[fic] Choppers | 1
Title: Choppers 1/?
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: PG / PG 13 ish.
Notes: Thanks to askerian for support and encouragement in the early stages, mikkeneko and onthecontrary for providing second opinions, and jamjar for putting up with my attention whoring. Much love!
The title is taken from the song that inspired this fic. It's called "Choppers" and is by Headless Chickens. That pretty much says it all.
Summary: Tim has a mission. Bernard can help -- for the right price, of course. Bart is obsessed, Wally is unhelpful.
Tim had naively imagined that once no longer considered worthy of the League’s fleet, starships were re-engineered for civilian use, or melted down to be recycled for other vehicles. The truth was much less pretty, and Tim found the derelict junkyard, piled high with the skeletons of vessels, their rusting bones long since robbed of anything worth having, and lying bare to the atmosphere cluttered round with all manner of debris somewhat sacrilegious.
“Stop holding yourself so stiff,” his companion said, a short whisper. “You’re not on the parade ground now, Private.”
“I’m not a soldier.” Tim would have liked to have replied with more volume, but the mission kept him silent. They were on the edge of the settlement, an area popular with refugees and others without official status, none of whom had reason to welcome the League.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” Bernard shrugged “Just let me do the talking, okay? Flash has no reason to trust the League.”
“I’m not -“ Tim could recognize a useless battle when he saw one. He decided to go with a rueful grin instead. “I suppose you are the expert.”
“Damn straight, I am. I tell you, Draper, if that is in fact your real name and frankly, I hope it isn’t because really - you are lucky you found me. And you are about to see why.” Bernard rapped on what appeared to be a battered section of aliminium fence and then opened it. “After you.”
Tim cautiously stepped through the door.
They were in an old passenger carrier it seemed, rusting, with the engine and seating removed to make way for an office, and shelving for dozens of bits of machinery, ranging from the components used in League cruisers to parts Tim was sure were alien in make -
“We’re closed,” a voice said and Tim looked up to see a boy maybe a few years younger than him, sitting at a shelf tucked away in the corner, apparently assembling - Tim wasn’t even sure what it was. “Come back, next week.”
Bernard patted Tim’s shoulder and made his way over to the boy. “No can do, kid. ‘Sides, the door was open -“
“Oh,” said the boy, looking up. “It’s you.” He didn’t sound either surprised or particularly enthused, Tim noted, but neither did he attempt to make them leave. Instead he shrugged with a slight incline in Tim’s direction and said, “You know the rules.”
“Ah, but this -“ Bernard slid in to a distinctly salesman tone of voice. "This will be worth it. Trust me. The recompense is worth any --" voice lowered slightly for Tim's benefit "-- slight risk."
Tim felt midly alarmed. He wasn't made of money. "Hey --"
Bernard stepped on his foot. Hard. "It can't hurt to hear us out, can it?"
"I guess." The kid stood. Now that Tim could see him properly, he felt even less happy with the situation. The kid was gaunt, skinny to the point of underweight. The ragged jeans and shirt he wore were thin enough to show skin and smudged with oil. "What have you got?"
There were many like him in the settlement, particularly once you left the League designated communities, but what set this one apart was his fierceness. His appearance belied an apparent energy -- Tim, privleged to be born on Earth, thought he resembled nothing so much as an immature sparrow, full coat not yet grown in but on the brink of flying -- unlikely, but somehow determined.
Tim, who was not prone to such similes, especially when on business, mentally chided himself.
Bernard looked askance at the kid. "Not you," he said, and Tim blinked at the sudden change in attitude. "We need the Flash for this. Tell him we're here?"
The kid scowled. "He's not here," he said. "'Sides, you know he never --"
"What I've got is worth that," Bernard said with confidence. "I know you have a way of contacting each other when you're not here. Who's on planet?" The boy looked about to argue, so Bernard glared. "I'm waiting . . ."
