B7 fic: Five Things That Never Happened to Jarriere
Written in honor of kalypso_v, a late birthday present, starring several versions of Himself.
Thanks to bibliohippo for idea #3, and to kerravonsen for sharing her knowledge of certain canons. All the errors and lame bits remaining are entirely mine. Rated PG, 1863 words.
Five Things That Never Happened to Jarriere
by Mistral Amara
I.
"But Mam, I don't want it!" He tried to squirm away from the hands that fussed with the collar of his school uniform.
"Hush, Jamie, this is an honor. Your Da would be so proud!" A rustle of perfunctory applause came from beyond the curtain, and his mother pushed him out onto the stage. He raised a hand to shade his eyes against the glare of the spotlights, but at a sharp hiss from the wings, converted it to an awkward wave.
The headmaster motioned him forward. "Here he is, ladies and gentlemen, at only nine years old, Edindome's first All-Federation gold medalist in Higher Mathletics!"
Jarriere sighed. He'd never live this down with his mates.
II.
The guidance counselor looked over his young patron's file. "It seems you've done very well in self-defense and small arms use, Jarriere," he said. "Of course, you could always go for a service commission, but have you considered training in private security?"
Jarriere nodded mildly. "I did, sir, but then I reconsidered. If you'll just sign off on my request for a transfer into veterinary science?"
"Veterinary science?" Counselor Trinan frowned. "But that's a very small field, with a low demand for practitioners. The pay rate is minimal. You could do much better as a bodyguard." He leaned closer to Jarriere and spoke in a confidential tone: "Certain Alpha families pay very well for the protection of their more prominent members. Some of your classmates have them; you must have noticed."
"Aye," replied Jarriere. He shuddered, remembering the way his classmate Tessa Servalan liked to show off by making her bodyguard, Lavina, perform all sorts of dangerous and degrading tasks. "Thanks just the same, sir, but I like the quiet life. There's animals, and then there's animals, if you take my meaning."
Counselor Trinan signed his transfer without further comment.
III.
Jarriere limped along the walkway, one hand pressed hard against his bleeding thigh. The few passersby cringed away from him; in this part of the dome, people knew to keep well away from trouble. They wouldn't point the troopers in his direction, but they woudn't help him, either. He was on his own.
At least he'd finally rid the Federation of that viper, Servalan; too bad it had meant blowing his cover. If they caught him now, there'd be no reprieve. They'd torture him until he gave up every secret, every rebel contact he had. He mustn't let that happen. If he couldn't lose his pursuers, he'd have to take the only escape left to him.
For the first time, the familiar weight of the gun in his jacket failed to give him any comfort.
Well, he'd a few minutes to look for an alternative, yet. The troopers were still a few minutes behind him. If he could just get Outside . . . but it was hard going, what with his damaged leg and the continued bloodloss. What he needed was an out-of-the-way place to stop for a few minutes and bind the wound.
He looked around him. There, half-hidden behind an auto-stair to the next level--some sort of kiosk. No windows and only one door, but if it was unoccupied, he'd have to risk it. As he made his way towards it, it occurred to him briefly to wonder what it was. It wasn't Federation standard--the paint was the wrong color--but he was beginning to be too weak to care much. He shoved the door open and stumbled inside.
What had seemed to be a kiosk must have been a front for something larger; it opened out into a bright, spacious room, with some sort of console in the center. He blinked against the lights, and suddenly he felt the full weight of exhaustion pressing him down. His head swam, and he fell against the console. He had only a brief moment to wonder what that awful noise was, and then everything went dark.
When he awoke, he wasn't alone. He was lying on something soft, and a blond man was standing nearby, frowning at him. He felt for his gun, but it wasn't there.
"I've put it away," said the man. "I don't allow such things on the TARDIS. It's very inconvenient, your showing up just now."
"Eh. Sorry," said Jarriere. "My leg--"
"Will be fine; it's just a flesh wound. And whoever was chasing you--I presume someone was chasing you?--will have given up looking for you by now."
Jarriere nodded. The dressing on his leg looked all right, felt all right, but still--best to be cautious. "I'm much obliged for the help. If you'll just return my property, I'll be getting out of your way, now."
"It isn't that simple. I was doing some repairs when you collapsed on the controls. We've moved, and I'm not sure where we are. Or when."
"When?" asked Jarriere, puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I'm not following you."
"Oh, don't worry, we'll get you home." The man grimaced. "Eventually."
IV.
". . . swear to uphold the Constitution of the Federation of Inner Planets, and to defend the Federation from all enemies, both external and internal."
"So you have said, so may you do." The Councillor saluted--too sloppily for Jarriere's tastes, but then, the Councillor had never been a military man--and surrendered the seal of office. Jarriere took it with a smile.
