(On the Hunt) Chapter 27

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 27

Making Strides

Onygrine was on the outskirts of its system. That fortunate bit of celestial cartography meant reaching interstellar space took only a matter of hours—usually it was more on the order of days. With the Galra still lurking, in their minds if not actually in the skies, the 686 was only too happy to escape the astrosphere as quickly as possible. Nobody on the ship was going to breathe easily until they were safely in hyperspace.

By that time, of course, the three who hadn't been present for the fiasco in the hangar had heard all about it. At length. It had taken some work for Vince to make his fellow engineers believe he wasn't exaggerating the story. Fortunately, once he convinced them, they'd had too much work to do to really discuss it further… though Pidge was visibly annoyed to have missed it.

Once the Bolt breached into hyperspace, the team gathered in a briefing room. The engineering crew hadn't been the only ones hard at work. Daniel was wearing a cast and pouting mightily; Lance had an arm in a sling. He wasn't going to pout, though. He was still too pissed off to pout. Mostly.

Ow…

Jace leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, frowning. He had scans to look over; he didn't really want to be here reliving that mess. "Okay, so the purple furry dudes are officially after us. That the briefing?" Sven eyed him and shrugged; he'd have put that more eloquently, but there was something to be said for short and direct.

"Fucking purple pigs," Lance growled under his breath. The thought went through Daniel's head for roughly a millisecond that the Galra hadn't looked a thing like a pig—more like some weird cat-lizard hybrid—but even he knew better than to say so.

Keith ignored their pilot's grumbling. "Pretty much. Flynn, did your people find anything suspicious on the ship?"

The chief engineer shook his head. "We did a signal trace before we left atmosphere, before and after bringing the shields up. Another before we breached. No sign we're transmitting anything."

"There are no known comms that can transmit from hyperspace," Sven added. "They should have no way to track us while we're here."

"We were monitoring the ship from the moment you contacted us until you came aboard, sir." Pidge had his arms crossed too. "Nobody came in physical proximity except the Vex-Cha refueling team, and they never touched the hull, only the tanker hookups. Nothing was attached."

Keith nodded, still frowning. "Good."

"Sounds like we're set then, yeah?" Hunk knew it was very unlikely to be that easy… but maybe Big Dumb Hunk didn't know that. He had appearances to keep up, after all.

"No." That hadn't taken long. "We need to be more vigilant from here on out. We may be getting closer, and we've certainly drawn attention. Given what we just experienced, I think we could all use some more combat and range time. And we'll need to have our guard up when we're on the ground." The commander's frown deepened. "I think we have to assume they'll be watching Zandrek."

That seemed reasonable, in Sven's opinion. "An Altean relic does seem like something they'd stake out."

"We may have a bit of an advantage," Flynn pointed out. "Even if they followed you back, there's three of us they haven't seen." Looking between himself and Hunk, he snorted. "You know, the ninja who can turn invisible… and the two most conspicuous people on the ship."

Hunk gave a huge grin. "No problem, I'm awesome at stealth. Just walk like ten feet behind me and nobody'll notice you." He looked over at Cam. "Little dude, you still got that light-up sombrero?"

Smirk. "I do. You want the stuffed flamingo and Vince's granny's shoes?"

"My granny's shoes wouldn't fit on his big toe," the engineer protested.

"Ain't wrong. Could wear 'em as earrings, though."

"I've got an old Russian flag, need a cape?"

"I'm going to have all you fuckers committed," Jace muttered, drawing a couple of laughs—the loudest from Hunk himself.

Noticing Keith's exasperated look, Cam settled down quickly. "We should stay on topic, sorry. You guys are really good at distracting me." Next to him, Daniel rolled his eyes affectionately; leave it to fanboy to blame them for him having fun.

"Like we ever stay on track," Vince mumbled; Hunk just chuckled.

"It's a gift."

Ignoring the banter as always, Pidge leaned forward. "I can still scout without being seen. Probably wisest since we can't confirm they never saw our ship."

"Which means we should presume they did." Keith was going through the possibilities. "And we have to bet that they've already alerted their friends. Stoker can scout, but that's our ace in the hole—it isn't a plan for the rest of us."

"Even if they know our ship and are watching the spaceport, wouldn't we have a short window before they could properly set up surveillance?" Flynn wasn't certain who he was directing that question to. He was certainly not an expert on stealth or surveillance tactics—he just knew landing arrangements could be unpredictable enough for the people doing the landing, never mind anyone trying to spy on them.

"We might have a small window of opportunity. It's an unknown at this point."

"They're sneaky motherfuckers," Lance growled. "We've gotta keep our eyes open no matter what."

"Sneaky," Jace agreed, "but they're no super-ninjas. We did catch the guy on Onygrine with a pretty basic reverse." He paused a moment, making a face. "I mean, it didn't fucking take, but we caught him."

Listening to the debate with narrowed eyes, Sven could imagine where this was going. In fact he could imagine several options for where it was going. Every one of them was bad. "The number of interplanetary incidents this team causes is going to triple, at least." Only Jace heard him, and snorted. It probably wasn't wrong.

"Maybe we should land somewhere else?" Lance suggested. Not that they technically had a landing site yet at all—they would get that when they reached the system and could pick up the local charts—but at every planet they'd visited until now, they had always landed at the closest possible site. Because that was obvious. It seemed like the obvious first thing to change.

"Assuming the planet has more than one spaceport?" Keith knew as well as Lance that they didn’t have the charts yet.

Sven and Cam didn't need the charts to have a pretty good idea. "It almost certainly does. Onygrine had suborbital beacons everywhere."

"The Vex-Cha like multiple small spaceports supporting the main one. Lets them get supplies in faster to where they're needed."

Somehow that did seem appropriately insectlike. Keith looked at Flynn, who shrugged. "Seems like a good idea to me? If we're just running into them now, their surveillance can't be that intensive."

Pidge gave him a mildly condescending look. "Or it's just the first time we've noticed."

"…You don't think it's a good idea, then?"

"It's logical. I'm just saying."

"I'm with the ninja," Lance said darkly. "We can't trust anything about those bastards."

"It's possible." Rubbing his forehead, Keith exhaled slowly and nodded. "We'll need to come up with a plan before we touch down. I do like setting down at a different spaceport first. Even if they're watching, it might help to hide our intentions."

"And gives us that much more time to shake anyone who tries to follow," Jace added; Sven nodded in agreement.

"Be easier to plan past that once we get in range to pick up the charts, yeah?" Hunk was pretty certain he was going to have a role in this, and it wouldn't involve wearing stiletto heels as earrings. "We can pick a port from there."

