(On the Hunt) Chapter 23

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 23

Complicating Factors

Keith had dropped by the sick bay before getting started with his day. Just a quick visit… the only kind the Doc would allow, anyway. Though the Doc wasn't there this morning. Probably off making breakfast. He walked to the back of the sick bay and stood just outside the containment field; on the other side, his second appeared to be asleep. In truth he was a little annoyed with himself. He didn't get the chance to drop by as often as he'd have liked.

Jace had been sending him daily reports, of course, even though there wasn't much to report. The therapy was going precisely as expected. Flynn was getting better; he was annoyed about how long it was taking, but he was damn lucky it wouldn't be longer.

He'd done what needed to be done… exactly what Keith himself would've done in the same situation. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Brave, crazy man…"

"Oh stop that."

He blinked. "You're awake?"

"No." Flynn's voice was muffled by the pillow, but he still managed to put a hell of a lot of snark into a single syllable.

Chuckling, Keith shook his head and played along. "Sleep talking? Since when?"

"Do I not? Wouldn't know." Flynn cracked an eye open. "Something blowing up?"

"No… and no. Just dropping by. I'd ask how you're doing, but I suspect being cooped up in here is even worse than restriction."

"This is restriction. Except with Jace." Pause. "You're right, it's worse."

That sounded about right. "I'm sorry I haven't been in more often."

His second rolled his eyes. "You've got a ship to run, get on with it."

Keith smirked. That answered how he was doing, too. "How can I run a ship without the one who keeps it running? Who probably deserves to be put in for a Crystal Spur of his own?"

"Easily, you…" Flynn's response short-circuited as the rest of the question sank in. "…You wouldn't."

Grin. "I've got it all set up. Just have to hit send."

Not a bit of that was true, but the engineer's expression made it completely worth it; he sat bolt upright, eyes narrowed. "Kogane, I know where you sleep!"

"Plenty of time to send it off before you get out of sick bay." Smirk. "And even then I'm sure Doc will tell you not to do anything strenuous, which would include killing your commanding officer."

"Hmm. True." Flynn relaxed slightly, then smirked right back. "I'll tell Pidge to do it."

Keith laughed outright. "Okay, okay. Speaking of, did I tell you about Hayes coming to learn swords and zen with Starr?"

It sounded vaguely familiar. Keeping reality and medication-induced dreams separate was still a bit of a struggle. "Probably not a bad idea. How did it go?"

"Not too bad, but he seemed more tense at the end than the start. Not sure I'm expecting him to try it again, but I told him taking the first step was good for him."

"Here's hoping." Flynn laid back, hands behind his head, grimacing slightly. "He could use any help he can get, never seen anyone so nervous in the military." Ninjas with emotional support knives aside… "How is the bay holding up?"

Keith nodded. "Things seem to be going fairly well… luckily it seems like we've stayed out of trouble."

That got him a glare. "Surely you know better than to say things like that by now."

"…Yeah, I'm sure I'll jinx it. You need anything?"

"Only to get this over with." He rolled his eyes and hissed softly. "You were standing there for what, five minutes? Jace is going to be here to yell at you any second now."

That was the truth. "Alright, I'll let you be. Get some rest, if you can."

"Getting nothing but rest." Rolling over, he grumbled a few things that were almost definitely Latin curses.

Keith smiled faintly. "Language."

Another wave of curses followed him out, in Common this time, and he couldn't help but laugh.

*****

Pidge had commandeered one of the conference rooms as his decryption workshop. They had much better system hookups than the bedrooms or rec rooms, and he needed any little bit of help the Bolt could give him. Datapads—even datapads as heavily modified as his—did not have the processing power to get this done with any kind of efficiency.

The work was fascinating. Pidge had studied data formats from all manner of alien civilizations in the Academy—from the Alliance's integrated Streamline-Zero, to the Drule paramagnetic binary, to one-off systems from independent races. He had never seen anything like the data crystal from Sorthal.

What he was immediately certain of, much like Colonel Hawkins had told them, was that it wasn't native to Sorthal itself… or really anywhere around it. Crystal matrix storage was common to that area of the Rim, and all of it had a certain structural commonality. That commonality was nowhere to be found on the drive Flynn had given him. Though superficially similar, this was something else.

Much of what he'd accomplished so far was confirming what they'd been told at the briefing. There was value in that; it told him he was on the right track. He hadn't yet looked at the report he'd pulled on Gliskor, not wanting it to influence his own decryption, so the briefing information was his only touchpoint.

There were effectively three layers of incidental encryption on the crystal. The first was the crystal itself. Without the correct equipment to read the data, the physical parameters of the crystal had to be rendered into a mathematical format. The initial scan had done most of that work for him; what was technically on the drive was a whole lot of numbers that could be assembled back into a picture of the crystal. He didn't need the picture. He just needed the numbers.

The second was the file format, what Hawkins had called the structural data. It had been immediately clear why intel had believed it to be a graphical format. The bit-equivalent of the system was easy enough to identify, but they formed two radically different byte-equivalents. One provided the raw text that they'd been told about. The other was some sort of plotted point, but on what axis? Therein lay the issue. The intended data reader would have known where to put these points. He didn't.

