(On the Hunt) Chapter 4

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 4

Acclimatization

The Jupiter's Hammer was a very large spaceplane. There was a whole lot of boring technical whatever involved in that, but Jace didn't know or care about the ship's history. What he knew and cared about was that the ship had a sick bay. A wonderful, beautiful, fully provisioned sick bay, capable of hosting up to eight patients with each in their own sterile quarantine.

Better not fucking come to that. But if it does, we're ready!

What the Jupiter's Hammer was not was, well… the Jupiter's Hammer. Or at least, when Jace had arrived that morning he'd found the Hammer on the ship's nameplate crossed out in red paint, with Bolt scrawled above it. Inspiring.

He'd gotten a pretty judgmental look from their chief engineer when he'd asked why the ship needed renaming. "Because it's wrong. Vulcan had a hammer. Thor had a hammer. Jupiter did not have a hammer, Jupiter had a thunderbolt!" A memo had gone out to the team with those exact words five minutes later.

What the fuck ever made him happy, Jace supposed. Wasn't his problem.

At least Medical had finally gotten their damn act together… mostly. Jace had requested both physical and digital files. The digital files were fine. The physical ones, well… he looked at the first one and his eyes nearly rolled out of his skull.

Name: Jace Inácio Cardoso Gregory

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 22 (1/9/2394)

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 181

Hair: Dk. Brown

Eyes: Dk. Brown

Skin: Dk. Tan

Medical History:

"I don't fucking need to read my own file," he muttered, tossing it aside. "I already know I'm allergic to stupid." But at least they were being thorough? Yeah, he'd stick with that…

Anyway, now that he had the records and an actual sick bay, he had history to discuss and pre-launch checkups to perform. Returning his attention to his datapad, he sent a note out to the others that they would be needing appointments. Preferably soon.

That's not a request. Doctor's orders.

He studied the message contemplatively, added a couple of smiley faces, and fired it off.

*****

It was early, too early. Vince was working on the Hammer—no, wait—Bolt's front landing gear and trying not to think about all the things that could go wrong with this assignment. It wasn’t going well. That was how it worked, he could fight his tendency to overthink, but it generally won… he felt wrong-footed. He’d already caused scorch marks on the equipment, it wasn’t an auspicious start.

Really he was thrown off by everything, and everyone. Lieutenant Commander Kleid seemed all right enough, but he was still intense and intimidating. Specialist Garrett was… odd, and even more intimidating to look at. He seemed friendly enough, though—maybe too friendly, which didn't help. Then there was Stoker and his knife…

Vince shivered, trying to force himself to concentrate on the wiring in front of him, and wondered if he was even going to survive this mission.

"Heads up, wrenchlings!" Flynn's yell from the entrance startled him out of his thoughts. "Got a job for you two."

"Wrenchlings?" Hunk repeated, poking his head out of the maintenance shaft. "Wait, when did we start being wrenchlings and how's come I wasn't informed?"

The chief had gone straight to the maintenance console, and didn't even look up at the question. "You've always been a wrenchling, I just didn't need to use a collective term for all one of you the last time out. Get out of there, we're going to do something crazy."

Ooh, something crazy! And with the new kid! This oughta be fun. He jumped out and grinned at Vince, who was approaching much more hesitantly, then turned his attention to the chief. "What's the plan? Big Wrenchling One is ready!"

Now Flynn did look up, and seemed to decide he wasn't brave enough to say whatever he was thinking. "…Kogane wants some extra armaments, in case we run into pirates that don't exist. Again. The brass approved upgraded missile tubes but apparently asking for a disruptor cannon was 'not a realistic requisition'." He rolled his eyes and muttered something about Command's lack of imagination, then studied the two of them. "How long will it take you two to build one?"

It was kind of gratifying how he didn't bother asking if they could, though looking at Vince, Hunk wasn't sure the kid shared that opinion. "Ain't that intensive," he shrugged. "A week or so, as long as little dude here's got the hookup know-how, and if he didn't he wouldn't be here, right?" He clapped the younger engineer on the shoulder.

That seemed to scare him more than encourage him. Okay, something to keep in mind.

"I… um… I mean it wouldn't take very long, no, the principles are pretty simple." Vince shook his head. "But they're right, it's not realistic. We wouldn't have near enough power to run a weapon like that."

Flynn smiled. "Wouldn't we?"

Vince gulped and edged back before answering. "No sir. The Vagrant-class carries next to no surplus power, it's designed for efficiency."

"Very true." The chief's smile became an outright smirk. "Unless we hook it directly to the backup generator."

