(On the Hunt) Chapter 5

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 5

Expect the Unexpected

Name: Flynn Kleid

Species: H. sapiens (UAP 17)

Age: 23 (11/18/2392)

Height: 6'5"

Weight: 257

Hair: Dk. Red

Eyes: Violet

Skin: Fair

Medical History:

"How the fuck are you on a six month booster schedule?" Jace demanded as he stalked around the sick bay, filling syringes. "Did you fucking drink bleach as a child? Don't answer that. When were you gonna tell me you're fucking overdue?"

That wasn't totally fair. Dathreans—Unconventionally Adapted Population 17—had generally questionable immune systems, it was a thing. But he was too pissed about the chief being over a month late on his shots to be fair right now.

"Must've slipped my mind between dodging Galra death lasers and getting struck by thunderbolts," Flynn muttered spitefully. "Would you just get it over with?"

Jace paused, one eyebrow shooting up at his tone. "Don't tell me you're afraid of needles." The guy was a mechanic and was built, if not like a tank, at least like a decently armored scout car. Sheltered desk jockeys were supposed to be the ones who were scared of needles.

"No," he answered sullenly. "I just dislike them."

"Oh, okay, that's totally different. Take your jacket off." Fixing up the last syringe he turned and pushed up the chief's left sleeve, and was greeted by a black and purple scorpion on his shoulder. "…You dislike needles. You have a fucking tattoo!"

Flynn didn't look at him. "The two are related—ow!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I haven't even stuck you yet," Jace snorted, setting aside the needle he'd definitely just stuck him with. "If you want to get measles, or pneumonia, or maybe Tyrian fever again, just go ahead and keep whining."

That shut him up.

*****

It was amazing to Vince how quickly the disruptor cannon had taken shape. It really wasn't that complicated, but it was still a very large chunk of metal and wires and electromagnetic capacitor coiling. Hunk had done most of the heavy lifting, while Vince had handled the delicate internal structure. Now they had a gray tapered cylinder about the size of a school bus sitting in the hangar off the Bolt's left wing, a single external panel still awaiting installation. Several holes dotted the metal. The cannon would hook up to the ship's systems through there, which meant this was arguably the most important part of the job.

Vince wasn't nervous. Of course not. Not at all. The faint buzzing in his ears as he worked was definitely not him being nervous.

Actually, maybe it really wasn't… he paused a moment after connecting one of the couplings, looking up from the panel. It sounded something like the noises a kid would make with a toy car, not the anxious hum he might have anticipated. It also seemed like it was coming from the lift Hunk was driving. Or had been driving, anyway. Right now he was just sitting there watching Vince do his thing, and…

"…Are you vrooming?"

Hunk startled, sitting up straighter. "Course I'm vrooming! Vroom vroom!" He mimed revving up the lift. "What's the point in drivin' the equipment if ya can't vroom?"

Vince blinked. He'd thought the point was to get the job done. "That's not a question most people would ask?"

"Yeah well, most people are missin' out then." The big man leaned back in his seat and threw his hands behind his head. "I can stop if it's buggin' you though."

Was it bugging him? Truthfully he hadn't thought that far, he'd stumbled to a halt over the fact that a grown man was vrooming. Which probably meant… huh. "Uh, I don't think it is bothering me." He turned back to the panel and started bundling wires together. The next few connections were tricky, but he put them together quickly.

"Good! I don't wanna bug anyone…" Hunk's voice raised suddenly. "Except for Number One Frenemy over there."

Vince looked up to see who Hunk was shouting about, banged his head on the upper panel, and couldn't help a small smirk as he saw their medic disembarking from the ship. Jace didn't even argue the point—he just rolled his eyes dramatically, shrugged, and departed the hangar.

Hunk burst into laughter.

"You were working together before?" Vince asked as the laughter died down. His medical briefing had certainly been… well, memorable… and between that and the vrooms his curiosity was overwhelming. Explorer Teams had always seemed like more of a myth than reality, at least until he'd gotten his orders. So far they seemed almost exactly as advertised.

"Oh yeah," Hunk confirmed. "He's one of the old squad. Thinks he's the only sane one on the team. Which is funny, cuz most of the old crew thinks they're the only sane one on the team." He chuckled again. "Except me, I know better."

Vince gave him a look that had a slight tinge of panic. Well, maybe panic was an overstatement, but definitely anxiety. "He doesn't randomly draw knives on you, does he?"

Oh. No question what that was about. "Nah, he just threatens you with needles. Knives are definitely just a ninja thing, as far as I know." He didn't know much, really. He'd spoken to Pidge exactly twice since he'd been assigned—both of which had been very one-sided conversations—and it was pretty evident Flynn was trying to keep the other kid away from him. Which he was probably okay with.

"Good, good…" The murmur sounded a little distracted. Vince had gone back to working on the wires. But he'd worked himself up now with thoughts of angry medics and stabby ninjas and—

ZAP.

An explosion of smoke and sparks erupted from the panel, wreathing Vince in lightning a moment before fading. A sharp scent of ozone lingered behind.

"Whoa!" Hunk had nearly jumped out of his seat. "You okay?"

"Yes, sir." Vince sighed. He was fine. He was always fine. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah you better be sorry, little dude. Callin' me sir? Do that again and bad stuff is gonna happen." The big man jumped out of the lift, glaring playfully, though he let up on it almost immediately as Vince shrank back. "I might make you eat some steak well done or something." He leaned over the younger engineer's shoulder to examine the scorched wiring.

Baffled and embarrassed, Vince took a moment to gather himself; this was better than the usual yelling, but he was still more than a little off balance. "Uh." He flailed for something to latch onto. "Well done steak is bad?"

Hunk slowly turned his head, one eyebrow going up. "You uh, you eat well done steak?"

Gulp. "My moms aren't the best cooks?" he offered weakly. It wasn't a lie…

"Now I know how Lance feels about Flynn and beer." A huge grin spread over Hunk's face. "Little dude, you're gonna be in for some education."

That sounded a little ominous; his eyes went wide. "Oh. Okay?" None of this was making him any less confused, especially not when he looked back at the smoking wiring and remembered where he actually was. "Um, I'm really sorry about this, I can fix it."

"I know ya can." Hunk patted his shoulder encouragingly. Lightly—he was figuring this kid out a bit—but encouragingly. "That's why you're here, yeah?"

"I think I'm here because I blow them up."