Third was the language. Translating without context was not wholly unlike a mathematical problem itself… to the extent it was even possible. It certainly wasn't his specialization. But he could find patterns, and if he could solve the structural format—assuming it really was graphical—it could move things along very nicely. He'd made some slow progress with the raw text, but he knew he'd be limited until he could crack the structure.

Conceptually his task was very simple, he thought. Find the axis, break the system.

The axis really did not want to be found. Most obviously, he had tried to guess it based on what he believed to be the individual coordinates, which had gone nowhere. The crystal's own lattice was a hexagonal structure, so he'd tried every derivative axis layout he could think of, even though he was sure intel would have already tried that. He'd tried extrapolating from the structure of the text bytes; all he'd gotten was a headache.

It was oddly exhilarating to have a problem complex enough to get a headache from. But he'd also promised not to fail, so a little less exhilaration and a little more progress would've been nice.

There must be something…

Intel had cracked at least part of this. They'd seen enough to give themselves context for translating the language. They'd gotten that blurry mess of a picture from somewhere. Or had all of that been in the 'raw text' too? Shaking his head, he thought of the picture again. The five colors that had matched what the others had found in that temple…

Wait.

Five.

Pidge stared at the numbers on his datapad, shaking his head slightly. Five was a geometric disaster of a number. He knew of five-axis systems, but they were arbitrary—really six-axis systems that just left one out for reasons of efficiency. He closed his eyes, trying to envision other options. There was no way to achieve five-fold symmetry in three dimensions. There just wasn't.

Then don't use three dimensions.

Eyes flashing open, he pulled up a new screen and drew a five-point rotational axis, doing a few equations and plugging the bit-equivalents into place. The numbers lined up; he may have successfully plotted a point. For a moment he was elated… then reality set in, and he grimaced. What was he supposed to do with this thing? Were the graphics two-dimensional? But regular pentagonal tiling wasn't possible either.

At least not on a flat surface…

There were options. It could be a spherical model, it could be hyperbolic, it could be a godsdamned dodecahedron… but where would that get him? He was right back to three-dimensional space, and none of those options could seamlessly fill such space. It would be a nonsensical way to represent visual data.

What if it isn't even visual?

He stared at the numbers again, then at the single pentagon he'd plotted, trying to visualize what else could be done with them. Plotting several more, he tried stringing them together; it got him nothing. On a whim, he plotted out the first twelve points on a net, then folded them into a dodecahedron. Connecting all the points to each other gave him a complicated web that looked pretty cool, but didn't tell him anything either. He sighed. There was no shortage of interesting manipulation to be done with this data, if only any of it were useful. Scowling, he converted the dodecahedron into a sphere, just to see what it would do.

The web trembled slightly as the model shifted, and Pidge froze.

Vibration.

Sound?

He started typing furiously, building the framework. There were so many variables. Which byte-equivalents went to which face, the frequency of vibration, the speed each dodecahedron was to be read at… this would take a lot of brute forcing, enough that he doubted he had the capability for it even with the Bolt's help. But he could try a tiny bit of code and see what happened. If he was onto something, there should be some clue.

For the next several hours, he sat in the conference room listening to a horrible mess of atonal chords, static, and feedback. Vibrating the super-bytes, as he had mentally labeled them, certainly did create sound. The model he'd created was swapping out each variable in turn, playing back the data, then moving on. It didn't know any better, which wasn't really making him feel that much less like pitching it out an airlock. He was talking himself out of that for about the tenth time when something different came through. Something unintelligible, but more organic, somehow…

He sat up straighter, his full focus back on the datapad. The next few iterations became steadily clearer and cleaner, more like an actual recording than the riot of senseless noise he'd heard so far. When it started to degrade again, he stopped the model and went back.

The sound was distinctly alien. It had a light and lyrical cadence. Soft humming and buzzing sounds mixed in with a couple of hard consonants, a sweeping vowel sound… he tried feeding more of the raw data into the model. More sounds, more obvious words. Some he even could have transcribed with some degree of accuracy, but nothing he could…

"…za deça Voltron fæz iīra…"

Pidge's jaw dropped. He played it back. Once, twice… at least a dozen times before he convinced himself it was really what he thought it was.

"Voltron," he echoed in a whisper, staring in disbelief. He'd taken so many leaps of logic to get here it was hard to believe he'd succeeded. But he had broken the system. That single word confirmed it.

…And now he had a drive full of audio information in a language he only knew one word of. Wonderful.

It's a process.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his neck; the headache was back with a vengeance. Maybe it was time to go back to the other data for awhile.

*****

"Murder pepper toast? MURDER PEPPER TOAST? You do this just to annoy the fuck out of me, don't you?"

Sitting serenely on the countertop in the Bolt's galley, there was a typical plastic breadbox. Sitting serenely in the breadbox was a stack of unnaturally bright red toast. And glaring at the breadbox, not the least bit serene, was a medic who was definitely questioning his life trajectory. Again.

Hunk seemed as worried as ever about Jace's annoyance, which was not at all; he gave his most innocent grin. It was kind of serene. "Maybe?"

"Who the fuck do you think is gonna eat murder pepper toast?"

The big engineer looked over at the galley table for backup. Lance and Daniel were sitting there—they had really just come in looking for breakfast and run into the latest edition of cooking wars. Lance didn't hesitate for a moment. "I'll try it." He shot Jace a smirk.

