SPAM;

[anewlanguage]

[Forward dated to the Truth Event]

[THE WHOLE BARGE]

[Cain patrols, half out of anxious habit and half because he enjoys the routine. But it puts him in the halls, the Warden-only areas, the deck, the library, the art room. Feel free to chat; he has no idea he's under the influence of the Barge.]

[THE GYM]

[But he spends most of his time here, practicing and training, and lately taking on new students. This is where you're most likely to find him.]

Comments

[Spam]

[neverfeltbetter]

[Crichton is on the deck, with his arms resting comfortably over the rails while he looks out at the stars passing lazily by. He's, as of yet, still unaware of the affects of the flood. He's caught up in thoughts of home at the moment, and won't immediately notice if company closes on his position.]

Re: [Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[The only reason he knows what Crichton looks like is because after talking to Scorpius he'd made a point of finding out. He has approached countless marks that way: knowing more than he ought to without ever having said 'hello'.

He leans against the railing beside him, and exhales heavily, contentedly.]

You know, it could be worse around here. Hell I'd kill just for the view.

[Spam]

[neverfeltbetter]

[Crichton's lips part in a wry smile, still looking out at the stars.]

The view isn't all that new to me.

[Traveling the stars. He used to think he'd kill for that too. Now he'd kill just to get his feet back on Earth again.

He looks over next to him, so to see who it is, but it's no one he's familiar with.]

Don't think we've met yet.

Re: [Spam]

[anewlanguage]

David Cain. [And he sticks out a hand, though he has no idea if a handshake means anything to John.] I'm a Warden. What's brought you here to the Barge?

[Spam]

[neverfeltbetter]

John Crichton. Also a Warden.

[He reciprocates the handshake. That's still the norm for meeting new people as far as he's concerned.]

I came on-board because The Admiral said he could get rid of the neural clone in my head. I didn't think there was any hope of ever getting rid of him for good.

[He gasps, looking incredibly shocked. That is not what he wanted to say. Hell of a way to find out about this flood.]

[Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[Cain looks at him, one eyebrow raised.]

What's a neural clone?

[Spam]

[neverfeltbetter]

It's a copy of Scorpius's personality that he put into a chip and implanted in my brain.

What the hell!?

[He slaps a hand over his mouth, and starts backing away slowly.]

[Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[Cain turns, hands up, like he's approaching a gunman or an injured animal]

Hey, hey, I know Scorpius. He's in a dangerous place, he's still new here. I'm trying to make sure if he's planning something that we can stop him before someone gets hurt.

[Spam]

[neverfeltbetter]

[Crichton slows to a stop, but he still looks like he could bolt.]

We?

[People have already been hurt!]

If you came to talk to me about that bastard, why didn't you just say so?!

[Saturday morning. Spam: it's what's for breakfast]

[routemistress]

[Iris isn't normally much of a sleeper. She needs it a lot less than a human, and she always has uses for her extra time. But the unusually brutal deathtoll took a lot out of her, and instead of napping lightly for an hour, she's been curled against Cain's back for a solid eight. She didn't even snore.

One of the things she loves most about him is the fine-honed sensitivity of his reactions. When she's woken by the ship's movement, shortly before the flood announcement, she doesn't need to check if he's awake too. If the ship didn't do it, Iris waking next to him probably did.]

...I keep 'oping for a body swap flood, but I reckon I'm out of luck this time. Ow about you? All present and correct?

Re: [Saturday morning. Spam: it's what's for breakfast]

[anewlanguage]

[Cain slept as lightly as he ever does, but sprawled out like he hasn't a care in the world besides having a warm bedmate for the night. When he wakes it's the same: aches and pains, but instant, almost paranoid clarity.]

Haven't been correct in forty years. My shoulder's got a pain like it's bein' scraped off with a knife, which ain't that far from the truth...

[He rubs the long scar on that same bad shoulder, but stops himself. He had meant to say 'couldn't be better'. He had meant to follow it up with something flirty.]

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

[It's not that she doesn't know he has aches and pains. Iris just assumes they must be worse than usual for him to mention them. She runs her hands over the shoulder in question, feeling for the knotted place where the scar tissue catches.]

You been straining it, love? I wonder if Dillon could 'elp?

Re: [Saturday morning. Spam]

[anewlanguage]

I've been working it with those new kids I've been teaching.

[Maybe that, too is why he's so much more willing to talk about it. Any little reminder of his life back home does make him moody.]

You can keep rubbin' it for me, I like your hands better than Dillon's anyway. How'd you sleep?

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

Feels like less of a waste of time with you there. I dreamed we were on a train; mountains in the background. Climbing along the top like in a spy movie. That yours, or just me?