"That's okay. I'm the bomb guy, I appreciate a good kaboom. Keeps people on their toes!"

Vince blinked, but couldn't quite help a smile. "Usually I get told I have an attitude problem. So, uh, thanks." This was very weird, but it was also nice not to be railed at for once.

"Attitude problem?" Hunk looked from Vince to the disruptor cannon. That was about the last thing he'd have ascribed to this kid. "I don't buy it," he declared. "And if you can't notice someone havin' an attitude problem after buildin' a multi-ton weapon of mass disruption with 'em for a week, it ain't there."

Despite himself, Vince laughed. "You probably have a point there."

"Not as many points as Doc or the ninja! Blunt objects are more my style. And bombs." Grin. "Anyway, let's get this thing fixed up, yeah? I wanna do a test fire! …Not like we're really gonna get to do that for awhile, but you know."

Oh, he knew. He'd never really built anything like this disruptor cannon before. "I usually only get to work on the already built ones, this has been fun. It'll be great to see it in action."

"It'll be awesome!"

Nodding his agreement, Vince turned back to the wires he'd ruined and took a deep breath. One thing his little issue had taught him was how to work fast. He could do this. And it would be awesome.

Hunk seemed a lot less scary now, too.

*****

Name: Darrell Stoker

Species: X. shinori

Age: 16 (9/24/2400)

Height: 5'1"

Weight: 143

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Green

Skin: Fair

Medical History:

"I don't even know where to fucking start with you."

Jace was feeling much less confident than usual as he stared at the young man in front of him. Xenofelis shinori was not a race that got covered in standard Alliance medical training. He'd downloaded and read the database overview, of course, but a glorified textbook entry could only tell him so much…

For his part, Pidge looked bored. He'd probably been through this a few times before. "I know how to take care of myself in human environments, Doctor."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do." Scowl. "Okay, here's what I got from the database: you're susceptible to vitamin D overdose, your bone density fucks with some scans, and you'll get sunburn just from walking out the door if you don't use the right soap—I will be requisitioning a backup stockpile of that. Anything else that should jump out?"

"No."

"Great. Your personal history is a disaster. There's nothing wrong with your eyes."

The eyes in question narrowed fiercely behind his glasses. "There will be if I don't protect them from the light."

Okay, that made sense. His species was adapted to darkness. Though it seemed like something he should've mentioned after the last question; Jace wondered what else should've jumped out that he hadn't. "Got it. I'm not even going to ask about all the bone fractures and toxin exposure, I don't want to know. This 'tasakvar' thing, there's practically no info on it, what's its impact?"

For an instant Pidge froze, his eyes flashing again with pure fury. It was gone after a moment… but then he abruptly stood. "Absolutely nothing," he hissed, pushing past the medic and walking out the door.

Jace stared at the doorway for a long moment, too stunned to even yell after him before he vanished. "…What the fuck was that about?"

*****

Keith had been expecting a new summons from Colonel Hawkins any day now. The request that came in not quite two weeks from the first briefing was no surprise… until he read it. It wasn't a briefing, it was only for him and Lance, and it wasn't from Hawkins.

Other than that though, not at all strange!

The conference room was empty when he got there, and he wasn't all that early. It was in a Support Division building, which was interesting—didn't actually tell him anything, but it was interesting. Somehow. He found the room's coffee pot and got it started, checking the time as it finished brewing.

"Come on, McClain, you're supposed to be here too…"

As if on cue, Lance walked in, looking rather confused. He'd never been in this building before. He zeroed in on Keith immediately. "Why are we here?"

Keith shook his head. "Not sure."

Frowning, Lance looked around the otherwise empty room, checking the time himself. "Is it just us?"

"We're all the request came in for."

"Huh? I hate this stuff."

"Yeah." Keith frowned too. "It doesn't feel right, that's for sure."

Lance filled a cup of coffee and downed it, shaking his head. "Hope this doesn't take all day."

"Why? Somewhere important to be?"

Grin. "Always, boss. Always."

The clock hit nine; whoever had called them in was now officially late. Which meant, despite knowing he would probably regret it, Keith couldn't quite help the obvious question. "Like where?"

Lance laughed. "Where do you think? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I do have a ship to run," the boss acknowledged. "Drills." He wondered how Sven and the kids were doing; he would probably owe their navigator an apology later. "And I wouldn't mind getting in another ride on my bike today."

"Bike?" Lance repeated, arching an eyebrow. "As in bicycle?"

"…No." Keith stared at him for a moment, remembering Flynn's surprise and wondering if he really did come across as that much of a stick in the mud. "My Ducati. Motorcycle."

The pilot's hazel eyes widened slightly. "Sweet, let me ride it sometime?"

As if he'd trust McClain with that? "No way. That's mine."

Smirk. "I thought learning to share was part of command training?"

"A man never lets another man ride his motorcycle."

That was definitely not a code Lance had ever been made aware of; he arched an eyebrow. "Huh? Guess all the dates I've let ride mine owe me, or something." He debated saying something else about riding that would really fluster the boss, but before he got there, a sharp series of avian clucks rang out from the doorway. It had the effect of someone clearing their throat for attention, and they turned. What looked something like a feathery gray linebacker in a Support Division uniform was standing there.

…A Quasnot, great. They give me the heebie jeebies.

Keith immediately straightened. "Yes… ma'am?" The Quasnot were one of the Alliance's founding races, but he'd interacted with very few of them before. He was pretty certain gray meant female.

"Sorry for the delay. Technical difficulties." Her voice was a deep, musical whistle. "Commander Keith Kogane and Lieutenant Lance McClain, correct?"

Lance nodded, then groaned inwardly to avoid rolling his eyes outwardly as Keith went for full formality. "Yes ma'am. Are you who we were to expect for this?"

"Yes. Senior Specialist Turoa Tek, Intel Division, Galra Task Force." She saluted and bowed at the same time. "My overlords would like more information on your reactions to the metal artifacts you retrieved on your last journey."

The use of overlords for superior officers was a typical Quasnot quirk. It still made Keith shift a little uncomfortably. Lance, on the other hand, had to fight down a snicker—until he processed the rest of the statement, and rounded on his commander in shock. "You put it in the report?!"

"After Doc said that it could potentially be a tailored bioweapon?" Keith gave him a look. "You expected me not to put it in the report?"

That was a fair point, he decided, shifting uneasily himself before slowly nodding. Fair, but he didn't like it. Whatever that metal was, the warmth it had sent through him, it felt private… despite or perhaps because of the fact that he didn't understand it at all.

