Prime Numbers, The Dancer Season 1 Episode 3

[The Reverend]

The Reverend nodded to Malone, and began describing all of the events that had occurred, in his laconic twang.

[Cpt. Gwyneth Paul]

Gwen started to say something to Syn…to call her back and thank her for her words, but she thought better of it, believing the moment best left as it was.

One of the other new passengers, the wisp of a woman from the ball, came bounding passed Rollo and Syn and entered the Engine Room,

"Uh... excuse me? Don't mean to interupt, but Mr. Deckard would like me to take a look at the secondary g-d unit? If that's all right?"

Gwen’s eyes narrowed, as the woman spoke. This was Rique’s place…her home…her church, and it was not to be simply handed over to someone else.

”Well see that’s where you and I got a bit of a dilemma. You’re sayin’ you talked to Mister Deckard, and last time I checked a Captain beats a Mister every time. SO…now you can talk to me.”

Gwen placed her foot on the seat of Rique’s wheeled stool and rested her hand on her knee. The Captain barely contained a tear at the thought of her mech flying around the Engine Room on the stool, nursing The Dancer through every problem…every pain.

Her eyes locked on the woman,
”Who are you…and why do I care?”


<<dilemma - pronounced dee/ lemma>>

[Imza Tsenko]

”Well see that’s where you and I got a bit of a dilemma. You’re sayin’ you talked to Mister Deckard, and last time I checked a Captain beats a Mister every time. SO…now you can talk to me. Who are you…and why do I care?”

Imza couldn't help it. She knew one day that her face was gonna get rearranged if she kept on grinnin like that, but she grinned bold-faced into the stern face of the Captain of the Dancer. "We have a deee-lemma for certain, Captain."

She thrust out one hand, knowing she had grease under her fingernails and solder-dust coating her palms. "Imza Tsenko. And you are just the person I was looking to chat with. Your dancing tonight was wonderful by the way." She shrugged nonchallantly, "I could never tango... too short and all. Looks like a monkey tryin' to ballet or somethin'. Always tripping up my partners because my stride's too short.

But what I was sayin' is, dilemma. Yes. You have one. As in, your pilot tells me you don't have a mech on this boat, and the warning light for the secondary grav-damper's blinking itself silly. It seems that Mr. Deckard isn't too fond of floating around the ship." Imza giggled at the thought of the brusque pilot floating anywhere. "I figured none of us was too fond of it. I already gave him a hand down here once, and thought I could take a look. If you'd rather float, that's peachy-keen by me, Capitaine de la Danseur. I reckon you don't need a passenger mucky-muckin' yer boat, even if she IS a licensed mechanic."

Imza grinned again, and swept a low bow down to the floor, genuflecting a spiral salute from her heart with the hand holding her mech-manual.

[Rollo McGuffin]

”Apologies and me go together like charity and Blue Sun, so I’ll just leave the specifics of my sorry to your well developed imagination. Your money will be back in your pocket before we reach Beaumonde.”

What? That crazy saobi attacks me for no good reason, and now she won't apologise? The nerve of her! Before Rollo could say anything in response the captain began speaking with the blond crewwoman, who had ignored Rollo after telling him to leave. They're probably sly, it's the only explanation for why they both seem to dislike me for no conceivable reason, when every other woman loves me. While the images conjured by the thought of the two women being sly were undeniably interesting, Rollo was forced to file them away for contemplation at some later date.

The fop loudly cleared his throat, hoping to once more put the center of attention onto himself, where it belonged. "Well then Captain, if that is all you have to say then I shall take my leave." Rollo gave a disdainful sniff and added, "The sooner we get to Beaumonde the better, it's clear you've no desire to have me as a passenger on your ship, and I assure you that given my treatment up to this point the feeling is rapidly becoming mutual."

Rollo stepped back through the door, then added in a last barb. "If you want to secure paying passengers in the future, assaulting them at random might not be the best of ideas. Good day, captain." With that Rollo closed the door to the engine room, then turned about and began briskly making his way back to his quarters, pausing to politely acknowledge Imza on his way. Unbelievable! I knew this would be a step down from the treatment I was being given at Pegasus Estates but I expected this crew would at least act like civilized beings. No wonder the Captain sleeps alone if that is how she treats any man who tries to be friendly to her.

