(Genesis) Chapter 3

Pride: Genesis

Chapter 3

Looking Forward

So far, Hunk was thoroughly enjoying himself.

He was on the tail end of his first shift, and nothing too exciting had happened—not that he'd expected it to. The ship wasn't fancy but she was solid. With only two engineers aboard they would usually be swapping twelve hour shifts, meaning he would be spending most of his waking hours alone with a bay full of tools and loud music. That was exactly how he liked it.

Truthfully, he'd lost track of time. Who could watch the clock while jamming out, really?

"Gotta break it down, man, you're all out of luck!" He strummed an epic power chord on the wrench he was holding as he went in for the finale. "Cuz you're totally wasted and I don't give a—"

"—HUNK!"

He jumped and whirled around, only to find the chief standing mere inches behind him; backing away with a startled yelp he crashed to the floor. "Dude! Don't gotta yell, pit boss!"

Flynn flipped the speakers off and looked down at him with a bemused half-smile. "I tried not yelling. Repeatedly." He held out a hand to help him up. "Keep the noise down and I won't have to nearly kill you to get your attention. You alright?"

"Dude, that's Lemon Zinger Cult. How can you not like Lemon Zinger Cult?" Hunk shot him a mock pout and clambered to his feet, waving off the hand; not out of spite or anything, he'd just yanked more than enough well-meaning crewmates down on top of him in similar situations.

It didn't seem to bother the chief. He was focused somewhere else, in any case. "It's not the band, it's the decibels! Honestly. How can you even hear yourself think?"

Hunk snorted. "What makes you think I'm doin' any of that? Playin' babysitter in here doesn't take a whole ton of thinking, yeah?" Grin. "I kinda try to avoid it as much as I can, anyway."

Usually that got people off his case quick enough. Nobody was inclined to question it. Of course Big Dumb Hunk liked to avoid thinking; after all, it couldn't be a strength.

Flynn narrowed his eyes slightly, and it was immediately apparent he wasn't buying it. "Not while you're working with the explosives, I hope."

"Heh." Okay, so there was the one complication. "I'm a man of few but epic talents, pit boss."

"No doubt…" That searching look didn't waver, and Hunk didn't like it one bit. "You know I've read your file, right?"

Well hell. People actually read those? Hunk paused, matching his serious look for a moment. "Everyone needs a hobby, Chief."

Make whatever you want of that.

For what felt like it was probably another twelve hours, they just stared at each other. What's his deal? Of course he was probably thinking the same thing. As long as he didn't expect an answer.

It was the chief who backed down. "…Okay, anything going on in here that I should know about? You didn't rattle any components out of place with your lemon cult?"

Whew. "Lemon Zinger Cult." Yeah let's keep our priorities straight here. "Uh, the number five maneuvering thruster threw a fuel line error about three hours out. I checked it, nothin' wrong with the line, think it's gotta be a system glitch. Not my gig."

Nod. "I'll have a look, you're clear. See you next change."

"Seeya in twelve, pit boss." Hunk shot him a thumbs-up and headed out, still feeling a little uncomfortable. Life was so much simpler when people just believed the Big Dumb Hunk narrative and didn't give him funny looks about it.

Eh, not like we're gonna see much of each other anyway, I hope. So he'd been thrown a little, no big. He could deal. Dealing was his specialty.

Nothing plenty of Lemon Zinger Cult couldn't fix.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Flynn watched the other engineer leave, a thoughtful frown creeping over his face. He seemed benign enough…

It was hard not to be on edge around him to begin with. Flynn himself was used to being the biggest person in any given room—it ranged from mildly amusing to mildly irritating, but either way he was accustomed to it. Hunk had several inches and about a hundred pounds on him, and that was simply outside his normal context. It was only natural to be a little unnerved.

Then, somewhat more to the point, there was the fact that he'd broken his commander's jaw on his last assignment…

Of course the circumstances that had led to that weren't going to be repeated here, but getting on the big guy's good side early had seemed like a wise play just in case. And now here they were, and all he seemed to have were good sides. Unexpected. But Flynn couldn't bring himself to be as reassured by that as he could've been.

Something about Hunk was not right. He couldn't have played up the 'idiot who's handy with bombs' angle harder if he'd bashed it in with a sledgehammer. And yet…

An idiot who happens to be handy with bombs doesn't have a file full of perfect Academy assessments.