Turoa Tek was looking between them, seeming a bit concerned. "Will the two of you require an honor duel? We didn't budget time for that, but perhaps one can be arranged afterwards?"

Both of them turned to stare at her with just as much concern. "Uh… no, thank you."

"We're good."

"Apologies." Keith drained his coffee and put the mug aside. "What questions do you have?"

"No need for apologies," she said cheerfully. "The lab next door is set up to run some better scans on the artifacts. No dishonor to your engineers, of course—your assigned equipment lacked functionality."

"Pretty sure they'd be the first to agree with that," Lance commented.

Turoa Tek gave a chuckle that sounded like slightly off-key birdsong. "The universal lament." She turned, motioning for them to follow. Lance's eyes briefly went to the two peacock-like trains of feathers extending from her shoulders. He knew if she fanned them out they wouldn't be peacock-like at all, but a dizzying pattern more likely to induce migraines than impress. Just one of many things that made the Quasnot a bit… unsettling. Though she seemed nice enough.

Keith was unsettled too, though not so much from the Quasnot technician. More the whole principle of the thing. Great, we're going to be lab rats. He couldn't argue the necessity, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

"I hope there isn't a maze," Lance whispered, nudging him, and it took all he had not to laugh.

The lab was large and well-equipped. A maze, thankfully, was not part of the equation. Keith didn't recognize most of the equipment, though he thought he'd seen a couple of the machines over at Medical. "Doc would be jealous…"

"I was thinking Flynn," Lance countered, looking around with a low whistle.

"It is nice, isn't it?" Turoa Tek agreed. "I won it in an honor duel with the Border Anomalies department."

…Had that been a joke? It was impossible to tell if that had been a joke. Looking over her completely deadpan expression Lance decided it didn't really matter. "Impressive. I love a badass."

"Must have been quite the experience," Keith said uneasily, earning a slight side-eye from his pilot. If anyone could appreciate an honor duel, he'd have expected the boss to be it. Oh well.

The specialist led them to a table by a particularly large chunk of machinery. Two clear containers were sitting there, each holding one very familiar scrap of metal. Keith stared at them silently; Lance zeroed in on the red piece, his hand twitching briefly. He wanted to touch it again.

Turoa Tek let the silence linger a few moments before picking up the container with the black piece. "Commander, if you'd go first?" She removed the lid of the containment unit and stepped forward to place it in the deep scanner's main chamber. "I confess to not having a broader strategy. The initial scan results will provide one."

Nodding, Keith stopped forward as the Quasnot retreated to the monitoring panel. The memory already seemed to be coming back in full clarity. He reached out slowly, resting his hand on the metal, and shivered as static immediately seemed to race through his bones. What is this? He closed his eyes, breath catching slightly as he tried to focus on the soft whirr of the machine.

"Still tingly, boss?"

"Yeah… still tingles. But why?"

"Think that's her job."

"Katas mit-toras," Turoa Tek muttered in the midst of the nervous chatter, her shoulder feathers rustling slightly. That didn't seem like the best of signs. "You did not have lingering effects after touching these before, correct? No illness?"

"Nope," Lance confirmed as Keith opened his eyes and looked over at her. "Jace would've kept detailed records if we had, trust us."

She considered that, then looked back at her panel. "The metal does not react—statistically insignificant heat transfer, nothing more. But you certainly do." That sent a slight chill down Lance's spine, which wasn't helped when she turned to look at him. "Lieutenant, would you touch that for me? I'd like a control scan."

Blink. "Me? Touch what?"

"Yes. The black piece—the report says only Commander Kogane had a reaction to it, correct?"

"Yeah, sure." Lance moved up and placed his hand on the black metal as Keith moved out of the way. He'd known he wouldn't feel the warmth from it, but it was still strangely disappointing…

Turoa Tek clucked softly. "You felt nothing?"

"Nothing."

They were both fully focused on her now, all resentment at the summons forgotten. For a long moment she didn't say anything else, tapping at the control panel. Then finally, "You both had the same reaction."

…Of all the things Lance had expected he might hear, that wasn't even on the list. "What? But I don't feel anything."

"Let's try the other piece. I can't conclude anything yet."

Watching her switch the containers in the scan chamber, Keith stepped a little closer to Lance. "What do you think she means by that?" he whispered. The only answer he got was a shrug, which was probably all he should've expected, but still… the specialist put the red scrap into place and nodded to Lance, who moved forward again.

For a moment Lance couldn't help feeling uneasy, looking at the bright red metal gleaming in the lab's harsh light. But as soon as he touched it, the comforting warmth shot through him all over again. Just as he remembered it, or maybe even more.

"Commander, your turn."

Reluctantly, Lance pulled his hand away. He couldn't quite bring himself to step back as Keith came up next to him and reached out to touch it. "Nothing…"

"Mit-toras." Turoa Tek gave a soft, screeching exhale, her shoulder feathers ruffling again. "This request is irregular, but… if one of you could come here and watch this readout?"

That did sound pretty damn irregular. Lance shot Keith a look, and this time it was the boss's turn to shrug. Well, why not? He should probably walk away from the metal before the urge to touch it again overwhelmed him. "Uh, okay, sure." He crossed over to the monitoring panel, where she indicated a numerical readout labeled MDR LEVEL underneath one of the displays. He wasn't sure what that meant, but suspected he would find out sooner rather than later.

With a nod of thanks, the Quasnot stepped up to the scan chamber and rested a feathery hand on the metal.

The numbers shot up.

"It's doing something," Lance reported, eyebrows raising.

"Define something?"

"Oh, uh, big numbers. Right when you touched it."

Turoa Tek stepped back from the scan chamber, nodding slowly. "Yet I felt nothing… I see. We completely missed this, we were too busy scanning the metal itself."

Keith waited for a moment, but she seemed to be getting lost in her own thoughts. And strictly speaking those thoughts weren't their business, but after all this? "Does that mean you have a hypothesis, ma'am?"

"That may be an overstatement." She went back to the control panel. "Touching the metal caused each of us to display sharply elevated levels of metadynamic radiation. A sort of… paranormal energy that we can do little more than detect." Her shoulder feathers flared slightly. "We lack the science to analyze this, because it isn't science."

"It isn't science?"

She chirped in what seemed like frustration. "It usually comes about from the mystical traditions of certain civilizations. Common lacks a well-developed vocabulary for it… but in essence, magic."