"What? But that…" Vince's first objection died before he could get it out. "But what if…" Nope, that one wasn't good either. "If we…" Still nope. "That… that violates about half a dozen regulations," he finally protested weakly.

That all you got, kid? Hunk kept the chuckle to himself.

Flynn didn't. "Welcome to the Explorer Teams, Vince." He winked. "Get on with it."

*****

Name: Sven Holgersson

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 24 (9/10/2392)

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 182

Hair: Black

Eyes: Gray

Skin: Pale

Medical History:

"Your file is boring, Viking. I appreciate that."

Sven raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in the padded sick bay chair. "You're welcome?"

"I can't tell you the messes some of these other people have gotten into," Jace muttered, sighing and shaking his head. "Though I guess we'd better add 'susceptible to rift sickness' to your file until we can prove otherwise. About a 50/50 chance of it being a recurring issue or going away after a couple jumps."

The Viking made a face; it was the correctly uncomfortable face for the subject, in Jace's opinion. "Let's hope for the second option."

"Here's hoping." Smirk. "A navigator with rift sickness. Irony isn't dead."

"Yes… irony," Sven agreed flatly. "Very amusing." He was, without doubt, not amused.

"Could be worse. Oh hey! Before you go, got something to show you." Jace jumped out of his own chair and motioned for Sven to follow, leading him to a corner of the room. Opening a door and pushing aside a curtain revealed a sterile decontaminating shower—just one of the wonderful features of his fully equipped sick bay. "Isn't it beautiful?" he asked, miming wiping away a tear.

"…Yes it is," Sven agreed with a small laugh, eyeing the shower and shaking his head slightly. "That would've come in handy last mission."

"No kidding." Jace laughed too. "Hopefully you won't need this one, but you're the only person here I figured would appreciate it as much as I do."

Sven was very appreciative. "Yes… and hopefully." He didn't really sound optimistic.

"Hey now. That tone is uncalled for." Grinning, Jace waved him back towards the main door. "Now get outta here. I've got way worse patients to yell at."

"Yes, doctor." Also grinning, the navigator headed out.

*****

Since the midrange hangars were on a fairly isolated part of the Garrison, they were designed to be as self-sufficient as possible. That included their own sim rooms. Hangar L4-West shared a room with Hangar R4-West nextdoor, which was currently unoccupied. So Keith had free reign. He'd been there very early, setting things up, and was a little startled when Sven arrived.

Just in time.

They exchanged nods, standing side by side as they waited. And waited. And waited…

"They’re a bit late, don’t you think?" Keith crossed his arms.

The navigator eyed him, then checked his watch. "They’ve got a minute—" He paused when a blonde kid wearing an ensign's uniform came rushing in, barely on time. "There’s one."

Lance came in maybe half a minute behind him, already questioning the whole premise. "Sims, boss? Really?" It looked like Sven agreed with his questioning, but he didn’t voice it. Lance looked past him and caught sight of the ensign. Aha, new blood. For his part, Cam was visibly excited about the sims—it was his first mission, and he was ready to make the most of it.

"It’s more for the new crewmates than for you, but we do need to see how we all work together as a group," Keith answered. "Work out any issues that may arise."

"Real thing worked fine for us."

That was… a word for it. "I would have preferred to have been able to run sims with you all, too. We didn’t have that time."

"Not sure how it would've helped with the situations we ended up in, boss." Lance scratched absently at a scar left on his arm from the evil vines.

"Which is why I designed this sim myself," Keith admitted. That got him a small grin from Cam. Commander Kogane really was as thorough as advertised.

"Oh really?" Lance arched an eyebrow, looking notably less impressed.

Even Sven seemed momentarily doubtful. "This should be interesting, then." Interesting was this team's specialty. Speaking of the team… he turned towards the ensign and walked over to introduce himself. "Hello. I’m Lieutenant Sven Holgersson." He offered a hand, which the young man shook with a grin.

"We call him Viking," Lance cut in before the kid could actually speak. "I’m Lance McClain."

Cam nodded at him, giving a quick salute. "Hello, gentlemen. I’m Cameron Starr, I’m your new communications officer." He still had an eager grin on his face; Lance grinned in response, amused by his excitement. Sven smiled too, he seemed like a nice kid. "So, what do you two do?"

"I’m the navigator," Sven answered simply.

"I’m your extremely talented pilot," Lance bragged. Sven rolled his eyes fondly.

