Chapter Text
"Good. You're all accounted for. How appropriate that it should all start here again in this wretched place."
I had handpicked this lot. It had taken quite a lot of diplomacy, something of which I have never quite mastered, even after several decades. The common thread entwining this mismatched bunch of miscreants and dissidents was their hatred for the Neo-Federation, of course. While this crew was not as sloppily put together as the Liberator's batch of former criminals had been, they were beginning to adopt a very familiar dynamic. Perhaps this was an unconscious decision on my part. I might have shuddered at the eerie similarities to my past if I was still capable of shuddering at anything anymore. Had Vila been alive and with me, he would have shuddered, I'm certain. I almost missed him at this moment: he would have had great affection for this gathered group of five newcomers. I'm not sure if the feeling would have been mutual, however.
They saw me as an old man with a granite stare and impeccable posture. (This was something I was keen to maintain as the rest of me inevitably aged.) My impeccable posture and I were fighting the harsh winds at sundown, my black duster making a sail behind me. I still had my favorite reliable pair of black books, a bit scuffed over the years like their owner. I don't think I've ever abandoned garments in all stark shades of ebony, especially not after Gauda Prime. Was I still in mourning? If you would like to believe that, yes.
My hair is longer now, wispier and silver rather than the chestnut of which it had been. I've earned these hard lines on my face and I find them quite useful for visual intimidation. So now, was this bunch actually intimidated by me? Not especially. In awe of me? Perhaps only a couple of them. Impressed with me? Yes, most undoubtedly. This was the moment when I would be handing them their futures. Would they soon grow to hate me? Of course. And then they would also thank me. I was going to give them a treasure, after all.
"The ship is in orbit," I told them. "It's awaiting my instructions. Once I tell it to teleport you up, you must follow the advice of the ship's computer implicitly. That is crucial."
Their leader had been the first person I sought out to form this new crew and I had done the most research on her out of all five of them. I needed as my captain someone angry, even on the cusp of hate, but with enough self-awareness to recognize it and control it. She was the child of Federation officers who defected out of disgust for the regime, and while she had briefly been a soldier for the Neo-Feds, it had sickened her in the end but had not managed to break her. She had been court-martialed several times for having gone against orders, and by the time I had found her and offered her employment she had become a wandering ronin, looking for a cause worthy of her skills. Fortunately, she met all my criteria: idealistic, a tactical genius, a hero, foolhardy, compassionate. Yes, I was a bit wary of the very last one, but if I've learned anything this late in my life it is that we all needed that one major flaw in our character.
She was a tall, mahogany brown woman with an unwavering stare (suitable for a commander) and a headful of copper corkscrew curls that seemed beyond her control despite her straight-backed soldier's stance. She reminded me in some ways of Cally, but Cally mixed with... another. Her name was Persephone.
She crossed her arms, listening to my directive. She was adorned in a rust-colored leather jacket over a faded purple tunic. Her bronze-colored trousers had been repaired several times at the knees, and one of my newly designed guns was strapped to her waist. "Your ship's computer gives actual advice?" she asked, lifting skeptical black brows. "It doesn't just give data?"
I grinned. I knew that they would see it as more of a grimace than any expression of mirth. "It's a very unique computer."
This did not reassure the short, pale and wiry man standing behind her. This was Mero, who would be my ship's pilot. He had thick black hair that he kept flicking from his falcon-sharp eyes. These particular eyes absorbed all about him with quick intensity, yet here on the ground, he was uneasy. "Am I to trust this thing to help me fly my ship?" He curled his lip in contempt.
I fixed him to the spot with my cement stare. "If you want to fly my ship and survive the experience, then yes, you will have to 'trust this thing'." I returned his sneer in kind.
Of all my new recruits, I distrusted Mero the most; but I needed a resourceful pilot who would be clever enough to work his way through the unfamiliar alien technology of my ship. His skills were second only to Jenna Stannis' on the Liberator. My research revealed that he had also been a smuggler like Jenna, easily persuaded by the proper price. But far from potentially being propositioned by our foes, Mero hated the Neo-Federation: in fact, his entire family had been slaughtered as bystanders in a Neo-Fed raid in a marketplace on Herrona Five. His family had unfortunately been complete innocents, not on any side of the conflict at all. But it had the result of throwing Mero firmly to our side. He had himself destroyed a few incoming Federation arms shipments all on his own, without anyone else's aid or expertise.
I understood petulant loners, and so I overlooked my own irritation with him. "Remember that I am merely loaning you this ship," I told him but I was also addressing all the others. "It is and will always be mine."
"But what happens when you're not around anymore, old man?"
This flippant comment regarding my age had been made by my chosen artificial intelligence expert. I turned to take in his arrogant, flashy grin. His name was Zachriel and he was impossibly handsome: tall, ebony, impeccably dressed ... and yes, utterly annoying. But he was also brilliant so I forgave him for this moment, at least.
I said with a slow smile, "Oh, I can assure you that I'll still be around for a very long time."
We kept our eyes focused on one another as his astute brain considered my words; his smooth brow furrowed, his grin wavered just a bit. He suspected something already, I could tell. He was, after all, a very smart man. But he was also dealing with me.
