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jeriendhalThe story continues. PG-13 for drug use and abusive behavior.
Story begins at Part One
The rather confusing conversation Rufus had with the refueling station's flight control center suddenly made a great deal more sense when he found himself facing a near exact copy of the White Knight, right down to the chess piece logo on her side, some hundred paces away from where he'd parked his own ship. His shoulders sagged down in relief as he thought, An ally I can trust absolutely, at last!
He paused there for a moment, giving this twin of his ship a critical eye. She'd seen plenty of action, that was for certain. There were burned and melted panels on the port wing and along the hull that hadn't been repaired yet, and the number two chin cannon was missing. Rufus found himself frowning as he walked around aft, noting the hairline crack along engine's thrust exhaust ring. That's not battle damage, that's just poor maintenance. Dangerously poor. Well, perhaps his other self was going through a bad stretch. Fine then, he decided. He could hardly abandon himself when he appeared to be having troubles. He patted his White Knight's twin fondly, and promised her that he'd see to getting her properly repaired as soon as possible.
Now then, if I were me, where would I visit first on this station? Rufus walked out of the parking bay, towards the station's main commerce corridor. At the third bar he poked his head into, the Galen barkeep behind the counter looked at him when he entered with an angry glare.
“You!” the barkeep called out, “you've got a lot of odos to come back in here after you tried to stiff...” The Galen's voice trailed off as he looked at Rufus more closely. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said with more deference, “but you wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?”
“Quite possibly,” Rufus said, slipping some credit chits across the countertop towards the barkeep. “You wouldn't happen to know which way he went, would you?”
“Roxi’s Place, Cross-Corridor Five,” the barkeep said.
“Thank you, my good sir.” He found Roxi’s Place three corridors down, the sign above the door in glaring red, fuzzing out occasionally as the cheap holographic projector lost power intermittently. He smiled at the two rather desperate looking working girls leaning on either side of the doorframe and slipped inside. Inside the dimly lit waiting area, music thumped painfully against his eardrums as a thin Creo woman in too much makeup slid up to him.
“I’m not looking for companionship,” he said hastily. He flashed some more credit chits at her. “I’m looking for my, er, my brother. Is he still here?”
She took the credits and slipped them into a pouch hanging from the wide belt that hugged her hips. “He’s upstairs, Handsome. Room number four.”
“Thank you,” Rufus replied. “He isn’t, ah, currently occupied, is he?”
She grinned at him. “Naw, I left him two hours ago. He’s still drying out probably.”
“Again, thank you,” he said, and went upstairs as quickly as decorum would permit.
Room number four was shut with a palm lock. Fortunately Rufus’ own hand was able to open it, as he thought it might. When the door slid open, he found himself involuntarily stepping back as a miasma of smells assaulted his nose, a terrible mixture of sweat, sex, alcohol, vomit, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. Steeling himself, he stepped over the threshold. Inside the room the temperature was blood warm, and he saw the naked body of the Vulpine he was looking for sprawled on the room’s bed, the only piece of furniture inside, partially wrapped in a dirty sheet. His head was hanging over the side of the bed, face down in a waste bin.
The figure let out a low moan. “I paid for th’ fraggin’ room til tomorrow, y’ greedy bitch!”
“I’m not the proprietor,” Rufus answered.
With a grunt, the other Vulpine rolled over, flopping onto his back. The figure looked back at him with Rufus’ own eyes, though they were red, puffy, and dilated to an alarming degree. “Thas okay then. Hiya, buddy,” his other self greeted cheerily, “Ya wanna party? It’s ah great party tonigh’.”
“No, thank you,” Rufus said, sitting on a relatively clean spot on the edge of the bed, nudging a bottle lying on the floor away with his foot. “I’m not here to party. I was looking for you, in fact.”
“Lookin’ fer me?” his other self, appearing confused. He took in a couple of deep breaths, and Rufus could briefly see how thin his fur had grown, revealing skin hanging tight against his ribs. “M-my sister didn’ send ya, did she? I-I-I don’ wanna talk t’ her no more...”
“No, she didn’t,” Rufus answered, his voice growing tight. “By the Blessed Mother Goddess, what are you doing here, man?”
“I told ya, man, ‘m havin’ party!” His other self giggled briefly, ending in a wet belch. Then he clumsily reached over to his stained uniform jacket which was hanging off the bedpost, pulling out a small case from the inner pocket. “Got party favors and everythin’, see!”
Rufus snatched the case out his hand, popping it open to reveal a pair of ampoules sitting in disposable injectors. “What is this?” he asked, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.
“Jus’, jus’ some Juno,” his other self answered. “Keeps m’ reflexes in shape.”
Rufus reached over and grabbed hold of the Vulpine’s left arm, feeling through the fur until he could find the line of bumps of the injection points. Juno was, he knew, a semi-useful combat drug, but completely illegal in civilized areas, for good reason. Mercenary pilots sometimes indulged in it, for it did help calm jittery combat reflexes in a fight. Until it begins to burn out their brains, he thought. “You… you… pathetic…” he began to growl, then clamped down on his anger with great effort.
“Hey, don’ be such a fraggin’ stiff tail, buddy. Who the hell are ya anyway?” his other self said, pulling his arm away. Then he blinked, trying to bring his eyes into focus. “Do I know you?”
Rufus stood. “No, sir,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Then he turned away and walked out, letting the door shut itself behind him.
* * *
Rufus marched back towards his ship, face set in a frown, intent on getting the White Knight refueled and back in space as quickly as possible. You were wondering what you were like in this universe. Too late to complain about finding out.
How, what weakness was in this universe’s version of himself that turned him into such a wretched, wrecked creature? If my mother ever saw me in that state, she’d disown me immediately, and deservedly so. Perhaps in this world she already had.
His pace slowed as came before the battered, badly used hull of his twin’s White Knight. Perhaps this, more than his twin’s condition, was what outraged Rufus the most. He had enough money to purchase his wretched drugs and buy a woman for the night, you can’t tell me he didn’t have enough to conduct some basic repairs. Slowly, he walked down the length of the fighter’s hull, noting every bit of scratched paint, every ding in her hull plating, every un-cleaned smudge. Simple maintenance chores seemed beyond the sot now.
He found himself pausing before the cracked thrust ring. That was a far more serious matter. Certainly it made this ship useless as a fighter. If she was brought up to combat acceleration it would almost certainly trigger a catastrophic engine failure, one that might kill a pilot whose senses were operating at full capacity, never mind the wretch he’d left in that brothel.
Leave him, Rufus told himself firmly, you can’t save him from his fate.
Still, he stood before the battered fighter for a long time, thinking. Is Bethany in this world? Will she weep for him when he dies, or simply sigh in relief and say “Good riddance?” No, he couldn’t believe, whatever this other Rufus’ state, that his sister would be of the same mould. She would cry for him, wretch or not, even if I wouldn’t. Then he sighed and turned around, heading back to Roxi’s Place.
* * *
Extricating his “brother” from the brothel proved relatively simple. The owner was more than happy to free up the room for another customer, and his twin had fallen unconscious again, coming down off an ampoule from his supply case. Rufus threw him and his small pack of belongings over his shoulder and hauled them both over to what passed for a luxury hotel on this station, with a suite that was otherwise unremarkable except for featuring (for a suitable surcharge) a full spectrum H2O shower.
Rufus left his snoring twin on the bed while he pulled out the shower’s control panel, inserting a transceiver with a lockout mechanism. Then he stripped his twin out of his clothes, dropped him with a thump into the shower, then slid the door shut and jammed it closed with a screwdriver.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” he called out, and pressed the All Faucets, Needle Spray, Cold button on his remote’s touchscreen. Seven spray nozzles set two to a side and one above came to life at once, and three seconds later his twin was awake and howling in outrage.
“What the bloody…!” the sodden Vulpine began to shout, then screamed again as Rufus kicked the water temperature to near boiling. “You motherless…!”
“Such language,” Rufus called out, above the noise of his twin thumping against the translucent plastic door. “Mother would be ashamed.”
“You leave that stiff-necked vixen out of this, you…. Arrrrrrgh!” he shouted, as the temperature switched to near freezing again. Rufus tossed a liquid soap dispenser and a loofah over the top of the door, the former bouncing off his twin’s head judging from the yelp he let out.
“Start cleaning and I’ll set this to a more reasonable temperature,” Rufus told him.
“Go fragg yourself!”
“Have it your way. Time to boil again, I guess,” Rufus said cheerily.
“No, wait!” He heard the sound of the loofah being vigorously rubbed over fur, then relented and turned the temperature back to lukewarm. After several minutes his twin announced that he was finished, and Rufus turned on the drying fans. Once he was sure there had been enough time fur his fur to dry out, he turned the fans off and unblocked the door.
“Come on out, it’s time to talk,” Rufus told him. His twin opened the door, took one look at him, then shut it again.
“Go away!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rufus said firmly.
“I’m being tortured by a bloody hallucination!”
“I don’t think your brain is that far gone, brother. Now unless you want me to turn that shower on again, I suggest you open the door so we can talk.”
The door opened again, and his twin leaned out, hands pressed against the shower stall to steady himself. “Who are you and what by the blasted Den Mother are you doing with my face?”
“Remember watching that human entertainment called “It’s a Wonderful Life” when you were a cub?”
“Yes, it was sentimental claptrap. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, I find myself in the position of George Bailey, and instead of being in a world where I don’t exist, it’s that I exist and I’m a bloody worthless, drunk, drug-addicted, suicidal idiot.”
“Go away,” his brother repeated, stepping out of the shower to stand, however unsteadily, on his feet. “If I wanted to be insulted I’d try calling my mother. At least I’m sure she’s not a product of my deranged imagination.”
