Coming of Age, The Dancer Season 2 Episode 1

[The Dancer]

The next season of The Dancer will begin eighteen months after the events of 'The End of It All Pt.1'.

In the past year-and-a-half, The Dancer has traveled the very edge of the Rim, doing jobs through the contract they won from Fanty & Mingo. Peace has dominated the time, and The Dancers have come to know a life without the threat of constant oblivion.

For crewmembers, please PM me with suggestions and plot ideas for your characters. How have they changed? How haven't they changed? If you have a relationship with another crew member, consider what the time progress means for them.

New crewmembers, I will be helping you establish 'connections' with the rest of the crew and begin to build possible flashback scenes.

This is an experiment, kids...lets have some fun.

(Preview Text will be replaced when the Season officially launches)

Time marches on...

[Elizabeth Heller]

(*The following is dedicated to my sister)


Head nestled against her knee, the young woman bent into the stretch, feeling the familiar release of tension along her hamstring. After several rounds of hold and release, she removed her right leg from her barre and replaced it with her left. Repeating the stretching routine in perfect detail, she once again spared a thought of thanks for Imza and her wonderful job of welding her ballet bar to the back wall of the cargo bay.

Thrust into twilight, The Dancer was illuminated only by the low level fluorescents used during the ‘night’ cycle of the great Grendel. S.S.T. (Standard Ship Time) hovered around one in the morning, but the young woman had foregone sleep, enjoying more the stillness that reigned in the evening hours. No one walked here-and-there on the business of the ship…no voices interrupted her private time.

Just The Dancer and Elizabeth Heller…mother and child.

With a smile, the twelve year old activated her digital symphony music player and dropped into second position just as the tune started, a lighthearted affair filled with flutes. After a few high revolution pirouettes, she twisted the length of the Cargo Bay in rapid-fire chaines turns. Halfway through her impressive display, Elizabeth took flight in a perfect attitude leap. Her working leg extended in front of her slightly bent, while her support leg trailed behind in proper demi pointe position.

Outside, The Dancer mimicked its child’s movements, weaving through the stars in an eternal dance. Happier than at any other time in her long existence, the Grendel returned its attention to the child born from her and growing in her…and she was proud.

Back in the cargo bay, the young woman floated, displaying a prowess well beyond her dozen years. Others her age played sports or devoted themselves to the pursuit of true love, but sequestered as she was on a space freighter, Elizabeth spent her time honing her craft and basking in the glory of family. She thanked the universe everyday that fate had brought her to The Dancer, and she felt blessed as more and more of her memories from Persephone’s streets left her mind…replaced by her loved ones.

Her mother, Synthia Heller, quite simply put, was Elizabeth’s world entire. Her birth parents were unknown to her, but when her hair began to lighten, she thanked them…thanked them for making her more like her real mom.

Her father, Round Jack Brannigan, though fighting a losing battle with Time still represented everything bright in her world. She spent at least an hour with him everyday, just talking and preparing food in the galley. Elizabeth didn’t know it, but her time in Jack’s galley would be some of the happiest memories of her life.

Then there was Gwyneth Paul, The Dancer’s captain and her sifu. Gwen had taught her everything about the dance, painstakingly mentoring her on every nuance of the art. For years their relationship had been very special because as much as Elizabeth needed the knowledge and companionship the Captain offered, the young woman knew that Gwen needed their relationship even more. Through Elizabeth, Gwen could live a life she thought long dead and be something she had thought impossible…a teacher.

The rest of the crew were grouped into models.

She had her surrogate mothers: Imza Tsenko and Esi Rousseau. Each woman had taught her skills and administered lessons that would have shamed a New Oxford professor. They were masters of their respective crafts, and it was at their feet that Elizabeth learned about mechanics and medicine. They taught her much, much more about life in general...more than any single mother ever could. These two women would shape her into what she would become…a hero.

Then there were her fathers: Jax Malone and The Count.
Like the women in her life, these men also provided her with priceless knowledge, but more than that, through their actions and character, they taught her about the mysteries of men. Because of The Count and Jax, Elizabeth knew concepts like honor and loyalty were real, and she also knew that any man that would ever seek her hand would have to measure up to the models of her two foster-fathers…a nearly Herculean task.

Finally, Wentworth Reed…she would’ve thought more on The Magic Man, but the heat from her blush threatened to distract her too much.

When her slippered feet returned to the decking after her latest leap, the music shifted in style and tone.

As the last notes of the flute vanished, a modern beat filled the space…a ‘cover’ of an ancient Earth-that-Was song performed now by the band, D.I.Y.A. (Died In Your Arms). The colorful t-shirt she wore depicted the band’s latest tour dates on the back, and the front held the image of a twenty-something male with absurdly high hair and the bluest eyes crooning in a frozen pose of tween-age worship.

Hugging the shirt to herself, Elizabeth spun into a new dance…one of new beginnings and passion…the undisputed domain of the adolescent female.


In perfect unison with D.I.Y.A.’s frontman, Adam LeBon, Elizabeth sang each syllable with all her heart, but not once did she stop the twirl of the dance.

"Slow…slow…quick, quick…slow

Slow…slow…quick, quick…slow"

With a dramatic flash identical to Adam’s, she brought her microphone down to her lips,

"Countdown it’s getting near the flight time
Night stars are shining in my eyes

My mind says I’m gonna be the first one
To dance the bebop in the sky"

In a perfect imitation of D.I.Y.A.’s backup dancers, the future captain kicked her leg over her head, sidestepped, and shimmied her shoulders…a sequence she repeated several times throughout the chorus.

"Dancing in heaven I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far
(orbital be-bop)

Dancing in heaven I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far
(orbital be-bop)

Kick it out!

Slow…slow…quick, quick…slow"

Arms over her head, legs pumping against the grating of the deck, and hair flying free of her ponytail, Elizabeth gave herself to the dance, the song, and the pouty lips of Adam LeBon,

"I’ll be the first to bossa nova
Ten thousand miles above Shinon

Boogie my way beyond the radar
I’ll bring the jive to outer space

Dancing in heaven I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far
(orbital be-bop)

Dancing in heaven I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far
(orbital be-bop)"

Acting out each line with exaggerated arm movements and middle-school theatre quality expressions, Adam LeBon’s song took on a new life, as seen through the eyes of Elizabeth Heller.

She pointed to herself,
"Hey, here I am!"

Using her other hand she cupped her ear,
"I hear the universe sing
The celestial Swing"

She spread her arms wide, as if to include an invisible entourage,
"I…I’m not alone!

Are you receiving me clear?
There’s others out here."

Her hair whipped around her, as she dipped, twisted, and spun.

"Dancing in heaven I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far
(orbital be-bop)

Dancing in heaven I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far
(orbital be-bop)"

Throughout the song, Elizabeth dreamed of dancing with Adam LeBon at a ball on Londinium just like the ones sifu had told her about. He would hold her hand and say nice things about her to everyone they met…and he’d smell nice, like The Count. Their captures would be all over the Cortex, and the whole ‘Verse would envy her. When the ball was over, Adam would bring her home and ask to give her a goodnight kiss…very polite, like Mr. Jax.

She would say ‘yes’, of course, and he would close his eyes and lean toward her.