"I'll get Wally," the kid said sulkily, stomping to what had once been an emergency exit and now seemed to serve as a general entrance. "I hope he tells you to go fuck yourselves."
"Pleasant," Tim observed and Bernard grinned at him.
"No one else could have gotten you this far," he said.
"That would be more impressive," Tim began, "if here wasn't so --"
The door banged open again to admit a lean man in battered coveralls. His red hair was messily cut short like the kid's, but he was slightly more prepossessing in appearance, moving with confidence. "Bernard. I hear you have an offer?"
Bernard inclined his head. "I see you don't wish to waste time. Very well." He was all business again, persuasive and intense as he outlined the specifics. "Discreet, of course, you'd be the sole pilot. Dangerous, but not without I think, appeal --" He paused, then added. "Nebula quadrant C."
"C?"
The kid had slipped back inside noiselessly, and if it hadn't been for the hushed, almost awed tone on that whisper, Tim would not have been aware of his presence. As it was, he noted the way the kid watched Bernard with an almost hungry expression, and wondered at it. Bernard hadn't even brought up payment --
“Bart,” the man -- Wally? -- said sharply. “The front yard. You’ve got plating to weld.” He waited until the boy, sullen and resentful, slid out of the cabin before speaking again. “We don’t do chartered runs anymore,” he said, his voice flat as he wiped the counter with an old rag. “You know that. You know why.”
“This is a completely different situation,” Bernard said. “You’d have complete control over the flight plan, and you can look over the ship yourself before we leave.”
Wally shook his head. “You know where I stand on the League,” he said. “I’m not happy you brought him here at all.”
There didn’t seem to be any use in arguing that.
“Hey, the risk is part of what makes it fun,” Bernard said, slipping into what seemed to be personality number 4. “You only die once, and all of that. Besides --” and he gestured to Tim significantly. “He came to me.”
That earned Tim a thoughtful second glance and then the man shook his head. “It’s impossible. The timing --”
“I heard. Hey, congratulations. You’re a lucky guy. Still, can’t blame me for trying, can you?” Bernard nodded in what seemed to be genuinely friendly way, and he led Tim out the door. “See ya, Flash.”
“Well, that wasn’t --” Tim started, and Bernard held up a hand.
“Later. The real work begins here. Don’t say anything and for all that’s holy, relax some, will you?” Bernard clapped him on the shoulder as they reached the section of the yard where the kid was poking about with a soldering iron that looked several years older than he was.
As they approached the kid pulled his protective goggles down around his neck. “You’re going?” he asked, odd mix of belligerance and want.
Bernard shrugged. “You know the Flash’s stance on chartered trips,” he said. “You still pulling salvage runs?”
“If he’d let me,” the kid said, with obvious resentment.
Bernard nodded, leaning back against a nearby wreck. “It’s too bad though. My man, Draper, here, really needs a pilot. He’s going to navigate -- that’s right, isn’t it?”
Tim was surprised to suddenly find himself included in the conversation. “Yes. I’ve been reading up on the quadrant for months now, and I have every chart available.” And several that weren’t strictly supposed to be -- “I’m also able to act as co-pilot. I’m qualified for most routine manouevers, although asteroid fields, such as the Nebula quadrant is famed for, are beyond me --”
“Asteroids?” The boy said and there was obvious longing in his voice.
“That’s not all it has,” and Tim blinked as Bernard’s voice suddenly softened. “C is so thick with pulsars no one’s ever finished mapping it. And talk about energy -- they say twice as many new stars are formed in the nebula quadrant as in the rest of C combined.”
Tim didn’t think that was the best way to convince someone that a trip to Nebula Quadrant C was a good thing, but a glance at the boy’s face stopped him from protesting. He was hanging onto Bernard’s every word, obviously smitten. “Kingsley Rating 9.91,” he said.
“And it’s one of the few areas of free space left totally unmonitored,” Bernard said, and it was exactly like chatting someone up.
