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Drifter
The entire cellblock was dank and creepy and the hair on the back of Ezra's neck started to rise; if there were ever a dark hole that a man might disappear into, never to be heard from again, this would be it.
He wasn't naïve enough to have presumed the Baultan facility would be welcoming, but the truth of it was, he hadn't expected it to be so utterly disturbing, either. The rumors that abounded about the Baultan penal system were one thing, but when you put that together with the full body scan he'd been subjected to on presenting himself to the administration block, and the comprehensive records interrogation that even authorized entry required, then this was, in all likelihood, the most disconcerted Ezra had been in recent memory.
Then again, nothing he'd been subjected to should have surprised him -- everyone knew the Baultan rules -- but knowing and experiencing were oh-so-very-much not the same thing. And to this point in his career he'd managed to avoid the need to expose himself to such scrutiny. After all, he had an image to maintain and what was the good of earning the position of Senior Advocate if he couldn't hand off the dirty work to the younger and more reckless wanna-be's who haunted every court in the system?
So it said a lot about Chris Larabee's influence that Ezra had acquiesced with only the most pitiful resistance when the man had insisted Ezra complete this task himself. Seriously, what was it about the Clarion's Captain that could persuade Ezra to ignore even the most basic of preservation instincts?
Ezra smoothed his features into a bland mask and waited patiently for the guard to enter the complex validation code. It wouldn't do to give away his discomfort and he really didn't want to add this Neanderthal to the growing list of those who seemed able to see right through him. Larabee's knowing smirk as Ezra had finally named a price for the job had been humiliating enough; the fact that he'd handed over the up-front credits without argument and promised the rest on delivery was at least a victory of sorts.
Ezra smirked a little, remembering that he hadn't even needed to make a case for the exorbitant fee he'd quoted. It made him wish he'd been in the bar earlier in the week and seen the fight responsible for this situation, to understand what it was, exactly, that Larabee felt he owed this stranger.
The guard made a series of guttural sounds, almost as though he were reciting a set of numbers, and Ezra swallowed hard. Perhaps his fee wasn't so outrageous after all. The Baultans held the view that anyone breaking their social code forfeited all rights, and though this cellblock was merely a holding area for those still to face trial, it painted a vivid picture of what fate might await should his deception be discovered.
Ezra suppressed a shiver. The air was freezing and the surroundings made his skin crawl. Dark grey walls and a slightly darker floor and ceiling formed the corridor; they were made of a strange substance that seemed to swallow the light except where the smooth surface was broken at precise intervals by horizontal panels bathed in the eerie blue, ripple-shimmer of restraining fields.
The strange unreality of the scene was only heightened by the way the light reflected off the guard as he stepped away from the panel, his orange-yellow skin turning a sickly green, the prominent purple spots at his temples seeming to jump and flicker in a bizarre fashion. Ezra lingered in the doorway; nothing less than a quadrupling of his fee would persuade him to advance further, not when the only requirement was that he be present to secure the prisoner's release and he could do that quite nicely where he was, thank you very much.
The guard stopped at one of the doors and punched in another code causing the field to shut off and the bars to retract smoothly. When he spoke, it was in the flat, rasping language of the Baultans, but the name "Tanner!" was snapped out clearly enough.
The man who emerged from the dark hole was clad in the standard grey, Andron-threaded restraining suit unique to the Baultan penal system, his unshaven face framed by long hair that hung limp to his shoulders. A ragged cut over his eyebrow gave him a faintly sinister air, and he sported a black eye and an angry purple bruise high on his left cheek. By their livid color, his bruises were remnants of the bar fight, although it would hardly be surprising to find that his injuries had been added to in this place. Ezra had enough personal experience to know how precarious a prisoner's situation could be.
Tanner held himself carefully, as though moving were painful, and Ezra could see he was trying to protect his right arm by bracing it against his side. Ribs or shoulder injury, he surmised, watching the other man carefully.
Tanner's hands were held immobile in front of his body by the large one-piece restraints that the Baultans favored; fashioned from the organic form of Andron, they were virtually bonded to the wearer until released by a specific digital key. They held his arms and hands in an unnatural position and Ezra signaled toward them, clearing his throat to catch the guard's attention.
"If you wouldn't mind?"
The guard's response was unintelligible, but his headshake clearly said "no". Then he gestured toward the exit, almost shooing them both forward.
Ezra really wanted to roll his eyes. "Such eloquence," he muttered under his breath, momentarily giving in to the reckless anxiety that had been building. He thought he'd said it quietly. He'd meant to say it quietly, but it was a measure of his disquiet that he'd even voiced the thought at all. And by the sardonic twist to Tanner's mouth, he'd overheard. Not the guard, though, Ezra confirmed with a quick glance. He was still occupied at the keypad.
