half_a_soul | Aftermath [ Locked to Jackson]

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Aftermath [ Locked to Jackson]

Once it was decided, things moved on fairly quickly. Contacting the Starjammers had been the hardest part, but once Corsair heard why, it wasn't hard to convince him. After all, he'd lost a lifetime with his two sons, thanks to aliens attacking them, and lost his wife to those same aliens later. He was willing to help, even if he didn't understand everything about how they'd manage to get there.

Which was something Jono took care of, anyway. It had required a larger PINpoint than usual, but it did the trick. From there, it was a case of following the trails laid down. And avoiding the Federal military patrols. Avoiding because the Colonial Program that ran everything out their direction seemed perfectly happy to let the aliens keep raiding the colonies so long as they could plausibly ignore that it was happening.

It pissed Jono off like few things ever had and he had nowhere to work it off. Sex, even zero G sex, could only do so much to take his mind from it, though he tried not to let it show too much when Jackson was with him. But, then, it was easier to ignore when Jackson was with him.

And then they found the planet.

A lot of what happened there was fuzzy in Jono's mind, even several days later. They got the prisoners out and he thought that the aliens would probably think twice or three times before going after humans again. But there had been a lot of fighting. A lot of it and Jono had been smack dab in the middle, psionic flames and telepathy used to devastating effectiveness.

Once they'd gotten the former prisoners onto the ship, Jono'd pulled away, going to his quarters with an apology to Jackson. He'd used up so much in the fighting that he needed time to recover and get his mind recentered. The ship was heading to Boshane, under Jackson's instructions. Now that he felt more normal, Jono slipped out of his room, casting about to find Jackson. Who was near Gray, just as Jono thought he might be. He headed that direction, brushing his mind against Jackson's in greeting before he got there.

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Jono hopes it's just trauma. He can maybe do something about trauma. If it's permanent, well, the question is whether something can be done without making it worse.

He follows easily, mind reaching out and touching each of the prisoners. He got to know their mind-feels well while trying to pull himself together. Probably the only ones on the Starjammer that weren't touched were those who knew how to shield. Reckon it mus' be, he murmurs, pulling his attention back to Jackson. You been gone fer a while.

Some of the former prisoners are worse than Gray, especially the older ones, and the damage doesn't seem to be consistent. If it's only trauma, then some have taken it harder than others.

"Almost a year," he admits, feeling a little sheepish to admit as much. "I feel terrible for putting my mom through that, too, but ... " It was for the best. The ends, bringing Gray home, definitely justified the means. (And it might be scary that he came to that realization all on his own as his age, but still.)

He wants to help them. Whether he can or not is an entirely different thing, but he wants to.

Jono nods, squeezing Jackson's hand. Aye. It was fer the best, really. If you 'adn't left, you wouldn't've foun' a way t' get t' Gray. Without the Nexus, he wouldn't have met Jono and all that.

"Totally worth it," Jackson agrees, glancing over at Jono with a none-too-subtle grin. "I met you." Which should be fair warning that he's about to get ... sentimental.

Jono glances over at that, his own expression going a bit softer. Gotta admit, I reckon it was worth it, too. Maybe if they could have been faster to find Gray, but he likes the fact that he's had this chance with Jackson.

That they managed to find Gray at all is nothing short of a miracle and Jackson isn't going to complain. "I'll probably have to stay here for a while," he admits after a pause, looking apologetic. It seems like the best place to slip in the fact that he can't just run around at his leisure anymore.

Jono pauses a moment, then nods. Makes sense. Yer mum's not gonna want you t' jus' go runnin' 'bout on yer own without lettin' 'er know where you are. And it could be hard to know how long time passed in one place as opposed to others.

Which isn't to say that he won't still end up in the Nexus and won't find his way to Jono's universe (and, specifically, his room at Xavier's), just that his primary residence is going to have to be Boeshane. At least for now.

Jackson leads the way outside once they reach the hospital's lobby, only to find that it's windy and sand is blowing in from the desert. "Shield's down again," he complains, tugging Jono's hand to duck into what serves as a side street, out of direct assault of the storm. "Sorry, it's not that far from here."

As long as he sees Jackson sometimes, Jono figures he'll mostly be okay. Though not waking up to Jackson next to him more often will be strange.

Jono's nose wrinkles a bit at all the sand, pulling up his coat to shield his head and pulls Jackson under the coat until they're under cover. He lets it drop, shaking the worst of the sand out of his hair. Ain't yer fault. Won'er why the shield's down, though.

That's going to be weird and contribute to more than a few sleepless nights for Jackson. He's used to Jono being there, used to the way Jono feels in his head even when he's asleep. It's going to be lonely without that.

"The generator's old," Jackson explains, reaching up to help dust the sand out of Jono's hair. "Sometimes you can only run the purifiers or the shields at the same time. The water store's probably low and the storm's not that bad." So it's an easy choice: fresh water for the colony and minimal protection from the sandstorm.

It only takes a moment for Jono to understand that. It makes sense, especially with the way that Jackson's reacted to the sheer amount of water people use from day to day back home. Take it the Program ain't so interested in makin' sure it's fixed proper, neither.

