(On the Hunt) Chapter 18

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 18

Stress Fractures

Every single thread the team's visit to Kaliega had led them to was officially gone. They had learned some things about Altea, true, but they were no closer to actually finding the place. So the Jupiter's Bolt was on its way to Gliskor, and frustration among the crew was high.

It wasn't just the fact that their wild goose chase was a wild goose chase, of course. The trip to Gliskor was a long one. Much of the route required the ship to more or less hug the border of No Man's Land, which could spike some anxiety on any ship. Add to that a chief engineer second-guessing himself, a ninja walking on eggshells, an electrical engineer shooting sparks, a gunner trying to keep certain Dradin escapades secret, and a comms officer who'd literally gotten shot… none of that was helping with the tension.

It wasn't exactly that the Bolt was a powder keg, but all the elements of a cascading failure were ready and waiting. All it needed was a trigger.

Of all things, it was peanut butter.

Cam was grouchy, and could he really be blamed for it? Jace had only kept him one day in the sick bay, which was nice, no doubt. But the next two days of having a useless arm in a sling was already two days too many, and it still hurt like hell. Oh, the Doc had given him painkillers, but they just caused new problems… they made him feel fuzzy, and he'd already almost fainted once after taking them without food.

On the plus side, the Doc did also routinely leave a stockpile of sandwiches in the galley. At least he could grab an easy lunch.

Nearing the galley, he crossed paths with a crewmate. He wasn't really paying attention to anything but keeping himself upright; he didn't even notice which crewmate for a few moments, nor did he care, until he caught sight of peanut butter in the other person's hand. At which point his mouth engaged before his sluggish brain had the chance to. "You open that one?" It came out more harshly than he'd intended.

Pidge froze. He was, in fact, carrying his very own brand new jar of peanut butter—he was still not about to do anything that risked making Flynn madder at him. He couldn't afford that. What he was wholly uninterested in was anyone else getting on his case about it, and his eyes narrowed. "Yes. I got my own. I used manners." It came out exactly as harshly as he intended.

"Good," Cam snapped. "Glad to hear it." Obviously those manners were a real struggle. Whatever. He turned and resumed his trip to the galley.

But Pidge wasn't done; he was a bit resentful about this whole arrangement, and if the human wanted to make an issue of it, he could have his issue. He followed. "So you can tell the Lieutenant Commander I played nicely with your silly semantic games, kir sa tye?"

Really? Cam stopped again, turning back to the ninja, who was glowering at him like he was the problem here. "What is your defect, dude? I don't want problems with—"

"—Komora sa—" Pidge drew his knife, eyes suddenly ablaze. "—what the fuck did you just call me?!"

…Huh? "I called you dude!" Confusion at the question only made him raise his voice louder, what the hell was wrong with dude?

"Take it back."

What the actual hell was wrong with dude? "Take what back? I didn't call you anything, I just asked what the fuck your problem is!"

"That's not what you said."

The fuck? Admittedly he didn't see much of the ninja, but he'd sure never seen him this pissed… and over what? That was exactly what he'd said. Okay, maybe not exactly exactly, what had he even… "So I worded it differently! It's the same fucking thing!"

Pidge was still operating halfway on autopilot; all he was certain of was that he had to fight back. He grabbed Cam's good arm, ready to teach him a very important lesson about pushing too far. Then the words registered, and he froze.

The same fucking thing? It wasn't at all the same fucking thing. …Was it the same thing? He's just a clueless human. He doesn't know anything. He didn't mean it.

"What the fuck…?"

He barely heard it. Nearly every instinct in his body was screaming to fight, to protect himself, to refuse to back down. But a single voice in the back of his mind was screaming no.

It's not a fight. It's a misunderstanding. Don't escalate. Walk away.

Just run away…

"…Here." Dropping Cam's arm, he threw the peanut butter at him and bolted.

Fumbling the peanut butter for a moment, Cam stared after the ninja with wide eyes. "What the fuck just happened?" He stared at the jar. The brand new, newly-opened jar. And suddenly peanut butter didn't sound good to him at all.

*****

The Bolt had three rec rooms on its berthing deck, tucked next to each other in the nose section. Up until Dradin, they'd been furnished pretty much identically… not anymore. Room 3 was now full of giant stuffed animals.

Sven had gone ahead and settled down in Room 3, because giant stuffed animals were way more comfy than the ship's threadbare bolted-down couches.

He was deep in both a pile of rainbow plush and a book about King Arthur when Hunk poked his head in. "Yo! Viking!" Looking up, he found himself staring at Hunk's datapad; the big engineer snapped a picture of him sprawled in the stuffed animals, then lowered the device and grinned.

It was impossible not to grin back, just a little. "Hello, Hunk."

"What's up?" He walked in, eyeing the book. "Wouldn't happen to be reading the Art of Old Norse Zen, would you?"

Blink. "No, I'm reading the tales of King Arthur and his Knights…" Were the old Norse really associated with anything resembling zen? He didn't think so.

"Eh, that's good too." Hunk flopped onto the couch across from him, plopped a fuzzy green platypus on his lap, and leaned over it. "I, uh… could use a little advice, if you've got a minute."

Sven closed his book and straightened; it took a couple of tries, the comfy plushies didn't exactly give a lot of support. "Of course."

Hunk flashed that huge grin again, then sobered quickly. "Actually might be more like someone else needin' advice, but anyway, uh… Vince is havin' some trouble with zen." He frowned slightly, realizing that really didn't explain anything. "Like, he'll be working, and he'll get startled or hyped up and somehow he manages to set off sparks and usually light stuff on fire, which… not great, yeah?"

Blinking again, Sven took a moment to try to track what had been a rather long and fast string of words. "Sparks?" he finally repeated, just to make sure he'd followed.

"Yeah, he makes the wires go kaboom or somethin'." Grin. "You know me, I like my kabooms, but there's a place for everything and everything in its place."

Wasn't that the truth, on all counts. Sven nodded. "And you think him being able to remain more calm will hopefully prevent any future sparks?"

"Yeah. Always seems to happen when he's startled or freakin' out."

"Hmm." Freaking out generally wasn't good for people, though this seemed like an extreme case. The question was if he could really help. "I've heard meditation does wonders for helping people remain calm. It never worked for me though, I read instead." He lifted his book; it wasn't an accident that he was here with tensions on the ship so high. "Getting lost in a story gives me a good sense of calm I can focus on instead of… freaking out."