Elizabeth stopped dancing, and instead gave herself to the fantasy, going so far as to close her eyes and stand on her tippy-toes…presumably to reach the lips of the much taller Adam LeBon.

Just before their lips touched, Adam’s eyes opened, but instead of his deep blue gaze…two orbs of limitless color flashed in a hectic kaleidoscope.

Elizabeth smiled and whispered,
”Selkie.”

Suddenly the song ended, and Elizabeth’s daydream faded. However, with her return to the real world of The Dancer, she became aware that she had an audience, a lone silhouette stood in the lower doorway…and she had no idea how long he’d been there…how long Wentworth Reed had been there. Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth’s mortified mind became a demolition derby of embarrassment and horror, and she did the only thing she could.

She screamed; high pitched and filled with tweenage angst. It was a scream of finality…because how could anyone expect her to continuing living on The Dancer after this humiliation?

With Elizabeth’s shriek came something quite unexpected. Wentworth Reed taken completely by surprise joined in the festivities and cast forth his own yell.

And there aboard the greatest Grendel to ever sail the inky Black, Elizabeth Heller and Wentworth Reed shared a moment neither would ever forget, and, in so doing, heralded the next chapter of The Dancer’s legend.




Welcome to The Dancer Season Two!


<<Went GM'd with oath's permission>>
<<Dancing in Heaven (orbital be-bop) by Q Feel...greatest 80s song ever>>
<<General Posting will begin after the conclusion of End of it All Pt. 1>>

[Mild Bill]

Jiangyin - the town of Elysium


A bit longer in the tooth than your typical boom town but still a toddler to the cities of the Border worlds, Elysium met each afternoon with a high chin and an attitude of inclusion. Jiangyin might be seen as a backwater Rim moon, filled with bumpkins, mud farmers, and weathered ranchers, but each of those that split her soil or drove herds over her plains knew the planet for what it really was…Heaven.

The townsfolk favored outerwear with a brownish hue and along the outer ellipsis of the Georgia System, they seldom, if ever, had to have a political debate with a neighbor that leaned toward Unification. They weren’t looking for a fight or waiting for the first shot of another war, mind you, but they weren’t quite ready to suffer the edicts and impulses of the Core either. Elysium, like many other Rim towns, would see its attitude dulled by the passage of time, as generations decided that the beliefs of the past were too hard to maintain.

But the future wasn’t there yet.

Elysium was the Rim. Good folk were the majority; hardworking men and women that wanted their children to have more than they did, but light could not exist without darkness. Evil claimed some of Jiangyin’s dirt, and those sinners needed a home just as sure as the saints.

Welcome to Elysium.


-------------



Golden light from fable’s excesses illuminated the town of Elysium, lending considerable credence to its choice of moniker. There on that patch of God kissed earth, just one street of wooden store fronts marked the only hint of civilization for near 200 kilometers. Men, women and children hustled along this solitary thoroughfare conducting the affairs of hardworking families. The General Store saw the most business, as people shopped for staples and luxuries alike. The near constant dry heat of Elysium meant that those that traded in cool drinks and ice planets saw a lucrative business the entire solar year, and since only The General Store and The Well offered refreshments of those types, they alone reaped the benefits of the climate.

The rest of Elysium consisted of The Grand Hotel, named by a rather ambitious proprietor, Sheriff Sayah’s jail, the Tack and Feed store, the Bank of Jiangyin, Smith’s Repair Shop, and the steepled church of St. Augustine’s. Straightforward and honest, the shops, along with the townsfolk, were what they appeared to be; utilitarian buildings for utilitarian people.

All save The Well, Elysium’s only saloon, and her owner/operator, Mild Bill.

While the townsfolk of Elysium concluded their day with the setting of the sun, Mild Bill was just starting his. The Well wouldn’t get filled until later, when the supper crowd and the drinkers descended on the town’s only bastion for entertainment. Until then, he had a chance to indulge himself with his only real vice, music. Accompanied by his childhood friends, Bryan and Jason, Mild Bill, wearing only a pair of shorts and a plastic flower lei, joined his guitar wielding brothers with his bongo drums and his voice.

With impeccable harmony, The Buckets played for the currently empty bar, but their song escaped through the open front doors of The Well and found the ears of many of the townsfolk.

As the boys plucked their strings and Bill patted his drums, they built toward the next stage of their tune.

Bill’s voice began quickly accompanied by Bryan and Jason,
”Chestnut brown canary…”

”Ruby throated sparrow
Sing the song, don’t be long
Fill me to the marrow.”

Falling into the song the three bobbed their heads and tapped their toes to the beat. Bill’s curly mane draped over his eyes until he snapped his head up and sang,

”Voices of the angels…”

Ring around the moonlight
Asking me, said she so free
How can you catch the sparrow?”

Back into the bones of the song, the band explored the harmony of their lives with each beat and strum.

”Lacy, lilting, leery…”

”Losing love, lamenting
Change my life, make it right
Be my lady.”

Leaving the bongos, Bill tucked two maracas into his waist band and moved between his two seated brothers. Clapping his hands together twice to start the harmony, their three voices became one,

”Do Do Do Do Do…DO, do do,do,do,do
Do Do Do Do Do…DO, DO do,do!”

Repeating the run several times, Bill accompanied them with his maracas until he could take it no longer and broke off on his own, while his brothers continued the cadence,

”Que linda me la traiga Cuba,
La reina de la Mar Caribe.
Cielo sol no tiene sangre allí,
y que triste que no puedo vaya,
Oh va, oh va, va!”

“BILL!”
The shout broke the magic of the music and the three players stood in shock as the rhythm vanished into the ether. Finally Mild Bill turned to address the leader of the five men that stood in the center of The Well,

”Sorry ‘bout that, Mr. Milton, we don’t get many customers till later…leads us to getting’ carried away a touch,” Bill’s accompanying smile was not reciprocated by the huge man.

“Where’s Pat Meeks?”, Milton asked bluntly.

Not flinching an inch, Bill looked around at the empty bar and shrugged his shoulders,
”How the Hell should I know, John?”

Milton’s eyes flashed a chilling blue,
“Watch your mouth, Bill…we didn’t come into this piss stain for lip from the likes of you.”

Forcibly calming himself, Milton continued,
“Word around town is that he’s got his family hold up in one of your rooms.”

Tucking his maracas back into his waistband, Bill jumped from the stage to the wooden floor of the saloon and matched the strength in Milton’s gaze with his own,
”You’ve been hearin’ bad words, John, cause Pat ain’t here.”

“You bring him out here right now,” the larger man’s hand drew back his fine duster to reveal the pearl handle of a pistol peeking from an engraved leather holster.

Bill’s eyes never left Milton’s,
”Why would I lie, John?”

The men stood staring at one another, as Jiangyin’s sun finally set outside.

“You won’t mind if we check in back then?”

”I’d respect you more if you didn’t.”

Bryan, a massive man in his own right stood up on the stage and pulled on his weathered Stetson,
“You want I should get Sheriff Sayah, Bill?”

Milton and his men starting laughing, but regained their composure quickly,
“I like you, Bill…I have no idea why though. If you happen to see Mr. Meeks, tell him we came calling.”

Mild Bill nodded,
”Now that I can do,” moving toward the bar, he continued, ”Let me get you and your boys a drink, John.”

