Chapter Text
Ezra was tired. His head ached and monitoring code as it cycled was about as interesting as watching Barani flies in Spring.
--- auto-run complete. Please initiate next data sequence ---
A soft completion tone accompanied the blinking cursor, and he reached out to silence it. He rested his elbow on the metallic surface of the console and leaned forward to review the summary report, checking the results line-by-line to ensure that the data was clean.
It was. He sat back, nodding in satisfaction, then brought up the next segment of database and initiated the start-up process again. Not, it should be noted, that he felt any degree of enthusiasm.
"Don't hurry now," he muttered, eyes glued to the screen, one finger tapping out an impatient beat. "Heaven forbid I should have anything better to do with my time."
The small blue and green, standby lights of the Clarion's control deck consoles winked in a randomly cheerful pattern, mocking the sheer tedium of his task. Along with the dull glow from the LCD screen, they were all that lit the quiet corner where he worked -- completing his task piece by tedious piece, searching methodically through files and data, making a change here, an adjustment there and progressively breaking every connection that had ever existed, no matter how tenuous, between Ezra Standish, respected Senior Advocate, and Edward Smith, unknown emissary and jail-breaking sympathizer.
Another task concluded and he manually re-set the system. Again.
Could this be more singularly boring?
The new data set began to scroll and Ezra made a conscious effort to focus. Inattention would lead to mistakes and mistakes were unthinkable, his goal was to undo the day's disasters, not compound them. But just the thought of the day's events triggered a sudden stark flashback of memory. The forbidding, alien cold of the Baultan detention center and the way the guard's eyes had almost glowed in the strange light had been so intimidating that even now an involuntary shiver rippled across his skin. It didn't bear thinking about the ramifications should he and Tanner have been caught, yet that was only the most obvious of his problems.
Chris Larabee's contribution played heavily on his mind, too, and he was still no closer to an understanding of why he would be so desperate to retrieve Vin Tanner that he'd put aside all other concerns. Perhaps he was just that ruthless? It was obvious to anyone who'd known him more than five minutes that Chris would do whatever was necessary to get the outcome he wanted. For the most part, Ezra admired him for it, but then he'd never been on the receiving end of that cold-blooded determination before, been made to feel so ... disposable.
It didn't help that deep down such cavalier disregard didn't fit comfortably with what he'd been starting to feel was between the two of them. Maybe he'd unconsciously read more into their relationship than was actually there; it wouldn't be the first time he'd made that kind of mistake. Closeness wasn't something he'd ever been all that good at, he'd never really learned how, but with Chris he'd started to think... to feel...
The truth was, Ezra had let Chris Larabee in closer than anyone in quite some time, so it wasn't just anger he felt now; he was hurt too, and confused. Was it so outrageous to expect his lover to show a little concern for his safety?
The task-completed tone was a welcome interruption to his tortured thoughts and he re-set the process yet again, grateful for the momentary distraction. Chris hadn't even had the decency to return from whatever task had occupied him all day, so it was pointless even dwelling on it. There'd be ample time to sort through the personal ramifications of the day's debacle later; right now, it was far more vital that he focus on the practical aspects of cleaning up the mess.
For another thirty minutes, he managed to shut out all other thoughts and work solidly, the data pad firm under his fingers and only the low background hum of the Clarion's automated systems for company. By the time the overhead lighting finally winked out as the system swapped through its automatic day-to-night cycle, he'd made significant progress.
Excellent! Ezra relaxed for the first time and a grin curved his mouth as he managed to finally conclude the asset retrieval, at least I get to keep the Sprinter, now if I can just--
The thought was broken by a clunking sound as one of the large balls of the desk chronometer fell into place and he looked up, startled to see the time.
Oh, lord, is it really so late?
His heart tripped into a faster beat and he felt disoriented, until he remembered the longer 26-hour cycle Chris insisted the ship operate on, rather than the 20-hour Galactic Standard.
He frowned and checked his wristwatch. His own timepiece was still synched with local time and showed he had four hours until the Baultans initiated their daily data uplink. He sucked in a breath of relief -- he shouldn't need more than one hour, two at most, to cleanse the system properly and ensure that there'd be no chance of anyone ever connecting his DNA to the law-breaking Edward Smith, and he'd still have enough time to get home for the Advocate's dinner. He'd have to skip debriefing with Chris, but if he were honest with himself, that was more of a bonus than anything else.
"Never again will I deride Government paranoia," he muttered, profoundly grateful for the Baultans' insistence on a degree of autonomy from the Central Galactic Administration. Most systems that joined the Union played by the rules and maintained a live link to the Administration. Only those who were more suspicious, and had the strength to be a threat, ever got away with limiting their connection to a daily upload. The Baultans most definitely fit the bill on both those counts.