Keith nodded. "Exactly."

"So until then, range practice? And try to relax since they can't follow us in space?" At that last bit Flynn nudged Vince lightly; he'd been looking more and more distressed as the conversation went along. He didn't look a whole lot less distressed to have been noticed.

"And hand to hand. That Galra was fast."

Flynn sighed, though Sven perked up. "Right. And hand to hand." Lance and Daniel both cursed under their breath; both of those were going to suck in their current condition.

Ignoring the grumbling, Keith dismissed the team and shook his head. It wasn't much of a plan yet, but he was sure they would have more soon… and no doubt he'd regret it when they did.

*****

It didn't take long at all for Vince, on edge as he was, to nearly blow up an engine status panel—Pidge relentlessly drilling him on every move the Galra had made hadn't helped a bit. Though he was a little impressed with himself; it was only the second time he'd sparked since Jace had made him start wearing the monitor. And the first time had been on the Farantin, which he felt he couldn't really be blamed for.

He may also have forgotten to tell Jace about that one… and having been on a different ship, the monitor had been transmitting a little sporadically. There was no avoiding it this time. Not that he'd actually heard from the medic yet, but if he wanted answers he was going to have to be proactive sooner or later.

Why am I doing this to myself?

Approaching the sick bay, he felt his resolve wavering a bit—or perhaps more accurately, fluctuating. He hit the hatch controls with confidence, but before the door even finished opening he was back to hoping Jace wouldn't be there. No such luck; he was sitting at the desk playing solitaire with real cards, his datapad hooked to a charging port nearby.

Okay then. Vince cleared his throat, though not loudly. Jace looked very focused on his game. If he didn't hear, he could always leave and come back later… no, he shouldn't do that…

"I heard the door, you know."

"…Oh."

"So what's up?" Jace was still studying his cards. "You get zappy again?"

Heat crept over Vince's ears. "There was some sparkage, yeah."

"Yeah, I know that too, it transmitted." Putting down the cards he'd been looking at, the medic spun his chair around and shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you'd admit it. I'm already running the data."

Huh. Somehow he hadn't expected that, though he wasn't sure why not. "It say anything interesting?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"So far it's said, and I'm quoting, 'beep boop beep boop analysis will be complete in approximately 387 minutes'."

Vince blinked. "So no…?"

That got him an unapologetic shrug. "Like I said before, this isn't a damn diagnostic lab. You wanna come back in 387 minutes, or should I stick you with some needles and shit now just for fun?"

"Um." Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, the engineer gathered his nerve. "I kind of have another unrelated question. I mean, kind of related, but…" You're going to regret this.

Jace was almost too surprised to even remember to be himself. "Okay, shoot."

"Well…" He was so going to regret this. "Um, Sven was telling Cam not long ago that he's managed to use your influence positively, and well, I was wondering if you could influence me…" Oh god, you did not just say that. He trailed off.

"…Fucking Viking," Jace muttered. "I love it when he's an asshole, I'm so proud…" He could hardly even begin to imagine how that discussion had come about. Shaking his head, he shifted to addressing the actual question, which was easier said than done. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

The heat in Vince's ears was starting to creep down his cheeks and neck as well. "I don't even quite know?"

"Great. I know there's some shit about how to make friends and influence people but I did not take that course."

The engineer eyed him. It did ring very true. "Uh… am I allowed to agree with that?"

Snort. "I'd be concerned if you didn't, you're supposed to be smart."

Also true, he supposed. "It's just, I'm trying this finding zen thing and not having much luck, and well, I don't know… you have anything that might help?"

"You're asking me about zen?" Jace burst into laughter, but then abruptly cut it off. "…Seriously though, why."

"I'm desperate." He shrugged. "And between you and Lance you seemed like the slightly better option."

The medic snickered again. "I mean, that checks out."

Vince was still trying to get his thoughts sorted out, and attempted to clarify. "It's just, uh, there was a suggestion that combat training would be a good idea? For discipline and nerves and stuff. But I didn't find the Commander's sword meditation all that helpful and well, Sven's Viking stuff sounds like torture."

"…Ohhh." To Jace's surprise, that actually did make sense. Conceptually. Maybe. Looking Vince over, he frowned slightly. "So, okay. We could go wrestle on a mat some, if that's really what you think you want? Kinda don't think you'd like that a whole fucking lot either."

Having seen Jace's fighting style during a few mandated sparring sessions, Vince agreed with that wholeheartedly. "No, not really."

"Didn't think so. Don't get me wrong, if you want to learn I'll teach you." There were certainly still elements of Brazilian jiu-jitsu that might help the kid… he smirked. "I've taught a whole bunch of hookers some basics, you can't be that much harder."

Vince stared, trying his best to forget he'd heard that, and failing. "You've what?"

"You heard me." For all the grief he got from the team—grief he didn't do much to stave off, admittedly—Jace had a genuinely good relationship with several of the workers around the Garrison. And being able to choke out anyone who tried to mess with them was a useful job skill. It did mean his teaching experience was mostly geared towards quickly disabling an opponent, not what Vince was looking for at all. In fact, the entire concept of dealing with an opponent was not what Vince needed… something else was coming to him. "Anyway, I'm willing, but I might have a better idea."

Another idea? Vince was all for other ideas. "I'll take it, what is it?"

"Based on what you've said about the zapping, it's not that you need to learn how to stay calm when someone's trying to beat the shit out of you—I mean, I bet you could use that too but that's another issue. You need to learn how to stay calm when you're looking at high precision with perfect timing where one wrong move'll set shit on fire." He cocked his head. "You ever cook anything?"

Vince had been nodding along with the description; it did sound much more like what he was after. He hadn't at all anticipated where it was going. "Cooking?" He shrugged. "Well, I steer clear of the kitchen when Mom cooks, cuz she waves the knives around. But I've baked cookies with my Granny Mel."

Jace was not impressed. "Cookies are fine, probably, but fuck that for zen training. I'm gonna teach you to do risotto."

"Risotto?" Definitely hadn't seen that one coming. "Isn't that the thing people never realize they shouldn't cook on cooking shows?"

"…Of course you watch cooking shows." Smirk. "Sure is. You know why they shouldn't cook it?"

Vince couldn't quite figure out if the medic was insulting him, cooking shows, both, or neither. He decided not to worry about it. "It's… persnickety, is the feeling I always got."