Milton wore what might loosely be defined as a smile,
“Thank you, but no…God only knows what we would catch.”

The pack of men laughed as they quit The Well.

Bryan moved beside Bill,
“I hate that rutt-wad.”

Bill shrugged,
”I won’t give him the pleasure of hatin’ him, bro…in fact, I ain’t gonna think about him at all…especially for tonight.”

Bryan and Jason both smiled and nodded.

Bill continued,
”Nope, boys, we ain’t got time to hate or mope or flirt with melancholy cause The Dancer’ll be here in a few hours.”

Spinning toward the kitchen, he yelled,
”Consuela, did Mark bring by the packages I wanted?”

A comely middle-aged woman emerged from the noisy kitchen, wiping flour on her apron,
“Si, William, I had him put everything in your office.”

With a hoot of joy, Bill leapt over to Consuela and started dancing,
”And you have the menu I gave you?”

The woman laughed as the bar owner dipped her low,
“Si, William, I’m cooking everything you wanted.”

Bill’s nose rested just in front of hers and his brilliant white grin filled the woman’s world,
”Alright, alright, alright.”

Rubbing her nose with his, Bill spun her back up, draped his arm over her shoulders and turned to his two friends,
”Tell everyone that Jack and The Count will be lookin’ for a card game and let Mary Ellen know that Esi will be here…best to get that baby in her belly looked at by a real doc as often as she can. Now, lets clean up the guest rooms and bathroom for the crew. I want everything pretty as a capture.”

“You got it, boss,” grinned Bryan.

Jason and Consuela simply nodded.

However, Bill’s face fell and his grin faded,
”Tell Pat to stay put…tell him help’s comin’…comin’ soon.”




<<Mr. Milton played by Daniel Craig
Bryan played by Toby Keith
Jason played by Kenny Chesney
Counseula played by Rita Moreno
Sony by Crosby, Stills and Nash>>

<<The character of Mild Bill is dedicated to my friend Mike Fezzie, my brother and Andy Hallett>>

[Zachariah]

Jiangyin - a farm outside the town of Elysium


“ZACHARIAH!!! ZACHARIAH, YOU GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!!!”

Hightailing it to his farm’s outbuilding, the boy politely ignored his mother’s orders and ran like the devil himself was in pursuit. Waving his hand above his head as he sprinted, he yelled back,
”No time for supper, Momma…they’s a comin’!! The Dancer’ll be breakin’ atmo any second!!”

Short for his age and cursed with a ‘baby face’, Zachariah appeared much younger than his thirteen years, but he worked as hard as his body would allow and kept a demeanor more befitting a man of responsible than a boy of whimsy. His dirty blond hair was kept short so as not to create a bother, and his typical dress consisted almost entirely of cotton t-shirts and denim. In appearance, Zach was just a typical farmboy, but as was the case with heroes, appearances tended to deceive.

His mother’s continued shouts fell away, when he darted into the gloom of the barn.

A stranger would have required some manner of illumination to navigate the packed building, but Zachariah knew every centimeter of the space and slipped through the darkness to the rear of the structure. This was his real home…the one place in the whole ‘Verse where he knew exactly who he was. Every man finds a space that he occupies as his and his entirely. It becomes his sancta sanctorum, where the world’s responsibilities take seat behind the toils of hobby. There in the back of the barn, Zachariah Cooper, had established a workshop…a workshop with one purpose and one purpose alone.

The resurrection of Aslan.

Lighting a gas lamp, the thirteen-year-old smiled a lopsided grin and regarded the shrouded object revealed by the glow. With not a moment to spare, he slipped out of his workshirt and pulled on the weathered footballer’s pads that hung from a nearby hook. Strapping them into place, he then donned a large fur lined leather jacket, similar in design to the old fighter aces of the ETW. Leather goggles, leather gloves, and an old Independent military helmet followed the jacket until Zachariah stood ready…a pilot in name if not in deed.

But that would all change tonight.

Leather wrapped fingers grasped the dirty sheet covering the object and pulled, bringing Zachariah’s prized possession into the orange glow of the gas lamp.

Aslan, the golden rocket bike, greeted its pilot with a gleam of confidence. As it always did, the sight caught Zach’s breath and moistened his eye.

(Posted Image)

The bike had been left on Jiangyin by its former owner, Zach’s brother, Ike. Ike had left for a life in the Black, and because Aslan no longer flew, it wasn’t worth the cost of transport…so he had given it to Zachariah. Aslan could still hover close to the planet and maintain a quickness, but his ability to ascend into the clouds had been lost some time ago. For years Zach had been reading everything he could on the Cortex in an attempt to repair the flight controls of the bike, and he believed he had finally succeeded…just in time for The Dancer’s arrival.

Yes, he would meet them in the air, and Lizzie would finally see more than a farmboy…she would see him as a man.

Moments later, Aslan’s cold bulk rested between his legs, waiting for the kick-start that would give him life. Pulling down his goggles, Zachariah blessed himself with the sign of the cross and kissed the embroidered crucifix on the sleeve of his leather jacket. Then, he illuminated Aslan’s display panel and triggered the head light halogen.

His shaking fingers patted the bike’s body and he whispered,
”To the skies, Brave Aslan.”

Send me on my way

Standing in the seat, he closed his eyes and stepped down on the starter…

Send me on my way

Aslan roared to life.

Send me on my way

Zacharaiah strapped himself in and swung the bike toward the open barn doors.

Send me on my way

Beneath his leather goggles, the farmboy’s white smile split the night.

Send me on my way

Brave Aslan exploded from the Cooper Barn, with his valiant rider, Zachariah yelling into the new night,
”YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWW!!!”

Autumn Cooper watched from the porch as her boy sped off, and she kissed the cross around her neck, offering a prayer to her departed husband,
“Oak, you watch over that boy.”

Send me on my way

Maneuvering over the rolling fields, Aslan began picking up speed…speed needed for his jump into the sky. The warm wind whipping around him, Zach kept one eye on the readouts behind the handle bars and the other on the sky overhead…somehow hoping to catch sight of the descending Grendel.

Everything stayed in the green…just another couple hundred meters.

I would like to reach out my hand
I may see you, I may tell you to run
You know what they say about the young

The boy and his steed blistered over the plains grass, leaving a transitory canyon of dust and straw in their wake. He could see it now…he would escort The Dancer to Elysium, and Lizzie would be watching him from the bridge. She’d wave to him, and he would wave back, giving her a thumbs up…or something equally swai.

Tears threatened to blur Zachariah’s vision. Aslan was going to fly!

Well, pick me up with golden hand
I may see you, I may tell you to run
You know what they say about the young


”Engagin’ sky drive in ten seconds, Aslan!”, Zachariah shouted.

The Cycle roared and the panel stayed green…this was it!!!

”Ten…nine…eight…we’ve reached launch speed!...seven…six…,” the bike started to hum underneath him eager to reclaim the skies.

Sensing his mount’s desire, Zachariah, his tears now streaming from his eyes, nodded in agreement,
”Five…four…mega-thrusters are go!...three…two…To the skies, Brave Aslan!!!...ONE!!!”

