(Genesis) Chapter 1

Pride: Genesis

Chapter 1

Acquaintances

It was early when Keith got to the briefing room; he half expected Colonel Hawkins to be there, but the room was empty. The coffee wasn't even started. Fair enough. He started a fresh pot brewing and stared at it, willing it to brew faster, contemplating adding something a little stronger. The posting hadn't become any easier to accept, but maybe having a mission to focus on would improve things…

Maybe not, but no sense expecting the worst. Yet.

A few minutes and one mug of coffee later, a voice from the doorway startled him out of his thoughts. "Commander Kogane?"

Here we go. He took a moment to recover and turned; a tall red-haired man in a support division uniform was standing in the doorway. "Koga-ne, actually." He'd pronounced it ko-gain, but then, most people did. "But yes."

"Sorry." The other man grimaced, then seemed to remember how the military worked and straightened, saluting. "Um, Lieutenant Commander Kleid reporting, sir."

So there's my second. Keith nodded and returned the salute. Encouraging for him to have turned up early too, at least. "Nice to meet you."

Flynn nodded quietly, taking stock of the commander who was obviously taking stock of him. He was younger than he would've expected and looked very serious, which frankly he wouldn't have expected either. Was there any point in having expectations for a posting like this? He shrugged it off and dropped into a chair, which earned him a raised eyebrow that he ignored. Why have chairs if they weren't supposed to sit in them?

Kogane didn't sit. "So, Mr. Kleid, have you reviewed the personnel files?"

Oh had he. "I did my homework." The one file he hadn't reviewed was, well, the commander's, because the brass hadn't seen fit to give him that one. Seemed like an oversight. "Ought to be fun."

That eyebrow raised a little higher. Okay, so the commander didn't think this was going to be fun, noted. He might've said something else, but another man had arrived in the doorway; he looked a little taken aback to see them there.

Kogane noticed, too. "Ah, another new member of the crew. And you are?"

Immediately the man snapped to attention, speaking in a heavy accent. "Lieutenant Sven Holgersson reporting as ordered."

Sven was a little irked with himself. He'd planned to be early. Well, he was still early, but he'd planned to be earlier. Maybe if he hadn't spent so long making sure he was presentable, really… he wanted to roll his eyes at himself, which he'd done more than a few times in the last hour, but decided it wouldn't be productive with two people who outranked him staring at him. Instead he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Just resist the urge to check your uniform for the hundredth time.

The commander was studying him carefully. The lieutenant commander gave him a quick once-over, looked at the commander, then looked back at him. "You can come inside, you know. There's chairs."

Truthfully Sven hadn't even realized he was still frozen in the doorway, and fought not to roll his eyes—again—as he entered and took a seat. He would've been mortified, but fortunately someone else was coming in right on his heels: a brown-haired man wearing a leather jacket over his uniform shirt.

Lance would've been earlier, but he'd gotten distracted by the cute blonde chick he'd passed in the hallway. The pains of being awesome were real. Now he strolled into the briefing room, stopping just past the doorway and checking out the three men inside.

Very nice!

One of them was standing, he was probably the boss. Lance gave him a smirk. "Lieutenant McClain reporting."

"Come on in, Mr. McClain. Have a seat." He said it a little stiffly, like he'd never said anything so friendly in his life, and Lance snorted. Mister?

Oh well. He smirked and went in, taking the chair next to the redhead, who glanced at him and nodded a greeting. Lance shot him a wink. At least the scenery on this mission was going to be nice.

The door to the briefing room burst open—it had already been open, but it had to have burst open, because the enormous man who suddenly strode in had to have thrown it open with that kind of entrance. It was just how things worked.

"Yo team, what's shakin'?" He plunked a huge box down on the table. "I brought breakfast!"

Hunk couldn't quite help but chuckle as everyone stared blankly at him. He always got that. The man in the commander's stripes regained his composure first. "Um… hello?"

"Oh, uh, right." Formality and stuff. "Senior Specialist Garrett reporting!" He flipped a salute in the boss's general direction.

"What's in the box, Mr. Garrett?"

"Did you say breakfast?"

He grinned at the brown-haired man who clearly had his priorities in order, and opened the box to reveal a dozen enormous donuts. "Maple bacon donuts! The only kind worth havin', obviously."

"I need some of that."

Heh, don't we all. "Have at it, bro."

The man who'd been sitting at perfect attention leaned in slightly, looking more than a little conflicted. He hesitantly tore off part of one donut—well, not everyone could handle so much epic at once. The man in the jacket, on the other hand, grabbed one and took a huge bite with a moan of approval.

The boss looked like he wanted to change the subject, and did. "So we're just missing Gregory?"

"I'm here," a sharp voice snapped from the side of the room.

Jace had slipped in the door while everyone was preoccupied with the huge guy and his donuts; he was still mentally calculating just how much time a giant maple bacon donut would knock off the average person's lifespan. He crossed his arms and scowled slightly in response to the curious looks from the others, dark eyes just daring anyone to say anything. He really didn't want to be here—he'd tried to oversleep but failed at it, because of course he had.

I can't even be a delinquent when I'm trying, what the hell am I doing on an Explorer Team?

"Dude, stop glarin' and come have a donut," Garrett grinned.

"Yeah how 'bout not."

The huge man just shrugged. "Your loss, bro."