"Me too." Daniel was a little less confident. Only a little. He did firmly believe he should try every possible kind of toast at at least once, and murder pepper toast was sure as hell one he'd never tried before.

Jace eyed them, his irritation quickly giving way to a smirk of his own. On one hand, they'd sided with giant donut dude, which he really should've seen coming. On the other hand, now they had to eat murder pepper toast. "If you insist." Opening the breadbox with a flourish, he stacked two plates with toast and set them out on the table. "All yours!"

…Fuck. Lance had walked right into that and he knew it. Well, it didn't smell that bad. Shrugging, he took a huge bite.

He'd never regretted anything quite so immediately in his life.

For his part, Daniel was pretty sure that had been a dare, and he'd never backed down from a dare. He wasn't going to start now… with toast. He grabbed a piece and bit into it. Holy mother of… he fell into a coughing fit, but wasn't about to give Jace—or Lance, really—the satisfaction of laughing at him. "My grandma's… jjambbong is… way worse," he choked out through his burning throat.

"It's… fucking… great," Lance agreed, coughing just as violently.

"Sorry, what was that, caralho? I couldn't quite make it out."

Shaking his head, Hunk gave Jace a swat before crossing to the fridge and pouring two large glasses of milk. Lance barely even waited for it to be poured before he jumped up, grabbed a glass, and managed to dump way more of it on him than in him. Still, it was enough to at least tone down the coughing; he dropped back into his chair, gasping for breath.

"It is fucking great," he insisted as his mouth cooled down a little. "Totally… worth the kick." I am gonna die.

Jace abandoned all pretense and burst into laughter. "That was so fucking worth it, anyway."

Even Hunk was chuckling as he poured some more milk. Daniel had managed to down his first glass without incident—his grandma's jjambbong really was a hell of a thing, so he had some practice. He gladly accepted the second as the big man grinned. "I'm so sorry, my dudes. Maybe shoulda started with plain ol' jalapeno toast."

"Fucking maybe?" Lance repeated, downing the second glass of milk with some more success.

"Porra…" Jace was glaring again. If jalapeno toast happened he was going to… well, he really didn't know what he was going to do, but it wouldn't be great. For now, the obviously inedible murder pepper toast was sitting there mocking him. "Know what, I'm gonna salvage this stuff." Taking a moment to consider everything he knew about neutralizing heat, he grabbed a skillet and some honey, commandeered the milk, and got to work.

Hunk eyed him doubtfully. "Dude, what's to salvage?"

"Did you not see those fuckers just trying to eat this shit?!"

Having gulped his third glass of milk down, Daniel was ready to rejoin the discussion. He didn't look any more convinced by what Jace was doing. "I'm all for making toast, but what's wrong with plain old buttered toast? Or peanut butter toast?"

"Variety, little dude! Someone had to invent peanut butter toast too, yeah?" Hunk took a piece of his masterpiece, bit into it, and frowned. "…Okay it is kinda dry, could totally do with some salsa."

Jace called him several impolite things in Portuguese.

"Ugh." Lance looked at his plate. Having recovered from the inferno, his taste buds were belatedly noticing that murder peppers were actually pretty tasty—a kind of earthy base, with sweet and citrusy hints. "If it didn't try to kill you it's really not that bad. Couldn't they separate the taste from the burning?"

"The burning is the point of chili peppers, hot stuff." Jace was hunting for the vanilla. Daniel narrowed his eyes, pretty certain the medic had just called Lance hot stuff and equally certain that wasn't something he needed with his breakfast.

Lance himself just winked. "I knew you noticed."

"It took murder peppers, wouldn't brag about that."

"Not my fault it took drastic measures for you to admit the truth."

"Can we change the subject?" Daniel was seriously considering taking another bite of the hell toast, just to remove himself from this conversation.

Luckily, right about then Hunk looked over Jace's shoulder and frowned. He could see what was going on in that skillet… "Are you making murder pepper French toast?"

"Maybe."

"Dude, Doc, that's brilliant!"

Jace stopped in the middle of flipping the toast over, blinked, and looked between Hunk and the skillet. "…I've made a horrible mistake."

"I'm not eating that stuff," Lance declared.

"I'm not making it anymore, he called it a good idea." The medic unceremoniously dropped the toast back in the skillet and made a face.

Snort. "I think Hunk approval makes it a good idea, dude."

"Sure you do, because you just cooked your last fucking brain cell."

Looking between the two of them, then at the toast that was definitely close to getting scorched, Hunk decided the only option for salvaging this situation was talking it over. "Outta the way then! I've got this." Pushing the medic to the side, he found the cinnamon—no wait, that would probably be a bad idea—and got to work.

Daniel stood up and watched for a minute. "I'll try it," he volunteered; it was, after all, another type of toast. "Can't be that bad." He shot Lance a challenging look.

Their pilot was having none of it. "You're young, your esophagus is probably already healed."

"…Are you admitting you're old?"

Glare. "No, I'm saying you're a kid."

"I'm not… why… I'm not a kid!"