“Why should I go away? I’m the one who rented this room,” Rufus replied, handing him a bathrobe. He motioned towards the suite’s dining area, where a tray had been delivered by room service a few minutes before he’d thrown his twin into the shower. “Now sit and eat.”
His brother’s face took on a distinctly ill expression, though he did put on the robe and sit down. “No, thank you.”
“When was the last time you ate a meal that wasn’t cheap space rations or beer nuts in a pub?”
“Er, a while now,” his brother admitted. He grimaced at the plate in front of him, but cut off a slice of meat for himself and began to chew. In a matter of moments he was eating ravenously, and had cleaned his plate off in short order. “Oh, by the Blessed Mother, for a hallucination that was tasty,” he said, letting out a satisfied belch.
“It was real enough,” Rufus said. “Would I could take care of the rest of your problems so easily.”
“Don’t have any problems,” his brother said with studied casualness.
Rufus frowned in annoyance. “Leaving aside your obvious personal faults, you’ve got a fighter in dock that’s badly in need of repair. You try and go into combat with a cracked thrust ring and your engine will blow for certain.”
His brother waved his hand airily. “I don’t use the White Knight for combat anymore.”
“She’s a fighter. What else is she good for?”
The other Rufus shrugged. “Oh, courier work, mostly. Secured messages, small packages, that sort of thing.”
“Small packages,” Rufus said tightly, a terrible light dawning in his mind. “Small, expensive packages, I’m assuming.”
“Sometimes,” the other Rufus admitted, turning his face away.
“Drug smuggling, you’ve been using the White Knight for drug smuggling!” Rufus shouted. “Well at least I know how you can afford the garbage you’ve been shooting into your veins. Obviously you’ve been taking payment in kind!”
“Oh, shut up you sanctimonious prat!” the other Rufus shouted back. “I’m doing what I need to do to keep flying!”
“We didn’t put the White Knight together to work for the sort of scum we were supposed to be protecting people from!”
“That is such a frelling load of garbage! Oh, yes, brilliant idea! Run away from home, put an old fighter together and fly through fragging galaxy like we were some Terran knight errant!” the other Rufus growled. “Well the real world doesn't bloody well want heroes, understand?” He snorted in a breath and buried his face in his hands.
Rufus paused for a moment, waiting. His brother didn't move, didn't raise his head, didn't dare look at him, for fear of... what? Being judged?
Seeing what he tried to be, and failed? he thought.
“What ship did you lose?” he asked softly.
His brother spoke, still not daring to raise his head. “The Blue Horizon, a passenger liner out of Vulpine Secundus, on the Circle Route to the far stations. An easy run it seemed to me. I was one of four fighters and a civilian cutter escorting her. Far too many teeth for any normal pirate to challenge.”
“I've heard of that ship,” Rufus said, “and I know who hit her.”
“Easy run, take our rest periods on-board the liner, not too close to the disputed territories, no worries,” his brother continued. “Then she came out of nowhere, two days out from the first station.”
“The Celestial Marauder,” Rufus said.
His brother nodded. “Turned out the Horizon was carrying a load of industrial grade platinum in her holds that we hadn't been briefed on. Chan wanted it, and she was going to get it. The Marauder launched missiles and blew through the cutter's defenses like they weren't there. We had enough time for two strafing runs on her. The first took out two escort fighters, the second my wing-man. Then it was just me, the liner, and her.”
“So you ran,” Rufus concluded.
“I ran,” his brother agreed dully. “A hundred and fifty crew, four hundred and thirty-eight passengers, sixty-three of them cubs. She didn't bother taking any prisoners that day, she just wanted the platinum. I can still hear the Horizon's first officer screaming at me through the radio when I accelerated to go superliminal.”
“What happened afterward?”
His brother looked up at him finally, his eyes puffy and red once again. “I told the review board that I had been running to get help, since I was clearly over-matched. They agreed and exonerated me. The truth is, I was just running, trying to stay alive.”
“Must have been a bit difficult to get work after that,” Rufus said.
His brother chuckled in bitter agreement. “No legitimate transport service would hire me. So... after I began to get hungry... I started hiring out to services that... weren't so legitimate.”
Rufus paused for a moment, watching his brother as the latter stared blankly at the wall. Then he said, “In my world, I didn't take the Blue Horizon run. I ended up escorting a freighter convoy heading towards the Outback. Thought it would be more interesting than what looked to be a boring run on the Circle Route. Afterward, I'd wondered if one more fighter in the Horizon's group would have made a difference. In a strange sort of way, you've eased my mind a bit.”
“Glad I'm good for something then,” his brother said. “Myself, I thought taking my breaks on board a lovely liner, with the food, and the games, and the vixens, would be a nice little vacation.” He let out one short, barking laugh, then broke down and began to weep.
* * *
The crying jag lasted for several minutes, and all Rufus could do for his brother was sit beside him and wait for it to pass. He didn’t try to come any closer than that, for he suspected that as humiliated and shamed as this battered twin of his was, any pity he offered would be rejected violently. Eventually the tears slowed, and Rufus eased his brother to his feet and guided him back to bed. As he suspected the man’s reserves were not large, even with the good meal that he’d had, and soon he was back to sleep, snoring softly.
Now what, old man? he thought to himself, This fellow needs more help than I can give him. With his brother’s fighter in such poor shape, he was certainly not going to be much use in a fight with Mavra Chan. Though if it could be repaired, that might change things. Perhaps with his White Knight back in order, it might spark his honor and bravery back to light. But thrust rings didn’t grow in farm fields, and neither did the half-dozen other repairs that Rufus had seen in his brief exterior inspection that were needed to bring his brother’s ship to fighting trim.
Of course all of this was going to cost money. A great deal of money. Quite a bit more than the change I’ve got in my pocket, for certain, he thought grimly. After a moment’s pause he bit the bullet and went over to the suite’s computer console to open his twin brother’s account, the passwords being the same, fortunately. Unfortunately the records he found confirmed what he’d suspected. The one-Vulpine bacchanalia he’d found his brother in was done in a rare moment of financial flushness. Emphasis on flushed, Rufus thought. The profit from his last flight had gone mostly to his room and recent companionship, and it hadn’t really been enough to get the White Knight the repairs she needed. The records showed a slow decline in cash flow, running for several years, as jobs dried up, mostly likely linked to his brother’s deteriorating condition. Spending had been equally frugal, mostly on fuel for his ship, alcohol for himself, and vague and disturbing entries for “other entertainment.” How did he manage to not pay for any food for three months? He shuddered, realizing that his brother must have subsisted on food cubes from the Knight’s environmental recycling system. Gah!
Rufus typed in another account code into the financial record system, the one for the House Brushtail estate accounts, and wasn’t terribly surprised to find he couldn’t get in. Mother blocked his code when he started pulling money out to support his addictions, he guessed. Which means I can’t get at it either to pull the money I need to repair his White Knight. Bloody marvelous. He didn’t even have enough money on him to try and call Mother on a direct FTL link, not that she was likely to believe him if he tried to explain the whole situation. No, he had to try. Surely his brother had some secret stash of money set aside for emergencies.
Throwing his brother’s privacy to the winds, Rufus turned out the pockets of his jacket (empty, aside from an open prophylactic wrapper), then dumped the mildly rancid contents of his kit bag onto the bed. Dirty clothes, a small electronics tool kit probably thought too valuable to leave on his ship, and a phone earpiece all fell out. But there was no secret wad of cash or fund transfer cards. Then Rufus found, while patting through the bag’s pockets, a small vellum envelope with a cracked and opened Brushtail house seal upon it.
Opening it, he found a small slip of notepaper, wrapped around a one-shot calling card, the sort of thing designed so that the user could reach only a single number with it. The note itself simply read
Rufus,
Please call home.
Bethany
So she does hold out hope for you, even now, he thought, taking the card and folding the note carefully away back in its envelope.
He sat down again in front of the computer, buttoned up and straightened his uniform jacket, took a deep breath, then slotted the calling card into the computer’s reader slot. The screen flashed up with a CONNECTING CALL message, then switched to a view of his younger sister’s room. Her face suddenly appeared in the display plate, and she yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Yes, what is it-- Rufus!” Suddenly she was fully awake and looking back at him in amazement.
“I’m terribly sorry, Bethany, did I wake you?” Rufus said, feeling his face flush with embarrassment at having forgotten to check what the local time was at the estate.
“No, well yes, but that’s all right. Oh, dear brother it is so good to see your face. You look so much better than the last time we talked.”
Rufus gave her a wry smile. “I suspect you mean ‘sane and sober’, dear Bethany.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “That doesn’t matter. Oh, Rufus, it is wonderful to see you! Are you coming home soon?”
“I’m sorry, Bethany, but no,” he said, pained to see how her face fell at his words. For a moment, he thought he might tell it all to her, except that he couldn’t think of a way to tell the story without seeming utterly mad. I’m not your Rufus, I’m one from another universe. Your brother is still a drunk and an addict, but I need him and his ship if I’m going to rescue my friends. I’m sorry. “Actually…”
“You need money,” she said, all animation dropping out of her voice.
Rufus closed his eyes in shame. “I’m sorry. Believe me when I say I would not ask for this if the situation were not desperate. My ship needs repairs badly and people, good people, are going to be hurt if I can not get to them in time.”
“Oh, Rufus, I wish I could believe you,” Bethany said.
