a “Captain Scarlet and the
Mysterons” story
by Shades
Night had settled on Cloudbase by the time Captains Scarlet and Blue and Harmony and Destiny Angels had returned after the Mysterons' attempt to assassinate Destiny with retrometabolised Angel Interceptors. The Angel Leader was still seething when they arrived on the SPJ, enraged by the use of her girls' own craft against them, and the fact that Harmony required hospitalisation just made it even worse.
Rather
wisely, it was the captains who flew the SPJ back to base.
Several
hours after helping escort Harmony into Dr Fawn's care (even now, with all the
advances in technology, ejections were very hard on a fighter pilot's body) and
the mandatory debrief, Captain Blue found himself wandering into Cloudbase's
lush gardens on the Promenade Deck and standing before the huge
floor-to-ceiling windows, still far too keyed up to sleep despite the day's
exertions. He was of Old Bostonian stock, raised as a
gentleman. An attack on women, especially women he knew and worked with,
triggered a deep-rooted outrage in him that was very hard to settle.
“Hey.”
Adam
smothered the momentary spike of pride at not jumping in surprise at the
unexpected voice. “Hey yourself,” he replied, just as quietly. “You can't sleep
either?” he asked, turning to face his partner.
Paul
grimaced faintly and offered Adam one of the steaming cups he carried. “Already
slept,” he replied shortly.
Adam
accepted the cup with a nod of thanks,
inhaling the scent of fresh, proper coffee before answering. “I never did get
the hang of that whole soldier sleeping on command thing,” he commented,
instantly divining the reason for Paul's embarrassment and neatly diverting the
conversation. He'd known Paul for more than long enough to know he hated any
admission of his new and sometimes subtle differences to everyone else, such as
only needing two or three hours’ sleep.
“It
can be handy,” Paul admitted, and took a moment to sip at his tea. “Though the
training method is less than desirable.”
“What,
you the career soldier admitting there's things about soldiering that are bad?”
Adam teased, easily falling into the pattern of post-mission banter. “The
horror.”
“Indeed.”
The British-born captain grinned back. “Almost as bad as...”
He
broke off and looked to the right as someone stormed into the room, heels striking the metal floors like
hammers. Adam looked too, eyes widening in surprise when he saw whom it was.
Destiny, still wearing her dirt smudged civvies and her hair hanging down her
back like an untamed waterfall, strode up to the windows and glared into the
clear night sky. She scanned the brilliant vista with hawk-like eyes until she
spotted the bright red dot of Mars.
Even
from their position behind a flourishing rhododendron, the two captains could
see Destiny's eyes glitter and narrow dangerously as she found her target,
extended one hand in a gesture almost as old as mankind and let loose a
vitriolic and wide-ranging diatribe in French.
“What's
she saying?” Adam whispered to his partner. “Never learned those words in high
school.”
“...You
don't really want the details,” Paul murmured back. “Suffice to say, none of it
is particularly flattering.”
When
the Angel didn't show any sign of slowing up after a good ten minutes, Paul
nudged his partner. “I'm going in. Cover me.”
“S.I.G.”
Paul stepped out from behind the rhododendron and
walked to Destiny's side. When she ignored him in favour of her verbal assault
on the red planet, he listened to the tirade for a moment then gently reached
out and enclosed the hand she was gesturing with in his. “Destiny, you're doing
it wrong.” The Angel looked at him in shock, both at his appearance and his
intrusion, but before she could protest, he coaxed her index finger into
uncurling to join the other and returned her hand to its previous position.
“This is the one you want.”
“Captain
Scarlet? I…do not understand.” Destiny studied the new arrangement curiously.
“It's
a gesture of defiance,” Scarlet explained.
“It started in the Middle Ages, when the English longbowmen were the
finest artillery in the world. If they were captured, the enemy would often
amputate the first two fingers of the right hand to keep them from being a
threat and send them back as a warning to the others. So longbowmen would make
this gesture in return to taunt the enemy, saying 'I've still got my fingers, I
can still kill you easily, I'm still a threat'.” He paused, offering the French
Angel a half smile. “It seems appropriate enough, considering our situation.”
“Y'know,
that's actually a pretty good idea,” Adam commented, leaving his cover position
behind the rhododendron to join them. He made a show of glancing up and down
the deck and seemed satisfied that they were alone. “It's against regulations,
though; professional misconduct.” His serious tone was quite undone by the
broad smile tugging at his lips.
“Us,
do something against regulations?” Scarlet asked, a mischievous twinkle in his
eye. “Perish the thought.”
Almost
in unison the three officers turned to face the red planet and extended their
right hands in the ancient gesture, the same thought running through their
minds.
We're still here, and we're still a threat. You
haven't stopped us yet, and you're not going to.
Fin