circle7 | a small price to pay

Entry tags:

a small price to pay

Gladsheim, buffeted by both civil unrest and foreign tension, was abuzz with information. The locals were quick to say what was on their minds, and while it took some effort to pick out the useful information from the bias and the opinions, it was a skill that all scouting members of Circle Seven were well-trained with, and the picture had quickly begun to take shape as to the state of affairs down in the military planet. As far as habitable planets went, Gladsheim was actually on the small side of the scale - its population was barely five billion, as a good portion of the surface was uninhabitable anyway, covered with strict rock and mineral deposits that made it good for raw resources, but poor for refining plants. That was why Gladsheim relied on foreign weapon supplies - it relied largely on what the earth gave them to trade for firepower, and when supply had begun to run thin from exploitation, Gladsheim's military had obviously taken affairs into their own hands.

It could be said that the reconnaissance mission had gone off without a hitch. After all, they had gone in, ascertained the situation rather quickly, and they had all managed to get out in one piece. A scratch like this, thought Evan optimistically (maybe it was the drugs making him think crazy), was really a rather small price to pay. He didn't doubt that people paid higher prices for valuable information down in the Fourth Circle, in fact. All in all, his small team had performed admirably, and it would have been virtually impossible for anyone to have noticed that Aquilo trailing their progress. The Aquilos barely wandered far from their own planet given their biological limitations - Evan hadn't been trained to listen for their sound. They were lucky to have realized when they did, losing her before they returned to the trip. Like I said, he thought, without a hitch.

The lights had blared in Evan's eyes like a rhythmic flare (was the artificial lighting always that blinding?) Vaguely, he had been aware of Viana's voice as he was carried into the First Circle ship. He had been good until then, managing on his own feet, but either the relief got to him, or the blood loss did, and as soon as he was safely inside, his knees gave out. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling. "What?" he tried to say, but his mouth wasn't cooperating, and all that got out was a confused, "Nnn?" which technically sufficed, but was considerably less graceful. This wasn't his room.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sorry, I can't let you get up yet." Bentley stood, giving him a stern look that was more reminiscent of a doctor. "You might not be in pain, but if you get up, something inside there could rip back open."

Walking to the other side of the room, the sound of running water begun to filter through the sterile, quiet room. Bentley pulled a hand towel from a drawer, soaking it in warm water, then wringing it out so it was more damp than drenched. Unfortunately, Evan would have to settle for this. Grabbing a spare dry towel, he sat by the man's side again, holding out the wet cloth.

"Besides, it's me Viana will murder if she finds out I let you get up and hurt yourself worse." Although Bentley grinned, the corner of his mouth twitched. He fully believed that.

Judging from the lack of response on Evan's part, he fully believed it too. Accepting the towel gratefully, Evan laid himself back own and all but dropped the piece of cloth onto his face, letting the warmth of it seep into his face. The air in space was always chillier than most, and never humid. Sometimes even just this was a respite in and of itself. Breathing in, he raised his hands to wipe his face down, from the hairline down to his shoulders - anything past that, and he might disturb the bandages Bentley had worked so hard on.

"Thanks, doc," he said, once finished, handing the towel back by one corner. It had cooled quickly in the brisk room air, rendering it useless to hold onto. Evan settled back with a sigh. "How long do I have to stay here? All this sitting around is killing me."

A poor choice of words perhaps, but it got the point across.

He seemed to get the irony, laughing quietly.

"Standing up and walking around is what'll kill you," Bentley corrected, taking the towel and folding it. "We'll see how you're doing in a week. Even then, your amount of walking may be limited."

Plopping the cloth into the tray, he handed Evan the dry one. Bentley stared at the bandages for a moment, remembering why Evan had gone to Gladsheim in the first place. The doctor was on a need-to-know basis; the details he was told were vague. He only knew about the stolen weaponry because he treated a wounded Circle member. Sometimes he overheard them talking about their missions - this was one of them. Evan must have been undercover if he only got away with one gunshot wound. Gladsheim didn't take prisoners unless they were valuable, and never let offenders get away. A narrow escape, most likely.

"So, apart from getting shot, how did things go?"

"Despite getting shot," Evan corrected, voice muffled from the towel in front of his face. His fringe had gotten damp from the towel, and he mussed it dry before pulling it away, leaving his hair a small mess - but Evan wasn't exactly the type to worry about something like that in a situation like this. "It went well. Got in, got the information, got out. The official report's probably with the boss by now. We just didn't expect Gladsheim's military to employ any Aquilos mercenaries. Those people usually don't wander away from their home planet."

"An Aquilos?" he repeated, eyebrow raised. Even in Circle Seven, Aquilos members were a rarity, despite their diverse crew. (In fact, Bentley's quite sure he's never seen one on board.) His brow creased in thought. There must be something special about Gladsheim's new soldier, then. "Strange. Though I have heard they can be an aggressive bunch when provoked."