Tim felt oddly uncomfortable at the smile he turned on, and cleared his throat, uneasily.
“Can’t leave without a pilot,” Bernard said, abruptly changing tracks. “Jay’s still taking care of . . . ?”
The boy nodded. “Not going off planet till she’s better, not for anything.”
Bernard whistled. “And I always thought there wasn’t anything that could convince your lot to remain planet bound. Max?”
“No word,” the boy said and shrugged.
Tim noticed it then. It was something that had been nagging at him, something just subtly jarring about the boy and Bernard’s last words had made him realise what it was. Your lot --
It was the boy’s eyes, bright and yellow and not human.
Bernard nodded. “You know,” he said casually, as if this thought had just occurred to him. “It’s too bad you couldn’t fly us. You’d be just what we need.”
“Me?” The boy said, and this obviously hadn’t occurred to him.
Bernard grinned and leaned over to ruffle his hair. “Make a change from stowing away aboard cruisers, wouldn’t it?” he said. “Still. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
He led the way towards the junkyard exit, and Tim had to hurry after him.
“That was a waste of time --”
Bernard grinned at him. “Not impressed with your pilot then?”
“What pilot? Wally said --”
“Wally was never the objective. He’s just got married -- now, that was unexpected. Willingly tying himself to a lander chick? Could have knocked me down with a feather. Course, she’s the one who’s knocked up and he, according to rumour, doesn’t leave her side to go further than the edge of the support field --”
“Then why did we go through all of this posturing?” Tim wasn’t impressed with Bernard’s act and didn’t care if he knew it.
“Draper.” Bernard shook his head, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “You are so obviously new to this. This is the part where you buy me a drink and offer up undying thanks.” He elbowed him. “Not only did I get you a pilot who will eagerly navigate you through those pesky asteroids, but I didn’t even mention salary. The kid will do it for the sheer joy of --”
“That child? Are you nuts? He’s --”
“Perfect. Trust me.”
---
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: PG / PG 13 ish.
Notes: Thanks to askerian for support and encouragement in the early stages, mikkeneko and onthecontrary for providing second opinions, and jamjar for putting up with my attention whoring. Much love!
The title is taken from the song that inspired this fic. It's called "Choppers" and is by Headless Chickens. That pretty much says it all.
Summary: Tim has a mission. Bernard can help -- for the right price, of course. Bart is obsessed, Wally is unhelpful.
Tim had naively imagined that once no longer considered worthy of the League’s fleet, starships were re-engineered for civilian use, or melted down to be recycled for other vehicles. The truth was much less pretty, and Tim found the derelict junkyard, piled high with the skeletons of vessels, their rusting bones long since robbed of anything worth having, and lying bare to the atmosphere cluttered round with all manner of debris somewhat sacrilegious.
“Stop holding yourself so stiff,” his companion said, a short whisper. “You’re not on the parade ground now, Private.”
“I’m not a soldier.” Tim would have liked to have replied with more volume, but the mission kept him silent. They were on the edge of the settlement, an area popular with refugees and others without official status, none of whom had reason to welcome the League.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” Bernard shrugged “Just let me do the talking, okay? Flash has no reason to trust the League.”
“I’m not -“ Tim could recognize a useless battle when he saw one. He decided to go with a rueful grin instead. “I suppose you are the expert.”
“Damn straight, I am. I tell you, Draper, if that is in fact your real name and frankly, I hope it isn’t because really - you are lucky you found me. And you are about to see why.” Bernard rapped on what appeared to be a battered section of aliminium fence and then opened it. “After you.”
Tim cautiously stepped through the door.
They were in an old passenger carrier it seemed, rusting, with the engine and seating removed to make way for an office, and shelving for dozens of bits of machinery, ranging from the components used in League cruisers to parts Tim was sure were alien in make -
“We’re closed,” a voice said and Tim looked up to see a boy maybe a few years younger than him, sitting at a shelf tucked away in the corner, apparently assembling - Tim wasn’t even sure what it was. “Come back, next week.”