"…Perfuckingsnickety?!" That had definitely been an insult. "…I was gonna say because it requires high precision and perfect timing and one wrong move could set shit on fire, but that works too."

"I think I can handle trying this." It seemed to line up surprisingly well, really. "Sounds way better than swinging swords around while you're trying to focus on breathing in and out." Vince found himself grinning; he was actually looking forward to it. Maybe being optimistic for once would help, too.

"Okay. We'll try it, then." Jace checked his datapad. "You still off shift for a bit? Give me ten to finish charging and bring some supplies up from steerage, and I'll meet you in the galley."

"Sounds perfect, thanks!" Starting to leave, Vince paused and turned around again, his grin fading slightly. "Um, Doc? Is it really taking the computer six and a half hours to analyze the zaps?"

Jace shot him a mild scowl. "I told you it's not a fucking diagnostic lab. It's doing its best."

…That poor computer. Maybe Vince could help with that later. For now, though, it was time to focus on cooking. It might actually be fun. "Okay, see you in ten minutes."

Flipping a salute, Jace pushed his cards aside and headed for the bottom deck's storage holds. This was going to be something.

*****

Flynn was doing his best to take his own advice and not worry about the Galra. They couldn't do anything more; dwelling on it wouldn't help. The resident ninja did not seem to share that opinion. After interrogating Vince into sparking he hadn't relaxed even a little, and his pacing the bay with a hand on his knife had quickly worn on Flynn's nerves far more than vague threats about furry purple pirates.

"Pidge, I know this is an unconventional order, but would you please think about something else for awhile?!"

To his own surprise, it seemed to have worked… Pidge had settled down, watching the systems while he did a routine casing inspection. It was mindless work, and the engines didn't particularly need it, but it would keep them both occupied…

"What's it like where you're from?"

…Or that could keep them occupied. He turned back to the ninja at the aft console, fighting down the confusion. "Come again?"

Pidge crossed his arms, repeating himself in the exact same tone. "What's it like where you're from?"

Really. That's what he switched to? It was almost too odd to take seriously. "What about it?" He turned again, replacing an access panel, and shrugged. "It's a radioactive desert, it's not great."

"Jalekya sa kye." He was probably being called something unpleasant there, but he was used to it. "You said they didn't want you there."

He'd said what now?

It took a moment to come back to him. But he had, hadn't he? On Earth. Months ago. He'd certainly not expected to ever have to explain it, but he was learning no expectation survived contact with the ninja. Fair enough. "They didn't."

"Why not?"

That question he'd anticipated, though he'd hoped against it. Finishing up with the access panel, he stepped back and studied Pidge carefully. Why this? Usually he would have brushed it off, but somehow he doubted it would work any better than it had the first time. "Why?"

Pidge glared, and Flynn was suddenly struck with the distinct feeling he was being judged—though on what criteria, he had no idea. "That isn't an answer."

Kind of the point. He sighed. What the hell? Maybe it would help. He couldn't see how, but if Pidge was trying to accomplish something here, he didn't feel like he could really shut it down. "Alright, fine. Come here." He dropped onto a workbench and patted the seat next to him; the ninja ignored that and sat on the floor in front of him, drawing his knees to his chest. "But you may as well be warned it's going to sound ridiculous."

"Everything on your planet is ridiculous."

More than you know, but… "You're assuming I'm from Earth."

He startled. "You're not? But I thought you were hu—"

"I am human," Flynn interrupted a little more hotly than was probably fair. "There are humans on plenty of other planets, you know."

Pidge tilted his head, and his voice dropped a bit. "Yes. Sorry. Gods forbid you be mistaken for something less than human."

…Well that certainly wasn't fair either. "I'm pretty damned certain that's not what I said, Pidge. If you want answers I suggest you not twist my words like that again."

Pidge drew back a moment at that. He looked irritated, though for some reason he couldn't explain Flynn didn't think the irritation was directed at him, and his tone was apologetic when he responded. "I… misunderstood."

Maybe that was fair. He had been a bit snippy about it. "Let's get back to the point, shall we?"

"Yes, let's."

Back to the point. Right. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find somewhere to start that wasn't overly pedantic or melodramatic. He'd never actually tried to explain this in any real depth. "I'm from a planet called Dathreil. It is an irradiated desert—most of the surface is just sand or ruins. When it rains you have to run inside before you melt."

Pidge's eyes widened, and for half a second he looked a bit ill. "Why even colonize somewhere like that?"

"Wasn't always like that. Best I can tell it was a perfectly lovely desert until the original Drule invasion cut the supply lines… then they ended up with famine and societal collapse and nuclear war." Flynn shook his head slightly. He'd read some of the intel records on that war—enough to know he didn't want to read the rest. "When they ran out of bombs all they had left was one half-habitable continent, four working industrial reactors, and a nasty grudge against the Alliance for not showing up until it was over."

Frowning slightly, Pidge seemed to do some quick math. "That was… a bit over two hundred years ago, kir sa tye? But you're from there?"

"Right. They kicked the Alliance out and set up their own civilization." For given values of the word. "I grew up in a 'training camp' with a couple hundred other children who'd been tested for mechanical aptitude, apparently. I barely remember the tests. We were in training to become priests… to tend to the temples of the four gods who provided their energy to civilization."

He waited for the implications to sink in; it didn't take long. Pidge spent a few moments visibly trying to struggle through the illogic. "You worshipped power plants?" he finally asked blankly.

"Essentially."

Another silence. "…Keep going."

Flynn nodded. "The camps were kind of half engineering school, half indoctrination camp. They kept trying to tell us how important it was to serve the gods loyally and not ask any questions." He couldn't help a small, chagrined smile. "I had a lot of questions and didn't know when to shut up."

"Sounds like you."

Immediately he switched to a warning tone. "Pidge…"

"Sorry."

Somehow he doubted the sincerity of the apology, not least because he rarely seemed able to produce the word 'sorry' that quickly when he was actually sorry. "It's alright to have the thought, you know? You just don't always have to say it out loud."

Grumpy Ninja narrowed his eyes slightly, as if to prove exactly how he'd earned the nickname. "Is that something they told you when you couldn't shut up?"

…Ouch. But it told him rather a lot about how Pidge saw the world. "We're going to have to discuss manners again, aren't we?"

"Manners," Pidge muttered, rolling his eyes. "We were talking about your planet worshipping power plants."

Yes, he supposed they had been. "Yes. Anyone who didn't fall in line was labeled a heretic. And every couple of years, the prophets would herd all the heretics onto a ship and tell them they were being sent to the gods to be punished." His own eyes narrowed at the memory. "That's how I ended up on Earth."