McClain did seem to have that cocky pilots' edge, Cam mused. But there was something calming about the navigator, which didn’t line up with what he’d heard about Explorer Teams. Of course, the same was true of their commander. And himself, for that matter. But then, neither of them were in jobs where half a millimeter and some complicated math were routinely the difference between success and fiery death…

"Lieutenant Holgersson, aren't navigators supposed to be… I mean, um…" He blushed, realizing a little too late that this was probably a very rude question. "…uh, you know, not… the usual temperament for an Explorer Team," he said finally.

To his relief, Sven just smiled. "No, not usually. But someone has to be the sane one around here. It's a burden I bear gladly."

"For now," Lance muttered, smirking.

Cam's pale cheeks had flushed bright red, and now the blood slowly drained away again. "You do seem very collected, sir. I apologize if I was out of line with the question, I was just curious."

"It’s alright. I didn’t mind." Sven’s eyebrows had raised a little in surprise; he wasn’t used to a member of this team being so formal. It was either a nice change of pace, or a warning sign.

"Who are we waiting on?"

"Brennan." Keith sighed. "He even promised to be late… after he burst into my office without knocking yesterday."

"Really?" Lance smirked. "Sounds like he has style."

Sven disagreed. "That’s not what that sounds like."

Cam agreed with Sven’s disagreement. "More like he needs a boot up his ass…"

As if on cue Daniel walked in with a bright smile on his face. "Sorry I’m late!" He wasn’t, but oh well. It was just a sim drill. Alliance sims sucked ass, he'd seen more than enough of them in training.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Brennan." Keith's tone was half scolding, half sarcastic.

And there he was with the Mr. Brennan again. Daniel made a face. "Nice to be here… I guess."

Keith ignored him and sat down at the command station. "So, shall we get this started?"

"Sooner we do, sooner it’s over," Lance responded with a shrug. And the sooner it's over, the sooner we can leave. He settled into his seat and eyed the new kids, then the boss, wondering just what he might have in store based on their last time out. Maybe this would be more interesting than the average sim.

"I’m ready here, Commander," Cam assured him as he looked over his station. It looked a bit messy, and there was a crack on one of the screens. Nothing he couldn't handle. This was his chance to impress his new team, he was ready for it. He watched his monitors carefully as they came to life.

"Yes sir." Sven sat at his station, ready to do basically nothing. Navigators didn’t usually have much of a role in simulator drills. This must’ve been how Jace felt at his battle station.

"Yeah…" Daniel sat at his station, sighing. Gunnery was fine, he supposed. He’d much rather be the pilot, but at least he got to shoot things. "Let’s get this over with. Sims are boring."

For a moment, Keith let a smug smile cross his lips. That attitude wasn't going to last.

"Contact," Cam reported abruptly as his console lit up. "Multiple unidentified ships bearing 312. Seems to be a capital ship and several smaller craft."

Here we go. Keith didn’t immediately respond. The fact that he'd designed this sim notwithstanding, in any real scenario he would need more information to make a decision. He glanced around the room. Daniel’s hand moved over the trigger, ready to shoot. The idea of action, even fake action, got his blood pumping. Lance on the other hand was fighting back a yawn.

"No IFF, no registration broadcast, no identifying markings. Probability says pirates. With… a Leyte-class carrier?" Confusion and surprise laced Cam's tone.

Lance laughed. "Yeah, that's pirates."

"You’ve… encountered them before?"

"Starr, you have no idea."

Daniel smirked as he started to track the approaching targets. "Maybe this won’t be completely boring."

"Work some magic, McClain," Keith ordered, cutting them off.

That wasn't very specific. "Orders to fly closer?" Lance asked, to clarify—he was already doing it, but it didn’t hurt to ask. It wasn't going as well as it could have, really. The huge Vagrant was much less agile than the Firecrown had been, and the sim's stick felt sluggish.

Flying closer to a carrier with a cargo ship sounded like a bad idea to Cam. He was fully expecting their commander to deny that request, but instead Keith nodded. "Stay on course."

…Well, he supposed as he blinked back the shock, this was an Explorer Team. He'd asked for this. And before he could think on it any further, movement on his own screen snapped him out of it—he had a job to do. "They’ve seen us. Incoming transmission." He flipped on the main comms as a message came through.

"Vagrant-class vessel, you are locked in our systems. We have superior numbers and firepower. Surrender now and prepare to be boarded."

"Starr, tell them we are non-hostile, but will return fire if provoked." Keith ordered.