The bars slid smoothly shut and the restraining field re-engaged with a fatalistic click-thunk.
Ezra returned his attention to Tanner, wondering if he'd imagined the response, but the man's eyes were definitely twinkling. So, a sense of humor. That was surprising, and given the circumstances, impressive. Ezra's anxiety shifted to curiosity, and suddenly he began to understand Larabee's interest.
But there'd be time enough for contemplation later. What they needed more than anything else was to be out of there, so Ezra schooled his features into indifference and followed when the guard preceded them back to Administration. Tanner didn't make a sound the entire time, just walked where directed and maintained an unnatural stillness. By the time he stood in front of the detention clerk, accepting a box of Tanner's belongings, Ezra was starting to wonder if the other man could, in fact, speak.
"Edward Smith?" The clerk's voice came out in the standard flat monotone of a language translator, and he shoved a data-pad toward Ezra. "Please leave your mark."
Ezra dutifully ran his right forearm over the data-pad then stepped back when the confirming beep sounded. "Is that all?"
The clerk watched as the data scrolled by, then extracted the key crystal and handed it to over. "Your release key," he said, not even looking up. "You're entitled to retain the restraints for transport, but they're required to be returned within seven days."
Ezra turned the flat crystal over in his hand. Keyed to the restraints and encoded with his own genetic signature it, in effect, gave him total control over Tanner's release. For a minute he considered the possibility of using that to his advantage, but when he looked up to meet steely blue eyes, the thought disappeared as fast as it had come. When one of Tanner's eyebrows also lifted an inch, he felt a flush creep up his face.
Chagrined, Ezra stepped forward and slotted the crystal into the appropriate opening, surprised when Tanner jerked away at the first opportunity and disengaged the device himself with a flick of his wrist. But even though he moved fast, pulling down his sleeves with a swift motion, he wasn't quick enough to hide the raw skin on his wrists. Ezra frowned but said nothing, just watched as Tanner placed the now inert restraint on the bench within the clerk's reach.
"How about we just leave it here right now," Tanner said in a low raspy voice, and the clerk shrugged.
"That would be acceptable," he replied and made another entry before turning to Ezra and using the formal words of discharge. "You are released from any further obligation to the Baultan System."
"I acknowledge your release and take charge of the prisoner." Ezra responded with equal formality, but his mind was still on Tanner. He'd only ever seen that kind of reaction to Andron restraints once before and the implication was serious enough to make him nervous. He looked around, relieved to find marker symbols that indicated the restraining shield ended at the Administration area and didn't include the foyer, and gestured Tanner toward the exit. But they hadn't taken more than two steps when the clerk raised his voice. "Wait."
Tanner froze in place and Ezra turned, forcing himself to relax. "What is it?" he queried, maintaining a polite façade.
"You must deactivate the suit before crossing the shield," the guard stated and gestured from Tanner to an upright field generator. "Place the crystal in the control panel and walk through the field."
"Of course." Ezra nodded and turned away. Baultan penal system suits were threaded with metallic Andron which, when active, prevented the wearer from crossing any kind of restraining field or shielded area. "Mr. Tanner." Ezra gestured toward the machine. "If you wouldn't mind -- I do believe it is past time we effected your emancipation."
Tanner didn't speak, just waited while Ezra did as instructed, but he seemed apprehensive, rubbing one hand at his wrist and shifting his weight from foot to foot. It made Ezra anxious as well, and his heart skipped a beat when Tanner stumbled slightly as he passed through the field. Without thinking, Ezra reached out a hand to steady him by the elbow, but let go quickly when Tanner hissed in pain.
"Something you want to tell me?" Ezra asked, as Tanner took a second to steady himself.
"Close encounter with a blaster," came the quiet deflection, then Tanner pushed past. "You think we can leave now?"
"Oh, please." Ezra made a sweeping gesture toward the exit, somewhat stung by the lie -- skin reaction to Andron, systemic reaction to the deactivation field -- did the man think he was blind? "Don't let me stop you."
Tanner glared and started forward leaving Ezra no choice but to follow, but after just a couple of steps he slowed down, as if reconsidering. When Ezra caught up, Tanner leaned in closer and spoke quickly.
"All right, there is something you should know." He glanced around, his nervousness more apparent. "Right now I don't have a functioning chip, so tell me you've got a locator booster with you, because if you don't, there's no way I'm getting away from the trouble that's going to hit us when we pass that shield." He nodded toward the exit and Ezra's blood froze.
"How did you know..." he began, but stopped when Tanner turned toward him and grinned, his whole face lighting up. Ezra sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly, so taken by the transformation he almost missed the response.
"Figured if Larabee sent you, you probably would."
