Blue Remembered Hills (ch12)

[igenlode]

This is the chapter I remember having a lot of trouble with when it came to writing up the scene, as I'd imagined the whole thing from an omniscient external perspective, then had to decide whose viewpoint I could possibly use to recount it from: none of the characters are actually on the spot the whole way through. It's a similar problem to the one I would have with my Buquet-story several years later, but in this case I decided to show Erik and Cris eavesdropping through the omnipresent surveillance system rather than telling the story from the viewpoint of any of the actual participants; however, this then raised the question of how I was going to format Erik's little interjections, especially given the extremely limited options accepted by fanfiction.net (bold, italic and underline, basically)!

I think it works...

---

Chapter 12: A Disinterested Gift

Cris clutched at Erik’s arm, terrified eyes glimpsed through the pale silk of her hair as if through a lying veil of innocence, and he shook her off. She had never been a beauty; with her face blotched and red, she was more ordinary than ever. Just another silly, shallow-minded child, he told himself, trying to staunch the howling tide of pain that swept over him whenever he saw her look at the boy. Whenever he saw her pouring out that sweetness, that compassion, on youthful limbs and a foolish nose... why, it was long enough to provide noses for the both of them, Erik thought savagely. Perhaps he should propose it to her. It was ironic, after all, that one of her lovers should be so gifted and the other so deprived in that department...

“Please—” Desperate hands grasped at him again. “Erik, please — what’s happening to him? Oh, what have you done?”

“You’ll find it’s a question of what you have done,” he flung back, and saw her flinch. There was bitter satisfaction in it, though she still did not understand. But she would. Oh, she would see.

The little drama was unfolding now as Erik had designed it. He had not designed it for her to witness; but if she chose to intrude her pitying heart into places where it had no right to belong, then she must take the consequences of that entertainment by his side.

He caught at those grasping hands with the icy bone of his own — more hideous than ever against those tiny, tapered fingers, so soft, tender and unmaimed — and forced her closer to the console’s cold casing.

“You wanted to hear — now Erik will let you listen. Shall we watch them? Erik can do that too...”

He’d cut off the transmitter feed she’d been using — no need to betray the presence of eavesdroppers — but the boy’s voice still carried, husky with would-be defiance that only revealed his fear, and Erik almost crooned, releasing Cris so that his fingers could fly across the boards.

Heavy boots trampled as the security detail formed up outside the cell, and restraints jingled as the two troopers who’d entered took hold of their prisoner; dozens of displays flickered before Erik as he slid through surveillance grids, narrowing the data, but he had no need to see to enjoy what was going on down there.

Treason. It was a fine word to play with, and Cris and her precious lover had played at it for more than long enough. Had she thought that only she would carry the blame?

The sound of a blow. The boy’s voice cracked on a protesting cry, in shameful youth; Erik found himself humming in rhythm to the march of receding feet, the deep vibration a purring pleasure in his breast.

One screen steadied, finally, and settled on the right cell. Cris craned forward despite herself; but the signs of her lover’s late occupancy were few, and dishevelled.

“No little messages? No secret tokens left between sweethearts?” His voice caressed her, poison-sweet. “Then how lucky that Erik knows where the boy is bound. Shall we see the last act in our little joke?”

No need to search this time. He had been monitoring the commanding officer’s suite for weeks, and it was the act of a moment to bring up the view he wanted. Philp was seated at his desk, leaning his head on one hand as he reviewed material on the display there; caught off-guard, he looked rather weary. There was no-one else in the room.

Cris gave a blank look, then sank down onto the bench in front of the console she’d been using, pushing tangled hair out of her eyes again. “I don’t understand.” She sounded hopeless. “Please, Erik, I don’t understand any of this.”

She looked straight up into his face without a flinch, and he could see only desperation and appeal in her eyes. She no longer shrank from Erik. She was begging of him just as she would have done with any other man... and he would have been in ecstasies over it, if all her concern had not been so obviously absorbed in the welfare of that wretched interloper.

