The Burial on Ariel

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Knuckle met cheek.

WHACK

And though his ears were ringing, Holger could still hear the dull roar of the crowd as he stumbled from the blow. His vision blurred as sweat and blood dripped into his eyes. His arm, wrapped expertly in protective bandages, went up and wiped at his forehead, clearing his sight. The wrap was already soaked with blood and sweat, so did little other than smear it across his face, but it was still better than nothing. Too late, Holger saw his opponent, a man improbably bigger and possibly meaner, coming for him.

Knee met stomach.

WHUMPF

The air went out of Holger's lungs and he doubled over. The ringing in his ears increased and soon drowned out everything else as he struggled to take a breath. He looked up and saw his opponent advancing on him. It was over. He knew it. Holger closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to come. He was ready.

DINGDING

The referee intervened as the bell rang, and Holger was finally able to breathe. He looked up and blinked, and smiled big as he was saved by the bell. Holger got to his feet and swayed only a little as he and his opponent touched fists to signal the break. By the look on the other man's face, he was as unhappy with the timing of the break as Holger was greatful. Both fighters retreated to their respective corners. Holger grabbed a dry towel and wiped his face and bare chest down. He looked up at the scoreboard. "Close." He said in a low mutter. With just under a minute left in the break between rounds, Holger sat wearily, and watched as his opponent was attended to by a coach and a medic.

Holger, alone in his corner, laughed at the man, whose name he hadn't bothered to remember. This was an under, under, under, under card match to a highly publicized event "The Burial on Ariel" with a bout between two fighters Holger also did not know. Holger was not a professional fighter. He did not come with a crew of trained professionals who helped him through a fight. Mended his wounds. Saw that he was prepared. The only thing that Holger brough to the fight was Holger. A promoter had seen him on the street outside of a bar and had asked him to fill in for a man who had apparently broken his big toe. Holger had, frankly, been unable to believe that a man would be unable to fight because of something like a broken toe, so had figured that this would be some easy money. He had perhaps underestimated this contest. Holger, while big and mean, was what one would call an amateur, unaware of the nuances and rules and, really, what professional fighting was all about.

A bucket of water with a ladle hanging on the side and a few spare towels were all that Holger had in his corner. And they were all that he needed. He scooped himself a drink and stood seconds before the bell.

DINGDING

His opponent, all fury and fire, all but ran at the Nordic warrior. Holger smiled, and spat the water in his mouth onto the mat before him. The other man's eyes went wide as his foot found the hazard and slipped out from underneath him. Like a feral mountain cat from the mountains of his home, Holger pounced with a war cry, pinning the man underneath him and unleashing a savage beating to his head and face.

DINGDINGDINGDING

The fight was over. Holger's fists had turned the man's face into ground meat. Everything was silent for a moment.  Holger threw his arms in the air, the man's blood dripping down his arms, basking in the glow of his victory. Unseen by the big man, the scoreboard indicated that he was disqualified for spitting on the mat. The referee looked at him with a stern, disbelieving look, shaking his head. Boos filled the crowd. Throwable objects appeared in their hands.

Holger smiled. "Did I win?"

[Melody]

Her time with the Alliance had made Melody angry, violent, and impatient. Every day she felt herself wound tighter and tighter with the threat of lashing out at her superiors looming closer on the horizon. Her closest friend and Captain had been ousted from their ranks, used as a perfect scape goat for their own illicit activities and only barely discharged without dishonor. Thanks, in part, to Melody. Even then, the Miranda Broadcast had caused her to lose several more friends and allies, a great many people who made the Alliance tolerable for the bomber pilot going AWOL and leaving her behind. In order to cope with the unadulterated rage coursing through her blood nearly every waking moment, the woman had taken to visiting less than savory establishments whenever she was granted leave.

It was during one of these blissfully Alliance free times that the pilot found herself wandering into one of the establishments she frequented in her free time, a cage match arena that, on occasion, allowed her to take part in some of the more amateur fights. Quite often, before the main events, blood needed to be spilled to appease the audience and whet their appetite. Melody was almost always more than ready to oblige, taking out her pent up aggression on those who went in the ring with her. At other times, the arena held a sort of, ‘beat this opponent and win this monetary reward’ event, inviting audience members into fight with better known and more professional fighters. Again, Melody was more than willing to trade a few punches with them as well. She wasn’t picky about who she hit.

The woman moved through the crowd, pushing with her shoulders to get to a better vantage point, listening to the squishy thudding of bone meeting skin. Her hands rested in the pockets of her olive cargo pants, the matching button up shirt left undone to show the white tank top beneath it. To beat the heat generated by too many people in one place, her almond hair had been tied up in a ponytail, wisps of the chocolate locks framing her face as fiery blue eyes scanned the guests and finally the ring itself.

Baby blues widened at the sight of the man sitting alone in a corner, his fiery hair covered in blood and sweat, a drink of lukewarm water ladled into his mouth with wrapped hands. The roar of the audience and the ding of the bells seemed dull in her ears, pink lips parting in surprise as she watched the bloodied water expelled from the brute’s mouth onto the mat and his opponent hit the ground. Surprise melted into amusement and she couldn’t help but grin in disbelief, gaze following his fists as they made unyielding contact with the more professional fighter. Another round of chiming barely reached her, the boos of the audience rising in level to a monotonous hum of disapproval. Still, Melody looked startled and now was clearly holding back laughter.