At least he wasn't pushing the issue. Jace wasn't sure he really wanted to try a takedown on that guy.

That's everyone.

Keith looked around at the team. His team. It was quite a… well, it was quite something, anyway. But it was what he had. "Well, since we have coffee and what passes as breakfast, let's begin, shall we?" Garrett shot him a look that was all too clearly protesting the insult to his donuts. "I'm Keith Kogane. Commander." Now McClain gave him a stunned look, just for a moment. He wondered what that was about, but no doubt he'd learn soon enough. "How about you all introduce yourselves before the colonel arrives?" Sure, they'd all reported to him, but it would help those who'd come in later.

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks for a moment. This wasn't how a typical assignment started out, but they'd better make the most of it quickly… he glowered at Kleid, a not too subtle suggestion that his second back him up.

He got it and shrugged, crossing his arms on the table. "Flynn Kleid. I'm the mechanic." Keith's eyebrow shot up. "…What?"

Next to him, McClain smirked again. That seemed to be his go-to expression. "Lance McClain, best pilot in the galaxy."

…Oh boy.

Garrett flopped in a chair and took a huge gulp of coffee. "Name's Hunk, resident master blaster here for all your kaboom-ing needs!"

Holgersson gave a short nod. He looked almost as uncomfortable here as Keith felt. "Sven Holgersson. Navigation."

The last arrival slouched in his seat and rolled his eyes. "Jace Cardoso Gregory. My job's to keep you people relatively intact, but if you keep eating giant maple bacon donuts I can't save you."

Well, if there had been any questions about what kind of unit he was dealing with here, Keith was pretty sure they'd all just been answered.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Hawkins made it a point never to be early for initial briefings. Throwing the whole team together in the wild, as it were, to let them gel a little bit at first was his preference. It had only backfired on him once. Or twice. Okay, a few times. But things seemed congenial enough as he reached the briefing room and knocked on the doorway to get their attention.

"Gentlemen."

Kogane straightened and snapped his head up, immediately all business. "Attention on deck!"

Holgersson jumped to perfect attention. The rest of the team… didn't. Gregory managed to stand at some semblance of attention eventually, giving a salute that wasn't wholly convincing. McClain stood, gave a quick salute, and returned to his seat with a smirk. Garrett didn't even stand, he just saluted casually and went back to the donut he was eating. And Kleid stood, leaning back against the table, saluting with one hand and nudging Kogane with the other; he muttered something that looked like there aren't any decks here.

The commander scowled at his second briefly, then turned back to the doorway and gave a perfect, crisp salute. "Colonel Hawkins, Explorer Team 686 reporting as ordered, sir."

Hawkins chuckled. "At ease, boys, if you weren't already."

"Always easy," McClain muttered just loud enough to be heard.

"I'll bet you are," Gregory retorted, taking his seat.

Ah, good, they're already off to a wonderful start.

The others who'd been standing returned to their chairs, except Kleid, who sat on the table. Hawkins turned his attention to Kogane, who looked more than a little bit embarrassed by his team's performance. "It's alright, Commander. If we were sticklers for protocol we wouldn't be Explorer Teams. I trust you've all gotten acquainted?" He looked at the box of donuts and blinked. "…Is that bacon?"

"Course it's bacon!" Garrett looked scandalized. "Why wouldn't it be bacon?" He pushed the box forward.

It was a tempting offer, but first things first. Hawkins chuckled in response, then sobered as he walked to the front of the room and activated the main screen. "Alright, listen up. This mission is simple, but I don't want any of you taking that to mean that it's unimportant." A few chairs squeaked, and he could feel their full attention on him. "As I'm sure you're all aware, the ongoing cold war with the Drules is only one of many threats we're tracking." He brought up a map; not the standard map of the Interior Expanse they were all no doubt familiar with, but a stretch of the Rim with several icons indicating recent attacks. "For some time now we've been dealing with sporadic raids from a distant empire called the Galra. Command sees them as more of a nuisance than a strategic threat, but when they strike they strike fast and hard and our defenses are rarely effective."

Most of the team looked vaguely confused, or perhaps showed a glimmer of recognition. McClain, on the other hand…

"Nuisance?" he yelled, jumping out of his seat, nearly knocking Kleid off his perch on the table. Kogane gave him a sharp look that he ignored, if he even noticed. "Nuisance?! They kill anyone who gets in their way!"

Hawkins just watched him seriously. That answers that. He'd expected it to come up, but… "As I said," he repeated quietly. "This mission is very important, no matter what Command may think."

McClain was still visibly seething, but sat back down as his commander broke in more diplomatically. "We understand, sir. What exactly is it we're doing?"

What Explorer Teams do. "We've been unable to even ascertain a motive for the Galra raids. They won't speak to us, and usually if we do disable one of their ships they self destruct." He pointed to one of the combat icons on the map, one of few not shaded in red. "About a month ago, garrison forces on Skovos managed to take one of their vessels intact. Intel was able to decipher parts of its navigational log and communications."

Now he absolutely had their full attention. Kogane was the only one who spoke. "They found something valuable?"

"Maybe. There are references to something called 'the Search'." Hawkins pointed to two of the red icons. "Two of their prior nav locations were near known raids on our territory. Local troops investigated the precise coordinates and found ransacked ancient ruins." He indicated the three sites in green. "They had three nav points programmed in that they hadn't visited yet, and that's where you come in."

