A/N: Wow! Thanks to GD and SC who reviewed. I was so excited when I opened my e-mail to find review alerts on this story.

SC - yeah, there should be a break there, thanks for bringing it to my attention. And you're just going to have to stay tuned for all the backstory...

Eight: Grant

“What do you mean we have to go to Junk?” the Captain yells at Sarrin. He’s been doing a lot of yelling lately and I’m worried about his blood pressure. “How can there be another friend of yours in need?”

“With respect, Captain, I spoke to Grant several months ago. He was on the run and they were catching up with him. He said he would be alright if they did seize him, but didn’t know what they would do to him. I wasn’t able to contact him after that.” The Doctor says calmly.

“Oh, no?” the Captain reels on him, “We still haven’t figured out what to do with you yet. So, don’t get me started on how I feel about rescue operations.”

I start to laugh, the pain medication for this shoulder of mine makes the world a little shinier than normal. “Oh, Gal, come on, he saved my life.”

Gal turns on me now, but his eyes do soften. “You wouldn’t have died from that, Rayne.” He dismisses it

“All the same, he’s done us a service.” I laugh, though there’s nothing funny about it.

“’Sides, Cap’n, what else are we gonna do?” Kieran stands up. “We’ve got no one to run freight for, and forty-thousand credits worth of kimonos stored in the safe-room, with not much else.”

The Captain stands still for a minute, his shoulder’s rounding as if in defense.

“Remember, Gal, there are always things we will regret in this world, but if we work hard enough, we can at least redeem ourselves.” The Poet says at last. He’s had an unnatural hold on Gal since he ran in through the cargo doors on Selousa and said the word ‘Augment’.

“Captain, if I may,” the Doctor says quietly, “I do know some people on Perim who deal in supplies, no questions asked. I can tell you where to restock your ship, and you can retrieve our friend Grant.”

The Captain’s eyes narrow. “What kinds of supplies?”

“Just tell me what you need, I’m sure I know someone.”

The Captain has to consider this for a minute, but it’s quite clear he’s got no other way to go.

“Alright,” he says at last, stepping right up into the Doctor’s face. He chews his tongue, knowing better than to say what he’s thinking about. In the end, he spits to the side and storms out of the room, and I can’t help but laugh.

-

My brother has sequestered himself in our little hiding closet for the last three days, and I have yet to figure out what he is doing in there. It’s getting somewhat lonely out here, since Gal’s in a mood and Kieran’s not talking to me. Hoepe too is hard to take right now. He can only talk about Evangecore and his troubles on Perim – things I only want to forget.

I brought Halud some bread and broth from this night’s dinner since he does need to eat sometimes. I worry about him, even without these last few days; he needs someone to worry about him. I knock on the door panel softly, hoping he won’t mind be disturbed. The last I tried to see him, I got an earful.

He opens the door shrewdly, thrusting his head out between the panels. He looks almost maniacal, but then he sees me and his grimace turns to a smile.

“Sarrin, come in.” he says almost so gleefully I consider calling Hoepe.

He ducks back and I pull down the panel to let myself in.

I look up first, seeing the room lit up, and find a single glow-bulb suspended from the ceiling directly above, and two more ten feet on either side. I imagine Kieran would have done that, but the hopes of it being a peace offering are slim, especially since they’re coming from the wrong party.

My smile – if it can be called that – disappears as my gaze falls. Halud was always a strange child, but this has gone too far. Silken Japanese kimonos are tacked on to the walls of the entire twenty-foot space. Strings and notes and coloured beads are tacked in and across, pointing from one garment to the next, creating a web that even I’m hard-pressed to get through.

“I think there’s a code in here, Sarrin.”

“Halud.” I shake my head sadly.

He doesn’t notice me quietly watching him and continues bustling through his web.

“Halud, there’s no code here.” I say more formally.

He turns and looks at me. “Of course there is, Sarrin, there is a code in everything.”