“Bethany, I honestly do not know what manner of pain I have inflicted upon you these past years. Great pain, I suspect, made even greater by the fact that I have refused to speak to you before now. I can not repair those bridges I have burned, only try to build new ones, and in that I cannot guarantee success. Neither can I claim that you will ever see me again as you see me now, sober, sane, like the brother you once knew and still love. All I can say is, by my Word as Viscount Ru-Ofanius Brushtail, of the House of Brushtail, I beg that you release funds sufficient to repair my ship. Otherwise, good and trustworthy friends of mine will be harmed, possibly killed, by people who regard honor as a joke, and find amusement in cruelty and harm to others.”
“Your Word,” she said carefully.
“Yes.”
She drew her chin up. “All the other times, when you asked for, begged for, cried for money, you never bothered to give your word of honor. You just told us that you would pay the House back, that you really meant it this time. You never did.”
“Well, I can at least tell you this in absolutely truth,” he said, with some humor, “you most likely aren’t to be paid back this time either. Not unless the White Knight goes into hock.”
She bit her lip, thinking. “People will be hurt, you say, if you do not get your ship repaired?”
“That is an absolute certainty, dear sister,” he said, sobering up.
Bethany nodded and tapped at her computer’s controls. A moment later a sub-screen popped up in Rufus’ own display, showing his twin’s account balance, which was suddenly filled with more than enough to get his ship operational. “There,” she said. “This money is from my personal account, not the House’s, so it should not attract Mother’s attention. Spend it wisely, please.”
“I shall, dear Bethany,” he replied, bowing to her in his seat.
“I won’t ask you to be safe, Rufus, I know you better than that,” she said, “but I do beg that you take care. I want you to come home.”
“I shall try, Bethany. Mother Goddess willing, someday I might succeed,” he replied. She nodded to him once again, then cut the transmission. Rufus leaned back in his seat and let out a long sigh.
“Is she gone?” his twin’s muffled voice asked from under the covers, apparently having awakened sometime during the conversation.
“Yes,” Rufus told him, turning in his chair to face the bed. “There’s enough money on the card still to call her back, if you wish. I’ll admit it would make this situation a damned sight less awkward if she could see us both together and I get a chance to explain things.”
His brother drew the sheets back and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t let her see me like this. You…. you fit her expectations of her big brother better than I do these days.”
“You still might, if you give her a chance.”
“Not like this,” his brother said, then reluctantly amended, “not yet, anyway.”
* * *
“Well, well,” Mavra Chan said thoughtfully, standing in the center of the Celestial Marauder’s boarding corridor, now connected to her sister ship. “Isn’t this interesting.” Beside her, Terinu was looking across at her opposite number with undisguised hatred. Or at the man beside her rather.
“You’ve got a Mouse,” the other Mavra declared brightly. “I’m jealous!”
“But you’ve still got Brooks,” she pointed out. “Though admittedly that’s hardly a fair trade.” Beside her other self, Brutal Brooks snarled in her direction.
“Oh, but I like Brooks, and Mouse was far too troublesome to keep,” her other self said. She pointed towards Terinu. “You should watch yourself with that one. His loyalties are a bit more flexible than you might realize.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Mavra told her. She brushed her hand through Terinu’s hair, and he smiled, though he kept his eyes focused on Brooks. “He’s my good boy, aren’t you, Terinu?”
“Yes, Milady,” he replied. “After all, ya let me fry that chunk of dog meat in front of me once already. I’ll do it for ya twice, if you give the word.”
“We don’t have to listen t’ this, Milady!” Brooks said, his hand dropping towards his gun.
“Ah, but they both say such interesting things,” her other self said, waving him down. “Be happy Mouse isn’t with us any longer. I think I’m seeing the flaw in the training I gave him.” Beside her, Brooks clamped his jaw shut, looking furious.
“Enough with the chit-chat,” Mavra said. “I think we’ve got a little problem. I’ve got a ship that’s been pounded to hell because of Admiral Blake’s brat. You’ve got a ship that’s battle capable, but you’re cut off from the body of your fleet.”
“So of course the best thing to do would be to team up. Bring our forces together. My ship acts as the flag, with you giving the orders to the rest of the fleet. Together we can pound Captain Blake flat and find out what she knows about our little mouse and his origins.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Mavra agreed. “There’s just one flaw.” In less than a second, she had her pistol out and pointed at her other self’s head, only to find she had done exactly the same. Brooks had his weapon at Terinu, while the boy hadn’t changed from his easy stance, having a more ready weapon than any of them.
“We know each too well, to make this really work,” her other self concluded.
Mavra smirked. “Let’s see. I shoot you, you shoot me, Brooks shoots at Terinu, Terinu shoots at Brooks. Who wins?
“Mouse,” her other self concluded. “He’s got the reflexes to dodge Brooks’ shot.”
“So he’s the only one standing at the end,” Mavra said.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, ya little rat,” Brooks growled.
Terinu just smiled at him. “Not my first choice. I lose Lady Mavra, I lose everything.”
“Unless you worked for me,” her other self pointed out.
“Pass,” he said, unimpressed. “I got reasons t’ stay on this ship.”
“Stalemate,” Mavra finished. “We both shoot, we both lose.”
“So what, we just go along with the original plan, seeing who’s going to stab the other in the back first?” her other self asked.
“Something like that.”
Her other self smiled, put her pistol back in the holster, and then held out her hand. “You’ve got a deal.”
* * *
Rufus snagged the ceramic O-ring out of air as it fell out of his brother’s hand, from his perch on top of the White Knight. “Mind your hands!” he called, clambering up onto the port wing and handing it back. “If that had broken we would have had to have gotten another replacement. It was hard enough to find one for a fighter this old in the first place.”
“Sorry, it just slipped,” his brother replied, taking the part back and ducking his head down. His hand was shaking as he held the delicate fitting, and he set it down on the wing, clenching his fists.
Rufus frowned. “Why don’t you take a break and find us something to eat? I can finish up with the fuel line there while you’re away.”
“It’s my bloody ship,” his brother growled. “I know her better than you. I can repair it by myself, thank you very much.”
“No, you can’t,” Rufus said. “You’re shaking like a cob stalk in the wind. Get down from there and let me handle this bit before you smash something we can’t afford to replace. You can help when the parts shop delivers the new thrust ring next shift.”
“Stop treating me like an idiot cub.”
“Stop acting like one, then,” Rufus snapped back. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I need your help. You’re the only one that can fly your fighter. I need you both in the best shape you can be brought into within thirty-six hours, which is the maximum time I think Captain Blake is going to wait before she tries to assault Mavra Chan’s ships. Because I do not want her going in guns-a-blazing without someone shadowing her and making sure she doesn’t mistake one short boy with a tail for another.”
His brother shook his head and climbed down form the wing. “I still think you’re mad, or I’m mad. Alternate universes. Identical twins. Alien boys who can produce more power than fusion plants. It’s ridiculous!”
“I’m standing here right in front of you. You’ve already seen my ship. How much more proof do you need?” Rufus said.
“For all I know you’re some sort of impersonator, part of a bizarre substitution plot.” His brother snorted a laugh. “Though why you’d want to take over my life I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“It does lack appeal, admittedly,” Rufus agreed. “Anyway, I can prove we’re the same person. Remember when we were around eight years old and we ran away to see that air show, after Mother said we couldn’t go?”
His brother looked unimpressed. “Yes, but that’s not proof. Mother howled loud enough for the Den Mother herself to hear after Whitebrow finally caught up with me.”
“Yes, but she would have howled louder if she’s found out about us hiding away in a storage locker in that transport, just before it took off to do a maneuver demonstration.”
His brother stared at him. “I never told anyone about that. No one ever caught me. Mother would have had me skinned and tacked my pelt to the ceiling if she’d found out about it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, that’s not actual proof, per se.”
“How about when we were nineteen? A bit drunk? Wanted to find out what kissing a human would be like? We ended up in that bar in the tourist district and we…”
“Enough!” his brother shouted. “Fine, your point is proven. You’re me. I’m you. That still doesn’t explain why we should be sticking our necks out for a bunch of aliens who seem to have more than enough firepower to manage their own affairs.”
Rufus’ voice went cool. “Because some of those aliens are our friends, and it’s the right thing to do.”
“For you maybe, not for me. I don’t know them.” His brother pointedly turned his back to Rufus and banged open a service panel to slide in a new system monitor unit. “Let the Navy handle the pirates. That’s what they’re there for.”
Rufus paused, trying to rein in his temper. Finally, he said with deceptive softness, “What if I tell the Navy about a certain Vulpine who calls himself a mercenary but earns his keep couriering drugs for smugglers?”
His brother turned, his face twisted up in a snarl, “You wouldn’t dare! You’d get accused as well!”
“I can leave this universe, while you’re stuck here,” Rufus pointed out. “An old human author I’m rather fond of had a saying in one of her books. It went, When you choose an action, you also choose the consequences of that action. I think it’s past time you learn what that means. Do you think you could keep doing your dirty work without some of the stain getting on your paws?”
His brother was shaking with rage, no, just shaking, snapped, “I did what I needed to do.”
“I seriously doubt that. You need to admit to your cowardice, then you need to go back home and apologize to our mother for your weakness, and then you need to get yourself to a doctor and be properly dried out.”
“Fragg off! I’d rather die then go crawling back to that old stiff tail!” Ears flicked back, still shaking, his brother turned and stomped towards the hanger exit.
“Where are you going?” Rufus called after him.
Still walking, his brother shouted back. “To the bloody loo! Want to watch?” He walked through the door and it slid closed behind him.
“Actually, I think I do,” Rufus said to himself. He jogged up to the door his brother had exited through, counted to five under his breath, then opened it, just in time to see the door to males’ ‘fresher down the hall slide shut. Padding up to that door, he counted to five again, opened it, and walked softly inside. There was only one occupied stall. Silently, he walked up to it, drew his leg back, and then kicked hard against the cheap plastic door. It flew inward on its hinges, the latch snapping, revealing him brother sitting on the toilet, the sleeve of his jacket rolled up, auto-injector pressed against his arm.