Besides, the course of events had been obvious to Erik. Clearly she had not been paying proper attention. He had expected better of her.

“Erik could not allow your little pilot officer to interfere any further with his plans for you,” he explained impatiently. “He had to put him out of the way before calling a meeting of the Operation. So naturally Erik caused him to be arrested. It was very easy. Now they have come to take the boy for questioning. Soon the Federation will dispose of him for Erik...”

“But why? Why would they do this? What has he ever done?” Tears spilled over, and Erik’s control snapped. How dared she spend her tears on such an unworthy object?

“You ask that?” He twisted his hands in her hair — no longer the elusive sheen of his dreams, but a clinging straggle across her back — and forced her head round again, holding her there in front of the screen. “You — who were present for every dissident word, every kiss of treason? Loving you is a crime in itself... or perhaps you need to refresh your memory on that point with the footage that Captain Philp is appreciating so much?”

No answer. Erik didn’t wait for one. He ran the clips for her just as he’d slipped them — in the guise of an anonymous correspondent — into the Federation commander’s incoming files, complete with date codes and locations.

He’d enjoyed creating this one; far more than he had with the edit that was to cut Cris off from any allies in the Operation and make her his alone. No, the boy’s tape had been an exercise in inspiration: every foolish phrase he’d ever let slip that might constitute a security breach, every rash critique of Federation policy or morals, all sorts of innocent remarks that took on sinister overtones when presented in quite another context... The young fool had been loose-tongued enough to condemn himself quite nicely, but with Erik’s malice behind it the assembled footage had become a damning exercise in deceit.

He had never imagined of course that Cris would appreciate the artistry of it; but when she slammed the playback shut after barely a minute — the office on the screen beyond still empty of prisoner and escort — he had not, somehow, anticipated rage. Not from her. Not from Cris, who shrank from anger and returned kindness for scorn. And not even mother-fury for the pitiful boy, but sheer outrage for herself.

“You knew! You knew all along— Ghost. You knew just how little loyalty he had to the Federation, how willing he would have been to be one of us... When you held me up and condemned me in yesterday’s nightmare, I thought I deserved it. When you showed us together and they howled, when you showed every word I’d let slip, I could have died of shame. I thought you’d caught glimpses — judged us on what you’d seen. I thought my betrayal was real.”

She drew a deep sobbing breath, her eyes blazing as they raked him with a hurt that she could not guess.

“But you knew everything, you knew just how innocent it was, and you chose... you chose to twist it. I thought you were acting to protect a cause; when Angel Six warned me against my oldest friend I grew sure he was wrong... but I never believed he would lie. Yes, lie! You used lies to put me through torment — lies with words, lies with pictures, lies with our lives — all for no better reason than blind, petty jealousy. You used the Operation like a toy just to get me for yourself, and now”—a finger stabbed blindly at the screen—“now you’re feeding propaganda to the Federation. Whose side are you on — what do you believe in? Do you know any more?” Her voice broke, finally. “Do you even care?”

They were bringing in the boy now, held between the captain’s own enforcers and humiliated in restraints, with a rusty smear of blood in the half-grown fuzz across his lip. It should have been the Ghost’s hour of triumph, his power howling abroad like the dust that scoured the planet. And yet Cris who owed him everything, at whose feet he would have crawled for a single word, stood there lost and bedraggled and defied him in the heart of his own domain.

“Erik is on Erik’s side — and there he is alone. As always.” The words were hissed from the heart of his pain, and he saw her flinch. Then he reached for his mask and shut himself away.

Ghost she had called him, and Ghost she should have. She had scorned Erik, who worshipped her. Then let her deal with a masked captor, and no cripple for love.

The girl’s hands were moving in the mass of her hair and braiding up her own angry defences; she coiled a loose plait at the nape of her neck and fixed it there with a twist and thrust from a pin inside her pocket, her head braced high on the slender column of her throat. She had turned her back.

On the screen before them, Philp’s office was a brightly-lit set playing out a distant drama. But triumph tasted of ashes with that aching silence at his side.

