rickitikitarr | 4. voice

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4. voice

All right, this is all good fun and games, kids, but I'm going to be the one who spoils it by asking the question.

What the hell is going on?

And, for that matter, if we're the ones apparently running the show now, is anyone steering the boat?

[Ricki does not want the barge to smash into a sun and everyone to burn up, even though he's currently in the inmate-reclaimed bar and part of him is rather enjoying the fiddling.]

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How long do you think before people realize that if you wanted the chance to off yourself to get off the ride permanently, this would be the moment?

[Suicide is generally an impermanent escape, after all. That might not be the case for long if this lasts.]

[That's a thing that hadn't occurred to Iris, and she startles visibly at it.]

Good grief, Ricki, is that where your 'ead's going? I'd be more worried about people offing each other, to be honest. We're going to 'ave to keep an eye out for that.

[He smiles. It shows what side of the fence they're each on. She's worried about the local decay of social order, he's thinking about the ways this could be used to get the hell out, even though his thoughts on the subject are alarmingly ruthless.]

I'll keep an eye out for bodies.

Someone wants off this boat badly enough to do themselves in, I'd say it's their choice. Not 'aving anyone else choose for 'em, though. I'll get back to patrolling soon's I can get up.

[She starts tearing and swallowing strips off the chicken leg, more dutiful than enthused.]

Worst comes to the worst, I can probably get everyone off the boat in time. I'll 'ave to do a test run, see if the barriers come down.

Get off to where? Some local planet?

[He hasn't actually been down to a port yet, at this point, so this is hard for him to picture.]

We're outside of space and time 'ere, Ricki, local doesn't exactly apply. No - if I can get anyone off, and that's a big if - I'll drop 'em where they need to go. That part's no problem, I've got me own transport.

More than that, we're between universes. You're saying your ship could get to my version of earth, and Anya's- where there are mutants, and that fellow where the nuclear strike happened?

[Because as poor as his understanding of the multiverse is, that's a tall order.]

Oh aye, that's not a problem. The problem is that this ship won't let 'er inmates leave. I tried once, in a flood where I didn't know what I were doing 'ere. The bus dematerialised just fine, but Aslan just landed on the carpet in my room.

But if she's really dying, that should stop 'appening too. If it 'asn't already.

Rest up. It's good to have the option.

[But he's standing.]

Have a leash for these two?

[She actually looks confused for an instant, as though leash were a word in a foreign language.]

A what? Oh no. They'll stick with you, don't fret about that. My lads know what's what all right.

If they maul someone and I end up in the basement I'm going to blame you.

[Just so she knows.]

Ricki. Come 'ere a sec, will you?

[She reaches out a hand, as though offering to shake.]

[He pads over and takes her hand, not thinking much of it. He doesn't really know what there is to her.]

[Her hands are cold - Iris' natural body temperature is lower than a human's - and she smiles up at him with her very best slightly dotty, fluffy old lady expression: wide eyed, utterly guileless.

She does not invade his mind, make any attempt to read his thoughts or probe his secrets. She simply rests her mind around the outside of Ricki's, to give him a narrow glimpse of who and what she is.

Her perspective is dizzying. She has many more senses than the human norm: touching Ricki shows her the shape of his past and the exponential spread of his possible futures. Here is the boundary between the ocean of time and the tidepool of that ocean that is the barge's particular bubble, outside that complex ebb and flow: every second that passes is as perceptible to her as the individual insects in a swarm of bees, if the bees happened to have centred their swarm on her head without, somehow, obscuring her other senses.

Here, too, perfectly perceptible, are the minds of her dogs, twin balls of (presently) delighted curiosity and affection: without words, all three give him to understand that they live their lives in constant contact. Here, too, is a fourth entity, much larger and stranger than either Iris or the dogs, as solid and supportive to Iris' mind as the bed and floor are to her body.

She holds it for an instant and then lets go, leaving only the impression of her touch like a lingering scent in a room after the perfume wearer has moved on, only a swirl of displaced air.]

They won't do anything they shouldn't. Well, apart from you can't trust Elvis with toilet rolls, but that's about it.

Iris,

[Ricki says, very, very levelly- and this close there's a good chance she'll feel the mayhem in him, the panic, the way his total stillness indicates an actual diminishing grip on his self-control.]

You do that to me again without warning me, and I will probably try to break your silly neck.

[He wouldn't even want to, is the thing. He withdraws his hand now, and his fingertips are shaking. They're lucky that she's lying here, drawn and helpless, because if she hadn't been he probably would have lost the battle with instinct. As it is he's getting off the bed, fast.]

[She dips her head, a little shamefaced.]

I can be a bit impulsive, can't I? I'm sorry.

Want to see my time machine?

No.

[Still reeling back, or doing the equivalent thereof, which is to take slow, measured steps towards the door.

The thing about Ricki is that on a profound level, day to day, he is not all right, so it doesn't take much to put him over the edge. Whatever just happened inside his mind is more than doing the trick. He moves like a cat, gets his hand on the knob without needing to take his eyes off her. There are questions he should ask, but he can't quite put any of them together just now.]

All right, lovey. Maybe another time.

[This is hardly the first time Iris has felt bad after giving in to a fleeting impulse; nor will it be the last. Her dogs follow Ricki obediently, and don't make any playful attempts to trip him.

She always thinks it's best to get the culture shock out of the way quickly; but Iris forgets how much this sort of reaction can hurt her.]

[Ricki walks them quickly, discomfited, just giving them enough of a stretch and a break for now, before trotting them back home.

He slips the door open and sends them through with a nod, a quick;]

They're back.

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