"Yes sir." He took a deep breath; it sounded insane, but it wasn't his place to question. "Unknown force, this is the ACS Jupiter's H—uh, Bolt." He caught a glimpse of their pilot snickering. "Our intentions here are peaceful. But we have no intention of surrendering, and we will defend ourselves if necessary."

The pirates didn't respond, at least not over the comms. All of the smaller craft opening fire seemed like enough of a response. Smirking, Daniel immediately engaged the point defense systems with one hand and started returning fire with the other.

Lance and Keith both exchanged raised eyebrows. Lance was impressed; the kid was quick and fearless. Keith was less impressed, mostly because he hadn't given the order to fire yet. But it had been coming, so he set it aside for the moment. They could discuss it later.

He hadn't given orders for evasive maneuvers either, but that was kind of implied when the missiles started launching. Lance growled in frustration as he tried to bring the ship about. "Fuck, these controls suck." It wasn't all the controls, he knew that, but they weren't helping anything.

Daniel laughed. The enemy fighters weren't having any trouble maneuvering, but they seemed to be underestimating the Bolt's capabilities. Just because it couldn't move didn't mean it couldn't blast them out of the sky. As another fighter tried to cut in behind their wing, he loosed a missile and watched it vanish in a shower of flame. This wasn’t completely boring after all.

"One more small fighter down," Cam reported. "Three targets remain besides the carrier."

Lance spared a quick look over at Daniel, grinning. "Having fun, kid?"

"Yeah, think you can keep up?" their gunner challenged.

"Keep up with you? Don't make me laugh."

Sven rolled his eyes. At least they were having fun.

Cam wasn't exactly having fun either. Not that he wasn't enjoying the challenge, but… he blinked as his monitors started fuzzing in and out. There was a message incoming, supposedly. "Um, sir? I think something is wrong, I’m getting a message but it's all…" He trailed off as a garbled mess of numbers and symbols scrolled across his screen, earning a concerned look from the commander.

The concern only increased as the comms crackled. "—zzzbt or enginissiles bzzz render zzzbt down down down down—" Before Cam could hit the override the transmission cut out in a burst of static and a thin trickle of smoke.

Wait, smoke? That wasn't how comms worked. At all!

Lance eyed his own screens, which were starting to flicker a bit. "Fucking crappy Alliance simulators." He sounded bored again.

As more smoke started coming from the communications console, Cam stood up and started backing away. Sven, whose station was next to his, decided that was a good move and joined him. Keith was the only one to move towards the smoking console, placing a cautious hand on the side. He had no idea what was wrong with it, but it seemed to be getting hotter.

"Um… this isn't part of the the simulation, is it?" Cam asked. If the ship had been taking damage, maybe, though even then actual smoke seemed like a little much…

"No," the commander confirmed with a grimace. "No, it's not."

Daniel eyed him. "Dude, you broke it."

"I did not!" Cam yelled, glaring.

"Hostile much? Chill out!" Daniel shook his head. Cam didn't yell back, but he continued to glare, muttering in Russian to himself.

Lance sat back in his chair, amused by the new kids. And by the busted sim, really. "I think this is a completely fitting result for us."

Keith shut off the console. "Well, that’s true at least. Not the one I’d hoped for, but fitting." Hopefully they could reboot the malfunctioning station and… he hadn't even finished the thought when an odd hum filled the room, emanating from some unidentifiable source. Several lights went out. A few seconds later, with a low electrical whine, the entire sim room went dark. "Guess that’s that, then. Great. We Explorer Teamed a sim." He sighed, Sven shook his head, and Lance laughed.

"What do we do now?" Daniel asked, hopeful for a dismissal.

A dismissal was not what Keith wanted to do, but he didn't see much choice. "I guess we wrap it up for now. We'll get the sims fixed and try this one again, if we don't get shipped out first."

"Yeah. I’m sure it’ll go much better next time." Lance’s sarcastic tone didn’t leave anyone thinking it would go better next time.

"Not with these crappy sims," Daniel snorted.

"Lesson one kid, everything we get is crappy. They figure we're the only ones who can deal with it."

No sense letting that go on. "Get out of here, all of you," Keith ordered. "Before I put you on latrine. Again." He dropped back into the command chair and pulled out his datapad, starting to fill out a request for maintenance on the sim. Why did everything this team did end in him doing paperwork?

"Y-yes sir," Cam stuttered, flushed with embarrassment. Of course it would've been his station that malfunctioned. He headed for the door behind Sven, who was realizing a little belatedly that he hadn't formally introduced himself to their gunner. Next time, then. He'd never been on latrine duty before and didn't intend to start now.