I would like to hold my little hand
How we run, we will, how we will crawl we will

Send me on my way



<<Music by Rusted Root>>
<<Autumn Cooper played by Stevie Nicks>>

[Autumn Cooper]

Jiangyin - the Cooper farm outside the town of Elysium

Seeing her youngest son rocket into the night sent a shiver of dread down the widow’s spine…a gnawing concern that he would meet the same fate of his father and fall prey to some fatal accident. But it was the feeling below the fear for her child that drew her attention and made her physically sick at its very existence.

Concern…concern for herself.

One by one, all of Autumn’s men had left her. First, Oak had died in the mine explosion, and Dade, blaming himself, had left for the Stars. Ike had gone to war, and the conflict had greedily accepted his young life…like it had so many other sons’ and daughters’. She knew it was only a matter of time before, her little rock, Zachariah, left Elysium in search of his own path…a path that didn’t include his mother…a path where she could not protect him from the evils of the ‘Verse.

It wasn’t that she selfishly sought a caretaker; no, she feared the loneliness. Nights spent alone, when the comforting sounds of the farm would morph into the creeping of killers and the hunting of beasts. A single mother wasn’t supposed to have fear, not for herself anyway, but though she hid it well, Autumn recognized that she was all too human…and even Mommies screamed at nightmares.

But Zachariah had been right about one thing, The Dancer was indeed coming, and with it came her only true friends. Her long sleeved black dress caught the wind and billowed around her, encouraging her to take the first step toward Elysium and a night filled with the company of loved ones. At the thought, her beautiful face broke into a sigh and with a mighty effort, Autumn slid her forearms into the cuffs of her canes and moved at her best possible speed to the old hover-carriage that would carry her to town.


<<GENERAL POSTING will begin with the next post!>>

[Elizabeth Heller]

They say all legends worth the remembering begin with a ‘bang’; loosely described as a triggering event that sets a new course for the beings involved in the tale in question. Presumably everything that occurred before the proverbial 'bang' was not of merit, and everything after demanded notice. However, certain stories need no grand event to begin…they simply arrive.

But a big damn bang never hurt.



With a massive sonic-boom, The Dancer entered the warm hug of Jiangyin’s atmo and rocketed through the day time sky of the Rim planet.

It’s in the rhythm of The Dancer
In every standard flag unfurled
It’s in the bride’s eternal answer
And every child across the worlds

For a few moments, The Dancer’s pilot, Captain Gwyneth Paul, allowed the large Grendel room to slice through the air, gliding with the warm breeze so absent in the cold oceans of the Black. On the Bridge, sunlight bled along the beautiful woman’s face just as it did the ship she steered, and a relaxed chaos surrounded both, as the boat plummeted through the atmo.

Heart and Soul
Heart and Soul
It’s in the rhythm of The Dancer

The massive boat rolled lazily, as she crossed the horizon and entered the Jiangyin night. Graceful as her namesake, The Dancer shamed her backdrop of stars…and stole the spotlight of the sky's stage.

In all the words that’s ever sung
Sweetly from the honest tongue
With music there to melt the snow
Rising from the fiddle bow

Pilot and craft melted into one being…a pair of lovers envied by everyone on the world below. When the thrusters finally fired, it seemed almost an afterthought…an end to the fun the two were having.

Heart and Soul
Heart and Soul
It’s in the rhythm of The Dancer


The Dancer’s descent fulfilled every nuance of the definition of ‘normal’; no bumps or mechanical glitches, no weather events or flock of errant birds, not even a farm boy on a golden rocket-bike. For ship and captain, nothing out-of-the-ordinary occurred.

In the Co-pilot seat, Elizabeth Heller, The Dancer’s youngest child, watched in fascination as Gwen brought the big craft in for a landing. Thoughnot as fluid or effortless as Jax, the young woman’s sharp mind recorded the various sequences and segments of the process, determined to replay them over and over in her mind until she could see them like one of Gwen's dances.

Glancing over, Gwen smiled and nodded, giving Elizabeth the go-ahead to begin her role in their arrival.

Flipping open the wave channel to Elysium, the young woman gave herself license to use her ‘mother-voice’, a manner of speech eerily similar in cadence and carriage to Synthia Lyndon Heller,
”Elysium, this is The Dancer requesting permission to land.”

A second later a woman’s cheery accented voice erupted in her headphones,
“You know you don’t have to ask, little one, just get your tails down here. Bryan is waiting in the south field to help you unload.”

Elizabeth’s face scrunched up at the last, prompting her to continue,
”Counseula, where’s Zachariah?”

“Off doing whatever it is that teenage boys do. When it got late, Bill was more than a little put-out that his best hand hadn’t shown up for work, but like I told him, Zach’s a model boy. If anyone deserves some slack, it’s that one.”

Elizabeth nodded, though she knew the woman couldn’t see her,
”Thanks, Counseula…we’ll see you soon.”

“Come straight to the Well, little one…we have a surprise for you.”

”You didn’t have to…”, Elizabeth stopped and smiled, when she realized the wave had been terminated from the ground.

Seconds later, Gwen brought the great ship down into the open field south of Elysium, with a rather large 'bump' marking her arrival on the planet.

Gwen grabbed the comm,
“Passengers and crew, please meet me in the cargo bay before lightin’ off for town. It won’t take but a moment…I ain’t fool enough to get between you all and a little ‘land time’.”

Elizabeth kept her eyes from rolling in her head and instead turned to the captain,
”Thanks again, Sifu. It…it means a lot to me to watch you fly.”

Elizabeth pulled her long blond hair back into a ponytail and winked,
”Wanna race to the Well?”


Welcome to Season Two of The Dancer!!!


<<Zach is the young boy that works as a laborer for Mild Bill (see earlier post)>>
<<Bryan and Counseula work at the Well for Mild Bill>>
<<Mild Bill helps broker jobs for The Dancer and is a great friend of the ship and her crew>>
<<For her latest job, The Dancer is carrying a dozen horses and two families to Elysium>>
<<lyrics by Wolstone, Heart and Soul, The Dancer's theme>>

[Jax Malone]

Jiangyin wasn't much to look at, a typical Rim planet like so many others. A place to get jobs, supplies, and meals that included some form of food from the hard-working residents. The Dancer's walking multi-tool had a few other things on his mind as the ship touched down, however. Jax held the cloth firmly, though its movements across the leather wasn't precisely directed by his mind, more an absent movement to show he was working, to keep his hands occupied. In truth, he was remembering, day-dreaming as the scent of horse-hide wafted subtly up from his clothes. In his mind, he was back on Kerry's hard-packed soil, watching the herds run, watching his brother run with them.

The horse's hooves had run Kerry's red soil for generations, more than any living could accurately count. Now, they ran again, obedient to their riders or the dogs snapping at their heels. A whistle held the lead dog up short and sent the others in different directions, the motion of the horses curving to the left. Another whistle acted as a summons to the dog, who trotted, uncaring, past the still-moving horses, trusting the other dogs to keep the equines back. Padding to her master's feet, she settled back on her haunches, licking his offered hand. Jax smiled, squinting into the sunlight as it shimmered off of the multi-hued horse hide. "Good dog," he whispered, the sound of one content with his work even before the day was over.