Rollo was so busy being offended that he didn’t pay any particular attention to where he was going, and thus he ended up being led to the cockpit by some sad piano music that he didn’t recognize. “Hello Mr. Deckard” Rollo greeted jovially. “Fancy a bit of company?” Maybe now that I’ve lost all interest in that buhuihende pofu Mr. Deckard and I can get along. After all, by that accent of his he is clearly a lordly, core-educated gentleman, much like myself.

Assuming Marcus wanted his company (Who wouldn’t?), Rollo sat down in the co-pilot’s chair and began babbling more than enough to make up for the pilot’s silence. “I must say I was pleasantly surprised to find a proper civilized man among a crew full of such uncultured and low-class churls.” Rollo casually propped his feet up on the Dancer’s control panel and leaned back in his chair, gazing out into the Black. “I don’t know how you can stand to deal with such people, instead of being back in the proper sort of society where men like us belong.”

Rollo smiled happily, his eyes glazing over slightly as he wallowed in memories of happier times. “I remember this one ball on Osiris … there were these two girls ... well first it was the elder sister, but once her younger sibling saw what was going on she was quick enough to join in. Then their mother showed up … ah the miracles of cosmetic surgery. She might have been a bit on the old side, but those doctors had her looking quite nice.

“Well, after the four of us had our fun for a few weeks the patriarch of the family finally caught us in flagrante, and of course the man had to challenge me to duel then. I didn’t kill him of course, just left him wounded and taught him a right proper lesson. Sadly that was the end of my little tryst. About a year later I met the younger daughter, it seems that after the whole thing had come out the parents got divorced and the daughters were quickly married off.” Rollo gave a fond smile. “Of course we spent a while getting … re-acquainted.”

Rollo gave mournful shake of his head, feeling a new bond of companionship with the pilot after sharing that story. “A pity you don’t run into women like that out here. Now, that little mechanic you picked out seems quite nice, I wouldn’t mind giving her a whirl. That doctor was rather cute as well, I think I might have to see about getting a special prescription from her sometime. The blond is nice as well, though the mechanical arm … well she’s not even completely human anymore. As for the Captain … well she appears to be prone to random swings of emotion and violent outbursts.” Rollo chuckled and with rakish smile looked over to his new friend. “But still, that is one fine looking-woman and if I get a chance I’d like to-“
____________________________________________________________________

Buhuihende pofu: Remorseless harridan

[Marcus Deckard]

Marcus leaned back in his chair as The Dancer fled from the silken den of Pegasus estates. The girl Imza knew her stuff, he would admit that. She had moved around the engine competently, and no treachery had seemed to pass her hands as they worked. Marcus had felt so very happy when The Dancer burned out of atmo that he had, much to his own chagrin, lost track of time. He had hardly even noticed that Imza did not leave the bridge until the warning light flared up.

The passenger left the bridge to deal with the errant grav-dampener problem, leaving Marcus alone. The constant babble of voices in his head died to incoherent whispers and a semblance of calm came over the pilot as he flicked his storage unit into the cockpit speaker system. Closing his eyes, he selected a song at random and drew in a shaky breath as the first piano notes came softly through the speakers. The song was a very old Earth-That-Was piece called ‘Moonlight Sonata’ by Beethoven. He closed his eyes and let the notes pull at all his fractured soul while his mind sailed through times past so happy that he became saddened just thinking about them. His hand, moving in rhythm with the piano, flitted across the console with a mind of its own; running trajectories and routine diagnostics across the ship.

Casual footsteps broke the pilot out of his reverie. His eyes snapped open and he saw…the fop walking into his cockpit.

“Hello Mr. Deckard. Fancy a bit of company?”

“Mr. McGuffin I explici-“ But before he could finish his reply Rollo had already sat down in the co-pilot’s chair and began to try to regale him with a tale about how he had ruined several peoples lives. The man’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Marcus, and the more he talked, the more Marcus hated him.

“A pity you don’t run into women like that out here.”

Marcus’ right eye twitched.

“Now, that little mechanic you picked out seems quite nice, I wouldn’t mind giving her a whirl.”