An idiot who happens to be handy with bombs definitely doesn't get posted to an Explorer Team.

He didn't like it. Not one bit. But there wasn't much he could do about it, either. As long as Hunk stayed friendly and did his job, Flynn could deal with being unsettled. They shouldn't be spending much time together anyways… and he was just fine with that.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Sven came off his first shift completely spent; guiding the ship was rewarding, no doubt, but it was also exhausting. His piloting cross training was enough for a bridge shift with such a small team, but it wasn't exactly his greatest skill. He'd been thrilled to begin eight hours ago, and now he was thrilled to be finished.

Now he just needed something to eat. He'd earned it, after all. Heading for the galley and opening a cupboard, he found…

Hmm? What's this?

Three neat stacks of sandwiches greeted him. They were carefully wrapped and labeled, with a note at the top of the center stack, though the labels were what drew most of Sven's attention.

…Are those nutritional facts?

Frowning, he took the note, which was scribbled in bold but barely-legible cursive.

Chicken. Ham. PBJ. Eat up, I do NOT want to be treating anyone for malnutrition. No excuses.

-JCG

Sven stared at the note as if he expected its contents to change, then shook his head. It could only be their grouchy medic. Jace, wasn't it? How… thoughtful, if weirdly aggressive. He wasn't entirely sure he trusted them, but why not? He was hungry, the food was here, and who was he not to follow the doctor's orders? He grabbed one of the chicken sandwiches and headed out, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite as he walked.

Huh. These are pretty good.

There was a table in the galley, but he opted for the rec room instead. At least there he'd be able to relax a bit and eat in peace, assuming the sandwich lasted that long. As he walked in he took another huge bite, about half a second before realizing the room wasn't empty. Someone was slouched on one of the couches, tapping away at his datapad.

Sven blinked, looking at the sandwich in his hands, then back at Jace—he was pretty certain it was Jace, anyway. The medic had glanced up as he entered, so he raised the sandwich and made a noise of appreciation.

This is a way for people to show appreciation, as long as it isn't a political function, right? Of course it is!

"…What are you doing, you barbarian."

Or not. He lowered the sandwich frowning slightly. What? Is he a vegetarian? That doesn't make sense if… he swallowed. "Dr. Gregory, right? Didn't you make these?"

Snort. "That's Dr. Jace to you, dude who's inhaling a sandwich while walking around." He made a gesture that was somewhere between a salute and a wave, then motioned to one of the chairs. "I made 'em and I'd like you not to choke on them. Sit."

It seemed to Sven he'd been told to sit an awful lot already this mission. But it was what he'd come in here for, so he sat. "It's delicious. The little nutritional facts threw me off for a moment. It made them look like something you’d get out of a vending machine."

Jace stared at him, scandalized. "Vending machine? You are some kind of barbarian, aren't you? Do you know what's in those things, Holgersson?" Then he hesitated, confident demeanor lapsing briefly. "Uh, you are Holgersson right?"

Blink. "Yes, that's me. Are you referring to your sandwiches or the ones in vending machines?"

"The ones in vending machines, dumbass. You know what's in mine, assuming you read the labels." He rolled his eyes and sat up a little straighter. "Just try to eat like a civilized person, would you? The less you people keep me busy with my real job, the more time I'll have to make sandwiches."

Sven frowned. "I am capable of walking and chewing at the same time."

"Okay, fine." The medic shrugged. "But if I ever have to give you mouth to mouth you'll lose some teeth, fair enough?"

Geez. "So, your bedside manner is a primary reason for you being assigned here?" Immediately after he said it he flinched; he hadn't meant it quite like that. Not everyone is as happy to be here as you are…

To his surprise Jace seemed to take that in stride, just rolling his eyes again. "Never heard that before. My job is saving asses, not kissing them."

Boy, is that close to home. "One is far preferable to the other, that I can assure you."

"That sounds like the voice of experience. Don't forget protection."

Sven eyed him over the sandwich. "My parents are in some serious political circles. There's all sorts of butt kissing I've been exposed to." He took another bite. "Both with and without protection."

That got him a sympathetic grimace. "Oh, dude. Political types are bad enough without having to live with 'em. My condolences."