The calm light of the setting sun remained unbroken as the large black stallion broke ranks, his rider holding the same peaceful look as he started up the hill, pausing at his brother's side. "Amazing view, isn't it?" Like Jax, Damian's eyes stayed on the herd as they were expertly herded into the northern field. At his whistle, the pack made their way to the two men, settling one by one onto haunches, then bellies, tounges lolling amongst the younger dogs. "Good dogs." As before, Jax's praise was simple, adoration undiluted in the eyes of every member of the pack. Damian dismounted, holding the reins as the horse's nose moved to drop over his shoulder. The setting sun stretched long fingers across the back of the calming horses as their watchers settled in for the evening ahead. As the brothers stood side by side, a tradition was carefully fulfilled.

"Hey, di-di?" Damian spoke first, his voice tender, eyes still combing the herd, stance relaxed.

"Yeah, gi-gi?" Jax shifted his weight subtly, unconsciously mirroring his brother's relaxed pose, arms at his side, freeing the dogs to lap at his fingertips. The two still had not looked at one another.

"What's your favorite part?" The smiles came slowly, expectant and challenging as Damian's gaze cut to his brother. Jax was waiting, smile growing, warming, as he looked his twin in the eye. No matter the situation, no matter who spoke first, the question was always the same, anytime they were doing something together or sharing stories after time apart.

"This." The single syllable was warm, heartfelt. Jax reached out, tapping his brother's bare bicep with his fist. What could be better than this, being with your twin, your other half, after time apart, even a few hours? Damian returned the tap before ruffling his brother's hair, both of them laughing, solemnity gone. When Jax spoke next, his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Is it really like flying, D?"

Damian's answer was a smile of invitation. "The herd will be fine alone for a few hours. Want to see?"

Jax whistled once, a long, complex sound that sent the dogs scattering like leaves in the wind, each moving to its place in the circle around the settled herd. If anything happened, the dogs would raise an alarm and fight the threat. Damian had already mounted up, offering his hand. "Come on." In minutes, Jax knew it was true. He felt every movement, his brother's bare heels digging into the horse's flanks, the animal's muscles flexing as the ground raced beneath them, no more than a green-red blue. Heart in his throat, he could do nothing but hang on as he realised, not for the first time, that his brother had been right. It wasn't exactly like flying, but in many ways it was better.

That had been one of the few times Jax ever found himself astride a horse. Two years later, six months before he'd enlisted, one of the family's many project horses, the troublemakers they had to specially train before they could attempt a sale, had thrown him. As he'd heard it when he woke up, Damian had been furious with everyone for putting his brother on one of the un-broken fillies. He apologized constantly to his brother, made demands of the elders that went largely unheeded, and even went so far as to approach the council. Nobody cared, of course. If Jax had been stupid enough to agree to the job, what were they supposed to do now that he was already hurt? Since then, Jax stuck with his dogs, maintaining order amongst the pack. Now, the cargo of horses was bringing it all back. Though he had never lived there for any significant length of time, Jax was missing Kerry.

“Passengers and crew, please meet me in the cargo bay before lightin’ off for town. It won’t take but a moment…I ain’t fool enough to get between you all and a little ‘land time’.” Gwen's voice broke into his reverie, the boots dropped unceremoniously on the floor of the bunk, landing beside a pile of discarded night-clothes. "Whoops." Jax gathered up the loose fabric, moving it to an out-of the-way corner rather than the middle of the room.

Pulling on a different shirt, not wanting to smell too much like horse, a new scent caught his attention, this one seeming almost soaked into the cotton. Syn. Jax smiled, fastening the last button and grabbing his holsters. Guns were hardly necessary here these days, but it never hurt to be prepared. After a nano-second of thought, he left the sniper rifles where they stood and headed for the cargo bay. Already, the idea of shore leave had almost fully eclipsed his earlier thoughts of home. Better to live in the now.

[Esi Rousseau]

In the infirmary, Esi was collecting a few items she would need once they got to town. Things that weren't standard equipment in her medical bag. She had the portable ultrasound scanner laid out on the exam table, packed in a white case the size of a small suitcase, making the term 'portable' relative. She packed some large sterile sheets and a few other obstetrics specific tools into her med kit, just in case Mary Ellen decided to go into labour against all odds at the exact same time she was examining the woman. That was a scenario she wasn't fond of thinking about. She had never delivered a baby, had hardly even studied the subject in any great detail and had spent a good chunk of the last few days reading up on procedures, pregnancy and emergency care of premature childbirth for both mother and child.

The reading hadn't helped with the anxiety at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. So many things could go wrong with pregnancy, even now in the twenty-sixth century and in particular on Rim planets, where the nearest hospital might be hours or days away. Esi knew rationally, that there was no reason for concern, that Mary Ellen still had at least three months to go and that The Dancer would be many weeks and months on its way by the time the woman gave birth. Emotionally, though, she couldn't keep herself for running the scenario over and over in her head. The girl going into labour early, something going wrong and Esi the only one with any medical training nearby, but no experience whatsoever with childbirth. It made her anxious and nervous beyond anything she had ever imagined and she already felt entirely out of her depth with the whole situation.

She went to the medicine cupboard, unlocked it, and reached inside to take out a bottle of tablets, holding it in her hand for a few moments before she locked the cupboard again. It had been at least three months since the last time she had needed one of these pills, but she felt the anxiety and fear so strongly now that she didn't want to trust her willpower in the potential situation she was already imagining. Hearing the running footsteps and laughter, she turned just in time to see Elizabeth and Sonya flash by the doors, then disappear a split-second later, heading toward the cargo bay. She frowned, wondering if there was any particular reason they were racing through the corridors or if they were just being their usual competitive selves.

She swallowed a pill and stood for a moment to let it take effect, then went to pick up her med kit, pulling the strap over her head so it crossed over her chest, hanging securely at her right hip. The strap of the ultrasound unit went over her other shoulder to hang on her left hip, the two straps forming an X over her chest. She took one last look around the infirmary, brushed a bit of imaginary dust off the exam table, made sure she had a pack of sterile wipes in the pocket of her jacket and that all the cupboard doors were closed and latched before she turned and left, closing the door securely behind her. Those rituals done, she made her way to the cargo bay, staying up on the catwalk to wait for the horses to be unloaded, not caring for getting too close to the animals.

[Imza Tsenko]

Imza grunted, bare arms bulging as she helped the man of the family stack the last crate near the cargo bay doors. Straightening, she took a quick survey of the work. That was all of it. A few dozen crates, a couple of suit-cases. It all amounted to more than twenty times all of her 'versely possessions, but it didn't seem like much all heaped together. So little to start a new life.



A few months back...

"Elysium is a growing town, Im. ... You could stay. Start new."

"Stay and do... What?" Her voice came out scoffing, dark with laughter that she didn't feel, "Raise sheep and to-MAH-tos and skinny babies?"

"Bao bei," Preston's voice was so soft, starlit night soft, "Please, don't make this any harder..."



"That's the last of it." She dusted off her hands and thrust them out to the family, shook their hands, hard worked hands just looking for a new beginning away from the press and prejudices of the Core. Pioneers. Settlers.


"I keep moving, Prez. It's what I do." Come with me. Come with me. Come with me. Dance the stars until there's no where left to see, nothing new to find.... Don't beg him.

"And I have a j..."

"Don't... Don't tell me it's the job! I have a job, too. And it's here. On The Dancer."

