“That's great, real great,” Felar said, a smile finally appearing. Maxar noted how beautiful it made her look, but that did little to change his desire to put as much distance between himself and the woman as possible.

Maxar turned to look at the boy, only to see him staring directly at him. His gaze was disconcerting in the extreme and Maxar wished the kid would quit using it on him. The fact the boy had said nothing the whole time he’d been on the ship was stranger still. Plus, other than his initial fright of Beowulf, he was unnaturally calm. A normal kid would be flapping from all the drama of escaping a ship that was smashed to pieces. Not natural, not natural at all.

After carrying Jaydon to the cargo hold, Maxar took a crate back to the command deck. He sat in the corner, watching Tremmilly switch the system over to auto-nav. Beowulf lay down next to him, and Maxar began petting the shaggy wolf-dog. Soon, Tremmilly and Felar got over some of their initial awkwardness and were talking more naturally, discussing their pasts and the current situation. The twig-boy Jon kept staring at Maxar, orange eyes piecing.