Ezra stretched his neck and re-started the file search, but he'd barely begun when he was interrupted yet again, this time by the disturbing bleep of a function alarm. Damn! His hands automatically froze in place and he lifted them carefully away when he saw the error alert on the screen. This was why he always set up a secondary tracking program when he was forced to work manually -- it could identify him heading down the wrong path before his brain even registered the danger.
He scanned the code, backtracked to the last identifiable safe point, and started the sector again. When he was satisfied, he re-activated the auto-run, then rested an elbow on the console and pinched the bridge of his nose. To add to the pain building behind his eyes, his forearms and wrists ached and he'd lost count of the number of places in his back that the muscles knotted tighter than a medlin string.
It was mind-numbingly tedious working via a manual interface, but logging in via his chip wasn't an option. As a result of the fiasco that had been their exit from the holding center, the Baultans would have set flags, and the minute he placed a single digital fingerprint into the system, he'd destroy any chance at all he still had of slipping quietly back into his existing, respectable life.
And no matter what other fallout there might be from today's shambles of an operation, that was one price he absolutely refused to pay. He closed his eyes briefly at the infuriating prospect.
He could do this. It wasn't the first time he'd ever been required to access a data system without using his chip, even if on those other occasions he'd been engaged in the more stimulating task of constructing a persona rather than the dull tedium of dismantling one. Adding data to records, creating a presence where there had previously been none and transferring assets was undoubtedly more stimulating, but this was just the same thing in reverse, even if he'd never before needed to complete such a lengthy or complex task in as highly protected an environment as the Baultan penal system records.
More likely, it was working here, via the Clarion's manual interface system that made him feel the frustration more keenly. When he'd first explained to Casey what he needed, and she'd directed him to the only manual input station on the control deck, the keypad and screen had been dark and silent, showing no sign of life. He'd even had to initialize the system from scratch and establish a network connection. Chances were good he was the only person ever, since the ship had been commissioned, to need to endure such absurdity.
One consolation was that he'd instinctively chosen to use one of his more complex personas for this assignment -- without the open data string embedded in the base record, he'd have been helpless to access the files now. At least, barring unforeseen accidents, he'd be able to sanitize the contact and processing records; he'd already had one moment of triumph in retrieving his physical assets and, really, he was almost done.
Life is just full of small joys. The internal sarcasm rose unbidden.
Far from deriving any pleasure from his progress so far, each gain, each completed task, chaffed on his nerves like yet another tiny grain of sand irritating soft skin, and he cursed Chris, again, for landing him in this mess.
It had started out cathartic, roundly berating Chris in the privacy of his mind; it certainly relieved the anger that had sprung to life fully formed out of his blind sense of betrayal and mistrust. But the satisfaction soon faded.
Truth was, his feelings were more complex than that and his confusion didn't end there. He didn't know what to make of the enigmatic Vin Tanner, either. Ezra mentally replayed, again, their escape from the detention center and that brief but startling kiss on the transporter deck, and his lips tingled with the memory. With scarcely a lift of his shaggy eyebrows, Tanner had turned every preconception Ezra had ever held about the Andarchic on its head and he had no idea what to do with his newfound awareness.
As for Chris, means-to-an-end was undoubtedly his standard modus operandi, but his single-minded determination to free Tanner from the holding center without any other consideration seemed cavalier.
Ezra sucked in a breath and steadied himself against the ache of disappointment. He was self-aware enough to know he was wallowing, but irritated enough not to care, and he hated this feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing exactly where he stood. Why could he never seem to get anything right when it came to personal relationships?
"Hey, Ezra, you're still here!" Casey's voice carried a note of surprise, and Ezra could feel her eyes on him as she came through the door and headed for her usual position at the Systems console.
When the Captain was away from the ship, it fell to her to monitor the Clarion's systems and she took the responsibility seriously. She'd been a constant presence for the entire time he'd been working, aside from the hour of dinner break she'd just allowed herself. But her solicitous offers of help when he'd explained this was a task only he could complete, coupled with her never-ending chatter about Vin Tanner -- the "mysterious" new addition to the ship's complement -- grated on his raw nerves. He schooled his face into an expression of disinterest, and mutely rued the loss of the silence.
"Your perspicacity is astounding," he muttered, not bothering to lift his eyes from the screen or pause the rapid action of his fingers. He did take a moment to enjoy the sarcastic rejoinder, because it felt good to indulge his annoyance and he really wasn't in the mood for conversation.
"My perspi-- what?"
Ezra closed his eyes briefly, stilled his hands, and leaned back in the chair, the innocent question pulling him up short.