~o~

“You can release the prisoner now.” The captain’s voice was weary, and one hand toyed with the stack of databricks on his desk. “Thank you, Section Leader — you can stand down your men outside. Petrov, Killan: at ease— dismiss. I shan’t require your services to stand guard over the accused... Yes, Section Leader, I am indeed aware of the charges in this case. But with all due respect, I believe we may dispense with regulations where the misdemeanours of cadets are concerned...”

With a sigh, Philp unholstered his own snub-nosed weapon and laid it to hand, the dark eye of the regulation issue sidearm pointed unwavering at the young man standing stiffly before him. “Is that sufficient security?... Thank you, that will be all.”

He waited for the last of the troopers and their NCO — still rigid with disapproval — to file out of the room, leaned back in his seat, and surveyed the offender with a sardonic eye. “I suppose you do know the nature of the charges, Pilot Officer?”

A pause.

“I’ve had them — explained to me.” Rall’s hand went up, probably unconsciously, to his split lip. His reluctant voice took on a sudden urgency. “But sir, you don’t believe—”

“I don’t believe you do understand what we’re dealing with.” Philp’s hand slammed down suddenly into a fist as he came bolt upright. “This is treason, Rall! This isn’t flirtations and fights any more: this is assisting the enemy, defaming the Supreme Commander, concealing information, breaking the oath of service, and as many other charges as I care to make stick! Do you know what would happen to you”—his hand crashed on the desk again—”if this evidence were fed into the Judgement Program as it stands? No defence counsel in the galaxy could alter the sentence of the tribunal—”

He cut off the rising tirade with a visible effort and got to his feet, bracing himself forward over the desk between them until his exasperation was pitched almost too low for the pick-ups to hear. “Just what in the name of the plague-ridden slimepits of Portifus Sigma did you think you were doing?”

A snarl of teeth as Rall drew breath. “No, don’t answer that: dear stars above, boy, haven’t you ever heard of a rhetorical question? If you want to save your skin you’ll keep your mouth shut, you understand?”

(It wasn’t supposed to go like this: Erik’s fingers clenched. Philp’s own ambition should have let him jump at the chance — what was wrong with the man?)

The captain sighed again and sank back down into his chair, rubbing at the crease between his eyes. “So. We’ll assume for the moment that it’s finally dawned on you just how much of a fool you’ve been played for—don’t speak!—and how much the girl’s been laughing at you up her sleeve. It had better dawn pretty quick, because I’m not having a black mark of that kind hanging over my ship on account of a single stupid infatuation... I could push this all the way to Sector Command — make a big thing out of it, get a promotion maybe — but it wouldn’t do the Service any good to break and court-martial you at this stage. I’m not so gullible that I can’t tell some of these rash remarks”—he tapped the data stack in front of him—“were cropped out of context; she had you dancing on her string and she led you on to say something you shouldn’t. And then some disinterested soul decided to make me a gift of it out of pure civic duty? I don’t think so.”

He smiled, thinly and entirely without humour. “So you won’t stand your trial for treason, Rall, because I don’t care to have a stink of that nature attached to the name of the Borda... and because I don’t care to be pushed around by persons unknown. But you’ll lose that promotion as of now — you’ll serve another year as cadet and think yourself lucky for it — you’ll consider yourself confined to quarters until we leave and for thirty days thereafter, and of course it goes without saying that you will be having no further contact whatsoever with that girl. Or returning to this planet of yours for a very long time... Any questions?”

An instant of silence.

“I’ve got to get her out of there.” It spilled out of Rall almost without thought, and for a moment his commanding officer looked as if he were about to burst a blood-vessel.

“You— what?”

“I’ve got to get her away from him — the Ghost. This whole thing is some kind of set-up. He said it himself, he even expects me to come rushing in; he’s probably listening now. Are you up there, Erik?” The young man stared round wildly at ceiling height, seeking the camera’s eye. “Are you listening — are you laughing? Oh, but with Erik, you simply can’t tell—”

“Are you completely insane? Did you hear one word of what I said just now?” Philp had jumped to his feet, incensed; now he came round the desk and caught hold of the boy by the shoulders, shaking him violently. “Wake up, you young fool!”