Preston's hand, warm and strong and calloused, cupped her cheek, caught the tear she didn't want him to see. And all of the anger and hurt fell away with his warm whisper, "You know where to find me."


"Good luck with your new life." They were so grateful to her for helping dump them out here. Was that what hope did to people? Hugs and handshakes and happy thoughts exchanged, she sprinted for the engine room.

All haste, she splashed cold water over her face and wiped away the grime of the day. She could get a real bath tonight in town.

In town.

Where Preston was.

Yanking out a weeks worth of braids Imza doused her head, letting her dark curls spring back to natural life and frame her wide eyes. Ten parts anticipation to three parts frustation, with no small amount of fear... What if he'd already met someone else? What if he'd changed his mind? What if...

"You know where to find me."

...She'd made the worst mistake in her life?

Nah. That was stealing from an Operative. Second biggest, maybe. No, marrying Hagar... Third? Struggling into purple balloon pants, she laced on a yellow peasant blouse and tugged on matching yellow suede boots. Buckling her everpresent toolbelt back on, Imza glanced at her reflection in the darkened flex-screen. And grinned.

Not a care in the world. That was her! The Incredible Imza!

And she was a Dancer. She might have to face Preston, but... she wasn't about to do it alone!

Jogging back through the corridor, the diminutive gypsy did her customary cartwheel into the galley, springing lightly to land on her toes beside the table, calling cheerfully, "Jack! Oh, Brave Knight Jack! This fair maid seeks a champion! Wilt thou cast off thy apron and escort me to yon village?"

Nope. She wasn't going alone.

[Harper Lee Thomas]

The Well: Elysium


A charade…the whole rutting thing, a charade.

Though not intoxicated, Harper’s head rested on the bar of The Well and her finger traced the moisture collecting along the outside of her beer mug. Beneath the chatter of the pub’s crowd and the music meandering from the place’s speakers, she could hear the faint pop of gunfire, the crackle of burning buildings…and bodies, the pleading shrieks of the overrun, and the last breaths of friends; the white noise that haunted the thoughts of every veteran soldier.

Another frosted beer mug appeared in front of her face followed by a spotless shot glass. Harper’s brown eyes rolled upward but her head maintained its spot of leisure against the treated wood of the bar. Mild Bill, shirtless and wearing three multicolored leis, smiled down at the gunwoman,
“Whiskey?”

”Sure,” she smiled back.

The barman nodded toward a man sitting at a corner table where he appeared lost in thought,
“What’s his story?”

Finally lifting her head, Harper glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes softened as she beheld the tortured form of her current partner. Pain didn’t have an official place in the spectrum, but it muted the hues of every rainbow with its honorary status of faded loss. The man in the corner seemed draped in it…maybe even born of it, but more importantly, he appeared at home with the Pain.

”You’d have to ask him,” she turned back to Bill and gave him her too wide grin of false mirth.

“So what’s your story?”

Harper watched as he filled the shot glass with the amber fire of his house whiskey,
”What are you some kind of reporter?”

“Sort of. I’m a musician,” Bill returned the shot glass to its spot in front of Harper.

”Fanti and Mingo feel comfortable with a musician as a broker?” she snorted.

“Of course,” he gave her a mysterious grin.

Bill poured himself a shot and raised his glass to Harper. She responded by lifting her own and touching his glass with a clink,
”You must be one hell of a broker.”

Bill shook his head,
“Nope…I’m one hell of a musician.”

An honest smile lifted the corners of her mouth and with a nod of respect she downed the shot.

Silence reigned between them for a few moments, and the sounds of the bar…and the haunts of years gone-by returned to her awareness. Finally, the barman got back to the business at hand.

“Dancer crew will be here soon.”

She nodded,
”I’m looking forward to it."

“So how do you know Malone?”, inquired Bill.

”The war.”

He nodded respectfully,
“You two serve together?”

Harper’s eyes drifted to the mirror behind the bar and weighed the measure of the woman staring back at her,
”You could say that.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Her head returned to the bar and her finger resumed to its travels along her mug. She smiled; lost in a memory,
”You never see Jax…never, but he's always there. Might be ten paces…might be a mile, but he's there, watching from the night.”

Bill’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand the statement. Leaning in close, the barman put his elbows next to Harper’s head and spoke, lower than before,
“Christ, darlin’…sounds scary.”

Harper’s eyes met his, and Mild Bill nearly pulled back from the strength in her gaze. Her voice held a similar power…one that removed any doubt to its sincerity,
”Not at all…safest I’ve ever felt.”

And with that simple statement, the sounds of war in her head quieted.

[Round Jack Brannigan]

The Dancer's Galley - The Realm of Round Jack Brannigan


The Colossus of Rhodes, one of the wonders of the ancient earth-that-was, guarded his harbor for decades. Nothing could topple him; nothing could conquer him…the Colossus was believed to be eternal, infused with the immortal essence of Olympus.

But Nature laughed at the mighty guardian, and one day, with a shaking of the earth, She shattered the Colossus’s illusion of immortality and made a mockery of what humanity had considered everlasting.

At the time, mankind believed they had offended the gods, but as the years flowed, poets and philosopher-kings reached a different, but no less ominous, conclusion.

Though one might prolong their existence beyond their allotted time, Nature was patient, and she was never denied.

In the end, even a wonder, an immortal…even a Colossus must fall.


"Jack! Oh, Brave Knight Jack! This fair maid seeks a champion! Wilt thou cast off thy apron and escort me to yon village?"

From behind the counter-top of his prep table, Round Jack Brannigan smiled and laughed weakly at his gypsy daughter. Without hesitation, his right hand reached behind him and released the clip that held his apron in place. A second later the garment found its hook in the corner of the galley, and Jack turned back to Imza.

Before his encounter with Barabbas, the giant’s bulk had been plentiful but solid; now, the same mass had sagged, leaving the once proud warrior looking ancient though he was only sixty-nine years old. His left hand, useless since the attack, rested in his pant’s pocket; his attempt to project at least the illusion of health. Only the right side of his mouth rose as he smiled at Imza; the left ran like the rest of his body…a great wax replica of Round Jack Brannigan left too long in the Jiangyin sun. Retrieving his strong white-oak cane, he shuffled over to the gypsy-mech, his left foot more peg than appendage and presented her with the best bow he could muster.

Even though his body was shattered, Jack’s spirit soared still. He was a father to every being that called The Dancer home, and he’d give the other half of his body a thousand times over to keep them happy and safe.

”I…wwwill, Mmmilady,” his damaged mind thickened his speech but did not diminish its strength.

He wagged one great finger before her,
”Theeey wwwouldn’t daaare face us.”

Moving beside her, Jack presented the elbow of his damaged arm to Imza and smiled again through his wrinkled and sunken face. For a being so filled with life…so vibrant and animated, he knew that being in his presence only slowed down the wild flow of her existence. The old giant knew what she was doing for him and it caused a tear to slip from his sagging left eye.

”Thhhank yooou,” he whispered…unable to say more.