“You fragging…” he began to snarl.
“Shut up,” Rufus growling, snatching the injector out his brother’s hand. “That’s enough of that!” He tossed it into the garbage, where it disintegrated with a silent flash. “I need you sober and with all five senses fully operational if we’re going to do this.”
“You bloody sanctimonious little…” With a roar his brother stood up and rushed at him. Rufus stepped out of the way, putting his foot out to send his brother tripping into the wall. He struck with an audible thud, clutching his snout as blood began to leak between his fingers.
“You’re starting to make me seriously rethink my options,” Rufus said to his brother, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and began dragging him out of the ‘fresher.
“Where ar’gh we goi’g?” his brother demanded, still clutching his wounded snout.
“Back to the hanger,” Rufus told him, marching along at brisk pace. “If I have to hogtie you with the White Knight’s tiedown cables, I’m going to make sure you stay in one place while I finish her repairs. After that, we’ll just have to see whether taking you along with me is the help I and my friends really need.”
* * *
While life on the Celestial Marauder wasn't ever what you'd call “normal” Matt supposed, even going by what he was used to things were mighty weird today. They were docked with the other Lady Mavra's Marauder, transporting personnel and supplies over to this ship, getting ready to do whatever it was that the two pirate warlords wanted to do. It had sent Cookie into a frenzy, as the number of mouth's he had to feed suddenly doubled, never mind getting into an argument with his twin, who had come into the mess kitchen and immediately started drinking the latter's hidden booze supply. Matt supposed that meant that out of the pair of them, at least one might be sober enough to serve dinner in a couple of hours.
Actually the twin thing was what was most weird about it. Everybody running into their doubles had caused disruptions all over both ships, and at least three duels had been fought between pairs of twins, one of which had ended with both parties getting slabbed. Lady Mavra (or maybe it had been Lady Mavra) had settled it by declaring that everyone had better leave all their weapons in their foot lockers and get the hell back to work, or else they'd settle arguments by tossing both parties out the airlock.
Matt couldn't help but be curious what his own double was like. Living on a ship with no Brutal Brooks aboard sounded like paradise. It was a pity that poor Terinu seemed to be still stuck aboard. Though he missed his friend dearly some days, he couldn't angry over the younger boy for running away when he'd gotten the chance. Matt hoped wherever he was, he was happy right now.
He was maneuvering a cargo pallet labeled “oxygen joint seals, four centimeter” into position in the cargo bay nearest Engineering, when someone behind him cleared their throat and said, “H-Hi, Matt.”
Matt turned around to face himself, grinning, “Hi, it's good to finally meet you!”
The Matt nodded shyly, “G-good to m-meet you too, I guess.” His hair was combed back and gelled, like some of the ship's crew did who set their money aside and went for fancy looks, and wore nice fitting clothes that looked like he'd gotten first pick through the piles of leftovers that were always available after a successful boarding.
“Spiff outfit, by the way,” he told him. “You must be doing pretty good over on the other ship.”
The boy ducked his head down. “Y-eah, Terinu takes care of me.”
Matt laughed, as he locked down the box into its alcove. “That's something. Used to be, I was the one who took care of Teri, when he was younger.”
The other Matt nodded, “I did the same. I-I kinda raised him. I was only eight when he came aboard. H-he'd spent a y-year at some cabaret, but the lady who ran it d-didn't want him there. S-so Lady Mavra gave him to m-me. Like having a brother again. C-cept when he got older... things kinda turned around. S-still not s-sure how.”
Matt shrugged. “Funny how things work out. Suppose it must be great over there, with no Brutal Brooks on board.”
“Y-yeah, j-just great,” his twin said, not looking at all happy.
Matt frowned. What was the matter with this fellow. “What happened to Brooks anyway?”
The other Matt bit his lip. “T-Terinu killed him.”
“What?”
“I d-don't w-want... I g-gotta g-g-get back. T-terinu will want to k-know where I've been.” His twin turned around and ducked out into the companionway.
Matt ran after him and grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt. “Hey, ya can't stop there! How could Teri kill Brooks? He hates hurtin' people.”
“I d-dunno how,” his twin stuttered. “I done s-something s-stupid. D-dropped a part for the s-star drive engine that the Chief had wanted, a really expensive one. It smashed to bits on the f-floor, right in front of b-both of them.” The other Matt started shuddering. “Brooks p-punched m-me in the stomach and started y-yelling at what a s-stupid f-faggot I was. I fell down, and then he started k-kicking me. N-next thing that happened, w-was Terinu came runnin' in, screaming at B-brooks to stop. B-brooks just said, “Make me, freak!” and kept kicking me. I thought I was going to die. S-sometimes I w-wish I had.”
“Why?” Matt asked.
“B-because then Terinu j-jumped on B-brooks, glowing like a reactor core. He just grabbed and held on, glowing brighter and brighter. Then Brooks started to scream. Then Terinu... blew his head off. Just like that, no gun or nothing. Just zapped him with some beam that came between his spurs. T-then he looked down on me, and he... and he... smiled. It was the h-happiest I'd ever seen him. Like he'd done s-omething terrific.” His twin looked at him. “Did y-your Terinu ever do something like that?”
Matt blinked. “Once. But he wasn't what you'd call happy about it. He got pretty sick really. I don't think he liked it.”
“My Terinu likes it,” his twin said. “He's never been happier. The first thing he said to me, after Doc had patched me up was, 'now I can protect you.'”
Matt frowned, not quite understanding, only knowing that this other Matt didn't seem happy at all about being protected by Terinu. “I guess you're lucky then.”
“Yeah, real lucky,” his twin said, looking like he wanted to cry. “Really lucky.”
* * *
Terinu looked up when the cell bay’s door slide back, and dared to have a hope for the first time in days when he saw Matt enter, carrying a tray of rations. “Hey, Matt!” he called out, smiling, “’bout time you showed up. I was getting worried.”
Matt swallowed, and put the tray down on the floor, pushing it quickly through the pass slot. “I-I’m not supposed t-to talk to the prisoners,” he said, not meeting Terinu’s eyes.
“Hey, Matt, what’s the matter?” Crap, something was wrong, way wrong. Matt somehow was looking both better and worse than Terinu had ever seen him. For one thing he just looked cleaner, his hair neatly brushed back, his clothes looking new and fitting well, like they’d been bought for him, not snatched out of the pile of abandoned booty that Chan had deemed not worth selling. Usually from the wardrobes of the Celestial Marauder’s latest victim. Worse was the expression on his face. The kid was scared to death about something, with a beaten dog look that Terinu was all too familiar with, and his eyes had bags under them, as if it had been a long time since he’d gotten a decent watch’s sleep.
“Not supposed to talk t’ you, sorry,” Matt mumbled, and quickly stood up and turned away.
“Matt, stop!” Terinu shouted, and his friend froze into place, like a Galen space rat that had just had its cover pulled away. “Don’t ya frelling go nowhere! I need your help t’ get out of here!”
“Can’t, Lady Mavra’s orders,” Matt said, not turning around.
Terinu drew in a breath. Fragg, he wasn’t any good at this psychology stuff. All he knew was that he had to get Matt on his side quick, because it didn’t look like he was going to get a second chance. “Matt, listen t’ me. I seen the other me, the one you’ve gotta deal with. Yer scared of him. That’s all right, he scares the crap outta me too. But y’ listen t’ me now. If yer like the Matt Townsend in my world, y’ kept me alive when I should have starved to death. Y’ kept me from goin’ nuts whenever Brooks decided to screw with me. If that guy in the black leathers is still around because of what you did, he ain’t gonna hurt y’, you got that?”
Matt’s shoulders hunched down as Terinu spoke. Once he’d finished the human’s head hung down, and he shook it once, denying what Terinu had just said.
“Y’ did that for him,” Terinu went on, desperately. “The Matt in my world did it for me too. Y’ think I don’t remember that? You think I wouldn’t rather die then see ya hurt? You get me out of this cell, ya get this fraggin’ inhibitor collar off me, I’ll protect you, okay? I won’t let anybody hurt ya!”
Matt finally turned his head to look at Terinu, a desperate, hopeful expression on his face. Then he turned away quickly, straightening up in surprise as the cell bay’s door slid open again.
“Matt, what did I say about talkin’ to the prisoner?” Terinu’s twin said, his expression dark.
“T-t-to not to, sir,” Matt stuttered.
“Ya shouldn’t listen t’ anything he says. Ya think he can treat ya better than I can?”
Matt stared at the floor. “N-no, sir. Y-y-you keep me safe.”
The expression on the black clad Ferin’s face softened into a knowing smile. “Look me in the face and say it again.”
Matt raised his head, looking into the eyes of the other Terinu. “Y-you keep me safe, sir.”
“That’s right,” this Terinu said. His tail wrapped around Matt, the spade coming to rest on the older boy’s shoulder. Matt flinched as the tip brushed against his cheek. “Nobody is ever gonna touch ya, not while I’m around. We’re best friends, ain’t that right, Matt?”
“Yessir,” Matt agreed, his voice barely a whisper.
Terinu’s twin drew his tail back. “Now run along back to our quarters. We’re gonna have a little talk, after I chat with my twin here. Ya understand?”
“Yessir. Yes, Terinu.” Matt fled the cell without another word, while this world’s Terinu let out a quiet chuckle.
“Good boy,” he said, when the door shut. He turned around to face Terinu, pulling a remote out of his pocket, his expression turned dark again. “Now what’s this about ya tryin’ t’ turn my best friend against me?” He pressed a button, and Terinu dropped to the floor as the shock collar zapped him.