Reading? Hunk wasn't entirely certain how much utility that would have under the circumstances that usually led to sparks. On the other hand, Vince used wiring to relax and distract himself—maybe having other options would help. "That makes sense."

"As for the getting startled, I'm not sure what could help that as much. Perhaps a little combat training? It may help him keep a good sense of his surroundings, then he won't startle so easily."

Hunk thought about that for a minute, nodding slowly. "Yeah, that probably could help, now that ya mention it…" He winced. "Uh, if there's anything I'm less good at than zen, it's combat technique. Who d'you think would be the best person for that? You? Doc?" Halfway through that he thought better of it. "…Not Doc."

That got a laugh. Truthfully, Sven wasn't sure that would be the worst option; spending time with Jace had certainly cured him of a few anxieties. He was pretty sure it was called exposure therapy. But that might not be the best approach here. "Jace would be a good teacher. I could do it if Vince preferred, and Keith would also be a good candidate."

"Yeah, you do that, for sure." Hunk had seen a fair bit of sparring by now. "I may go ask the boss about it, pretty sure he does the meditative stuff more too, yeah?"

"I believe so." The old Viking arts Sven favored were not big on meditation, oddly enough. And he really couldn't see Jace even attempting it.

"Think that's what I'll go with to start, then. Thanks, bro." Hunk reached over the platypus and clapped his shoulder, then jumped up with a huge grin. "I'll let ya get back to reading. …Want me to bring you a snack?"

Sven perked up. "I would not say no to a snack."

"Okay, I'll be back in a few!" The big man winked as he turned to head out. "Just don't tell Doc." Leaving the navigator laughing behind him, he headed for the galley. Almost immediately he could hear other voices… it sounded like Cam and Pidge yelling. Probably at each other. Eyes widening, he picked up the pace a little bit.

The yelling didn't wait for him. He got into the galley just in time to see Cam disappearing with a couple of the Doc's sandwiches. He looked frazzled, but not hurt, at least no worse than he already had been.

For a moment, Hunk considered calling after him, then shook it off. Wasn't his problem.

*****

Flynn was wrapping up a shift in the bay, and trying to decide if he should be concerned or not. Pidge was late. Or a little more accurately, Pidge wasn't his usual fifteen minutes early; he tended to hang out here even when he wasn't technically on duty, and he always showed up well before he was expected. Nothing said he had to, but… it was unusual, and that put Flynn on edge.

Like he wasn't on edge already.

The edge did not improve one bit when Hunk came in a few minutes later. "Yo, pit boss! I brought snacks!"

Oh dear. "Do I even want to know?"

"Bacon cheese soft pretzel bites! Made 'em for the Viking but he didn't think he needed the whole tray, weird." He plunked the tray in question down on an empty workbench. "Have at 'em!"

That sounded much nicer than a lot of Hunk's cooking—mostly because the words murder pepper had not been involved—but Flynn was still fairly certain he didn't want any. "Thanks… I'll save them for Pidge, if he shows up." He was now worryingly close to actually being late.

"No ninja?" The big man frowned slightly. "Heard him'n Cam yelling at each other a bit ago, maybe he lost track."

"What." Flynn's head snapped up. "What happened?"

"Uh…" Hunk blinked. "Not sure? It was over by the time I got there. Cam didn't look stabbed, though."

Dammit, Starr. Flynn's eyes narrowed. That was the last thing he'd needed to hear under the current circumstances, and it wasn't going to slide. "Take the bay for a few until Pidge gets here, would you? I need to go have a talk with someone about following orders."

…One did not argue with the pit boss when he got that tone. "Uh, sure? I've got it."

Nodding, Flynn stalked out. The corridor to the bridge was deserted, as it often was; he had plenty of time to fight down the initial surge of anger. He was quite well aware of why he was so annoyed, and there was no need to take out his own frustrations with Pidge on anyone else. But the following orders thing did need to be addressed.

Lance and Cam were on shift on the bridge when the hatch opened. "Starr, I'd like a word."

Cam looked up, blinking. He was not used to hearing that voice on the bridge… and he had a suspicion about why. "Yes, sir." He locked his console down and headed for the hatch, ignoring Lance's questioning look.

Flynn ignored it too; he could explain later. He silently led the comms officer into the nearest conference room, shut the door, and waited. He'd figured it was about a fifty-fifty shot that the kid would volunteer anything… it quickly became clear which fifty was winning out. "Is there anything you need to tell me about, Starr? Any incidents?"

Cam sighed. "I suppose there is, sir."

"I'm listening."

"I…" He paused for a moment. How did he explain an incident he didn't understand himself? "I honestly don't know what happened, sir. I was going to get something to eat, for my meds. Stoker was leaving the galley with a jar of peanut butter, I asked him if he'd opened that one, he said yes, I said that was good. My tone was… probably very out of line because I was hurting… but that's no excuse…"

"Your tone?" Flynn repeated. The whole question was out of line, given their last conversation. Did he really start a fucking fight about peanut butter… again?

There was no missing that the chief wasn't impressed; Cam grimaced. "He smarted off at me then, something about how he used manners and I could tell you…" Flynn's glare intensified and he took a step back. "It's not like I actively went looking for him, sir! I don't want any problems with him!"

"And yet you just told me you started one."

Wince. "I didn't mean to!"

"I'm sure not, but I remember giving a very simple condition that could have avoided this. What were your orders?"

Cam deflated a little. "To leave him alone," he said weakly. He knew he didn't have an excuse there.

"So you just… decided that was optional?"

"No, sir." If only there had been that much thought involved.

Flynn stared at him for another very long few seconds of silence. He was pretty sure his point had gotten across… which was good enough for him, though he did also need to know the rest of the story, if there was such a thing. "Alright. What happened after that?"

"I asked him what his problem was." For at least the dozenth time since, Cam strained to remember what the hell had set the ninja off, and he couldn't find anything. "He… asked what I called him, but I didn't call him anything, then pulled his knife and told me to take it back? Confused the hell out of me. Then he grabbed my wrist… but he didn't do anything. He just held it a little, then threw the peanut butter at me and bolted."

About halfway through that, Flynn had been ready to go yell at Pidge again, which couldn't possibly help anything. By the end, he'd shifted to the same confusion as Cam. "He… bolted?"

"Yeah, I don't know what exactly happened, but he fucking ran for it. Dude is fucking fast, too."