Both of their jaws dropped. There were plenty of civilizations, both within and beyond the Alliance, which claimed to practice magic. Several of those could even show provable results. But it wasn't exactly officially recognized as existing. "Isn't magic just science we don't understand yet?" Keith asked after finding his voice again.

"That is the belief we work from."

"So you can't tell me why I feel warmth when I touch this?" Lance looked back to the red fragment. "It's just magic?" That seemed less satisfying than he'd hoped.

"Beings responding very differently to metadynamic radiation is well known. But past that, no. This isn't my field, and it isn't what our equipment was designed for." She paused thoughtfully. "I could attempt a basic explanation, but it would involve a great deal of string theory, instability theory, metaphysical cross-contamination theory, and many other theories we also didn't budget time for."

Maybe, Lance decided, 'magic' was good enough after all. "No worries, my brain never budgeted room for that stuff either." He looked over at Keith and shook his head. "Weirder and weirder."

"I'd have to agree, McClain." Keith scratched his head and grimaced. "Just weird."

"Between the three of us," Turoa Tek admitted, "weird is as good a word as any." She closed up the containment units and looked back at them. "I'm sure my overlords will dispatch this to one of the mysticism research units. I believe I can dismiss the two of you, unless you'd like to volunteer for further mystical research."

Eyeing the red metal, for a split second Lance was actually tempted to take her up on that. His sense of self-preservation kicked in before the thought could do much more than form. "Yeah, fuck no to that."

Keith, as always, was more diplomatic. "I think we'll pass on that… kind offer, ma'am."

"I thought you might." She gave the salute-bow again; that was probably another Quasnot quirk. "Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome." Lance shot her a wink. "May you win your next honor battle."

"I haven't lost one yet," she said with a musical chuckle. "May your next journey grant you either more or less 'weird', whichever you prefer."

As she departed, Lance looked back to Keith. "What do we prefer? That's a great question."

"I'd prefer some answers."

"Magic, bossman. The answer is magic." Keith snorted at that, and Lance shrugged. It wasn't much of an answer, that was for sure. But then again, looking back at what they'd run into last mission… he couldn't help wondering if it was really all that crazy.

*****

Name: Tsuyoshi Garrett

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 21 (5/4/2395)

Height: 6'9"

Weight: 342

Hair: Dk. Brown

Eyes: Hazel

Skin: Lt. Brown

Medical History:

"Somehow—fucking somehow—your entire body is not on the verge of spontaneous shutdown from too much salt and bacon. Congratulations, I guess."

Hunk looked unreasonably smug about that. "Doc, lemme tell you a little story."

"If I say no, will it matter?"

"Nope!" Grin. "Once upon a time, there was a big dude who liked grills who went to Berkeley for his chemical engineering prep. He decided while he was there he oughta have some fun, so he took a bunch of culinary science electives in between mixin' up booms and learned a lot of cool things about how much salt and bacon is okay."

Jace stared at him, looking distinctly unamused. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Nope!" he repeated, grinning wider. "And then he catered the riots until it was time to transfer to the Academy, but that's a totally different story."

"…Of course he did." The medic felt a headache coming on. "Whatever, if it works for you I don't really care, but when you have a massive cholesterol meltdown I get to say I told you so."

"Totally."

He glanced over the records again and shook his head; he was absolutely going to regret this, but the curiosity was overwhelming. "One more thing. How the hell did you break your ear bones without massive head trauma? Not that you having massive head trauma would surprise me at all, but it's not on your sheet."

The big man paused, blinked, then chuckled a little sheepishly. "Yeah, uh. That. I was little. I had a bad ear infection."

Jace crossed his arms, debated questioning the idea that this guy had ever been little, decided there wasn't much point in it. "Right. That can cause some damage. It specifically says fractured."

"It hurt a lot, so one of my brothers decided to try to help me out… uh, with a drill." He frowned. "You can probably guess this, but it didn't help much."

…Yes. Yes, he absolutely regretted asking.

*****

The bridge crew had continued running sims, in the absence of more concrete goals to work towards. But today both Keith and Lance had been called away due to their 'metal allergy'. Which left Sven in charge. Keith had told him to make any needed adjustments to the drill, and in his carefully considered opinion, there wasn't much point running a bridge crew simulation at all without the commander and pilot.

So instead of bridge assessment, he was doing a sparring assessment. Hand to hand combat was much more his wheelhouse than space combat anyway. It was still a drill! Just adjusted as necessary. Very heavily adjusted.

The navigator had arrived at the gym early to reserve a sparring room, and was pleased when Ensign Star arrived a little early as well. He was even more pleased when Brennan walked in a few minutes later, right on time… he hadn't been expecting that.

"Hello, sir." Cam tossed his shirt and towel on a nearby bench, taking a sip of water.

"Hello, Starr."

"Yo!" Daniel called out as he trotted up. Both of them just raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged.

"Alright. Both of you warm up, stretch, and then square up on the mat. I want to assess how you'll do in hand to hand," Sven instructed.

"What kind of hand to hand, sir?"

"Whatever kind you wish to use." He'd had a glance at their files; neither of them had any martial art training listed outside of what the Academy taught. That would make it simpler, not needing to survey any particular fighting style.

"Sounds fun." Daniel's tone did not match his words. He wasn't a huge fan of sparring, he much preferred a comfy seat in a cockpit to a sweat-covered mat. "Ready whenever you are, Cammy."

Cammy? That was a new one. "Bring it, brat boy." Cam cracked his neck and stepped onto the mat.

"That can't be good for your neck." Daniel hopped onto the mat too. "And I've done nothing to you to deserve that nickname."

"How about the way you barged in on my reporting to the commander?" Cam was still fairly irked about that. "And flouted protocol the entire time you were there?"

Of course fanboy was still upset about that. Daniel had even tried to give him a new nickname to encourage better behavior! "How does that make me a brat? A little rude maybe. But brattish? I don't think so."

"Oh you're a total brat." Cam insisted. "I could go over every single thing you've done since, but we're supposed to be sparring." He had his fists up and clenched, waiting for his opponent to make the first move. Daniel was in a ready stance, but his hands weren't up, and it was becoming clear he had no intention of cooperating.

"Whenever you're ready, fanboy."

"So do something, whiny brat boy."

"Dude." Cam was obviously trying to goad him into attacking, but Daniel wasn't impressed. "I've been called so much worse."