<<I deliberately omitted Jack's condition from the prep for this episode. Ertia, if this changes anything, please let me know.>>

[Imza Tsenko]

”I…wwwill, Mmmilady,”

Imza's smile only widened as her favorite father, her hero, struggled to her side. It hurt to see him so diminished, her brave knight, but it also strengthened her, gave her hope. The human spirit of the man she loved, the man who had given her faith in a humanity that she had nearly given up on, lived on. It danced in the watery brightness of his eyes, in the lopsided edge of his weary smile. Whatever came, whatever changed, Round Jack Brannigan's love remained, a steady hum that filled The Dancer to the brim, and overflowed into the crew that she held.

”Theeey wwwouldn’t daaare face us.”

Grief was not for the living. In Imza's world, life held sway over all. She also had the advantage of having grown up in a circus with a freak show. Those most beloved in her life had often been disfigured and torn, though more oft by genetic flaw or accident than the ravages of time. Round Jack's evolution of body had only changed his appearance, not his heart, and it was his heart that the gypsy loved most. She gently took his arm, her slight but powerful form taking as much of his weight as his pride would allow her.

"Gorram right, they won't!" She fired him a quick wink, but stalled when he thanked her. So much behind the words that he either wouldn't say, or couldn't. On tiptoes, she stretched up to kiss the tear from his cheek, teasing gently and with all of the love bundled in her tiny frame, "You keep leakin' like that, and I'll have to caulk you up!"

"Don't thank me, Jack..." The teasing and jokes fell away, only for a moment, and she met his eye with soft shake of her head, her voice turning husky and soft, "I'm a selfish, selfish, selfish girl, and pesterin' you is my favorite occupation. I'd be in here every minute if Cap'n and the gorram engine would let me."

She raised his limp hand to her lips with another impish grin, the tease returning, "Since Count won't see the value in making pesting you my full-time job, you should consider yourself darn lucky, good sir!"


ooc= thanks, Grims, for the proofread. I have to admit now that they were probably as much from crying so hard I could barely type as they were from my injury. need more kleenex. :(

[Cpt. Gwyneth Paul]

The Bridge


”Thanks again, Sifu. It…it means a lot to me to watch you fly.”

Cast from a grace lost for ages uncounted, the Captain of The Dancer floated from the pilot’s chair to the rear of the Bridge and faced her student, Elizabeth Heller. For a moment the pair stood silent, the only two women that would ever carry the mantle of the Grendel’s captain; one blink, mirror images and the next, photographic negatives.

Scarred white knuckles scrubbed through her haphazard reddish-brown locks, shaking away the tension of spaceflight and command. For the past several months, life had been easy to live. Jobs without gunfire or grand political subterfuge; moments to live like real folk. Most of their time was spent sailing the Black, travelling here and there and earning just a little more than the cost of fuel and expenses. Still, despite the capitalistic beliefs of The Count, Gwen knew that it was the life and not the lifestyle that was the true blessing of riches. For nearly two years, she had been able to explore herself, being Gwen during their long stretches in space and only becoming a captain, when they ventured from home.

”Wanna race to the Well?”

Captains weren’t allowed to run-and-play, live and love, or err. Gwen’s time without title had ended, and she wearily drew the cloak of command over her thin shoulders.

Still an aberration to linguistics, her Slavic accented Rim speech emerged with a gruff bark, completing her transformation,
”No one is racin’ to The Well, ‘specially not you, dong ma?”

Elizabeth barked before she thought of any potential consequences,
“You heard Counseula, didn’t you!?! She told me to come to The Well straight awa…!”

A winter wind rushed across Gwen’s gaze, and her blue-green eyes chilled, as they bore into the young girl,
”Counseula don’t skipper this boat…I do. You’ll help Esi till she tells you otherwise.”

“Doesn’t,” Elizabeth corrected Gwen, “Counseula doesn’t skipper this boat.”

Familiar with the baiting tactics the girl employed, the Captain danced around the provocation with the same flair she saved for the floor,
”Come to think of it, you should probably check with your mom and Imza to see if they need anything. Figure you can get to it soon as Esi’s done with you. Seems fair that you, bein’ the crewmember with the least seniority, should take a task or two…don’t it?”

Elizabeth’s mouth opened, winning in the race with her head, but Gwen continued, saving the girl from even more duties,
”Unless you’re gonna spit out an ‘Aye aye, Captain’ or an even more darin’ ‘Will do, Gwen’, I’d strongly suggest savin’ those syllables till you’re a mile outta my earshot.”

Once again the pair faced one another.

Elizabeth glared but remained silent.

Gwen smiled and gathered her denim jacket from the back of the pilot’s chair,
”See, that weren’t so hard. Now hurry up and git before Esi leaves without you.”

With a snort of tweenage defiance, Elizabeth turned to grab her belongings, as Gwen quit the Bridge.


Moments later in the cargo bay...

Gwen finished shaking hands with all the Dancer’s passengers and wished every member of both families well in their quest to start anew in Elysium. After that she punched the control that opened the massive cargo bay door of the ship to the sights and smells of the Jiangyin countryside.

No sooner had the metal touched the soil then Bryan’s massive form marched up the ramp, tipping his hat and shaking the hands of the disembarking passengers. Shadowed as he was, Gwen’s focus wondered for a second and instead of Bryan, she saw the Jack Brannigan of her youth walking toward her, but when the bay lights illuminated his face, any similarity, thankfully, fled.

“Ah’m here to scoot the twelve head to the corral, Captain, so you and yours can get to The Well for drinkin’ and relaxin’,” the big man’s smile renewed his comparison to Jack, if just for a second.

Bryan shot out his hand, and Gwen grabbed it and allowed herself to be pulled into the man’s shoulder, where he wrapped his other arm around her,
“Damn good to have The Dancer back in town, Gwen…damn good.”

She couldn’t help but smile and smacked Bryan’s granite shoulder,
”Good to see you too, Tiny.”

Bryan laughed and entered the bay moving toward the horses to get them ready to drive. Noticing Esi up in the catwalks, he took off his curled Stetson and bowed low,
“Damn glad to see you too, Doc!”

With that Gwen watched Bryan go to work, as she waited for the rest of her crew.


<<Bryan played by Toby Keith>>

[Elizabeth Heller]

”See, that weren’t so hard. Now hurry up and git before Esi leaves without you.”

”Saobi!”,her mind screamed at the woman in front of her, but as much as she wished otherwise, Elizabeth remained silent, allowing only the blue of her gaze to convey her thoughts.

Punching her fists into its denim sleeves, she jerked her jacket up over her shoulders and smashed her battered red ball cap onto her head. Without a proper outlet, more often than not, the young woman’s outerwear tended to feel her ire.

Her hand absently powered down the Bridge controls, which illuminated the twilight of the room’s running lights. As irritated as she was, Elizabeth’s touch remained soft as her hand lingered on The Dancer’s controls. Using the tips of her middle and index fingers she ‘walked’ down the comm station, passed the dark navigational displays, and to the pilot’s chair.

Her eyes darted over her shoulder, and her ears searched for the telltale sounds of nearby crew.

Nothing.

With no small amount of reverence, Elizabeth lowered herself into the chair; its seat still holding Gwen’s warmth. A slight tremble washed through her hands as she grabbed the flight stick and the thrust control.

Blue eyes filled with the untarnished longing of youth, looked out the Grendel’s forward window…out and up. The stars twinkled, mirroring the electric anticipation inside the girl. Recalling the firing sequence that Jax had taught her, she pretended to ready The Dancer for launch.

