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What might their stories have been like, if the characters' genders were reversed?
This is a cross-gender casting speculation on Vila's rescue from Cygnus Alpha and Avon's past, originally published in Southern 7 (Ashton Press).
"It was horrid," Vialle Restal said, tugging a brush, with many starts and stops, through her long hair. "Cold and damp. And everyone, I mean everyone, leering at me and Olga. That was a narrow escape. If you and Blake and Jen hadn’t shown up when you did we would have been in big trouble. Ouch!" A particularly vigorous yank nearly sent the brush flying from her hand. Kiera Avon very slowly lowered the hand she had lifted in defense.
"I was afraid you wouldn’t come back," Vialle confessed after a pause for breath. "That I would be stuck on disgusting Cygnus Alpha forever, barefoot and pregnant, probably. And my hair frizzing, and dirty, and me hoping I wasn’t going to be that week’s human sacrifice."
"We debated the risk versus the benefits of coming after you," Kiera said, from her seat across the room. She watched Vialle as if the younger woman was a particularly outlandish alien whom she was struggling to comprehend. "Blake decided that we needed crew. And Jen wanted to rescue his fellow prisoners on principle."
"I could tell he had a good soul on the London," Vialle said. "Well, a nice exterior, anyway. Are you trying to tell me that you wanted to run away and leave us?"
"We could have done," Kiera said, almost defensively. "But the risk wasn’t high, once we knew how to operate the teleport."
Vialle laid down the brush and picked up a comb. Intently she began to divide her hair, preparing to braid it. "Clean hair," she murmured appreciatively. "So, what are Blake’s plans?"
Kiera settled back in her chair and crossed her legs, pretending to an indolence and relaxation she only rarely possessed. "We have the Liberator; Blake wants to use it—and us of course—against the Federation."
"That’s what I was afraid of," Vialle said, not looking up. "Too bad we can’t have a bit of a rest first. You still look a bit peaked, and Olga and I have been through an Ordeal."
Kiera flinched slightly but did not comment. She twisted at the gold ring on her finger.
Vialle began to wind the braids she’d made about her head. "Thanks for the booze," she said, glancing at Kiera from beneath long lashes. "What is it?"
Silently Kiera shrugged, her attention elsewhere, her eyes large and dark and hollow. Finally she said, "It was on the Liberator when we boarded her."
"We should have some," Vialle said decisively. She poured twice, and pushed a glass to her companion. "It will put color in our cheeks."
Kiera eyed her dubiously for a moment, but Vialle was neither Jen nor Blake, and the chicory fragrance of the alien intoxicant was enticing. She lifted her glass and sipped. The liquid bit.
"Are you sure this isn’t poisonous?"
"It’s a little late to be asking that question, Vialle." After a pause, relenting, she added, "Zen says no," and stared into the yellow depths, seeking a reprieve from the memories aroused by the younger woman’s presence.
"I’m glad, because it’s awfully good. Thanks for bringing it."
Kiera refilled her own glass.
"What have you been doing since the escape?"
Kiera shrugged, drank.
"It was vile on the London. That guard with the fake eye really went after the rest of us. I started eating the drugged food, to sort of get away from him." She took a swig of her drink and wrinkled her small nose before swallowing. "You wouldn’t have liked it at all."
Kiera didn’t appear to be listening; she was refilling her glass.
"It wasn’t your fault the escape didn’t completely work. It was a good try, don’t think I’m not grateful. I know it was hard for you."
"I could run those computers like a video set," Kiera pronounced, affronted.
"I didn’t mean that, I meant—"
Kiera drank deeply. "I know what you meant. I’m fine now. It’s all over. Now I am going to make computers do things for Blake."
Vialle dropped her elbows to the table, rested her chin on her hands. "You are drunk."
"So?"
"At least you talk now," Vialle reassured herself. "When I first met you, you wouldn’t talk at all."
"Nothing to say. Nobody’s business." Obviously trying to be stern, Kiera nevertheless failed.
Vialle studied the other woman sadly. "I liked you right off, did you know that? Not sure why, but I always go with my instincts."
Kiera tossed back another swallow. "And?"
"I kept an eye on you on the London. Saved your life more than once while you were staring at the wall like you were brain damaged. Not that you noticed."
"Not par-tic-u-lar-ly."
Vialle shrugged. "Doesn’t bother me." Thoughtfully she sipped at her drink. After a time, she asked, "What happened to you?"
"Happened?" Kiera said flatly. In contrast, her eyes squinted as if at some physical pain.
"Who was it?"
Kiera’s eyes flared in startlement, but she said nothing.
"We all have our stories, Kiera. It’s good to talk, have a few beers, or whatevers, pass the time you know."
"You—" Kiera pointed at Vialle’s chest "—ask too many questions."
"Keeps me healthy."