Sven looked between the two of them, his face pinching up as he tried not to groan. This wasn't a combat drill, this was babysitting. "If the two of you could stop calling each other names and get on with it, I'd be highly appreciative."

Cam immediately responded to the order and dashed in, lightly smacking the side of Daniel's head as a distraction before kicking his legs out from under him.

The gunner landed on his ass and rolled away from his attacker, who didn't seem inclined to pursue. "Is that it? Bring it on, fanboy."

Cam smirked. "I think I just did."

"You're right, you did." He jumped up, tensing back into a defensive stance. "You learn how to do that watching Keith's ass?"

Glare. "You wish."

"Eh." Daniel shook his head. "I don't need to see that. You're kind of cute, but not my type." He darted forward and tackled him to the ground.

"If I'm not your type, why are you on top of me?" Cam shoved him off before he could answer, and kicked him in his stomach for good measure.

"Ack!" Daniel cried out, winded. "…You're reading too much into that. I'm very rarely on top." Smirking, he scrambled to his feet. His opponent was still trying to get up, and would have been an easy target… but his stomach still hurt as he went to take advantage, so he decided to wait it out.

For heaven's sake. Sven wasn't impressed with the banter, but at least their fighting wasn't terrible. Wasn't the best, but workable.

Cam had regained his feet, eyeing Daniel with a challenging grin. "You gonna hit me or just stand there and breathe?"

Smirking, Daniel lowered his head and ran towards him. Cam started a countermove but Daniel was faster and jerked to side, slapping his ass and spinning away. Sven shook his head. Maybe he'd been too optimistic.

"Oy!" Cam cried out as Daniel got out of range and laughed at him. He wants to play that way? Glaring, he darted in while the brat was laughing and punched him hard in the gut.

"Ugh!" Daniel grabbed his arm and yanked him to the ground—he was going down anyways, and holy fuck his stomach was definitely going to be bruised now. Apparently fanboy was pretty strong. Though not strong enough to pull off his next move, rolling and attempting to toss Daniel away; Daniel didn't go very far, and responded by slamming a knee into his arm.

"Ow, brat!"

"I really haven't earned that nickname."

"Oh yes you have!"

"How?" Daniel stood up, sore and breathing hard; he was getting tired of being punched. He really hated sparring.

Cam stood up too, scowling. "By being you!"

Oh. Daniel thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "…That's fair."

"More than."

Nodding again, Daniel rushed forward and tackled him to the mat. Apparently the floor was where most of this fight was going to take place.

Much like Daniel was tired of getting punched, Cam was very tired of being tackled. Grabbing Daniel by the shoulders, he seized whatever leverage he had and headbutted the brat in the face before rolling off of him and scrambling away.

He needn't have bothered, because Daniel wasn't chasing him. Blood was spurting from his nose, and he'd grabbed it with a shocked cry. "What the fuck, man?!"

"Oops." Cam blinked. That was a little more than he'd been going for.

Sven ran forward and gently started pulling on Daniel's hands, which weren't budging from his face. "Move your hands so I can see if you're okay." After a moment to comprehend that, the kid let him pull his hands away from his bloody nose, wincing as he checked to see if it was broken.

"He looks prettier," Cam commented lightly, still slightly embarrassed but certain the brat had deserved it.

"You're such a dick." Daniel was pissed. Who the fuck headbutts someone?

Shaking his head, Sven looked up at Cam. "Go get tissues or something to stop the bleeding." And so he won't yell at you while I'm trying to examine him. The comms officer returned quickly, carrying the towel he'd brought in with him; Daniel immediately snatched it and pressed it to his face. Sven gave him a mildly reproachful look, but he'd probably seen enough. "It's not broken, just bruised. You'll be fine."

"He'd be prettier if I had broken it," Cam said, and Daniel flipped him off in response.

Sven raised a disapproving eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Looking between the two, he sighed. They aren't that bad. No they are that bad, but Jace is just as bad, and I like him. They'll be fine. He fought down the smile that was trying to form, because it could only be misinterpreted. Explorer Teams. Standing, he offered Daniel a hand to help him up.

"Thanks…"

"You're welcome." He was pretty sure their hand to hand skills had been thoroughly assessed by now, and he was ready to get out of here. Before they started up again. "Alright, you're both dismissed." The idea of saying 'good job' came and went… not only was Jace that bad, he was apparently contagious.

"Yes sir," Daniel and Cam responded at the same time. Cam grinned, then looked over at Daniel and outright smirked. "Might want to avoid the Doc."

The gunner just glared at him, towel still on his face, and walked out the door without a response.

"…Brat." Cam shook his head and followed him out.

*****

Name: Lance Charles McClain

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 23 (4/7/2393)

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 190

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Hazel

Skin: Light

Medical History:

"So, Beau Terre spotted fever. Nineteen percent reactivation rate, that's pretty high among mutant chickenpox variants. Medical recommends re-vaccination after 20, which you haven't done, and they recommend the shot in the ass, which means we've both done something to piss off karma."

Lance stared. "You are fucking kidding me?"

"I fucking wish. It's the recommendation."

"I was talking about my ass."

"So was I." Jace snorted. "Which I promise isn't something I have any interest in talking about."

"You sure, Jace?" The pilot raised an eyebrow. "It's a fine ass… and man, I like sitting on it."

Crossing his arms, Jace raised his eyes to the ceiling and dialed up his most pious tone. "As your duly certified Qualification Level 4 medical professional, I am obligated to tell you the recommendation will give you the most rapid and efficient protection." He dropped the affect and shrugged. "But off the record it's not like stabbing your shoulder won't work."

"Good, you're stabbing my fucking shoulder."

"Not through leather I'm not." Jace filled the syringe—the quite large syringe, hence the recommendation. "Ditch the jacket."

Lance complied, grudgingly. "You sure you don't just want a peek at this fine physique?"

That was certainly the least of his interests. "If that's the way you want to play this, I can insist on the ass… this'll sting like a bitch, just pretend you're back on Sorthal."

"Memories of being stabbed and poisoned? Your bedside manner is fucking atrocious, you know that?"

"It's come up." Shrugging, Jace pushed up his sleeve. "I save asses, I don't kiss them. Or stab them, if I can help it, so let's not make it necessary." He plunged the large needle into Lance's shoulder, holding his arm tight in case he flinched; this shot really was no joke.

That had been a good decision. "FUCKING FUCKING FUCK FUCK!"