But that's never how it goes. For a moment Flynn completely forgot about what had caused this mess. If Pidge had disengaged…

"If I have to apologize to him I will, sir. I didn't mean to cause an incident, just, the ship facilities aren't exactly huge? Occasionally we'll bump into each other, it's a given, sir."

…Immediately he was annoyed again; the kid should really learn when to stop digging. "Don't even begin with that, Starr. The size of the ship doesn't necessitate you going at him over the exact topic that led to me telling you to leave him alone."

"Yes, sir." The kid did not know when to stop digging. Flynn was quite literally in the middle of taking a breath to order him back to the bridge when he added, "I hope you're going to have this discussion with him as well?"

Oh, they were not going to play this game. "You can't even follow your own orders," he said coolly. "I don't need your input on how I deal with my subordinates."

"Well maybe you need somebody's input, because they don't seem to behave very well."

Cevete…! That had escalated excessively quickly. Though he might have been inclined to let it by, if it hadn't hit quite so close to home… "Starr, I specifically told you to leave him alone," he hissed. "What the fuck do you think gives you the right to interfere with my job, then tell me I'm not doing it well enough?"

Cam straightened a little, glaring up at him. "Did you tell him to stay away from me, too?"

"No." Actually he hadn't told Cam to stay away from Pidge, either. In a better situation he might have pointed out the difference. "Did he start something with you that I wasn't informed about? Or was it just you feeling entitled to pass judgment on whoever you damn well please?"

If there was one thing Cam couldn't stand, it was being called entitled; if he hadn't had an arm in a sling, he might have done something he'd really regret. Not that he wouldn't regret what he went with instead. "No? So I'm getting yelled at for something that you only half assed? Great. Thanks a lot, sir. Am I dismissed yet?"

The engineer's tone went deadly venomous. "I'm going to let you take that back, Starr."

Like hell he would. "I won't apologize for being a scapegoat, sir."

Fucking… "Scapegoat? You admitted to being the instigator!"

"And I will apologize for that. But the fact remains that you didn't give him the same instructions, so you only yelling at me makes me a scapegoat."

It took a truly desperate level of restraint not to answer that with no, it just makes you an idiot. That wouldn't improve anything. But Flynn was thinking it. Oh, was he thinking it. "Alright, fine. Go to your quarters, Starr. Now. You're on restriction until further notice."

Cam blinked. He almost had something to say about that too, but he knew better than to defy a disciplinary order… unjust as he felt it was. "Yes, sir." He started to move past him, but rather pointedly wasn't in any hurry about it.

Flynn gave him a slight shove on his good shoulder. Just enough to make it clear he'd noticed, and didn't care for it. "Go, Starr. …And look up what a scapegoat is, while you're there."

He went, muttering under his breath in Russian. It was definitely not something he should have been saying, but he was in enough trouble as it was; Flynn didn't bother demanding a translation. He went back to the bridge instead.

"Starr is off for disciplinary reasons. Should I send someone else up, or are you alright?"

Lance looked back at him, frowning. The only person here who didn't look alright was Flynn himself. He looked pissed. "I'm good. Unless you need a beer?"

Beer sounded wonderful. It also sounded like it might not be the best of ideas. He really needed to report to Kogane about this, and he really needed to be completely sober when he did it. "Maybe later." Might need it after the report. Sighing, he turned and headed back for the bay.

*****

Jace was… unhappy. To be fair, that was hardly an unusual occurrence. Specifically, at the moment, he was unhappy with the CIDM—Comprehensive Intragalactic Diagnostic Manual. And that was unusual. The CIDM was a medic's best friend, Viking navigators notwithstanding. After discharging Cam from the sick bay, Jace had spent quite a lot of time with that best friend.

It had failed him.

He'd checked the overview sections. He'd flipped through the glossary of rare biomechanical phenomena. He'd run every search term he could think of—"electrogenesis", "electricity", "static", "sparks", "lightning", "flashes", "discharge", "charge", "bzzt", "people shooting off thunderbolts", "just tell me why Vince is getting all zappy, motherfucker"…

Motherfucker had not, in fact, told him why Vince was getting all zappy. And it was infuriating. This was way above his pay grade—he was a field medic, for fuck's sake, and he was a damn good one. He could patch holes and handle general diagnostics with the best of them. But nobody had really given him a directive for when the people under his care started displaying previously unknown electrophysiology.

He heard the hatch open, sighed, and headed out to the sick bay entrance. Time to wing this shit; they were a fucking Explorer Team. And he may not have answers, but he had opinions.

"So you don't get colds, you don't vomit, and you shoot random-ass sparks out sometimes. Obviously your deal is you're a robot who thinks he's a real boy, but I ran the tests anyway."

Vince just looked at him for a moment, then sat on the nearest bed and grimaced. "You act like I do it on purpose."

"The fuck you do, you'd be way more smug about it." Jace handed over a datapad with the blood test results. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Frowning, Vince accepted the tablet and glanced over the results for a solid… second or two… before protesting. "I shot out sparks!" He'd only been freaking out about it for days on end.

"Are you sure?" The medic sat across from him, frowning slightly himself. "You weren't just seeing things? People can have some weird as fuck stress reactions. Or if you were leaning over working and straightened up too fast, being lightheaded can make you see stars sometimes."

I wish. "I'd rather it be in my head, but it happened. Ask Pidge."

"Definitely don't need to do that." Jace hadn't really expected it to be that simple, but at this point every lead was worth checking. "So… you said this hasn't happened before? Without you being near wires and shit."

"Never. Not once. I've always been working on something electronic." He paused a moment. "Though to be fair, I hadn't met Pidge and his knife yet."

"You're in the military, I know you're a computer jockey but he can't be the first thing that's ever scared you."

Vince snorted. "Everything scares me. He's extra."

That got him an irritated look that very quickly softened. "…Yeah, all that checks out." Jace exhaled. "Okay. So let's do some science."

"Science is good."

The medic leaned back a little. "We can rule out static electricity, first thing. Starships don't need stray voltage building up, so the life support systems fire some static-neutralizing microcurrent through the air every so often, or something. You probably understand that better than I do, I just read the ops manual."

"I do understand that," Vince confirmed, nodding. Ambient charge equalization was one of the more interesting features of the average life support system.

"Good. So we move on. You're normally full of electricity, we're all full of electricity, we're actually all meat robots with currents zapping through our nerves and shit. Right?"

Blink. "Sure? Though the visual of meat robots is not pleasing."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Kid, I am not in the business of people-pleasing, if you hadn't noticed."