Ezra narrowed his eyes as the pieces fell into place. Only Senior Advocates were licensed to carry locator boosters, the mobile locator devices that allowed the wearer to pass through a shield or restraining field without authorisation. The fact that they also allowed a transport beam to lock onto an individual without a chip was an added bonus in this situation, but they were strictly for the use of the licensed individual. If Ezra were caught allowing someone else to use it -- and here, in the Baultan holding center of all places--
He cursed Chris Larabee six ways to Sunday. Larabee's insistence that Era undertake this assignment himself now made an infuriating sense. Tanner didn't have an embedded chip, and if you put that together with his reaction to the restraints it could only mean one thing. Ezra's mind sped ahead, scrolling through the hundred-and-one ways this could all go wrong, and his desire to inflict physical harm on Larabee swelled and grew. If he hadn't gone to the elaborate trouble of using one of his assumed identities he'd be facing serious ramifications right now.
"I can see I seriously under-quoted on this job," he muttered as he pulled the device in question from an inside pocket and lifted Tanner's arm to secure it to his wrist. For a moment he just stared at the red, raw skin revealed, then he lifted his eyes to Tanner's. There was a clear challenge there, but Ezra merely tilted his head slightly and headed toward the door.
"No point waiting for a miracle," he muttered, then added more loudly to Tanner: "Stay close by, you'll need personal contact with me to achieve the lock."
Tanner nodded, and when they passed through the shield and the warning light flickered, he was no more than a half step behind. Ezra reached for his arm to trigger the device then, as what seemed like every guard in the area started toward them, activated his communicator.
"Two to transport, Miss Wells, if you wouldn't mind." He continued to hold Tanner's arm to facilitate the lock and he scowled when Tanner had the gall to smirk at his gentle handling.
When there was no immediate answer, he double-buzzed the communicator and spoke with what he hoped was more authority.
"Now would be useful, thank you, Casey!"
"Ok, ok. Give a girl some warning! I'm guessing number two is the person you're holding hands with?" she asked, the genial sarcasm transmitting easily over the communications channel. Ezra wasn't impressed, Casey Wells might well be one of the best engineers he'd come across, but she could definitely do with a lesson in manners.
"Lock engaged -- stand by for transport," she finally said.
Ezra tightened his grip as the air around them shimmered, the floor seemed to tilt, then they were on the transport deck of the Clarion. Tanner's arm yanked out of his grasp, and when Ezra turned, it was to find the other manon his knees, sucking in air. Ezra waited while Tanner knelt there -- one hand braced on his thigh, the other on the floor -- giving him time to gather himself.
"You're Andaran," he said when Tanner finally raised his head. His statement was met with a glare, but Ezra continued, undeterred. "And unless I miss my guess, Andarchic as well."
"Gee, Edward, what gave it away?" Tanner made an effort to get to his feet, but it was too soon and he slewed sideways, still disoriented.
"It's Ezra. Ezra Standish, and while I have my faults, I don't count stupidity among them." Ezra cut off his intended rebuke and squatted by Tanner's side. "What do you need?"
"I'm all right." Tanner stopped trying to stand and instead sat cross-legged on the floor. "I'm Andarchic, not dying, it's no big deal."
Ezra snorted, incredulous. In the centuries since its discovery their universe had become totally reliant on Andron. In liquid, metallic or organic form, it was this millennium's miracle substance and formed the basis of almost everything. Structure, energy, transport, learning -- there was virtually no modern technology that functioned without requiring the user to interact with it via their embedded Andronic chip. But for the Andarchic - the small percentage of native Andarans genetically unable to tolerate the substance -- it was a lifetime sentence of isolation from everything that made their universe work.
Tanner was clearly one of them, but if he were moving freely in normal society, without carrying the mark of the Andarchic, then he must be using a synthetic chip. And considering the manner of their exit from the holding centre, it wasn't an authorized chip, either. That made him more than just Andarchic, it made him a Drifter, and a dangerous person to know.
"Yes, well, while I'm sure there are potentially worse things that could happen to a person," Ezra finally said, still processing the possibilities, "I'm fairly certain that being Andarchic is, in fact, a big deal. Now, I'm sure this isn't the first time you've dealt with this, so I'll ask again. What do you need?"
Transporting without a chip could cause significant neural disruption; Tanner was obviously practiced at dealing with the effect since the only other person Ezra had ever seen attempt it had been rendered unconscious. But who knew what other effects there might be that he couldn't see.
Tanner studied him briefly and then nodded, seeming to come to a decision. "It's Vin, and for a start I need to get this damn thing off." He tugged at the fastening of the jump suit.
Ezra smiled at the almost mundane nature of the request.
"All right, that we can do." He put his hand under Vin's good elbow and helped him to his feet. Vin was steadier this time and soon able to stand on his own, so Ezra turned to the transport control panel to manually purge the buffer. He couldn't do any more than that from the transporter room to cover their tracks, so he hoped Casey lived up to her reputation and thought to initiate more comprehensive scrambling measures.