"The Alliance stepped in again?"

Now he scowled outright. "In a manner of speaking. They're happy to take a few dozen refugees every so often and explain to them that their gods are a lie. They can't be bothered to do anything else." He hesitated. "That's why I snapped at you earlier. The Alliance has been trying to reclassify Dathreans as a derivative race for years. There's no genetic basis for it, but I guess if we aren't human anymore the brass will sleep better at night about cutting us loose. It's a bit of a sore point."

Something very much like recognition sparked in Pidge's eyes. "I understand."

Well that was the last thing he'd expected. Of course, this whole conversation was the last thing he'd expected. "Do you?"

He didn't take the bait. He never did. Whatever had prompted his defenses, they were titanium. "How did you… take that? I mean, going to Earth."

Flynn arched a skeptical eyebrow. He kind of doubted Pidge was really trying to psychoanalyze him, and had no interest in participating either way. "It hit a lot of the older ones harder, I think. They understood what was going on a bit better." He shrugged and shook his head. "I wasn't even halfway through indoctrination, they just decided it wasn't going to work and stuck me on the next shuttle out of their way. I was only ten."

"Ten," the ninja murmured. That probably didn't seem so young to a sixteen year old Baltan, now that he thought about it. Maybe he was searching for the equivalence. He didn't search long. "…The heretics… what did they do to you before they sent you away? How did they treat you?"

Flynn cocked his head. That wasn't exactly the question he'd been anticipating. "Do to us? Not much, honestly, it wasn't so bad once they gave up on beating the heresy out of us. They just kept us quarantined and occasionally reminded us we were going to hell, which… is about the opposite of what actually happened, so that worked out alright."

"Oh." It was impossible to even attempt to read what was going on in the ninja's mind. "It didn't bother you, then?"

Well…

What does he want? He's not my damned therapist.

Just answer the question. See where it gets you. He's looking for something…

"Didn't what bother me?" he sighed. "Being threatened with eternal damnation for being curious? Having everything I'd ever been taught yanked out from under me? Of course it bothered me. But what of it?" Shrug. "It happened. I can't change it, and I'd damn sure rather be here than there. What do I have to complain about?"

For what felt like a very long time, he found himself staring into an intense searching gaze. Then Pidge looked away and nodded. "I see."

See what? Asking that wasn't likely to get him much of anywhere, but maybe he could at least try asking something. If he was going to spill all that, he intended to accomplish something with it.

"So when are you going to tell me how you got here?"

Immediately the ninja whirled on him again, eyes flashing with anger. "That wasn't part of the deal!"

Of course it wasn't. "There wasn't a deal. I just asked a question."

"You still don't know when to shut up, do you?" he snapped. Almost immediately something like mortification took hold in his eyes. Maybe it was in response to the death glare Flynn had shot him. Maybe it wasn't. "…Sir…"

They were going to cut that off right here and now. "Do not use that against me again, Pidge. Understood?"

"Yessir." He sank back, almost fading into one of the shadows crossing the bay floor. "I, um…"

"You're sorry," he offered irritably when it became clear the word was eluding the ninja again.

"Yeah. That."

They stared at each other for a few more moments. Why are you like this? What are you looking for? "…What are you afraid of?" he asked softly. That had never worked before, but he was going to keep asking until—

"Why do you keep asking me that? What the hells do you care?"

Oh? Two could play that game. "Why do you care?"

That drew him up short. "Komora…?"

"You asked me first." Pidge had started this conversation. That much was unquestionable. "Assuming it wasn't because you like me at all, since you clearly don't, what were you looking for? Did I pass?"

Grumpy Ninja, for once, didn't seem to have a grumpy response at the ready. The answer he finally came up with was completely out of the field. "Why do you think I don't like you?"

…Well… then… he bit back several sarcastic responses that wouldn't have at all improved matters. "I don't think you like anyone, really."

"Nobody likes me."

"That's not true," Flynn objected before really thinking about the words. "I like you."

Oh do you really? Does favoritism actually mean you like him?

Maybe I'm getting there…

"I don't think you do, sir."

He doesn't make it easy. "How about you let me be the judge of that?" He tilted his head, studying the young engineer carefully. "I don't understand you any more than you seem to understand us, and I'm occasionally convinced you're trying to get thrown down a drive core, but if I didn't like you I promise you'd know."

The ninja seemed to consider that seriously for a minute… or maybe he was considering something else. Finally he nodded once. "You passed."

Wait, I did? Flynn fought back the shock. "Did I?"

Pidge was staring pointedly at the floor. He didn't often make eye contact unless he was either acknowledging orders or threatening murder, but he somehow seemed even more intent on avoiding it than usual right now. "Fine. I'll tell you something."

Don't jump on that. Do not jump on that. He shifted a little, giving the ninja his full attention, but waiting a beat before speaking. "Okay."

"Shinori are a telepathic race."

That had been in the diplomatic overview; Flynn nodded. "I read that somewhere. It said it's restricted to speaking among your own species?"

"So I'm told." He clenched his fists. "I wouldn't know. I am not telepathic. I am varetya."

That term hadn't been in the handbook. The way he spat the word made Flynn hesitant to even ask, but he was finally getting answers, damned if he was going to run from them. "Varetya?"

"It means 'defective.' Telepathy is what separates the shinori from animals. If you have the misfortune of being born without it, you're nothing. You're not a real shinori. You're barely even worthy of living."

…There it is.

Suddenly his less than human misunderstanding made all too much sense. Quite a lot of things made more sense. Flynn averted his own gaze. "I'm guessing that got you worse than threats about going to hell," he said gently. Inviting more even though he doubted Pidge would respond.

But he did.

"Oh it got that too." The young man seemed to be staring through the floor now. "And it's technically illegal to try to speed the process along, but that doesn't stop everyone."

…Well then. Every implication of that was worse than the last.

For a moment Flynn regretted pressing. What was he supposed to say to that? This was well beyond his mandate and his pay grade. Trying to fix the ninja. Yes. Because that's clearly as easy as fixing some temperamental drone, isn't it? Almost as soon as he scolded himself he stopped. It would be easy to snarl at his own misjudgment and retreat… but he didn't surrender so easily. And maybe this wasn't really his job, but…

As if you really aren't getting attached.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Pidge gave him an odd look. "What are you apologizing for?"

"That wasn't an apology. That was an expression of sympathy, which I'd imagine you don't want." Flynn eyed him right back. "Deal with it."