"And I'm not old—"

Keith had been heading for the gym after leaving the sick bay; he was going to be giving Starr another lesson, with or without Hayes. A combination of raised voices and the smell of burning peppers drew him to the galley first. One look at the scene told him absolutely nothing, except that he would probably regret this… "What in all the Japanese hells is going on in here?"

Everyone except Hunk gave him a very confused look. That was when he realized the hells hadn't been the only thing Japanese there, and tried his question again in English. It was hard to not get flustered around here sometimes.

"—Oh hey, boss," Lance said as if he hadn't even been interrupted.

"Wanna try some murder pepper French toast?" Hunk offered.

Oh. Oh dear. "Murder pepper what?" One of the commander's eyebrows had shot up so high it nearly vanished into his hair.

"French toast! You know, it's toast, but from France."

"Oui, oui," Lance agreed; Jace glared at him.

"Nobody wants to hear about your oui oui."

"Everybody wants it, you mean."

"I don't." Daniel was contemplating the hell toast again.

Keith shook his head in exasperation, then waved Hunk's offer aside. "I'll pass on the toast. You all need to do something productive around here, if you have time to be fighting amongst yourselves about breakfast."

That earned him a mildly offended look from Hunk. "Food is productive, boss."

"Yes, but not everything is about food, Hunk."

"I know that!" Now he was more than mildly offended. "There's kabooms and loud music, too!"

Jace snorted. "Where has food been involved with any of this?"

"Peppers are food, Jace." Lance smirked.

"That's not what your face said."

"Okay, that's enough!" Keith crossed his arms and glared around the galley. "Hunk, what did you and Starr find on Gliskor?"

Blink. "Uh… some kinda retrieval mission? We sent you a memo? We even pulled the Alliance's database info on the planet before we left." He gave his most innocent smile, then added some more milk to the skillet.

Daniel looked at the commander's expression and made a face, muttering to himself… mostly. "The sword up his ass must've gotten extra twisted today."

"He's got Boss Face," Lance agreed equally quietly. "I don't like it."

"He wants us to be productive, maybe I should do some scans?" Jace volunteered. "Medical advice is usually to not have sharp objects up your ass…"

Glare. "I heard that. Since the four of you clearly have nothing better to do, you're going to make the plans for our mission to Selech."

For a moment, except for the sizzling of the skillet, the galley went mercifully silent. It didn't last.

"…Dude, I'm just sitting here!"

"The four least strategically qualified people on the team are gonna do fucking what now?"

"I wouldn't say least qualified." Keith raised an eyebrow. "Two of you managed to find a mob boss back on Dradin."

It was adorable how the boss thought there had been any kind of actual planning involved in that… before anyone could point that out, Hunk broke in. He looked mildly panicked. "Boss, do you remember what happened last time I came up with a plan?"

"I was there," Lance offered, "I can remind you."

Jace passed that opening up in favor of scowling at the commander. "Yeah and they planned the mob boss thing real well, too, that's why Cam came back with a hole in him."

"I was not there for that part."

"I was there for that part," Daniel offered with a shrug. "See? Poor planning skills. Planning is boring anyway, I prefer impulsive decisions."

"I've never even made a plan that wasn't a treatment plan."

"The only thing I've done right in any of these plans is flirt."

"And me'n Cam specifically picked a mission that didn't need any flirting, cuz he's super bad at it."

"Yeah, he shouldn't do it unsupervised."

Keith waited for the protests to die down, a slow smirk creeping over his face. Lance recoiled slightly; Keith smirking was fucking terrifying, and definitely not a good sign. Hunk didn't think much of it either. "Uh… boss, you definitely look like you need some toast." He piled the murder pepper French toast on several plates, distributing them to the others before bringing one to Keith and offering it with a hopeful grin.

The commander accepted the plate, still grinning. "I have faith in the four of you to figure this out. Good luck." He turned and walked out of the galley without another word, closing the door behind him.

There was a beep, and a mechanical click, and the light on the hatch's control panel went red.

"…I think we're rubbing off on him a little too much," Jace muttered, staring at the door.

"How did it go from murder pepper sauce to this?"

"Did you guys really just out Cam's flirting secret?" Daniel demanded, ignoring the door and glaring at Lance. He'd promised.

Hunk blinked, answering before Lance had the chance to. "Wait, it was a secret? Little dude didn't tell me that, he just said we shouldn't do anything with flirting!"

"And I only mentioned it because Hunk did," Lance added a little defensively.

"Well it was a secret." Daniel glared around the room. "You better all leave him alone about it, I don't wanna hear him complain. He complains enough as it is."

"…I'm not gonna make fun of him."

"Same."

"I've got plenty of other things to insult him about."

"Good…" It was dawning on Daniel that he sounded a lot like an overprotective boyfriend, and that definitely wasn't something he needed in his life. Time to change the subject again. "…He locked that door, didn't he."

Hunk went over and tried it, just to be sure. "He sure did."

"We weren't even being bad," Lance protested, sighing.

"You were breathing."

"You keep me that way, Doc."

"True." Jace dropped into a chair, sighing too, then frowned. "You were also looking at his ass, which isn't my fault."

"Not my fault you don't appreciate ass."

"I save asses, I don't appreciate them." The medic stared at the plate of toast in front of him, then the curiosity became too much and he took a tiny, cautious bite. "…What the fuck? This is actually good."