“Did I win?” the Nord asked with a smile on his face. Finally, she was able to hold back no longer and Melody whistled loudly, cheering for the man despite his unfair play and clear technical defeat. Audience members around her turned their heads to stare at the woman with disbelief and anger, one of them pushing her shoulder as though to silence her shouts of approval.

“Oh, piss off, you ben tian sheng de yi dui rou. That was way more interesting than them wusuoshishi around one another and blowing each other butterfly kisses!” she snapped back at the man, eyeing him before pushing past to get as close to the ring as she was able, her smile returned and her eyes on Holger.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

"LOSER!"
                                                        "BOO!"
             "HISS!"
                                  "SCUM!"
"CHEAT!"

A bevy of three to five letter words was thrown at Holger from outside the ring as the Referee explained to him exactly why he lost, a concept which he was failing to grasp. "It is a knock-out contest, yes? He is knocked out. I am still standing. I am the winner." The roar of the crowd, which was growing more and more impatient for this under, under, under, under card match to be over and done with, made it hard for Holger to hear the explanation offered by the Referee. Something about unfair tactics, cheating, unsportsmanlike conduct, foul behavior. Holger stopped listening. As far as he was concerned, he had won, and no matter what anyone else told him, that was the ultimate result. "An unconscious man-" Holger said, then stopped. "Did I kill him? Is that why I lose?" Holger looked over at his former opponent, who was beginning to stir as his team attended to him. "Good. I did not kill him. So I win!" Holger's bloody fists again went into the air and he spun, daring the crowd further.

A sharp whistle caught Holger's ear and he looked to the source to see Melody the Alliance pilot staring at him. He laughed. "Little Melody!" A few thrown objects entered the cage from above, the crowd figuring out that the steel wire would catch anything tossed directly. Holger ignored these and made his way to the exit, grabbing a clean-ish towel on his way. Once ground level, members of the crowd attempted to stop him, but one look from the Ginger Giant told them another course of action would be best. However, one man would not be disuaded. The promoter who had hired him. He was a fat, sweaty man in a cheap suit. He dabbed at his bare forehead with a dirty handkerchief.

"Do you have any idea how much money you just cost me?"

Holger thought about it. "No. How much?" He asked, genuinely curious.

This flustered the promoter. "You... you..." It appeared as though the man was searching for some sort of comment on Holger's intelligence, but his intimidating presence caused the promoter to pause. "A lot. You cost me a lot."

"Ah." Holger said, thoughtfully. "I am sorry for that. I believe that I am the winner. The official disagrees. It is what you call a difference of opinion." Holger grabbed the beer out of the hand of a passing crowd member. The spectator stopped, saw who stole it, decided it wasn't worth it, and kept walking. Holger took a long, full drink and smacked his lips satisfactorily. "You pay me now."

The promoter stammered. "W-w-what?! You lost!"

Holger disagreed. "No. I won. I defeated him. And the agreement was that I fight. Not that I win."

"You cheated!"

Holger leaned in closely. "You never said no spitting." He said, holding out a bloody hand for the money.

The fat, sweaty man grew more sweaty and cursed under his breath. His pudgy hand went into his pocket and pulled out a small roll of bills, peeled off a few and held them out for Holger. "This is robbery. I assumed you could fight."

Holger accepted the offered cash, though the look on the promoter's face indicated he had assumed the bigger man would demand more. A pat on the shoulder, which left a bloody smear on the Promoter's suit jacket, and Holger began exiting the conversation. "I did fight. And I won!"

Holger pushed his way through the crowd and found Melody. "Six years has not added much size to you, girl. Has it been six years or seven?" Holger wasn't exactly sure. But it had been at least that long. "Did you enjoy my fight?" He smiled. "I won."

[Melody]

"Little Melody!" he called out to her and again, she couldn't help but grin up at the red headed beast. Seeing him moving to the ring's exit, Melody turned and began pushing her way in his direction, not minding the disgruntled looks and shouted insults she received in return for her aggression. A grimace pulled at her lips and scrunched up the bridge of her nose, the sight of the man arguing with Holger thoroughly disgusting her. He looked like a stuck pig well on his way to the dinner table and she half expected Holger to eat him up alive.

"That scum weren't meant to spit like that! Who does he think he is?! I had money on this ruttin' fight!" called out a blonde and slightly disheveled looking woman standing to Mel's right, his anger directed toward the equally untidy woman standing beside him and drinking a beer silently. He looked down at the close approximation of a hot dog in his hand before pulling it back and readying to lob it in Holger's direction.

The bomber pilot grabbed his wrist and yanked it back a bit, setting her lips near his ear, "You toss this at him and I'll shove your woman's beer so far up your pi gu you'll be tasting it for weeks," she hissed. The man froze, lowering the meat tube slowly once she'd released his arm. With a violent glare in Melody's direction, he and his woman scurried off through the crowd.

She watched him leave for a little longer before Holger's fiery crown pulled her attention back in his direction, the man seeming to become bigger and brighter the closer he got.

"Six years has not added much size to you, girl. Did you enjoy my fight?" He asked with a smile. "I won."

"I noticed," Melody replied, having a hard time scowling when she looked up at him, a smile pulling at her lips without her permission. Reaching out, the girl took his borrowed bear from one of his hands, pulling a handkerchief out of a pocket with the other and placing it in his palm instead.