Scowl. "Right. Whatever."

He decided to take another chance. Why the hell not? They'd gotten in this deep. "Nobody's going to hurt you here."

It didn't get the glare he expected. "…You can't promise that."

"Granted." He leaned back. "I can promise to kick anyone's ass who does though, and that might not impress you but what matters is what the other people on this ship think, wouldn't you say?"

Pidge's eyes narrowed again. "I don't need your protection, Flynn."

"Who said anything about need?"

That silenced him for a minute, as if he'd never even considered the possibility. "…Why would you bother if I don't need it?"

Shrug. "Because I'm your superior officer and you're a valuable asset to the unit, or because I like you and want you to know you're not alone here. Pick whichever one you like best."

"Oh." His tone had gone neutral again, but his eyes hadn't. A faint glimmer was trying to take hold there, and he blinked it away with a small growl of annoyance. "Whatever you say, sir."

Was that…?

That wasn't.

That was.

Flynn stared, not quite daring to believe what he'd just seen. For a moment… the deadly ninja was just a lonely kid desperately searching for a connection among aliens he couldn't understand. And much like the proverbial dog chasing a car, he had no idea what to do with it when he found it.

No question he was better off not voicing that insight just now…

"Believe what you want," he said quietly. As if it's that easy. "All I can do is tell you the truth."

Pidge considered that. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm… I'm not good at this… people stuff."

"Trust me, I've noticed."

Maybe he hadn't really needed to answer like that, but the ninja didn't seem bothered. "I am trying, sir."

"I know you are." Has anyone bothered to notice that before? He didn't dare ask that question, though the shock on Pidge's face made it fairly unnecessary anyway. "And I know you'll just glare at me for this, but… you can talk to me, if you want to. Any time. About anything. Okay?"

Grumpy Ninja glared at him. All was right with the universe.

Not even close.

"…Okay. Whatever. Don't we have an engine casing to work on?"

It's progress.

Flynn stood, offering him a hand up that he certainly wouldn't take. All either of them could do was their best, wasn't it? Maybe they'd get this ninja sorted out after all…

Pidge took his hand.

For a moment they just stared at each other, Flynn recoiling slightly in surprise, Pidge giving him a look that made it clear he'd be dead if he ever mentioned this again. Then he pulled himself up and returned to the console without a word.

…Progress.

*****

Lance frowned as he attempted for the thousandth time to find a comfortable reading position in his bunk. But shoulder slings just weren’t made for comfort, and his shoulder itself still felt sore. He grumbled and swore under his breath at the Galran pig who’d done this to him. If he ever saw him again, he wouldn’t miss.

Shifting again, he startled at a knock on the door. "Yeah?"

"Lemme in!"

Amusement filled Lance, driving off a brief spike of disappointment that it wasn't Flynn. It may have been the next best thing. "It’s not locked."

"I was being polite." Daniel walked in looking very impressed with himself, a bag with his pencil case and markers slung over his shoulder.

"You know how?"

"You heard the knocking!" Daniel jerked his thumb toward the door.

"Feels like a ruse to lull me into a sense of security… what do you want?" He'd barely gotten the words out before the kid took a deep dramatic breath, and Lance raised an eyebrow. This should be good.

"I was really bored because casts suck, literally, this thing has sucked the fun out of everything that was awesome about being on this mission. So I got to thinking about how I could make it less suckish, so I did this to it, and it's awesome…" Daniel paused for a brief second to show off his cast, and the totally awesome artwork he’d drawn on it: he’d darkened the cast background and drawn finger bones leading up to where his fingers poked out of the cast. He gave Lance a few moments to admire it, but another second later he was ranting again. "I mean it's awesome, but it still sucks ‘cause I still can't do anything cool, and now I have no more space to draw on it anymore. So, I was wondering if I could draw on your sling?" He finished his rant with a hopeful smile.

Lance found himself nodding along with the rant; the truth was, he bored out of his mind as well. As Daniel waved the cast around he checked out what he’d done and was actually impressed. "The cast is looking great, those bones? Badass." He swung his feet to the floor, sitting on the edge of his bed and wincing a bit at the pain in his shoulder. "I’ve never had a sling drawn on before, but why the fuck not?"

"I know, right?" Daniel took a moment to check that the pilot wasn’t giving off the gonna kill vibes he’d been radiating during the mission. It was possible that his wanting to draw on his sling was really an excuse to make sure Lance was Lance again, but there was no way he’d admit to that. And he did seem much more like himself, so the gunner sat down next to him. "Want anything specific?"

"Eh, just make sure it’s badass." Lance looked the kid up and down, remembering the flash of extra fear and worry he’d felt when the Galra pig attacked him. He seemed alright, despite the cast. "That healing up?"

Daniel smirked at the sling as an idea formed in his head, then looked up and pouted a little at the question. "Yeah… really don’t think I needed a cast. Total overreaction."

"Of course," Lance snorted, going along with him. "Jace is a mother hen, he’d have us in bubble wrap if we let him."

Nodding, Daniel carefully started to draw on Lance’s sling, not wanting to jostle him. "Right? I tried to convince him a wrist wrap would've worked just fine, but he wouldn’t hear it." Technically he had heard it, and called him names about it, but he hadn't been convinced so he couldn't have been listening all that carefully.

They fell silent for a bit, the only sound in the room the rough scraping of the pencils as Daniel drew. Lance watched him, actually pretty impressed by the kid’s talent, but wait… what the fuck is he drawing? "Are those petals?"

"Yes. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be awesome," Daniel said with a proud smirk. A few moments later it faded. "Are you doing better?"

Lance eyed the drawing, unsure about where Daniel was going with it, but decided to trust him—though he wasn't quite sure why. He half heard the question and frowned, a bit confused. "Yeah, it was just a dislocated shoulder."

Daniel mentally groaned; that wasn’t what he'd meant at all. "That’s good."

"Good? I’m fucking fantastic," Lance laughed, but he caught the look on kid’s face and settled down quickly. "Why?"

For a moment Daniel fiddled with his markers in silence. He wasn’t trying to stall; thankfully, he was having a hard time remembering the exact colors of Lance’s rifle. If stalling just so happened to be the outcome of that, he wasn’t complaining. "You were… different back there. Not your normal weird self," he muttered, and immediately wished he’d said that better. Words were not his forte.

For a moment Lance was just confused, before it dawned on him that Daniel was talking about his reaction to the Galra. It wasn’t new, of course; he knew his anger and his refusal to hide it tended to throw people—and butterborgs—off. He really didn’t care, either. Usually. It was bugging him a bit now that he might have upset the kid, but he wasn’t sure what to say, so he stuck to the truth. "Yeah, I just hate those motherfuckers."