Oh, he'd noticed; he couldn't help laughing. Right now any little bit of laughter was a help. "Point."

The got him a grin before Jace went back to business. "Turns out there's all kinds of fun theories about human electrical imbalance diseases, and best the CIDM can tell me they're all science fiction."

"Oh thank god." Electrical imbalance disease did not sound like a thing he wanted at all. But a second later the flip side of that hit, and he looked at his hands with a grimace. "But… argh, then what's wrong with me? Science fiction?" If he was going to have the scary-sounding disease he'd much rather it be something well known.

"…Maybe. Seems like we can rule a lot of those out too, though." Jace had gone through the theories, to the extent the Bolt's database could tell him about them. Nothing had seemed quite right. "I mean, if you had some crazy-ass microbursting in your lungs that turned them into a Van de Graaff generator—whatever the fuck that is—you'd have been firing off sparks on your own before now."

Vince knew exactly what a Van de Graaff generator was, and his eyes widened slightly… though the visual was at least better than meat robots. "Huh, yeah, that is true, Doc. And sounds painful."

"I mean, I'd think so." Jace was trained to fish bullets out of lungs without flinching, but even he had felt his skin crawling a little when he'd been reading about that one. "Which it's not, right?"

"For me? Never. Machinery, though…"

"Yeah, I bet."

All of this discussion of what it wasn't still hadn't answered the question Vince most needed answered. "So… what you're saying here is what, exactly?"

Jace stared at him for what felt like entirely too long, dark eyes narrowed… then he shook his head in frustration and slumped back. "I have no fucking clue what's wrong with you, kid." Pause. "…I mean I have lots of suggestions in general, but none for how the Chief is gonna need to rename the ship again if you keep throwing lightning around."

Vince snorted. "I think he's kind of attached to the name we have." That certainly hadn't been the point of any of this, but it beat thinking about the actual point. "So I just… have to hope it never happens again?"

"Can't hurt, but probably won't fix anything." The medic sighed. "I promise I'm not one fucking bit happier about this than you are. But I'm running a sick bay here, not an experimental diagnostic ward. Right now I've got nothing." He stood. "I want to keep a biometric monitor on you. If it happens again we might get some more info."

Great. Just great. "Do you have to?"

"No." Shrug. "I could write you a referral to Biotech if you really want one—though that's gonna be against medical advice, I don't exactly believe in shipping my patients off to be lab rats. Or you can just say no and keep sparking and not know anything about it. It's your business."

Oh. Vince stared at him for a few moments, trying to pretend his answer was anything but what it had to be. "…No, I'd rather have the actual data." It sucks being scientific sometimes. "Any advice on how to stop freaking out about it while I'm waiting for the next spark?"

He'd fully expected to be told to suck it up, and was surprised when Jace seemed to take the question seriously. "Ever done anything worse than set some wires on fire?"

"Uh, no." He definitely didn't want to think about that.

"Then for what it's worth, it's probably more inconvenient than dangerous. If you were shooting off enough electricity to hurt a person, I'd think you'd have noticed—even with static electricity you feel it."

That was a fair point, except that this whole conversation had him second-guessing whether he could feel it when he sparked or not. He'd never noticed it, but he was always distracted right after. "I suppose… I mean I don't think I feel it, it always happens so fast."

Jace eyed him. "Okay." Turning, he retrieved a tool of some sort from his kit, then returned and touched it to Vince's hand.

A sharp jolt ran through him. "Ahhh! What the heck?!"

"Faster than that?"

"About that…" Vince rubbed his hand and grumbled as the last twinges of the shock faded away.

Jace gave him a grin that wasn't entirely a smirk. Mostly, but not entirely. "Gonna go ahead and rest my case."

Vince was entirely too polite to say what he was thinking, but he did shoot the medic his best glare. It was, he felt, a pretty solid glare. Then it turned into a groan as he produced one of the bio monitors. "Ugh…"

"Porra, you people act like a little monitor's the end of the world or something." Jace rolled his eyes. "It's a light-duty one, you won't even notice it. We get more zaps and no readings we may have to switch to the heavy-duty, and that'll suck, so let's hope not."

Hoping not was not going to be a problem. "If you say so. It's not gonna itch like the rift monitors, is it?"

"No. Those are the heavy-duty, because rift sickness is a bitch." The monitor was a tiny patch that he slapped onto Vince's neck. Immediately the engineer reached up to fiddle with it. "Nope! No touching."

"I'm supposed to just ignore it?"

"Basically."

Vince grumbled some more; Jace answered with his best this is for your own good glare. Which he supposed it was, so he sighed and backed down. "Can I go now?"

"Sure can. Buzz off." Almost the moment he said it, a small frown crossed his face. "…Bad word choice."

Despite himself, Vince laughed again, though it was kind of a half-laugh and half-groan. "May as well have fun with it," he muttered as he stood, rolling his eyes.

"Atta boy." Jace laughed too, giving him a slap on the shoulder that was definitely meant to be encouraging. How encouraging it really was, Vince wasn't wholly certain, though at least it didn't knock him to the floor like Hunk usually came close to. "Get out of here."

He was both smiling and grumbling as he left the sick bay. It probably could've been worse.

*****

As it turned out, Flynn didn't get the chance to write a proper report. He'd still been trying to figure out how the hell an argument about opening peanut butter jars had turned into a comms officer on restriction… never mind how the hell he was supposed to explain it to their commander. But word had gotten back to the commander pretty quickly anyway, and he'd been summoned to one of the conference rooms on the main deck.

Well, this ought to suck pretty sufficiently.

He entered the conference room and saluted; Keith returned the salute crisply. "Have a seat."

Flynn dropped into a chair and exhaled. "Okay, let me have it." The boss looked displeased. Understandably so.

Sitting across from him, Keith folded his hands on the table and studied him briefly. "I understand there is an… issue we need to correct."

"Kogane, you really don't need to sugarcoat it, I told you to let me have it… but yes. Yes, there is."

"I don't want to ruin our working relationship, Flynn." He wasn't sure how likely that really was, but letting people have it had never come easily to him regardless. "I try to stay out of the bay, let you run it and deal with your people as you need to. If you had a problem with one of the bridge crew, you should have sought me out. Finding out after the fact…" Keith shook his head, frustrated. "And there's nothing I can do about it without talking to you, because I am not going to undermine my second's decision… unless I've determined he made it incorrectly."

