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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
Completed:
2010-08-07
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28,644
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6/6
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17
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The Mortal Years

Summary:

Jack wasn't always immortal, but he's never been good at telling people about his life. Jack's life from the invasion on the Boeshane Peninsula until he meets Rose Tyler hanging from a barrage balloon.

Chapter 1: 1. Refugee

Notes:

Betas:  Glynnis and Goofy
Spoilers:  Through Children of Earth and Flesh and Stone
Notes:  Written for round three of the TARDIS Big Bang.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Jack picked over whatever meal it was he was eating, deep in thought.  The Doctor's presence could have been read as either understanding or condemnation, the fact that he didn't even try to speak with Jack implied the latter, but then there was the note.  The note introducing him to a beautiful young man, one the Doctor knew and admired (Alonso hadn't said so, but Jack could read between the lines), was pretty good evidence that the Doctor understood and, maybe, even forgave Jack.  Jack wasn't anywhere near forgiving himself, but that was an entirely different matter.  He wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself; he still hadn't forgiven himself for letting go of Gray's hand.
 
Still, in addition to the introduction, with everything that that implied, the note contained another message.  It was time, not to stop grieving, but to start living again. And it wasn't that Jack disagreed; he just wasn't sure how.
 
He remembered a conversation that he and Ianto had had after Toshiko and Owen's deaths.  Ianto had been writing in his diary and Jack had asked if it helped.
 
Ianto had shrugged.  "I don't know if it helps, exactly, but, well, I suppose it does.  Not immediately, but when I look back at how I was feeling after Lisa," he'd closed his eyes and taken a breath, "I can see that it does get better."  Looking up from his diary, he smiled at Jack.  "Who knows; it might even help you."
 
"Don't really think I'm the diary type," Jack had said, coming up behind Ianto and rubbing his shoulders, planning his attack.
 
"No, you're probably more of a blogger," Ianto had said, looking amused.
 
Jack had made a face.  "No, an autobiography.  Sharing my accumulated wisdom with the masses."  He had leaned down to nibble on Ianto's ear, moving his hands down Ianto's arms.
 
"Well," Ianto had said, finally putting his diary down and turning to Jack, "if we're going to wait on your accumulated wisdom, it'll be a while.  Right now, it'd fit on a postage stamp."
 
Jack had growled, and pounced, and later had been treated to an irritated lecture on how difficult it was to get ink out of clothing.  For the first time since Ianto's death, his memory brought more than pain.  Jack smiled as he thought of the evening, remembering the fun and playfulness of his lover.  Jack sighed.  Former lover.
 
Still, there might be some merit in the idea.  Not his accumulated wisdom, but writing down what had happened might help him decide where to go.  It wouldn't be a diary, or an autobiography; both were too personal, too closed.  Jack sat down and started writing, distancing himself by writing it as a biography.

 

1. Refugee

He didn't know how long they'd been sitting by the house.  His mother had stopped saying anything a while ago; now, she just cried.  When he'd tried to get near her, though, she'd pushed him away.  So, now he just sat, where he could do anything she wanted him to do.  When she'd pushed him out of her arms, his own sobbing had stopped.  He was still crying, but it was soundless.

He heard someone come up behind him.  "How is he?"  It was Ster Murel, one of Khael's core teachers.  "Khael, how is he?"  His voice was gentle, but firm.

Jack, then known as Khael, shrugged.  "He's dead," he said.  His voice didn't sound like his; it was deeper than normal, and rough.

"All right, then.  Keres," his teacher said, "we have to evacuate.  You need to pack; we have to get out."

"Gray," his mother said.  "Khael said, he said he didn't . . ."

"I was holding his hand," Khael said.  "I don't know when I let go; he was just gone.  I couldn't find him."

"All right.  Keres, we have all the, the bodies gathered.  Come with me; we'll see if we can find him."

His mother shook her head, but said nothing.

Khael sighed, but then stood.  "I'll go, sir.  He was my responsibility."

Ster Murel shook his head.  "It's no place for a child."

Looking down at his mother and his father's body, Khael said, "I don't think I'm a child anymore."