"Catch y’all later, I’ve got a date." Lance nudged Daniel on the way out. "Not bad shooting there, kid."

Daniel’s eyes lit up at the praise. "Thanks. Your piloting wasn’t bad either." Smirk. "A little rusty though." Immediately after saying it, he actually thought about it. Aw shit. Don’t take that badly, don’t take that badly… Admittedly it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever said, by a long shot, but this was a new team… and clearly the coolest person on the bridge.

"Rusty," Lance repeated, shaking his head and smirking right back. "You’re funny."

"I’m hilarious."

"And you know it, huh? Don’t get too cocky, around here that’s my line." Lance slapped him on the shoulder and walked off before he could respond.

Laughing, Daniel watched him go, then turned to see Cam's melancholy face. His expression was still matching his mood. They couldn't have that… "Yo! Fanboy!"

"I’m not a fanboy!" Cam glared. He thought they'd been over this.

Which they had, but it was still a perfectly good nickname and Daniel had no intention of giving it up any time soon. "Agree to disagree." He grabbed the ensign’s arm and pulled. "You look like hell. Come on, let’s go get that crappy look off your face."

"Hey! Wait, what?" Cam made a halfhearted attempt to pull free, but then allowed himself to be dragged. Which just proved how much the simulation had upset him. "Where are we going?"

Daniel just laughed. "You’ll see."

Oh, no.

*****

Name: Vincent Samuel Hayes

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 18 (9/1/2398)

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 180

Hair: Black

Eyes: Amber

Skin: Dk. Brown

Medical History:

"Now listen here, you little fuck. Let's get one thing straight. If you're gonna lie on your medical records I don't know what you expect me to be able to do for you."

Vince blinked, shrinking back slightly into the chair. "Lie?"

Glaring, Jace waved the paper in his face. "What exactly does it mean 'has never had a cold'? A cold! Just because you weren't hacking your lungs out enough to go to a doctor?"

"I've… never had a cold," he confirmed in a small voice.

The medic kept glaring. "Not one. Not even a few sniffles."

"Nothing." Vince shook his head nervously, not looking at him. "My moms, um… would joke that they got the sperm from Captain America."

Jace had turned away for a moment to make a note. Now he stopped, slowly turning back to face him. "Captain America," he repeated, dramatically burying his face in his hands. "Porra, not another one."

Wince. "Not me! Them!"

"Oh, okay." He sighed, looking at the file. "They never even gave you a genetic test to figure out which mom's medical history is actually relevant to your health? Someone should've done that, but whatever, I've worked with worse." There were people on this very team with no family medical history at all, but it was still annoying.

Vince sighed also. "I can tell you? They just have this thing where it doesn't matter, because they're both Mom."

Rolling his eyes, Jace pushed one of the records pages at him, along with a pen. "That's sweet, but not very helpful to your doctor. Circle one."

"They don't know I figured it out?" Vince murmured, frowning at the paper. Jace didn't bother to comment. Medical wouldn't accept anything but genetic confirmation as definitive, it was a thing, but at least this would give him somewhere to start. "So um…" He quickly circled one and pushed it back.

"Valeu." Jace filed it away. "So I guess we don't have anything else to talk about. When you're the first person on this ship to get mutant space flu, I'm gonna laugh so fucking hard."

"I… don't get the flu," Vince protested. "But I give you permission to laugh if it happens."

"Oh well that's nice of you." Waving him out, Jace stared at the doorway for a moment. "…Kid has no idea what he's in for here."

*****

The hangar was quiet without any wrenchlings. Hunk and Vince were taking care of things elsewhere; Pidge was on break. Flynn was sitting on one of the Bolt's lowered wingtips, watching the bay door. He was waiting for someone… before long he caught sight of a lone figure approaching. Right on time.

He had met Sergeant Faraday the day before. Since she wasn't authorized to be aboard the ship, she had to formally hand off authority over Pidge when her oversight shifts overlapped with his duty shifts. The nature of the handoff was such that he hadn't really had time to speak to her. Besides, he'd rather do it when there wasn't a ninja within earshot.

Since his rather disastrous introduction, Pidge had been… okay? Flynn had noticed him going for his knife a couple of times, though he hadn't actually pulled it. But all he had to do was look at Vince to make him nervously shuffle away, and even letting him and Hunk in the same general vicinity seemed like a terrible idea. It wasn't sustainable… he needed information. She seemed like the best source.

"Lieutenant Commander Kleid." Faraday saluted as she approached, which he returned before sliding off the wing. "You wanted to see me?"

