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Post by Gigermann on Mar 19, 2008 9:06:18 GMT -6
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Post by Rigil Kent on Mar 19, 2008 20:57:52 GMT -6
""Merde," AJ Trent murmured under his breath as he breathed in the frigid air of St. Albans and once again remembered why he hated this world. It was little more than an ice cube in slow orbit around far distant Shamafar, a miserable hunk of snow and rock that had nothing remotely appealing to it unless one enjoyed the masochistic concept of being a subsistence farmer. The occasional ski-resort dotted the planetary landscape and the Winter Games had been held here once, but for someone with a Boomer background like AJ, the appeal of such a place was utterly wasted.
Scowling fiercely, AJ pulled the hood of his utility parka tighter over his head as he made a slow circuit around the Bad Omen, eyes tracing over the familiar contours of the ship. The hand scanner he held buzzed softly, sending disagreeable vibrations through Trent's chilled fingertips, but he nevertheless exhaled softly in relief. The worry that Bale's pirates may have done something to the Omen had plagued AJ since the moment they made their escape, but St. Albans was the first opportunity he'd had to make a full sweep. There weren't any tracking beacons as he'd feared and the damage to the outer hull was so minor as to be utterly insignificant. AJ made a mental note to specifically thank Steg for his excellent gunnery skills; the ex-soldier's skill had kept the pirate pursuers off of the Omen long enough for them to make their escape. Trent only hoped that Ditch had managed to do the same for the Sophie.
Worry threatened his poise once more and AJ tried to focus his mind on his task instead of thinking about Julie. That way madness lies, he mused darkly. She'd made her thoughts about them clear enough and moping about it accomplished nothing beyond pissing him off.
"I think we're good," Ty Coleman declared as he appeared around the aft of the Omen, a similar portable scanner in hand. Somehow, the other man appeared to deal with the cold better than AJ did. "I've asked Mishka to do an internal sweep for any surprises those ruttin' pirates may have left behind."
"Good," Trent replied before stamping his feet in a futile effort to warm up his toes. "Once we get paid, I'd like to get off this ice cube à la bourre." He shot a frown in the general direction of the bored-looking customs officer who was basically rubber-stamping every document that Tulk offered. "If that abruti figures out that he's being snowed," he continued in a voice pitched only for Ty's ears, "there'll be hell to pay."
"At least we're on the right planet for a snowjob," Coleman smirked, and AJ gave him a sour look. The younger man's expression sobered as he studied the unopened crates still sitting in the Omen's hold. "Sir," he began, but Trent waved his words off.
"It's a good opportunity for you, Ty," AJ said firmly. "You're assured a good wage and it makes better use of your talents than we can." Trent shivered as yet another gust of wind sliced through the layers of his clothes as if they weren't even there. "You'd be an idiot not to take it when we get back."
"I know." Coleman hunched his shoulders and adopted a mildly embarrassed look. "I just feel like I'm letting the company down."
"Don't worry about it." AJ slapped his hand on the other man's shoulder. "You've been a good friend, Ty, and an even better XO, but I'd begin to question your brains if you turn down this opportunity." Coleman smiled at that, and Trent gave him a gentle shove toward the Omen. "Now go flirt with Mish one last time," he ordered half-jokingly, knowing that Ty would do no such thing. "I'm going to head to town," AJ continued, sarcasm dripping off of his identification of the assortment of buildings that surrounded the landing zone, "And make sure that our fuel isn't going to be late."
It took only minutes to traverse the short distance to the small open-air marketplace, and as he approached, AJ once again wondered how people could stomach living in such conditions. Animal hides draped over the various market entrances, bringing to mind images from centuries earlier, before mankind had reached the stars. Even worse were the locals who were wearing animal skins like cloaks or jackets. He shook his head in pity and skirted a frozen pile of mush that may very well have been dung.
The fuel merchant initially pretended to be ignorant of the planned delivery to the Omen, but AJ frowned and carefully invoked Steg's name knowing that the little merchant would remember Richards' fierce glare and intimidating manner from earlier. It worked beautifully, and the obsequious merchant promised to have the fuel delivered on time. As he turned away, AJ wondered if he should ask Steg to pay the man a visit anyway.