* * *

For all that they tried to evacuate immediately, it took three days to get everyone off the small colony on the Peninsula.  Khael and his mother were in the last group to leave.  They'd packed only what they could carry, those things that were most precious to them.  Khael had refused to take any of his old toys or any but his most important books.  He gave his space to all of Gray's toys and clothing.  His mother had packed the pictures of the family, the results of the research she and his father had been working on, and anything they had that was small and valuable.

The refugee camp on Rebme was like nothing Khael had ever seen before.  It was housed in underground caverns; to a child of the Peninsula, used to constant bright sunlight, it seemed hopelessly dark.  It was noisy as well; too many people crammed into too small a space.  Khael and his mother were assigned their own quarters in the family section.  It was much better than Khael had expected--it was clean, as free of crime as any group of people could be--but he felt crowded on every side, all the time.  Except when he was in their quarters; his mother made sure to stay as far from him as she could.  So that she could sleep in the bed, Khael took to sleeping on the floor in the common area; it was the first time he'd ever slept alone.

The camp wasn't set up to be permanent; the refugees were supposed to find somewhere else to live as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately, too many people left homeless in too short a period of time meant that people were staying there longer than anyone had planned.  In order to keep the children as settled and calm as possible, the people who ran the camp tried to keep their schedules as normal as possible.  Which meant, most importantly, school. 

Khael had been happy when he'd first heard he could attend school--he had always had high hopes for his future--until he went the first time.  This wasn't a school where they taught high-level science to youngsters planning on becoming the next generation of researchers and innovators; this was a basics school to ensure that all the children could read and write and learn some kind of skill to provide for themselves.

It was also required, Khael discovered when he tried to opt out.  He had no choice but to go and to study what they thought he should learn.  His real studies, physics and engineering, had to wait until night.  His mother quickly found work helping the hospital; she wasn't actually a medic, but her training in biology was more than many of the other workers had.  So, for a while, they survived.

The day after Khael's fifteenth birthday, he came home to find his few belongings in front of their door with his mother standing beside them.  "I can't look at you anymore," she said, standing straight and tall, her face expressionless.  "You can live in the orphan's area; I've already arranged it."

Khael stared.  He could feel his eyes burning, but he refused to give into the tears.  She'd forgiven him for not holding onto Gray's hand, she'd said so, but Khael knew she would never forgive him for surviving.  "Will I ever see you again?" he asked anyway, hoping that there was some hope.

Keres shrugged and turned to go inside, but turned back for a minute.  "Be well.  Please, Khael, be well."  She went inside, her shoulders hunched and head bowed.  She seemed faded, a ghost of the vibrant woman he had known.  The woman he had killed when he let go of his little brother's hand.

The orphan's area wasn't as well-policed as the family quarters had been.  If Khael had had anything the other children considered valuable, it would have been stolen the first night.  Books, however, especially textbooks, none of them wanted.  So, he kept trying to study, kept trying to learn, for another six months.

It was then that he discovered sex.  Oh, he'd known about the theory for years, but the Peninsula had been settled by people who had rejected the commonly-held opinion about humans.  "For whatever reason," his father had told him one lazy afternoon, "most of the universe thinks that humans will have sex with any sentient, just because they're there.  One of the reasons your mother and I came here to Boeshane was to reject that.  To open your body to that extent should only be with someone special."

"Rahel says her parents say you should be married," Khael'd said.

His father smiled.  "Well, your mother and I aren't quite as strict as that, but we do believe that intimacy of the body and intimacy of the heart go hand in hand.  We also believe that one of the reasons humans have the reputation we do is because we need touch.  So, we hold our families tight and keep those we love touched."

Khael knew that one of the things that meant was that, when they went visiting or had visitors over, the adults shared their beds.  The children did as well, which meant that they all looked forward to visiting, and falling to sleep cuddled up together, the more the merrier.

The people running the camp weren't from the Ukanan Sector; most of them were from Earth, or close to it.  To them, sleeping together in a bed meant sex.  So, at first they tried to keep the youngsters out of each other's beds, but they quickly gave up on that.  They didn't have enough people to keep watch.  Instead, they concentrated on ensuring that everything stayed consensual.