TBC
Story begins at Part One
The rather confusing conversation Rufus had with the refueling station's flight control center suddenly made a great deal more sense when he found himself facing a near exact copy of the White Knight, right down to the chess piece logo on her side, some hundred paces away from where he'd parked his own ship. His shoulders sagged down in relief as he thought, An ally I can trust absolutely, at last!
He paused there for a moment, giving this twin of his ship a critical eye. She'd seen plenty of action, that was for certain. There were burned and melted panels on the port wing and along the hull that hadn't been repaired yet, and the number two chin cannon was missing. Rufus found himself frowning as he walked around aft, noting the hairline crack along engine's thrust exhaust ring. That's not battle damage, that's just poor maintenance. Dangerously poor. Well, perhaps his other self was going through a bad stretch. Fine then, he decided. He could hardly abandon himself when he appeared to be having troubles. He patted his White Knight's twin fondly, and promised her that he'd see to getting her properly repaired as soon as possible.
Now then, if I were me, where would I visit first on this station? Rufus walked out of the parking bay, towards the station's main commerce corridor. At the third bar he poked his head into, the Galen barkeep behind the counter looked at him when he entered with an angry glare.
“You!” the barkeep called out, “you've got a lot of odos to come back in here after you tried to stiff...” The Galen's voice trailed off as he looked at Rufus more closely. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said with more deference, “but you wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?”
“Quite possibly,” Rufus said, slipping some credit chits across the countertop towards the barkeep. “You wouldn't happen to know which way he went, would you?”
“Roxi’s Place, Cross-Corridor Five,” the barkeep said.
“Thank you, my good sir.” He found Roxi’s Place three corridors down, the sign above the door in glaring red, fuzzing out occasionally as the cheap holographic projector lost power intermittently. He smiled at the two rather desperate looking working girls leaning on either side of the doorframe and slipped inside. Inside the dimly lit waiting area, music thumped painfully against his eardrums as a thin Creo woman in too much makeup slid up to him.
“I’m not looking for companionship,” he said hastily. He flashed some more credit chits at her. “I’m looking for my, er, my brother. Is he still here?”
She took the credits and slipped them into a pouch hanging from the wide belt that hugged her hips. “He’s upstairs, Handsome. Room number four.”
“Thank you,” Rufus replied. “He isn’t, ah, currently occupied, is he?”
She grinned at him. “Naw, I left him two hours ago. He’s still drying out probably.”
“Again, thank you,” he said, and went upstairs as quickly as decorum would permit.
Room number four was shut with a palm lock. Fortunately Rufus’ own hand was able to open it, as he thought it might. When the door slid open, he found himself involuntarily stepping back as a miasma of smells assaulted his nose, a terrible mixture of sweat, sex, alcohol, vomit, and something else he couldn’t quite identify. Steeling himself, he stepped over the threshold. Inside the room the temperature was blood warm, and he saw the naked body of the Vulpine he was looking for sprawled on the room’s bed, the only piece of furniture inside, partially wrapped in a dirty sheet. His head was hanging over the side of the bed, face down in a waste bin.
The figure let out a low moan. “I paid for th’ fraggin’ room til tomorrow, y’ greedy bitch!”
“I’m not the proprietor,” Rufus answered.
With a grunt, the other Vulpine rolled over, flopping onto his back. The figure looked back at him with Rufus’ own eyes, though they were red, puffy, and dilated to an alarming degree. “Thas okay then. Hiya, buddy,” his other self greeted cheerily, “Ya wanna party? It’s ah great party tonigh’.”
“No, thank you,” Rufus said, sitting on a relatively clean spot on the edge of the bed, nudging a bottle lying on the floor away with his foot. “I’m not here to party. I was looking for you, in fact.”
“Lookin’ fer me?” his other self, appearing confused. He took in a couple of deep breaths, and Rufus could briefly see how thin his fur had grown, revealing skin hanging tight against his ribs. “M-my sister didn’ send ya, did she? I-I-I don’ wanna talk t’ her no more...”
“No, she didn’t,” Rufus answered, his voice growing tight. “By the Blessed Mother Goddess, what are you doing here, man?”
“I told ya, man, ‘m havin’ party!” His other self giggled briefly, ending in a wet belch. Then he clumsily reached over to his stained uniform jacket which was hanging off the bedpost, pulling out a small case from the inner pocket. “Got party favors and everythin’, see!”
Rufus snatched the case out his hand, popping it open to reveal a pair of ampoules sitting in disposable injectors. “What is this?” he asked, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.
“Jus’, jus’ some Juno,” his other self answered. “Keeps m’ reflexes in shape.”
Rufus reached over and grabbed hold of the Vulpine’s left arm, feeling through the fur until he could find the line of bumps of the injection points. Juno was, he knew, a semi-useful combat drug, but completely illegal in civilized areas, for good reason. Mercenary pilots sometimes indulged in it, for it did help calm jittery combat reflexes in a fight. Until it begins to burn out their brains, he thought. “You… you… pathetic…” he began to growl, then clamped down on his anger with great effort.
“Hey, don’ be such a fraggin’ stiff tail, buddy. Who the hell are ya anyway?” his other self said, pulling his arm away. Then he blinked, trying to bring his eyes into focus. “Do I know you?”
Rufus stood. “No, sir,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Then he turned away and walked out, letting the door shut itself behind him.
* * *
Rufus marched back towards his ship, face set in a frown, intent on getting the White Knight refueled and back in space as quickly as possible. You were wondering what you were like in this universe. Too late to complain about finding out.
How, what weakness was in this universe’s version of himself that turned him into such a wretched, wrecked creature? If my mother ever saw me in that state, she’d disown me immediately, and deservedly so. Perhaps in this world she already had.
His pace slowed as came before the battered, badly used hull of his twin’s White Knight. Perhaps this, more than his twin’s condition, was what outraged Rufus the most. He had enough money to purchase his wretched drugs and buy a woman for the night, you can’t tell me he didn’t have enough to conduct some basic repairs. Slowly, he walked down the length of the fighter’s hull, noting every bit of scratched paint, every ding in her hull plating, every un-cleaned smudge. Simple maintenance chores seemed beyond the sot now.
He found himself pausing before the cracked thrust ring. That was a far more serious matter. Certainly it made this ship useless as a fighter. If she was brought up to combat acceleration it would almost certainly trigger a catastrophic engine failure, one that might kill a pilot whose senses were operating at full capacity, never mind the wretch he’d left in that brothel.
Leave him, Rufus told himself firmly, you can’t save him from his fate.
Still, he stood before the battered fighter for a long time, thinking. Is Bethany in this world? Will she weep for him when he dies, or simply sigh in relief and say “Good riddance?” No, he couldn’t believe, whatever this other Rufus’ state, that his sister would be of the same mould. She would cry for him, wretch or not, even if I wouldn’t. Then he sighed and turned around, heading back to Roxi’s Place.
* * *
Extricating his “brother” from the brothel proved relatively simple. The owner was more than happy to free up the room for another customer, and his twin had fallen unconscious again, coming down off an ampoule from his supply case. Rufus threw him and his small pack of belongings over his shoulder and hauled them both over to what passed for a luxury hotel on this station, with a suite that was otherwise unremarkable except for featuring (for a suitable surcharge) a full spectrum H2O shower.
Rufus left his snoring twin on the bed while he pulled out the shower’s control panel, inserting a transceiver with a lockout mechanism. Then he stripped his twin out of his clothes, dropped him with a thump into the shower, then slid the door shut and jammed it closed with a screwdriver.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” he called out, and pressed the All Faucets, Needle Spray, Cold button on his remote’s touchscreen. Seven spray nozzles set two to a side and one above came to life at once, and three seconds later his twin was awake and howling in outrage.
“What the bloody…!” the sodden Vulpine began to shout, then screamed again as Rufus kicked the water temperature to near boiling. “You motherless…!”
“Such language,” Rufus called out, above the noise of his twin thumping against the translucent plastic door. “Mother would be ashamed.”
“You leave that stiff-necked vixen out of this, you…. Arrrrrrgh!” he shouted, as the temperature switched to near freezing again. Rufus tossed a liquid soap dispenser and a loofah over the top of the door, the former bouncing off his twin’s head judging from the yelp he let out.
“Start cleaning and I’ll set this to a more reasonable temperature,” Rufus told him.
“Go fragg yourself!”
“Have it your way. Time to boil again, I guess,” Rufus said cheerily.
“No, wait!” He heard the sound of the loofah being vigorously rubbed over fur, then relented and turned the temperature back to lukewarm. After several minutes his twin announced that he was finished, and Rufus turned on the drying fans. Once he was sure there had been enough time fur his fur to dry out, he turned the fans off and unblocked the door.
“Come on out, it’s time to talk,” Rufus told him. His twin opened the door, took one look at him, then shut it again.
“Go away!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rufus said firmly.
“I’m being tortured by a bloody hallucination!”
“I don’t think your brain is that far gone, brother. Now unless you want me to turn that shower on again, I suggest you open the door so we can talk.”
The door opened again, and his twin leaned out, hands pressed against the shower stall to steady himself. “Who are you and what by the blasted Den Mother are you doing with my face?”
“Remember watching that human entertainment called “It’s a Wonderful Life” when you were a cub?”
“Yes, it was sentimental claptrap. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, I find myself in the position of George Bailey, and instead of being in a world where I don’t exist, it’s that I exist and I’m a bloody worthless, drunk, drug-addicted, suicidal idiot.”
“Go away,” his brother repeated, stepping out of the shower to stand, however unsteadily, on his feet. “If I wanted to be insulted I’d try calling my mother. At least I’m sure she’s not a product of my deranged imagination.”