Lance blinked, eyeing his own toast doubtfully, then shrugged and took a small bite himself. It was good. "…Huh."

Hunk grinned.

"I was operating at my normal level of bad behavior," Daniel grumbled as he tried his own toast. "Never gotten me locked in a room before."

"Kid, I do not buy that."

"My normal level of awesome hasn't. Now I've had a few extraordinary bouts of genius that got me put on restriction, but…"

That sounded much more reasonable. Lance took another bite of toast, looked at the door, and shook his head. "Okay, so, about this productivity thing."

"Yeah, what's this bounty bullshit about?"

Returning to the table, Hunk pulled out his datapad and opened the file. "We're supposed to go to some planet called Selech and retrieve some info—gotta get a copy to a handler there, then take the original to Onygrine. Which is the planet the boss said the Glis pointed us to. Between that and the mission not takin' assassination, boxes, or flirting, it seemed like a good idea." He shrugged.

"It sounds simple enough." Lance frowned. "We go get it, get it scanned or whatever… what's there to plan?"

Jace snorted. "When has anything we've done ever been that fucking simple?"

"…Point."

"Welp, might as well at least look through the overview, yeah? Get some idea what we're dealin' with?"

"May as well. Then we can get out of here."

Nodding, the big engineer brought up the file and started reading aloud. "Selech. Terrestrial planet. Currently a non-satellite affiliate of the Vex-Cha Confederacy. As of late 2416, the Alliance has…" He paused, blinking. "…issued a Level 3 travel warning for Selech…" Suddenly he was having many regrets about this job. "…due to reports of an ongoing war between local organics and sentient robots." He pushed the datapad aside. "Um."

"Fucking what."

"That… doesn't sound simple."

"Doesn't anyone read science fiction?" Lance groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Robots always attack eventually…"

Hunk kept reading. "Selech has historically been an insular planet, with the native Sela requesting all diplomacy be conducted through the Vex-Cha Affiliate Embassy. Information on the planet is therefore scarce. Scouting reports indicate it has fallen into anarchy, and the Vex-Cha have not yet intervened." None of that had made anyone feel any better. "Wellllp."

"Fuck." Lance eyed Hunk's datapad as though this were somehow its fault. "Could we just go back and pick a different bounty? Can that be our plan?"

"That sounds like a good plan," Daniel agreed.

"Can we do that while we're locked in a galley?" Jace asked, looking back at the door.

"We can't do much of anything locked in a galley."

"No, but he told us to make a plan," Daniel pointed out. "Going to get another bounty can be the plan. And if he doesn't say yes, I mean… you're the pilot, just turn the ship around."

"Willing to try it." Lance looked at the door too. "Hunk, you could pick the lock, right?"

Lockpicking was actually not a specialty of Hunk's; his skillset was more about blowing up the whole door. It was part of Daniel's toolkit, and he was about to make the offer when he remembered they were discussing an electronic lock. So he kept his mouth shut as Hunk shook his head. "Not so much, bro."

"Oh well, was a thought."

"Still worth askin' about the plan, though, yeah?" Hunk hit the comms. "Hey boss, can we go back and get a new bounty?"

There was a very long stretch of silence, broken only by the group nibbling their toast and a single crackle of static. That answered that.

Jace sighed. The inevitable conclusion was becoming, well… inevitable. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but are killer robots really all that bad?"

"Every movie I've watched says yes," Daniel answered immediately.

"We did knock off a twenty foot snake monster," the medic pointed out. "Movies usually say those are bad news, too."

"I knocked off a twenty foot snake," Lance corrected, glowering; Hunk nudged him.

"Vince helped."

"I appreciated his assist."

Jace waved all that off. "And the temple of elemental evil or whatever the fuck. And the lizard kangaroo. And the pirates, with or without a fucking carrier. I could keep going."

"Okay, you've got a point." Lance smirked. "We are fucking awesome."

"And we do have a giant EMP cannon on this ship," Hunk said thoughtfully.

The pilot's eyes lit up. "Oooh…"

"Bet the Sela wouldn't mind us rollin' a ship down their main street if it gets the killer robots off their back, yeah?"

Grin. "We might get a parade."

"Would the cannon blast through a building?" The only thing Jace knew about EMP weapons was that they could fuck up a field hospital's equipment real quick-like. "This thing we're picking up is probably in a building, wouldn't you think?"

"Yeah, probably." Hunk considered that, then gave him a knowing look. "But if we can get close to it, we've got a grumpy ninja and a grumpy infantry dude who I bet could get us through some urban combat."

Jace blinked. He hadn't seen that coming… but he did appreciate it. "I bet we can."

"Seems workable to me." Lance nodded.

Taking a bite of his toast, Hunk found the map they'd picked up and projected a bit of it over the table. "So we're supposed to meet this handler at a spaceport… here." A bright yellow highlight popped up on the map. "Info's somewhere? Not sure. But those look like highways." Several lines crawling over the map turned green. "And if they're crawlin' with robots or whatever, uh… we've got missiles! Right, little dude?"

Daniel had stopped paying much attention when the conversation turned to actual work; he'd busied himself making his French toast into a smiley face. Upon realizing Hunk was talking to him, he had to stop a moment and think back to figure out what he'd even been asked. "Um… yes we do!"

