Carrion Dawn

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Mal only smiled in response to the girl's reply. It'd told her all she needed to know, and again, she was fighting feelings of sympathy. She understood what it was to play tough when you were young and afraid and on your own. The girl would fight back against any show of kindness or pity, and in fact would probably only truly be touched by the realization of her own plight in a still younger victim. Not that Mal had access to that. Or the time. It'd be easier to strong arm the ship from her...but she couldn't do that. Not when this kid was basically her.

So, she just watched. They'd have to find another ship somewhere else -- though if Foka thought he was getting a free ride just so she could, all three of them were seriously mistaken.

"Just show us what you have," Mal said neutrally. The girl would still react with venom, and Mal could pretend to rise to the bait, if she thought it'd make her feel better. The fact remained they needed to get rid of the ship and keep moving if they didn't want to get caught.
 
The girl turned to glare at Mal, once again looking her up and down.

"Sylvia, ve need different ship," Foka reminded her, bringing her attention back to him. She didn't seem intimidated by him in the slightest, which may have been impressive, if Mal knew what kind of man Father Russia really was.

"Fine, keep your thong on," the girl, Sylvia, growled back in response, turning on her heels to lead her two customers elsewhere. "I'll let you look through the catalog. Your ship should get you something nice... Unless you want two shitty ships."

The room they went into was small, with a console and a view screen, and a few folders. Files, most of which appeared to be on ships. There was also a manual or two, on different makes and models. Sylvia was still learning her trade.

Foka was handed a thin, glass frame. When he swiped his hand over it, several model numbers appeared, thumbnail pictures besides each one. He took a moment to look through a few. Most of the vessels were catalogued to have life-support, but there were a few that apparently didn't. Foka was no mechanic, and he didn't think that Sylvia would feel too kindly on him cannibalising parts from a different ship. So, he avoided those and narrowed down the search just a bit. Many of the ships he was looking at had ups and downs, but they all had the necessities. Life-support, radar, a view screen and communications systems.
 
Mal kept her eyes on the girl as Foka looked through the catalog. Two shitty ships didn't sound bad, admittedly, but she wasn't sure she wanted to relieve the kid of any more than necessary. Besides, if that shitty ship broke down before she got back to Mars, there would be no more trading for rides. Or at least, no more trading ships for rides.

Mal smirked down at the girl.

"So, what happen to one ship?" she teased gently, though she was also genuinely curious what had made the girl change her mind. Mal doubted it was her own charm, not that the girl would say any different when she asked.

It was only then she noticed the kid refused to hold eye contact, looking around her almost anxiously, as though she expected someone to sneak up behind her. Mal went on the alert immediately, and, to her shame, found herself moving closer to the girl, instead of away, like her instinct screamed. If it were anyone else, Foka included, she'd have pulled her gun and started shooting. But the girl, Sylvia, Foka had called her, had thrown her for a loop.

"What's wrong?" Mal said, a small, curious frown overtaking her features. "Is someone here? Are you in trouble?"
 
"When I said shitty, I meant ships without life support, or fuel, or any way of moving," Sylvia scoffed, stepping away from the advancing Mal.

Foka looked up from the catalog, taking note of the atmosphere. The girl was anxious. "Sylvia?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. She looked up at him when he said her name, the anxiety beginning to show in her eyes. She was being caught. It was obvious once Mal began asking her questions.

"Foka, you gotta' understand," she started, her brave front beginning to crumble. "They got here before you did. They offered money if I saw their ship!" All the calm was suddenly gone, and Father Russia felt anger and violence rise from the pit of his stomach. He tried to swallow it back down, tried to be understanding. "You know how Da' is, you know that I have to run this place all by myself now!" Sylvia almost seemed desperate now, just the beginning of fear showing on her face as she kept her eyes on the taller man.
 
Mal's mind was moving, one hand on the gun at her waist, before the girl even finished saying Foka's name. They needed a ship -- a different one -- fast.

Green eyes scanned the junkyard, impassive, making minor calculations, planning, questioning. In a second, she'd swung the heavy bag from her shoulders and slammed it into Foka's gut, putting herself between him and the girl without so much as a second thought.

"You touch her, I kill you," she said, and for once, there was no sarcasm or mistrust in her voice. There was hardly even malice. This was fact, cold, and hard, and uncaring as stone. She shoved the bag at him and flicked to a place in the catalog in his hands. "That one," she pointed. "The G8 Falcon from a couple years ago. It's got shit mileage, but it's fast for its size, and the defense system'll blow a ship twice her class outta the water. My brother used to pilot one. I can fly her, and I can fly her well. Go pick it up. I'll take care of this."