"Let's get you something better than this," she offered, setting the drink in someone's hand and ignoring their look of confusion and annoyance. Again, however, the audience member spotted Holger speaking with her and decided that he would be polite and take the alcohol as Melody had so sweetly requested.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Melody took his drink, which Holger found slightly concerning. "But I like beer." He said, but followed her anyway. They pushed their way through the crowd, which was beginning to settle down as the next fight was about to start. Holger glanced up at the ring and saw the two fighters, smaller men with a martial arts flair to them. They flipped and kicked and flourished and, honestly, Holger thought they looked silly. All that jumping around when they could just punch each other. The bell rang and the crowd roared and the rest of the way to the bar was unimpeded.

Noticeably quieter, and darker, the bar provided Holger a chance to regain his bearings after the fight. While he had, arguably, won the fight, he had in fact nearly lost it, and his head pounded and there was still a slight ring in his ears, though overall he felt fine. He may have looked a wreck, however. A gash above his right eye would, to most other people, require a few stitches, though the bleeding seemed to have stopped for now. The same eye was slightly swollen from the same blow, the one that nearly felled him. And, of course, he was still shirtless, covered in blood and sweat, and wearing his soiled hand wraps.

They sidled up to the bar and the tender arrived shortly. "What'll it be?"

"Do you have akkevit?" He asked the bartender. "Have you had akkevit? It is very good, you will like it." He said to Melody. "We will have two akkevits and two beers, to chase. We are celebrating my victory."

The bartender stared at Holger. "I dunno what that is. We have whisky."

Holger frowned. "Not whisky. Akkevit."

The bartender shook his head. "We don't have it. How about gin?"

Holger made a face. "I do not like gin. It tastes like trees."

"Rum?"

"Too sweet."

The bartender sighed. "Listen... see behind me?" He motioned to the shelf of liquor behind the bar. "That's what I got."

Holger scanned the bottles and his eyes lit up. "Schnapps! Schnapps is like akkevit. We will have two schnapps and two beers." He smiled cannily at Melody.

The bartender soon returned with the drinks and set them on the bar. "Winners drink for free. What's your name?"

Holger puffed out his chest with pride. "Holger Heyerdahl. I won, just now, the fight I was in."

The bartender laughed at Holger's appearance. "I should see the other guy, right?" He looked over at a miniature version of the scoreboard from the arena nearby. He frowned and scanned it again, finally shaking his head. "What'd you say your name was? I don't see it on here. Buddy, I don't want any trouble. Your name ain't on the list, you pay. That's the rules." The bartender crossed his arms over his chest and gave a quick look over to the bouncer by the door, just to make sure he was paying attention. He was.

[Melody]

The pilot sat on one of the well used bar stools, setting an elbow on the table as the barkeep approached, a half grin still pulling at one corner of her lips. Her mouth opened to answer, but Holger got to it first and Melody found herself curious to know the man's drink of choice. Other than beer.

"Have you had akkevit? It is very good, you will like it." He said to Melody.

Brows furrowed in curiosity at the name of his preferred drink and she shook her head in response. She hadn't had 'akkevit', whatever it was, but if the large man thought she'd like it she wasn't going to say no. In fact, as her brows raised and the corners of her lips turned downward, she found that she was suddenly very eager to try a drink that a man like Holger enjoyed. She imagined it might've been something akin to engine fuel or paint thinner.

Mel could barely contain her laughter as she watched Holger interacting with the bartender. It was such a far cry from how she'd seen him deal with enemies, both past and now present. Or perhaps, maybe it wasn't? She remembered him being strangely courteous even when he'd had a gun pointed at her. Melody eyed the large man with a raised brow, looking contemplative and offering him another amused smile when he smiled at her.

"What'd you say your name was? I don't see it on here. Buddy, I don't want any trouble. Your name ain't on the list, you pay. That's the rules," the man informed them.

Now, Melody had been here often enough that she knew the names of the prized and popular fighters. She knew who was who and it was only the newbies and random men who'd come in for one night fights who she didn't recognize. Leaning forward, Mel smiled as charming as she could manage, which or her was still pretty menacing. Every so often, the crowd cheered, and she used that to her advantage, speaking lowly so the barkeep would have to lean close to hear her.

"Think you might've misheard him. He's Hank Greski, right there, third from the bottom," she told the man, using one of the names she'd never seen here before and could likely figure was a newbie or someone off the street. Of course, if the barkeep said no she fully intended to pay for the man's drink for him, but this was fun too and one couldn't fault her for trying. 

With a wink, the pilot sat back down, idly waiting to see if her ruse had worked but not too worried about if it didn't. She reached out and took the handkerchief she'd given to Holger back, dipping it into someone's discarded water and moving a little closer. "You sure do bleed a lot," she informed him, setting to wiping at the dried blood over his eye, the water cool against his inflamed flesh. "At least I didn't do it to you this time," she added, looking him in the eye and smirking.

Setting the handkerchief on her lap, Melody took one of his hands and undid the closure of the wraps on his right hand, carefully unwrapping him and rolling up the soiled bandages as she did so. "What do you do now, big guy? Other than win fights?" she asked him, still looking at his hand as she worked.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Holger didn't have a chance to respond to Melody.