"I think the pit boss has a scout drone we could use, too." Grin. "We could kit it out with a mini-EMP, improve the camera some… dress it up in a little bow tie…"

"Two out of three isn't bad," Jace muttered.

"Hmm, yeah true, the mini-EMP might fry the drone. Probably ain't hardened against that."

Daniel snerked.

"Alright!" Lance finished his toast and stood. "Who wants to tell the boss we're ready to fuck up some robots?"

"They said no flirting!" Jace snapped.

"Dude, I know it's a foreign concept to you, but fucking things up is not flirting."

Hunk snorted, hitting the comms again. "Okay boss, you can stop ignorin' us now. We have a plan to get through the killer robots and we've gotta prep some equipment for it. So uh… can ya let us out?"

Another long stretch of silence. Daniel turned his smiley French toast into a frown.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with your food?" Jace asked, though without a whole lot of conviction.

"Did anyone ever explain the concept of fun to you?" Lance snorted.

"Yeah," the medic muttered under his breath, "they told me it dishonored the family name…" That wasn't entirely true. Fun had been fine, as long as it had been approved fun. It was just that nothing he'd actually enjoyed had fit the category.

Daniel's toast became even more frowny as he looked between them. "Please don't drag me into your married couple fighting bullshit." Did he and Cam sound like this? Surely not. They did it better.

Both Lance and Jace stared at him in horror; the door clicked in the midst of the silence, but nobody was even paying attention anymore. Lance recovered first, for given values of 'recovered'. "Ew."

Well, if Lance was going to ew about it, Jace was going to roll with it. "Yeah seriously, Lance." He reached over and patted Daniel's head. "This shit's always roughest on the kids!"

Hunk just about choked on his toast; Daniel was about to eww himself, but then also decided to run with it. "Does that make you my mom?"

Lance eyed the medic and smirked. "Jace? Yep."

"So you call Lance daddy?" Jace shot right back.

"…Uh, know what, I'm gonna leave now." Hunk put his plate in the sink and headed for the door. "Y'know, before you three get locked in here again. Have fun!" He bolted.

The others barely even noticed him departing, which was quite a feat, given it was Hunk. "Eww."

"I'm gonna toss up the murder pepper toast…"

"I think I already did."

"You started that one," Jace snorted, getting up and loading the dishwasher. "You can't bitch."

Daniel looked affronted. "I can bitch all I want."

"…Yeah, point, nothing usually does stop you."

It was all Lance could do not to bust out laughing. "You would know!"

"Fucking right I would! Takes an expert to know an amateur." Finishing up with the dishes, he tossed them both a casual salute. "Gotta go check on my patient. Later, caralhos." Lance flipped him off as he left.

Sighing—and for a moment contemplating, mostly unironically, the fact that he was surrounded by lunatics—Daniel shook his head and started to eat his French toast masterpiece. He'd had more than enough productivity for one day.

*****

Walking into the gym and shaking his head slightly, Keith found where Cam had left his things and placed the plate of French toast down next to them. The comms officer was already there, slowly practicing what he'd learned in their last session. His back was to the door—he'd learn better than that quickly—and he hadn't even noticed his commander coming in… Keith watched him for a minute.

"You're letting the end of the sword drop," he finally observed, and Cam startled.

"Sir!" He spun around, lowering the sword and bowing. "Didn't hear you come in…" Pause. He sniffed the air, catching something hot and sweet. "…What is that smell?"

Keith looked back to the plate and chuckled. "Breakfast, I think." He grabbed another wooden sword and moved onto the mat. "Let's get going, shall we?"

Cam grinned. "Yes, sir!"

For the next several minutes, Keith demonstrated some new techniques, watching Cam's attempts to mimic them and occasionally correcting his stance. They were switching from individual practice katas to some simple combat forms when the comms crackled behind them.

"Hey boss, can we go back and get a new bounty?"

They both paused, looking over at the comm panel for a moment, then Keith shrugged and looked away. Cam lowered his training sword, giving him a puzzled look. "Uh, what's wrong with the one we picked?" That did not get him any sort of actual answer, just the commander stepping away to get some water from the gym's cooler. It was only making Cam more and more confused by the second. "Um, sir? Are you going to answer them?"

Keith shook his head. "No."

"…Do I want to know?"

Smirk. "They're doing something… productive."

"Oh." Cam paled slightly. "Oh boy." No, he did not want to know.

They returned to the swords. For the moment, Keith wanted to focus on the rhythm of battle. Moving naturally with the sword was a skill all its own, and slashes and thrusts an opponent unquestionably could block required reading the combat just as much as slipping through their guard. Scoring points could come later. For now…

"Alright. Get some water." He was pleased with Cam's progress, but the young man needed to see what it was like to have a partner, sooner rather than later. "Let's see how well you do one on one."

Cam's eyes widened eagerly. "Really? I mean, yes sir!"

As he went over and got a drink, nearly fumbling the cup in his excitement, Keith stretched and gave his own practice sword a few more test swings. He smiled as the comms officer made it back without actually dousing himself with the water. "Ready, Starr?"

"I think so." He nodded, trying to relax, trying to remember everything he'd been taught at once.