The first night in the orphan's area, Khael's head was still spinning; little of what he was being told was really sinking in.  When he was told it was "Lights Out", he went and lay down on his bed.  As he lay there trying to convince his mind to quiet long enough to go to sleep, he heard some noises from the bed next to him.  He opened his eyes a little to see Jamin, a boy he knew distantly from the Peninsula, in the next bed with a girl Khael hadn't seen before.  Instantly hard, Khael tried to keep his watching discreet; he had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from panting out loud.  He must not have been quiet enough, because the girl turned and saw him.  She leaned down and whispered something to Jamin under her; a minute later she leaned toward Khael and said quietly, "D'you want to join us?"

The simple fact of not sleeping alone for the first time since the invasion was reason enough for Khael; the pleasures of sex were, almost, secondary.  After that first night with Jamin and the girl, Dori, he didn't sleep alone again.  Jamin and Dori took him under their wing as well and helped him adjust to the unspoken rules of the orphans' community.  Dori was a little younger, small and pale, but very tough physically and mentally.  She was one of the long-term residents of the camp; her family had been killed in the first attacks and no one had been willing to take her in.

Jamin became Khael's best friend.  They were nearly opposite in personality: where Khael was focused on learning as much as he could, Jamin didn't care about "book learning". 

"I'm an artist," he said, "not someone who barfs up what he reads for others."  He was tall and thin, with red, almost orange, hair, bright, blue eyes, and thin, sure hands.

Khael had been told he was a handsome boy, but it hadn't seemed as important as the fact that he was a bright boy, top of his classes.  Now, he discovered that it meant he had his choice of partners, and the world got warmer again.  Boys or girls, one or more, top or bottom, it didn't matter; it was touch, skin on skin, and wonderful.  He even found himself more motivated to continue his studying, although he was much easier to distract these days.

At first, Khael was able to continue to shut out everything during the day but his studies.  As the months wore on, he began to pay more and more attention to the news.  He'd been told that, even though they never found Gray's body, he must be dead.  Now, he was hearing other stories, where people thought dead in the attacks were found later, after being tortured.  He started asking about Gray, but the authorities kept repeating that, if no body was found, he was dead.  Those other stories, though, kept him awake at night.

It was six months after his fifteenth birthday that a recruiter from the army, a Major Rico, came to the school.  After determining from the teacher that everyone in the class was underage, he gave a talk on all the ways they could help from behind the lines.  Something about the way he talked, though, made Khael wonder.  After class, he went up and asked to speak with the recruiter privately. 

After introducing himself, Khael said, "Sir, have you heard anything about the people who go missing after the attacks?"

Rico's expression went almost blank.  Khael's gut clenched.  "Did you lose someone?"

"My little brother, sir," Khael answered.

Rico looked at Khael for a moment and finally said, "We know the enemy take them.  We've never been able to find out where.  Every once in a while, well, it's not good."  After another minute, in which Khael tried to think of something, anything, to say, Rico said, "Were you held back or something?"

His pride hurt, Khael pulled himself to stand as tall as he could.  "Not in the least, I'm in the front of the class."

"Oh."  Rico didn't say anything else; he just looked thoughtful.

After another moment of quiet, Khael asked, "Why?"

"You just look older than the rest of these kids," Rico said, "more mature.  I thought you might be old enough . . .  Well, I suppose not."

It took Khael a minute to realize what Rico was implying.  He thought it through.  "How carefully does the army check ages?" he asked.  He couldn't enlist through Rico, but there were always recruiters around.

Khael didn't understand Rico's smirk.  "They don't, not unless the recruit is obviously lying.  You, they wouldn't check."

Rico's tone of voice made Khael realise, "You're telling me to lie, aren't you?"

"I'd never tell anyone to lie to the army," Rico said in the most sanctimonious voice Khael had ever heard.  "However, they want recruits that are of age.  There are many different scales of maturity; calendar age is only one of them."

Khael knew his expression was sceptical.  Rico laughed.  "We never had this conversation, right, kid?"

"No, sir."

Rico turned to leave, but turned back before he left.  "I'm sorry about your brother."

Khael headed straight back to the orphan's area and told Jamin and Dori about the conversation.  "What about all your plans?" Dori asked.  "Becoming a scientist and making everything better that way?"

