Aftermath and Contemplation
Character timeline: post-Season Four
continued from Scorpius' journal
Braca wakes with a start, disoriented and confused. For a microt, an indistinct pale face hovers over his. He strikes out instantly.
“Captain! Captain, relax. Just another twenty microts, please.” The voice is soothing. Once he is able to focus, Braca recognizes Chief Physician Garve. Then the pain registers.
“Frebb!” he grunts, reaching for his aching face.
“Don’t touch it!” The doctor gazes at a hand-held scanner, and then sets it aside. “Your nose was broken. It will take another weeken or so to heal.”
Braca nods sharply, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain that lances from nose to cheeks. “I have duties to attend. Are we through here?”
Garve sighs. “Yes, sir. I’ve prescribed a course of painkillers. A nurse will bring them to you before you leave.”
It’s difficult not to immediately check the damage. Braca restrains himself, however. He has to know what happened after he was incapacitated. He finds his shirt, blood staining the edges of the collar. His jacket collar is damp; someone has cleaned it during his treatment.
As he shrugs into the garments, a nurse enters the private bay, confers with the physician, then hands over a tiny bottle and departs. Garve turns to Braca and holds up the container. “One now. Take the others only as you feel a need.”
Braca nods as he takes the medication and swallows a small blue pill. “Good work, Doctor.”
By the time he reaches his quarters, the drug is working, and the pain has receded to a dull ache. Unfortunately, he can’t rest just yet. Taking a brief detour into his private room, attached to the audience chamber, Braca changes clothes and examines the damage. Swelling tissue puffs the skin under his eyes and around his nose. Rapid healing has advanced it to a state of yellowish-green bruising, though the area just at the start of the cartilage remains darker, purple fading to blue to green.
He settles at his desk and calls up the recording for the audience chamber. Running back the images, he sees that the fight ended quickly after he’d fallen. It is puzzling to see Crichton avoid the conflict, but when the Human joins Aeryn Sun, Braca realizes that Scorpius was right. Their quarry is bound to Sun as closely as if the pair wore physical chains. He curls his lip at the sentiment that has brought the man into their grasp at last. It is unclean, like the slavish loyalty that led First Officer Teeg to her death.
Her supposed death.
There are few surviving records from Crais’ former command, but Braca recalls the occasion of his promotion, the rumors that had circulated afterward. Crais had killed the Lieutenant. Everyone knew it. Teeg had served with him for twenty cycles, so there must have been some secret quarrel, something that had snapped Crais’ control of his volatile temper. Braca had put it from his mind, had refused to speculate. He watched Crais, though. Watched the once hard, but competent Captain grow brittle and desperate; watched the rage-driven search for the alien Crichton whittle away at the man’s judgment and command.
But Teeg is alive. The wild thought comes to Braca: what if she is a bioloid? But that is foolish; a deceased officer would be of no use, and Teeg’s genetic identification had been stripped from all security systems after her death.
He thinks about Aeryn Sun for a moment. She is not the same brash officer he met once or twice aboard their home carrier. She is irreversibly contaminated, physically, mentally, emotionally. His nose wrinkles as he contemplates the half-breed offspring she bears. There is no hint of shame for her fall from grace, no regard for decency.
If Teeg’s death had been a sham, perhaps it was for a similar cause.
She and Crais are assigned to cells not far from one another, while Crichton has been confined to Aeryn Sun’s quarters.
Braca switches on the audio feed for the cells one at a time. He hears nothing. He didn’t really expect to.
As corrupt as Crais has become, he is still cunning, still dangerous. He will give nothing away. It makes his…feelings…for Aeryn Sun all the more apparent.
Teeg is quiet in her cell, too.
He wonders how the two met again. It is with sincere satisfaction that he contemplates interrogating Crais; the man deserves nothing less than torture and a prolonged death for his horrendous, unforgivable actions.
The thought of Teeg in the Aurora Chair brings neither satisfaction nor regret. She was Braca’s superior once, a good officer. Efficient, skilled. She allowed herself to succumb to emotional weakness, putting her sentiment for Crais above her duty. That had tarnished her badly in Braca’s eyes.
He wonders if the information the Chair extracts will be worth the effort.
Images have continued to run across the screen, parallel feeds from the selected cells. Braca's eyes widen as he sees Scorpius enter Teeg's. Turning up the sound, he listens as his former commander offers the woman reinstatement.
For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to quell resentment, anger. Then he quietly shuts down the terminal. He stiffens his spine, straightens his uniform and wipes all expression from his face.
It takes only a few hundred microts to traverse the few corridors and levels to the brig. When he arrives, Scorpius has already left Teeg's cell. The scientist pauses for the briefest instant when he sees Braca approach, then continues forward.
"Captain." He strides past with a nod, as if inviting Braca to walk with him. Braca glances back at the guards who stand at the entrance to the cell division. He matches his pace to Scorpius' and walks alongside.