“Like poems.” I say.

He smiles at me. “You got my letters?”

“Of course.” I smile at him wantonly, “Remember when we used to talk in codes. We had some good ones, didn’t we?”

“And this one is unbelievable.” He exclaims, “Look at this syntax, I mean….”

I sigh as he meanders away, muttering to himself, looking left and right, ducking under coloured yarn. I leave the broth on the floor and let myself out.

How strange is it that our roles have changed. I fought all those years to save my sanity, looking to words in the poems he published in our secret codex to give me strength.

They gave us poems to read in school at Evangecore. They were military propaganda, of course, but I never forget reading the secret words: Sarrin, I love you. In the war, I wondered sometimes if maybe I was looking too far into his poetry to read nonsense codes.

He was always better at our codes than I was, lecturing me on the subtleties of syntax and metre. It is possible there is a message encoded in thirty-two mismatched kimonos hanging in our safe-room. It would be much easier than to explain his softness of mind after only a month in black, but then he has lost so much and the thing he retrieved was never what he expected.

-

“Hey, Doc.” Kieran pokes his head into the Infirmary.

“Hello.” I answer back, turning from arranging my catheters in order of size.

Kieran scratches the back of his head as he ambles in, slowly like he would prefer to be elsewhere. “I, uh, I was wonderin’ if you could help me out.”

I’m a hardened triage surgeon, but I’ll try to drag up some bedside manner for this man, considering I’ve stowed away on his ship. “Come on in.” I try to smile, showing him to the padded table.

“What seems to be the problem?” I ask, pulling out my stethoscope and running it over his chest.

His heart sounds fine, a little fast probably due to stress, but his lungs sound good. I let the sounds echo while I shift my eyes to watch him speak. It’s supposed to increase a patient’s confidence that you’re listening – as if a doctor is incapable of looking in one place and listening in another, the two systems are in completely different loci of the brain – but it does help when you can’t hear through the insulating bulbs of the stethoscope, so I guess we can’t really look away and listen at the same time after all.

“… -ble sleeping.”

Oh, dear.

“Sorry, you said you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah.” He nods.

Well, he looks like the type to work out, and I know he’s the Engineer so he can’t be over-sleeping. “Do you have any idea why not? Any stressors that have recently come into your life?” I chuckle slightly, “Besides me?”

He laughs, but it’s too loud and his voice goes up at the end. That, plus his heart rate has gone up about forty points, tells me he’s starting to get a little stressed right now.

“I, uh, …” I take the stethoscope out of my ears while he stammers all over himself, “I guess,” he pauses again to scratch his arm, “I’m just not feelin’ very comfortable in my own ship right now.”

“Well, that’s no good.” I frown, “Why is that?”

His skin flushes and his eyes drift out of focus. After a minute, I know he’s not going to tell me until I convince him I’m trust worthy. I’ve got to change my tactics.

“So,” I cough, “You’re captain seems … interesting. Is there a way to get on his good side?”

Kieran immediately perks up. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout the Cap’n. If you’re on this ship, it means he’s gonna keep you safe. That’s all he’s concerned about really, keeping us all safe. As soon as he sees ye’re not out to kill us all, he’ll warm up.”

It’s not as funny as he seems to think it is. I doubt he notices that I’m trying to examine him since he keeps fidgeting. It’s making it extremely difficult to test his reflexes.

“Geez.” He runs his hand over his mouth. It sure didn’t take him long to warm up to me on this topic. I’m guessing whatever is keeping him up at night might come out with a little more prying. “Y’know, I was on this ship for months. He hated me, full out, only kept me around because Rayne told him to and ‘cause his boat never fell outta the sky.”

I stick a thermometer in his ear and he wiggles away surprised. He sits still for the ten seconds it takes to get a reading and scrambles away as soon as it beeps.

“So, ‘neways, I think he only really warmed up to me last month, after Sarrin came aboard. Do you know about all that stuff, with Sarrin I mean?”