Jace opened his mouth to taunt him, took one look at his expression, and turned away to get a bandage instead. "I don't even have the heart to threaten to kiss it and make it better, my man. Go punch a bag or something, working the arm'll help."

Lance glared. "Can I punch your face?"

"No. Punching someone's face is bad for your knuckles."

"Too bad."

"Sorry." Smirk. "Now fuck off. Doctor's orders." He tossed Lance's jacket at him and nearly pushed him out the door; the pilot flipped him off as he left. Well, whatever. That would work the arm too.

*****

Hangar L4-West was in chaos. It was controlled chaos, to be sure, but chaos nonetheless. Trying to hook a multi-ton weapon of mass disruption up to a seventy foot high spaceplane was bound to be touchy enough. The late autumn thunderstorm that had rolled in for the afternoon wasn't helping. They were, after all, in a building with a wide footprint and a metal roof.

It had taken all of two minutes to resort to comm devices, because hearing anyone yell from more than ten feet away was a lost cause.

Vince was trying his best to tune out the pounding rain as he worked; it was going well enough. It wasn't actually the disruptor cannon he was working on right now. In order to install the cannon safely, two of the Bolt's centerline shield nodes had needed to be moved. So he was crouched on the ship's nose, carefully linking the node into a circuit with one of the point defense laser turrets, quietly grateful that nobody else was paying attention to him.

The cannon was being moved while he worked. Hunk was running the lift crane, and probably vrooming, if it could've been heard over the racket from outside. Though hooking it into the ship's power systems would be Vince's job, Flynn was handling the actual bolting it down. Pidge had volunteered to help with that, but someone had to monitor the safety systems, so he was leaning over the main floor systems console looking sullen. Maybe he could hear Hunk's vrooming.

"Steady enough, pit boss?"

"Go down about six inches and ask me again. Might need a little more rotation." Flynn watched the cannon lower towards the hull, frowning. The turret mounting was already in place. Now it was just the delicate process of getting two large pieces of complicated machinery lined up to the very millimeter. "Hold there. Let me get a couple of guide clamps set up."

"Roger that!"

Out of nowhere, an enormous CRASH shook the hangar. A screeching alarm started up somewhere in the distance, the sharp snap of a dozen circuit breakers tripping at once just barely audible. The lights went out with a crackle.

Vince jumped, yelping in shock. Part of him fully expected the shield node to go up in sympathetic sparks—it would be typical. But it didn't seem to… he had maybe the slightest fraction of a second to be relieved before his foot came down on the edge of the turret, and he stumbled backwards, skidding down the Bolt's nose.

Yelling again, for all the good that would do him, he scrambled to grip the smooth cerasilicate exterior of the hull. It wasn't working out. So he held his breath, waiting for the repulsion field to shove him back up onto the ship—it was an unpleasant shock when it happened.

Oh crap, the power…

It didn't happen.

He was falling.

Though intellectually he knew it was only a few seconds, the fall felt like forever. He tried to brace himself. But how did you brace for a fall like this? It was going to—

—Something hit him in the side, bleeding off much of his downward momentum. He felt himself go end over end, whatever had hit him seeming to drag him along with it in at least one full flip, then he hit the ground. Not the floor. Something much softer and warmer than the concrete, something that might have given a slight gasp as he impacted.

Flynn hadn't moved since the lights went out. He was crouched by the clamp he'd been lining up, mentally counting the seconds. It shouldn't be too long. Garrison hangars were built to protect the very large chunks of flying metal inside of them from lightning. Not so much their own structure; overloads happened sometimes. There was only so much you could do to stop a hundred thousand amps from wreaking havoc.

After precisely thirty seconds, the lights came back on. He exhaled and moved forward, flipping on his comms. "Everyone alright?" The words were barely out of his mouth when he came around the cannon far enough to see Vince. Or the empty space where Vince had been working, anyway. "…Vince?!" Sprinting forward, he was already typing in the comms code for Medical, anticipating the worst.

"I see 'im, pit boss. He's uh… okay?" Hunk had jumped out of the lift and was approaching quickly. It wasn't just the one kid sprawled on the floor. Their electrical engineer was in a heap on top of Pidge, who hadn't been anywhere near there when the lights went out. "Little dude? Dudes?"

Though he could hear them on the comms, Vince didn't feel at all prepared to answer. He was too busy gasping for breath and staring dumbfounded at Pidge. "H… h-how did you… I mean, thank you… but how?"

"I can see in the dark," the ninja answered as if that explained everything. "Don't move, you might have broken ribs, they took most of the shock."

Now that he mentioned it, his side did ache pretty badly from the impact. If anything was actually broken he'd think he would have noticed the pain earlier? Really he wouldn't know, the worst he'd ever had before this was a few skinned knees… okay, so he liked to avoid potential injury situations.

"I don't think anything's broken…" Not that he was in any hurry to move regardless, though it seemed like it would be polite to not keep sitting on top of his rescuer. At that thought he blinked. "Uh, are you okay?"

"Fine," Pidge muttered impatiently. "I knew what I was doing." What he had been doing, precisely, was monitoring the safety systems as ordered. When the lights went out he'd been well aware Vince was in a precarious position. Fortunately one of the access ladders had been near enough to let him intervene mid-fall, otherwise they both really would be hurt.

Hunk had reached them, still more than a little concerned. He could see they were talking, and neither seemed to be flailing in pain, but he'd sure have felt better if they answered him. "Little dudes?"

"Sorry, big guy. We're good. Ish." Maybe that was an overstatement. But Vince managed to move enough to give a weak thumbs-up; Pidge gave a reproachful glare.

"He shouldn't be moving until he knows his ribs aren't broken."

…Tattletale.

Scrambling down the same access ladder Pidge had used, Flynn entered hearing range just in time to catch the tail end of that. "I already called the medics."

"Ugh, can you not? He's already just waiting for me to get space flu so he can laugh."

Hunk had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. That sounded right. Flynn didn't bother to fight down his own grin. "Not him, he's on break, and you've suffered enough. Just the nearest med station. Just to be sure." He knelt next to the kids and steadied Vince enough for Pidge to crawl out from beneath him. "Do you need looked at, Pidge?"

"No sir. I'm fine." He'd gone from sounding impatient to mildly insulted.

Flynn eyed him for a moment, then nodded. No sense arguing. "Okay. Hunk, go back and get the physical harnesses, would you? Think we'd best switch." The restrictive harnesses were inferior in most respects to the electromagnetic safety systems… until the power went out, anyway. "Pidge, check the breakers, make sure they all closed back up properly."