The barkeep raised an eyebrow at her. He nodded over to the bouncer, who was now mere steps behind the pair. "Hey, Hank, care to escort our friends outside?" The realization that their ruse wasn't going to pan out was settling in. And so was the bouncer's hand on Holger's shoulder.

Holger's eyes widened, tearing his hand away from Melody's grasp, the bandages swinging around wet and haphazardly as barstools screeched across floor, pushed aside for fighting room.

"Please, allow me!" A florid voice came from the other side of the room. Everyone looked to see a woman in a bright green suit and purple scarf. And they stared. You couldn't help it. She was that type of woman. Couldn't take your eyes off of her. All thoughts of drinks and fights completely escaped your mind. As she walked across the room, time seemed to stop, and the only thing that mattered was that she was walking over to you. "I will pay for this man's drinks. And the lady's."

"Yes, of course, Amaretto. No problem." The bartender bowed his head, refusing to meet the woman's eye, and when she didn't respond, he went to wipe down a dry part of the bar on the other side of the room. The bouncer, likewise, returned to his post.

Amaretto was left with Holger and Melody, and she considered them carefully. "I saw your fight. Undisciplined. Messy. Absolutely no technique or skill, whatsoever." She said, coiled like a snake. "It was brilliant." She laughed, and snapped her fingers, bringing the bartender back to attention. "I will have whatever they are drinking. The liqueur." The schnapps was poured immediately for her and she knocked it back. "Yum." It wasn't clear whether she was talking about the taste of the drink because her eyes were firmly on Holger's chest. "My name is Amaretto. I own this little place. And you cost me a lot of money!" She set the glass down and licked her lips. "Mine is a name you'll be good to remember. For I shall remember both of you, when the time comes. Ta ta for now." And, then, just as mysteriously as she arrived, Amaretto was gone.

Holger watched her leave. "She's dangerous." He said. A smile grew, and he looked at Melody. "I like her." They were, finally, alone. The big man held up his schnapps, at last able to drink it, and offered a small toast to his friend before knocking it back. "It is not as good as akkevit, but it will do." A moment. "You were asking me what I do." He gestured to his surroundings. "You are looking at it. I float through the 'verse and her tide carries me. I did not make plans to fight today, and yet I fought. Tomorrow, I have a funeral for a man I knew. From my home. From the war. And then, back to the tide for me." A swig of beer. "There are no more bombs to drop. Where do you fly, then, little dove?"

[Melody]

Melody's gaze lowered to the hand settling down upon Holger's shoulder and as he yanked back, she moved to stand, ready to move if he decided to clock the bouncer. She figured the redhead still had enough vim and vigor after his fight to take on another opponent. It wasn't ideal, but there were other places to drink.

"Please, allow me!" The woman's voice caught her attention and the pilot turned her head, staring with the rest of them. However, while many might've felt elated to have been spoken to by this mysterious vision in emerald, Melody found herself quite quickly annoyed. She wasn't sure why, or what it was about the lady that set her teeth to grinding, but her jaw tightened all the same. "I will pay for this man's drinks. And the lady's." How generous of her, Mel thought with an impressive amount of venom. Her shoulders were stiff, too stiff, and the girl couldn't help but scrunch up her nose in distaste.

"Yes, of course, Amaretto. No problem," the barkeep murmured. The Alliance bomber pilot's head snapped around and she stared hard at the keep, one hand settling on the counter top while she held onto the bloodied handkerchief with the other. She was surprised the bag of flesh could keep himself upright considering his startlingly sudden loss of his spine. While she considered the barman, she didn't realize Amaretto was considering her. At least, not until her snap and laughter yanked her attention back her way.

Again, Melody felt a fresh wave of revulsion and thinly veiled aggression as the snake woman stared so unabashedly at the redheaded brute's chest. Why was she considering jamming the woman's drink glass into her eye? The pilot really had no idea. One corner of her nose tightened into a sneer when the woman finally left, baby blues watching her depart before the crowd swallowed her up. If only the earth would do the same...

"She's dangerous," Holger began, and Melody turned her head to look at him with a raised brow. "I like her," he concluded, holding up his own drink. Dangerous was one word for her. Snake was another. But Melody was partial to the 5 letter word running around in the back of her mind.

"You would..." she murmured, picking up her glass and tapping its base lightly against his, waiting for his reaction to it before she downed her portion just as quickly. The pilot cleared her throat and put the glass back down onto the bar top, pushing it closer to the bar tender's hand in an effort to annoy him, although Holger's answer to her almost forgotten question seemed to stop her before she could poke the glass over the edge of the counter.

"There are no more bombs to drop. Where do you fly, then, little dove?" Melody licked her lip slowly, tasting the alcohol on it as she considered how best to answer his question. "Do you want the official answer or the truth?" she asked him finally, scooting her stool closer to him to keep their conversation between them, although the noise of the place was already helpful in this endeavor.