Nodding back, Keith led him through a few easy sparring routines. Cam seemed startled at first by the impact of the wooden swords, the immediacy of a real block running through his hands, but soon enough his excited energy gave way to proper focus and adjustments. He was a pretty quick learner; Keith grinned. Even sticking to the basics, having a sparring partner at all was enjoyable.

All too soon, the comms crackled again. "Okay boss, you can stop ignorin' us now. We have a plan to get through the killer robots and we've gotta prep some equipment for it. So uh… can ya let us out?"

Sighing, Keith lowered his sword. Just as well, because Cam very nearly dropped his. "Alright, Starr, I think that's enough for today. Enjoy breakfast." Bowing, he left to unlock the galley, then headed for the showers.

Cam had managed to bow, but otherwise was still staring at the speaker. "What the hell do they mean killer robots?" he finally murmured to himself.

Not like anyone was left to answer him… shaking his head slightly, he put his sword away and tried the toast.

*****

Vince swallowed a sigh at finding Sven. Yes, he was looking for him, but a part of him had been hoping it would take longer. But this was important… he knew his sparking issues weren't just going to go away, and part of him was always worried it might get worse. Swords hadn't helped, but that was no excuse to give up entirely. So onward, he thought, and stepped into the rec room.

The rec room had become a bit of a reading room for Sven, and he was enjoying the quiet as he read his book. But soon a sigh invaded his peace and quiet. He looked up and spotted Vince, and nodded. "Yes?"

"Uh…"

Vince looked very characteristically nervous; Sven lowered his book and waited patiently.

"I was, um, wondering if you could… well, I'm trying to find some Zen and asked the Commander for help but I kept dropping the swords…" Vince cringed at his babbling.

"Swords are frustrating. Not sure what they have to do with Zen, though." Sven shook his head slightly. He'd suggested some combat training might help the kid, true, but he hadn't exactly meant that swords themselves were supposed to give him peace of mind. On the plus side, he knew exactly where this was going now.

"Well, the Commander stays pretty Zen," Vince explained weakly, "though, you're very unflappable too and well, I need less flap…" He trailed off, wincing again.

Sven couldn't help laughing a bit, though he did feel for Vince, so he pushed it aside and gave the situation some thought. He had told Hunk he could try to help, admittedly. But actually seeing Vince just trying to work up the courage to ask about it made him reconsider that offer. What he could teach might not actually help.

"Well, I've had a lot of training to stay calm, and reading helps as well." He waved his book in the air to demonstrate. "I could train you, if you'd like, but I'm not sure how well it would work… the training I went through to get ‘less flap,' as you put it, was very flappy." He hoped he was using the terms correctly.

Vince laughed at Sven using his ridiculous phrasing, which helped him relax a bit. "Really? I mean, I feel like I need to try something else. What is the training you went through?"

"I'm trained in Glima, it's a Viking style of martial arts. It's very intense."

"So, you really are a Viking," Vince laughed. "Does it have swords?"

"It can. You're trained on how to handle multiple types of weapons. I preferred axes and knives to swords, but it's also a weaponless art."

"Axes…" Vince scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. "Yeah, I don't think that'd be my preference."

"I didn't think it would…" Frown. "Even non-weaponized training is hard, though. It focuses on grappling, wrestling, throwing, and pain techniques. It teaches you to inflict as much damage as possible and helps improve your own pain management. It's different from normal self-defense martial arts. It's very focused on offense, on taking your opponent down and making sure he doesn't get up. You're trained in very overwhelming situations, so that in real situations you're more likely to remain calm."

As he spoke Sven watched Vince's eyes get larger and larger, and his face became more and more slackjawed. He was losing him more and more with each sentence, though he wasn't surprised in the least. Glima was intense, and it required full commitment and the right temperament for it. Exposure therapy—that was pretty much what it would be for him—just didn't seem like the logical solution for Vince.

There was a long moment of silence once he finished.

"Uh…"

Sven laughed, and Vince felt relief wash through him. Yeah, no. It was absurd to think that would help him, he wasn't a Viking, but he hadn't wanted to offend Sven by refusing after seeking him out; the navigator's laughter made him feel much better about it. "Uh, yeah, I'm not seeing myself doing that."

"I didn't think so, though I am honored you asked."

"Heh… I mean it sounds interesting and you're probably pretty badass, so… go you?" Okay, so he still felt a bit awkward. "I'll just have to figure out something else, I guess. I mean, everyone has their own path."

"Languag…" Sven stopped himself, Vince was complimenting him, and he was one of the few on the team who wasn't typically swearing every other word. "Thank you."

Vince chuckled at the aborted lecture. "There really isn't a polite way of saying that though. Badbutt?"

"There is always a polite way to say things. How about hardcore? That's polite, and still gets the point across." Sven stopped and internally sighed. Stop lecturing him.

Vince nodded, somehow completely unsurprised Sven had found a way to politely say badass so quickly. "Alright, you're hardcore. Anyway, thank you again."

He nodded. "You'll figure it out, Vince. As you say, everyone has their own path. You're not at the end of your life…" Though he might've been if he'd actually tried to learn Glima. "You have plenty of time yet."

"That's true." Managing a smile, he nodded again and turned away. "I'll let you get back to your book." Heading out, he wrinkled his nose in frustration. That had gone well enough, for what it was, but wasn't actually going to make him any less flappy. What was his next option?

