(posted on 3-23-2000)
It was a cold evening in the early twilight. The light from the rising moons filtered sullenly through the soft drizzle that mixed in with the dust of the road, turning it into a wet slurry. Hover vehicles went about their business in a brisk fashion, and no one lingered long out of doors.
No one, that is, except for a large man in a long cloak. He moved down an alleyway with surprising speed for a man of his size and his obvious age was betrayed by his flowing locks of grey hair. He had an unusual rolling gait that a seafarer from two thousand years ago would have found strangely familiar. In his arms he carried a bundle of dark cloth.
Here and there he paused briefly to glance over his strong shoulders. Seemingly satisfied, he would continue down the alleys, ducking from overhang to lintel, lintel to walkway, constantly moving to the next piece of cover. All the way along he carefully sheltered his bundle from the falling rain, minding not his own discomfort.
Eventually he reached a steaming grate under an arched bridge. Illuminated by the working half of a bank of streetlights that also lit the lurid graffiti in the archway, the man reached down and, with a grunt, lifted the grating with one powerful arm. He set it down gently, and placed the bundle he was sheltering onto it while he manhandled the sewer's ladder up into position. The bundle showed slightly restless in the wan lighting, moving slightly on the damp metal. The man made a soothing sound, and brushed the covers lightly with his palm. The bundle ceased it's wriggling, and went back to sleep. The great grey-shouldered man picked up his burden again and climbed down the manhole, only pausing to drag the grating back into it's home above him.
Once again, the alleyway was silent.
--
The small man with the eyepatch bounced the baby on his knee, making silly faces as the wain gurgled and laughed at his antics. His good eye was round and big, and his pockmarked face was making strange goldfish motions, much to the delight of the infant.
"Ha-doop-doop-doop! Whosa baby, den? Whosa baaabyee? Eh, eh?"
Sitting next to him at the table was the grey haired man, towelling off that same grey hair with a black pullover that had seen better days.
"He's the image of his mother, there's truth. But there's something of Morgan about the eyes, look you!" He bent over to tickle some tiny toes, provoking another bout of wriggling.
The man with the patch looked up at his older companion, with a more sombre look in his eyes.
"Did you see it happen, Olaf?" he asked.
The grey-hair shook his head.
"Not me, Raif. I was in engineering." His face turned skyward. "I felt the impact, though. Damn near tore the ship in half."
Raif spat.
"Devil take that traitor McGowan. If I should meet up with him..."
The big man stopped him short with a firm hand on his arm.
"Then you'll do your duty by Morgan, and run like the wind. If McGowan or his Federation masters get a'hold of any one of us then the rest are lost. The Bureau's too good at making people talk." He loosed his hold, but kept his friend and shipmate fixed in his gaze.
"You're a good man and strong, Raif Rhysson, but no man can last long against the Bureau's torturers. Not even such a one as yerself," he grinned, tousling the younger man's hair.
Raif had the good grace to look a little sheepish. He looked down at the infant, who was now fast asleep in his arms.
"So you've got to raise this one, eh?" he sighed. "Why the devil Morgan didn't send him and Lella away when he had the chance, I'll never fathom."
Olaf glared into space.
"He didn't know he'd been betrayed. None of us did. Not until the Federation ships had us surrounded in all three axes," said Greyshoulders, biting off the words as he stared at his feet. After a moment, he straightened a bit, and turned back to his one-eyed shipmate. "Thanks for the shelter, mate, and thanks for the food. Me an' the lad had best be going, or we'll be bringing trouble down around your head. They're still looking for us," he owned.
"You won't stay? A night's rest won't hurt nothing," said Raif, his expression betraying the fears he held for the big man's safety.
Olaf Greyshoulders shook his head.
"Not tonight, Raif. In a while, maybe... but not tonight. You should get clear, too. They'll have tracked me here, never doubt!" He gathered up his small charge in a large arm, and draped his great-cloak across his shoulders with the free one. "Say a prayer for us, Raif." He paused at the door to the small hideaway, turned his head and said "See you again. Stay well!"
With that, he was out the door, and gone into the night.
--
A little later, an actinic glare lit the night as a small, old shuttlecraft clawed painfully up through the sky, and into the starry beyond. Raif lowered the hand he had raised against the glare, and muttered old seafarer's blessings as the tears streamed down his battered face.
"Keep that boy safe, Olaf, and raise him well! There's a reckoning coming, and he'll need to be ready."
A thought struck him then.
"Mind you," he murmured with a slight smile on his face, "if that lad runs true to his blood, it'll be McGowan who'll need to be prepared!"
After casting a last look up at the dwindling glow of the shuttle, Raif Rhysson made his way back down to his hideaway, and started to pack his things.
(This message has been edited by Jude (edited 03-23-2000).)
But I am sure it is some really kick ass stuff.