That got him a side-eye. "Noticed." The response had been immediate, but it lacked his usual level of snark. "I like it better when you’re… weird." Daniel rolled his eyes at himself; he must sound like a teenage girl.

Lance felt instant relief that Daniel didn’t ask why he hated the Galra so much. Most people pressed him for a reason, and he would always hate talking about it. The only time it had ever gone well was when he told Flynn… then he smiled a bit. He couldn't help being pleased that the kid liked it when he was weird—maybe they were making progress. Though toward what he was unsure. "Like me weird, huh? Gonna hold you to that next time you yell at me about it."

"As long as you don't ever direct those scary I'm gonna kill people vibes at me you can hold me to whatever the hell you want…" The gunner paused and winced, realizing he totally would’ve made a sexual innuendo if anyone else had said that, and those weren't mental images he'd wanted at all. Great, now I’m traumatizing myself. Trying to back up to whatever had come before he winced again because damn it, he wasn’t going to bring up the scary vibes at all. You dope.

Lance had missed the innuendo—and that was unusual—but he was mentally cursing up a storm, because now the kid had him speechless again and feeling awful that he’d scared him. That wasn’t something he wanted, not at all. "I… you're pretty firmly on my no-kill list, kid. I mean, everyone here is. Except Jace, maybe." He rolled his eyes at himself, that hadn't been his best work, but he had to try to lighten the moment somehow. "They deserve it, you don't."

"Cool." It was definitely time to retreat from this topic; Daniel nodded and started focusing more on what he was drawing.

Taking a long breath, Lance did the same. The kid was creating an amazing representation of his rifle on the sling, and he was starting to get a sense of the rest of the drawing as well. "Is that a sunflower…?"

Thrilled with the subject change, Daniel grinned and nodded proudly. "Yeah, it’s a gunflower. It shoots seeds."

A gunflower. Lance couldn't stop the grin on his own face. It was so bizarre and so perfect all at once. "That’s fucking brilliant, you should write a comic or something."

"You think so?" Daniel beamed at the praise—he definitely would have mocked Cam for a similar reaction, but oh well—before smirking as an idea hit him. "Oh I know! I’ll write one on the adventures of Lancey-Pants and his magical gunflower."

Lance groaned. "You want on that kill list after all, kid?"

Immediately Daniel’s smile vanished. "You know, I don't think it's cool to threaten to put people on your kill list when you have an actual kill list!"

"Fair point," Lance admitted, though he was pretty sure his kill list would always only be one word: Galra.

"But that comic would be awesome…" Daniel nodded to himself; he’d make it and sell it to Hunk. And maybe Flynn. Jace might get a kick out of it too… he’d just have to sell it to everybody to be safe. Because distributing the legend of Lancey-Pants was totally safe. And totally his solemn duty aboard this ship.

"Yeah, you really should make it. You’re really talented, kid."

Daniel beamed again and realized he actually had something to do that his fun-sucking cast couldn't suck the fun out of. Putting the finishing touches on the original gunflower, he put his markers away and grinned. "All done. Catch you later, I've got some creative genius to pursue!" With that he took off, leaving the pilot laughing behind him.

*****

Cam, of course, had immediately wanted to display how seriously he was taking the Galra threat. And he really did enjoy sword practice. So he'd asked the commander for a training session after the briefing, and Keith had been happy to oblige. They'd moved into actual sparring—no more preset routines, though the comms officer was quickly developing some patterns of his own. As the practice swords clacked against each other, Keith nodded in satisfaction. He had definite patterns, but was at least trying to change them up.

Allowing himself to be driven back off the mat, he gave a short bow. "Very good. Let's see your latest kata again."

Cam was grinning. "Yes, sir." He knew the commander was still going easy on him, focusing much more on blocking than countering, but he still felt like he was making good progress. The confirmation would have had him preening again, but he didn't really have the time; stepping back, he took up his starting position and started into the new set of moves.

As he worked through the kata, the gym's main door slid open. Hunk got most of his exercise hauling heavy pieces of metal around, but the boss had called for extra training; he supposed he ought to lift a few weights or something just for the sake of argument. Not that the Bolt had a particularly useful variety of weights, but it was the thought that counted. Or so he'd heard.

He hadn't really been expecting the gym to already be occupied. "Oh uh, hey boss, hey little dude."

Focused as he'd been, Cam had not noticed the door opening. He startled at the voice, losing control and smacking Keith with a wild sword strike. "Oh—oh shit, sorry!"

Wincing, Keith rubbed his arm. He might have a bit of a bruise, but at least they hadn't moved to real swords yet. "It's okay, Cam. Hi, Hunk."

The big man looked a bit distressed. "Bad time?"

"No, we just weren't expecting you, that's all."

"Nobody ever expects me." Grin. "I'm stealthy like a ninja." That got him a couple of raised eyebrows that he largely ignored as he crossed over to the weights. Picking up the heaviest of the dumbbells, he shook his head in slight disappointment and tossed it casually between his hands a few times. Hardly worth it. "Anyway, don't mind me! I'm just here to do the PT thing."

He wasn't the only one. Sven wandered in not too long after, looking around and debating coming back later. No need, really, though. One thing the gym had plenty of was space. He picked a corner for himself and started stretching.

Not wanting to get smacked again, Keith waited for Cam to finish another kata before acknowledging the navigator's presence. "Hey, Sven."

"Yo! Viking!"

"Hello." Sven kept stretching, though he had a slightly nervous eye on Hunk. Their bomb tech was literally juggling a trio of the dumbbells. "That's pretty impressive."

Keith looked over too, and his eyes widened. "How…?"

"Um… how heavy are those?" Cam asked, staring.

Shrug. "Not heavy enough, obviously."

Obviously. Shaking his head, Keith turned back to Cam, who was still fixated on the juggling. "Alright, Starr, shall we continue?"

"I'd love to." He paused. "Unless we want to invite them to join in?"

"I don't do swords," Sven answered immediately, shooting him a skeptical side-eye.

Hunk chuckled lightly. "Little dude, has any sparring session I've been in on around here ever been a good idea?" There was a reason he'd only turned up to lift weights. "I mean, if the boss wants to be all teamwork-y and stuff we could do somethin' for exercise that's actually fun."