She turned back to the kid, not really caring whether Foka had taken her advice or not.

"How long ago were they here? Have you hailed them yet? How much time do we have?" The words were neither angry, nor accusing, but Mal was careful to keep any pity from her voice, too. That'd only piss this kid off, and they didn't have time for that, either.
 
Foka grunted at having the bag of supplies shoved against him, having only one hand on the catalog. He had needed a better reason to not assault the distressed Sylvia, and Mal's threat was certainly good enough.

When Mal gave him the order to go and find the specific ship, he hesitated for a moment, looking down his nose at her. She was giving him, a cold-blooded killer, orders? Oh, if only she had known, Foka thought to himself before snatching the catalog and turning on his heels. Off to find this ship, then.

Meanwhile, Sylvia had looked up at the back of Mal's head when she had stepped in front of her. What was she doing? Sylvia didn't know this woman. The only thing she knew was that Mal was with Foka -- and she knew him.

"I dunno'. Maybe a half an hour ago." She almost sniffled, wiping her forearm across her nose. "And, I hailed them right after I talked to Foka. I don't know when they'll be here, but it'll probably be soon." Sylvia was still on the verge of tears. She chided herself for her weakness on the inside, complaining that she had always been able to hold it in before. It was after her father had been admitted, and after Foka was long gone where she found herself alone, that she had begun to cry more and more often. But still, she felt bigger than this.
 
If Mal was at all intimidated by Foka's staring her down, she gave no indication, instead turning to listen to Sylvia. She was careful not to let any of her feelings of the moment show on her face, and when Sylvia began to sniffle, it went beyond tenuous respect for the kid, and into a careful remembering of her own reputation. Mal straightened at the girl composed herself, looking over her head to search the sky. She couldn't see any ships coming yet, but at this time of day, that didn't mean much.

"Okay, here's what you're gonna do, okay, Sylvia? I'll hide the warden's ship somewhere it takes you a while to get, while Foka gets the new one ready. You -- you buy us as much time as you can, alright? Tell Foka to take the new ship around to another dock. Do you have another dock? When they get here, you tell them...tell them we were here. They're gonna find the ship, anyway. But tell 'em you weren't sure whether it was us or not. Tell 'em we crashed the ship at the back of the yard somewhere, and you gotta take them to go check it out, see if it's the real thing. Take your fuckin' time doing it, but don't make it look like you're stalling. Foka and I'll take a new dock out. It won't buy us much time, but all we need to do is get lost somewhere else. If they don't have the signature of this new ship, we can drop 'em pretty easy. Got it?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and jogged back up the ramp to the warden's ship, turning to shout when she got there: "Where can I stow this thing to buy us some time?"
 
Sylvia was more or less at a loss, but she was completely cooperative. "There is another docking port on the bow side of the station," she said, wiping her eyes. She wasn't going to apologize to a stranger, though. Foka she could apologize to. A man who had known her father, who had had connections for her, she could apologize to. A man who had fed them when they were starving.

"I'll go see if I can find out where they are," Sylvia said, turning to leave the room, to go to communications. She was being honest.

***

Foka found himself in the storage dock easily enough. He remembered the place. Unfortunately though, he wasn't as good with ships as Sylvia or Mal. It took him several moments before he found a match to the picture in the catalog, and took him a few minutes longer to start the thing.from then on, there were only a few mistakes, here and there. Thankfully, he made it out of the bay doors all right. Now, to get to Mal...
 
Mal didn't wait to see if Sylvia was telling the truth. She'd find out soon enough, and better it be while the station was far behind them instead of with Mal poking around looking for lies.

She wasted no time, either, in pulling around the ship. It was a little big for the yard, in terms of easy maneuverability. But she didn't need the landing to be perfect, just quick. Besides, if it got a little beat up on the way, that was all for the best. It would make the ship harder to identify. It would buy them time. And it would give Sylvia's lie some credibility.

For a moment, Mal wondered if she was doing the wrong thing. She wasn't exactly asking Sylvia to lie. But bounty hunters and mercenaries rarely saw the difference between outright fibs and lies by omission. Was it worth the time it would buy them to risk a kid's life?

"Shit," Mal swore, unhooking the gun from her belt as the she left the ship docked in the second bay. It had taken her about ten minutes to get it moved. They were running out of time, and fast. Hopefully, Foka had the second ship ready for them.

She almost ran into Sylvia on her way back down the gangplank, sucking down a curse at the girl all but collided with her staples and tender belly. Just as well.

She shoved the plasma rifle into the girls hands.

