Nico (vilakins) wrote,

Ficlet: Alive and Well and Living on the Liberator

Last week's b7friday challenge was to fulfil someone's request. This was for redstarrobot who wanted Cally and Travis and a Jacques Brel album. 340 words.

Alive and Well and Living on the Liberator

Cally was fascinated that the voice of someone over a thousand years dead could be captured in a flat black disc, then released, if somewhat scratched and distorted by its long passage through time. She was shocked when Blake broke the recording--the wind would never blow again southerly--so on her way out of Sarkoff's castle, she slipped another into an inside pocket of her leopard skin coat.


"Jacques Brel?" Vila said, squinting at the label and pronouncing the first word as two syllables. "What's that, then?"

"I have no idea," said Cally. "I wish I could hear what is on it."

"As you can't, it's in effect useless," said Avon. "Keeping it is a waste of time."

"No." Cally angled the disc to catch the light on its mysterious grooves. "It is a pity to destroy something so ancient." She looked at Blake, but he seemed oblivious.

"Bring me up, Cally."

Vila didn't just sound frightened; Cally could sense his fear. She flicked a switch and frowned at the screen display. Two? She regretted not having a gun to hand , but that was easily rectified. She stood up. "You'll have to wait a minute, Vila."

"Do it or I shoot the fool."

Travis. She'd know that voice anywhere.

"Callyport, Telly!" Vila's voice went up a half-octave.

Cally hesitated. Travis would do it and she couldn't risk Vila's life. "Very well," she said, working the teleport with one hand and reaching for the first thing to hand with the other.

"Got you at last." Travis stood in the teleport bay, blaster aimed right at her. "You forgot I had that bracelet you left on Centero."

Cally threw Jacques Brel. Travis yelped and dropped his gun, holding his wrist in pain. Idiot; it wouldn't have worked if he'd used his lazeron weapon. She teleported him just as Vila leapt out of the bay.

"Told you it'd make a good frisbee," said Vila, as resilient as ever.

Cally looked regretfully at the black shards on the floor. "But only once."
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