Naturally, Bentley also wondered if his brother played a role in all of this. Being a commander, it was a possibility; though he wasn't sure if he wanted to share that with Evan yet. The doctor eased in his seat, sighing and staring nowhere in particular. "What are they up to, exactly? That is, if you can let me know."

Evan gave him a measuring look for that, but if he found anything strange about the question, he didn't voice it. Watching Bentley, he answered, "You know, the norm. Government and military are at odds. None of them's got any money, so it's basically a matter of whoever's got the most resources. That's why they gave us a hit-and-run. It boosts their morale and with that reputation hanging over the government's head, it lowers the enemy's too. Two birds with one stone, you could say."

"Make sense," Bentley said, nodding, noting Evan's careful wording. This was probably information everyone knew. "Also making it look like they stole from the bad guys." In reality, though, Bentley wasn't sure he thought of Circle Seven as bad guys - they were hospitable, and an admirably loyal group. Even if they liked to take people without permission. (He'd always be bitter about that - at least, the means in which they did it - but it's not like it wasn't to his own advantage.)

"Well, I'm glad you're all right. Mostly, anyway," Bentley said, smiling again. Circle Seven had everything under control, he trusted. His brother wouldn't be anything to worry about.

Evan laughed, shaking his head. "Making it look like they stole from people who couldn't report to the big, bad enforcements and make them come after Gladsheim, you mean. You're one of the 'bad guys' too, now, doc."

"I'm a doctor," he corrected, still grinning, "pulled into a bad guy place completely against my will."

"You're a doctor," Evan agreed, nodding slowly. "Working for the bad guys and patching them up. I believe it's a crime by association, unfortunately."

"No, no," Bentley said, waving a hand. "I'm just doing my job. Besides, where am I supposed to go? I'm a hostage here. Can't very well throw myself into space. Well, I guess I could hijack an escape pod..." He raised a hand to his chin in thought, stroking his goatee in that typical thought-provoked manner.

"You're safer here than you would be if you quit, now." Evan smiled when he said it, but there was a hint of dagger-edged truth to that. The Organization, loyal as they were, took defecting just as seriously as other smaller-scale mafia-esque organizations. Evan hadn't quit Circle Seven, and he wasn't planning to any time soon, but he had run away from a group before, and paid for it. The joking tone seeped back into his voice as he continued - conversation flowed easily with him, from one topic to another, weaving everything he needed to say neatly into his words. "Besides, I'd say you have a pretty bad case of Stockholm Syndrome if you actually consider yourself a hostage."

The man smiled, eyes closing for a moment as he rested an ankle on the opposite knee, rubbing his forehead. If Evan didn't know better, the motion might have seemed shy.

"Ha, I imagine so," he conceded, voice soft. Bentley paused before he looked up again. Evan wasn't completely off the mark. "It's not so bad here, really."

"'Not so bad?'" Evan repeated, somewhat incredulously. "It should be better than that, after all the hospitality we've shown you, doc." (Viana excluded.)

Oh, he considered that, definitely. Bentley's expression went flat. "A certain someone keeps me from getting too comfy."

"That's too bad," Evan said, almost too nonchalantly. "Maybe you should have a talk with them. Work out your differences."

Dropping an elbow to his knee, Bentley rested his chin in his palm, frowning. "Not likely to happen, I don't think."

Raising a brow, Evan stretched out his arms, careful not to move the rest of his torso, and reached toward the ceiling with his (eight) fingers. It was an idle movement, probably a better alternative than lying still, in his mind. "Why do you say that? Irreconcilable differences? You should give it a try. There's surprisingly little that you can't talk your way through, these days." It's just faster to use brute force.

"Something like that," Bentley said, sighing. The person in question certainly made it hard to get along with them. The only sign of humanity in said person was helping him walk. After beating him senseless and pushing him off a building. "Some people in these worlds we're just not meant to understand, I think."

"Well, we've all got our secrets," Evan responded, the statement true for all parties involved. "You don't have to know them inside-out. It might just be better to understand a little - like how to avoid them."

Bentley gave an amused scoff. "That's a little hard to do when said person's brother is stuck in the infirmary."

"Oh," Evan said innocently, blinking at Bentley. "You were talking about Viana?" But he wasn't as good at hiding his expressions when injured, apparently, because a hint of a smile was tugging one side of his mouth up.

The doctor scoffed, disbelieving. He leaned forward, curious. "Is there someone else you know who fits the description of 'incredibly stubborn, does not play well with others, and legally insane', Evan?"

Evan stared plainly back. "So you haven't met most of the crew yet."

"I..." A pause. "Well, no. Only whoever comes through here. Not many, recently." The infirmary could be a lonely place, with only a few patients and fewer nurses in at any given time. Not that it was good to have patients, necessarily; but not always bad, either. Come to think of it, Evan and Bentley hardly ever talked one-on-one like this - not that the other man had to take a bullet for Bentley to realize it, but he rather enjoyed it. He seemed less stubborn, played all right with others (he guessed), and was definitely less insane. At least, on the outside.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject