FIC: Black Hearts, Part Two
Feb. 4th, 2007 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalName: Black Hearts
Setting: LMB's Vorkosiverse
Tags: Miles, Aral, Cordelia
Rating: PG
“A true faster than light drive, yes,” Cordelia said. “The dream of every interstellar government since the beginning of the jump drive era.”
Miles wasn't fool enough to use the word impossible in front of his mother, but he raised eyebrows far enough to convey his disbelief. “So what makes you think they were pirates then? If someone has invented an FTL drive, it has to be the work of a dedicated team of engineers and scientists. That means a government or a major corporation, not a group of mangy mercs.”
“I'd normally agree, but...” the Count rubbed his eyes and sat down in his station chair carefully. “If you would continue, dear Captain.” His father, Miles reminded himself, had just been awakened from a sound sleep too. Alas, his extensive powers as an Imperial Auditor stopped short of giving the order, Go back to bed, sir. We can handle this.
His mother spared a covert, worried glance at her husband and went on. “Let me finish giving you a time line and you'll understand better. Initially the warship didn't attack the liner. Apparently its appearance in such close proximity was a wild accident. Most of the initial messages between the two was on the order of Where are we? Don't you know? From the general drift of the conversation, apparently the warship was simply lost, which would indicate to me either a wildly bad accident or an experimental system that didn't work quite as advertised. Things rapidly devolved from requests for information to demands, and then the warship opened fire on the liner.”
“At this point, the smaller craft was still some distance away, keeping out of range of the larger ship,” his father interjected. “Once the shooting started, it accelerated towards the fight, coming to the defense of the liner.”
Miles blinked. “Two separate factions with a working FTL drive?”
“Quite,” his mother agreed, picking up the thread again as the Count caught his breath. “The fighter, we figured out it was a fighter later you understand, was damaged and pulled away, sending a general distress signal for itself and the liner. The pirates boarded the liner and started shooting the crew and grabbing passengers. It was nearly two hours before the jump station's perimeter defense patrol was able to match orbits with what was left of the liner. By that point the warship had disappeared in much the same manner as it had arrived in the first place.”
Miles swallowed. “Survivors?”
“None aboard the liner,” the Count said, his face lined with fatigue and worry. “There were at least ten crew killed, and seven passengers who apparently tired to resist in one form or another. Mark and Kareen were not among the dead.”
He let out his breath with a premature whoosh of relief. If Mark and Kareen weren't dead then they were hostages. Potentially very valuable hostages. If Mark played it smart and didn't try to defend Kareen single-handed. If he didn't try to hide his Vorkosigan name out of some misplaced attempt to prevent the pirates from having a lever on our family. If their bodies weren't simply dumped out of an airlock and haven't been found yet...
Stop it. “What about the fighter?”
“Intercepted by the defense patrol,” his mother said, “with two survivors aboard. They're in custody at the jump station.”
“Why in custody?” Miles asked. “We should be thanking them for coming to the liner's defense.”
“It was done to keep them incommunicado from the general station population,” the Count said. “Disagreeable, but an understandable precaution. I would have done much the same thing in the station commander's place.”
“Again, why?”
“Here's why,” Cordelia said. She touched another control, and the system diagram was replaced by a camera feed, presumably from the station's holding cells. It showed a blond haired girl, appearing to be in her mid-teens, dressed in hip hugging pants and a short top that wouldn't have looked out of place on Beta Colony. She was sitting on the cell's bunk, hugging her knees and looking miserable. “She was in the back seat of the fighter. A civilian we're presuming.”
“So who is the pilot?”
His mother pulled up an image from another cell. The figure paced from side to side in his cell, obviously angry and irritated at being imprisoned. He wore a lime green flight uniform with gold trim that reminded Miles of some of the painfully clashing uniforms of Barrayar's lesser Houses. But what really caught his attention was the pilot's face. It was elongated, like the late and sorely missed Sgt. Taura of the Dendarii and covered with short blond fur. Two mobile ears crowned the pilot's head, and he (Miles presumed it was a he), paced the cell's width on digigrade feet, while a furry tail wagged in irritation.
After a moment, when Miles' body reminded him to take a breath, he asked. “That's not some form of gene-modded human, is it? A one-off plaything of a Jackson's Whole House?”
“No, the medic that examined them confirmed that,” the Count his father said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Milord Auditor, we appear to be in a First Contact situation.”
