Burns sees me watching him, shakes his head, and says one terrible word. ‘Eloped.’
Burns sees me watching him, shakes his head, and says one terrible word. ‘Eloped.’
Makes no sense; Kaetlyn’s utterly dismissive of romance, let alone marriage. Burns says he forbid his son to see her. Oh. Well… shit.
FORBID?! Might as well buy Kaetlyn a dress and honeymoon cruise with a note reading ‘Congratulations! Love, Your new, idiot Father-in-Law.’
Kaetlyn left, but Burns’ son found clues to follow her – some kind of note, left in the deepest parts of the Drift; an ancient… ship. Oh.
No. Kaetlyn sent me the wave. She had to know I’d find the Ante-D ship. Burns’ kid might have sussed it out, but the message was for /me/.
That’s the first thought in my head. Second thought is “Are you /really/ getting jealous of the /boyfriend/?”, spoken in Kaet’s mom’s voice.
I ignore that thought. The more important point here is that Burns wants something I can provide – something /other/ than my charred corpse.
We stare at each other until it becomes uncomfortable. Takes much less time than I expect — two solitary men, alone with too many ghosts.
I tell him I’ll split them up, if he let’s me out of here. He scoffs. I risk another fight to remind him I’m good at breaking up couples.
On his face, desire to murder me wrestles with desire to control his son’s life. Brief struggle, but violent. The ‘winner’ is… well, me.
The next hour goes sunburn-careful. Burns gives instructions. I act very agreeable. His people… don’t. Too many want a corpse of me. Hmm.
On one hand, dissent in the ranks is Burns’ problem (and, privately, kind of funny). On the other, this ‘dissent’ is pointing a gun at me.
Burns shoots the loudest dissenter in the leg – an effective debate tactic, if a little inelegant. I think this is going to work out.
I should NEVER think thoughts like “this is going to work out.” The Universe can tell. So can the guy with the bleeding leg and the gun.
Guy raises his weapon, Burns is turning too late, and I don’t have a gun. My last thought: it’s okay – at least I’m dying on my own ship.
I don’t hear the bang, i don’t think, but my body jerks all the same.
My spasm was just a flinch, not a bullet impact. The shooter’s hand, still gripping the gun, is crushed to the deck beneath Deirdre’s boot.
I have zero doubt that, at some later point, Jon will refer to my artful dodging as ‘gracefully feminine’. I will retort by being not-dead.
Burns motions for his people to leave. He looks at Deirdre, waiting. Long pause. I have to remind her she’s standing on one of his people.
At the airlock. Burns says to knock some sense into Kaetlyn. I pause, then say I will. Burns hesitates. His eyes widen. Pausing was bad.
I punch the big red button next to the hatch. The one we’re not supposed to punch. The one that initiates emergency explosive decoupling.
The hatches bracketing the venting airlock drop like stones. Burns leaps backward to safety. Mostly. Blood sprays; wet, then crystalline.