As much as things had gone off the rails, Flynn really didn't at all think putting Cam on restriction had been the wrong decision. But he should have taken it to Kogane first… it was supposed to be a small, silly little arrangement between the two of them, not this. "I was going to make a report," he offered finally. Not sufficient, but it was a start.

"Well, make it now. Start talking."

Fair enough. "A few weeks ago, Starr and Pidge had an altercation over…" He paused, making a face. "…over opening jars of peanut butter, and yes, he and I are both aware of how ridiculous that sounds. He wanted me to discuss with Pidge about showing a little more courtesy in the galley. I agreed, on the condition that he was to leave Pidge alone—it's not his place or his job to decide how the ninja should behave."

Keith nodded; so far so good. "Good, at least he sought out some help. So what happened?"

"He decided he needed to pick another fight about it today."

"Can you elaborate?" Keith arched an eyebrow.

Yes, he certainly could elaborate. "He saw him with peanut butter and took it upon himself to make sure it had been acquired in an acceptable manner, which I'm positive is exactly what I told him not to do. He further decided, when I came to discuss it with him, that he ought to mouth off at me about half-assing my work with Pidge. You know, right after explicitly defying my orders regarding the situation."

"…Oh god." That really had escalated quickly, but somehow Keith could see it. He rubbed his forehead. "That's…"

"Stupid?" his second volunteered. "This whole damn thing is stupid, except that the ninja has a problem with knives—that I'm trying to work on, for fuck's sake. It's just slow and complicated and I'd rather not have some ensign from the bridge crew coming in and complicating it further." Snort. "And then he accused me of 'scapegoating' him, because I didn't tell Pidge to avoid him when not even he claims Pidge has ever started anything with him. Which is when I put him on restriction."

Frown. "You didn't tell Pidge to avoid him too?"

"…Why would I? Pidge wasn't doing anything to him." Flynn lowered his voice, muttering more irritably, "I've given him enough fucking lectures on knives and manners, those are his problems."

Keith was still frowning. "Yes, but if you'd informed Pidge as well, he may have been able to prevent the confrontation. He could have seen Starr coming and gone a different way."

That got him a look of sullen annoyance. "I never said he couldn't be near him, that's impractical. Literally all Starr had to do was keep his mouth shut; if he can't handle 'leave him alone' without Pidge needing to run when he sees him coming, that's also a problem."

"Very true, though I can see how Starr thinks it's unfair." Keith studied his second carefully. "You're right, it isn't scapegoating. Favoritism, though…"

Flynn blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Are you really going to deny that? You just put Cam on restriction for conduct you wouldn't have batted an eye at if it were Pidge."

"I suppose you could call that favoritism." He wasn't certain Kogane's assessment of what he would put up with from Pidge was correct, but he wasn't sure it was incorrect either, so he let it go. "You could also call it holding the actual human to higher standards of human behavior, especially since he wants to tell everyone else what is or isn't appropriate. But sure, if favoritism is what you want to go with I'll not protest."

"You just did protest." Keith crossed his arms on the table. "I understand that Pidge has different ways of looking at things, but he has to adapt eventually. Preferably sooner rather than later."

"I'm aware of that. Even he's aware of that. It's a little more complicated than saying so, and you know it." He shifted, wrinkling his nose in frustration. "And people picking fights with him doesn't help."

"And how much of the blame for that falls on him? He may not be the instigator, but he is the common element."

"Kogane, I just said…"

"I heard you. I understand the circumstances."

Flynn narrowed his eyes. "All respect, sir, but I don't think you do or you wouldn't be lecturing me about them."

That was not a good answer. "Watch it, Kleid. I need you to be able to handle this."

That hadn't been a good answer either. Flynn had already been on the edge. Now, with just one last push, all of his own doubts and frustrations on the matter seemed to come crashing down at once.

He snapped.

"Handle this? Handle this?!" he erupted, jumping up and glaring. "I didn't ask for this either, alright? My job is to keep the ship running. My job is, and has always been, to fix machines! At no fucking point did I sign on to play combination therapist and babysitter for some half-feral alien with more issues than the Garrison quarterly, but that's what I've got now. And since it isn't as if you've been trying to help with Grumpy Ninja at all, either you can stop second-guessing me and keep a leash on your bridge brats, or I'll do what I have to do to keep my half of this ship working, goddamn it!"

Keith just stared at him, slowly realizing he was out of his seat, vaguely aware of the wall at his back. He didn't exactly remember backing up, but it seemed like a damn good idea in retrospect. Holy shit…

Flynn calmed, blinked, and dropped back himself. "…With all due respect, sir…"

For what may have been the first time, Keith understood exactly how his second had ended up on an Explorer Team. For what felt like an eternity they just stared at each other in shock. He'd known Flynn was frustrated, but… "Why didn't you ask for help?" he asked finally. "I'm not exactly a mind reader, you said you had it under control."

"I certainly did not say I had it under control." He'd never even thought he had it under control, never mind saying so. "I said I was working on it, which I was. And am." He dropped back into his seat with a frustrated sigh. "I thought I was getting somewhere… turns out I was, incidentally."

"I do believe you are making progress." The fact that he hadn't heard of Flynn needing to actually draw his gun on Pidge since his initial reporting made that clear enough. He returned to his own seat. "How can I help? Other than… keeping my bridge brats on a leash?"

Flynn winced at that phrasing being thrown back at him, and winced again as he realized the answer. "Hell if I know. I don't know what works and what doesn't. I just know Starr said Pidge bolted on him instead of escalating; I tried to convince him it was okay to do that all the way back on Terina." He laughed, entirely without humor. "He finally got there right as I hit my limit."

Keith watched him quietly. "There's more than just that bothering you, isn't there?"

Snort. "I've never lost my temper like that at a subordinate. Twice in a week bothers me, yes." He had lost his temper at his commanding officer before… the first guy had deserved it, though.

"Twice in a week." Keith raised an eyebrow. "You mean the incident where you went easier on Pidge for literally pulling a knife on a crewmate?"

"Ye…" He trailed off and grimaced. "…yeah, kind of does sound like favoritism when you put it like that, doesn't it."

"It does."

"It's a defensive reaction. I've at least been able to figure that out. His sense of what's a threat is just… overtuned." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's almost routine now. He misunderstands something, knife comes out, I yell at him, knife goes away. It's not optimal."