Anyone on the team saying something like that was dangerous; Hunk being the one to say it was only more so. Keith arched an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

"Totally didn't come here to think, boss." He started juggling the other direction. "But this ain't helpin' much, probably. Hoops?"

"That could be fun." Cam grinned. Not that swords weren't fun, but he'd probably had enough for now; he was still embarrassed about hitting the commander, anyway. "Are you any good at basketball, sir?"

Keith shrugged. "I'm okay?" He turned and put the training swords up. Varying their PT routines couldn't hurt, he supposed. "Sven?"

"Sure." Sven had played very little basketball in his life, but he was willing to give it a shot. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he was glad he hadn't said it aloud; at least someone here would have called him on the unintended pun, and he preferred his puns to be intended.

"I'll go get the ball," Cam volunteered, crossing over and opening up the supply closet. It was pretty sparse… he wondered who'd been in charge of stocking it, if anyone. But there was a basketball tucked away behind a couple of extra practice mats.

Hunk put the dumbbells up and went to the holo panel, calling up a couple of baskets. "So, me'n the kid, yeah?"

"That seems fair," Sven agreed.

Bouncing the ball to check the inflation—seemed fine—Cam turned and made a face. "Kid?"

Grin. "That's you."

"That's what Lance calls Daniel! I'm not the kid."

"All you kids are kids." Hunk's grin didn't fade. "But sure, okay. Me'n the Russian?"

Laughing, Cam made an attempt to spin the ball on his finger; it didn't go overly well. Chasing it down as it rolled across the room, he pouted a little bit. Just a little, though. "I'd rather be on the Commander's team."

Sven raised the most unsurprised eyebrow ever; Hunk exchanged looks with him. "Well that ain't gonna be fair. Unless we wanna play somethin' a little more non-contact."

"…Such as?" Keith really didn't care what they played, though he'd like to get to it. Standing around bickering was really not something the team needed any more practice at.

Hunk had still not come here to think, but he was pretty sure he could figure something out. Checking the holo panel again he banished the basketball hoops and looked through the other presets. "How 'bout this?" A large net shimmered into existence. "Shame the Doc can't bring us some sand, but it'll do."

The commander couldn't help a small grin at that. "Badminton?"

That got him a mildly offended look. "Boss, I happen to know Minton. He's actually very good!" Next to him, Sven just shook his head.

"Does Minton slap shuttlecocks?" Cam asked, then blushed as Keith and Sven both shot him disbelieving looks. "…Sorry."

"Phrasing, little dude!" Hunk tried to look disapproving; it didn't really work. "Anyway, I think he just volleys balls." That got him a well-deserved Viking elbow as Cam sputtered and giggled.

"Do we even have a volleyball?"

"Any ball you can volley is a volleyball."

"This was the only ball I saw in the closet." Cam shrugged, bouncing the basketball a couple more times. "It's a little hard, but it'll do."

Keith was very glad nobody was here to make a joke about that. "Well, let's get this on the road then, shall we?"

"Let's!" Cam rolled the ball beneath the net. "Latecomers get to serve first."

Hunk picked up the ball as it rolled by Sven, who was giving their comms officer an offended look. "I was not late. I got here at exactly the time I set."

"Totally true. We don't have any late Vikings around here." Hunk bounced the basketball once, then tossed it into the air and smirked. "For the honor of poor misunderstood Minton!" He smacked the ball across the net.

"Yes," Sven grumbled, watching Cam set it for Keith to return. "Time to defend that person's honor."

"We can defend your honor too, Viking. Multitasking!" Hunk winked. Nodding his appreciation, Sven intercepted the returning ball and popped it up for Hunk to spike. For a few minutes they had a pretty solid game going, though it felt like something was missing… "We need a ball that makes little explosions like Hydran ping-pong balls."

"That could be entertaining."

"I know my next project!"

"I look forward to seeing the end result."

While Hunk and Sven chatted, Keith and Cam were quietly focused on the game. Part of that was tactical; they both knew they didn't really have any hope of winning a war of distraction. Part of it was practical. Hunk spiking a basket-volleyball was a dangerous thing, and neither of them particularly wanted to lose a limb. So far it was paying off, and a few more minutes passed relatively uneventfully.

That couldn't last.

Diving for a spike from Keith, Hunk misjudged and took the ball squarely in the head. "Owwww… oops." As he stood up, his ears were ringing… no, he determined after shaking a few lingering cobwebs out of his skull. That was not his ears ringing. It was something ringing, alright, but not his ears. "Oh that ain't good."

"Oh no…"

"Can we not do anything without a damn alarm going off?"

"No, Keith, we can't. Have you not learned that by—" Sven fell silent as their commander walked out of the gym, ignoring him completely. "—and he's gone."

Hunk gave him a sympathetic look. "He'll figure it out someday, yeah?"

"No. No he won't." Shaking his head in affectionate exasperation, Sven led the others to the source of the ringing. It wasn't hard to find; there was a wispy trail of smoke floating down the corridor.

They found Jace in the galley, holding a couple of unused fire-suppression bombs and frowning at the stove. Vince was cowering in a corner. He was carrying a large pot of something, while something else on the stove had been reduced to a charred wreck. Keith had reached the galley first, and retreated with a cough. "What's going on?"

"Cooking lessons," the medic answered matter-of-factly, flipping the auxiliary air scrubbers on. The main ones weren't really doing the job.

"You need to work on your lesson plan," Sven said dryly.

"Fuck off. There's nothing wrong with my lesson plan. His risotto was perfect." He pointed over at Vince, who waved sheepishly; he wasn't going to be speaking out loud until the smoke dissipated some more. It just seemed safer that way. "…And the galley will recover."

Sven's eyes went to the incinerated food corpse still on the stove. "Looks positively delectable."

Snorting, the medic grabbed an empty pan and waved it at him. "I'm trying to be a positive influence, Viking! Which is definitely your fault somehow."

"I'm sorry my presence makes you a better human being," the navigator answered with a shrug. "Why do you let me have such a positive influence on you?"

"No fucking clue, honestly. But I guess I'm stuck with it now."

The smoke finally thinned out enough for the alarms to shut off, and Keith allowed himself to crack a grin. "Maybe you can help him with his bedside manner next?"

"Now let's not go too crazy, boss."

The commander chuckled. "Well at least you didn't set the ship on fire, Flynn would've had both your heads. If the emergency is over, I'm going for a shower."

"Yeah, get outta here. I don't want to have to treat anyone for smoke inhalation." As Keith left, Jace eyed the others, then looked over at Vince. He might have sparked and set a bunch of cooking oil on fire… but his risotto really had been perfect, and the stuff didn't keep all that long. "Risotto party in the rec room? Sparky here can tell you the whole war story."