(And masked Erik was laughing, soundlessly, teeth bared in their eternal grin: let the boy make a spectacle of himself, then, if Philp would not act. Let him come rushing in, if he could. Let him give Erik that pleasure at least.)

“I’m very much awake, sir,” Rall said hotly, trying to pull free. “I heard the Ghost — her Angel — that voice... I’ve got to go to her. Give me half a section of men and I’ll have him; he hates me, I know that now, and he won’t resist such a chance—”

He struggled desperately against the older man. “She mustn’t see him weep, it’s too horrible—”

Against Captain Philp’s greater weight and experience he had no chance. But the exertion needed to subdue a disgraced cadet had done nothing for the captain’s temper. “You’re raving, boy! Listen to yourself — or are you out of your mind altogether? If you think I’m going to let this pass—”

“I heard her, I tell you!” Rall swung round, only to find himself pinned back against the desk. “He was half-sobbing with fury and frustration, and tears of impatience were in his eyes. “He drugged her and took her — he’s completely obsessed—”

“Only one person in this room is completely obsessed, and he’s no ghost,” Philp retorted with considerable justice. “I wouldn’t send you anywhere near this girl if you were the last officer on Newparis — do you hear me? One more word, and I’ll have you dismissed the Service. Is that clear? Is that quite clear, Cadet?”

Rall, with an evident effort, mastered himself sufficiently to say nothing at all, and after a further moment the captain released him.

(Philp’s gun lay at arm’s-length behind them on the table-top, to all appearances forgotten. Erik wondered idly if the boy was as acutely conscious of it as he himself. A killing would serve as well as treason for the Ghost’s purposes. Perhaps the temptation might need a little nudge? Surely after digging himself into such a hole, the young hothead could not be about to disappoint with a display of entirely uncharacteristic common sense...)

“I’m reassigning you to a hundred days’ guard duty down in the slave pits of Ursa Prime — for gross insubordination. You’ll see space again as and when your new commanding officer sees fit.” Philp’s voice was icy. “As of this moment you are discharged from the Borda’s rolls. Killan and Petrov will escort you personally to detention awaiting transport. You will—”

“In or out, I’m going,” Rall said softly. But one hand had begun to feel backwards across the desk.

Taken aback, Philp stared at him, frowning. Seconds later, as his eyes fell upon that stealthy movement, he made a lunge of his own, crashing heedless with his full weight across the path of Rall’s outstretched wrist. The younger man was faster by an instant.

The weapon was already in his hand as he leapt clear, and Philp, lying winded across the desk, found himself gazing in outrage down the muzzle of his own gun, and behind it a pair of steady blue eyes.

“In or out of the Federation, I’m going for Cris,” Rall said again, between set teeth. “If you’d given me the men I wanted, you could have had the Ghost of the Operation; but if I have to, I’ll go alone. You can give my compliments to Servalan and the rest of Space Command in any terms you like — I’m sure you’ve a word or two in your vocabulary to fit the whole parcel of them... sir.”

He was breathing hard, but his aim was steady.

“I’m grateful for what you tried to do for me and I don’t want to have to hurt you—don’t move!”—edging towards the exit now—”but if you force me to it, Captain Philp, I’ll fire.”

“This is madness,” Philp told him grimly, trying to straighten his uniform one-handed with a wary eye to the weapon in the boy’s grasp. “You realise it’s my duty to prevent it any way I can?”

Rall shrugged. “Goodbye, sir.”

“Rall—”

“Goodbye.”

He reached for the door even as Philp’s other hand found the toggle he wanted. The lights died, abruptly, and bodies collided with a curse.

The flare from the gun lit up a momentary tableau of struggling men; then a heavy weight went reeling backwards and fell hard, with a dull blow of finality. For a moment all was silence, both in the office and on the other side of the screen.