Frankly I am amazed you have not shot him yet, Marcus.

“That doctor was rather cute as well, I think I might have to see about getting a special prescription from her sometime.”

Shooting is to good for him. Make him suffer before you rip his organs out Marcus!

“The blond is nice as well, though the mechanical arm … well she’s not even completely human anymore.”

This man is the representation of everything that is wrong in the universe. You would be doing humankind a favor of you blew his brains all over the bulkhead.

“As for the Captain … well she appears to be prone to random swings of emotion and violent outbursts.”

The pilot’s knuckles turned white on the stick. The voices in his head began to grow into a chorus, all of them saying basically the same thing. It was the first time in memory he could recall his entire mind being in total agreement on something.

“But still, that is one fine looking-woman and if I get a chance I’d like to-“

Marcus turned to face Rollo, his face as still as granite. In the space of a heartbeat, he had Ivy out of her holster, sighted, and fired. The cough of the silencer was barely audible over the piano music coming from the speakers, but the aftereffects of his simple action were poetry to Marcus’ eyes. The .45 bullet tore straight through the center of the over-elaborate hat perched jauntily on Rollo’s head with the grandeur Marcus found hard to describe. The soft lead bullet splattered against the bulkhead, leaving the shredded remnants of the hat to follow in its wake in tiny smoking rivulets. The whole action took only an instant, but Marcus committed it in slow motion memory for whenever he would get gloomy. Rollo himself received nothing but a line of singed hair across his manicured head, but he seemed as though he had gone into shock as he looked in terror at the smoking barrel of Marcus’ gun.

His voice was placid, betraying none of the bliss he now felt.

“Now,” Marcus dispassionately drew back the second hammer. “Return to you quarters Mr. McGuffin.”

[Rollo McGuffin]

With a frightened little squeak Rollo scrambled out of the Dancer’s cockpit, putting as much distance as possible between him and the pilot. After making his way to back to his quarters in what must have been record time, Rollo slammed the door shut, locked it, and stacked half of his luggage up against it. “Everyone on this ship is CRAZY!”

Rollo looked checked himself out in the mirror, noting the few tatters of his hat lingering in his hair, and the long stain that had gone down his right pant leg. “I do believe I have wet myself.” Rollo declared, his voice somewhat dull as the shock of all the recent events set in. As he flopped down onto the bed exhausted he whined. “We can’t get to Beaumonde soon enough.”

[Synthia Lyndon Heller]

Syn found Jax talking with the Reverend not far from the cargo bay. She waited for a break in the story the Reverend was telling, and walked over.

"Had a real fine time at the dance tonight." she said. "Couple a' hours till breakfast . . ."

She slipped past the two of them, her eyes lingering on Jax.

"So," they asked silently, "Care to make us late?"

She smiled, and walked on by, on her way to his quarters. She'd be waiting for him there, if she got there first.

["Jax" Malone]

Jax listened to the story quietly. It made sense, assuming it was true. Then again, Jax had already threatened the Reverend over this mess. As he was puzzling over the story, Syn showed up, chasing all Jax's confusion away.

"Had a real fine time at the dance tonight. Couple a' hours till breakfast . . ."

She kept moving, eyes lingering as a smile appeared. It was an invitation. Just like it had at the ball, Jax's gaze lingered a moment on Syn before returning to the Reverend. "Nice couple a' stories you got there, Rev. I guess I'll believe you. Might even get to likin' ya. Still don't mean I forgive ya. Just keep that straight in your head and we'll be shiny. Good to see you were willin' to tell me about what happened, even though it means admitting someone got the drop on you for a moment. Guess that happens to everyone-it's happened to me more than a few times. Now, entertaining as this has been, I'm gonna go that way. I'll see you later."

With a small wave of farewell, he followed Syn.

[Synthia Lyndon Heller]

When she got to Jax's quarters, Syn unbuckeld her gunbelt and shoulder holster and laid them down on the floor by the head of the bed. In the Black, there was little chance of needing them in a hurry, but now was the time for making sure they weren't all tangled up in discarded clothing and carelessly tossed aside while she was still thinking of it. It was amazing how much weight they took off of her. After a while, one didn't notice the weight they carried, physically, or otherwise, until it wasn't there. She started back towards the door when he appeared there in the doorway. She stood between him and the foot of the bed.