"Officially," she squared her shoulders, trying to look some kind of professional, "I'm still a Purple Belly," Melody confessed, waving a hand as though this bored her. "But..." A dangerous, mischievous grin tugged at one corner of her lips, cobalt eyes lighting up with an inner fire. "Well, I think the verse brought us together then, big guy. I think the tides carried me here just as they brought you, if I'm to allow myself to be a little poetic," she murmured, shrugging one shoulder. Melody wasn't typically one for such pretty metaphors but what were the odds of them running into each other again. Here. So close to the beginning of her plan.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Holger seemed to be waiting for Melody to continue speaking. "Is that it?" When she didn't continue, he shook his head. "I do not understand poetry." Exasperated, Holger finished his beer and set the bottle down. "Did you mean it to rhyme? It did not rhyme." The Nord tapped the bar top with the bottle, indicating he'd like another. The bartender returned with another beer for Holger and gave Melody a look, questioning if she, too, wanted another drink.

Once the tender got his answer, Holger turned to Melody, as if a burning question was on his mind. A short beat that may have seemed longer than it was. "Do you know what poetry is? I am not well learned but my mother read poems to me as a child. And in those books, the poems rhymed."

[Melody]

Melody laughed, nodding once at the bartender and pulling her fresh drink closer, hand wrapping around the glass. The pilot watched Holger with a soft pull at the corner of her lips, smirking in well-meaning amusement. The girl set an elbow on the counter and rested her chin atop her palm, baby blues scanning the redhead's face, taking in his battered appearance and shaking her head a little. The shuttle she'd taken to the planet likely had a medical kit in it, maybe she could try to patch him up as best as she could, get that knot above his eye sorted out.

"Holger," she began, looking in the direction of the barkeep to make sure he was busy doing something else. Once she was satisfied that they wouldn't be overheard by the now less than loquacious man, Mel leaned closer to Holger. "Steal an Alliance ship with me," she asked and offered, her eyes bright. "I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking those meh lien duh jyah jee deserve some hassle, and I aim to give it to them. Buildin' a crew to help me do just that. Figure you'd be a great fit for it, seeing as we have history...and I trust you," she informed him.

The thing about Holger was, while they'd technically been enemies and he was some kind of a stranger to her when it came to interacting in the outside world and not in a controlled environment, he was honest. If he wanted to kill you, he'd do it, and he'd let you know it was coming. If he liked you, you'd know it. Melody could use an honest bear like that in her plan. And she thought he might enjoy the process of giving the Alliance some trouble.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Holger was touched. His and Melody's time together had always been fortuitous and seemed as though the 'verse was telling them that they belonged in each other's company. From the moment at the wreckage of her ship, the 'verse had said "No, you will not kill this woman. Much as her Purple Bellied brains splattered on the shell of her cockpit might please you in this moment, the two of you will do great things together." Holger was unsure if he would ever understand exactly what it was, but he knew that he trusted her as well.

He nodded his head without hesitation. "Ok." He said, holding his beer aloft for a toast.

[Melody]

Another smile bloomed across her lips and the pilot picked up her own glass to once again tap the bottom of her against his before taking a long, hearty swig of the amber liquid. Setting the glass down with a short exhale, most of the alcohol finished save for the foam at the bottom, Melody stood and rolled her shoulders back a bit, pulling some life back into her body after sitting for so long. She sat a lot as a pilot and sometimes her body screamed at her for something more adventurous and exerting.

Reaching out, she set a surprisingly soft hand on his shoulder and grinned at the redhead, not minding that she was getting some of his blood and sweat on her palm. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to come with you tomorrow, pay my respects. Might not've fought for your side in the war, but," she shrugged one shoulder and tilted her head in a very bird-like manner. "Seems the right thing to do," Melody explained.

"After that, we can go find us a shuttle. Have a plan all laid out in my head, and that's the last piece of the puzzle we need. Then," her mischievous grin broadened, baby blue eyes alight with fire, "Then we go wreak havoc."

[Holger Heyerdahl]

THE NEXT MORNING

Cemeteries were an odd tradition that somehow managed to follow people all the way from Earth-That-Was. Having the memorial to a passed loved one seems to put a person at ease, with cremation being the more modern and economical option. Cemeteries were few and far between in the 'verse, particularly in the core. One generally had to express a religious desire to be returned to the earth. And the funeral Holger and Melody were attending was just such an occasion.

Yuri Zoloto was an Independent Infantryman who, like so many other Browncoats, had found life after the war to be difficult. He used his war-found skills as a mercenary and hired thug and traveled the 'verse from ship to ship doing the sorts of jobs in which those skills came in handy. While Yuri had never been able to return home to St. Alban's, for one reason or another, he never forgot where he came from. A devout Jew, even during war time, some of the other soldiers made fun of him and his payot and beard, his refusal to fight on the sabbath or to ever remove his yarmulke. But none could deny his ferocity in battle. The man was an artist with a machine gun.

Holger had mostly lost touch with him in the last couple of years, and when he heard Yuri had died, he knew that not many would attend his burial. He never married, his parents had passed years earlier and he had no siblings. In fact, it had been Yuri himself who invited Holger to the funeral. A cortex vid, prerecorded and primed to send in the event of his death, had arrived a week prior.

Looking around those gathered at Yuri's grave, Holger judged that Yuri had reached out to those who remained from their unit during the war. There were far too few of them. Andromeda Vincenzo, Liang Chen, Greg "The Deg" Degner. Holger smiled when he saw Viktor Söderberg approach. Not from their unit, but a fellow veteran and a man Holger and Yuri had grown up with.