Garrett nearly dropped his donut. "We're gonna play Indiana Jones?"

"Huh?" Holgersson spoke for most of them, if everyone else's expressions were any hint.

"Uh…" The big man looked sheepish. "Never mind."

Hawkins couldn't help a wry smile. "Garrett, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to teach your teammates about ancient cinema."

"Oh, joy," Gregory muttered under his breath.

No sense letting that go any further. Moving right along. "Your mission is to investigate each site and return with a full report. Bring back anything you suspect might be significant."

"Wait, we're looting ruins now?" Gregory scowled. "Didn't have any vultures available?"

McClain's eyes narrowed. "So we're going into Galra territory?"

"Isn't this kind of an odd mission, sir?" Kogane looked more than a bit concerned.

Hawkins looked between them and gave a small smile, addressing Kogane's point first. "There's no such thing as an 'odd' Explorer Team mission, Commander." He turned his focus to the other two. "What you retrieve from the sites is entirely up to your team's discretion. And no, so far as we know you aren't going to Galra territory—honestly their raids are so far-ranging we don't know precisely where that is. To the best of our knowledge, two of the planets you'll be visiting are independent and the other is uninhabited."

That didn't seem to bother McClain, who gave a much darker smile than his usual smirk. "But we're going on their treasure hunt."

"That you are. We need to understand their motives."

"Sir." Kogane was still looking uneasy. "Won't the Galra send another ship, if their last one disappeared?"

"Let 'em," McClain muttered.

His commander shot him a warning look. "Whatever you have against them, it has to wait." That earned him a murderous glare. "We have a mission."

"Gentlemen." They fell silent, and Hawkins looked at the screen again. Kogane's was a good question that Intel had been a bit too cagey about answering. "We have no idea what the Galra command or communications network is like. They may send another ship; we expect if they do it'll return to Skovos first, which hasn't happened. If you do encounter them, observe and report. What they do at the sites could be even more important than the sites alone."

Kogane nodded. McClain didn't look thrilled with the observe and report order; Kleid gave him a wary look before turning to Hawkins. "So this isn't a combat mission."

"No. Recon only. Intel believes hostilities are unlikely, but of course you'll be cleared and equipped in case you need to defend yourselves."

Once again their pilot looked like he might start yelling, but visibly clenched his jaw and remained silent. Holgersson and Gregory both eyed him warily, but said nothing either.

Garrett had been quiet for awhile; now he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Not that I'm complainin' or anything, but what am I gonna do? We supposed to blow these places once we check 'em out?"

It seemed like the question surprised a couple of them. Hawkins shook his head. "No. We don't know how accessible the sites might be. Don't hesitate to blow your way in if necessary; the Galra will strip the sites clean, so preservation isn't a concern. But you don't need to blow them all to hell for the sake of doing so. What you're after is information."

Garrett looked a little disappointed to hear he wasn't going to be blowing things up for the hell of it. Kleid glanced over at him. "You're also the only other engineer. I'll keep you busy."

"…That sounds kinda like a threat."

Smirk. "Might be."

Keith looked around, trying to gauge the team's reactions. McClain scared him a little, he knew that much. As for the rest of it, well… he looked up again as Colonel Hawkins turned the screen off.

"Are there any further questions? Don't hesitate to speak freely."

"Are you kidding us with this?" Gregory muttered.

Maybe not that freely, Specialist…

Hawkins seemed to share that opinion, eyeing the medic coolly. "There are much worse places you could be right now, Gregory."

"…Point."

Next to the medic, Holgersson edged away as if trying to escape the blast radius. He looked like he was thinking about worse places he could be, too.

An awkward silence fell for a few moments, but their bomb tech was having none of it. "Who brings the beer?"

Keith arched an eyebrow, then smirked. "Sounds like you just volunteered, Garrett."

"Oh I totally volunteer, boss."

Suddenly he wasn't the only one, either.

"I've always got beer."

"I'll bring stuff that's way harder than beer."

"I'll bring screwdrivers."

"…Dude, you're not funny."

"I thought it was funny!"

Keith shook his head. At least we're focused on the important things.

Even Hawkins chuckled. "I'll leave that to you gentlemen to sort out. Your assigned ship is an Endeavor-class named Firecrown, berthed in Auxiliary Hangar Four. You'll have a launch slot tomorrow evening."

Quick turnaround. But that might be a good thing. "Thank you, sir. We'll be there."

Hawkins nodded, saluted the team… and grabbed a donut before leaving the room.

Letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Keith looked around at the team. His team, insane as it was. "Well, you heard the colonel, gents. We have less than 48 hours to be packed and ready to go. So unless anyone has anything else to raise…"

Kleid shook his head, exchanging looks with Garrett. "We'll go check out the ship."

"And then we'll respectfully ask her on a date." That got him a glare.

With the Galra no longer being discussed, McClain was all smiles and smirks again. "Yeah, get her in good shape for me!"

Holgersson was still quiet, but a small smile was crossing his face as he watched the others. Gregory didn't look nearly so enthused. But being thrown together on a ship as soon as possible would probably be the best thing for team bonding. Or a total disaster, but still no point expecting the worst.

"Alright, I'll see you all soon. Dismissed."