"So . . ." she said. "What more can I say?"

She slowly approached as the door closed behind him.

"Not ever'one looks past the soldier an' sees the woman I am under it all. Not evr'one sees . . . what do you see?"

She moved closer, putting her arms around his waist, looking into his eyes.

"Show me . . ."

[Cpt. Gwyneth Paul]

"...If you'd rather float, that's peachy-keen by me, Capitaine de la Danseur. I reckon you don't need a passenger mucky-muckin' yer boat, even if she IS a licensed mechanic."

“She’ll do,” thought Gwen.

”Okay Ms. Tsenko lets get to the core of it. Firstly, fixin’ the hurts of The Dancer don’t make you her mech…she’s already got one. Second, you are still a passenger and beyond your work here in the Engine Room, I expect you to stay in the common areas. Should your talents prove many, I’ll let you reacquaint yourself with your fare…if not, well like I said, you’re a passenger. Third, don’t change nothin’. Rique’ll be back soon, and I don’t want her walkin’ into a cluster-rut. Just do the fixin’. Lastly, try not to be so gorram cheery.”

With one last caress of the engine, Gwen moved past Imza toward the Cargo Bay and her Muk Yan Jong.

As she left, she muttered,
”I mean...who ever heard of a cheery mechanic?”

[The Reverend]

The Rev smiled wistfully as he saw the look in Syn's eye, then returned to his cabin. When the door was secured he opened the secret drawer on his capacious trunk and pulled out a small wooden box and a folder of faded photos.

Seated on his bunk he studied the faces of old comrades, tears welling up as he gazed upon the features of kids that had trusted him and died for a cause. Putting the folder down, he opened the box and looked down on the three silver stars of an Indep colonel and the plain silver Cross of Honor.

Pulling a bottle of cheap whiskey close, he drank himself to sleep.

[Imza Tsenko]

"...Should your talents prove many, I’ll let you reacquaint yourself with your fare…if not, well like I said, you’re a passenger. Third, don’t change nothin’. Rique’ll be back soon, and I don’t want her walkin’ into a cluster-rut. Just do the fixin’. Lastly, try not to be so gorram cheery.”

Imza tried to slow the rapid pace of her pulse as the Captain spoke. The rules were fair, exactly what she'd expected, but good gorram, by the time they had reached Beaumonde she intended to earn at least a little reduction on her fare! Until she had regular work again, every cred counted. Imza gave a quick nod to show she understood.

"Wouldn't dream of mucking with anything in here, Captain, ma'am." Imza reassured quickly, spreading her hands. "Obvious just from looking that your mechanic really knows their stuff, and I know how I'd feel if I walked back into a job and found someone had ratted up my work. If you wanted me to be less cheery, that'd about do it."

"I'll just see what I can do about that warning light, and then stay out of the way unless you need me." She called after the Captain's departing back, "I'll also see what I can do about the cheery bit, but I'm afraid it's in my nature. Entire family is a bunch of clowns!"

Humming her monkey song, Imza located the gravity dampener field readouts and started matching them to the specs, sorting out where the problem might be.

["Jax" Malone]

"Not ever'one looks past the soldier an' sees the woman I am under it all. Not evr'one sees . . . what do you see?"

As she spoke, she moved towards him. He moved as well, meeting her in the middle as her arms went around his waist. She looked into his eyes, he looked into hers, another quiet moment between them. Work was cast aside. For the moment, they were the only two people in the 'verse.

"Show me . . ."

One hand slid from her hip to the small of her back. The other moved briefly through her hair before resting on the back of her neck, guiding her forward for a kiss. They were safe and they were together. She was all that mattered to him just now because he loved her.

[Synthia Lyndon Heller]

He gently pulled her closer and kissed her, and then it was all kisses, longer and deeper until they were briefly parted by the fabric of her shirt rising over her face, her arms lifting over her head as it pulled free, her hair brushing cool across her bare shoulders and back . . . his hands were strong, but gentle, understanding . . . the buckle of his belt rattled against the fingers of her right hand . . . the edge of the mattress caught her behind the knees, falling backwards, the sheets twisting beneath them . . . denim slid down her hips, carrying soft white cotton behind it . . . cool sheets beneath her . . . cool air . . . warm skin . . . knowing hands . . .