"Very much so. Thanks for coming."

"Of course." She smiled faintly. "I'm sure I know what this is about, but I hope you aren't expecting too much."

"I'll take whatever I can get, at this point." Flynn sighed. "I've had this kid in my bay for three days and I'm ready to throw him down an engine core, and he's hardly even done anything."

The sergeant tilted her head. "Sir, didn't he pull a knife on your electrical engineer?"

"…I mean, except for that." He blinked. He'd seen no reason to bring up the misunderstanding to Pidge's probation officer. "How did you know about it?"

"He self-reported. Not that there's much I can do to him in the current circumstances. You and Commander Kogane have the reins."

Nodding, he motioned to one of the scattered workbenches. "Have a seat, if you like. How long have you been assigned to him?"

"Just a little over two weeks." She dropped onto the bench he'd indicated, sitting at attention. "He was my first case."

Flynn arched an eyebrow. "They gave you a literal ninja as your first case? Who did you either impress or piss off?"

Faraday laughed. "I've been wondering that ever since, sir. Though that aspect has been less trouble than I would've expected."

Now they were getting into what he needed. "How's that?"

"It doesn't seem he's inclined to use his powers for evil, so to speak. He's been nothing but obedient and honest the whole time I've had authority over him." She looked up at the ship, collecting her thoughts. "As a part of that, it has been made very clear to me that I'm only capable of monitoring him because he allows it."

Well, that was… something. Yes. Definitely something. "So what, he obeys but isn't happy about it?"

"Oh no, it isn't like that. If anything I'd say he's eager to please. I've seen several occasions where he'll attempt to pre-empt the orders he's expecting—it's just that his judgment on that count is sometimes questionable." She made a face. "For example, slipping his restraints as soon as he's released from the brig to save me the bother of unlocking them."

Aha. "That's… considerate of him?" A forgiving commander could probably call that admirable initiative. Flynn wasn't yet certain how forgiving he was going to be. "How many times a day does he usually pull knives on people?"

Faraday took a few moments to consider that; he hoped it wasn't just taking that long for her to count them up. Then she shrugged. "He'll go for a knife but think better of it… regularly. But I've never seen him actively threaten anyone."

Interesting. Maybe it really had just been a misunderstanding… "What else can you tell me?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. He's been manageable enough as long as he understands what's expected of him. But, I haven't seen him under any real stress."

Maybe it wasn't a lot, but it was more than he'd had before. Not knowing how long he had to assess this kid himself, he had to take whatever he could get. "Every bit helps. I appreciate it."

She nodded, standing. "Good luck with him, sir. I hope he'll work out for you."

"So do I, Sergeant," he said quietly as she departed. "So do I…"

*****

Name: Daniel Augustus Brennan

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 18 (7/27/2398)

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 163

Hair: Black

Eyes: Dk. Blue

Skin: Lt. Tan

Medical History:

"Okay let's get something straight here. I'm a medic, not a miracle worker." Jace was gracing the new gunner with his most disapproving look of the day. "I can't fix shitty judgment. Your two tetanus shots from a tattoo tells me that's gonna be your biggest health problem."

Daniel gave a completely unapologetic grin, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm not that bad."

"Yeah, I'll bet. The seventeen broken bones say otherwise." Frown. "Was the tattoo you apparently got in a fucking sewer somewhere at least worth it?"

With a shrug, the young man pulled up his left sleeve, displaying an angel tattooed on his bicep. Not just any angel. A bright yellow smiley angel that was nothing but head and halo and wings.

That… is an emoji. "No. No it was not." He looked between the tattoo and Daniel's face, then sighed and shook his head. "At least you're nice and fucking immunized against tetanus, I guess."

"Positivity isn't really your thing, is it?"

Oh, they had a master of observation here. "I'm positive I'm gonna regret having to deal with you, does that count?" He checked the file again and scowled. The kid had a very inconvenient allergy. "Any point asking if you hydrate properly? Take good care of your bladder? It's gonna suck for you if you get a UTI and can't have anything with cranberries."

A wicked smirk crossed Daniel's face. "I'll suck anything you want, Doc."

Jace stared at him for a long time. That hadn't even… no, not worth it. "I'd tell you to go suck on a tailpipe, but then I'd have to do a lot of fucking paperwork. So just try not to do anything to put yourself in mortal danger and we'll be fine."

"…I can't make promises like that."

That seemed like an admission that he really was that bad after all. "Guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then." Sigh. "Porra."