"I'll go back to it," Khael said.  "For right now, they have Gray.  If I can find him, bring him back, things'll be better.  We can be a family again.  Then, I can go back to my studies."

"I've been thinking about enlisting," Jamin said.  "It'd sure be nice to dish out some of what they keep giving us."

Dori huffed.  "You won't do anything.  I heard one of the teachers talking.  Most of the refugee kids who enlist are killed; they're used as cannon fodder.

"So," Khael said, "we'll be smarter and faster and better and survive.  C'mon, it'll be an adventure," he said to Jamin.  Dori was clearly a lost cause.  "We'll find where they're taking our people and rescue them, and look great doing it."

It didn't take very long for Khael to convince Jamin to go down and sign up with him.  He could have done it on his own, he would have, but he was so tired of being on his own.

Rico looked surprised when he saw Khael and Jamin walk into the recruiting office.  "I didn't expect to see you back with someone else," he said.  "How old are you, son?" he asked Jamin.

"Eighteen," Jamin said, sounding completely unconvincing.  Khael managed to hide his wince; that would just make matters worse.

Rico didn't really seem to care.  He had both boys fill out papers with all their personal information, including their fabricated birth dates.  Khael wondered why Jamin made up a whole new date; keeping everything but the year would make it easier to remember.

Once that was done, Rico had them swear that all the information they'd given was accurate to the best of their abilities.  To Khael's relief, Jamin didn't have any problems with that.  Then, he gave them each a packet.  Looking in his, Khael saw a ticket and a credit voucher.  "Sir?" he asked.

"We don't run a bus service," Rico said, "so we send recruits on the passenger ships.  Steerage class, no amenities to speak of, and we make sure you don't starve on the way.  That's what the credits are for.  That, and a thank you for signing up."

Khael thought about it for a moment, looking at the voucher.  "But it's ours, right?" he asked.  "We can do what we want with it?"

"Sure," Rico said as Jamin looked at him in confusion.  "What were you thinking of?"

"My mother," Khael said.  Although they hadn't spoken, and she'd refused to meet his eyes, he had seen her around the camp.  She looked pale and thin, as if she hadn't been eating.

"I thought you were an orphan?" Rico said, staring down at Khael's papers.

"No, sir," Khael said, "but my mother thought it better I be on my own."

"Where are you from?" Rico asked.

"The Boeshane Peninsula."

Rico scowled at the papers, and muttered something under his breath.  Khael was pretty sure it was a curse, but it was one he didn't recognize.  He shook his head.  "You can give it to her, but it'll be a long, hungry trip.  They don't really feed the people in steerage much; they assume you'll bring your own."  He bit his lip.  "Look, kid, don't tell anyone I've done this."  He pulled a piece of paper out of the stack and scribbled something.  "Take this to the Chief Purser and tell him you're willing to work.  It . . . might not be anything you've thought of doing before, but he'll keep you safe.  Understand?"

Khael took the note.  He suspected that Rico thought he was too innocent to know what he was suggesting, but Khael would have known even before everything came down around him.  He'd heard his mother talking about women and men who lived by having sex with anyone who asked.  It might be exactly the opposite of how he'd been raised, but that didn't matter anymore.  If he could find Gray, he could make everything better.

Rico gave them further instructions, a list of what to bring and the time they were to leave the next morning.

That night, Dori made it clear that it was only Jamin she was saying goodbye to, that she was too angry with Khael to want him near her.  Khael was disappointed, but it also suited him.  He lay in bed staring at the ceiling.  He couldn't be B'shani anymore.  If he were to do what had to be done, he would have to use every resource available to him, and he really didn't have many: his intelligence and his body.  Blinking back tears, he determined that he would do whatever he had to do to find Gray.

The trip really wasn't anything as bad as Khael had been afraid of.  He'd had visions of spending the three-week trip in some horrible cell, with one "customer" after another doing whatever they felt like to him.  Instead, as soon as he and Jamin had boarded and been directed to their room, a dark room just large enough for the four beds it contained, Khael went looking for the Chief Purser.  He, of course, was busy getting the ship ready to leave.  The assistant manning the office finally said, sounding exasperated, "Look, kid, just tell me what you want.  Chances are he'll give it back to me to take care of anyway."