Miles Coen stood in a small bazaar on St. Albans. It was only partially sealed off from the elements by a few animal hides draped over the entrances, certainly a testament to the well earned success of the whole enterprise. In spite of his attempt to seal his body off from the cold, it seemed to keep finding cracks to bully its way through. “Fils de pute, I told you I’ve read that one already.” “Sir we don’t have many books. Perhaps you could get some enjoyment out of reading it again.” Miles looked at the man disdainfully. “Page 24, ‘social order. However, they reject all political action; they wish to attain their ends by peaceful means, necessarily doomed to failure, and by the force of example, to pave the way for the new social gospel. Such fantastic pictures of future society, painted at a time when the citizen is still in a very undeveloped state and has but a fantastic conception of his own position, correspond with the first instinctive yearnings of that man for a general reconstruction of society.’” The merchant followed along and finally put the book down. He looked up at Miles in awe. The merchant’s admiration gave Miles no satisfaction. It merely made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. It reminded him that he was an outcast, meant to walk alone in the world. “My memory’s too good to enjoy it a second time and it wasn’t that good the first. Do you have anything by Shakespeare?” “Who?” “C'est des conneries!” Miles said in disgust. “Thank you very much, sir” said the merchant. Miles walked away and noticed a familiar face in the crowd. He waved his hand in a controlled manner to the man he recognized as AJ Trent.
Movement across the small bazaar drew his attention, and AJ frowned at the young man waving to him in a controlled manner. He was familiar-looking, and it took only a half second for Trent to connect the dots.
"Miles Coen, right?" AJ asked, offering his hand as he did so. If memory served, this man had shipped out aboard the Sophie back when she and ... No, Trent told himself firmly. It's over. Let it go.
AJ frowned at Miles in the way that only he could. There was a deep hurt there that wasn’t there before. Or maybe Miles might be reading too much into it. AJ may just not want to talk to him.
That fear was quickly assuaged as AJ greeted him and stuck out his hand.
“Yes, that is my name. Good to see you. I haven’t seen a familiar face in ages.” Miles said and shook AJ’s hand.
A cold north wind blew through the bazaar chilling Miles to the bone. Miles motioned with his hand towards a building a small distance up the street. “Care for a drink? Quality is lacking, but it is the best this place has to offer. And it should be warmer, if only slightly.”
The building was exactly as promised: Spartan in appearance and only fractionally warmer than the miserable temperatures outside. It also reeked of dried sweat and cheap liquor, a combination that told AJ everything he needed to know about the place. Five locals were present, crammed together around the communal table that dominated the small facility.
“Just water,” AJ told the sour-looking bartender when asked for his order. The look the fat man gave him was one of absolute incredulity, and Trent realized that it was a curious thing to behold: what sort of man entered a bar and only ordered water? Out of the corner of his eye, AJ noticed Miles frown fractionally and he gave the younger man a slight shrug. “Old habit,” Trent explained calmly. “I’m not much of a drinker.” That was putting it mildly, AJ reflected with a half-grimace, half-smile. Ever since Julie helped him crawl out of the bottle so many years ago, Trent had gone out of his way to not touch the stuff.
“Now,” AJ said once the bartender turned away to retrieve their drinks. He smiled knowingly. “You were about to make me an offer or try to talk me into something, weren’t you?”
AJ’s bluntness surprised Miles, no small task. He tried to regain his composure but the effort left an awkward silence hanging between them. The bartender came back with their drinks and Miles paid him. The large man’s jowls dripped sweat into the complimentary nuts. Miles made a mental note never to eat here again and if he was successful here perhaps he wouldn’t need to.
Miles sipped at his drink and composed himself before saying, “ Perhaps I have been too familiar and have supposed too much. I must confess I have few friends in the galaxy and I have always considered you and your wife among them.” Miles took another sip of his drink and pointed his finger at AJ, “You are a shrewd man, for I am indeed in need of something. I need off this sodding rock. It’s like another prison.”
Prison.
The word hung in the air, dark and terrible, and for a moment, AJ found himself struggling against dark memories. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the sound of boots on metal, could smell the rank stench of unwashed flesh and iron, could taste the despair that had become part of the cell. With conscious effort, he pushed the memories back and focused on the present. Now definitely wasn’t the time to lose his control, he pointedly reminded himself, even as he leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and re-evaluated the young man before him, hoping to glean some hint of Coen’s truthfulness. Though they hadn’t interacted a great deal during the short time that Miles had served aboard the Sophie, AJ knew that it was entirely possible that the younger man had heard about Trent’s past.