Bernard patted Tim’s shoulder and made his way over to the boy. “No can do, kid. ‘Sides, the door was open -“
“Oh,” said the boy, looking up. “It’s you.” He didn’t sound either surprised or particularly enthused, Tim noted, but neither did he attempt to make them leave. Instead he shrugged with a slight incline in Tim’s direction and said, “You know the rules.”
“Ah, but this -“ Bernard slid in to a distinctly salesman tone of voice. "This will be worth it. Trust me. The recompense is worth any --" voice lowered slightly for Tim's benefit "-- slight risk."
Tim felt midly alarmed. He wasn't made of money. "Hey --"
Bernard stepped on his foot. Hard. "It can't hurt to hear us out, can it?"
"I guess." The kid stood. Now that Tim could see him properly, he felt even less happy with the situation. The kid was gaunt, skinny to the point of underweight. The ragged jeans and shirt he wore were thin enough to show skin and smudged with oil. "What have you got?"
There were many like him in the settlement, particularly once you left the League designated communities, but what set this one apart was his fierceness. His appearance belied an apparent energy -- Tim, privleged to be born on Earth, thought he resembled nothing so much as an immature sparrow, full coat not yet grown in but on the brink of flying -- unlikely, but somehow determined.
Tim, who was not prone to such similes, especially when on business, mentally chided himself.
Bernard looked askance at the kid. "Not you," he said, and Tim blinked at the sudden change in attitude. "We need the Flash for this. Tell him we're here?"
The kid scowled. "He's not here," he said. "'Sides, you know he never --"
"What I've got is worth that," Bernard said with confidence. "I know you have a way of contacting each other when you're not here. Who's on planet?" The boy looked about to argue, so Bernard glared. "I'm waiting . . ."
"I'll get Wally," the kid said sulkily, stomping to what had once been an emergency exit and now seemed to serve as a general entrance. "I hope he tells you to go fuck yourselves."
"Pleasant," Tim observed and Bernard grinned at him.
"No one else could have gotten you this far," he said.
"That would be more impressive," Tim began, "if here wasn't so --"
The door banged open again to admit a lean man in battered coveralls. His red hair was messily cut short like the kid's, but he was slightly more prepossessing in appearance, moving with confidence. "Bernard. I hear you have an offer?"
Bernard inclined his head. "I see you don't wish to waste time. Very well." He was all business again, persuasive and intense as he outlined the specifics. "Discreet, of course, you'd be the sole pilot. Dangerous, but not without I think, appeal --" He paused, then added. "Nebula quadrant C."
"C?"
The kid had slipped back inside noiselessly, and if it hadn't been for the hushed, almost awed tone on that whisper, Tim would not have been aware of his presence. As it was, he noted the way the kid watched Bernard with an almost hungry expression, and wondered at it. Bernard hadn't even brought up payment --
“Bart,” the man -- Wally? -- said sharply. “The front yard. You’ve got plating to weld.” He waited until the boy, sullen and resentful, slid out of the cabin before speaking again. “We don’t do chartered runs anymore,” he said, his voice flat as he wiped the counter with an old rag. “You know that. You know why.”
“This is a completely different situation,” Bernard said. “You’d have complete control over the flight plan, and you can look over the ship yourself before we leave.”
Wally shook his head. “You know where I stand on the League,” he said. “I’m not happy you brought him here at all.”
There didn’t seem to be any use in arguing that.
“Hey, the risk is part of what makes it fun,” Bernard said, slipping into what seemed to be personality number 4. “You only die once, and all of that. Besides --” and he gestured to Tim significantly. “He came to me.”