“Why should I go away? I’m the one who rented this room,” Rufus replied, handing him a bathrobe. He motioned towards the suite’s dining area, where a tray had been delivered by room service a few minutes before he’d thrown his twin into the shower. “Now sit and eat.”
His brother’s face took on a distinctly ill expression, though he did put on the robe and sit down. “No, thank you.”
“When was the last time you ate a meal that wasn’t cheap space rations or beer nuts in a pub?”
“Er, a while now,” his brother admitted. He grimaced at the plate in front of him, but cut off a slice of meat for himself and began to chew. In a matter of moments he was eating ravenously, and had cleaned his plate off in short order. “Oh, by the Blessed Mother, for a hallucination that was tasty,” he said, letting out a satisfied belch.
“It was real enough,” Rufus said. “Would I could take care of the rest of your problems so easily.”
“Don’t have any problems,” his brother said with studied casualness.
Rufus frowned in annoyance. “Leaving aside your obvious personal faults, you’ve got a fighter in dock that’s badly in need of repair. You try and go into combat with a cracked thrust ring and your engine will blow for certain.”
His brother waved his hand airily. “I don’t use the White Knight for combat anymore.”
“She’s a fighter. What else is she good for?”
The other Rufus shrugged. “Oh, courier work, mostly. Secured messages, small packages, that sort of thing.”
“Small packages,” Rufus said tightly, a terrible light dawning in his mind. “Small, expensive packages, I’m assuming.”
“Sometimes,” the other Rufus admitted, turning his face away.
“Drug smuggling, you’ve been using the White Knight for drug smuggling!” Rufus shouted. “Well at least I know how you can afford the garbage you’ve been shooting into your veins. Obviously you’ve been taking payment in kind!”
“Oh, shut up you sanctimonious prat!” the other Rufus shouted back. “I’m doing what I need to do to keep flying!”
“We didn’t put the White Knight together to work for the sort of scum we were supposed to be protecting people from!”
“That is such a frelling load of garbage! Oh, yes, brilliant idea! Run away from home, put an old fighter together and fly through fragging galaxy like we were some Terran knight errant!” the other Rufus growled. “Well the real world doesn't bloody well want heroes, understand?” He snorted in a breath and buried his face in his hands.
Rufus paused for a moment, waiting. His brother didn't move, didn't raise his head, didn't dare look at him, for fear of... what? Being judged?
Seeing what he tried to be, and failed? he thought.
“What ship did you lose?” he asked softly.
His brother spoke, still not daring to raise his head. “The Blue Horizon, a passenger liner out of Vulpine Secundus, on the Circle Route to the far stations. An easy run it seemed to me. I was one of four fighters and a civilian cutter escorting her. Far too many teeth for any normal pirate to challenge.”
“I've heard of that ship,” Rufus said, “and I know who hit her.”
“Easy run, take our rest periods on-board the liner, not too close to the disputed territories, no worries,” his brother continued. “Then she came out of nowhere, two days out from the first station.”
“The Celestial Marauder,” Rufus said.
His brother nodded. “Turned out the Horizon was carrying a load of industrial grade platinum in her holds that we hadn't been briefed on. Chan wanted it, and she was going to get it. The Marauder launched missiles and blew through the cutter's defenses like they weren't there. We had enough time for two strafing runs on her. The first took out two escort fighters, the second my wing-man. Then it was just me, the liner, and her.”
“So you ran,” Rufus concluded.
“I ran,” his brother agreed dully. “A hundred and fifty crew, four hundred and thirty-eight passengers, sixty-three of them cubs. She didn't bother taking any prisoners that day, she just wanted the platinum. I can still hear the Horizon's first officer screaming at me through the radio when I accelerated to go superliminal.”
“What happened afterward?”
His brother looked up at him finally, his eyes puffy and red once again. “I told the review board that I had been running to get help, since I was clearly over-matched. They agreed and exonerated me. The truth is, I was just running, trying to stay alive.”
“Must have been a bit difficult to get work after that,” Rufus said.
His brother chuckled in bitter agreement. “No legitimate transport service would hire me. So... after I began to get hungry... I started hiring out to services that... weren't so legitimate.”
Rufus paused for a moment, watching his brother as the latter stared blankly at the wall. Then he said, “In my world, I didn't take the Blue Horizon run. I ended up escorting a freighter convoy heading towards the Outback. Thought it would be more interesting than what looked to be a boring run on the Circle Route. Afterward, I'd wondered if one more fighter in the Horizon's group would have made a difference. In a strange sort of way, you've eased my mind a bit.”
“Glad I'm good for something then,” his brother said. “Myself, I thought taking my breaks on board a lovely liner, with the food, and the games, and the vixens, would be a nice little vacation.” He let out one short, barking laugh, then broke down and began to weep.
* * *
The crying jag lasted for several minutes, and all Rufus could do for his brother was sit beside him and wait for it to pass. He didn’t try to come any closer than that, for he suspected that as humiliated and shamed as this battered twin of his was, any pity he offered would be rejected violently. Eventually the tears slowed, and Rufus eased his brother to his feet and guided him back to bed. As he suspected the man’s reserves were not large, even with the good meal that he’d had, and soon he was back to sleep, snoring softly.
Now what, old man? he thought to himself, This fellow needs more help than I can give him. With his brother’s fighter in such poor shape, he was certainly not going to be much use in a fight with Mavra Chan. Though if it could be repaired, that might change things. Perhaps with his White Knight back in order, it might spark his honor and bravery back to light. But thrust rings didn’t grow in farm fields, and neither did the half-dozen other repairs that Rufus had seen in his brief exterior inspection that were needed to bring his brother’s ship to fighting trim.
Of course all of this was going to cost money. A great deal of money. Quite a bit more than the change I’ve got in my pocket, for certain, he thought grimly. After a moment’s pause he bit the bullet and went over to the suite’s computer console to open his twin brother’s account, the passwords being the same, fortunately. Unfortunately the records he found confirmed what he’d suspected. The one-Vulpine bacchanalia he’d found his brother in was done in a rare moment of financial flushness. Emphasis on flushed, Rufus thought. The profit from his last flight had gone mostly to his room and recent companionship, and it hadn’t really been enough to get the White Knight the repairs she needed. The records showed a slow decline in cash flow, running for several years, as jobs dried up, mostly likely linked to his brother’s deteriorating condition. Spending had been equally frugal, mostly on fuel for his ship, alcohol for himself, and vague and disturbing entries for “other entertainment.” How did he manage to not pay for any food for three months? He shuddered, realizing that his brother must have subsisted on food cubes from the Knight’s environmental recycling system. Gah!
Rufus typed in another account code into the financial record system, the one for the House Brushtail estate accounts, and wasn’t terribly surprised to find he couldn’t get in. Mother blocked his code when he started pulling money out to support his addictions, he guessed. Which means I can’t get at it either to pull the money I need to repair his White Knight. Bloody marvelous. He didn’t even have enough money on him to try and call Mother on a direct FTL link, not that she was likely to believe him if he tried to explain the whole situation. No, he had to try. Surely his brother had some secret stash of money set aside for emergencies.
Throwing his brother’s privacy to the winds, Rufus turned out the pockets of his jacket (empty, aside from an open prophylactic wrapper), then dumped the mildly rancid contents of his kit bag onto the bed. Dirty clothes, a small electronics tool kit probably thought too valuable to leave on his ship, and a phone earpiece all fell out. But there was no secret wad of cash or fund transfer cards. Then Rufus found, while patting through the bag’s pockets, a small vellum envelope with a cracked and opened Brushtail house seal upon it.
Opening it, he found a small slip of notepaper, wrapped around a one-shot calling card, the sort of thing designed so that the user could reach only a single number with it. The note itself simply read
Rufus,
Please call home.
Bethany
So she does hold out hope for you, even now, he thought, taking the card and folding the note carefully away back in its envelope.
He sat down again in front of the computer, buttoned up and straightened his uniform jacket, took a deep breath, then slotted the calling card into the computer’s reader slot. The screen flashed up with a CONNECTING CALL message, then switched to a view of his younger sister’s room. Her face suddenly appeared in the display plate, and she yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Yes, what is it-- Rufus!” Suddenly she was fully awake and looking back at him in amazement.
“I’m terribly sorry, Bethany, did I wake you?” Rufus said, feeling his face flush with embarrassment at having forgotten to check what the local time was at the estate.
“No, well yes, but that’s all right. Oh, dear brother it is so good to see your face. You look so much better than the last time we talked.”
Rufus gave her a wry smile. “I suspect you mean ‘sane and sober’, dear Bethany.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “That doesn’t matter. Oh, Rufus, it is wonderful to see you! Are you coming home soon?”
“I’m sorry, Bethany, but no,” he said, pained to see how her face fell at his words. For a moment, he thought he might tell it all to her, except that he couldn’t think of a way to tell the story without seeming utterly mad. I’m not your Rufus, I’m one from another universe. Your brother is still a drunk and an addict, but I need him and his ship if I’m going to rescue my friends. I’m sorry. “Actually…”
“You need money,” she said, all animation dropping out of her voice.
Rufus closed his eyes in shame. “I’m sorry. Believe me when I say I would not ask for this if the situation were not desperate. My ship needs repairs badly and people, good people, are going to be hurt if I can not get to them in time.”
“Oh, Rufus, I wish I could believe you,” Bethany said.
“Bethany, I honestly do not know what manner of pain I have inflicted upon you these past years. Great pain, I suspect, made even greater by the fact that I have refused to speak to you before now. I can not repair those bridges I have burned, only try to build new ones, and in that I cannot guarantee success. Neither can I claim that you will ever see me again as you see me now, sober, sane, like the brother you once knew and still love. All I can say is, by my Word as Viscount Ru-Ofanius Brushtail, of the House of Brushtail, I beg that you release funds sufficient to repair my ship. Otherwise, good and trustworthy friends of mine will be harmed, possibly killed, by people who regard honor as a joke, and find amusement in cruelty and harm to others.”