"Yessir." He started for the back, then paused a moment. "If Vince is injured I'll do the wiring. Don't let him do anything stupid."

Oh really… watching him go, Flynn found the slightest smile trying to tug at his lips. Maybe they could make this work after all…

The medics came rushing in after a couple more minutes. Vince was fine, just badly bruised. Immediately he'd rejected the offer to go and rest—he'd rather work on wiring than go back and dwell on his brush with maiming or death. More than understandable. He let Hunk get the harnesses set up, turning his attention to Pidge as he returned from the breaker box.

"Breakers are all reset," the young man reported over the comms.

"Good." Flynn beckoned him into normal hearing range. "Once we finish up here, I'll submit your probation waiver."

"Sir?" The ninja stared up at him, looking confused and almost offended. "For what, not letting a crewmate die?"

Well, kind of. "You're here for stabbing a crewmate, aren't you?"

…That was true. Pidge lowered his head slightly, an embarrassed chill rushing over his skin. The bar was low, but it had been set there fairly. "Yessir. Thank you."

Flynn looked down at him, debating whether to elaborate or not. Somehow, he didn't think it would be appreciated. "You did a good job," he said quietly. Maybe that would be enough. He seemed pleased with it, in any case, if the way his eyes widened was any hint. Was it? He opted to assume so, for now.

As another crack of thunder rumbled outside, they got back to work.

*****

Name: Keith Akira Kogane

Species: H. sapiens

Age: 25 (7/25/2391)

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 225

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue

Skin: Tan

Medical History:

"Everything looks good, except I think they made a mistake on your last round of scans. Or did they just remove that stick from up your ass before running them?"

Apparently, for some reason, the boss had expected something else; he glared. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, there it is." Jace nodded as if he'd just discovered a key symptom. "No problem."

Keith kept glaring, which he answered with the closest thing to an innocent smile he could muster. Finally the boss shook his head, maybe deciding walking out wasn't worth it. "Can we move this along, Doctor?"

"I have to be thorough, boss." Shrug. "You're up to date on your shots, you never miss a checkup, you haven't cut anything off yet even though you play with swords on a regular basis. Model soldier." He applauded, and Keith rolled his eyes. "Hey now. If you can't even take a compliment from your doctor, I hope I never have to stick a needle in your ass. …Honestly I hope I never have to do that anyway."

"Yeah, I'd rather you not do that either."

"Perfect." He smiled faintly, since Keith was still glaring. "You can beat me up for this later."

"Careful, I might take you up on that."

"That's why I offered. I might've learned some things from the last time, though."

"Might have. Might not." The commander cocked his head. "So, are we done? Or do you have any more rude remarks to make about my medical history?"

Jace considered that for a few seconds. "I can probably find some if you want."

"Thanks, Doc." He stood, turning to the door as the medic tossed him a casual salute.

"Any time you need someone to mock you though, come on back. Walk-ins welcome."

Keith paused a moment, looking back at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm only going to say this once, Doc, so listen carefully. Fuck off."

It took a minute for Jace to find words. "…Get the fuck back here, I need to check you for brain damage."

"Nope. Later, Doc."

Staring after him, Jace's dumbfounded look slowly turned into a satisfied smirk. He turned away and made another note on his datapad.

Treatment proceeding adequately.

*****

The castle tunnels, unlike other shelters on Arus, had been built with escape rather than only survival in mind. Several narrow passages ran for over a mile beneath the Meadows of Raimon, coming out in the foothills of the Kyva Mountains. It wasn't enough to put them in contact with any of the other shelters… but the foothills did offer plentiful cover, plentiful rolis, and somewhere to slip out and breathe without being surrounded by ruins and ash.

It was windy today, and Allura's enjoyment of the fresh air was interrupted by a large, spiky leaf suddenly plastered to her face by a gust. The spiny edges hooked into her hair and stayed there. "Ugh… yukol leaf."

"Here we see the feral leaf in its natural habitat!" Larmina whispered beside her as she carefully peeled it off. "Today it's attacking rare prey, an Arusian princess…"

Allura smiled, tossing the leaf at her. It fluttered harmlessly to the ground. Scowling in the direction of the nearby yukol tree just on principle, she moved on.

"Better be careful, Auntie." Larmina climbed up a small embankment, looking around. "The rolis are even more vicious. And fuzzy." She sighted one off to her left and carefully drew her bow. She was getting decent at hitting the little beasts, but she wasn't fast. "Viciously fuzzy."

"Mmm, don't forget cute." Allura came up next to her and took the shot, the arrow whistling straight into the roli's striped flank. "But cute doesn't always save one's rear, I'm afraid."

Larmina slowly lowered the bow and grinned faintly. "Showoff."

"You'll get there. I'm seeing the improvement." She moved forward into the brush to collect her catch. "Before you know it, rolis will know to fear all Arusian princesses."

"Hmph. Only one princess here." Larmina ducked under a yukol branch and looked around for any more twitches of movement. Nothing so far. "You didn't come out here just to make sure I'm handling a bow okay, did you? You could've stayed in the caves and done princess stuff if you wanted." It wasn't that she didn't like having Auntie out here with her… but she really wasn't worth it, if that was all there was. The people needed her more.

For a moment Allura was silent, looking up and scanning the sky. The Drule bombardments may have stopped, but scout patrols were still common. After reassuring herself it was clear, she turned back to the younger girl. "I am doing 'princess stuff' up here. Using my skills to supply food." Being the princess shouldn't exempt her from such duty, she was sure. Besides… "…and getting some fresh air, as well."

Another gust of wind howled around them. It put Larmina on edge, just a little. The wind felt different than it had in the forest, and now that she was here, she found herself almost missing the strange growl that had bothered her before. "They do say fresh air is good for you. For health. And stuff."

"Yes. As much as the caves protect us, we can't live in them forever."

"What are the options?" Another roli poked its head up out of some scrub plants, and she tried to take a quick shot. The arrow clipped one long ear and it bounded away, leaving a small trickle of blood behind. She scowled, not only at the missed shot. "I don't think the Drules are just going to apologize and leave."

"No… that is one thing they're not going to do. Somehow we need to gain back our land." Allura closed her eyes, muttering almost to herself. "Just the when, how, and where are the questions."

"…Well, yeah. Just a little detail or two."