"Most of them know better than to hurt an unarmed kid, so stash it for now, and just focus on buying us time." She had no idea if the girl had ever fired a gun before. Chances were, she was gonna step on some toes with her next piece of advice. Still. Better safe than sorry. Even if she was the one who was going to end up sorry either way.

"If things get messy, click," she pointed to the safety, "point," the barrel, "pull," and the trigger. "Try not to kill any of them. They won't like that."
 
"I know how to use a gun," Sylvia replied, though there was no hostility in her voice. "And, I don't think that they'll hurt me," she added, trying to be brave. It was strange, how she had been reduced to the young girl she really.

Foka found his way to the second dock rather quickly, considering that he was piloting a ship was wasn't familiar with in the slightest. It was a military design, which was different than most other vessels in a few ways.

There wasn't so much a sense of calm about the Russian, so much as he knew how to handle the situation - mostly. "Are ve ready?" He asked, making his way from the ship, even as the gangplank was still being lowered.
 
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Mal almost smiled, expect even the thought made her sick. Still, she knew how damaging losing that assurance, however slight, could be.

"Good," was all she said. "Thanks for the ship, kid. Radio when you see them coming, but wait 'til they're out of orbit. Ih they're tapping and they hear you, it'll be too late to come back and take you in."

She didn't waste any more time or words on Sylvia then, instead turning to jug up the lowered gangplank the second it touched down.

"We should already be moving," she grunted shortly. She pointed at the dash. "You got this, or -- No, forget it, I'll do it. You go see if the defense system's online."

She flung herself in behind the cockpit and reached over, sinking into a careful haze of old flying memories with her brother. She entered a few keystrokes, swore, then smashed a bright green button on the dash.

"Auto-pilot disabled," said a mechanic female voice.

Mal grinned. "Good. Now it'll be fun."
 
The defense system was, once again, something Foka wasn't too terribly familiar with. But, it was life or death, and he would do his best. They had their new ship, they had a bit of a heard start, hopefully they would be fine.

Foka heard when the auto-pilot was turned off, and he had to consider what Mal had told him before. She knew how to fly, she had told him that. Supposedly her brother had taught her, someone who had been in the military.

He worked about a panel, reading what there was to read, his eyes scanning over the words. English wasn't his first language, but he was fluent enough, considering that it was the language that was everywhere. It was a requirement.
 
She doubted she'd have known if Foka crept up behind her with a pair of cymbals and crashed them over her head -- except that she always knew when someone was behind her.

The plan Mal had concocted with Sylvia all but promised them at least a few minutes' head start, and while she wasn't immediately worried about capture, she knew a slow rise to orbit could land them back in jail or worse.

So, while Foka ran around to secure their (hopefully not-yet needed) defense system, Mal frowned and leaned over the controls, vamping their engines up to 80% -- probably too hot for initial ascent, but as much of a risk as she was willing to take to avoid death by mercenary.

And they got lucky. Ten minutes later, they'd cleared what little atmosphere the tiny hunk of rock had, and amping up the scanners, she didn't see any other cruisers for at least a hundred miles.

Leaning back in the chair, she sighed, turned the auto=pilot back on -- no real destination, except back towards Mars. They'd figure out the rest later -- and pushed her hair out of her eyes before grinning almost shyly.

Much as she hated her new captive companion, this made two vid-worthy chases they'd survived together. At least so far.
 
After the danger was past, Foka moved to stand behind the pilots chair, looking over Mal's shoulder. He showed some interest, looking over the console, watching every bit of input his companion entered. Again, this wasn't a ship Foka was terribly familiar with.

After a moment, he stepped out from behind her to sit in a co-pilots seat, leaning back once again. She wasn't worried, and it was good enough for him.

Rough hands reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit, mostly for the sake of having somewhere to keep those hands. There was something here, though. Something Father Russia had forgotten. No smile spread over his studded lips as he pulled the item from his pocket, looking it over for a moment, holding it up to the light.
"Ah... This is yours," Foka said, handing the mystery object to Mal. It was a cigarette. He had forgotten about it almost as soon as he had dropped the gift into his pocket. It had been from the woman in the prison, the one who had given him one last kiss.
 
Mal took the cigarette hesitantly, uncertain as to its purpose or even form at first. She studied it for a moment then laughed, surprised, a sort of genuinely mirthful 'heh' sound that was, for once, less sarcastic than it was friendly.

"Sure," she said, tucking the thing into a pocket. "Tell her thanks. Or better yet, don't, and we'll write a letter or something. Or...I mean, I will, whatever," she finished hastily.