Actually, now that AJ thought about it, it was in fact probable that Miles knew. Like Trent, the younger man was an expatriate from the Terran Federal Republic and the Normandy incident had been widely televised. For a short time that had lasted entirely too long, AJ’s service picture had been more common in the TFR than that of the prime minister; it was one of the reasons Trent had grown the beard and let his hair lengthen. Knowing that Miles was originally from the TFR meant he might be using knowledge of AJ’s vocal disgust with the Republic as a weapon to get what he wanted from Trent. After all, he wouldn’t be the first person to try it.
“I’m listening,” AJ said carefully, doing his best to conceal what he was actually thinking.
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Post by zenwolf on Mar 21, 2008 16:24:59 GMT -6
Miles opened his mind and listened. boots on metal… unwashed flesh and iron… despair. There was a great deal of doubt in AJ’s mind. AJ’s thoughts whirred through Miles consciousness.
Miles was 11 at the time of AJ’s imprisonment and his school did not allow the viewing of Vids. This was,however, an interesting new bit of information. “I’ll get to the point. I am prepared to work on the Sophie like I did last time and receive in pay only transportation. I think—”
A familiar man with a buzz cut and cracked nose strode into the bar. His body was flabby yet Miles knew that it hid an astounding strength . On his hip was a powerful old model handgun with the holster strap undone. He looked directly at Miles and smiled big, before taking a seat near the back exit. It was Cort McCree. What the hell was he doing here?
Miles shook his head as if to throw off the stray thoughts. He resumed his conversation with AJ, “I think this is a reasonable business proposition. What do you think?[/color] The offer wasn’t entirely a surprise, but nevertheless, AJ frowned fractionally. It seemed like an incredible coincidence that, in the very hour that Trent had convinced his current sensor operator to buy back into his old job, a potential new sensors man had showed up, almost at the Omen’s door, desperately seeking a job. Had he not had a great deal of experience with Grimm, AJ would have either marveled at it or smelled a rat. Instead, something his mysterious patron had once told him rolled around in his head. There are no coincidences.
Still, something was causing AJ to hesitate. He let his eyes flicker around the tiny bar as he took a drink from his fetid water. A new man had entered while he was distracted, one armed and with a bearing that indicated he knew how to handle himself in a fight. Twice, the man glanced in the direction that Trent and Miles were sitting.
Idiot! AJ cursed himself as he realized that he had lapsed in his mental calculations. He started over, hoping that there weren’t any slithy psis on this damned rock. Start with the basics, he reminded himself. u = (v+w)/(1 + vw/c²). Easy enough.
“I’m not aboard the Sophie anymore,” Trent admitted before adding with a touch of pride, “I’ve got my own ship now. The Bad Omen.” Throw in some wormhole metrics to complicate things further: ds² = -c²dt² + dl² + (k² + l²)(dθ² + sin²θdø²). “I’d have to check with my partners …” Another thought occurred to him, and AJ frowned once more. “You’re not in some sort of trouble are you? We don’t really care to add a heap of new troubles to the ones we already have.”
u = (v+w)/(1 + vw/c²).That's odd. Why on Athens is AJ doing astrogation calculations at a time like this?
ds² = -c²dt² + dl² + (k² + l²)(dθ² + sin²θdø²). Miles was not even picking up the normal psychic echo when AJ spoke.
Then it hit him. AJ was actively engaging his mind to keep out mind reading.
Oh god, he must have realized I was reading him. That must be why he is so suspicious. A tactical error on my part, Miles thought, one that could easily cost me my life.
AJ didn't immediately start blasting away so maybe he was unaware of the scan. Here's hoping, Miles thought.
"Everybody's got trouble AJ, but I know what you mean. I have no plans on going back to prison. I'm ready to put all that behind me."
Cort's presence was making Miles increasingly anxious. Obviously, Cort could figure out where Miles was very easily. But that's only the how?, not the much more important why?. "And on the rare occasion where trouble crops up, I"ll handle it myself. I prefer it that way, actually. So what do you think?"
The response wasn't exactly what AJ wanted to hear and he knew that it showed on his face.
"The problem with that," he pointed out, "Is that any trouble you have automatically becomes our trouble." ds² = -c²(1 - [2GM/rc²])dt² + (dr²/1 - [2GM/rc²]) + r²(dθ² + sin²θdø²) "Can you honestly say that there will never be a time when that trouble doesn't fall into our laps?"