"None of your damn business." The next swallow went awry, and she coughed until her eyes teared. She wiped them with a clumsy hand. "It’s all done, when something’s finished you can’t do anything to change it, can you."
"You can change how you feel afterwards." Vialle dropped her head onto her folded arms, as if her previous position had required too much physical effort, or as if all of her attention was focused upon a challenging mechanism that had been designed explicitly to keep her out.
Kiera tugged off her ring and slammed it onto the tabletop. "Why did you have to get this back for me?"
"It was yours. And that guard was a pushover, it only took a moment."
"I don’t want it." But she picked it up and clutched it protectively, with whitened knuckles.
"Have another," Vialle coaxed. Kiera took Vialle’s glass from her without noticing and swallowed, her eyes misty and unfocused.
"I wouldn’t have tried it," she said.
Vialle waited, poised and listening.
"We could have stayed on Earth, we were happy enough, only one security check in three years."
Liberator’s engines throbbed, a sound not unlike the steady ventilator noise that underlay all activity in the Domes on Earth, but somehow more soothing.
Vialle made a noise, a vocal nudge.
"It was a stupid risk, and I knew it, but Ander wouldn’t listen. He was always so confident...."
Kiera began again, speaking with the careful slowness given by both intoxication and grief. "The money was no problem, I could get it, even though we needed thousands of credits to get off-planet, to be safe, so the Federation wouldn’t take our baby...."
Vialle’s eyes widened in sudden horror, but Kiera wasn’t looking at her anymore. Someone like Kiera had valuable genes, genes that the government would want to control and use to advantage. She began to sense the desperation Kiera and her Ander must have felt, when they realized.
"I never figured out how it happened." Unconsciously Avon set down her glass and rubbed her hand over her belly.
Vialle wanted her to stop. This was worse than she had imagined, it was like an anxious nightmare of being caught between a raging fire and a suffocating stone chamber.
"It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Does it?"
Startled, for she had thought Kiera had forgotten her, Vialle said, "No."
"You were wrong, when you decided my bank system siphon didn’t work," Kiera said, reprovingly. "It was perfect. It wiped even its own shadow traces. I got the money, we should have been fine. And I got information from the Space Command systems, weapons designs, prototype ship schematics, so we would have something to bargain with."
Vialle could feel tension tugging like wire, anxiously coiling from Kiera into herself. She didn’t want to hear anymore, but it was too late. She had to know.
"Ander went for diplomatic visas. He had to buy them on the black market. I waited for him. I hadn’t been able to eat for weeks, and I couldn’t get anti-nausea drugs because then they would know, and take me away." A long silence followed.
Finally Vialle asked, "And?"
"Ander—" Silence. When at last Kiera began speaking, she spoke quickly, in a half-voiced whisper. "The documents merchant. Killed him. He was a spy, and they were watching us already, maybe me, maybe Ander, I never found out. I waited and waited, but he didn't come back. I took things out of our luggage and put other things in, I was throwing up every hour or so, and I would come out and he still wouldn’t have come back." Pause. "He said if he didn’t come back by 0200...I waited until 0300, and then the troopers came."
"Have another drink," Vialle said desperately, wishing she could hold her hand, anything.
Kiera drank, swallowing some of her own silent tears. "I’m a damn good shot. Fast. But there were too many, and there was no way out."
Vialle drank deeply, until her eyes watered with the burn in the back of her throat. Kiera’s hands covered her face. When Vialle could breathe again, she said helplessly, "I’m so sorry."
"They showed me his body, to prove he was dead, but I wouldn’t talk, I knew they were lying when they said I could go free because Ander was dead. I wouldn’t tell them how I broke into the bank, and the military systems."
"I didn’t think so," Vialle breathed, remembering how she had first seen the other woman, a tattered, bruised, and utterly silent creature. Her heart ached.
Chewing on her lip, as if she wanted to stop but couldn’t, Kiera said, "So they gave me drugs, and I had to talk to them, I was almost crazy, I thought I might be able to get free somehow, and run later...but it wasn’t true, I could only think that because I was drugged...one of the things they gave me made my muscles cramp, over and over...when I woke up, the day of my trial...the baby was gone. I knew. I bled until it seemed as if my life was flowing out...but I didn’t cry, not anymore...."
"Stop. Please stop. I’m sorry I—" Vialle ineffectually wiped tears.
"Shut up, Vialle," Kiera said, muffled, her voice shaking. "Don’t you ever tell anyone, never, ever, and don’t let me get drunk."
"I promise." Recovering enough to clasp the other woman’s knotted fist, she said, "I’m sorry, I promise...." She wasn’t sure what she was promising, but it felt large and powerful, yet at the same time delicate as a fine wire.
Determinedly Kiera said, "Now I’m going to make computers do things for Blake, and I’m not going to think of him. Of them."
"No," Vialle whispered. "No, you don’t have to."
the end
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