*****

Unity Common—not a creative name, but precise, which Pidge could appreciate—was the center of the Garrison. It was a grand circular plaza tiled in multicolored granite, split into six segments by smaller tiles of semiprecious gems. In the center, each of those segments hosted a small park of sorts, each dedicated to one of the Alliance's six founding powers. Sanctuaries, they were called—which was somewhat less precise.

It was always crowded on the Common itself, and it made Pidge uncomfortable. Every member planet of the Alliance had a sanctuary here, the others spiraling out from the original six. He had walked the path to Balto's many times by now… he barely breathed until he stepped from the colorful granite onto shimmering Baltan obsidian. The park was simple. The dark tiles, a few benches, a few native plants whose iridescent black leaves were hardly distinguishable from the obsidian around them. And the flag: black, with seven golden bladestars arrayed around a prowling silver panther, fluttering in the wind.

Balto. That was the English. In their own language, his people knew their planet as Shinor. And they called themselves Shinori, the Children of Shadows, who did not belong on this distant world of light.

But here he was.

Staring up at the flag, Pidge sighed slowly. He came here every Wednesday, just before noon. An old ritual. Not once had he ever seen anyone else at the Baltan sanctuary. He'd long ago stopped expecting to, but still, he kept coming back. It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to be on his off time.

A shrill, mournful wail started to echo in the distance. Just the weekly siren test. The people meandering around the plaza paid it no mind. But he listened, committing the sound to memory, analyzing its wavering pattern as he had many times before. Reflex. There was nothing to learn from it.

There had to be something to learn somewhere here. To understand these humans—they seemed so soft and undisciplined. Yet what they were doing seemed to work for them, and all he could do here was fail. Over and over. He'd failed to fit in on his first assignment, a Unity-class warship, its very name seeming to mock him. He'd failed at the Sibereal Prime Yard, where literally all he'd had to do was not try to kill anyone. He'd told himself the Explorer Team would be different, and ended up pulling a knife on a crewmate he hadn't even met. It wasn't optimal. He had sworn an oath of loyalty to the Alliance, and he was very well aware he was on his very last chance of fulfilling it.

"Keromya si daliar," he murmured to the flag. One of a hundred mantras drilled into him from childhood.

Failure is betrayal.

Not this time. This time, he would make it work… somehow.

*****

Name: Cameron Iosif Starr

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 19 (7/28/2397)

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 175

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Blue

Skin: Pale

Medical History:

"So, you've still got your wisdom teeth! That's cute. I heard you volunteered for this assignment so they're clearly not doing you much good."

"Uh, yeah, I do still have them. They haven't bothered me…" Cam paused. "Wait, really? I was top of my class!"

"Which obviously didn't do you much good either." Jace gestured dismissively. "I'm not gonna second-guess your dentist. Wouldn't mind knowing how you react to general anesthesia but honestly if you need that on this job we're fucked anyway."

The kid had the nerve to give him a judgmental look. "You're… a charming person, aren't you?"

"Yes." Ask a stupid question…

He didn't seem quite sure how to react to that. "Um. Well, I haven't had general anesthesia before. But I don't have any known allergies, if that counts for anything?"

"I know." Jace waved the file at him. "I can read. It's boring reading. I appreciate that in my patients, keep it boring and we won't have a problem."

"Um… okay then. Am I okay to leave now?"

"No." Jace's eyes narrowed. "Your records say you're on prescription calcium and B12. That's good, being proactive with the quality control and all that crap." A flush crept over Cam's cheeks; he clearly knew where this was going. "Want to tell me why your last blood test doesn't seem to agree with that, Mr. Top-Of-Your-Class?"

"I'm… not very good at taking my meds regularly?"

"Well at least you're honest about it." Jace frowned. "There will be no 'not very good at taking my meds' on my watch, I will be checking in on you—by which I mean random blood tests. I hope you're okay with needles."

That was usually a pretty motivating threat, and Cam groaned. "As long as you don't go blowing my vein like the last three blood techs did…"

"I should take a sample right now for that, but I don't have my vials yet. Lucky you. Your veins'll be fine." Smirk. "You're good to go, when the rest of my supplies get delivered you'll be the first to know."

"Wonderful. Thanks." Cam took off before he could change his mind.

*****

It felt like the ceremonies had gone on forever, and yet they were over so quickly. All too soon Romelle found herself standing in the shadow of the Silver Touch, Pollux's royal shuttle, watching her family approach for their goodbyes. At least today she was wearing one of her own gowns…

"Safe travels, Father. I will bring honor to Pollux and your name."