Hoping he wasn't getting himself, Major Rico and the Chief Purser in trouble, Khael handed him the note.  He'd tried reading it, but he only knew a very little bit of Galactic Standard.  The other man read it and nodded.  "Yeah, it'd be me taking care of this."  He looked up at Khael.  "You're Ukanan?"

Khael shrugged.  "B'shani, but I don't suppose it matters."

"Not for this.  Look, I'm Ger, one of the stewards here.  Do you know what this note says?"  Now that Khael was talking to him, he looked sympathetic.  He was probably about five years older than Khael, with very pale skin and hair.

"Not exactly," Khael admitted.  "Major Rico gave it to me when he knew I'd given my credit vouchers to my mother."  He'd put the voucher into an envelope and given it to one of the nurses at the hospital, and waited to see his mother get it.  Her lips had thinned, but she'd taken it.

"Right," Ger said.  "It says that you're willing to trade your ass for food and other luxuries.  Do you understand what that means?"

Khael took a deep breath.  "It means I have sex with whoever pays you."

Ger's face softened.  "It's not like that, I promise.  What's your name?"  When Khael told him, Ger said, "First, you will always have the right of refusal.  If someone feels wrong, for whatever reason, even that his hair is annoying or something, you say 'No' and that's it.  Understand?"

Khael knew he failed at keeping his relief hidden.  "Yes, sir."

"You don't call me sir," Ger said, "I'm just an Assistant Purser."

Khael frowned.  "I was raised to call anyone older than me, 'sir'.  Or 'ma'am', as the case might be."

"Just call me Ger.  Now, second, we do a certain amount of screening on our end.  You're not the only companion we have, and we try to match the patron with their companion.  By the way, that's what you're called.  Please don't use words like 'whore' or 'prostitute', okay?"

Khael nodded.  "But I am, or will be, right?"

Ger shrugged.  "If you're being nasty or impolite.  There's nicer words though, and that's what you'll use.  So, are you a virgin, or do you know what you like?"

"Sex?" Khael asked, hoping he didn't sound as young as he felt.

That got a grin from Ger.  "Well, at least that's a good start.  Boys?  Girls?  Human?  Alien?  Other than sex, what do you like?"

"I've never done anything but human," Khael said, his stomach squirming.  "Tentacles . . . They're scary."

"Check," Ger said, scribbling down some notes, "no tentacles.  D'you know where your room is?"  Khael nodded and gave him the number.  Ger shook his head and handed him a comm.  "Keep that on you so we can get reach you.  And, remember, you're not the only game in town.  Yeah?"

"Yeah."  Khael left and went back to his room.  Jamin had left a note that he and the other two recruits in their room had gone to watch their departure.  Khael lay down on his bed and shook, but he refused to cry.  By the time Jamin and his other two roommates were back, he was calm and cheerful again.

Khael's fears turned out to be unjustified; Ger had been right.  They tried hard to match patron and companion and there was only one time he opted out.  There had been something about her that made him uncomfortable.  Later, he found out that the woman had left a trail of corpses across four galaxies.  But most of his patrons were nice; they were travelling alone, or with someone they couldn't or wouldn't have sex with, and didn't mind spending a little bit more to have someone in their bed.  In the entire three week trip, Khael only spent two nights in his own bed.

And he had fun, which he really hadn't expected.  His comm buzzed an hour after they'd departed and Khael had returned to the Purser's Office.  This time, the Chief Purser was there.

"Ricky sent you?" the older man asked.  He was fit, but older, with a receding hairline and a moustache.

"Er, Major Rico, yes sir," Khael answered.

"Yeah.  New at this gig?"

"Yes sir."  Khael held his breath.

"Got a lady in first class, wants someone to go to tonight's show with, the one for the money.  You'll wear this," the purser held out a fancy suit in white, "take her to the show, escort her around for the evening and do whatever she asks when you get back to her room."  He must have noticed Khael's expression, because he continued, "I know her.  She mostly wants someone young and pretty paying attention to her; it's even odds whether she'll even want you for sex.  Can you handle that?"

"Of course, sir," Khael said, taking the suit.  He gulped down his meal, understanding why the army gave vouchers for more, bathed, dressed and was knocking on Odine's door five minutes early.