I make a visual observation on the apparent increase in jitteriness. “Some, not all – why don’t you tell me.”

“Yeah, well, the Cap’n has this crazy idea to crash us on the moon near Selousa. I think I impressed him with a little pyrotechnics display he asked me for – it really looked like we blew to a zillion pieces, y’know?”

I nod tersely, “I can imagine.”

“And the engine would still fly after, so I guess I did somethin’ right. He seemed kinda happy ‘bout it, though not really at the time. And I stuck with him when he told me I could go. And I ripped the bottom off the ship when he told me to.”

“So, I’ll have to rip off the bottom of the ship so he doesn’t toss me out.” I surmise grimly.

He laughs, full and hearty like his Southern accent dictates. “I wouldn’t rip off another deck, she’s not liable to hold. Though Sarrin was pretty impressed.”

I smile, maybe he didn’t get my joke or maybe he did. “So, tell me, what’s keeping you up at night?”

“Aw,” he shrugs, suddenly recluse, “I’ll be fine, Doc. I was just gonna get me some ‘a those little pink pills.” He points to the cabinet just behind my head.

It’s a good thing he does, this Infirmary is so jumbled I wouldn’t even know where to start looking. I dole him out two tablets.

“Come on, Doc, I took four ‘a these little things last night.”

I shake my head. “No, the maximum dose I can give you is two. Besides, there’s a residual amount left in your blood. You’ll be fine.”

He takes the pills and nods. “Thanks, Doc.” Now, he sounds just tired.

“Hey,” I call as he turns out the door, and he glances back, “How’s Sarrin been? You spend a lot of time together, right?”

There’s a bizarre look of panic that flits across his features. Then he smiles, and says, “Fine.” Before turning and scurrying away.

-

Junk’s an odd sort of planet; the flea market of the galaxy. You can find anything from rusty metal scraps and spent radios to matter converters or entire shuttles. We’re hoping to find a person.

Kieran wants to try to pick up some spare pieces, but there’s a military presence here – minor, but they keep an eye out for people just like us. Fortunately, Kirean did a tour of duty here and tells me we’ve got about a day, give or take, before they come running. How that works, I don’t really know – something about monitor delays and skip sequences.

“So, does everyone understand the plan?” I call across the Bridge.

The tension’s getting palpable.

“We’re approaching the outer defense perimeter.” Rayne tells us.

My head swivels across the deck to Kieran. “Understood.” He mutters, “Preparing to disengage engines….” He taps at the controls, concentrating intensely. Then he leans over and calls into the intercom: “Sarrin, how’re you doin’ down there?”

“The fusion reactor doesn’t want to shut down just yet. I’m stopping the reactions manually. Be with you in a minute.”

“Okay.” He mumbles again, not bothering to turn on the ‘com. There’s something strange between those two now, they’re not chatty like they used to be, chatty being used loosely. Oh well, it’s what I wanted – certainly makes my life run a little smoother.

It takes a very tense thirty seconds while Kieran waits before his hands start flying over the controls. “I’m shutting down the main power-frame right now.”

Suddenly, all the lights go out, even on the display consoles. The only source of light is an eerie glow coming from the planet below us, and the only source of noise is my thumping heart within my chest. Then Kieran gulps, and I want to shush him.

“Five minutes.” He whispers to me. Five minutes it will take to drift through the sensory grid unnoticed. With all of our power down, Kieran tells me we’ll just look like floating space debris, until they look through their visual records.

The Poet starts counting out loud, “1… 2… 3 … 4 ….”

I can’t imagine Sarrin, sitting alone in the quiet, absolute dark with engines that aren’t turning.

The echoes of my heart beating resound in my head, ticking like a proverbial time-bomb, and the Poet keeps counting, “263… 264… 265….”

I think time has stopped, except for the Poet’s steady count.

“Three-hundred.” He says at last, turning to look at me pointedly.

I sigh.

“Best give it another hundred, Poet.” Kieran tells him, “Just in case.”

The Poet agrees. “301… 302… 303….”

It’s been almost seven minutes.

“Four-hundred.” Kieran blurts out over the Poet. The count was only 382, but this is so hard to take. If they can’t see us, we can’t see them either.

The start sequence for one of these boats is complex; I’ve never seen it done before; I don’t know that she’s ever been shut right down since the day she was made. Kieran runs back and forth across the Bridge a few times, pulling at access panels and bashing consoles. Finally, he pulls a big lever concealed in the floor next to me, and turns a key.

The lights flicker on instantaneously.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Sarrin.” Kieran shouts madly into the intercom next to me, “Get ‘em goin’.”

Yes, that’s probably for the best, I realize suddenly, since we’re only twenty-thousand kilometers up and free-falling to the planet.

It begins to look grim, and not nearly so planned as when we crashed on the moon at Selousa. I must be getting more familiar with the idea of death, since all I can think about right now is why I let the crew talk me into these ridiculous plans.

Suddenly, the engines snap to life, and Rayne’s valiant efforts to pull us up become effective. The g-force strain is an oddly comfortable reminder of being alive.

Plastered into my chair, I watch the landscape below us hurtle by. We’ve been around half the planet – all covered in junk – by the time Rayne slows us to a regulation speed.

We all peer out the viewscreen, though what we expect to see at this altitude is beyond me.

“Whoa, hey.” Kieran says suddenly, making us look, “That part’s supposed to be empty, uninhabited.”

“All things change over time, Kieran.” The Poet says calmly, but I can’t help but scrutinize the tract we’re flying over.

It looks normal enough, heaps of metal and plastic things stretching for miles in all directions. I’m about to let it go when suddenly --.

“What the hell was that!?” Kieran shouts.

“Turn around.” Hoepe taps Rayne on the shoulder incessantly, trying to peer as far behind us as he can through the viewer.

A giant fireball just lit up from the surface, almost taking us with it, and he wants to go back?

“You’re spread.” Kieran yells at him, competing for Rayne’s attention.

“It’s Grant.” The doctor pleads, “It’s got to be.”

I look at him, considering, and his gaze meets my own.

“It’s what he does, what they trained him for – explosions.”

I rub my hand over my mouth slowly. “Turn us around.”

-

The smell of sulphur is strong here.

“Grant? Grant.” Hoepe calls out beside me, his basso profoundo carrying indefinitely across the rolling landscape of Junk.

The smell makes me uncomfortable, too reminiscent of the old days. It’s probably why Grant is here, he always did have a peculiar fascination with explosives. As soon as Hoepe told me how it was we came to land here, I knew immediately it could be no one other than Grant. I scan the area for him, just opening my mouth to yell his name, when he appears on the horizon.

I think it’s him, he’s some distance away, standing still on the crest of a hill. There are twin flashes of light in the gulley behind him.

There’s something wrong.

“Grant!” Hoepe calls out, taking a step forward.

“Back!” Gal yells, “Get back!” brushing past me, trying to take me with him. Rayne is backing behind him, almost as fast as he can run.

I hear the whistling of the shots before I can see them. “Hoepe!” I shout, rushing forward to grab him, but he won’t come with me.

“It’s Grant.” He says, confused. Bless him for his compassion, but it’s going to get him killed.

“I know!” I shout, and it seems to jog him a little bit. Kieran appears, and the two of us drag Hoepe back to the ship. We just have time to brace ourselves against the bulkheads when the ship shakes with the impact of explosions. They’re so near, one bomb dents in the metal-plastique wall beside me.

Hoepe looks from the wall to me, confused and upset. “Grant….” Is all he can say, shaking his head.

I load up my laz-gun like Gal and Rayne are doing on the other side of the open cargo-door. “Stay here.” I tell him. Then I slip away.