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

"Well, that went over like a lead balloon," Keith muttered once everyone else had cleared out of the conference room. He dropped into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, it is an Explorer Team, this is probably as good as it is going to get." He sighed and stood, gathering up his things before heading to his office to finish gathering his few personal items there. Once done, he went to his on-base quarters, which weren’t much to begin with, and began to pack. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the room while he was deployed, they’d need it for someone else coming in. He’d get a new room when he got back. He just wasn’t crazy enough to get a room out in town. Too many distractions.

It didn’t take him long to gather up his stuff that was spread around the apartment. The majority of his meager belongings were soon stuffed into a single sea bag and what he wasn’t taking with him was put into boxes.

A knock sounded on the door and he answered it, nodding to the moving crew and waving them in. "Just those ones there. The furniture came with the place, so it stays."

"Yes, sir." They added stickers to the boxes, scanned them and turned the pad to him. "Just need your authorization and we’ll be out of here."

Keith pressed his index finger to the small blinking square on the screen.

The man took it back from him, hit a couple of buttons. "All right, Commander. I’ll send you an electronic copy of this. Hurry up, boys. We still have a couple more to visit tonight," he instructed. The men quickly lifted the boxes onto a small cart and hauled them out of the apartment to be transported over to a storage unit just off base.

Keith watched them go, then flipped on the entertainment system. Music began to float around him. He really had nothing more to do tonight except sleep. He ordered some food to be delivered and moved to the balcony to wait for it.

Once his dinner arrived, he took it out and sat on the small balcony his tiny room had been lucky enough to get, watching the sun slowly sink into the calm blue water as he ate. "Tomorrow I won’t be seeing this," he whispered. "It will be off to the Rim to dodge space pirates, of all things, with what has to be the craziest and crankiest team I’ve ever seen." He sighed. "I never thought I’d be dropped into the Explorer Teams, I don’t even know how I’ll handle this group. Everything I’ve been trained for as a commander is…" He shook his head and speared some chicken with his fork. "Hell, I can’t even explain how… different this team is compared to what I thought I would someday be commanding." He took a sip of water and laughed at himself. "Look at me… night before deployment, I’m sitting at home, having dinner, drinking water, and talking to myself. Willing to bet I’m the craziest one of this new team."

He finished dinner, cleaned up, then headed to bed, leaving the music playing.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

As it turned out, the Firecrown was not in Auxiliary Hangar Four just yet. It had been repainted to look a little less Alliance-y, which seemed like a decent idea under the circumstances. What hadn't been a decent idea was trying to transfer it to the hangar right after finishing the job. Before the paint had fully set.

In the pouring rain.

So now it was being repainted, again, and they could have it when it was finished. No problem. Hunk had a cargo manifest and a shopping list and was making himself useful in the meantime.

The Alliance would give them plenty of bland bulk foodstuffs from requisitions, of course. But someone would have to make that junk edible, and that required special supplies.

His trek through Merritt's Market was getting him plenty of funny looks, but Hunk didn't care. He was going to get funny looks no matter what he did—he'd learned that early on. And if people were going to stare at you no matter what, you might as well take two carts at once and make vroom-vroom noises on your way down the aisles.

It had taken him too long to come to that conclusion. There was a time it had bothered him. The looks, the nervousness, the assumption that anyone that big had to be all brawn and no brain. But what the hell? If he was going to have the reputation no matter what he did, might as well have fun with it.

Big Dumb Hunk was a goof who was handy with bombs and grills, and that was that.

The staff here knew him and his antics well, and the stocker he ran into in the spice aisle didn't even blink. "Hey, Hunk, what's on the menu today?"

He turned and gave the voice a thumbs-up. "Yo, Nate the Great! Stockin' up for six today, would you believe I'm deploying?"

The young man made a face. "Are you really? Who's gonna buy all the murder pepper sauce while you're gone? Swear you're the only person brave enough to touch it."

Hunk eyed the dozen bottles in one of his carts and shrugged. "I'll get the whole crew hooked on it by the time we're home, promise."

"I believe you." Grin. "Be careful out there, big guy."

Be careful out there.

As he moved on to the beer aisle he couldn't help the words echoing in his mind. Being careful wasn't really in his skillset—well, not unless he had bombs on hand. But ginormous explosions weren't really about caution or subtlety.

If he didn't worry about high explosives, why would he worry about a scavenger hunt?

But then… his last posting had been with a proper engineering corps on Ganymede, where the only real concerns were bad bosses and bad food. Which to be fair had both gotten him in trouble, but it wasn't quite the same as heading out to the middle of who knew where to steal loot from under a bunch of glorified space pirates' noses. Things could go really, really wrong.

Yeah, and you could've crashed and died a hundred times on the crush car circuit… every weekend.

Harsh, but fair.

No. He wasn't worried. If anything he was excited. How many people, even in the Alliance military, got to go on an adventure quite this crazy?

Maybe he was too dense to even realize it was dangerous. Being Big Dumb Hunk did have its perks.

Yeah, let's go with that.

"Vroom vroom!"

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Regardless of what one might expect of such a critical division, Medical was a hot mess. Jace had put in his records request with all reasonable speed, but he would be shocked if he actually had the team's files before takeoff. Fine. Whatever. If he had to drill them all for a proper history himself, he would. And when they didn't much care for that—nobody ever did—it wouldn't be his fault.

Kind of seeing a pattern here.