"I gave no orders for interrogation to proceed," he says calmly, without any hint of the anger he feels.
continued from Scorpius' journal
Braca wakes with a start, disoriented and confused. For a microt, an indistinct pale face hovers over his. He strikes out instantly.
“Captain! Captain, relax. Just another twenty microts, please.” The voice is soothing. Once he is able to focus, Braca recognizes Chief Physician Garve. Then the pain registers.
“Frebb!” he grunts, reaching for his aching face.
“Don’t touch it!” The doctor gazes at a hand-held scanner, and then sets it aside. “Your nose was broken. It will take another weeken or so to heal.”
Braca nods sharply, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain that lances from nose to cheeks. “I have duties to attend. Are we through here?”
Garve sighs. “Yes, sir. I’ve prescribed a course of painkillers. A nurse will bring them to you before you leave.”
It’s difficult not to immediately check the damage. Braca restrains himself, however. He has to know what happened after he was incapacitated. He finds his shirt, blood staining the edges of the collar. His jacket collar is damp; someone has cleaned it during his treatment.
As he shrugs into the garments, a nurse enters the private bay, confers with the physician, then hands over a tiny bottle and departs. Garve turns to Braca and holds up the container. “One now. Take the others only as you feel a need.”
Braca nods as he takes the medication and swallows a small blue pill. “Good work, Doctor.”
By the time he reaches his quarters, the drug is working, and the pain has receded to a dull ache. Unfortunately, he can’t rest just yet. Taking a brief detour into his private room, attached to the audience chamber, Braca changes clothes and examines the damage. Swelling tissue puffs the skin under his eyes and around his nose. Rapid healing has advanced it to a state of yellowish-green bruising, though the area just at the start of the cartilage remains darker, purple fading to blue to green.
He settles at his desk and calls up the recording for the audience chamber. Running back the images, he sees that the fight ended quickly after he’d fallen. It is puzzling to see Crichton avoid the conflict, but when the Human joins Aeryn Sun, Braca realizes that Scorpius was right. Their quarry is bound to Sun as closely as if the pair wore physical chains. He curls his lip at the sentiment that has brought the man into their grasp at last. It is unclean, like the slavish loyalty that led First Officer Teeg to her death.
Her supposed death.
There are few surviving records from Crais’ former command, but Braca recalls the occasion of his promotion, the rumors that had circulated afterward. Crais had killed the Lieutenant. Everyone knew it. Teeg had served with him for twenty cycles, so there must have been some secret quarrel, something that had snapped Crais’ control of his volatile temper. Braca had put it from his mind, had refused to speculate. He watched Crais, though. Watched the once hard, but competent Captain grow brittle and desperate; watched the rage-driven search for the alien Crichton whittle away at the man’s judgment and command.
But Teeg is alive. The wild thought comes to Braca: what if she is a bioloid? But that is foolish; a deceased officer would be of no use, and Teeg’s genetic identification had been stripped from all security systems after her death.
He thinks about Aeryn Sun for a moment. She is not the same brash officer he met once or twice aboard their home carrier. She is irreversibly contaminated, physically, mentally, emotionally. His nose wrinkles as he contemplates the half-breed offspring she bears. There is no hint of shame for her fall from grace, no regard for decency.
If Teeg’s death had been a sham, perhaps it was for a similar cause.
She and Crais are assigned to cells not far from one another, while Crichton has been confined to Aeryn Sun’s quarters.
Braca switches on the audio feed for the cells one at a time. He hears nothing. He didn’t really expect to.
As corrupt as Crais has become, he is still cunning, still dangerous. He will give nothing away. It makes his…feelings…for Aeryn Sun all the more apparent.
Teeg is quiet in her cell, too.
He wonders how the two met again. It is with sincere satisfaction that he contemplates interrogating Crais; the man deserves nothing less than torture and a prolonged death for his horrendous, unforgivable actions.
The thought of Teeg in the Aurora Chair brings neither satisfaction nor regret. She was Braca’s superior once, a good officer. Efficient, skilled. She allowed herself to succumb to emotional weakness, putting her sentiment for Crais above her duty. That had tarnished her badly in Braca’s eyes.
He wonders if the information the Chair extracts will be worth the effort.
Images have continued to run across the screen, parallel feeds from the selected cells. Braca's eyes widen as he sees Scorpius enter Teeg's. Turning up the sound, he listens as his former commander offers the woman reinstatement.
For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to quell resentment, anger. Then he quietly shuts down the terminal. He stiffens his spine, straightens his uniform and wipes all expression from his face.
It takes only a few hundred microts to traverse the few corridors and levels to the brig. When he arrives, Scorpius has already left Teeg's cell. The scientist pauses for the briefest instant when he sees Braca approach, then continues forward.
"Captain." He strides past with a nod, as if inviting Braca to walk with him. Braca glances back at the guards who stand at the entrance to the cell division. He matches his pace to Scorpius' and walks alongside.
"I gave no orders for interrogation to proceed," he says calmly, without any hint of the anger he feels.