“Your Word,” she said carefully.
“Yes.”
She drew her chin up. “All the other times, when you asked for, begged for, cried for money, you never bothered to give your word of honor. You just told us that you would pay the House back, that you really meant it this time. You never did.”
“Well, I can at least tell you this in absolutely truth,” he said, with some humor, “you most likely aren’t to be paid back this time either. Not unless the White Knight goes into hock.”
She bit her lip, thinking. “People will be hurt, you say, if you do not get your ship repaired?”
“That is an absolute certainty, dear sister,” he said, sobering up.
Bethany nodded and tapped at her computer’s controls. A moment later a sub-screen popped up in Rufus’ own display, showing his twin’s account balance, which was suddenly filled with more than enough to get his ship operational. “There,” she said. “This money is from my personal account, not the House’s, so it should not attract Mother’s attention. Spend it wisely, please.”
“I shall, dear Bethany,” he replied, bowing to her in his seat.
“I won’t ask you to be safe, Rufus, I know you better than that,” she said, “but I do beg that you take care. I want you to come home.”
“I shall try, Bethany. Mother Goddess willing, someday I might succeed,” he replied. She nodded to him once again, then cut the transmission. Rufus leaned back in his seat and let out a long sigh.
“Is she gone?” his twin’s muffled voice asked from under the covers, apparently having awakened sometime during the conversation.
“Yes,” Rufus told him, turning in his chair to face the bed. “There’s enough money on the card still to call her back, if you wish. I’ll admit it would make this situation a damned sight less awkward if she could see us both together and I get a chance to explain things.”
His brother drew the sheets back and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t let her see me like this. You…. you fit her expectations of her big brother better than I do these days.”
“You still might, if you give her a chance.”
“Not like this,” his brother said, then reluctantly amended, “not yet, anyway.”
* * *
“Well, well,” Mavra Chan said thoughtfully, standing in the center of the Celestial Marauder’s boarding corridor, now connected to her sister ship. “Isn’t this interesting.” Beside her, Terinu was looking across at her opposite number with undisguised hatred. Or at the man beside her rather.
“You’ve got a Mouse,” the other Mavra declared brightly. “I’m jealous!”
“But you’ve still got Brooks,” she pointed out. “Though admittedly that’s hardly a fair trade.” Beside her other self, Brutal Brooks snarled in her direction.
“Oh, but I like Brooks, and Mouse was far too troublesome to keep,” her other self said. She pointed towards Terinu. “You should watch yourself with that one. His loyalties are a bit more flexible than you might realize.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Mavra told her. She brushed her hand through Terinu’s hair, and he smiled, though he kept his eyes focused on Brooks. “He’s my good boy, aren’t you, Terinu?”
“Yes, Milady,” he replied. “After all, ya let me fry that chunk of dog meat in front of me once already. I’ll do it for ya twice, if you give the word.”
“We don’t have to listen t’ this, Milady!” Brooks said, his hand dropping towards his gun.
“Ah, but they both say such interesting things,” her other self said, waving him down. “Be happy Mouse isn’t with us any longer. I think I’m seeing the flaw in the training I gave him.” Beside her, Brooks clamped his jaw shut, looking furious.
“Enough with the chit-chat,” Mavra said. “I think we’ve got a little problem. I’ve got a ship that’s been pounded to hell because of Admiral Blake’s brat. You’ve got a ship that’s battle capable, but you’re cut off from the body of your fleet.”
“So of course the best thing to do would be to team up. Bring our forces together. My ship acts as the flag, with you giving the orders to the rest of the fleet. Together we can pound Captain Blake flat and find out what she knows about our little mouse and his origins.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Mavra agreed. “There’s just one flaw.” In less than a second, she had her pistol out and pointed at her other self’s head, only to find she had done exactly the same. Brooks had his weapon at Terinu, while the boy hadn’t changed from his easy stance, having a more ready weapon than any of them.
“We know each too well, to make this really work,” her other self concluded.
Mavra smirked. “Let’s see. I shoot you, you shoot me, Brooks shoots at Terinu, Terinu shoots at Brooks. Who wins?
“Mouse,” her other self concluded. “He’s got the reflexes to dodge Brooks’ shot.”
“So he’s the only one standing at the end,” Mavra said.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, ya little rat,” Brooks growled.
Terinu just smiled at him. “Not my first choice. I lose Lady Mavra, I lose everything.”
“Unless you worked for me,” her other self pointed out.
“Pass,” he said, unimpressed. “I got reasons t’ stay on this ship.”
“Stalemate,” Mavra finished. “We both shoot, we both lose.”
“So what, we just go along with the original plan, seeing who’s going to stab the other in the back first?” her other self asked.
“Something like that.”
Her other self smiled, put her pistol back in the holster, and then held out her hand. “You’ve got a deal.”
* * *
Rufus snagged the ceramic O-ring out of air as it fell out of his brother’s hand, from his perch on top of the White Knight. “Mind your hands!” he called, clambering up onto the port wing and handing it back. “If that had broken we would have had to have gotten another replacement. It was hard enough to find one for a fighter this old in the first place.”
“Sorry, it just slipped,” his brother replied, taking the part back and ducking his head down. His hand was shaking as he held the delicate fitting, and he set it down on the wing, clenching his fists.
Rufus frowned. “Why don’t you take a break and find us something to eat? I can finish up with the fuel line there while you’re away.”
“It’s my bloody ship,” his brother growled. “I know her better than you. I can repair it by myself, thank you very much.”
“No, you can’t,” Rufus said. “You’re shaking like a cob stalk in the wind. Get down from there and let me handle this bit before you smash something we can’t afford to replace. You can help when the parts shop delivers the new thrust ring next shift.”
“Stop treating me like an idiot cub.”
“Stop acting like one, then,” Rufus snapped back. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I need your help. You’re the only one that can fly your fighter. I need you both in the best shape you can be brought into within thirty-six hours, which is the maximum time I think Captain Blake is going to wait before she tries to assault Mavra Chan’s ships. Because I do not want her going in guns-a-blazing without someone shadowing her and making sure she doesn’t mistake one short boy with a tail for another.”
His brother shook his head and climbed down form the wing. “I still think you’re mad, or I’m mad. Alternate universes. Identical twins. Alien boys who can produce more power than fusion plants. It’s ridiculous!”
“I’m standing here right in front of you. You’ve already seen my ship. How much more proof do you need?” Rufus said.
“For all I know you’re some sort of impersonator, part of a bizarre substitution plot.” His brother snorted a laugh. “Though why you’d want to take over my life I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“It does lack appeal, admittedly,” Rufus agreed. “Anyway, I can prove we’re the same person. Remember when we were around eight years old and we ran away to see that air show, after Mother said we couldn’t go?”
His brother looked unimpressed. “Yes, but that’s not proof. Mother howled loud enough for the Den Mother herself to hear after Whitebrow finally caught up with me.”
“Yes, but she would have howled louder if she’s found out about us hiding away in a storage locker in that transport, just before it took off to do a maneuver demonstration.”
His brother stared at him. “I never told anyone about that. No one ever caught me. Mother would have had me skinned and tacked my pelt to the ceiling if she’d found out about it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, that’s not actual proof, per se.”
“How about when we were nineteen? A bit drunk? Wanted to find out what kissing a human would be like? We ended up in that bar in the tourist district and we…”
“Enough!” his brother shouted. “Fine, your point is proven. You’re me. I’m you. That still doesn’t explain why we should be sticking our necks out for a bunch of aliens who seem to have more than enough firepower to manage their own affairs.”
Rufus’ voice went cool. “Because some of those aliens are our friends, and it’s the right thing to do.”
“For you maybe, not for me. I don’t know them.” His brother pointedly turned his back to Rufus and banged open a service panel to slide in a new system monitor unit. “Let the Navy handle the pirates. That’s what they’re there for.”
Rufus paused, trying to rein in his temper. Finally, he said with deceptive softness, “What if I tell the Navy about a certain Vulpine who calls himself a mercenary but earns his keep couriering drugs for smugglers?”
His brother turned, his face twisted up in a snarl, “You wouldn’t dare! You’d get accused as well!”
“I can leave this universe, while you’re stuck here,” Rufus pointed out. “An old human author I’m rather fond of had a saying in one of her books. It went, When you choose an action, you also choose the consequences of that action. I think it’s past time you learn what that means. Do you think you could keep doing your dirty work without some of the stain getting on your paws?”
His brother was shaking with rage, no, just shaking, snapped, “I did what I needed to do.”
“I seriously doubt that. You need to admit to your cowardice, then you need to go back home and apologize to our mother for your weakness, and then you need to get yourself to a doctor and be properly dried out.”
“Fragg off! I’d rather die then go crawling back to that old stiff tail!” Ears flicked back, still shaking, his brother turned and stomped towards the hanger exit.
“Where are you going?” Rufus called after him.
Still walking, his brother shouted back. “To the bloody loo! Want to watch?” He walked through the door and it slid closed behind him.
“Actually, I think I do,” Rufus said to himself. He jogged up to the door his brother had exited through, counted to five under his breath, then opened it, just in time to see the door to males’ ‘fresher down the hall slide shut. Padding up to that door, he counted to five again, opened it, and walked softly inside. There was only one occupied stall. Silently, he walked up to it, drew his leg back, and then kicked hard against the cheap plastic door. It flew inward on its hinges, the latch snapping, revealing him brother sitting on the toilet, the sleeve of his jacket rolled up, auto-injector pressed against his arm.