Nothing more he could do about it, so he'd fully intended to go find some female companionship in the meantime. It was only fair, considering he was about to spend who the hell knew how long on a ship full of crazy dudes.

That wasn't a clinical diagnosis. Oh well.

It had been the plan, and it had been a perfectly good one. But on his way to the red light district some other red lights got his attention. Well, more the sirens got his attention. He couldn't help but follow them; it was a well developed reflex at this point.

The sirens led him to an intersection with a cluster of emergency vehicles and a large crowd. Because why wouldn't there be a crowd, really. Jace stepped up to the edges and stumbled over something on the sidewalk; looking down he saw what could only be a piece of shattered headlight.

Well. So much for female companionship.

"Hey! Clear out, medic coming through!" he snapped, pushing through the crowd. "Don't make me move you people, don't think I won't!"

It didn't work very well, and in fairness the crowd was thick enough that nobody had much of anywhere to move. That was all that really stopped him from punching his way through. But he'd trained to find his way through battlefields, a bunch of stupid gawkers was nothing. He made it to the front of the crowd without too much trouble, and was confronted with… well, not the kind of carnage he'd expected.

Holy shit.

It wasn't the injuries, it was the bike. What was vaguely recognizable as a motorcycle was strewn around the intersection in three pieces, give or take a few hundred smaller debris fragments. Someone's crotch rocket had had a bad day.

No victim was immediately visible, but if there was still an ambulance, there was still a victim. He moved up to one of the two officers doing crowd control, digging in his pocket for his Alliance ID tags. "Hey, Q4 field medic, can I help?"

The cop checked his tags and nodded, directing him back behind the emergency vehicles. Two EMTs were crouched over a woman in a pool of blood, and a third was doing CPR on someone whose features he couldn't make out.

"Hey! You the medic?" The one doing CPR looked up as he drew closer. "This guy's gonna need a tube, like, real fast. Busted lung. Our Q4's still five minutes out, can you do it?"

Jace grinned slightly, adrenaline sparking. Oh hell yes, he could do it. This was what he lived for. "You got it."

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

The Razorlight Tavern was one of very few bars in Garrison territory that Lance wasn't intimately familiar with. Mostly, he doubted it would be much fun; it had a reputation as a great place to watch the big game, but not so great for taking someone home for a victory celebration afterwards. Not a full service bar, so to speak. But tonight the Wreck was booked solid, the Blitzed Bomber had a line out the door, and the Recess had apparently caught their damn kitchen on fire… again. The Razorlight was all that was left in the western district, so the Razorlight it was.

The place was rowdy and crowded, just how he liked it. There wasn't a single seat at the bar, which was… less so. He shrugged and went prowling the tables for either an open spot, or someone he could charm into sharing. Maybe he'd get lucky tonight after all.

A seemingly empty booth in the corner caught his eye. It would do. Bolting before someone else could steal it, he swung around and found it not so empty after all. Its occupant was just unclear on the concept of this whole bar thing, and had his legs stretched across one side with a book in his lap—a damn book, really?—rather than sitting up and getting drunk watching a game like a normal person.

He was hot though… wait…

In the roughly five seconds it took Lance to fully gauge the situation, the booth's occupant noted his presence and looked up. His violet eyes took on a shock that had to mirror Lance's own. "McClain?"

Why yes, that was his new unit's chief engineer sitting in the bar with a book. "Dude, what are you doing? Don't you know how bars work?"

Kleid arched an eyebrow. "Yes, they can't put on the game you came for until it actually starts."

…Okay, fair point, probably. Still. "So you watch a different game!"

"Do you see what's on? Fake sports!" Snort. "I'm about to be running your engine bay, you don't want me murdering my brain cells."

Lance turned and looked up at the monitor, just in time to see some wrestler smack another one across the face with what looked like a palm tree. "Okay," he snickered, "I'll give you that one."

"Best you do. I'm reading up on the ship they gave us for when you flyboys inevitably break it." He gestured to the other side of the booth. "Are you looking for a seat?"

"What makes you think I'd want to be seen with you?" Smirk. "Especially after you insult my godlike flying skills like that. Rude."

Kleid returned the smirk. "You do know I've read your file? Your real one?"

"Then you know I'm right!" Lance dropped into the booth and grabbed the engineer's glass, taking a drink and making a face. He couldn't identify it, but it was way too sweet. "I hope your taste in teams is better than your taste in beer." He shoved it back across the table to its rather bemused owner. "What is that stuff?"

"Something German that I can't pronounce. It was on tap, I'm not picky." He shrugged, then smirked again. "I'm open to suggestions, if you're buying."

Oh he was, was he? Lance grinned wickedly. "Make you a deal, a glass of the good stuff's on me if I can just call you Flynn. I don't buy drinks for people unless I'm on a first name basis."

That got him another raised eyebrow and a laugh. "Normally I wouldn't make you bribe me with beer for that, but since you've offered…"

"Tough negotiator, huh?"

"Oh, of course." Flynn winked. "I'm sure you'll get me back for it someday."

Damn, he was pretty, and even sounded pretty… even if he was reading a book in a bar and drinking awful beer. "You better believe it." He flagged down a waitress and flashed his most winning smile. "What's the darkest microbrew you've got? Actually I don't need a name, just bring us two."

Flynn had the grace not to openly laugh until she was gone. "I see you're very discerning."

"Dude, just you wait. Mass brewed garbage is garbage." Lance leaned back and crossed his arms. "So hi, by the way. You come here often?" Inwardly he groaned; he'd seriously just used that line unironically, and that would be to his eternal shame, but he wanted to know the answer, dammit.

Either Flynn missed his failure or just politely opted to ignore it. "Often enough." He closed the book and took a drink of his inferior beer. "So you must be the one who doesn't."

Heh. "Nope. The Wreck's more my style."

"It would be."

Smirk. "What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"I keep telling you I've read your file, McClain."

"Hey now!" Lance glowered. "What did I say about first name basis?" He set aside the point about his file, because… well, it was a pretty good point. Wait, no it wasn't. "And I have nothing to do with wrecks! Even my file says I'm reckless. They're just jealous that I get the job done faster, better, and more badass."

"Those aren't the exact words they used." He winked again. "But as long as you don't break my ship you're not really my problem. Not like any of us got this assignment by drawing inside the lines, hmm?"

Eyebrow raise. "Whose ship?"

"You heard me, flyboy."

"We'll just see about that, grease monkey."

The waitress cut off the discussion by returning with the beer, shooting Lance a shy smile before departing. He returned it automatically and turned his attention to the glasses, motioning for Flynn to try his first. "Go on. Drink and learn."

"You've staked far too much on this." The engineer laughed softly and took a cautious sip of his drink; his eyes lit up. "…Though you're right, that is good."

"See? Told you. Cheers!" He threw back a swig that might've been just a little bit overcompensating.

...And nearly choked on easily the worst dark beer he'd ever tasted. Well, fuck.

Flynn didn't miss it. "So what do you think?" His tone was about as syrupy sweet as his other beer had been.

Momentarily forgetting that bit about him being a superior officer, Lance flipped him off. "Oh sure, laugh it up. You still have no taste."

"Times like this that works to my advantage."

Okay, so that… was a decent point too. And pretty. Would it be pushing too far to just ask him to say 'advantage' about a hundred more times? Maybe he'd be better off just checking out the menu. "At least you don't deny it. You'll understand if I don't ask you for suggestions on food."

Flynn looked mildly scandalized. "Who comes to a bar worried about the food?"

"Obviously not you!" Smirk. "What game are you here for, anyway?"

The engineer's expression became a little chagrined. "I'm jumping on the Coyotes bandwagon because I suppose someone ought to. Don't know a thing about hockey though, do you?"

"The Coyotes?!" No, his taste in teams was not any better than his taste in beer. "No, nobody ought to jump on their bandwagon. The only people who like the Coyotes are either from Arizona or just going through a phase."

"And what if I am from Arizona?" Flynn retorted, sipping his beer and frowning over the glass. "Don't tell me you're a Jets fan."

"Why the hell wouldn't you think I'm a Jets fan? They're Jets! You've read my file!"

"…Granted."

Right then the waitress turned up again. "How's the beer, gentlemen?"

"Gentlemen?" Lance looked around in mock confusion. "Where? I don't see any gentlemen around—"

"—What he means is the beer was so wonderful he just couldn't stand it," Flynn interrupted in that mockingly sweet tone.

What an asshole. I like that!

She giggled. "Okay, guys. Can I get you anything else?"

Lance considered that for a moment. "You have Val's Amber here?"

The waitress consulted her datapad. "Sure do."

"Excellent!" He gave her a sly wink. "I'll take a mug of that, an ultra burger with no mayo, some fries, and your phone number?"

Flynn visibly choked on his beer to keep from laughing as the waitress went bright red. "I, ah…" She turned to the engineer to cover it. "And would you like anything else?"

"Something heavy to throw at him?" he suggested innocently. "But I'm good otherwise, thanks."

"Okay, I'll get yours right in then." She offered Lance another shy smile before retreating. Oh, he totally had this.

His companion seemed less convinced. "Are you actually expecting that to work?"

"You just watch it work." He grinned wickedly. "Why, you want a threesome?"

Flynn threw a fork at him, which was unfortunate. "So basically your taste in women is just as discerning as in beer and hockey teams. Noted."

"Hey now! I know you're not insulting the lovely… um…" He turned and looked around, but she was out of his view now. "What's her name?"

The only answer was Flynn dissolving into hysterical laughter. Lance threw his fork back at him.

Jerk. Awesome jerk.

As Flynn recovered his gaze lifted to somewhere over Lance's shoulder. "What in…?"

Lance turned and looked at the screen behind him. It looked like the Coyotes/Jets game was supposed to be starting, but instead there was a picture of a darkened ice rink that was clearly full of water. Something about a massive power failure was scrolling across the screen. "See, this is why you don't have hockey in Arizona."

"Maybe a Jets fan blew up the generator."

"I'd call that a public service!" He reflexively took another drink of the failure beer, then coughed and sputtered. It somehow tasted even worse the second time. "Dude. If there's not gonna be hockey I guess we're keeping ourselves entertained. What do you make of the boss? I was expecting some real Top Gun shit from the legendary Keith Kogane, but he mostly seems pretty uptight."

Flynn blinked, then a slow smile spread over his face. "You do like to live dangerously," he chuckled. "You want me to gossip with you about our commanding officer?"

Oh. Yeah that would probably be bad form. Lance shrugged. "It was worth a shot? You're way too cool to put me in for whatever reg that violates."

He was pretty sure the engineer's cheeks flushed a little at that, and it was fucking adorable.

"Well I can promise you Kogane wouldn't have let that slide, anyway." He leaned back, crossing his arms and frowning slightly. "He's either going to figure out we're an Explorer Team, or he's going to be as much of a pain in my ass as I am in his."

Oh, they'd see about that, too. "I promise you I'll be more of a pain in his ass than you will."

"I'm not at all fool enough to take that bet."

Lance chuckled as his food arrived—and with it, finally, some real beer. He winked at the waitress, who blushed as she departed, and gulped down about a quarter of the glass at once. "Oh, that's so much better."

Flynn rolled his eyes and took his glass of the failure beer; that was fine, he could have it. "I should bring some of this on the ship just to annoy you."

"Annoy me? Not hardly. Just means one less person drinking up the good stuff." He turned his attention to the burger, and that was when he caught sight of the extra napkin the waitress had brought. With a phone number scrawled on it. "Oh hey! How about this?"

The engineer stared. "You… she really… unbelievable."

"And you doubted me. Rude."

"I'm so glad you're going to be Kogane's problem and not mine."

Lance smirked and started on his burger. I'll bet you are. Oh yes. One way or another, this was going to be fun.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

"Sven! Oh sweetheart, I’m so happy you called!"

Sitting in his room after the briefing, Sven smiled nervously at the image of his mom, putting a pillow behind him as he got more comfortable on his simple bed. "Mom, you asked me to."

"Oh, I know, but I didn’t know if your commanding officer would allow you to do so, considering your… new mission." She looked like she wanted to say something more about that, then seemed to think better of it. "Is it exciting?"

"It’s not anything I can talk about, but it’ll get me out and about. A change of scenery isn’t a bad thing." He sounded the slightest bit defensive. He knew well that his parents weren't exactly thrilled by this posting.

"Honestly, Sven, I knew you wouldn’t be able to talk about the mission. I'm just concerned for you."

He smiled, shaking his head with just the barest of motions. "Don’t worry about me, Mom."

"I’m your mother. That’s what I do."

"Well, I’ll probably get along alright with the other crew members. How about that?"

"Anything strike you about them in particular?"

Sven made a face. "They’re certainly… charismatic."

"In a bad way?" she asked a little too quickly.

"No, I don’t think so. One is absolutely the most outgoing of the bunch. He brought in donuts. They were enormous. I have no idea where he even got them."

"Donuts? To a briefing?"

"He didn’t seem like the type to worry about doing things by the book." Sven paused. "Not particular things, anyway. He’s clearly there for a reason."

"Sven, you aren’t making me feel better about this."

"Mom, you don’t have a thing to worry about. I promise. This will be good for me! I’ll get out, see some of the galaxy… who knows? Maybe it’ll be as simple as it seems and I’ll be back before you know it." Despite his carefully placed smile, Sven felt his heart sink. It was a blatant lie; he had no idea how long the mission would actually take, or if he’d return in due time like he promised. Deep down, he felt like his mom would know that, too. There were reasons he'd never left Earth before, and they weren't his choice. The best he could do, he felt, was comfort and hope.

His mom smiled at him, though he could see just the barest concern still in her eyes. "Perhaps you will. I don’t want to keep you for too long, Sven. I assume you leave soon?"

Soon? Yes. He paused a moment. "…We’ll be gone before you wake up tomorrow morning." A little ripple of shock ran through him when he told the second lie. Why had he done that? Maybe to stave off a drawn-out, last minute phone call… or maybe to assert his independence and pull away from their influence.

If his mom knew he lied, she didn’t show it. "Then I won’t keep you. You have long night ahead and a longer day tomorrow." Then she smiled sadly, her eyes welling with tears, and Sven, though he didn't think it merited such worry, found himself smiling back. "Please just be safe, and we’ll see you when you come back, okay?"

"You bet. I love you, Mom."

Her tears ran down her cheeks. She laughed, embarrassed, and tried to blink them away. "I love you too, son. Good night."

Without a word, Sven closed the transmission. It was done. He’d finally severed a tie with his family that he’d never done before. He was free to get out on his own, make his own decisions, and not worry about what kind of image it would cast in the political circles. He was finally free to be his own man.

He knew it wasn’t that easy, but in the moment, knowing he wouldn’t be back home anytime soon, it felt that easy. Taking advantage of the time, he pulled the blanket over his head and settled in for sleep.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Morning found Keith freshly showered and downstairs turning in the key to his apartment.

"We will miss you around here, Commander. You’re one of the few who would do what was needed in here," the officer at the front office stated.

"Well, I’ll be back eventually," he answered with a small smile. I hope…

"So, where are you off to?" the officer asked as he finished up the last couple pieces of paperwork that Keith would have to sign.

"The Rim. Well, sort of."

The officer stopped and looked up at him. "The Rim? Are you kidding me? What do they have you doing? Chasing renegade space pirates?"

Keith chuckled softly. "Something like that."

"What a waste of a good officer," the officer muttered as he finished. He stood up and walked to the counter, setting the datapad down. "Everything is in order, just need a fingerprint and you’ll be on your way outta here." Keith looked it over briefly and pressed his finger to the blinking box. "Well, good luck, Commander. You’re gonna need it out there," the officer said as he picked the pad back up.

"Thanks. Appreciate it." The man nodded and then disappeared back into the office as Keith hoisted his sea bag onto his shoulder. Stepping outside, he almost ran into a man waiting by the door. "Excuse me. Sorry about that, Sergeant."

"It’s all right, sir." The sergeant paused. "Commander Kogane?"

Keith nodded. "That’s right. You are?"

"Sergeant Brown. I’m here to offer you a ride to the ship, sir."

"Oh. Well, better than walking. Thank you, Sergeant. Lead the way."

Brown grinned. At least the commander was a far cry from being the pain in the ass that the rest of his team had been. "This way, sir."

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

It was impossible not to be awed by the Castle of Lions…

Orla Kirlana Altair, Queen of the Seven Isles, was no stranger to noble splendor. Her kingdom was one of the most prosperous on Arus, and her branch of the nobility was closest to the throne. But there was noble splendor and then there was this. The huge castle's polished stone walls gleamed in the sunlight, banners of every color whipping in the breeze. The lion statues flanking the main doors looked like they could spring to life any second; the doors themselves were carved with intricate scenes of the Golden Gods and their great deeds. Several other such murals were engraved on the outer walls, making the castle as much a work of art as a center of government.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?"

"Hmph."

"I thought you might say something like that."

At her side and lagging just far enough behind to be insolent, her daughter just glowered. "Yeah, remarkable. Remarkable that you're just going to dump me here to—"

"—Larmina, please." They'd been over this at least a dozen times. "I'm trying to do what's best for you. It's only a few months." She reached out and ruffled her daughter's fiery hair, which dampened her scowl a bit. "And I'll hardly be out of touch."

"This whole thing is out of touch," Larmina grumbled halfheartedly. She would've had more to say—she always did—but at that moment the doors swung open, their deafening creak silencing her.

"Aunt Orla!"

In a flurry of pink and blue fabric, a young woman rushed from the castle and wrapped her up in a hug. Which surely wasn't royal decorum, but Orla laughed and happily returned the hug. It had been a long time since she'd seen her 'niece'—really her distant cousin, but tradition was tradition.

"Allura, it's so good to see you again." She stepped back and smiled, gently nudging Larmina forward. "Allow me to present Lady Larmina, my daughter."

There was still a bit of a scowl on Larmina's face as she curtsied, getting more of her traveling cloak than her dress in the gesture. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

Silently thanking the Golden Gods that the High King hadn't come to greet them himself, Orla bit back a chuckle as her niece returned the curtsy. "It's an honor. I am Allura Hanna Raimon, Crown Princess of Arus."

Not even Larmina could quite keep a glare up at that; her jaw dropped. "You are? Oh."

Now that chuckle Orla had been biting back escaped. "Allura, I can't tell you how grateful I am to you and your father for this." It wasn't an empty platitude. She knew others among the court were talking… she was used to it, and Larmina more so. But for the High King to implicitly give his blessing to the 'shame of Altair'? It took a special kind of ruler to do that, as she was very well aware.

Others among the nobility were not so accommodating.

"Of course." The young princess smiled, offering a hand to Larmina. Clearly Alfor's daughter was learning from the king himself, not those around him. "It'll be nice to have someone closer to my age around the castle for awhile. Come with me, I'll show you to your room."

…This is it, then. Orla knew this was necessary. Larmina needed to be here right now. It didn't really make it easier, and she didn't blame her daughter for being upset. But hopefully it would all be worth it… no, surely it would. With a sigh, she leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "It's alright. You'll be back home before you know it."

"Yeah. Whatever." Larmina brushed her off and tried for another scowl, though it wasn't very convincing. Then she turned to Allura, ignoring her hand. "Lead on, Auntie."

Orla blanched, but Allura just giggled. She could only hope that was a good sign…

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Nanny fumed as she watched from the window how the Crown Princess greeted Queen Orla. "It is a disgrace how she acts, your Majesty. I tell her constantly not to act so familiar with others," she huffed.

"You know how much she loves her Aunt Orla. There should be no shame in giving a hug. Anyways, you know that after she gets her hug out of the way, she becomes the proper princess you so strive for her to be." Alfor chuckled as he looked over some papers.

"Perhaps so, but it may make things much harder for me! I now must deal with Lady Larmina as well as her Highness. I fear this Larmina will be a bad influence on her and put a wild streak in my sweet baby." she muttered as she wrung her fists in her skirt.

"Nonsense… while Allura can be very headstrong, I hardly feel a lady like Larmina can create such chaos within my daughter. If anything, Allura should be a good influence on her. Allura can be very empathetic, and she may be able to help Larmina see that being part of the nobility can have some benefits, despite her circumstances."

"Humph… She’s still too wild." Alfor looked up sternly at the governess. With a sigh, she straightened herself. "But as you wish, I will give my all in making her a proper Lady, suitable for her debut ball and the High Royal Court…. no matter how hard it will be." She muttered the last part under her breath, hoping her king didn’t hear.

Still giving the governess a look of great concern, he nodded. "I expect nothing less. Now… I'll let you go prepare for your task." With that, he went back to his papers.

Sighing again with a low curtsy, she left the room as swiftly as her legs could take her without looking as if she was running. Preparing the ball would be the easy part. Preparing the Lady for her debut, well…

Golden Gods help us.