Holger had reached out via cortex to Viktor to perform the service, and now reached out to him to shake his hand. "Viktor! It is good you are here, Yuri would be glad to have a man of god to bury him." Holger said with a solemn smile. And then he remembered Melody. "This is Melody. Don't tell anyone, but her belly is Purple. She is my friend." And then the secret, behind his hand as if someone were to overhear. "We are going to steal a ship!"

[Viktor Söderberg]

[Aboard the Darling]

Viktor had received a wave from an old friend. Unfortunately, after the war, these types of messages were very rarely happy. This one was no exception. Everyone is always dead, he thought. No one ever just wants to catch up. Yuri Zoloto had passed on and the wave was from Holger Heyerdahl, requesting that Viktor perform the burial service. Viktor remembered Yuri vaguely from home, but had never run into him again after he left the planet. He recalled that Yuri may have been a Buddhist or was it Jewish? as a young man. He must not be recalling correctly, or the man had converted later in life. Surely this was the case or Holger would have contacted someone else. Viktor took his leave of the Darling, hired a shuttle and committed to doing some research for the service on the trip to Ariel. “Lived on St. Albans as a child” and “Served in the war” was definitely not enough to eulogize anyone.

. . .

[later, on Ariel]

He was happy to be helping a friend in need and he certainly could not face rejecting putting a Saint Albian and veteran to rest, but he was ever so slightly miffed¹ that he was put into such an awkward situation. Yuri had been Jewish. A devout Jew. A very devout Jew – unexpectedly continuing during the war, which saw even steady-hearted Viktor’s faith shake. He knew very little about Judaism aside from what it and Christianity had in common. He prayed for clarity and insight. He prayed to be a vessel. But mostly, he prayed that he would do right by Yuri while still staying true to his own faith.

So it was, as he approached Holger, he fought to smooth the rancor from his face and put on his broad pastoral smile. God, help me, he thought. He reached out to shake Holger’s hand and did that very familiar movement of covering their two shaking hands with his free one. As upset as he was, he genuinely liked the other man and was happy to see him in (mostly) one piece after so long. He looked a little worse for wear. Viktor was concerned. Now is not the time, he told himself. They could catch up after.

“Viktor! It is good you are here, Yuri would be glad to have a man of god to bury him.” Holger said with a solemn smile.

“Yes, well, I’m happy to do it.” There was going to be a “but” and then Holger pushed on as he was so oft to do.

“This is Melody. Don’t tell anyone, but her belly is Purple. She is my friend.” And then the secret, behind his hand as if someone were to overhear. “We are going to steal a ship!”

He raised an eyebrow. His shocked state couldn’t overcome his ingrained manners.
“Ma’am.” He nodded to her and smiled thinly, visibly displeased. He was very wary of any Alliance especially ones who claimed to be friends with someone Viktor cared about. But, one just couldn’t be rude to a lady. He couldn’t – not at that moment, anyway. Moments are fleeting things, though.

He stared hard at Melody, but spoke to his friend, “Stealing a ship is a crime, Holger, as well as a sin.” He pressed the deep tones of his voice into the next sentence to make it very clear what he was saying and what he was not. “And if you need Confession; it’ll be a Father you need not a preacher.”

Viktor turned his eyes back to Holger, his godly smile returned. “Why don’t we all have a chat after the service?”


¹ Note: This is merely what he tells himself. He’s mad and he’s frustrated because he’s feeling quite lost at the moment.

[Melody]

Not having been quite prepared for a funeral, Melody wandered in with Holger wearing a plain black t-shirt and some black cargo pants, opting to leave the only formal outfit she had back in her shuttle. She figured waltzing into a Browncoat funeral in her Alliance issued uniform might be a little disrespectful. With her hands tucked into her pockets, the pilot scanned those present with vivid blue eyes, her lips pressed into a hard line and her shoulders a little tense.

Her thoughts had started to drift away from their current activity to the preparations they'd need to make for their upcoming adventure. However, Holger's voice pulled her back. Mel eyed the man approaching them, a man of god it looked like, and she couldn't help but frown at the poor creature. He looked upset, something about the pull at the corners of his lips and the wrinkle between his brows conveying some inner frustration, although he did an acceptable job of hiding it as he made his way over. One shoulder shrugged and Melody lost interest in the reasoning behind his upset. She wasn't here for him or to delve into someone else's mysteries.

"This is Melody. Don't tell anyone, but her belly is Purple. She is my friend," Holger informed the man. 'Viktor', she'd heard him say. And then: "We are going to steal a ship!" One golden brow arched upward and she gave the redhead a look before returning her attention to the preacher, the fire in her eyes almost daring him to say something about to color of her belly.  At his forced smile, she sneered at him a little, dipping her chin in a curt nod of greeting. Well, she wasn't too fond of him either, but Holger trusted him enough to immediately tell him their secret so she figured he didn't need punching...

"Stealing a ship is a crime, Holger, as well as a sin," the preacher man informed them. "And if you need Confession; it'll be a Father you need not a preacher."

Keeping her hands in her pockets to avoid his grabby handshake, Melody inhaled slowly and narrowed her gaze at the astute man of god. "We'll ask the all might for forgiveness later," she told him flatly before looking up at Holger, unable to stop the slightest twitch at the corner of her lips that might've been the beginning of a smirk.

"Why don't we all have a chat after the service?" he asked.