"Thank you, Councillor Haral. I'll do my best." And he would, too. He hadn't spent all those years planning, waiting, playing the fool, only to become the council's pawn now that he'd achieved his goal. He'd sacrificed much to get here; even, those last few months with Servalan, his self-respect. It had been worth it, to lull her dull-witted council into thinking him their ideal puppet ruler. But he'd take his full measure of power, and theirs, too, starting right now. His true colors would be seen today. He turned proudly towards the audience monitors and began his inaugural address.
"Loyal citizens of the Federation! Today, we begin a new chapter in the history of our glorious State . . ."
V.
Purges were common in the Federation. Servalan had done away with the opposition when she took power, and even Jarriere was not so simple as to be surprised when her successor did the same. No, he might not have liked the political realities that ended his life, but he wasn't surprised by them.
What did surprise him was waking up again.
He found himself bundled tightly in heavy cloth, being dragged over uneven flooring. Very uneven. He began to suspect he might even be . . . Outside. He'd never been Outside in his life; he certainly hadn't expected to be Outside in death. To make things worse, there was a strange tickle in the back of his throat, and he thought he might--"Hic!"
"You're back," said a male voice. "Good."
Jarriere was dumped on the ground, and strong hands started to unwrap him. "Hic," he said, which wasn't quite what he'd meant. The cloth fell away, and he found himself staring at a dark-haired man wearing an annoyed expression. They were in a field, sparsely dotted with trees--more trees than Jarriere had ever seen in one place--and there was a sharp scent that he couldn't identify. "Hic," he said again. "S-sub-commander--hic--Pierce, isn't it? What-hic-'s going on, hic?"
"What's going on is that I'm not going to carry you any farther, now that you can walk on your own." Pierce paused and let Jarriere recover from a particularly bad bout of hiccups before continuing. "We've got to put a lot more distance between us and the dome before nightfall, if we don't want to both wind up back in that incineration unit I pulled you out of."
Jarriere shuddered. "Tha-hic you. I thought I was a dead man."
"You were a dead man." Jarriere hiccuped again, and Pierce frowned. "Do you get these spells often?" he asked.
"Never before in my--hic--life."
"Hm. Wait here." Pierce turned and strode away across the field. Jarriere hiccuped nervously and hoped he wasn't being abandoned. To be Outside, and alone, and to have these terrible hiccups, too! He sat quietly and willed himself to stillness. To his great surprise, in a few moments the spasms eased, and he was able to breathe normally again. He closed his eyes in relief and took slow, deep breaths, ignoring the strange odors around him. He was going to be all right. Perhaps he should go after Pierce, now--
"Hic." Oh, no. Perhaps if he held his br-- "Hic. Hic." No, they were definitely back, soft and infrequent at first, but then louder and faster, until he thought he might pass out.
"Well, that's just marvelous," said a voice nearby. Jarriere looked up and saw that Pierce had returned.
"It-hic is?"
"No." Pierce slung a long bundle off his back and began to unfasten its bindings. "In fact, I can think of few things less marvelous than having hiccups as a tell." He shook his head. "We'll try to find something to do about that, but right now, we have more pressing problems. So pay attention; you have a lot to learn, and I only want to say this once.
"You are an immortal. As am I."
Even amid the spasms, which were becoming more painful, Jarriere couldn't bring himself to call his new companion a nutter. He used a ploy that had always worked with Servalan. "I'm not follow-hic you," he said carefully.
"Don't interrupt, or this will take all day. It's very simple. You were dead, and now you're not. If you want proof, I can always kill you again." Pierce paused and waited for a reply. He looked like he would do it, too. Jarriere hiccuped and shook his head no.
Pierce finished opening the bundle and drew out a pair of ancient blades. He passed one to a bewildered Jarriere. "That's a claymore. Take good care of it; swords are hard to come by in this millenium. If someone separates your head from your body and takes your quickening, you'll be dead for good."
"Quic-hic-hic-hic . . ." started Jarriere, but Pierce ignored him.
"The rules are simple. No dueling on holy ground. Ever"
"What-hic's ho-hol--"
"Don't interfere in duels between other immortals; it's bad form. Keep your sword handy at all times. If you're seen to die, move on and change your identity." Pierce looked up at the darkening sky. "Come on, we'd better get moving." He collected his belongings, got to his feet and started walking towards the setting sun. Confused, hiccupping, and with nowhere else to go, Jarriere followed along behind him.
"One last rule," said Pierce. "While I'm your teacher, I'll also be your protector. Consider yourself safe with me. But once you've learned what I can teach you, you'll be on your own. Remember, in the end, there can be only one. Understand?"
Jarriere nodded cautiously. "I th-hic so," he said. "There's just-hic one thing-hic."
Pierce sighed. "What is it?"
"Well, er--hic." Jarriere smiled apologetically. "One, er, one what?"
***End***
As always, concrit, squee, flames, and the silence that speaks volumes are all welcome.