Fare Thee Well

It was hard for me to decide just what to say with this RP, since so many things were happening on many different levels. Without Steve's prompts I would never have made it. He helped me focus and that done, it was all gold. Thanks, Steve!--Maer

Friday, 04 Jul 2521
Small Craft Airfield, PDF Base
Lorngaard, Highgate
Blue Sun (Qing Long) system
1930hrs, local time

Winfield told me where I could find him. Mike was on the small airstrip at the PDF base. Kitted out in a flight suit with grav rigging, he was busy loading supplies in the cargo compartment of his ship when I walked up. It was a long-range fighter, a pre-war relic, rusted and banged up in places. My hands itched to run over her, to find and patch her hurts. It only reminded me how simple and forgiving machines were compared to people, and how complicated my relationship with Mike really was. Especially now.

"Hey," I said, knowing he'd already seen me crossing the tarmac. "Need a hand?"

***

Mike looked up, there was a glint in his eyes, and he drops the box he was about to place in the fighter. He approached with an expectant look, a bit vulnerable. But somewhere in the dozen paces it took to reach Rina, his demeanor changed. He could sense something wasn't quite right. His arms, just beginning to move for an embrace, pulled back and he arrested his movement a few steps from Rina. He stood there a moment. Then spoke nonchalantly.

"Rina. I'm glad you were able to see me off. Assuming this thing can actually get off the ground, or be spaceworthy. All that work on that damned Mustang and they’re sending me out in a gorram torpedo."

***

"Oh no, you don't," I said and wrapped my arms around him and held him. I saw his expression change and knew what it meant. It didn't change how I loved him or how much. "C'mere."

***

Mike's body felt rigid for a bit, then relaxed slightly, but still there was tension in his muscles. He let the embrace linger a moment. Then pulled himself loose and walked towards the old ship. "The starboard engine vibrates like an old clothes dryer, this is a one-way trip, so I don't need it to be perfect. But, I'd like have all my teeth when I get there. Anything you can do about it?" He seemed to emphasize "one way" more than was needed.

***

I actually looked around for the tool cart before I realized what he was doing.

Nice try.

"Mike," I said. God, I don't want to do this, I don't want to do this... "We need to talk."

***

Mike was hefting another crate into the cramped cargo area, and answered her in a casual voice. "Irina, you never needed my permission to say what's on your mind. So talk."

***

Don’t drag it out. Just say it.

“I’m not going with you.”

***

Mike paused, one arm holding the cargo container from falling out the ship. "Is this because... of him?"

***

"Yes." I pushed the container the rest of the way in and took his hand off the hatch. "And no."

***

He grips her hand with a bit more force than appropriate, then releases it. "I could see it on your face when I told you to kill him. I knew it wasn't going to happen. It wasn't jealousy behind that by the way. That man is dangerous." Then he walks over to a small lift parked beneath the ship. "But there was something else?"

***

"You taught me to never go against my gut. And it's telling me that you're wrong. At least, with regard to the way the man is now."

***

"And your gut is also telling you not to go with me? Maybe we should reconsider the wisdom of your gut."

***

"And maybe you should reconsider your intel, because what you told me doesn't match the evidence."

***

Mike smiles with an air of confidence, like he's heard that before. "If you think I am going to Miranda expecting a utopia, I don't. But I do expect an honest fight, the kind of thing worth fighting for, worth dying for." Then he turns around and looks you in the eyes. "Regarding Mr. Drake. My Intel tells me he was part of a secret project that took sensitive young people, brain washed them, carved up their brains, and exposed them to drugs the likes of which make my little episode seem like a hangover. They created gorram mind "readers" people able to read your mind, believe it or not. Why? To make them better at anticipating your moves, but also to become who you want them to be, who you need them to be. And then.. well once they become indispensable to you, you are theirs." He turns back to his ship. "Tell me my intelligence is wrong."

***

"That's pretty spot on. We've met at least two of them. Both of them are running from Blue Sun. Volker's one. Drake's another. And here's something you might not know: My crew's got a standing kill-order on Drake. The minute he turns on us, at least two of us are gunning him down. He knows it. He's agreed to it. But in the meantime he wants a chance to reverse the evil he's done under Blue Sun's control and I believe he should have that chance at redemption, Mike. Asking me to kill him when he hasn't done anything? I can't do that. It's wrong."

I crossed my arms and scowled at my boots.

"And I hated you for ordering me to do it. Maybe you felt you had to buy your freedom over the body of a good man, Mike. I don't. I can't. If you remember, you gave me that chance on Salisbury and I didn't take it. Why did you think I'd do it now?"

***

"You didn't do it then because... you…." Mike seems to want to say one thing, but corrects himself, "You.. were being smart. Trapped up there in the monastery, killing me would do nothing for you. But this?" He waves his hands. "Irina, you're being stupid. We kill," he gestures to the two of you ,"because we are good at it, because we can separate our hearts from our minds, and when it serves… the greater purpose. And because good men die all the time, hell if good men didn't die, this 'Verse would screech to a halt!" He seems a bit flustered. "And don't lecture me on right and wrong when you've been taking your marching orders from a Blue Sun agent." He throws up his arms and marches to the other side of the ship, hidden from view for a moment.

***

I saw it the second he made the connection, heard him change his words midsentence. It didn't take a genius to put it all together and Mike was one of the best. You were being smart, he'd said. Not Because you loved me. That had come after the day he'd handed me the gun and given me that one clear shot. Being smart was what he would have done had the situation been reversed and I could see him revising his filter concerning me and applying it to the decade since. And rather than admit he'd given his heart to a woman who might never have existed, he did what anyone in his position would do. He said I was being stupid. Claimed I'd had my head turned by sentiment. Insisted that I was just like him.

Were I, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

I heard his footsteps halt on the far side of the fuselage and everything went quiet. Looking past the belly of the fighter I could see his boots squaring off just so ... and my gut gave me a hard fast nudge.

I didn’t question it. I drew my gun, ducked under the fuselage, and straightened with my weapon braced to shoot.

***

Mike was adjusting the fuel injectors, maybe give himself a little maneuvering room when he got to Miranda, and keep his hands occupied, when Rina popped up behind him gun pointing right at his head. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. He breathed a silent sigh of relief. She's okay. "I'd say it isn't like you to kill a good man in cold blood, but I'd be wrong about "good" and "cold"." He looked at Rina with genuine warmth, but also a slight look of condescending certainty. "At least I know you can deal with him, when you need to. And you will need to. When you're done with him, with that, you'll come to me."

***

Irked, I holstered my gun and frowned at him.

"You arrogant ass," I said, meaning it. Mike was still bound for Miranda and I was still not going with him. My promise to him was still broken and it was still going to hurt like hell. But I saw it in his eyes when I cleared the fuselage, saw it over my gun: he was letting me go, trusting I could take care of myself when the time came. The matter of Joshua was settled between us and all that was left was to say goodbye.

And Mike being Mike, he’d arranged it like the chess master he was.

“Stop. You’re doing it wrong,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. "You never could tweak the injectors right. Always making the mixture too thin. Gimme that wrench."

***

Go back to: Timeline Season Four, April 2521 to Dec 2521

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