The pilot lifted one shoulder and jerked her chin lightly toward where people were gathered, "Don't let us hold you up, I'm sure you've got lots of preachin' to do for Holger's comrade. Hope it's good," she murmured, eyeing Viktor up and down before tilting her head and watching him.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Holger, if it can be believed, was wearing a suit. It was a garish black velvet suit with faux mink fur lapels, but relatively appropriate for the occasion. As Viktor lectured him about the sins of his ways, Holger couldn't help put tug in those lapels and smile. This was the Viktor he remembered. "Viktor. You are so worried for the afterlife. This is good for a funeral. I think only of today. Which is why I invited you. Funerals are for preachers." Holger patted his friend on the shoulder and led the group over to the hole in the ground.

"I will only say one thing. Yuri would be glad to see you all here. He liked all people. Yuri told me that is why he fought in the war. Because he believed all people were good and worth knowing, even if they were different." He met the eyes of each person assembled. "Good. I am finished. Viktor, you will say things about God and Heaven now."

[Viktor Söderberg]

"Viktor. You are so worried for the afterlife. This is good for a funeral. I think only of today. Which is why I invited you. Funerals are for preachers." Holger patted his friend on the shoulder and led the group over to the hole in the ground.

Funerals are for preachers, he thought, unless you need a Rabbi.

"I will only say one thing. Yuri would be glad to see you all here. He liked all people. Yuri told me that is why he fought in the war. Because he believed all people were good and worth knowing, even if they were different."

Viktor was floored at what his friend had just said and in that instant he knew that this was the help, the reminder of his Call that he had prayed for. This was not the time to be petty about details or about unexpected guests. They were here to honor this man, celebrate his life and mourn his death. He was still a little flustered and stressed, but the anger and suspicion had gone for the moment and hopefully for good.

"Good. I am finished. Viktor, you will say things about God and Heaven now."

He thanked Holger and took his place in front of the crowd.

"For centuries the Twenty-third Psalm has been one of the most treasured passages in all of Holy Scripture. They are among the most comforting, often being quoted in times of trouble or distress, and almost always being read for a funeral. There are many images in this psalm which hold particular meaning.
One image comes from the verse, 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.' God does not promise us that we shall never endure difficult times. We have all lived through these times. Yuri lived through these times. But I am told that he never forgot the promise that is made in this verse; That as we move through such times, God is with us. God is there to comfort us and sustain us. The Lord does not send us through the dark valley with a cheery promise to meet us again on the other side. He goes with us every step of the way. Yuri, deep in the heart of battle, was comforted by God and by his faith. He did not cling to Him as a drowning man clings to a buoy. He had faith and trust in the Creator to show him the right path."

Viktor paused for a long time and contemplated what he would say next. The first part was easy. The next might not be. It was a story he had told many times in the depths of the war, but as he looked out into the small gathering now, he wondered if it would be right for this service. And then his eyes alighted softly on Melody. He thought about the Alliance for whom he held such disdain. But this was not some faceless enemy or a large charging Alliance force. This was simply a woman. He might not trust her, yet, but Holger clearly did and there must be a reason for that. He could try to suss out any potential issues later. For this moment, he respected her as a fellow human being.  He gave her an authentic smile and hoped that his apology for his prior rudeness (and perhaps any immediate future rudeness) would be conveyed in this message. He pressed on.

"A second image in the Twenty-third Psalm to which I would call your attention is this: 'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.' Yuri was a veteran of the Unification War, and he had fascinating stories to tell. This story is not his, but with his tolerance and loving attitude of all people it's one I'm sure he would love to hear. The story is of a Browncoat, stuck in the trenches, as many of us were. For days the bullets had rained and bombs were being dropped – by both sides. He was fighting on a stretch of land for days on end. Both armies seemed to be at a stalemate." 

Viktor stopped again. He was flashing back to a day he had been in a very similar situation. He could hear soldiers from his unit screaming in terror and agony from the middle of the battlefield. They had been hit but not killed. No one dared to go out to pull them back into safety. Their embittered, despairing cries rang in his ears. The bombs and bullets blasted as quickly as his heart beat. The blood drained from Viktor's face and he began to perspire slightly. This was quite possibly the worst time for Viktor to fall apart. He shook his head, cleared his throat and continued as best he could.

He could feel it as he began to speak again. The stutter perched delicately beneath his tongue, desperate to spring forth. "It s-s-s-so happened that the battle continued into Christmas Day. The fighting s-s-s-stopped, and all was quiet. Late in the morning, the Alliance of-f-f-fficers raised a white flag and moved toward the Browncoat lines and under a flag of truce, conferred with the Browncoat of-f-f-f –" he took a deep breath, "leadership. After extended conversation, the two armies agreed to pool s-s-s-some of their food together for a Christmas meal. The s-s-s-soldiers of each s-s-s-side joined together and ate together, and s-s-s-sang a few s-s-s-songs together that had different words, but common tunes."

In the natural break before he continued the story he quickly went through a new coping technique he'd recently learned. He continued, the stutter dying off as he spoke.

"These armies h-h-h-hated one another. But there they were, eating together at a table, or at least on the ground, in the presence of an enemy. The s-soldier s-said after that, it was hard to go back to fighting the next day. Because they had s-shared food together. They had sang songs of Christ's birth together. He said he had glimpsed a time in the future when all of them would be together in heaven, and all their earthly conflicts would disappear.