"See to it you do," King Kova said gruffly. "I have no doubt." Almost before he'd finished speaking, he turned and started for the ship. He'd spent most of the ceremonies avoiding his daughter, which she took to mean he was ashamed. As he should be—not that she could say so.

Bandor pouted wordlessly up at her as their father departed, and she smiled. "Be good, Bandor. Stay out of trouble." She knelt to ruffle his hair, and he clasped her wrist for a moment. Then Kova yelled for him and he scurried away.

Avok had lingered behind, only approaching as they disappeared up the ramp. "Romelle…" All the encouraging words he'd been mulling over for the last hour died on his tongue. They sounded trite and patronizing now.

"Brother." She smiled sheepishly. "I never did thank you for… what you did for me the other night."

"Always." He nodded and squeezed her hands. "Pollux won't be humiliated so easily. Take care of yourself, Romelle."

"I will." She drew her hands back slowly. "Keep a close eye on Bandor, try not to let Father be too harsh with him."

Oh, he'd do that and more. Father should be worried about how harsh I'm going to be with him. "I'll do my best."

"Safe travels, Avok. Please, send a message when you all arrive home…" She trailed off as Prince Lotor approached.

That wasn't someone Avok cared to see just now; his eyes narrowed. "Prince Lotor. Treat my sister well. You'll answer to me, if not."

Was it his imagination, or did the Drule look taken aback for a moment? It was only a moment in any case. Then he chuckled. "What if I want to answer to you? Perhaps we'll have that duel to the death after all?"

Avok's eyes flashed as Romelle paled. "If you want a duel, send an invitation."

The thought occurred to Lotor that perhaps Pollux had sent the wrong heir for him to court. Romelle was beautiful and dignified, but her brother would be so much more fun. Ah well. "You have nothing to worry about, Prince Avok. Your honor is proven, and your sister is in safe hands." He nodded respectfully. "Have a safe journey home."

For another few seconds, Avok just stared at him. Then he whirled and headed up the Silver Touch's ramp, his cape billowing behind him.

As the shuttle's engines roared, Romelle clasped her hands in front of her. She would be the perfect picture of well-mannered dignity here. And it helped to hide that her hands were shaking just slightly.

Rather than watching the shuttle, Lotor was watching her. Her unease was clear. What was he supposed to do about that? Something, surely. But with her being neither warrior nor slave, he really wasn't sure how to interact… the ceremonies hadn't helped. They were, after all, ceremonial. This was the first moment they'd had alone.

"You seem nervous, a'kuri." There. That seemed like a place to start.

Romelle looked up at him and nodded hesitantly. Did she dare answer? The answer was respectful enough. "I… I am, Your Highness. An enormous responsibility rests on my shoulders." The fate of my planet. "And I still know so little of your culture, I don't want to offend anyone. So yes… forgive me, but all of that naturally makes me nervous."

"Naturally." He rested a hand on her shoulder. It did make sense. She came from a primitive world with a primitive culture, the majesty of Korrinoth could only be overwhelming… "But we will teach you our ways. I know that it takes time to learn, and I assure you I won't be offended by any expressions of ignorance. You have my word."

Maybe he isn't so bad… a smile, wary but genuine, slowly took hold on Romelle's face. "Thank you, Your Highness. That… means a lot to me."

Perhaps this won't be so bad… he smiled back. "Come, it's getting late. This shuttle terrace becomes cold quickly at night." He leaned over and gently kissed her lips, then a spark of inspiration came to him. "And I believe it's time you were allowed to come to my bed, don't you think?"

What optimism Romelle had been feeling vanished, her face flushing bright red. "Um, I…" She swallowed a few times, trying to recover her composure. That had not been dignified. "My Lord, um…"

He seemed truly concerned by her reaction. "It's alright, a'kuri. You are more than worthy." The words were followed with what was probably meant as an encouraging smile—those fangs were still not helping at all.

"Th… thank you, Your Highness?" Shivering a little, she decided to take a small risk. "It's only that… in my culture, we um, we wait until marriage to…"

"Ah! I see." He nodded and brushed a lock of her hair aside. "I have heard of such things. Cultures of needless deprivation. As I said, you will learn our ways… where better to start?"

Where better to start… Romelle looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes and the smile on his lips. Suddenly she felt very cold, and it certainly wasn't from being on the shuttle terrace. You can't refuse. This is your duty… slowly, she nodded. For Pollux.

Lotor looked truly delighted. And as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder to guide her back inside, his touch was nothing but gentle.

It only made her feel sick.