Well, there goes that small pleasure.
It wasn't Casey's fault he'd spent the better part of four hours on the control deck reconstructing his personal records, or that his one enjoyable physical relationship seemed on the verge of crumbling to dust. No, that honor belonged wholly and solely to the absent Chris Larabee, and no matter the temptation, he liked to think he was above taking a swipe at the Clarion's 18-year-old engineer.
"Never mind, Ms Wells." He straightened and raised an eyebrow in her direction. "I imagine it's too much to hope that coffee is for me?"
"Ah, well, seeing as I thought you'd be gone by now---" She looked doubtfully from Ezra to the cup and back again, then held it out. "But you can have it if you want... "
Ezra bit back the acerbic reply that he was fresh out of the kind of miracle that would allow him to go anywhere -- transporting was out of the question until he could legally access the system again and Chris was off gallivanting who-knew-where with the ship's only shuttle -- and instead ran a tired hand around the back of his neck.
"Perhaps not." He flexed his shoulders to try and ease his headache and loosen the stiffness that ran like a tight band across his back. "I imagine you've managed to make it entirely undrinkable."
Casey's chuckle held genuine amusement as she took her seat in the control chair and plopped the cup down beside her. "You haven't had coffee till you've had it with milk and three sugars, Ezra. You don't know what you're missing."
The teasing rejoinder made him feel like a heel for the misdirection of his bad humor and he forced a matching, bantering tone into his voice. "Yet, in this instance, I find myself strangely unmotivated to find out."
The data continued to scroll across the screen and he propped his chin in his hand and rolled a data chip across his knuckles. He did need a break, but the data set was almost finished and he was perversely attached to his irritation. If nothing else, it displaced the painful ache that any thought of Chris Larabee brought.
As soon as he finished this last segment of the database, he'd be done. Then, no matter how much he'd prefer to find out what the hell Chris had been thinking, he'd be much better served transporting back to the midway station and then home in time for the evening Advocate's dinner. He wasn't about to turn tail and run like a frightened rabbit, but it would be better by far to give himself some breathing room and deal with this... friction... between himself and Chris when he'd had time to regroup.
There was an added bonus to that plan, too. Vin Tanner hadn't been joking when he'd promised to catch up with Ezra. The intent had sparkled in his eyes, and chances were good he'd manage it sooner rather than later. And while Ezra was intrigued to find out more about the Drifters, he'd rather not do it until he'd had time to process his own confused reactions to the man.
"You do know how to get yourself into a world of trouble, Ezra Standish," he muttered.
The console gave a welcome beep as the auto-run finished and Ezra straightened with a satisfied sigh. Almost done. One more sector, then he'd be able to access the system without fear of unwelcome identification.
"Casey, if you wouldn't mind starting the transporter re-calibration, I think I'll be ready in about--" he was interrupted by the loud tone of the ship's proximity alarm and Casey turned to him with a wide grin.
"There's the Captain now, you'll have to hold on a minute, Ezra. Won't be doing anything till we have him safely docked."
Ezra checked his watch, torn. He could stay and have this out with Chris now, or leave and go to the dinner. It was in no way compulsory for him to attend, but being seen among his colleagues now, if questions about his activities arose later, could prove invaluable. Of all the things he'd learned in his line of work, the usefulness of a verifiable alibi was close to the top of the list, and what better alibi could there be than a room full of Senior Advocates?
"Ms Wells, I really must--" he began, mind made up, but he didn't manage to finish the sentence before a new alarm sounded and the system locked him out with a cheerful, flashing [access denied].
"Uh oh..." Casey's hands moved quickly across the console. "Captain Larabee? Looks like you have an unauthorized passenger. Please confirm your status."
There was a moment of tense silence, then Chris's disembodied voice filled the control deck and Ezra's heart skipped a beat.
"It's just Josiah and me here, Casey. Anything else you're picking up doesn't have any damn business being there."
"Ah, ok. Well, the ship's gone into automatic lockdown -- you want me to maintain, or over-ride?"
"Over-ride for system and general areas, but maintain for everything else, especially the transporter and docking bays. Josiah and I can probably handle it, but you'd better alert Nathan as well." Chris sounded irritated.
"Will do." She scrambled to her feet, activating the internal comm. as she went: "Nathan, you might want to get down to the docking bay, looks like the Captain picked up a stowaway."
Ezra put out a hand as she headed for the door. "Casey..."
"Sorry, Ezra." Her cheeky grin belied the apology. "Won't be doing anything till we have this sorted. I'll be back as soon as we find out who's been stupid enough to pick Captain Larabee's ship for a free ride."
*~*~*~*