expansing.

[thraxios]

The rest of the ship is dead, not entirely through fault of Gideon Thraxios' own. He staggers through the halls for the first time, having spent most of his time in his cell or dragged from one place to another, past blood and bodies. They make little enough difference at the moment--he'll be among them if he doesn't reach the bridge.

One he's there, he sends out a distress beacon and sits wearily back in the pilot's chair. It's too large for him now; since he was brought to the ship, a nameless, normally stealthy tin can floating far from Mars, he's grown gaunt. His dark eyes are too big in his thin face now, curly hair long since matted and dreadlocked, clothes filthy.

Leaning down, he pulls the hand terminal from the pocket of the pilot's corpse. He suspects he has time enough to hack into it before life support drains away or the eerie blue glow coming from the engine room--the one he'd shied back from instinctively--does whatever thing his lizard hindbrain had feared. If he survives, he'll need to be able to communicate with his rescuers; if he doesn't, he'd rather die reading.

Comments

[quixano]

Folk hero is both embarrassing and a vast overstatement, and it shows on his face briefly. He chooses not to address that, though, coming to a stop standing near Gideon's bed, arms loosely crossed.

"I didn't realize I'd be meeting a Martian prisoner. I'd say today's taken us both by surprise."

[thraxios]

"Gideon Thraxios," he says, since 'Martian prisoner' is little better than 'folk hero.' The hand terminal, blessedly, manages to say 'Thraxios' correctly. "Given that I hadn't expected to be rescued, I'd say you were right."

More's his fortune, though he's not sure whether this is good or bad fortune--not quite yet. Better than finding himself on a true Martian vessel, no doubt, but that doesn't mean much in the grander scheme of things. "I am going to guess that, based on the fact that I'm in the medbay, you don't plan on spacing me or returning me to Mars."

[quixano]

"We don't plan on spacing you," he confirms.

They don't actually plan on returning him to Mars either, at least not at this moment -- they definitely aren't popular enough with the Martians to really consider reaching out to them anyway -- but...

"I'd appreciate some information about you before we make any decisions, actually. How did you end up on that ship?"

[thraxios]

Avoiding imminent death, he supposes, is the best he can hope for at the moment; more than that, he'll have to convince the crew of. And considering the circumstances that brought him to the black site ship in the first place, he'd like to think that James Holden, of all people, might understand the journey. If he does--then, Gideon hopes, there will be no reason to return him to the people who brought him there.

At Holden's question, his expression sharpens.

"That," he admits, "is an excellent question. Before I answer, how much do you know about that ship?"

In all honesty, he's not sure what information might have broadcast along with the distress call, if any. If the ship has a name, Gideon doesn't know it; if scanning it provided any background at all, that, too, is beyond him. Ships have never been his particular specialty, and his experiences on black sites have never concerned flying or communications.

[acreage]

There's a beat where he raises his eyebrows, lets them drop, and then concedes to shrugging.

"Honestly?"

He's going to pull up a chair, don't mind him.

"Next to nothing. It's called the Setne, it's some kind of black ops vessel. Martian, obviously. That's about it."

[thraxios]

Gideon nods. This is, perhaps, for the best. He needn't worry that his story will contradict the message the ship beamed out--provided Holden is telling the truth. (He finds himself less than concerned about that today, however. If this is a kind of feint on the captain's part, he can sort it out later.)

"Mars has ships for managing their undesirables. I found myself among them." They may as well delve into the subject directly. "I need not explain to you, of all people, the dangers the protomolecule poses. I had...concerns."

He feels very tired, in that moment, and very old--though that might be the fact that he's not a day out of the Setne. (Or the fact that Captain James Holden seems so thoroughly young, sitting beside him as if waiting for a story at an elder's knee.) He'd be tempted to run his tongue along the empty holes where some of his teeth once were, had he still possessed a tongue. "When I attempted to make my reservations about certain projects known, I found myself on the wrong side of a room on the Setne."

[acreage]

He might seem young to Gideon, but he sure feels like he ages about a fucking decade when Gideon's device says protomolecule. Every sleepless night he's ever had weighs heavy, the distant sounds of misery and death, which are never far, seem closer. A thousand pointless battles.