The door opened to a half-dressed middle-aged woman, trying to do up a back fastening.  "Oh, are you who they sent?"  Before Khael could answer, she said, "Be a dear and do me up?"

He quickly found out why she'd wanted him an hour and a half early.  She wanted his opinion on everything.  She was nice about it, so Khael gave his opinions and hoped he wasn't making any mistakes.  They made it to the show, an opera, just in time.

Later, Khael realized that his honest, open-mouthed enjoyment of the opera had been a key factor in earning his tip, but at the time he was just enthralled.  His parents had exposed Gray and him to literature, plays and music, but never everything wrapped up together.  He almost forgot that he was supposed to escort Odine during the intermission, but she kindly tapped his shoulder.

"It's so nice," she said with a big smile, "attending with someone who can appreciate the finer things.  Now, be a dear and get me a Hypervodka Sunrise and make sure they use real orange juice."  Khael had no idea if they did or not, but his careful observation seemed to make her happy.

After the show, she wanted to go dancing.  The steps were unfamiliar but easy and Khael had fun whirling her around.  After that, she wanted to stop for drinks and a bite and it was only then that she was ready for bed.  At the door, she asked, "You'll come in and get me out of this thing, won't you, dear?"

Khael did, and then she helped him out of his, and then he spent the rest of the night in her bed.  She didn't want anything fancy--he suspected she didn't really care about the sex--she just wanted someone to pay attention to her.  Khael felt he'd found a kindred spirit in that.

In the morning as he was getting ready to leave, he asked, "I won't be hurting your reputation, will I?  Leaving in the morning from your quarters in my evening clothes?"

Odine laughed.  "Oh, sweetie, you'll make it.  Do you have any other engagements this trip?"

"No, ma'am," Khael said, wondering why. 

He found out later.  "Wish you were doing this full time, kid," the purser said.  "You're the first companion Odine hasn't bitched and moaned about.  She's on this ship for another week, and she's booked you for all of it."  He handed over a credit voucher, three times what they'd agreed on.  At Khael's confusion, the purser laughed.  "It's called a tip.  Her way of saying you did a good job."

Odine was Khael's only long-term patron; all of the others were for a night at the most.  They were all older, wanting the attention of someone younger without having to work for it, but otherwise, they were a varied lot.  One was even alien, which scared Khael, until zhe patted his cheek and said, "Don't worry.  I only bite if you beg me."  Khael didn't, but he found that learning an alien body was as much fun as learning a human one was, and that zhe got almost as much pleasure from the teaching as the sex.

And that was mostly what he spent the trip doing:  learning and having a great time.  Unlike the other recruits he was supposed to be travelling with, he got to attend the premium shows, dance at the nicer clubs and eat at the fanciest restaurants.  After the first time he did that, though, he learned not to order the fanciest thing on their menu. 

Corin, one of his roommates who had skin so dark it seemed to swallow up all light, told Khael halfway through the trip that she wished she'd followed his example.  "My ma always told me that it's the best way to travel," she said sighing, "but I wanted to have fun.  Looks like I made the wrong call."

Khael shrugged.  "I have the afternoon off, and a few extra credits.  Do you want to try the Topside Club?"

At the end of the three weeks, Ger called him back down to the Chief Purser's office.  When he handed the comm back, and took his final voucher, Ger leaned forward.  "Look, do you have to join the army?"  When Khael looked confused, Ger said, "I mean, is it a sentence or something?  'Cause if it's not, you should pay 'em back the price of the ticket and stay here.  A companion with no complaints?  If you were permanent, we could set you up with a sweet deal."

"My father died in an attack," Khael said with as much dignity as he could manage, "and my brother disappeared.  This is personal."

Ger looked shocked.  "Sorry, I didn't know.  Well, when you get rid of those bastards, you've got a chance at a real career.  You wouldn't have to stick with the liners, either; there's all kinds of business that use 'em.  If you want to do that, just let me know; I'll help you out."

Three weeks of spending time with businessmen had made Khael a little wiser in the give-and-take of favours, and in tact and grace.  "If I survive, I'll consider it.  You've been very kind," he said honestly.

"Be well," Ger said as Khael shook his hand.  "Safe travels."

"Safe travels," Khael said back, and went to disembark.