Even as he asked the question, Trent felt like something of a hypocrite given past experiences. Both Steg and Tulk had skeletons in their closets that neither wanted to talk about, and the specter of the Normandy's disappearance loomed over everything that AJ did. Still, he had to know whether Miles was just trying to abuse their past connection from the Sophie.
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Post by zenwolf on Mar 25, 2008 19:46:04 GMT -6
The ease with which AJ was calculating the more complicated mathematical equations fascinated Miles and assured him that the Bad Omen was the ship he wanted to be on when traveling the galaxy. Still it was becoming a distraction to Miles and he decided to go ahead and sever the mind link.
Miles sighed heavily. His chances of getting off this planet were grim. If he wanted off this planet, he had to lay it all on the line, “To be perfectly honest I can’t say that. I can’t promise that I won’t bring trouble, but I can promise you this: If trouble comes, no matter who brings it, I will stand against it.”
Faced with the growing possibility of abandonment, Miles felt compelled to let down his guard. And as uncomfortable as it was for him to do so, he made himself vulnerable to another human being. “There are few people I believe I can trust and… I may be wrong in this, but for good or ill, I trust you AJ and for me that counts a lot.”
Miles always felt more comfortable traveling with people he could trust, especially when that person hated the TFR as much as Miles did. Miles knew that that combination was likely only to manifest itself on this planet, anytime soon, in the guise of AJ Trent.
However, Miles didn’t know just to what extent he could trust AJ and so, for now, secrets must be kept.
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Post by Rigil Kent on Mar 25, 2008 20:10:13 GMT -6
Trent was silent for a long moment as he took in the younger man's comments. They had the ring of truth to them, though AJ would be the first to admit that he had been deceived easily enough in the past. Still, there was something about Miles, something earnest...
And, if memory served correctly, Coen hated the TFR nearly as much as AJ did. He couldn't be all bad. Could he? At least he wasn't one of those slithy psis...
"I can't speak for the company," Trent stated coolly. That was an understatement if there ever was one. He wondered what Tulk would say or do. Sometimes, that man made paranoid schizophrenics look normal. "But I'll see what I can do." AJ wondered if he should mention Ty's planned departure, then quickly discarded the notion. There was no need for Coen to believe that he was a shoe-in. "I'm not promising anything," Trent continued, "But we might be able to do a deal."
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Post by zenwolf on Mar 26, 2008 19:06:50 GMT -6
Miles smiled, grabbed AJ’s hand and shook it, “You won’t regret it. I just need to grab a few things I left in the rental flat and we can take off.”
Miles walked with AJ to the exit. Miles parted the animal hides and was immediately hit with a terrible sense of déjà vu. Something bad was about to happen. Miles turned and started to hop back inside the bar. “Forgot to tip the— ” Miles left ear hurt like hell and then he heard a pop! in the distance. He held his hand up to his ear and then looked at his hand. Miles head began to spin and he felt nauseous.
Blood. I’m hit. No, not now. I was almost away, why now? Andrea!
Miles turned around and saw Cort standing in front of him. In all the excitement and commotion, Miles had all but forgotten about him. Cort now had his pistol drawn and had it pointed directly at Miles. “Say goodbye, petit con!”
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Post by Gigermann on Apr 2, 2008 13:14:30 GMT -6
Miles barely heard the second shot…
He came-to an indeterminate amount of time later on an automed table in a strange place—a ship, most likely—being attended by a beautiful stranger. Seeing Miles waking, the stranger spoke softly and casually, as a reassuring doctor or nurse might, with an accent hinting at a Commonwealth origin. "Betty…you were about to ask my name, yes?" She paused for a beat, and continued, "You are now a guest aboard the Bad Omen—well, a temporary employee I suppose. And this is not your first time to be shot, is it?"
His head still clearing from a cocktail of trauma and drugs, Miles reflexively eavesdropped on her surface thoughts as she spoke, only to find complete, dead silence. He choked back the urge to panic, thinking his "gifts" had been somehow damaged in the attack, and concluded that she was probably an android—a relatively common sight on small vessels with a limited crew. As he was about to give answer, he was interrupted by the familiar, nearby sound of approaching mag-boots, as AJ arrived at the cramped corner that served as a med-station.
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