In the veil of fantasy, everything was ready, and she looked back to the stars above and sang in a heavy whisper,
”Countdown its getting near to flight time…night stars are shining in my eyes…my mind says I’m going to be the first one…to dance the bebop in the sky.”

Her hand caressed the gleaming metal of the thrust control, and with the light of the Black twinkling in her eyes, the girl heard the mighty Grendel answer her whisper with one of its own.

Soon.

Sparing just one more moment for the boat she loved, Elizabeth left the bridge in body but stayed firmly seated in spirit.

Moments passed but she quickly found Esi on the catwalks overlooking the cargo bay and moved beside her,
”Hey Esi, you mind if I tag along?”, she glanced at the crisscrossed straps of the medic’s bundles and looked back with a smile, ”I could help you carry some of this stuff.”

[Synthia Lyndon Heller]

"Is this recording?"

"Sure, it's on . . .I can see the little light there. Move on back here now, you're fillin up the screen!"

I took my love and I took it down.

The images flickered across the cor-pad screen; images recorded in the same room long before. Recorded on a bunk that had long since exploded, of a girl no longer quite such a child.

I climbed a mountain and I turned around.

"Good evenin' . . .I'm Synthia Lyndon Heller with Blue Sun News, bringin' you all the news type stuff the Alliance is gonna let you know . . . Now, we're here with Elizabeth Brannigan, who has been put in charge of takin' a very important secret package to a very rich man who lives in a floatin' house on Bellerophon. Now, Elizabeth, what do you suppose is so important in that package to a man lives in a flyin' house?"

*giggling* "I's don't know, it's secret!"

And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills, 'til the landslide brought me down.

When you're Elizabeth's age, time is taking dynamite to your landscape. The work of a year or two blows the past away. Top thirty, and time works like a trickling stream. A year or two slip by, and there's no real difference to notice.

"You heard it here first, folks, the secret package is a secret. But if you were to take a guess on that secret, what do you think is in that package? People watchin' the news want to know that secret, so's they forget about all the bigger secrets we ain't gonna be tellin' 'em."

*giggle* . . . It's a radio that talks to ghosts."

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above?

It's only when those years start adding up that you find yourself asking "Where did that river come from? Didn't I used to splash across that and barely get my pants cuff wet? How did it get so deep and wide?"

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?

She was pretty sure Jax couldn't see any real difference between the Synthia that stood in front of the mirror now and the one he first laid eyes on. Maybe Gwen could detect the passing of time if she stopped and thought about it some. But she could look back and remember when she was where Elizabeth was now. She knew how much that river had widened.

"I can't wade it anymore, but I can still swim it." you think. Until the day comes when you find yourself wondering just when the currents got so fast, when the water got so cold. You look back at your younger self, playing on the far bank and wonder how she ever got so far away.

"Well, this reporter thinks that makes sense. Rich men usually have a lot of ghosts to be talkin' to."

*giggle* That man was crazy! *giggle*

"You heard it here first folks . . . talkin' to ghosts is crazy! This rich man on Bellerophon is obviously playin' a few cards short of a full deck! But, now . . . it's time for a word from our one and only Blue Sun Sponsor . . .Sponsorin' the news, that is, not the Alliance. That's one 'a those secrets you don't get to hear tonight. So run to your cupboards and enjoy . . ."

Well I've been afraid of changing 'cause I've built my life around you.

Synthia switched off the cor-pad. Good Lord, the Blue Sun commercial? If there weren't so many memories riding on it . . . when did they ever think to do something that ridiculous? And those pillows? Impossible to imagine today's Elizabeth sitting still for something so childish and undignified. Did she even laugh that way anymore? Sure, she laughed, but like that?

But time makes you bolder, children get older, I'm getting older too.

She had her gunbelt buckled on, not because she thought she'd need it, any more than she needed it any time she'd worn it going on a couple years, but because the day might come again, and it likely wouldn't do her the courtesy of sending a wave to announce it's arrival.

It didn't feel heavy, even though it was, because it was a weight she was used to. But the day would come when it would start to feel heavy. A day when time would paint grey into her platinum hair and start hanging lead weights on her limbs and taking sandpaper to her joints. If a bullet or a blade or a blast in The Black never caught up with her, she'd grow old. Day would come, she'd be old, and Elizabeth would be where she was now. Maybe there would be a young girl looking up to her, and she'd be gazing off across that wide river with her eyes asking "Is this what it was like for you?"

Lord knows she asked her mother's memory that often enough.

Before she left, she went to pick up what she had actually come in for. The case was roughly triangular, sewn from heavy sheepskin, the fleece to the inside, with a long zipper along the side and a leather handle and shoulder strap. inside was the solid body guitar she had carved out of wood from an old fireplace mantel that had been salvaged from a house that had burned badly enough that the intact parts were torn down. It was a 4 stringed fretless instrument, like the cigar box guitars of the early ETW folk and blues players, with a fingerboard made from a strip of carbon fiber that served some purpose in an engine before being replaced, and a hand wound magnetic pickup housed in an old, decorated metal candy tin, all constructed and wired up by Imza as a spare time project. the blonde finished wood was already marked by the scratches of playing, steel fingers being rough on wooden surfaces. She had played as a girl, and had an acoustic instrument on board already, but the quieter pace had given her more freedom to pick it back up and experiment a bit. A pocket inside the case held a cord, picks and a bottleneck slide. The small amplifier Imza had built from various components into an old wooden crate came along with it.

With the case slung over her shoulder and the speaker mounted crate carried by its leather strap handle, she headed for the cargo bay past the galley. Hardly a direct route, but it wasn't as though there was any hurry. She could hear Imza's voice from just down the hallway.

"Since Count won't see the value in making pesting you my full-time job, you should consider yourself darn lucky, good sir!"

Well I've been afraid of changing 'cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, children get older, I'm getting older too.

She had never seen her own father grow old, although, like all adults to a child, he had seemed plenty old back when childhood years seemed to creep along like decades, freighted down with all the changes they had to carry. Thirty seems way up on a mountain until you reach it and discover it's nothing but a foothill to the snowy peak ahead.

So take my love, take it down. Oh, climb a mountain and turn around. If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills, well the landslide will bring you down, down . . .

Jack was old, no denying it. Some would say finished, like the silent stares that had sometimes followed her after the Alliance had opened up the prison gates . . . an ex-Browncoat with her right sleeve pinned up at the elbow and the war still reflected in her eyes. No matter how much those bullets had taken though, they hadn't been able to take what was most important.

He was still Round Jack Brannigan, and he was still family. He walked with a cane, but he still walked, and if the day came when a cane wasn't enough . . . he wouldn't have to look far. Family is never too heavy to carry.

And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills . . .

She set the wooden crate amplifier down by the galley door. She thought about suggesting that "Jack Pesterin'" could be made her full time job, not much work in her old one lately . . . but best not to jinx it. People in her profession didn't have to be lazy to wish for a light workload.

"Y'all about ready to head on out?" she asked, smiling.

Well maybe the landslide will bring it down.

Oh, oh the landslide will bring it down.



Landslide lyrics by Stevie Nicks. GM of past actions permission given by Ertia. The cor-pad recording in question is actually on Synthia's cor-pad, if you look for it in the old Dancer Season 1 stuff.