Little details. Allura moved further into a stand of trees, shaking her head slightly. It wasn't just the caves themselves she'd needed to get out of. It was, truthfully, the princess stuff. With her father out searching, Tanner and even Nanny missing… she had to be strong for her people, but who was there to be strong for her? Perhaps she and her honorary niece simply had to rely on each other.

"I know. It seems obvious when I say it out loud." She laughed weakly, putting a hand to her forehead. "Maybe the caves have gotten to me. But we have to find hope somewhere, there's so little in this moment… we can't just give up because it seems impossible now."

That, Larmina supposed, was true. She slid down a small slope, taking a little time and space to gather her thoughts. "You really think there's a way out of this?"

Allura was silent for a long time. Much too long, in Larmina's opinion. "…I don't know," she admitted finally. "It's hard to imagine right now, but I still believe in my father. Somehow, he'll find a way." It had been so long since he'd even returned to the castle tunnels, but she knew they would have heard if he'd been captured…

"Yeah. What is he doing, anyway? Aren't the Drules looking for him specifically? Seems like he'd be better off staying underground, but what do I know."

But staying underground won't wake the Lions from their slumber. For a moment Allura was sorely tempted to confide in her completely. But… no. The years of having secrecy impressed upon her still weighed too heavily. "He's trying to find a way to accomplish the impossible." I hope it is possible. It must be possible.

Larmina frowned slightly at the non-answer, though it didn't surprise her. Can't tell the half-royal bastard child, got it. There were, no doubt, practical concerns at play. The more people who knew where King Alfor was, the more danger he was in. It was none of her business. She wasn't upset by it. Not at all. Nope. "Hope for the best, right?"

"It is better than the alternatives."

Also probably true. Whatever. Finally Larmina sighted what she'd been looking for—the trail of blood the roli she'd clipped had left behind. Motioning for silence she began to follow the trail, keeping her eyes open for any of its friends that might jump out. After all, rolis were vicious in their fuzziness.

The trail didn't go far before vanishing into some thick underbrush. She wasn't about to let that stop her, and pushed some brambles aside… and sprang back with wide eyes. "Dovayat polesta!" Immediately she slapped a hand over her own mouth, blushing bright. That had been way, way too loud. And using that kind of language in front of Auntie was probably not the best move.

Mercifully though, Auntie didn't comment, instead moving closer and raising her bow. "What is it?"

"It's, um…" Larmina hesitantly pushed the branches aside again, half hoping it had been get imagination. Nope, still there. "Someone, uh, has been having way more fun than us out here."

Well that didn't seem to be an answer. Allura came up behind her, pushing a few more branches out of the way, and her own eyes widened. A dead Drule was laying there in a pool of bluish blood; the delicately filigreed sword buried in his guts left no question as to how he'd wound up that way.

Her first instinct was to scan the skies again. Silent for now, but how long would that last? "Someone is bound to come looking for their missing scout." She'd heard more than a few tales recently of ambushes being counter-ambushed. "We may want to finish our hunt elsewhere."

"Yeah, might want to." Despite her agreement, Larmina didn't move. She looked mildly ill as she stared at the body. "I guess some of the Golden Knights are still out there causing problems, huh?"

"So it seems." Allura was still scanning their surroundings, but the only sound was another whistle of wind. "May they always be thorns in the Drules' sides."

"Damn right." And there was the language again. Oh well. Just leaving a perfectly good sword behind seemed silly, so Larmina carefully stepped through the brambles and pulled it out of the scout's stomach. Dark blood splattered around it. "Eww."

Chuckling, Auntie motioned for her to move it, but she hesitated a moment longer. She had been taught some Drakure—they were on the border of the Ninth Kingdom, and royal education was comprehensive. Very few of the words had stuck with her, and most of those were impolite. It was one of those words she scratched into a rock near the body.

Turning to follow Allura elsewhere, she kept a tight grip on the sword. She had very little idea how to use a sword properly, but it made her feel better somehow… a reminder that they weren't alone out here, maybe. Arus was still fighting. There was still hope.

The rest of the hunt was mercifully uneventful, and before they knew it twilight was starting to fall. That was their cue to return. Carrying a light would be insane with the Drules owning the skies. But they may have walked a bit more slowly than usual, and not just because of the rolis they were dragging along behind them.

A ruined shell of a cabin hid one entrance to the tunnels. It had always been ruined. The vines creeping over the crumbling stone had been planted centuries ago, deliberately haphazard. As they ducked beneath a curtain of green they stopped to count their catch one last time. A good day, without doubt; they'd brought down a dozen rolis between them.

Allura had more. But Larmina had a sword, not to mention a few branches full of berries she'd cut free on the way back. "You may have more rolis, but I have more variety!" she announced with a sly grin.

Checking over her arrows—even those were a precious commodity now, and they'd managed to recover nearly all of them—Allura chuckled softly. "That's perfect. We can always use berries, not to mention a good sword."

"Always." Larmina looked to the sky, where the moon was shining as a faint sliver. It would have been a beautiful night… "Guess we have to go in now, huh."

The princess nodded. "One day, we won't have to go back into the caves. I'm sure of it. Sadly, today is not that day." Looking not towards the moon but towards the mountains, she murmured under her breath, "Wake, oh Lions… please…"

Larmina shot her a sharp look, catching about half of the murmur. Lions? What lions? She'd heard tales of the ancient guardian beasts that had once roamed the plains of Arus, but nobody had actually seen a lion since the War of Golden Revival centuries ago. Lions were a myth. But then, so were banewolves… as if answering her thoughts, the wind howled around them.

In the distance, a low growl echoed in the breeze. Or did it? The moment she tried to grasp it, it was gone… shaking her head, she pushed more vines aside to reveal the tunnels beyond. "Come on, let's go. If they see us, it'll be way worse than the caves. Just… keep telling ourselves that."

"Yes." Allura nodded slowly, slinging her quiver back over her shoulder and gathering up her string of rolis. Once more she looked up at the mountains. The dark clouds of Thunder Ridge were sometimes visible from here on clear days; now there was just featureless night. But the image of Black Lion, silent and still in its den, flickered into her mind.

Please…

Reaching up to brush away a tear of longing trying to form, she turned and followed Larmina into the tunnels.

*****

*Hey everyone! One of our writers is going through a bit of a medical issue right now, so we're taking a two week hiatus to give her some time to rest up and relax. We'll be back soon. With a mission briefing.