*****

It had been days since Allura had last seen her father. Even that had been only a brief meeting, but she knew what he was heading out for, and all of her prayers since had been for his success. She had plenty to focus on herself: making sure the people in the shelter were fed, seeing to it that other provisions were properly dispersed. Various tasks to keep her busy, preventing her from dwelling too much on worry.

She was quite happy that she had Coran as an advisor; since his arrival, he'd been by her side to help with any task that arose, and it was all the more important as she tried to keep her thoughts from wandering elsewhere. She was impressed with how familiar he was with everyone in a leadership position, and when new people volunteered for new duties he was a great judge of ability and character. Though she couldn't confide in him about the Lions themselves… at times she wondered what else Coran might not know about. It reminded her of how much more she needed to know herself. But for now, her lessons would continue to come from hands-on experience, and from the people she watched over until her father returned.

Presently, she was in the main cavern, sorting through resources that had been acquired from a recent scouting trip. Blankets, clothing, and medicines had been found this time—an unusually fruitful mission, and she hoped a good omen. As tempting as it was to take a pair of pants for herself, her jumpsuit still had life in it, so she was folding them for the other survivors. She preferred the main cavern, among her people, but as the occupation went on… even in the main cavern, a strange quiet seemed to hover over the people as they huddled together. It was difficult to get used to. But still, she needed to be visible to the people…

A wave of sudden gasps and sobs drew her eyes from her work. To those around her, it seemed a ball of lightning had flared to life in the cavern; as panic faded, whispers began. It must be a sign of something. Yet Allura could see what it truly was, and the sign was nothing good… her voice caught in mid-breath as she tried to find words.

Her father's spirit had coalesced from the light. He floated close to her, taking her cheeks in ghostly hands that only she could see.

"I'm so sorry, my child… I have failed you and our people." He spoke quietly, a faint ethereal echo in his voice. "I became pinned down in the Valley of Zohar. I thought… I should have known they might trap us there."

"Father…"

"Shhhh… what's done is done." His tone was gentle. "You must be strong, Allura. Much hardship is before you, but fear not… I believe in your strength. You still have a chance… I have seen it."

"Saw what, father? How can there be a chance?" She spoke barely above a whimper, fighting for the strength he spoke of, but momentarily seized by shock.

"Hope," he whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek. "I saw hope. What sleeps will awaken, and with this hope will come freedom for so many."

"What… sleeps…?" Stuttering a little, she looked in her father's eyes. Does he mean…?

Nodding as if he heard her thoughts, her father smiled sadly. "Yes. Not as soon as we might wish, but it is beginning. Oh, my dear Allura, how I wish I had more time to prepare you for what is coming. But you have enough for now… perhaps as much as can be given. Be strong, and have faith. And know that I have not been taken up as a trophy." Leaning in closer still, he whispered so softly she felt more than heard the words. "My body is safe by the Black Lion's feet." Straightening up, he started to drift back from her, the light reappearing as if to welcome him. "This is all I can say now… perhaps there can be more later."

"Father! Please don't leave me!" she cried as his form started to fade.

He just smiled, a sad look in his eyes. Soon he was gone from sight, and the soft glow that had lit the chamber left them in darkness.

Larmina had been spending as much time as possible out hunting; she'd arrived with a bounty of fruits and rolis just in time to see King Alfor's ghost beginning to retreat. As he vanished, she shook her head slightly… it wouldn't be proper to rush in, but royal manners be cursed. Allura was in need of support. Larmina knew that look in her eyes. Setting her things aside, she ran to her aunt, wrapping her arms about her shoulders.

Allura leaned into Larmina, staring at the empty space where her father had been. Coran had rushed forward; he was briefly tempted to say something about the lapse in manners, but the vacant look in the princess' eyes spoke of the degree of shock she was in. Instead, he moved to her other side and helped Larmina guide her to a more private area. As they left, he called for others to finish what the princess was working on; a few stunned civilians moved in to do so.

Inquiries were made by several councilors as they were moving. Coran answered only that the Princess must have received a message, and it was a grim one. He had seen something like this long ago; in time he had no doubt all would know what the message was. The answer wasn't much, but it would suffice for the moment.

Once they arrived in royal chambers and helped Allura lay in her bed, Larmina turned to Coran. "Is it really true you've seen that before?" she asked softly; she was going to be both relieved and annoyed if it turned out seeing ghosts was something he considered normal too.

But that wasn't what he'd seen. "Yes. In my youth, I was present with King Alfor when a similar light to that ball of lightning appeared before him. Later, we learned his grandfather had passed away." He gave a grim sigh, looking away. "I fear what news this one brought with it." From Allura's words, he had a sinking suspicion.

Larmina just nodded. No one else had seen what she and Allura had… it didn't feel like her place to confirm it, so she didn't.

Looking at her aunt, she could see her struggling with the truth of what the spirit's appearance had meant. No words could ease that harsh reality. She knew. Instead, she opted for the quiet comfort that a hug could offer. Soon came the tears and pain; all that accompanied the loss of a much loved father. Silently, Larmina held on until Allura was able to collect herself, hearing her own mother's words ringing again in her mind.

Survive. Fight.

It could wait a little while.