Title: Alarums and Excursions
Version: 1.0, posted 2/27/06 (posted to LiveJournal 11/18/05)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. (See full disclaimer on previous page.)
Summary: Vila and Soolin have escaped the Federation trap with
only their lives and each other--is it enough?
A/N: Written for a b7friday
challenge to write a ficlet themed on explosions.
Alarums and Excursions
by Mistral Amara
There were only the two of them left, now. Vila missed the others, but
it could have been worse: he might have been left with a companion who
despised him, or one who was mad. At least Soolin knew the area; knew
which plants were safe to eat, and which ones could dress wounds.
They
huddled together in the dark under a thin blanket of leaves, so cold
and miserable that they hadn't even gone through the formality of
perfunctory leers and terse warnings before wrapping themselves around
each other for the added warmth. They eased into a position that hurt
less than most, and held each other tight. Vila chased sleep, but
couldn't find it, and passed the time counting Soolin's shallow, croupy
inhalations.
Far down the slope, another half-day's hike in
their condition, Vila could see the occasional gleam of an incompletely
shielded campfire. It was a rebel camp, and they'd been making for it
all day. They knew it was a rebel camp by the way it was intermittently
shelled by Federation ordnance. It terrified Vila to think that they
were walking into a hot zone on purpose, but Soolin insisted that they
had no choice--they needed food, water, medical attention. Allies. If
necessary, they'd leave again, once they were stronger.
She was right, so he'd agreed. But he still didn't like it.
He
tried once more to sleep, but the shelling started again. He tensed as
light painted the sky and explosion after explosion rocked the hillside
below. And we're walking straight into that. He wanted to
escape, to run straight back up the hill despite his weary legs, but he
didn't dare move and wake Soolin. She needed rest even more than he
did. He'd just have to ignore the noise. Not think about the danger.
Stay calm--
A shell crashed closer than the others and he
cringed involuntarily, disturbing Soolin. She groaned, but didn't open
her eyes. "Vila, stop quivering. We're out of range here."
"Yeah. Unless we're not."
"I'm tired. Try to get some sleep."
He
closed his eyes and tried to relax, but another shell rocked the
hillside. He pulled away from Soolin and sat up, shaking. She opened
her eyes and watched reproachfully as he raked a sweaty hand through
his thinning hair.
"How?" he blurted. "How can you sleep through this like nothing's
wrong?"
She
didn't answer straightaway, but looked at him for a long moment, then
patted the ground next to her. He sighed and lay down again. She pulled
him close and laid her head on his chest; his arms went around her
automatically. He knew she could hear his heart racing, and he waited,
expecting to be reproved for his cowardice. He was surprised when,
instead, she answered his question.
"When I was a girl here,"
she said softly, "we had harvest festivals. One of the advantages of
being a frontier planet, I guess--the approved Federation calendar
doesn't mean that much. Anyway, each year, all of the local families
would gather at one of the farms for singing, dancing, food--the usual
things. And when night fell, fireworks.
"I don't know where
they came from; I suppose one of the farmers must have worked in
munitions before coming to G.P. Or maybe they were contraband, I don't
know. But as a child, it seemed the display went on forever. I'd lie
under the stars in my mother's arms watching the colors light up the
sky, and fall asleep to the sound of rockets whistling and bursting
overhead." She shrugged a little. "If I close my eyes and pretend, this
doesn't seem that different."
"Happy memories, then."
"A few." She looked at him. "You must have some. What do you miss from
your childhood?"
"That's
an easy one. Things were tough, but I always knew that someday they'd
be better." He flinched as another shell streaked across the sky. "Now
I know better. Things just get worse." He was surprised by the
bitterness in his own voice.
"It doesn't always get worse, Vila."
He snorted. "Oh, yeah? Name once."
She
reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek in a raw, weather-reddened
hand. "The last time I was here," she murmured, "I was alone."
"Oh."
Her family. He'd forgotten. That she could find his presence here a
comfort, considering what she'd lost--well, that was something, all
right. He gathered her a little closer, hoping to somehow give more
warmth than he took.
Then he closed his eyes and dreamed of fireworks.