-

I don’t think I can fully appreciate why we set down here in the first place, let alone why we’re goin’ out into the fray. But here I am, crouching behind a pile of injectors and recoilers. Sarrin comes up behind me, and Gal and Rayne are just five-metres away, crouching behind some old-Earth wooden chest. The man, Grant, can’t be seen; I only assume he’s slipped behind the ridge to set up his next round. We should rush him now.

Sarrin takes off, running head long to the next suitable barrier: a single crate. I see Gal go, and I go too.

We’ve made about twenty-yards on the guy before he fires his next shots. I plaster myself to the wood frame, watching as the shells hit the side of the Thor, noise and light reverberating off the hull. I look to my left, where Sarrin was crouched, but she’s already up and running. I’m up and following, even before I have time to realize this is the best time to rush him, before he’s set more charges.

-

The ridge is breached, Kieran behind me. I sight the man in my target, and pull back the trigger, having no time to decide whether or not it is Grant. I relax as a laz-stream hits target point. Ome--.

The man turns up to look at me, and I see that his skin is not his own.

Kieran fires his weapon at the target point, and I see the intensified light reflect off the skin that is not skin. More dangerous than originally anticipated.

The man in false skin runs. He leaps, bounding effortlessly over the uneven hills where some-part of my minute consciousness tells me I’ve already lost some blood.

I’m dumbstruck for a minute, knowing this man is and is not Grant in the same instant. I do not think, hardly realize the connotations involved, when he throws a grenade from the neareset ridge that he has ascended.

Kieran drags me away, and we dodge flying scrap when the grenade detonates. They are more powerful than any short-range explosive device I’ve ever known the military to develop; they must be his own.

Gal and Rayne are using their laz-guns, firing shot after shot – they don’t know it won’t do any good. I see him pull a final hand-explosive out of his utility belt over the strange skin that is not his own, and lob it. They dive out of the way, but it’s close, too close, and the situation becomes more real as I remember they are more than just space-points.

He who is not Grant pulls a laz-rifle from within the skin-suit and we are made to duck for cover.

There is a fire-fight, however brief, before the air goes silent. I look up to see him on the hill holding half of an old matter-converter and an injection coil. He crosses two wires, not even flinching at the spark created, and I realize not too late what he’s just thrown at us.

It settles on the ground by the not-space-points of Gal and Rayne.

I hear Kieran shout behind me, but I have no option here.

-

“Sarrin!” I scream after her, realizing at the same time she does that an injection coil shielded in a matter-converter could create one hell of a reaction. “Sarrin!”

It’s no use. She sprints to the device and carries it into the foothills.

I chase after her, the man with his laz-rifle reappearing on the hill at the same time. I barely notice, shielding my head with my arm as I run, watching Sarrin deftly stuff the bomb into the junk at her feet.

I see the explosion, confined by whatever she put it in to shield the blast. Her agonized scream fills my head and curdles my blood. I run faster.

She hears me approach. “Stay back.” She warns, turning away from me, but her voice shakes with pain.

I see a flash of metal, and suddenly I realize it’s not likely pain I’m hearing in her voice. “Sarrin, it’s me.” I say calmly. I try to brace myself for what I see, controlling my voice as I take the grease rag from my coveralls and wrap it around her hands. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” she trembles, shaking her head.

I help her stand. “We have to get you to Hoepe.”

“No.” she says more forcefully, stopping so that I can’t move her.

“Y’need a doctor, Sarrin.” I say calmly, ever aware of our situation, “I won’t tell the others, neither will he, but you need to see him. At least come inside”

She nods quietly, her hands wrapped tightly against her abdomen so that no one can see the seared shreds of flesh hanging off her unnaturally silvery skeleton.

I glance back once we make it to the cargo doors. I’ll have to leave the Cap’n and Rayne to make their own way back to the ship, and then we can get off of this god-awful planet.