By the time he turned back, Vin had managed to get his arms out of the suit and was pushing it down his legs. Ezra drew in a sharp breath as he took in the strong, tanned body now clad only in a pair of loose, white under-shorts. But it wasn't only the toned body that caught his attention. Tanner's right arm was, indeed, injured -- looked like a blaster wound, as he'd said -- and his skin carried reactive welts from contact with the Baultan suit. But his whole shoulder and upper arm sported an intricate tattoo of a bird; beak open, wings spread in flight. It was magnificent.
"Oh my," Ezra breathed and took a step closer. Without hesitation, he reached out.
The inked skin was soft and smooth and he ran a single finger along the feathered edge of a wing, exploring his way up Vin's arm and on to his shoulder, until he was tracing the bird's head.
"What is it?"
"It's an eagle," Tanner replied.
"Its beautiful." Ezra traced his fingers back down the inside of Vin's arm, delighted to find it pebble into goose bumps at his touch. "And it suits you."
"On my world, there are hundreds of different types of birds and they all fly free. Eagles like to soar; they put their wings out wide, then pick up the air currents and fly for miles."
"It's amazing." Ezra was awed; he'd never seen such a creature. Oh, he'd seen birds before, but only the smaller variety common around the planetary systems he'd frequented. This one was --
"Ezra?" Vin spoke in a low voice, and Ezra realized he still had his fingers spread over Vin's arm.
"Oh!" He pulled his hand away, embarrassed. "I do apologize."
"It's ok." Vin held his eyes, the look on his face impossible to decipher, and the silence drew out.
"It's, ah, possible I have a thing for tattoos," Ezra finally confessed, feeling a flush travel up his neck from the arousal that had settled into him at the intimate contact.
Vin just tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. "A thing?" he repeated, his amusement obvious.
"Yes," Ezra snapped, the mood broken. "A thing. A ridiculous 'thing' for the art of covering one's body with ink."
Vin was smiling openly now and he took a step forward. "What kind of a 'thing' do you mean, Ezra," he drawled, then shocked Ezra by reaching out a hand to cradle his neck. "This kind of a thing?" He leaned forward and covered Ezra's mouth with his own in an exploratory kiss.
When they finally separated, Ezra could only stare. His own behavior was peculiar enough, but that Vin had kissed him --
The truth was, he'd never really had more than a casual acquaintance with anyone who was Andarchic, and although he'd heard talk about the difficulties they faced, had passed the odd stranger carrying an identifying mark, he'd never really thought beyond the fact that they existed. He had, in fact, been guilty, of going along with the mindset that said the Andarchic were of low intelligence and only suitable for menial jobs. Now, even this short acquaintance with Vin Tanner made him wonder what it must be like to be excluded from almost all aspects of society and technology; to be virtually restricted to living in separate enclaves. To be denied the benefits of a proper education and be told, if you wanted to integrate into mainstream society, that you had to be registered and tracked. More than that, he found himself quite captivated by the charming, artistically inked man before him. It was all quite perplexing.
But before he could do anything more than meet Tanner's eyes, the door to the transport deck slid open and Nathan Jackson hustled in, scanner and medical pack in hand, Casey Wells hot on his heels. Ezra took a quick step back, feeling every inch of contact as Vin's hand slid away.
"Ezra?" Nathan queried, looking up from the scanner, then from him to Tanner, clearly confused. "The bio-systems alarm went off and I thought..."
"Mr. Jackson," Ezra cleared his throat and took another step back, then gestured at his companion. "This is Mr. Tanner, who most likely set off your alarm. He seems to have a knack for it."
A smile broke out over Nathan's face. "Vin?" he hurried forward. "Almost didn't recognize you!" He turned Ezra's way and gestured in Tanner's direction. "Ezra! This is the man who saved my ass in the bar the other night." He clapped Ezra on the back. "You did a good thing getting him here."
Casey just stood in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth open and Tanner seemed to realize the state of his undress. "Ah, Nathan, you think we could get me some pants? Maybe take a look at my arm?"
Nathan laughed out loud. "Sure, Vin," he said, nodding, already headed to the door. "Come on down to the med lab and we'll have you fixed in no time. The others are due back any minute now, so it's good timing."
Vin followed him toward the exit, but after a few steps turned back. "Thanks, Ezra," he said and tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I appreciate what you did."
"You're welcome, Vin," Ezra replied, still working to regain his composure. "No doubt I'll catch up with you later." And find out exactly who you are, and why you're here, and what it is to be a Drifter, he didn't say.
The mischievous smile returned to Vin's face and wiped the tiredness from his eyes. "Oh, you can count on that." He nodded, as if for emphasis, as he turned away.
--- the end ---