“You fragging…” he began to snarl.
“Shut up,” Rufus growling, snatching the injector out his brother’s hand. “That’s enough of that!” He tossed it into the garbage, where it disintegrated with a silent flash. “I need you sober and with all five senses fully operational if we’re going to do this.”
“You bloody sanctimonious little…” With a roar his brother stood up and rushed at him. Rufus stepped out of the way, putting his foot out to send his brother tripping into the wall. He struck with an audible thud, clutching his snout as blood began to leak between his fingers.
“You’re starting to make me seriously rethink my options,” Rufus said to his brother, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and began dragging him out of the ‘fresher.
“Where ar’gh we goi’g?” his brother demanded, still clutching his wounded snout.
“Back to the hanger,” Rufus told him, marching along at brisk pace. “If I have to hogtie you with the White Knight’s tiedown cables, I’m going to make sure you stay in one place while I finish her repairs. After that, we’ll just have to see whether taking you along with me is the help I and my friends really need.”
* * *
While life on the Celestial Marauder wasn't ever what you'd call “normal” Matt supposed, even going by what he was used to things were mighty weird today. They were docked with the other Lady Mavra's Marauder, transporting personnel and supplies over to this ship, getting ready to do whatever it was that the two pirate warlords wanted to do. It had sent Cookie into a frenzy, as the number of mouth's he had to feed suddenly doubled, never mind getting into an argument with his twin, who had come into the mess kitchen and immediately started drinking the latter's hidden booze supply. Matt supposed that meant that out of the pair of them, at least one might be sober enough to serve dinner in a couple of hours.
Actually the twin thing was what was most weird about it. Everybody running into their doubles had caused disruptions all over both ships, and at least three duels had been fought between pairs of twins, one of which had ended with both parties getting slabbed. Lady Mavra (or maybe it had been Lady Mavra) had settled it by declaring that everyone had better leave all their weapons in their foot lockers and get the hell back to work, or else they'd settle arguments by tossing both parties out the airlock.
Matt couldn't help but be curious what his own double was like. Living on a ship with no Brutal Brooks aboard sounded like paradise. It was a pity that poor Terinu seemed to be still stuck aboard. Though he missed his friend dearly some days, he couldn't angry over the younger boy for running away when he'd gotten the chance. Matt hoped wherever he was, he was happy right now.
He was maneuvering a cargo pallet labeled “oxygen joint seals, four centimeter” into position in the cargo bay nearest Engineering, when someone behind him cleared their throat and said, “H-Hi, Matt.”
Matt turned around to face himself, grinning, “Hi, it's good to finally meet you!”
The Matt nodded shyly, “G-good to m-meet you too, I guess.” His hair was combed back and gelled, like some of the ship's crew did who set their money aside and went for fancy looks, and wore nice fitting clothes that looked like he'd gotten first pick through the piles of leftovers that were always available after a successful boarding.
“Spiff outfit, by the way,” he told him. “You must be doing pretty good over on the other ship.”
The boy ducked his head down. “Y-eah, Terinu takes care of me.”
Matt laughed, as he locked down the box into its alcove. “That's something. Used to be, I was the one who took care of Teri, when he was younger.”
The other Matt nodded, “I did the same. I-I kinda raised him. I was only eight when he came aboard. H-he'd spent a y-year at some cabaret, but the lady who ran it d-didn't want him there. S-so Lady Mavra gave him to m-me. Like having a brother again. C-cept when he got older... things kinda turned around. S-still not s-sure how.”
Matt shrugged. “Funny how things work out. Suppose it must be great over there, with no Brutal Brooks on board.”
“Y-yeah, j-just great,” his twin said, not looking at all happy.
Matt frowned. What was the matter with this fellow. “What happened to Brooks anyway?”
The other Matt bit his lip. “T-Terinu killed him.”
“What?”
“I d-don't w-want... I g-gotta g-g-get back. T-terinu will want to k-know where I've been.” His twin turned around and ducked out into the companionway.
Matt ran after him and grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt. “Hey, ya can't stop there! How could Teri kill Brooks? He hates hurtin' people.”
“I d-dunno how,” his twin stuttered. “I done s-something s-stupid. D-dropped a part for the s-star drive engine that the Chief had wanted, a really expensive one. It smashed to bits on the f-floor, right in front of b-both of them.” The other Matt started shuddering. “Brooks p-punched m-me in the stomach and started y-yelling at what a s-stupid f-faggot I was. I fell down, and then he started k-kicking me. N-next thing that happened, w-was Terinu came runnin' in, screaming at B-brooks to stop. B-brooks just said, “Make me, freak!” and kept kicking me. I thought I was going to die. S-sometimes I w-wish I had.”
“Why?” Matt asked.
“B-because then Terinu j-jumped on B-brooks, glowing like a reactor core. He just grabbed and held on, glowing brighter and brighter. Then Brooks started to scream. Then Terinu... blew his head off. Just like that, no gun or nothing. Just zapped him with some beam that came between his spurs. T-then he looked down on me, and he... and he... smiled. It was the h-happiest I'd ever seen him. Like he'd done s-omething terrific.” His twin looked at him. “Did y-your Terinu ever do something like that?”
Matt blinked. “Once. But he wasn't what you'd call happy about it. He got pretty sick really. I don't think he liked it.”
“My Terinu likes it,” his twin said. “He's never been happier. The first thing he said to me, after Doc had patched me up was, 'now I can protect you.'”
Matt frowned, not quite understanding, only knowing that this other Matt didn't seem happy at all about being protected by Terinu. “I guess you're lucky then.”
“Yeah, real lucky,” his twin said, looking like he wanted to cry. “Really lucky.”
* * *
Terinu looked up when the cell bay’s door slide back, and dared to have a hope for the first time in days when he saw Matt enter, carrying a tray of rations. “Hey, Matt!” he called out, smiling, “’bout time you showed up. I was getting worried.”
Matt swallowed, and put the tray down on the floor, pushing it quickly through the pass slot. “I-I’m not supposed t-to talk to the prisoners,” he said, not meeting Terinu’s eyes.
“Hey, Matt, what’s the matter?” Crap, something was wrong, way wrong. Matt somehow was looking both better and worse than Terinu had ever seen him. For one thing he just looked cleaner, his hair neatly brushed back, his clothes looking new and fitting well, like they’d been bought for him, not snatched out of the pile of abandoned booty that Chan had deemed not worth selling. Usually from the wardrobes of the Celestial Marauder’s latest victim. Worse was the expression on his face. The kid was scared to death about something, with a beaten dog look that Terinu was all too familiar with, and his eyes had bags under them, as if it had been a long time since he’d gotten a decent watch’s sleep.
“Not supposed to talk t’ you, sorry,” Matt mumbled, and quickly stood up and turned away.
“Matt, stop!” Terinu shouted, and his friend froze into place, like a Galen space rat that had just had its cover pulled away. “Don’t ya frelling go nowhere! I need your help t’ get out of here!”
“Can’t, Lady Mavra’s orders,” Matt said, not turning around.
Terinu drew in a breath. Fragg, he wasn’t any good at this psychology stuff. All he knew was that he had to get Matt on his side quick, because it didn’t look like he was going to get a second chance. “Matt, listen t’ me. I seen the other me, the one you’ve gotta deal with. Yer scared of him. That’s all right, he scares the crap outta me too. But y’ listen t’ me now. If yer like the Matt Townsend in my world, y’ kept me alive when I should have starved to death. Y’ kept me from goin’ nuts whenever Brooks decided to screw with me. If that guy in the black leathers is still around because of what you did, he ain’t gonna hurt y’, you got that?”
Matt’s shoulders hunched down as Terinu spoke. Once he’d finished the human’s head hung down, and he shook it once, denying what Terinu had just said.
“Y’ did that for him,” Terinu went on, desperately. “The Matt in my world did it for me too. Y’ think I don’t remember that? You think I wouldn’t rather die then see ya hurt? You get me out of this cell, ya get this fraggin’ inhibitor collar off me, I’ll protect you, okay? I won’t let anybody hurt ya!”
Matt finally turned his head to look at Terinu, a desperate, hopeful expression on his face. Then he turned away quickly, straightening up in surprise as the cell bay’s door slid open again.
“Matt, what did I say about talkin’ to the prisoner?” Terinu’s twin said, his expression dark.
“T-t-to not to, sir,” Matt stuttered.
“Ya shouldn’t listen t’ anything he says. Ya think he can treat ya better than I can?”
Matt stared at the floor. “N-no, sir. Y-y-you keep me safe.”
The expression on the black clad Ferin’s face softened into a knowing smile. “Look me in the face and say it again.”
Matt raised his head, looking into the eyes of the other Terinu. “Y-you keep me safe, sir.”
“That’s right,” this Terinu said. His tail wrapped around Matt, the spade coming to rest on the older boy’s shoulder. Matt flinched as the tip brushed against his cheek. “Nobody is ever gonna touch ya, not while I’m around. We’re best friends, ain’t that right, Matt?”
“Yessir,” Matt agreed, his voice barely a whisper.
Terinu’s twin drew his tail back. “Now run along back to our quarters. We’re gonna have a little talk, after I chat with my twin here. Ya understand?”
“Yessir. Yes, Terinu.” Matt fled the cell without another word, while this world’s Terinu let out a quiet chuckle.
“Good boy,” he said, when the door shut. He turned around to face Terinu, pulling a remote out of his pocket, his expression turned dark again. “Now what’s this about ya tryin’ t’ turn my best friend against me?” He pressed a button, and Terinu dropped to the floor as the shock collar zapped him.
TBC