"No, it's not." Keith rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I'm not saying that Starr didn't deserve disciplinary action. He shouldn't have ignored your orders, and he shouldn't have mouthed off to you. Much as I'd like to excuse his behavior because of his injury, I can't. He deserves restriction, and Stoker probably does too."

"Pidge didn't do anything," Flynn protested. Maybe that was favoritism too, but he certainly didn't need the ninja being punished right after he'd finally reacted more or less correctly. "He just ran."

The commander considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. So, that just leaves me with… what do I do with you?"

Flynn tried a weak smile. "Double shifts?"

Keith couldn't help the laugh; he managed to fight it down into a sort of part laugh, part snort. "That's just rewarding you."

"It was worth a try."

"I should put you on bridge duty… but between you and McClain, I don't need that headache."

The engineer made a face. Bridge duty would sure as hell be a punishment. Although… "That's kind of punishing the rest of the team, anyway." He honestly couldn't do much on the bridge other than be in the way.

"Yeah. So… I'm giving you and Starr both 45 days restriction and incidental duty. When you're not working, you'll be in your quarters. Is that understood?"

Ugh. "Yessir." He deserved it, and he knew he deserved it, and frankly it could've been worse. Didn't mean he had to like it.

"If you need help in the future, ask. Dismissed."

Watching as his second flipped a salute and departed, Keith sank back in his chair and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he had a lot to think about.

*****

Daniel had never been happier to be out of his quarters. Lying on the couch, playing on his datapad in a completely empty rec room was almost therapeutic. He was avoiding his roommate. Cam had been a grouch since getting out of sick bay, and he apparently believed that him getting shot was all Daniel's fault. So he was extra grouchy towards him. Which was crap, because Daniel wasn't the sucky flirt. Well… he was a sucky flirt, but he'd never been shot because of it.

He was brought out of his musings by someone knocking on the door.

"Come in." Who was knocking? Who knocks at a rec room? Especially one I'm in. He was surprised when Lance walked in and leaned against the wall opposite him. He didn't even say anything, he just stood there with his arms crossed and a raised eyebrow. What was that supposed to mean? "Uh… hey?" Oh no… is he gonna do that thing where he's weird?

"Hey… so, Cam got shot," Lance said slowly, trying to figure out just how to broach the subject.

"Yeah, I know. I was there," Daniel snarked.

"See, funny thing… I told you two to go back to the ship." Lance's raised brow lowered, but his arms were still crossed.

Daniel put his datapad down and sat up, because oh shit this wasn't good. "We did go back to the ship." Eventually. "Like I told Commander Sword-Up-His-Ass, Cam needed a coffee. He was… well you saw him, that stuff the Drules gave him was potent." He gave his best confident smile. Everything he'd reported to Keith was true; he may have left some things out, but he didn't lie, technically. So it was all good.

Lance wasn't having it. "It's my fault really, here I thought nearly dying might actually make you two behave for a few hours. That was just nuts of me, wasn't it? So, what really happened, Daniel?"

Daniel was thrown for a second; this usually didn't happen to him. He'd pretty much perfected lying to superiors in the Academy. "I'm confused. I told you what happened."

"No. You told a whittled down version of the truth. I want the full truth," Lance countered, shaking his head. Kid thinks he invented lying.

"I did tell you the truth…" WHAT THE FUCK! Inwardly Daniel was freaking out. Breathe, dumbass. You didn't technically lie.

"Kid, do I look like I have a sword up my ass?" Lance asked with a sigh. The kid was getting on his nerves.

"…No?" Daniel had a wary look on his face.

"Good! So, let's break this down. I said: go back to the ship. You and Cam then proceeded to do… what exactly?" Lance asked, getting a little more comfy against the wall.

Daniel sighed too. Well fuck, now I have to actually lie. "We went to get coffee." Eventually.

"Straight away? Really? Off to Dradin Dunkin' or whatever it was called?" Lance asked, not believing him for a moment.

"Starbrews. It was called Starbrews," Daniel corrected, mostly so that he didn't have to answer the question.

Not that Lance was buying that, either. "Straight there. No meanderings? With Dradin all bright and shiny around you?"

"…No?" This time Daniel's no was a little hesitant, and he was freaking out again. What the fuck was that?! NO! No is the answer. Why do you sound so unsure?! You know how to lie!

"You tell me, kid." Don't laugh at the panic on this kid's face right now. Don't do it, McClain.

"The fuck—I don't know! Lying is not supposed to be this hard, LANCE!" Daniel stood up, then blinked. He had definitely just admitted what he was doing. Out loud. Damn his sudden inability to lie correctly to this guy…

Not laughing was officially a lost cause. Lance absolutely lost it. He laughed for nearly a solid minute before managing to calm down, and was still grinning when he spoke again. "Sorry, sorry… just you're too used to getting away with it, kid. Where did you really go?"

"Why the fuck are you so weird?" Daniel whined.

Lance shrugged. "I was cursed by the Weird Fairy." He was still waiting for an answer, and a slightly arched eyebrow got it.

"…We went to the casino."

"That was my first guess." Lance would actually have been shocked if it had been anywhere else. "But there's still something else that doesn't add up right."

"Why does it matter?"

"Cam got shot, kid!" Casinos didn't generally lead directly to lasers. At least, not the painful kind. "What details did you leave out of that story?"

"But he's fine," Daniel reasoned, then lowered his voice, muttering the next part more to himself. "He's fine enough to be a grouchy ass."

"Nope, need all the details. What's the full story?" Lance demanded, and Daniel sat back on the couch. He could finally accept he wasn't getting out of this.

"Okay, so… Cam wanted to go to the casino." You did too. "So we went and messed around there for awhile, then I wanted to get back to the ship. Before you got done drinking." Why? Why tell him that? "While we were getting coffee, Cam saw this Drule chick he thought was hot. He—after a tiny bit of persuasion on my part—he went up to her. It was fine, and then suddenly it wasn't and she was shooting at him. I went to back him up, she ran away. And then I stole an awesome bike that Keith won't let me keep." Daniel was still very pouty about that. He'd worked hard for that bike, in dangerous conditions. Very dangerous conditions.

"Huh. So, Cam just managed to piss off a random Drule girl?" Lance asked, skeptical. There had to be more to the story. Most Drules were not in fact laser-crazy psychopaths.

