Title: "Who's Got the Button?" (the Scotsman's Tale remix)
Version: 1.0, posted 3/26/05 (originally posted on remixredux, 3/20/05)
Rating: PG
 
Disclaimer: Not mine. (See full disclaimer on previous page.)

Summary: Special Agent Jarriere files a report on his encounter with one of Blake's rebels.
A/N: This was written for the 2005 remixredux ficathon. It is based on the story "Who's Got the Button?" by Kathryn Andersen. This remixed story is probably more enjoyable if you read her original first. And many thanks to Nicola Mody for her meticulous beta.


"Who's Got the Button?"

the Scotsman's Tale Remix


by Mistral Amara
on "Who's Got the Button?" by
Kathryn Andersen


There now. Is that how this works? Ooh, yes, 'recording', I see. Well, then.

Reporting.

To: Supreme Commander Servalan
From: Special Agent Jarriere
Subject: Events on Freedom City, Mars 4, 1117

Commander, I hope ye will forgive the informal nature of this little report, but I thought I'd better get it down before it all leaves me mind, ye know how that is. At least, I think ye do. How long have I worked for ye, again? Well, to get on with it, when ye sent me back to Freedom City to track down Docholli--this is eyes only, isnae it?--anyway, to track down that information that ye asked me to retrieve, well, there was a little snag. Now, dinna worry, it's nae so bad as all that, but there was someone else there looking for the same thing.

I had penetrated the security around Krantor's Big Wheel--and there's a fellow who won't be causing us any more trouble, I promise ye. I do wish I'd asked him first where he gets those pataki cakes, though. They do make a man forget his troubles; or forget that he forgets them, if ye follow. But, to get back to the point, I'd hidden me guards right around the place and was conducting a search of Krantor's private residence, seein' that to be the logical place for him to keep his most valuable assets. If he knew where the target had gone, that's where the information would be.

I'd found the safe and was considerin' how best to proceed, when out of nowhere popped this little fellow. I mean, I don't know how he got past the guards--I gave them quite a talking-to later, ye can be verra sure of that--but first he wasna there, and then he was. Well, maybe I canna get everything out of a safe, but I can usually get what's what out of your average amateur, which is what I took him for, sudden appearance naewithstandin'. He was wearin' something that looked like a chocolate-dipped pataki cake with caffee sauce, and his hair wasna exactly regulation. But when I asked him what he was doing there, he claimed to be working for yerself.

Now, I did nae want to believe it. Why would the Supreme Commander be sending another agent to check up on her loyal Jarriere? But he described ye to a tee, he did. Even said how lovely ye wair, and though it grieves me that I canna remember ye meself directly, from the picture in me retinal computer, I know just how true that is. Why, he even checked to see that I was working for ye; knew me by name, he did. Though later I thought that perhaps he just seemed to. The mind is a tricky thing, ma'am, and I don't mind tellin' ye that mine is trickier than most.

But there we wair, me with me hand around his windpipe, and he says, 'Ah, ye're Jarriere; I'm Veelan. Servalan sent me to open the safe for ye.' Well, I didna know how ye knew there'd be a safe, but seein' as it's yerself we're talkin' about, I'm not a bit surprised. I've never had an employer as clever as yerself--not that I can remember, anyway. So I let him go, and he opened that safe of Krantor's as quick as a trooper's gun makes tossed salad out of a cabbage patch. Though I've nae actually seen that done, mind, but I know it would be quick.

So, we look in the safe and there's naewhat but a button. I think Veelan was a little disappointed by that, because he'd opened the safe cheerily enough, but he didna seem eager to reach in and take it. But he didna know there was a data-fiche inside, and I did. So I grabbed it meself, and just then, the klaxons went off! I dinna know why they chose that moment. But Veelan seemed alarmed--needs a good tour at the front to stiffen his nerve, that lad does--so I . . . I . . . Now, what was I sayin'? Just let me rewind a bit and see.

Oh, yes.

We exited the private quarters, me reassuring Veelan to keep him from panicking and gien' us away, and made our way towards the casino through a back hall. Veelan must ha' realized that the best way for me to keep him and the button both safe was to keep them both together, because I felt him reach into me pocket--he's a light touch, he has--and transfer the button to one of his own. And a good thing it was, too, because the next thing that happens is we turn a corner and there's one of Krantor's men, blaster in hand, searchin' the corridors for whatever ha' set off the klaxon.