[Dream leakage can be a thing, when you make enough mental contact with someone. She wasn't trying for it, wouldn't have without asking. But it can happen.

She concentrates on his muscles, on the tight and worn spots, and she remembers her flood self, having lived on after losing him, and she can't keep her mouth shut on it any longer.]

...That thing we talked about. In the time flux flood. What'd you think now?

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[He chuckles, imagining doing that with Iris, the two of them inching their way through the tearing grit that goes with a high speed crawl.]

That was me. In Germany, 'bout twenty odd years ago, I was there to kidnap a diplomat and his family. They had their own train, real nice vintage number.

[He shouldn't smile recounting such things but he is and he feels no remorse for it.]

That thing, yeah--see I've got an image in my head how that'll work, and I have no idea if it's how it really goes. Lay it out for me, what're the side effects, what do I have to do?

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[routemistress]

[She doesn't ask whether or not the diplomat's family survived it. Iris has yet to divine the nature of this flood, but Cain tells her the truth as a rule; so she doesn't ask for truths she'd rather not hear.]

We should do the Orient Express sometime. Mid-1930s for preference. Climbing along the top strictly optional, but it's a great run either way.

[She kneads his back and shoulders, and her voice falls into a rhythmic, soothing singsong to match it.]

There's two parts to it. We need to grow you a timeship. My bus and me 'ave been working up to that. Ready to kick it off any time. I'll need to take us clear of the Barge, float out in the vortex away from outside influences. She'll take a while to grow, and I 'ave to build 'er a body - oh, I've got a great idea for that, I'll tell you later.

And then you. I'll take you to the Sisterhood and they're going to want to go through your 'ead and your timeline. Could be worse. There's one faction that'd need you to kill all your own ancestors for an initiation rite; the sisters'll just want to know you're not in it for stupid reasons. That there's enough of you to take it.

And then they'll change you.

[Saturday morning. Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[His eyes close and he seems to almost fall into a meditative trance, or perhaps even to doze. He doesn't know enough to know what to expect, so he absorbs what she tells him and files it away.

One phrase does snag, though.]

You sure there is enough of me for it?

[Gym because Sarge?]

[tothecore]

[It's not an unusual sight for the marine to put in an appearance; honestly it's one of the few places he can get into without having to bum access off someone, which would make it appealing even if it wasn't a regular occurrence before he arrived. It's a piece of something familiar, and since things on the ship don't look to be getting better any time soon, he dumps a fair amount of time there. It's something constructive, something that distracts, for a while at least; he'll work on his own for a while, move from station to station. If someone looks like they're scoping out for a sparring partner he'll offer, but he's just as content keeping himself to himself.

Sooner or later, paths cross; the space is only so big, after all. He nods in greeting, but leaves the conversation to the other, just as happy with silence.]

[Gym!]

[anewlanguage]

[Cain comes over to him after a half hour, when the gym is in a steady rhythm of exercises.]

Not too noisy for you?

[Gym!]

[tothecore]

[There's an almost-smile in response, but it never quite gets there. He pauses in his routine to look over at the other.]

Nah. My line of work, something's too noisy for you to concentrate on what you're doing, you're in the wrong line of work.

[Gym!]

[anewlanguage]

[He gives him almost the same smile; almost, because he's not as stoic as Sarge, and it becomes a real one fast.]

Good man. Call me crazy but we need people with that kind of focus around here. Do you follow the noise or just shut it out all the way?

[Gym!]

[tothecore]

[Give him a few months to warm up and it will be real soon enough, for now he'll keep to guarded.]

All due respect to whoever's in charge, I happen to agree with you there. It's like living in a warzone.

Tend to let it roll. You shut it out you're bound to miss something, you keep track it's a hell of a lot harder to.

[Gym!]

[anewlanguage]

[He nods, not surprised that Sarge's answer is one he can appreciate. It's nice, being able to understand someone on a level that isn't entirely borne from reading people out of habit.]

Who's the first to jump into your head when you think of 'risk'?

[Gym!]

[tothecore]

Man from my unit. Goes by Reaper.

[The flood compels honesty, not elaboration, so he cuts off there, although there's an extra line of tension in his stance now. Bad blood, or maybe something not so bad; "risk" can mean a lot of things.]

Seems a sudden topic change.

[Gym!]

[anewlanguage]

It was. [Sudden, a deliberate change of topic.] Guys like you--like us--tend to go one of two ways. Either everything's a threat, period, or we get real analytical. I'm glad you're not one of the paranoid breed.

He still in your unit back home?