Chenie, Travis (and optionally Jarriere)Set just after 'Gambit'; 500 words.
Title: His Noble Nature
Dialogue: "I'd bet on the turtle, if I were you."
His Noble Nature
Travis slammed his arm down on the bar. "I need a drink. The strongest you've got."
Chenie raised her eyebrows. "I've known people to get legless in here, but--"
"Just get me a drink. And I don't mean vitazade."
"Och, set the man up with a whisky, and a wee dram for me too."
Travis recognised the Scotian accent. "Servalan's powder poof," he sneered.
"Jarriere's the name. Hamish Jarriere." Jarriere lifted his glass and nodded at Chenie. "Thank you, lass. Have one yeself."
"Yeah, well." Travis downed his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thought you'd have a fancy name like that."
Jarriere was unoffended. "My father was from Outer Gaul." He parted his whisky with his nose. "Not a bad drop, this. Right." He put his glass down. "I've got a proposition for you, Travis."
"Oh, I'll bet you have." Travis rose menacingly.
"A business one."
"With you and Servalan? After what you did to me, that's almost as bad an insult."
"Ah, don't be too hasty." Jarriere said. "I can fix your arm in return."
"In return for what?"
"Finding Star One."
Travis paused, his face still and intent. "Star One? I might just be interested. As long as you're not going after Docholli."
"Och, why would we do that? Not now we know everything he did." Jarriere glanced at Travis's arm on the bar. "We'll see you later then."
So. It was bugged. Travis left it lying there and went to make a call on the private direct number he'd been given "Bercol, or whatever your name really is? You're on."
He'd found out about Bercol and Rontane when they survived the attack on Command Headquarters. The section they'd been in had been exposed to space, but there they were, alive and well and refusing to see a Space Fleet medic. It hadn't taken long to find out who--or what--they really were. After that trial verdict, and especially after the way Servalan had used him here, it would serve the lot of them bloody well right to be overrun with jelly-mould replicas.
Chenie smiled at him when he came back and gave him a full glass. "On the house. Perhaps you've got a bit of nobility after all."
"Yeah, well. Doc's all right." And perhaps he would be, well away from Federated space. "You should follow him, Chenie, start a new life."
Chenie laughed. "He knows where to find me."
"Set me up again." Drink to the deaths of all those hypocritical bastards who had fired him like a weapon and complained when he'd hit his target. And the ones who taken Maryatt's family. Let them all be slaves.
"Shouldn't you be on your way?"
"Nah. Blake might have the fastest ship in the galaxy, but there are several revolting planets between here and Goth. Ever hear of the rabbit and the turtle? Something like that anyway." Travis belched. " I'd bet on the turtle, if I were you."