On one hand, sympathy from this guy seemed like a rare occasion. On the other, Sven was pretty sure he'd just insulted his parents, and his tone became a bit defensive. "My parents are fine. It's their… friends… I don't like."

"Eh, either way." The grimace turned into a searching look. "But dude, if you've got connections what the hell are you doing here in the dumping grounds?"

Midway through his next bite, Sven paused and mumbled, "Those connections have connections."

Jace arched an eyebrow.

"…I upset a friend of the family with brutal honesty."

A small smirk crossed over the medic's face, and his dark eyes sparked with something that might actually have been new respect. "Gotta admit, I did not see that coming."

"It's his own fault." Sven scowled, briefly forgetting the sandwich as the annoyance flooded back. "He wants to make nice in Norwegian politics, but he's got a small problem that won't go ignored by the press. I tried to tell him as delicately as possible, but he insisted I was out to ruin his reputation."

Now Jace looked fully interested. "Dude, what're you skating around it for now? You're already in the dumpster, what'd you tell him?"

Well, why not? It was a fair point. "His name—his last name—is also a very vulgar term for genitalia in some Norwegian dialects." Jace burst into hysterical laughter; he kept going. "All I said was he may want to consider an alias. He said I was trying to make him look bad…" Shrug. "Apparently he was a lot angrier about it than I thought."

With what looked like some effort, the medic fought down the laughter. "Sounds like he's gonna get what he deserves then." He grinned. "Also sounds like it couldn't happen to a nicer prick."

"Well, what's going to happen is he's going to go to Norway and receive all the press he ever wanted…" Sven snickered. "…from none of the circles he was aiming for."

Jace snickered too, then rolled his eyes again. "At least your jackass'll get his."

Hmm. "The opportune moment is still evading yours?"

Scowl. "Short of a hot war breaking out with the Drules, and even I'm not pissed enough to want that, ain't gonna happen."

For nowhere close to the first time, Sven felt terribly out of his element. None of his shipmates were likely to be here just because some politician told them so. "You don't share the same… intensity as our pilot, then?"

"Intensity?" Jace leaned back. "I've got intensity. Wait'll someone tries to spring themselves from the sick bay this ship doesn't fucking have."

Sven blinked. Had that really merited that kind of cursing? But he chose not to focus on it, turning the discussion elsewhere. "Or doesn't eat the sandwiches you've so carefully crafted?"

"Or eats them like a barbarian."

"I'm hungry!" He took another bite. "I'm sure eating a sandwich in a disagreeable way isn't grounds to pay the doctor a visit."

"Hey, you're the one that came in here." Jace studied him carefully. "But you're not so bad, I guess. At least you're eating something with nutritional value and not a giant maple bacon donut."

The thought of defending the maple bacon donuts came and went; even apart from his being the medic, Jace didn't seem like the kind of person he wanted to be on the wrong side of. "Not so bad? Just because I'm eating your sandwich?"

"What, do you want me to think you're bad?" He shook his head. "Nah, man. Anyone who tells a politician they're a literal dick is good in my book."

"I didn't…" Do you want him to think you're bad? "…know what, never mind. It's not my fault he couldn’t see past his own arrogance."

"Well, being here through no fault of our own is a theme." Jace snorted. "Though I'm pretty willing to bet the crazy pilot and giant donut dude earned their slots fair and square."

Sven wouldn't have bet against that. "Possibly." He paused, trying to be casual, though he wasn't sure there was really a good way to ask… "So what're you in for?"

Could've said that better, dummy, it's probably not double murder.

The medic paused and looked away, and for a moment Sven didn't think he was going to answer. "…Someone else died and I got buried." He shook his head, the bitterness harsh in his tone. "Fuck politics, man. I dragged a guy in off the front lines, my boss found out it was an officer and decided he could handle it better than I could. Spoiler alert: he couldn't."

He couldn't… oh. Sven looked away too. Definitely not just some politician being annoyed at him. What can you say to that?

It seemed Jace had no patience for uncomfortable silence, because he broke it quickly. "He got buried harder, anyway. I figured they'd kick me out to the Rim, babysit some civvies. Think this is a step up or down?"

Whether that was a real question or not, he couldn't say. May as well answer. "I guess that depends where your ambitions are." He paused. "I became a navigator because I wanted to get away. Some people consider this a step down… but I don't." That hadn't been the question, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Jace didn't seem too hard to read, but he also seemed to have his reasons, and he had no idea how thin the ice he was on really was. "For you I guess…" He kept his tone delicate. "It's probably better than a few alternatives?"

The medic gave him a piercing look. "No lie, man, all I thought I wanted was to get the hell off Prox. And keep people alive, that's the job description. I guess when you look at it that way this isn't so bad." He raised an eyebrow. "So you're happy to be here, huh?"

Prox, really? Sven filed that away for later. Proxima Centauri had been Earth's first extrasolar colony, and he'd always heard it was an easygoing, freewheeling place. This guy was not even a little. "Anywhere but home. As you said… politics suck. I don't care that it got me here." Sigh. "I care that it embarrassed my parents. But it got me away and that’s been the goal from the beginning." He looked away, grimacing. He dearly loved his family, he did. He just hated their hobbies.

Jace didn't hide the bitterness. "Lucky you."

He said he just wanted to get off Prox, but… "You'd rather be anywhere but here." It wasn't a question.

"I wasn't the one who fucked up."

He could understand that sentiment, anyway. "No, you weren't." He set the sandwich down and considered his words carefully. He still felt so out of place, and the temptation to lapse into political-friendly mode was strong. "I'm sorry." As soon as he said it he winced. Probably not the right thing to say here.

For a moment Jace eyed him doubtfully, then a sardonic smirk began to creep over his face. "Eat your sandwich, asshole. It's nice to feel appreciated."

Sven scoffed, but he was biting down a laugh. "It’s always nice to feel appreciated."

"It has its benefits." The medic shrugged, then glanced down as his forgotten datapad beeped. "…Oh, good! Boss wants to see us."

"We'd better get to it." Sven pulled out his own datapad and found a similar message awaiting his attention. "Pretty sure he wants to run a tight ship."

"Oh, something's tight there, alright." He snorted and jumped up, tucking the datapad away in a pocket. "Let's get going, barbarian."

Oh, come on. Sven glowered slightly as he finished his sandwich and stood. "Stop calling me that."

Jace paused, meeting his gaze. "…Sure, whatever you say, Viking."

…Someone else was going with that too? At least it was better than barbarian. With a sigh, he shrugged it off and followed.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Keith sat in the conference room, sipping his coffee as he waited for the others to arrive. Flynn and Hunk had done a great job with the conversion. The only sign that this room had once been the crew quarters was a few plated-over holes where the bunks had been bolted down. It didn't appear they'd made any real effort to cover the mysterious red splotches… but one of them had spray painted "RIP Bob" on the wall.

He was pretty sure he could guess which of them that had been.

The door slid open with a hiss, admitting their medic, who gave a sarcastic sort of wave-salute and dropped into the far chair. "Somebody call for a doctor?" Sven trailed in just behind, standing at attention and giving a perfect, proper salute before sitting next to him.

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Holgersson, we're on our mission now, you don't have to salute every time."

He blushed. "…Yes sir."

Nodding, Keith looked back to Jace. "Doc, I do have a question for you."

"You better pray it's not contagious."

Smirk. "No. Actually I'd been meaning to ask whether you prefer to be called Cardoso or Gregory."

Jace blinked, a little startled; he could count the number of people who'd ever bothered with that question on one hand. But he waved it off. "Don't care what you call me, as long as I know it's me." Then, under his breath, "Most people don't stick to either of them very long anyway."

Right then the door opened again, admitting his very favorite person on this ship. Hunk waved to them all and flopped into a chair which somehow managed to handle the impact. "Yo people! Pit boss'll be here in a few, he's fixin' a couple things. Said to go ahead and start without 'im if we need."

Keith eyed their explosives expert curiously. He seemed so easygoing… "Thank you for the message, Mr. Garrett." He'd barely finished speaking when Lance strode in, sipping a beer. "…A beer? Already?"

"I always celebrate a successful launch, boss."

Hunk cocked his head. "Dude, we launched yesterday!"

Wink. "And I've been celebrating!"

A slow grin spread over the big man's face. "I like your style, bro."

Jace and Sven didn't look nearly as impressed. Well, actually Sven looked a bit shocked, but Jace didn't look impressed. "Don't drink and fly, dumbass."

Lance smirked. "Jealous?"

With a dramatic sigh, Jace buried his face in his hands. Personally Keith agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment, but they had to move on. "Well, let's get started, then. Since Kleid isn't here yet—"

—As if on cue the door burst open one more time, admitting a sprinting Flynn, who nearly tripped over the threshold before catching himself on a chair. He dropped into it and straightened, catching his breath and attempting to look at least moderately respectable; it would've worked better if his face and coveralls weren't still streaked with engine grease.

Keith grinned and nodded to him as a couple of the others snickered. "Okay, in that case. You all know the mission basics. The three planets we're going to be investigating are Terina, Kithran, and Sorthal. It should be a simple enough run; intel says there isn't any pirate activity in this area." He couldn't help a small smirk. "Except us."

"Well that's good," Flynn muttered, "considering we have all of six missiles onboard… total."

Hunk crossed his arms. "I can make more missiles if we need 'em."

Immediately he had everyone's attention. "You can… what? Really?"

Shrug. "I mean, I'd need some supplies, but yeah."

"Oh. So no."

Something told Keith that Hunk could improvise with just about anything. His enigmatic grin in response to Flynn's doubt only reinforced that thought. "We'll keep that under advisement, Mr. Garrett. Hopefully it won't be necessary."

"With our current route we shouldn't run into anyone." Sven frowned. "Except possibly the Galra once we're in range of the planet, but that doesn't seem likely."

"Bring on the Galra," Lance growled under his breath.

Keith decided it was better to let that go this time. "Kleid, what's our engineering status?"

"So far, so good. Shook a few things loose when we launched, but that's pretty normal with these engines." He rolled his eyes. For someone who loved the engines so much, he surely seemed not to like them.

"If nothing shook loose I didn't do my job," Lance said lightly; Flynn elbowed him.

"And our fuel status? Will we need to refuel before we reach Terina?"

"Fuel is fine. We can technically make Kithran without refueling, but it's uninhabited so that doesn't do us much good."

"Good to know." Keith sipped his coffee. Extra fuel was never a bad thing. The more flexibility they had, the better he liked it.

"We are pulling twelve hour shifts in the bay, though." Flynn eyed Jace across the table. "Might have to recruit the doctor to babysit some monitors."

"…Excuse me?"

Keith coughed, desperately struggling to fight back a laugh. Flynn just gave the medic a devious little smirk and leaned back in his chair. "So that's a no?"

"I'm busy." That got him more than one doubtful look. "Cooking."

Hunk brightened. "If you take a bay shift, I can cook more!"

"Fuck no. Stay in your lane, giant donut dude. At least until one of you ends up with a sucking chest wound that takes up all my time."

Lance snorted. "I want giant donut dude to cook."

"Oh, no." Sven sighed and edged his chair slightly away from the seething medic next to him.

Keith agreed with that sentiment, too. "Okay, that's enough. Don't make me start assigning shifts in the galley. Whoever wants to cook can do it, and thank you." He turned to Sven, who looked intensely grateful. "Holgersson, nav status?"

"We're right on schedule, sir. Our next waypoint shouldn't be for another few days."

"Excellent. McClain, how is the ship handling?"

"Beautifully." Lance took another drink of his beer. "Not that she needs much babysitting at the moment."

"Good." He looked to Jace, who seemed to have settled down a little, and gave him a sympathetic look. "Gregory, I'd ask you for a report if you actually had patients yet, but…"

"Trust me," he grumbled, "I'm losing patience left and right."

That drew another round of snickers; Keith sighed. He'd walked right into that one. "At least we know you have a sense of humor."

"Suppose that's a word for it," Flynn muttered, and Lance almost choked on his beer.

Keith eyed his second and shook his head. Everybody's a critic. "Okay. If nobody has anything else about our shipboard status to discuss, let's move on." He tapped a few commands into the table's embedded projector. A small, mostly green and gray planet flickered to life in front of them. "This is Terina. It's a neutral planet. It is peaceful, but very few humans visit there, so we will stick out. That's why I think we need to keep our contact with the locals to a minimum."

Hunk studied the image of the planet, then gave him a confused look. "Boss, ain't we like… a month away from this place still?"

"Yes, but it's best to be prepared. Our site is here." A blinking red marker appeared on the hologram. "Unfortunately, the Alliance's knowledge of the planet is minimal. There are areas of perpetual cloud cover dense enough to prevent orbital scans, and one of those areas is right on top of our site. Holgersson, you're in charge of procuring a local map when we arrive. Feel free to ask someone else to go with you if you feel it necessary."

Sven nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Maps?" Lance asked, sipping more beer. "We ask for directions? Cool."

Keith stared at him for a moment, rejecting several responses to that. Flynn came to his rescue. "When we get there, we should refuel before we go to the site. Most independent planets like to check out your cargo before they help you get back offworld."

"You act like we're gonna be looting their planet," Jace snorted. "Oh, wait."

Sven side-eyed the medic; Keith grimaced. He wasn't entirely keen on how he'd phrased that, but he wasn't exactly wrong.

"Yeah, 'bout that." Hunk shifted in his seat. "Do we have any idea what this site is all about?"

"To be honest? No. All we know is that we're looking for something that would catch the eye of the Galra. Given what little we know of them, it could be anything." Lance visibly tensed and clenched his jaw; Flynn eyed him warily and edged away. Keith opted to ignore that, too. "I wouldn't eliminate weapons as a possibility."

Hunk seemed unconcerned about the drama playing out across the table. "I am all for findin' ancient alien sources of KABOOMS."

"The bay is rated for anything short of raw nuclear material," Flynn said, "so at least we're set on that count…"

"Good. It has to be something important, if the Garrison is sending us on this wild goose chase. We'll just have to keep our eyes open for anything interesting." Keith gave Hunk a pointed look. "And if we can't get something that seems significant off the planet, don't be afraid to blow it up."

A huge grin spread over his face. "You got it, boss."

"Don't think this guy's ever been afraid to blow anything up," Jace muttered under his breath. It had mostly been directed to Sven, but Hunk heard it and his grin got even wider.

"Nope. Never."

Lance studied Hunk for a moment, considering that information. He had some thoughts trying to form, but it probably wasn't the time… he felt eyes on him and turned to see Flynn watching him closely. Smirking, he raised his beer in salute; the chief held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

"Are we all going to the site?"

Keith shook his head. "I think we will need to leave at least one person on the ship… in case any locals show up while we're investigating. I'm going in, and I think Gregory needs to come in case the site is unstable and someone gets hurt."

"I'm going," Lance said immediately, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Someone might've argued with him anyway, but Jace's usual sour demeanor suddenly gave way to seriousness. "Not to tell you your business, boss, but if you think the site is dangerous you maybe don't want the medic going in first. If shit goes bad in there, I'm willing to bet I'm the one who's best trained to come drag you out."

Hunk and Flynn both eyed him doubtfully; Jace was the smallest person on the team, and it wasn't really close. He waved Flynn off, but acknowledged Hunk's look with a scowl. "You just try not to get hurt, giant donut dude."

"I've actually got some evac training," the big man chuckled, flexing for emphasis. "Someone thought it'd be a good idea. Hard to think why, yeah?"

The medic arched an eyebrow. "Ever had to use it?"

Shrug. "Only when some buddies fell asleep on shift."

"I'm staying."

Keith looked between them, considering the debate. There was really no telling what the site would be like. Planning for the worst case was obviously necessary, but the answers were never so clear cut. "You may be right, Doc. We don't know what we're getting into here… okay. You stay behind, if nobody objects."

A round of nods went around the table. "Sounds like a plan…" Flynn eyed him. "A very early plan."

"Better early than late." He swept his gaze over the team. "I expect everyone to get some rest while we're still in near space. We won't get much once we reach the Rim." Another round of nods. "Now, if that's all… dismissed."

"Yes sir."

"Cheers!"

"Fucking hallelujah."

Keith watched the team disperse and shook his head. He still wasn't sure they inspired confidence. And they didn’t seem like they were fully a team yet. But they were still a long way from Terina… plenty of time for that assessment to change.

Hopefully.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Lance slouched down in the pilot chair with one hand on the controls. He liked feeling the ship through the vibrations. His eyes were on the autopilot, because while they were on a set course they were in hyperspace and shit happened. But he was bored and he checked the time. Kogane should be showing up soon to take over; three bridge crew, one long-ass goose chase. He groaned, feeling a yawn coming on, and tried to fight it but it was losing battle. Boredom coupled with little sleep—he never slept much early on in a new mission. "AHHHHHHHH," the yawn punched out of him.

Keith walked through the door just as Lance yawned. He smirked slightly. "Seems I got here just in time."

Lance startled a bit, looking back over his shoulder. He grinned. "Oh, hey, Bossman."

Keith nodded, coming to a stop beside him. "Anything to report?"

Lance shook his head, his eyes quickly moving over the settings and readouts on the helm before him. "No. We’re still on course, no problems in sight." He chuckled and looked up at him with his most winning smirk. "Unfortunately."

Keith nodded, deciding to ignore the heat behind the smile of the pilot. "I’d say that's fortunate, really. All right, I've got it. Go hit the rack."

Lance sighed. "Yeah, it may be fortunate, but I like challenges and this is… well… dull." He checked the monitors again before he hopped to his feet.

"Well, it’s to be expected. We’re still in friendly territory. Not much to do, really."

Lance nodded, fighting back another yawn. "Nope, but hey, adventure could be waiting!"

Keith gave him a half grin. "Could be, but I hope it’s uneventful. I’d hate to run into…" He paused and looked at Lance, deciding that he really needed to watch how he phrased this next bit to the hot tempered pilot. "Unfriendlies."

Lance arched an eyebrow at him. "Unfriendlies?" He laughed. "You mean the fucking Galra."

Keith sighed. He'd somehow known that wasn’t going to get past him, but he’d hoped. "Yeah. I mean them."

Lance nodded. "Yeah, well… I wouldn’t mind a chance to lay down some hurt."

"McClain… Lance… obviously you have some issues about them, and I won’t ask because I’m not wanting to open an obviously festering wound, but we can’t engage. As much as we all would want to, we just can’t. Not if we can avoid it."

The pilot gave a rather undignified snort. "Something tells me we won’t have to go looking for them." I hope we don’t have to go looking for them…

"Well, we’re not going looking for them. We have our orders. Is this going to be a problem for you?" he asked, giving the other man a searching look.

Lance stared back at him and shook his head. "Nah, no problem, Bossman."

Keith kept his eyes on him, a strange nagging feeling deep in the pit of his gut, but Lance didn’t flinch. "Are you sure? I really don’t want to have to take measures to keep you in line if the worst happens…"

"If the worst happens, it’s them you’ll have to worry about, not me." He grinned. "I’m not gonna go looking for them." Because we won’t have to. They’re gonna show, I know it.

Keith nodded. "You’d best not. The mission… and your team… come first."

Lance smirked. "Of course."

Keith frowned, not trusting that smirk, but he let it slide. "Alright. Bed, Lieutenant." He slid into the seat the other man had vacated and started looking over the controls, still getting familiar with the layout.

"Yes, sir, Bossman," Lance acknowledged, starting for the door.

"Oh. One more thing…"

Lance stopped and turned, looking back. "What?"

Keith turned his head, looking over his shoulder at him. "Don’t bring beer to my briefings again. I don’t mind you drinking off duty, but… not to the briefings."

Lance laughed and nodded. "Fair enough." He fought down another yawn. "I’d… better go follow that order about bed."

Keith nodded. "You do that. See you in twelve."

Lance saluted and winked, then he headed out the door.

Keith sat there, frowning. Why is he always winking? He shook his head, then focused on the helm, sighing. It’s going to be a long trip.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Leaning back in his chair, Alfor gazed out of his personal office window, unconsciously fingering the silver and black pendant around his neck. He had a small task, an appointment to keep—a slightly unusual one, but under the circumstances hardly a problem. As he waited his mind was racing… it did that often of late.

It was a marvelous sunny day, like so many others in the Arusian summer. Though the clouds were light and puffy, his mind drifted to darker thoughts, far from the normality of the moment. He had been doing research, making discoveries… and since the most recent, he felt storm clouds drifting around his daughter. None that could actually be seen, but a spiritual presence that followed her every step.

Though that would be concerning regardless, it would've been less so if it weren't for his last visit with Queen Orla regarding her daughter. He hadn't seen the child personally at the time, but he had somehow sensed her movements. The day had been calm like today, yet even at a great distance he could sense the movement of the air behind her. Like the wind pushing from behind, guiding her steps forward at a hurried pace. He had asked the spirits for guidance about these strange sensations, but he was met with an awkward silence. History, and his painstaking research, told him that this meant something of a grand scale was coming.

This added more to his worry. He couldn’t blame the spirits for their silence… how would telling him what was coming help? If it was something so big, it could mean there was no avoiding it… or it must happen for something greater. Stroking his beard, he hoped for something for the greater good, but his thoughts drifted darker. There was another possibility… that this huge event would affect him in a major way, and one that wasn't so positive.

Taking a deep breath, he resolved to set things in motion, in the event that the storm clouds growing darker behind his daughter were a sign of some struggle she would face. Somehow, he would make sure she would have what she needed for what was to come.

Making his way to the bookshelf, he pondered which book might help in unlocking the mystery of what he'd found. The pendant hanging around his neck was part of it, but what? "Perhaps it is hidden in…" His fingers brushed against the various spines of old books, leather and delicate paper. "Old rhymes? Maybe something as simple as a child’s tale?"

It was a wild thought… but didn’t they use fairy tales to hide the truth about the mighty Lions? How long had they used that trick? Perhaps a fresh look at some old versions of the tales might give insight. As he pulled the oldest book of tales out, he could hear a familiar chuckle.

"Come, come… "

"Are you sure we should be here? I’ve kind of heard enough about Nanny already, won't she explode if she catches us?"

"Here? Nanny doesn’t have that much sway here, compared to other places in the Castle. Anyway…. you have to meet someone who is family, and without all the drama of protocol and such."

"…Oh, no. You’re not."

Soon, Alfor saw his smiling daughter rounding the corner, with a reluctant Larmina in tow beside her. "Hello dad," Allura said casually. "I brought Larmina with me."

Alfor tried to keep the laughter from his voice. "So I see. Greetings, Larmina. I hope things have not been too difficult while settling in?"

Larmina gulped, struggling to find her voice. "It’s… it's a lot to take in," she said softly, half hoping the ground might reach up and swallow her.

Alfor smiled. "Come closer. You don’t need to be nervous right now. I’m sure Allura will let you know when you have to be formal around me. But for now, it's hardly necessary." He studied her carefully; her fiery hair was not common to the Altair line, but her soft turquoise eyes were so familiar. "My… you have grown. I think you were just a few months old when I last saw you. I can see much of your mother in you."

Larmina came closer, still nervous. All her indignation about being here seemed to have fallen away for an instant—this was the High King! And he wasn't looking at her with the scorn she was used to. "Thank you for having me here, but I… don’t understand why you would… I’m nobody." She said the last part very quietly.

"Nonsense. You are here to learn, such is life. You may not think these skills are useful, you may not even want them, but I have reason to believe you may need them more than you think." He placed the book down on his desk. "I also have reason to believe you need to be here… something is here that is meant just for you."

Raising an eyebrow, Larmina couldn't hold back a doubtful chuckle. "Me? I’m sorry, but are you sure it's me you mean?"

Alfor smiled at the restraint Larmina managed to show; he'd heard Orla’s warnings and tales. "I am. But this is something you must find out on your own."

Larmina barely held back an eyeroll. "That sounds… fun? What with the busy schedule this Nanny is apparently whipping up, I'm sure I can fit a mysterious adventure right between lunch and nev…" Larmina fell silent and bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood as she realized who she was still talking to. Looking at Alfor in horror, instead of an angry king, she found him desperately fighting to hold a laugh behind puffed up cheeks. "…nev… er?" she finished weakly.

Alfor's broad smile remained. "Oh, with your history, I’m sure you’ll find your way about the castle grounds in no time. Just keep an open mind here. Yes, it can be stuffy, and the protocol can be difficult… but if you learn well, you might gain much more than you think. Who knows? You may find answers, and perhaps help change things for the greater good."

Larmina gave him a puzzled look. Allura had said he was trying to change things on Arus… mulling over the words, she nodded slowly. "So… I have to stay and deal with all the big f—uh, formal royal stuff, but I can explore too?"

Alfor nodded. "You have a mystery, and I’m betting you’ll solve it. Now…" He looked at the clock. "I’m guessing you ladies are due to be somewhere else, so off you go before you become late."

Smiling, Allura waved a farewell, and Larmina even managed a curtsy that didn't look too terribly painful.

Watching them leave, Alfor again marveled at the strange forces following behind the two girls. A strange harmony seem to happen when they were close to each other, the storm and winds swirling together. Resolving to watch as carefully as he could, he returned to his studying. Maybe he could find the answers to all of this.