Daniel snerked. "Uh, yeah…" He hesitated a moment, he really didn't want to embarrass Cam. Lance just raised that damn eyebrow again and waited; it didn't take long for Daniel to cave. "Promise you won't tell anyone? I don't want to embarrass him more. He already didn't think he was cool enough to pick her up, I don't need you people making it worse for him."

"This is between us, kid," Lance promised. He's kind of sweet under all that snark, huh?

"I was too far away to hear what they were saying then, but I asked after he got out of sick bay. He uh…" Daniel laughed. "Used the line you used on Dread."

"He what?" Lance blinked.

"He used your line on her." Daniel got defensive. "He says that's what I told him to say, but I didn't, I just said to take some inspiration from you!"

"No, no, no… doesn't he know Drakure? He's our communications officer… oh, fuck. He's lucky he just got shot in the arm." Lance was trying really hard not to laugh, but it wasn't working.

"He speaks it in uh, diplomatic context, I think he said. Why, what's it mean?"

"I told Dread he had big balls! …With more flourish than that, of course." It may also have involved a mild implication about his big guns, which may or may not have also been a euphemism. But mostly the balls. "Tell Cam to learn some slang, and no more flirting without my supervision!"

Lance was fighting off the urge to keep laughing. Daniel didn't bother. "That's hilarious…" Suddenly he paused, actually thinking the whole scenario through. "…That's nasty." He glared. "Don't ever tell a guy he has big balls in my presence again." He couldn't stop thinking about it, and that was an image of Boss Dread he really didn't need. "Oh god."

"Kid, that line saved our asses." Lance was still laughing a bit. "But Cam should never use it again, ever."

"Yeah but now I'm traumatized. I was better off not knowing, I mean how would you feel if I was flirting with snake guy and said he had big balls right in front of you?" Daniel winced, regretting that as soon as he said it. Here it went…

"Okay kid, you know what… A, you have awful fucking taste in men. B, I doubt snake guy had any balls. And C… I fucking hate you for making me visualize that." Lance glared. It was a horrible image. Hell, just snake guy was bad enough, but that was worse.

"Yeah… I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I said it," Daniel admitted.

Damn right it had been. "Tell Cam he got fucking lucky given what he said. …And I'm sorry about you not getting to keep the bike."

"I will." Daniel laughed weakly. "You gonna snitch on me?" If that was the plan, he wanted some time to prepare for another boring lecture.

"To who?" Lance asked.

"To Keith? For the leaving stuff out thing. Cause I mean, I didn't technically lie."

"We'll keep Keith in his nice little land of plausible deniability. I just wanted the truth, someone should know about it. You're not as good at lying as you think."

Daniel was offended. "I'm great at lying. You're just weird."

"You're just lucky, kid…" Lance shook his head. "Alright, as you were, or whatever."

"Yes, Lieutenant." Daniel smirked.

"Ow… hitting me with my rank, fucking rude."

"You were being all old-person-weird again! Now get out, and let me enjoy some peace before I have to go back to 'You got me shot!' Grumpy Gus again." Daniel pointed towards the door and went back to his datapad.

"Like I said, as you were…" Lance let out a low whistle, still chuckling a bit to himself as he left. Cam was lucky he hadn't been shot in the balls.

*****

Pidge had tracked down the commander before making his move; no sense causing any more trouble. He'd been taking the elevator to the top deck. No problem. Now the ninja slipped down the hallway in the crew area, making his way to the room at the end and hacking the lock in a matter of seconds. The door slid open.

The room was a little smaller than the one he and Vince shared, but the furniture was nicer. It wasn't that much different otherwise. The desk on the commander's side was painstakingly neat; the table opposite was covered in books and papers. There were probably things to be learned there, but he wasn't here for sightseeing…

Flynn hadn't even looked up when he entered. He was sprawled out on his bed looking over something on his datapad. "Flynn?"

The other man jumped, yelped, and whirled to face him… which didn't seem to make him much less surprised. "…Pidge?" His eyes narrowed. "What the hell?"

"The locks on this ship aren't very secure, sir."

That got him a brief glare, then Flynn sighed and looked away. "You make a convincing case. Look, Pidge, I can't deal with you right now." He sounded more than a little irked. "If nothing's blowing up I'll be back on shift at six."

The dismissal stung… which was ridiculous. He had no right to be hurt by it. He'd brought it on himself, as he always did—it never changed. Maybe he'd come here hoping to salvage things, but he was already well aware he'd crossed the line.

Keromya ja nye.

"I only came to apologize," he said softly, turning away. "I'll… be there at six, sir."

Halfway back out the door, he heard the rustling of the mattress behind him. "Wait, you what?"

"I'll still be on at six," he repeated, a little confused. Flynn set the duty rosters, he should know that…

"…You don't have anything to apologize for."

Oh. He didn't? That's new… he turned slowly, letting the door slide shut again. Flynn was sitting on the edge of the bed, studying him carefully. "But you're angry."

"Very." Frown. "But not at you. So just… go and don't worry about it, okay?"

That didn't quite make sense. Pidge didn't know what exactly had happened between Flynn and Starr—he just knew Flynn was confined to quarters, and it had something to do with his misunderstanding with the comms officer. "Isn't this my fault?"

"No."

"But…"

"Pidge." There was suddenly a bitter edge in Flynn's voice like he'd never heard before. "Right now I'm angry at myself. I can't promise I won't get mad at you if you keep pushing me, though, and I'd much prefer not to. Now please don't make me order you out of here."

"I… no sir. I mean, yessir." He retreated quickly, but found himself in the hallway staring at the door rather than trying to go elsewhere. Where he was didn't matter much; he was trying to get a handle on the conversation he'd just had.

No human had ever seemed hesitant to get angry at him before. He invited it, no doubt. It was why he was here. But Flynn was the first superior he'd had who seemed willing to tolerate him, to try to work with him, not just yell for him to shape up or ship out. He'd thought he had finally exhausted his patience… and yet he was certain he'd just been told otherwise. The glimmer of hope that sparked made him uneasy.

But something more than that was getting to him. Not Flynn's words, but his actions. That edge, that struggle for discipline, that look in his eyes…

Pidge knew it.

For once, if only for a moment, a human had actually made sense to him.

*****

He knew he'd done the right thing. So why did it feel so wrong?

Keith punched the control panel on the elevator and went to the top deck of the ship. The shield deck, it was called; most of what was up there was the equipment for the Bolt's very large shielding system. He knew there was a recreation room up there as well, and figured it didn't get used very much. Why would it? There were perfectly good rec rooms down on the berthing deck.