Zachriel was an idealistic alpha-grade, formerly of wealth and privilege, not unlike myself. Despite his vanity at his own technical genius (and probably everything else about his person, for that matter), he had been a very vocal human rights activist who had unfortunately angered not only his own family but the Neo-Feds. He had been imprisoned numerous times and had been threatened with "re-programming", that is, until his rich parents had bailed him out numerous times with the promise he would behave like a good little Federation citizen. Infuriated by this, he had turned to hacking for his cause. However, he could not stay anonymous from a much more experienced hacker (yours truly.) He had heard of me, of course; they all had. He pretended not to be impressed, but he was merely posturing. I was a legend to him, after all.
The enormous and muscular woman with a fuzzy auburn crew-cut standing behind Zachriel had gentle eyes for my computer technician, and I could instantly see this was going to be a problem. Not because there was anything wrong with physical attraction, of course, but it did have a tendency to cloud your judgement, cause you to make mistakes.
Nerissa had once been a Federation soldier, strong, honorable, all that nonsense. She had been good at taking orders, good with weapons, good for morale. I suppose you could say she had a big heart as well (but not of the bleeding variety that Zachriel possessed). She could also kill you with only her bare hands and there was no inhibitor chip to prevent it. It took a great deal to earn her trust: she had seen too many of her comrades betrayed by those she served, and finally her own faltering loyalty resulted in her being drugged and taken to a mutoid-manufacturing camp. She would have made a prize Neo-Fed warrior giantess, enthralled to the regime, had I not gotten to her first. Now she was honor-bound to me. I would just have to wearily endure her little crush on Zachriel.
"Where will you be?" Nerissa asked me, surprised. "You're not accompanying us? Is that safe for you?"
I was gratified, I admit, by her concern. She wanted to be my bodyguard. Perhaps, had it been an earlier time, I would have accepted her services; now it was far, far too late. "Persephone will fill you in on my plans. Rest assured, I can take care of myself, Nerissa. I always have." I offered her a rare smile that was actually genuine.
The last member of my crew rarely spoke at all. Even now, she lingered behind all the rest of them with a silent but keen, vulpine attention. She was a small, middle-aged woman, attractive and unsettling in her fox-like way. Her long brown hair was tied back with a leather strap and there was the addition of a single dyed streak of scarlet in her mane, probably for the sake of none-too-subtle symbolism. Kurasi was a former bounty hunter. She presently had three guns strapped to her, one at each hip and the biggest, most intimidating specimen slung over her back. I could not help but think she reminded me of a woman I had casually shot on Gauda Prime all those years ago. I had been told that her name had been Klyn.
You see, I have committed to memory every detail of that one fatal day, including the woman I had shot for calling security. Kurasi could have been her feral twin. I had been naturally suspicious when she had come to me personally to offer her services. She could have turned me in for a large amount of money (had she managed to survive the attempt) but she had surprised me instead, and I admired her for it. I had at first wondered if she might be a Neo-Fed spy because her motives were still not logical to me. Then all became clear when she had uttered a single name. This was the one name which still had absolute power over me and she had wielded it with precision.
The moments when I can base a decision on intuition rather than pure logic are almost non-existent. Emotion has always been my undoing. However, Kurasi being with us had been an emotional decision, and she knew this was quite an honor, not to mention a something akin to a miracle. All this because she had spoken a name.
There was not enough data about her for me to add a mercenary to my ship's crew, but she proved herself to me by "eliminating" some obstacles to my mission. She was very discreet. Also, Nerissa seemed to like and even trust her. She and the big woman had developed a quick and unusual friendship, despite Kurasi not being much of a conversationalist.
So here were my five, together as one, enduring the harsh wind of this scarred plain. And it was almost time for me to tell them all good-bye.
"Now then," I addressed them. "I want you to abandon me here and I will inform you by communicator when I've decided to send you up to my ship. It must look as if you've overpowered me, stolen my vessel and absconded."
Persephone frowned in disbelief at the desolate surroundings: the hilly plain where we stood was flattened and scorched from past air strikes and most of the only remaining trees were bent into blackened, withered skeletons. The clotted clouds were bruising to purple in the advancing gray twilight sky. "Leave you? Here? There is no where for you to go. Why do it this way, Avon?"
I glared at her. "Those were my terms in exchange for the use of my ship."
The pilot Mero stepped forward, stabbing a hand in the air before me. "I think this is some kind of trap. We'll be sent into a Neo-Fed ambush. Why else would he want to be mysteriously left alone on this wasteland of a planet? He's got friends waiting to pick him up."
Nerissa made a slight move to pull Mero away from my perimeter, but I held up a casual hand and she relaxed her stance. My hard stare was enough to prevent him from assaulting me; I could tell that he was actually afraid of me. Whatever it was that he knew about my past or my reputation made him freeze in place. Especially when I made a point to grin at him.
"Friends?" I said. "I have no friends. At best I have allies, perhaps. And certainly no one who will swoop in to rescue me from this hellhole."