Setting: LMB's Vorkosiverse
Tags: Miles, Aral, Cordelia
Rating: PG
“A true faster than light drive, yes,” Cordelia said. “The dream of every interstellar government since the beginning of the jump drive era.”
Miles wasn't fool enough to use the word impossible in front of his mother, but he raised eyebrows far enough to convey his disbelief. “So what makes you think they were pirates then? If someone has invented an FTL drive, it has to be the work of a dedicated team of engineers and scientists. That means a government or a major corporation, not a group of mangy mercs.”
“I'd normally agree, but...” the Count rubbed his eyes and sat down in his station chair carefully. “If you would continue, dear Captain.” His father, Miles reminded himself, had just been awakened from a sound sleep too. Alas, his extensive powers as an Imperial Auditor stopped short of giving the order, Go back to bed, sir. We can handle this.
His mother spared a covert, worried glance at her husband and went on. “Let me finish giving you a time line and you'll understand better. Initially the warship didn't attack the liner. Apparently its appearance in such close proximity was a wild accident. Most of the initial messages between the two was on the order of Where are we? Don't you know? From the general drift of the conversation, apparently the warship was simply lost, which would indicate to me either a wildly bad accident or an experimental system that didn't work quite as advertised. Things rapidly devolved from requests for information to demands, and then the warship opened fire on the liner.”
“At this point, the smaller craft was still some distance away, keeping out of range of the larger ship,” his father interjected. “Once the shooting started, it accelerated towards the fight, coming to the defense of the liner.”
Miles blinked. “Two separate factions with a working FTL drive?”
“Quite,” his mother agreed, picking up the thread again as the Count caught his breath. “The fighter, we figured out it was a fighter later you understand, was damaged and pulled away, sending a general distress signal for itself and the liner. The pirates boarded the liner and started shooting the crew and grabbing passengers. It was nearly two hours before the jump station's perimeter defense patrol was able to match orbits with what was left of the liner. By that point the warship had disappeared in much the same manner as it had arrived in the first place.”
Miles swallowed. “Survivors?”
“None aboard the liner,” the Count said, his face lined with fatigue and worry. “There were at least ten crew killed, and seven passengers who apparently tired to resist in one form or another. Mark and Kareen were not among the dead.”
He let out his breath with a premature whoosh of relief. If Mark and Kareen weren't dead then they were hostages. Potentially very valuable hostages. If Mark played it smart and didn't try to defend Kareen single-handed. If he didn't try to hide his Vorkosigan name out of some misplaced attempt to prevent the pirates from having a lever on our family. If their bodies weren't simply dumped out of an airlock and haven't been found yet...
Stop it. “What about the fighter?”
“Intercepted by the defense patrol,” his mother said, “with two survivors aboard. They're in custody at the jump station.”
“Why in custody?” Miles asked. “We should be thanking them for coming to the liner's defense.”
“It was done to keep them incommunicado from the general station population,” the Count said. “Disagreeable, but an understandable precaution. I would have done much the same thing in the station commander's place.”
“Again, why?”
“Here's why,” Cordelia said. She touched another control, and the system diagram was replaced by a camera feed, presumably from the station's holding cells. It showed a blond haired girl, appearing to be in her mid-teens, dressed in hip hugging pants and a short top that wouldn't have looked out of place on Beta Colony. She was sitting on the cell's bunk, hugging her knees and looking miserable. “She was in the back seat of the fighter. A civilian we're presuming.”
“So who is the pilot?”
His mother pulled up an image from another cell. The figure paced from side to side in his cell, obviously angry and irritated at being imprisoned. He wore a lime green flight uniform with gold trim that reminded Miles of some of the painfully clashing uniforms of Barrayar's lesser Houses. But what really caught his attention was the pilot's face. It was elongated, like the late and sorely missed Sgt. Taura of the Dendarii and covered with short blond fur. Two mobile ears crowned the pilot's head, and he (Miles presumed it was a he), paced the cell's width on digigrade feet, while a furry tail wagged in irritation.
After a moment, when Miles' body reminded him to take a breath, he asked. “That's not some form of gene-modded human, is it? A one-off plaything of a Jackson's Whole House?”
“No, the medic that examined them confirmed that,” the Count his father said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Milord Auditor, we appear to be in a First Contact situation.”