Well, we had nae time to argue, so I crushed the fellow's windpipe and hid him behind a curtain; I'm sure the others'll find the poor man and return him to his family eventually. Veelan was upset by it until I explained about me history with the Black Squad; it seems he'd thought I was a thief. I take it he was concerned I might be disturbed at havin' to go outside me job description, as it wair. Thoughtful, that.

By the time we reached the casino, the doors had been barred. Krantor's men were like to catch us if we drew attention to ourselves, so we sat at a table and pretended to be dicin'. I'm glad we wair nae playing for money, because Veelan had an amazin' streak of luck; the lad threw sevens almost every time.

And his luck must ha' touched us in other ways, too, because when one o' the goons questioned us, Veelan had the presence of mind to cry, 'They went thataway,' and the whole troop ran out and left us alone. Veelan threw a few more sevens--just to make it look good--and then we ducked out the back, quick.

When we got to the place where I'd set the rendezvous with me men, we had a bit of a wait on our hands, so we entertained ourselves by pretendin' not to know where the button was. Ye know the sort of thing I mean: 'I thought ye had it.' 'Nae, ye had it.' 'Nae, ye had it.' All in jest, like. But I didna want to let him bring back the prize I'd promised ye, so just for a bit o' fun, I lifted it back out of his pocket. The accident may ha' played havoc with me memory, but I can still pluck a ripe bit o' fruit.

Well, it occurred to me then that this Veelan wasna a bad sort at all to be around, and it might be good to work with a partner from time to time. So I made a recording of him, so I wouldna forget to ask ye about it--and ye know, if ye could persuade the Department to fund a memory upgrade for me retinal computer's recording function, making these reports would be a lot easier. It's only got . . . oh. Well, I see ye've already done it. I wish I'd remembered that, I'd sairtainly have turned on the recording sooner. Of course, if I could have remembered that, I probably wouldn't have needed to turn it on, if ye see what I mean.

Well, that's as may be. But the salient point is . . . hang on . . . ooh, yes. While I made the recording, I was asking Veelan how he'd come to work for ye, and he got a bit funny, as if it wair somethin' hinky, and he didna like to tell. But then, I heard a chimin' sound, and he just disappeared! Now, I said to meself, 'Jarriere, that was nae bit natural. That was verra strange, indeed.'

I thought for a moment that perhaps I ha' just forgotten him leavin', but nae, I checked the time on me recordin' of him, and there was nae time when he could ha' gone without me seein' him. Well, then. How could he ha' vanished? I didna know. Perhaps it was some new weapon, that ha' been invented since me accident, and I didna remember it. So, while I waited for me men, I did a thorough scan of me computer's memory. Now, I didna find a weapon, but I did find somethin'. It was a picture of Veelan! It seems that his real name is Vila Restal, and he's a known associate of that fellow Blake that's on me pairmanent target list. I wish I'd known, ma'am, I'd ha' followed him right to that scoundrel Blake and brought the rebel to ye straightaway.

Well, I would if I could ha' figured out where he disappeared to. But I'll be on the lookout from now on. I've set one Vila Restal higher in me recognition rotation. If ever I see him again, I'll be ready.

I was wonderin', though. Perhaps this Vila ha' just fell in with bad companions? They could have seduced him with romantic tales of camaraderie and adventure, as it wair. He was sairtainly a real help to me--as ye can see, I've got the information ye wanted right here on the data-fiche in me hand, thanks in no small part to him. Now we can track this fellow ye wanted . . . er . . . Docholli, was it? To wherever he's got to. So I'm hopin' that if we run into this Vila pairson again, ye'll consider offerin' him a job; I'm sure that he'd be happy to get back on the right side of the law, once I explain his position to him properly. I'd sairtainly appreciate the chance of takin' him on as me apprentice.

Well, Commander, that's me report, and I look forward to seein' ye and deliverin' it to ye pairsonally. So this is me, Special Agent Jarriere, signing off.

Oh, wait. One more thing. If ye wouldna mind, ma'am, I'll just ask ye, when we see each other, to remind me to gie' this report to ye. Ye know how me memory is.


-End-

A/N: I'm not entirely certain that choosing this particular story of Kathryn's to remix wasn't a bit of a cheat, since she wrote the original at my request. But the idea of remixing her story's Jarriere, who was loosely based on the Jarriere from an earlier story of my own, has a certain irresistible irony. It's been fun trading him back and forth.
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Last updated 3/26/05