"What about us?" asked Persephone, and this made my heart suddenly lurch a bit. I controlled it, showing nothing. "I know you chose us for your team, but is it so inconceivable to consider us your friends as well as your recruits?"
Mero gave a derisive bark of laughter.
Zachriel lifted doubtful eyebrows, muttering, "Oh yeah. We're all best chums. Right, Kurasi?"
Kurasi said nothing. She only watched me.
I bared my teeth at the absurdity of the inquiry. "Yes, that is inconceivable. You see, it would require a lot more sentiment than I am actually capable of producing. No, you are only a means to an end -- all five of you. We all share a common goal, and it will best be met with the tools I have to offer you." I pointed to the darkening sky, indicating my unseen vessel that awaited them.
"I need some clarification," Zachriel demanded then.
"Of course you do," I sighed wearily.
"You never explained how you acquired such a 'wonderful' ship."
"Oh, it's a very long story that I don't have the time or patience to relate right now. Rest assured, you will eventually be told it in full once safely on board. What you need to know now is that it is unlike any starship you will ever encounter. And the computer will instruct you as to its proper use."
"This is all very convenient and a little too good to be true," the pilot snorted.
"So it would seem," I said. "But believe me, it wouldn't be the first time such a miraculous thing has occurred. I only implore you that you don't make the same mistakes my former teams made with their ships."
"As YOU did with the Liberator?" Zachriel smirked. "And the Scorpio?"
He expected anger from me but I only tilted my head slightly and offered him my most condescending smile. I purred: "Yes. Learn from history. That's your legacy."
I turned away and tried to hide from them the growing ache in my side. The longer I stood there and blathered on pointlessly with them, the more the flames of pain grew, all the length of my body, from hip to rib cage. But I needed to maintain my impassive demeanor, my illusion of control. I had waited until they had all arrived before deciding to unveil the next-to-last prize to aid their crusade. I had until now kept it safely hidden behind some dry, blaster-burnt underbrush.
"Your number is five," I said and lifted out the box of tangled circuitry, still fighting to conceal my pain. "Here is your sixth crew-member. His—" I corrected myself swiftly. "Its name is Orac."
I saw Zachriel's handsome, annoying face lose all its arrogance then, replaced instead by sudden, unguarded and almost child-like wonder.
"No, seriously? Orac." His whisper contained definite reverence now as he stepped forward, his hands hovering over Orac's transparent casing with nervous energy, desperately wanting to touch it. "I've heard the rumors—"
"Take them with a grain of salt. Though Orac's reputation precedes it, I'm certain he — it will tell you itself of how indispensable it is. I ask that you give Orac the utmost protection." I glanced at him, and then at Nerissa, who straightened her shoulders and nodded, also accepting the chosen responsibility. And so I officially designated the two of them as Orac's keepers. "But a word of advice: while its data retrieval is unsurpassed, Orac's 'advice' can sometimes be dubious. Use your best judgement. It is only a machine..." I handed the box of tubes and wires to Zachriel. "...after all."
After Zachriel had relieved me of my penultimate gift, I walked away from them for a short distance, and stood with my hands clasped behind my back. More wind caused our garments to snap about and there was a sickly gray-yellow glow at the horizon where the sun was finally dissolving. Night was coming and I wanted them gone. I did not have very long.
"I want you all at a safe location, then I will give the command to teleport. Have you ever teleported before, any of you?"
Like children in a classroom, they all shook their heads in unison. It might have been hilarious. I winced again at the fire in my side, which would make even a slight dry chuckle an act of excruciating pain. They all looked at me with varying degrees of nervousness: it was the beginning, after all. I muttered, "You'll get used to it. Those bracelets you're wearing? Always keep spares. Trust me on this."
Persephone then strode up to me, probably thinking she might have meaningful last words with me. I wanted none of that, but she was persistent. "I've made up my mind, Persephone," I said.
"Call me Percy," she said with an almost embarrassed smile.
"Must I?"
"Friends call me Percy. And yes, you don't consider me your friend. Yet." She looked like she wanted to touch my arm, sensing that I was not being entirely forthright about my motives to stay here on the planet.
"Perseph—Percy," I said, acquiescing, "you need to leave me here. It's where I belong."
"Avon, can't we persuade you to come with us?" she gently pleaded again. "A man of your intelligence and experience--"
"—Needs to stay right here so there can be a clean slate again." My stare was venomous, but it was not directed at her. "I am offering you a way to fix the things I broke." I then offered her a small, unbidden sigh.
"Please," I whispered.
We stood there looking at one another for a moment. The others were too far away now to hear our quiet words. I watched the wind toss at her unruly curls and part of me wanted to smooth them down. I was always partial to curls.
"You should do well enough," I said in a flat, impassive tone, fighting back a sudden surge of sentiment and, worst of all, memories. "I programmed the ship's computer myself to respond to all your questions and needs. It will recognize you as the captain. And it's imperative that once you are all aboard my ship, you retain the name I gave it. Otherwise the ship's computer will not respond to you."
"You never told me your ship's name," Persephone said.
I smiled with genuine sadness then.
"Ah, yes. It's called the Blake."