He walked down the silent corridor and stepped into the dark room, flicking on one switch. The lights that came on illuminated the corners of the room, and he left the others off. Compared to the rec rooms down below, this one was huge; a screen on one wall suggested it may have originally been used as a movie theater. And it really wasn't used that much, if the dust on the nearest table and its perfectly aligned chairs was any indication. Good, he wouldn't be disturbed from his thoughts.

He looked around the room, then flopped onto a couch, kicking his feet up and laying down. The curved ceiling was set with several windows, the only ones on the ship, really. They weren't huge, but they did offer a nice view of the stars streaking past. Lying there watching the stars, Keith silently contemplated the issues that were plaguing him, wishing for some form of inspiration.

This mission was a mess. Ten soldiers, ranging so far from home, on a vague and possibly insane quest to find some mythical weapon that may or may not exist. Having to operate on the fringes, with their records sealed, little to no backup from the Alliance… hell, sometimes having to work against it or around it. Dealing with some extremely shady characters, snakes and mafia and who even knew what else…

Was following military protocol really even viable, given those circumstances?

Obviously, there needed to be some form of discipline onboard, or things would get completely out of hand. Especially with some of this crew. Some had earned their posting fairly, others not so much, but they were all damn good at their jobs. Brass wouldn't have tossed them all to an Explorer Team if they hadn't been. It had been a volatile mix even on their first mission… the new kids seemed to have fit themselves in, mostly, but every new person was another new element that could react differently to the stresses the team was under.

He could understand all that, and he knew he needed to cut everyone some slack sometimes. But just how much slack could he get away with cutting them without them hanging themselves?

He rubbed his hands over his face, dragging his fingers through his raven hair, sighing as he gently tugged on the strands running between his fingers. This really was the one part of command he absolutely detested, having to be the bad guy, laying down the law… even if that law was the one thing that kept them on the side of order, not diving headlong into absolute sheer chaos.

But then, they were an Explorer Team, weren't they? Chaos was a mainstay in their mission. Hell, it was damn near a requirement with this group.

At the heart of the issue, Flynn and Cam were both guilty of disrespecting the chain of command. They'd need to be on restriction and extra duty in a normal unit, but… here? Keith sighed. He hated second guessing himself, he liked order, he liked things to be black and white. Gray was a dull color and always left him feeling… unfulfilled, off balance, adrift. And nothing at the Academy had prepared him for this.

"We're all we have out here," he murmured to the empty room. "No backup, nothing. Everything we do… we only have each other." Talking it out was helping a little, maybe, so he kept going. "We've got to trust and rely on each other to get this mission accomplished. I can't just let this slide, but I can't be unreasonable about it, either…"

Gazing back out at the stars, he found himself wishing his mind would go blank for just a moment. A respite. He usually found solace in gazing at the stars, but solace wasn't coming and the longer he laid there, the more frustrated he felt. And yet, if he wasn't gaining solace, maybe he was finding answers.

"We don't have to be by the book out here," he whispered. "We've already jumped the book, several times." What use had the book ever been for them, really? They needed freedom. Flexibility. The right to speak freely. Maybe even the right to mouth off at superiors in a moment of tension, without suffering for it for the next month and a half…

Slowly, Keith nodded. He knew what had to be done. Heading out of the rec room and back to the berthing deck, he paused for a moment outside the stateroom that he shared with Kleid. The larger man had frightened him a little during that talk, but somehow he didn't even think that had been the intent. And this needed to be done. He had to be fair to both of them… after another moment he knocked. Not that he'd needed to, but considering this was about to be a fairly official action it seemed like he should.

The room was dark, and he remained in the doorway, squinting slightly. It would be anticlimactic if Flynn were asleep now, wouldn't it? But then the mildly exasperated question came from his side of the room. "Since when do you knock on your own door?"

Keith stared at the darkness where the voice had come from a moment before speaking. He did seem much calmer now than he had earlier. "Since I'm here on official business. I'm reducing the restriction and extra duty I assigned earlier. Starr gets one week, you get two."

He was met with a long, confused pause. "…Thanks?"

"Don't mention it." He turned away again before Flynn could ask any questions, heading down the hall and bracing himself for the next conversation. If Brennan was there, he might have this new policy tested very quickly indeed.

But he could deal with that. Because it felt right.

*****

It wasn't only the castle shelter having trouble keeping its food stores up. Nearly every one of the shelters on Arus was living week to week if not day to day, with hunting largely replacing even scavenging. Most of the ruins and abandoned areas had long since been picked clean.

The hunting party from Falastol was heading for Lake Almeria, to retrieve fish and water for the caves. When they arrived, though, they came upon an odd sight. They'd never seen anything like it…

Dying and dead gorcas were strewn over a stretch of the shore, and more were beaching themselves. Gorcas were a well known but rarely seen water creature, easily identifiable by the large spiral shell that they used to hide their long tentacles. They tended to roam the bottom of lakes and oceans; on occasion they could be seen swimming a few feet from the surface of the water. Surfacing was almost unheard of.

The creatures were edible, but there were caveats. If the shell was brightly colored the meat within would taste heavenly, but it would almost certainly kill the one who consumed it. They were highly poisonous if not prepared correctly. The gorcas with dull shells weren't poisonous like their sibling species, but they didn't taste nearly as heavenly; in fact they tasted as plain as the color on their shells. Thankfully it was the plain breed that had decided to fling themselves onto the shore. Bland they may be, but the meat was nutritious, and the refugees were hardly in any shape to be picky about taste.

The hunting party took off towards the shoreline as quickly as they could. Water could wait; this bizarre bounty couldn't. They needed to get the gorcas back to the caves to be prepared and preserved before they began to decay.

As they began collecting the gorcas, a few half-alive ones began wrapping their tentacles around them. Some clung to their arms and legs, others wrapped themselves around their weaponry, and they couldn't decide if the gorcas were trying to help or hinder the process of collection. Either way it was odd, though the entire situation was pretty odd.

Gorcas just didn't behave like this. Occasionally a shell of an already long deceased gorca would wash up, but they certainly didn't heave themselves out of the water to die. But the party chose not to question it too much further. There was no reason to look this gift horse… or gift cephalopod… in the mouth. Whatever had happened here, it would keep their people fed a bit longer, and the appropriate response was gratitude rather than questions.

Grabbing as many gorcas as they could carry, plus the ones that had suctioned themselves to them, the party began trekking back to the caves.