"Not very," he admits, finding Jono's hand again to lead the way down the relatively wind-free back street, which cuts between two tall buildings and seems to be serving as a walkway for other colonists who are out in the weather by necessity. "At least not now that the colony's production quotas have fallen off," Jackson goes on, shrugging a little. "Most of the first generation colonists couldn't leave if they wanted to, so the Program doesn't care."

Jono frowns, eyes turning downward as he laces his fingers with Jackson's. And he's also a little surprised by the colonists. He's not making any effort not to be seen and they're...pretty much ignoring him. It's so strange, but he kind of likes it, too.

Production? What do you produce 'ere? Jono couldn't really see that there was much that could be made, but it was hard to tell.

The only thing the other colonists seem to notice is a person in black, which is a little out of place for a warm place like Boeshane. Still, visitors aren't entirely uncommon and the sandstorm makes it difficult to gawk, anyway.

"Depends on the season," he explains. "Usually raw materials, though. The ocean isn't good for swimming, but there's a high concentration of minerals that can be extracted from the water."

An' you ain't producin' enough, so they'll jus' let the colony sit. While the older colonists couldn't leave and their children and grandchildren wouldn't leave them behind.

Nothing Jono was hearing about this was making him less pissed off.

"Yeah," Jackson confirms, not entirely aware that the state of affairs for the colony is upsetting his boyfriend. It's become business as usual for the colonists and after so many years of being outside regular governmental jurisdiction, they don't seem to be holding out much hope for things to change.

"Most of the original colonists are indentured to the Program. They sign up for fifteen or twenty years, sometimes more, in exchange for something. It's usually financial. People figure they'll never pay off their debt on their own, so they sign up and the Program pays it off for them, then the person's contractually obligated for however many years of service." Which is what happened with his parents, though Jackson doesn't explain as much in so many words.

"Each colony has a yearly production quota for whatever they produce. Some colonies are lucky and their planets are suitable for terraforming and farming. I've even heard of a colony dedicated to farming solar energy from the star it orbits." Whereas Boeshane's location is unfortunate. Jackson shrugs a little. "When a colony fails to meet it's yearly quota, then it starts gaining interest. Really, when you think about it, sometimes the Program is the same system a lot of people were trying to escape, a huge debt that can't be repaid." But it's the luck of the draw and maybe that's the appeal. Some colonists work off their debt on centralized colonies near inhabited systems farming crops, others get stuck on a rock filtering minerals out of the ocean.

Jono shakes his head slowly. Oi. Pain in the arse, 'at's what it sounds like. And God, yeah, it really was. But ignorin' the colony don' make any sense. You let the tools go rusty an' don' take care of 'em, eventually you hit a null point. You put nothin' in, you get nothin' out.

"I know," Jackson agrees, pausing as the narrow side street intersects with a main road and the harshly blowing wind. Ducking his head, Jackson leads the way across the road and back into the continuation of the side street, not letting go of Jono's hand. Once on the other side, he picks up the conversation, "Unless they want the colonists to fall so far behind they default on the quota or something."

Jono shakes his head, holding tight to Jackson's hand. But what does 'at get 'em? Colony defaults an'...they're out the money they paid an' the work from the colony. Frankly, ain't no way t' run a business.

"A colony full of indentured labor, I guess," he says, now thinking about this. "Truth be told, we don't know what the minerals are used for or what the current market value is for them as raw materials, so we could have made up the cost of this planet's colonization already."

He nods slowly. Even then. Does the colony 'ave a governor or summat? Someone what's got a direct line t' the Program? 'Cause it really don' make much sense.

Even worse is the idea that the Colonial Program might have failed already and there wasn't anybody out there watching out for these people.

"There's a council, but it's mostly for internal decisions and stuff," Jackson answers with a little shrug. He can see the flaws in the system -- everyone can see the flaws in the system -- but it's difficult to do anything about it from the ass-end of the galaxy. "All communication with the Program is through paperwork now. The way I understand it, we used to have a representative or something, like a case worker, but not anymore. Quarterly reports are sent in, exchanged for seasonal supplies."

Somebody should do summat 'bout it. Jono's been an activist for years. He might not always want to be an activist, but sometimes you go with where your strengths are and the X-Men have always been about making the world safer for humans and mutants alike.

"Yeah, probably," Jackson agrees, though he's obviously not sure what. Then again, maybe somebody already has. The discovery of the prisoners may just be the catalyst the colonies need.

The side street eventually begins sloping downward and ends in a long set of stairs leading down to the near tier of the city. This is the residential sector and it isn't too far to 'home,' though the winds are thankfully milder given the protection from the tier above. After a short walk, Jackson leads the way down another side street, this one lined with alcoved doors. The third alcove down, he unlocks the door with a scan of his hand and gently tugs Jono inside. It's something like a flat and furnished similarly to a twenty-first century home.

He pauses just inside the door, looking around a bit. I would've thought furniture would've come along a lot more, he says after a moment, reaching up to brush sand out of his hair.

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