"The third image in the Twenty-third Psalm is this: 'S-Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.' The end of our journey through life on earth is to be with God forever. Sometimes the journey is filled with joy, and s-sometimes it is very sad and lonely." 
He looked around again at this very small group paying their respects. He hoped, though Yuri had no living family, that he had neither been sad nor lonely. He hoped the man had had friends and a chosen family to lift him up.

"Yet the promise that God has already given us eternal life with him sustains us in our journey and gives substance to our hope. This is something all of us do well to remember as we look now to the days ahead. For it is not God's will that anyone living or dead be s-separated from him forever.
We have gathered in this hour, not only to grieve the death of Yuri, but to give thanks to God for his life among us and for his eternal life now with God.
We have gathered, not only to mourn over how different lives will be without him, but to give thanks to God for how full life was when he was in our midst.
May we remember Yuri fondly and celebrate his life in a faith that knew no bounds. Thank you all."

Viktor nodded and smiled to everyone, then left the pulpit and sat down in a nearby chair. There was still a slight tremor running through his body and he was sure he still appeared pale, but the haunting memory had passed. He took another deep breath and looked up in search of Holger.

[Author's Note: Much of this text is adapted from a sermon hosted at SermonCentral.com. Many thanks to them for helping me write Viktor's words here]

[Holger Heyerdahl]

THREE HOURS LATER

If one were to picture the place that sat behind a sign that proclaimed: Honest Oscar's Junkyard and Used Ship Emporium, then that is where Holger and Melody found themselves. Towards the front, near the faded, hand painted sign, was a small shack that had its own sign. OFISS, it said. Holger didn't think it looked all that official to him. Directly behind the "office" was three or four rows of small skiffs and shuttles, land riders and trucks, in varying states of disrepair. Further on yet was several acres of junk. Crap, might be a better word for it. Huge machines meant to move the crap from one side of the yard to the other worked amongst the crap, dirty men operating the crap machines. Holger turned up his nose at the whole lot.

"We will get a ship here?" He said, unsure of the prospects of leaving atmo in any one of these heaps. Then he reconsidered his foul first impression. Melody was a pilot. A good one, Holger assumed. "Ah well. You are the pilot, little Dove. I will let you talk to the man." He said, already losing interest. His eyes caught sight of something shiny in a nearby pile of crap, with a sign that said "NEW!" He left her without another word to investigate.

[Viktor Söderberg]

THREE HOURS LATER

Viktor was headed back to the Darling. He hadn't found Holger after the ceremony. Between his panic attack and Holger's plans, they must have missed each other.
Honestly, his suspicions were that Holger had intentionally slipped away while Viktor was reorienting himself in order not to have to talk about the consequences of stealing a ship or befriending Alliance ex-soldiers.
Viktor was worried about his friend but there wasn't much he could do to help him at this point.
So, he sent a wave instead. He didn't expect the other man to reply (he very rarely did reply) but he wanted Holger to know that he was thinking of and praying for him.


[[ Dear Holger,
I'm terribly sorry for missing you after the funeral but I  wanted to thank you for inviting me to speak. I hope you have reconsidered any property theft that you had been planning. However, you should know that either way I am wishing you well and keeping you in my prayers. Please be safe and send me a wave if you ever need to talk.
Until the next time,
Viktor ]]

[Melody]

Melody wandered into the junk yard alongside the massive redhead, her arms crossed over her chest and a sour look pulling at the corners of her lips. Baby blue gaze lingered over the "office", staring at the hand written and horrendously misspelled sign. At first, she'd thought it was an acronym, but then she'd managed to sound it out and the eye roll had almost sent her eyes all the way back into her head.

"We will get a ship here?" he asked a little skeptically.

The pilot looked up at him and grinned, checking him with her shoulder lightly, about to answer when he admitted she must know what she was talking about. Melody had to admit, while his nickname for her had set her skin to crawling when they'd first met and caused her to imagine in great detail what shooting him might feel like, it was beginning to grow on her. Like mold... of a fungus. Her lips parted to tell him so but by the time her breath began to form into a word, he'd left to look at something else in the yard. Mel snorted in amusement and grinned, watching him for a moment before moving toward the offis, knocking on the door with the backs of her knuckles once she'd arrived at the shack.

"Offfiiiceee," she whispered to herself, sounding out the sign again and shaking her head. A loud wheezing cough and the sound of wet phlegm being yanked up through one's throat into their mouth made the woman flinch and turn her face away in disgust, eyeing the door out of the corner of her eye with a scrunched up nose. The door pulled open and a rotund man with a handful of hair combed over a greasy shimmering scalp peeked out, a hand rising to pull at his unkempt mustache, the twisted goats hair a dark black, clearly dyed that way, with the occasional silver hair missed by the coloring peeking through. His eyes lit up upon seeing a customer and Mel stepped back quickly to avoid him as he burst out of his office.

"Ayyyy, welcome ta' m'shop! Best scrap 'round 'ere! You'll find no better anywhere in tha 'verse!" he exclaimed, and it took all she had not to instinctively punch the gremlin in the face. "I'm Oscar, and this's m' yard! What sorta thing you lookin' fer?!" he asked just as loudly, reaching forward as though to take her hand in both of his. Melody shoved her hands into her pockets to avoid him and bit the inside of her cheek.

"A shuttle...a working shuttle..." she murmured, eyeing him dubiously... Where had Holger gone off to...