There was a moment of awkward silence while Mal readjusted the ship's exhaust output to give them a little more mileage, just to be doing something with her hands, and not looking at Foka.

"I don't smoke, you know. Or not often. Asking her for that...it's like what your friend back at the shipyard does. You lie. You feel people out. You learn." She shrugged. "Maybe it's a chick thing, subtlety." She glanced at him sidelong and smirked.

"Sure as hell nothing you every learned, Russia."
 
Foka smirked back at her.

No, please!

"I know more of vomen then you think," he assured, subconsciously rolling the word "vomen" about in his mouth. It tasted sweet, smelled of perfume -- and body fluids. He leaned his head back against the seat, scanning the ceiling. God, how long had it been since he had quit smoking? One year? Two? Four? Whatever it was, it had been long enough that he wasn't actually tempted to take the gift back and smoke it himself. He had had enough of that. His lips had just started to return to their normal color, after all the shit he had done.

The Russian tongued the piercing in his mouth, playing with it almost without realizing it. There were so many. Too many of them, by societies standards, were all too well hidden, as well. Oh, what he had that he could show Mal.

As his mind drifted off, his eyes felt heavy. He hadn't slept since the prison break. Either it was too much adrenalin, or he was flying, or running. "You have controls?" He asked, referring to her ability to fly. They had switched roles, and he was no longer the one in a hurry.
 
Mal snorted.

"That's not creepy at all," she said, without taking her eyes off the view screen. Now that she was able to relax a little, and also not concerned about bleeding to death, she could look out at the stars and see them for what they were. It had been a long time since she'd flown anything, anywhere. The nostalgia filled her with a pleasant ache.

That, and she was thinking about what the Russian had said. It had been simple, no more than traditional self-aggrandizement, the sort of ego insecure men wore when trying to woo her. Because being a prick was apparently something they thought 'vomen' wanted.

But the way Foka had said it was different. It'd had to be the way she said it, right? Because she'd heard those words before, and the look in his eyes...she must still be tripping on whatever was left of the painkillers. Because something made her feel he was speaking the truth. And the 'more' he knew was not knowledge Mal wanted to be privy to, even in her nightmares.

She laughed again to hide the shiver, and was too quick to answer when he asked if she was alright flying.

"Yeah," she said, still trying to sound casual. "Yeah, I got controls. Go...do whatever."

She regretted it the instant she said it. She'd assumed he meant to go sleep, which was fine. But it was only there Mal realized she was trapped on a ship with a stranger who'd broken out of jail.

And she still didn't know what he'd done to get himself there.
 
A small smile spread over his lips as he noticed her shudder. No, she most likely wouldn't want to know what he did about women. But, he had no intention of doing anything to Mal at the moment. Violent or otherwise. Instead, he simply got up and found a spot that was out of the way. He found the passengers bench, like what was on the last ship where Mal had been laid down. But it was his turn this time.

Without any complaints, Foka stretched out on the bench. He undid the top of his jumpsuit, letting it fall open as he put an arm over his eyes to shield them from the rest of the universe. Perhaps, he was a little more tired than he had first thought. It was getting progressively harder to keep his eyes open, now that he was laying down.

"Hmph," he grunted. "Vhere are ve going, anyvays?" It was a tired question, followed by a deep, relaxed sigh. He reached up to scratch at his chest, fingering something under his stained, white muscle shirt.
 
For a moment, Mal didn't answer. He sounded close to sleep, and she guessed she could have just ignored him, and he never would have known if she didn't answer. Not that she cared. he'd figure it out sooner or later, and if he didn't want her going there, he'd either stop her, or he wouldn't. She was currently the one in control of the ship, though he had the weapon, and she'd already been stabbed. But she was the better flyer, and he hadn't slept since they'd left the prison. It was all too much for her to consider in the moment. And lying wasn't going to get her anywhere, anyway.

Besides, she still couldn't get that weird, ominous image out of her head. Maybe it was better she answer and let him drop off than not answer and have him coming looking for one.

"I've got unfinished business on Mars," she said easily. "I'll drop me off there, and you can keep the ship, if you like."
 
"Mars," Foka murmured. Mars was... Mars. He was just a little too tired to think about it. Was there unfinished business on Mars? He couldn't remember.

Foka was out in just a few moments. Sleep, sleep was good. He couldn't care less of Mars, less of wether or not he was going to stay there.

***

Black, darkness. A deep voice. No, the voices were just muffled.

"You... Have to do this... Wrong with..." It was useless to make it out. And then there was a thud! It was still dark. It was cold, rough, something was jabbing him in his side.
 
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