Erik’s breath hissed in the mask, amplified by anticipation; he worked overrides on Philp’s systems, reached for control... and then a dim shaft of light shone from the corridor as the door slid back, framing the boy’s gawky figure. He had hesitated, turning back.

Half-visible in the darkened room, Captain Philp lay sprawled where he had struck the floor. The arm flung up across his face was scorched and blackened, and he did not move.

At Erik’s side, Cris was twisting her hands together; she had abandoned all pretence of defiant detachment, and now a hopeless small sound escaped her at the sight. The boy’s silhouette on the screen was irresolute.

Then Philp rolled over with a great snoring breath, groaning, and his assailant turned on the instant and ran, thrusting the weapon into the belt of his uniform as he went. Erik snarled, and used his override to bring the lights up, watching as the captain tried to haul himself to his feet. Stunned and in pain, he was making heavy weather of it. The Ghost’s glare in itself could have knocked him flat.

He was clawing his way up the edge of the desk now. The intercom... or was it the alarm? Erik had both under his control: the possibilities of the comms system were... more interesting.

Philp’s wavering hand found the intercom set, tugging at the heavy receiver. It rolled free at last.

“Killan!” Philp cursed, and reached for the transmit switch, squinting at the screen. “Killan—”

In a gallery high above the streets of the Dome, on the far side of an epoch that was less than a day old, the Newparis Ghost had sent power surging back through the camera transmitter to obliterate the memory of a kiss. Erik’s fingers moved again.

Current flared; struck, in a massive discharge. The captain’s blackened face fell forward. This time it did not rise.

~o~

That should do very nicely.

Erik surveyed the scene as the empty circuit bleated fruitless alarm. Call it a disinterested gift from persons unknown: an element of sardonic pleasure in that. Philp had believed himself superior to Erik’s schemes. His demise held a double savour.

He chuckled, enjoying the thought. The girl beside him was ashen-white, and he laid a genial hand on her shoulder, ignoring the flinch. “And so, my dear, it seems your lover will be coming to visit us after all — if he can escape the hue and cry, that is. The Federation does not concern itself with mass murder, but a little killing among friends... why, that’s different.”

“You — killed him.” She was trembling under his grasp, that slim body rigid with reaction. “You — you killed him...”

It was her first time, of course. Erik tended to forget such things. She was new to this life of theirs; but she would learn.

“Why, Erik helped.” Mock-modesty, made grotesque by the mask. The jest ceased, abruptly, to amuse him. His fingers tightened on tender flesh, bruising. “And Cris helped! Mad, foolish Cris, to bring Federation boys into other people’s business. Erik left her, to see if she could be trusted... and look what has come of it.” His grip was remorseless as she cried out. “Look what has come of it!”

The alert was sounding now. Philp no longer sprawled distorted and alone; a broad, black-clad figure —one of the Captain’s personal enforcers, no doubt; Petrov, or perhaps Killan— stood over the body, gesturing angrily to hold back the troopers trying to crowd in. His taller colleague was surveying the scene with swift, professional fury, snapping out conclusions over his shoulder for Petrov’s benefit. They’d been ordered to leave, of course... but heads would roll all the same. Oh yes, Erik thought, heads would definitely roll over this one.

He’d taken the precaution, naturally, of amending those last few seconds of surveillance footage; and with weapon and perpetrator gone, even the Federation couldn’t fail to draw the obvious deduction. Erik wondered if the boy would make it to the edge of the city before they caught up with him. He almost hoped he would. It had occurred to him, belatedly, that it would be so much more entertaining to deal with him personally, in the end.

Comments

[betweensunandmoon]

That wasn't a happy chapter, not at all...but somehow, it was exactly what I needed.

So now we have two rescue missions going on at once...I have a feeling they're going to collide before long. :P

[igenlode]

Well, as far as I remember (I don't have access to the story from this computer) the next chapter title was 'Rebel Alliance' :-D

[betweensunandmoon]

Sounds perfect. :D