Of course this had to do with the protomolecule. It's not even a surprise, considering Miller's appearance earlier. Of course this had to do with people torturing and killing over the protomolecule, and that's probably never going to end, is it?

Gideon could be lying. But his story is depressingly plausible.

"So you didn't agree with work on the protomolecule, and they made you disappear."

[thraxios]

Gideon's chin dips, a single nod. "I had--"

He hesitates. Talking about the nature of his position within the MMC goes against every instinct he's cultivated over the course of decades. That he lost his tongue for his last attempt doesn't help. But it is undeniably necessary, now more than ever. He doesn't know how long he's been trapped in a black site, but every day brings them a step closer to the hideous conclusion of these enterprises.

"In my line of work, I learned things. I have no proof besides hearsay and my own observations, but the rest of the system must know. The weapons we've attempted to develop are beyond the pale." It doesn't occur to him that he's typed we and not they. Mars has always been a group effort, even if Gideon no longer feels connected to the whole.

[acreage]

He can't seem to help himself; he leans back and puts his hands over his face, briefly, before letting them drop. Not exactly a controlled reaction of an interrogator, but this isn't much of an interrogation.

"Let me guess. You need to expose their project before it's too late." Then he shakes his head, says, "If this is about the hybrids, the collaboration with Project Caliban, that's already been stopped."

If it's something else...well, here's hoping it's not.

[thraxios]

The angles of Gideon's gaunt face only grow sharper at the word hybrids. "How?"

That it means his entire effort was for nothing doesn't matter--at least, not in this moment. If Project Caliban has ended, the solar system only benefits.

[acreage]

Thank God for small favors, at least.

"A Martian marine got caught in the crossfire of a weapons test. With Chrisjen Avarsarala, she exposed Protogen's plans. We shut down their last base on Io. I arrested Jules-Pierre Mao myself."

Not unkindly, he adds, "It's over. They won't be hurting anyone else."

[thraxios]

He sags back against the medbay chair--something of a feat, considering how he's been slumped in it throughout this conversation. The relief, though, of knowing that it's over, that his failure hasn't meant further destruction... He's grateful, thinking a silent word of thanks to the White-Eyed Lady, despite the knowledge that she would have had little to do with it. Thank you for not taking me before I heard this.

"It seems," he types out, tentative and hopeful all at once, "that I've missed much in my confinement. What other news is there?"

If Jules-Pierre Mao can be arrested, brought down from his immortal heights of power, anything is possible.

[acreage]

There's a moment where Holden thinks about the celestial protomolecule squid rising up from Venus and turning into a ring that leads to a pocket dimension full of gates to other worlds.

"I'd recommend taking it slow," he says instead, leaning back slightly. "You've got a lot to catch up on, and a lot of recovering to do."

Plus, they need to do digging of their own into Gideon's story, finding out if it's true and, if so, just what they're going to do.

[thraxios]

Gideon's expression narrows into something difficult to put into words: the knowledge that there's at least one thing he has, evidently missed, and the weary desire to give into the suggestion to let it alone for now. The awareness that he's already run through what little energy he'd had for this conversation, too, is pulling at him, though stubbornness will keep him awake longer than might be entirely reasonable.

"All right." It feels final, somehow, but Gideon suspects he's in something of a fatalistic mood; it might be the painkillers from the autodoc. After a moment, aware that he's likely facing plenty more discussion over the coming days, he adds, "If you have more questions, Captain, I'll be happy to answer them to the best of my ability."

Frankly, he'll do most things, if the end result is a life outside of the Martian reach.

[acreage]

He does -- there are a lot more questions they'll need answered so they can figure out how to move forward -- but Holden leans back slightly, mouth puckering thoughtfully for a moment.

"Don't worry, we have plenty of questions. But I'm willing to answer any others of yours, first."

If this man is what he says, he deserves some peace of mind. Now, and for the coming days.

[thraxios]

There are so many questions he wants answered, not least of which is what are you not telling me? The hesitation with which Captain Holden responded earlier--I'd recommend taking it slow--gives him pause. He hasn't lived a life that shied away from the monstrous, and yet...

"Did you recover anything else from the ship?" he finally asks, brows furrowing. Every other person aboard was dead, he's certain of that much. But there might have been databanks, records, any number of relevant information that might corroborate his story and provide some further insight into Mars' next moves. "Is it too late to try?"