That earned Tim a thoughtful second glance and then the man shook his head. “It’s impossible. The timing --”
“I heard. Hey, congratulations. You’re a lucky guy. Still, can’t blame me for trying, can you?” Bernard nodded in what seemed to be genuinely friendly way, and he led Tim out the door. “See ya, Flash.”
“Well, that wasn’t --” Tim started, and Bernard held up a hand.
“Later. The real work begins here. Don’t say anything and for all that’s holy, relax some, will you?” Bernard clapped him on the shoulder as they reached the section of the yard where the kid was poking about with a soldering iron that looked several years older than he was.
As they approached the kid pulled his protective goggles down around his neck. “You’re going?” he asked, odd mix of belligerance and want.
Bernard shrugged. “You know the Flash’s stance on chartered trips,” he said. “You still pulling salvage runs?”
“If he’d let me,” the kid said, with obvious resentment.
Bernard nodded, leaning back against a nearby wreck. “It’s too bad though. My man, Draper, here, really needs a pilot. He’s going to navigate -- that’s right, isn’t it?”
Tim was surprised to suddenly find himself included in the conversation. “Yes. I’ve been reading up on the quadrant for months now, and I have every chart available.” And several that weren’t strictly supposed to be -- “I’m also able to act as co-pilot. I’m qualified for most routine manouevers, although asteroid fields, such as the Nebula quadrant is famed for, are beyond me --”
“Asteroids?” The boy said and there was obvious longing in his voice.
“That’s not all it has,” and Tim blinked as Bernard’s voice suddenly softened. “C is so thick with pulsars no one’s ever finished mapping it. And talk about energy -- they say twice as many new stars are formed in the nebula quadrant as in the rest of C combined.”
Tim didn’t think that was the best way to convince someone that a trip to Nebula Quadrant C was a good thing, but a glance at the boy’s face stopped him from protesting. He was hanging onto Bernard’s every word, obviously smitten. “Kingsley Rating 9.91,” he said.
“And it’s one of the few areas of free space left totally unmonitored,” Bernard said, and it was exactly like chatting someone up.
Tim felt oddly uncomfortable at the smile he turned on, and cleared his throat, uneasily.
“Can’t leave without a pilot,” Bernard said, abruptly changing tracks. “Jay’s still taking care of . . . ?”
The boy nodded. “Not going off planet till she’s better, not for anything.”
Bernard whistled. “And I always thought there wasn’t anything that could convince your lot to remain planet bound. Max?”
“No word,” the boy said and shrugged.
Tim noticed it then. It was something that had been nagging at him, something just subtly jarring about the boy and Bernard’s last words had made him realise what it was. Your lot --
It was the boy’s eyes, bright and yellow and not human.
Bernard nodded. “You know,” he said casually, as if this thought had just occurred to him. “It’s too bad you couldn’t fly us. You’d be just what we need.”
“Me?” The boy said, and this obviously hadn’t occurred to him.
Bernard grinned and leaned over to ruffle his hair. “Make a change from stowing away aboard cruisers, wouldn’t it?” he said. “Still. Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
He led the way towards the junkyard exit, and Tim had to hurry after him.
“That was a waste of time --”
Bernard grinned at him. “Not impressed with your pilot then?”
“What pilot? Wally said --”
“Wally was never the objective. He’s just got married -- now, that was unexpected. Willingly tying himself to a lander chick? Could have knocked me down with a feather. Course, she’s the one who’s knocked up and he, according to rumour, doesn’t leave her side to go further than the edge of the support field --”
“Then why did we go through all of this posturing?” Tim wasn’t impressed with Bernard’s act and didn’t care if he knew it.
“Draper.” Bernard shook his head, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “You are so obviously new to this. This is the part where you buy me a drink and offer up undying thanks.” He elbowed him. “Not only did I get you a pilot who will eagerly navigate you through those pesky asteroids, but I didn’t even mention salary. The kid will do it for the sheer joy of --”
“That child? Are you nuts? He’s --”
“Perfect. Trust me.”
---