There was no hurry, and no keeping track of the time. Her right hand gripped the wooden bedposts above her head, leaving his back to the gentler yet no less urgent grip of her left. The emotional line of no return had already been crossed for her before this moment, and she knew that she loved him and she let him hear it, her voice in his ear, until the words would no longer form but her voice kept telling him . . .

It wasn't the first time she had been there physically; the war had quickly taught her never to let slip an opportunity to feel alive . . . but it was the first time she had ever felt safe enough to let her emotions follow. It had always been about need before, the heat of passion, the joy of knowing she was still able to feel. She had never let that line be crossed before, never let it be love . . . until now.

It had never been like this.

She would always count it, from that day on, as her first.

[Cpt. Gwyneth Paul]

<<Boy, I LOVE following that post >>



As Gwen entered the Cargo Bay, she made a beeline for her Muk Yan Jong.

The ‘wooden man’ stood waiting…waiting for the Freighter Captain…waiting to make her less human…less of the Woman.

Keeping her eyes locked on her adversary, Gwen began to wrap her wrists and knuckles with boxing tape.

”M-miss G-gwen?”

Irritated at the interruption, she didn’t bother to turn around, when she responded.
”What is it, Elizabeth? Shouldn’t you be with Round Jack or S…,” smiling, Gwen stopped herself before she mentioned Syn, ”…someone else?”

The Captain could hear the girl’s feet shuffling nervously,
”I-I was withs Mr. Jack, b-but he tells me t-to come find y-you.”

Sighing, Gwen unwound the tape and turned to face the small girl,
”What’s the problem, Elizabeth?”

The little girl looked stunned…unsure of how to continue. Finally, she managed,
”T-there a-ain’t nothin’ w-wrong. Mr. Jack just wants me to f-find you.”

Tiring of the child’s inability to convey her thoughts, Gwen turned back to her Muk Yan Jong,
”And why did he want you to find me, Elizabeth?”

”H-he s-says you could t-teach me…teach me to dance.”

Gwen’s blood ran cold.

”What makes you think I can do that?”

”Mr. Jack says you’re the bestest teacher there’s ever been.”

The Freighter Captain roared inside her and snapped at the little girl,
”What makes you think I would do that?”

Without hesitation, Elizabeth responded,
”’Cause you’re my friend.”

Inside Gwen, the Freighter Captain went silent.

Slowly, she turned on Elizabeth,
”Do you want to learn dancin’ or does Jack want you to learn?”

Elizabeth locked eyes with the tall woman,
”I’s wanted to dance since I’s a little girl…more than anything…more than eatin’.”

Laughter erupted from Gwen’s throat…bright and airy.

The laugh of a Woman…a Teacher.

”What kind of dance do you want to learn?”

Elizabeth’s face scrunched up as she thought...she even went so far as to place her finger on her chin to help in her contemplation,
”I’m thinking alls of ‘em…well alls of ‘em except the angry one you do with the Scarecrow,” she motioned toward the Muk Yan Jong.

A brief smile flashed across Gwen’s face,
”And what do you think of me?”

Before she had a chance to think about it, Elizabeth blurted out,
”I-Is think you’re a powerful shade of cranky.”

A longer smile spread across the captain’s face,
”Good…that is a perfect place to start.”

And with that small act, the Woman inside Gwen peeked out from under all the hurt and pain and took a step closer to the surface.


<<The camera pulls away from the two, as Gwen shows Elizabeth the first position of ballet. The Muk Yan Jong…the Scarecrow stands alone…and high in the Dancer’s catwalk, Round Jack watches his girls and smiles.

The camera passes through the walls of the Grendel and out into the Black. Silently the big ship travels away from the camera toward an unknown future…blissfully unaware of the maelstrom ahead.>>

FADE TO BLACK

That’s the end of PRIME NUMBERS, the 3rd episode in The Dancer’s inaugural season…

…stay tuned for SMOKEY AND THE DANCER…