Vince blinked. "Do I have to?"

"Sure as fuck do. Doctor's orders."

Even Sven couldn't help a snicker.

Slapping Cam on the back with one hand and shooting Vince a thumbs-up with the other, Hunk grinned broadly. Post-workout snacks were very important… and he really wanted to hear this. "Risotto party it is!"

*****

Lady Hys must be brave and noble, she'd said. It would be an honor, she'd said…

"You want us to wade through this… mud and filth? We could not present ourselves to the Prince in such a state!"

Closing her eyes, Miralna offered silent pleas for patience to the Shining Sage before daring to answer. "Lady Hys, I know it is far from ideal. But our choices are limited."

Halonia was—or at least had been—a mid-sized city on the Crown Province's eastern border. With the Kyva Mountains to the west and the Forest of Altair to the south, its location had been something of a strategic dead end; the Drules hadn't even bothered with it until a second wave of attacks. Now that strategic inconvenience was all the more irritating. There were only so many ways to sneak around Halonia. The safest had been the now-collapsed tunnels. The next best option was to take the path through the wooded foothills that had brought Miralna to the shelter in the first place.

Unfortunately, in the couple of days that they'd been preparing for the expedition, there had been a significant amount of rain. And that particular part of the foothills was known as the Rolling Swamp for a reason.

Staring out at the overgrown mire, the governess wrinkled her nose and shuddered slightly. "Surely there must be something else?"

"Only if we range far enough north to avoid the foothills, which would take many more days, or all the way around the Forest of Altair, which could take weeks at best. Or we could try to sneak through Halonia proper to reach the river, but if we're captured there will be no presenting ourselves to the Prince at all." She gave the older woman an appraising look. She was stout, but not really all that large. "I believe I can carry you across."

"No." Lady Hys stared at the muck for a moment longer, then shuddered again and hiked up her apron. "I will cross, if it is what must be done." Taking one cautious step forward, her foot sank into the mud with a sick squelch, and she murmured something under her breath that her guide politely pretended not to hear. "What a horrid place."

That wasn't wrong, though Miralna had seen far worse. Most recently Zohar itself… but it really wouldn't be fair to say so. It was the duty of a knight to shelter the people from such horrors as much as possible, and Arus had not changed so much to change that. "Let me go ahead. To be safest." Shouldering the sword and their supply pack—the shelter had even managed to find them a couple of threadbare blankets, she wasn't about to let them get muddy—she stepped into the mire herself and started forward.

It really was quite disgusting.

Hearing the governess grumbling and whimpering behind her, Miralna quickly decided they could both use a distraction. She couldn't remember ever hearing of a noble house of Hys, which meant the Lady must be a granted title. Not surprising; a royal governess could hardly go without. But she'd have expected such a position to be drawn from the ranks of the lower nobility to begin with. "Tell me about yourself, Lady Hys. Have you always served the Crown?"

Puffing up with pride, the governess nodded, and nearly fell flat on her face from the distraction. Flushing in embarrassment, she steadied herself and followed a few more steps before speaking. "I swore a royal oath when I was very young. My parents were priests of the Honored Mother, you see. I thought I would uphold that family tradition, but the House of Raimon was calling for new ladies-in-waiting at the time. It felt like a sign of what the Mother truly willed of me."

Perhaps she was impressive after all. Commoners being hired as ladies-in-waiting was not unusual; those commoners moving up in the hierarchy of service was much more so. At least, that was Miralna's understanding.

Her understanding may not have been complete, admittedly. If she'd wanted to learn all those nuances, she wouldn't have become a knight. "You worked your way up from there?"

"Indeed I did!" Her tone was still understandably proud, though she watched her step better this time. "I served the castle to the best of my abilities for many years. Then Queen Lanora, blessed be her memory, took notice of my devotion and honored me with the charge of her children."

Nodding, Miralna briefly considered whether her next question was really appropriate. Only briefly. If it wasn't, she was certain Lady Hys would let her know. And they were still only halfway through the mire, so she may as well try. "What are they like?"

That did indeed get her a slightly raised eyebrow, and they moved through a particularly deep stretch of mud in silence. Then, "Of course I can't answer that. It wouldn't be proper to gossip of the Princess and Prince. But I can tell you…" Pausing, she looked to the sky, worry crossing her face for a moment. "They were always willful children, and the High King often indulged their independence. I hope… I believe… that this crisis will prove his wisdom."

Something in her hesitation told Miralna it wasn't just the improperness of gossip that was causing Lady Hys to hesitate. She wondered how often the governess and King Alfor had disagreed on child-rearing techniques. But that certainly wasn't any of her business, so she nodded again. "No amount of High Court propriety alone could prepare a ruler for this attack. And for what may come after."

"Yes… as you say." It was perfectly clear it pained her to admit there were things that royal etiquette couldn't solve. "We have many struggles to overcome now—ach!" Tripping over a particularly large root half hidden in the mud, she pitched forward; the knight spun and caught her. "…Many struggles," she repeated with a grimace.

Smiling slightly—but keeping it to herself—Miralna helped the governess straighten up again. "We will endure them, Lady Hys. I promise."

*****

In the wake of High King Alfor's death, most of the Drule forces had expected to be shipped out. They weren't used to being used for extended occupations; few planets put up that much of a fight. But a planet couldn't be declared officially pacified until the central authority was confirmed to be out of the picture. So they'd been occupying.

Many of the forces were indeed being packed up to go elsewhere. Many others, though…

"Why do we even need a scouting survey of the desert? It's a desert. It's hot and sunny and sandy and miserable… and empty. They think the fleet wouldn't have picked up any shelters?" Toal kicked at the sand, scowling as it scattered over his boots. "Captain Vekar even said they didn't detect anything out here. Bet the General is just punishing us for her lot up north losing the king's body."

"Which certainly wasn't our fault." Kraida shook her head. "These Arusian creatures don't know what's good for them. If they keep resisting her head might explode."

"I'd thank them for that," Toal muttered, and Kraida whipped him lightly with her rifle. "Okay, I wouldn't."

"Just mind your words, Toal. I don't want to have to break in a new partner."

"Who broke who in, now?"

They continued chatting as they made their way through the sand, keeping their eyes open for anything unusual. The vultures were circling, but that was quite expected. Neither of them paid any mind.

Though it hadn't looked that large from orbital scans, the desert was much larger when they were actually trying to walk through it. As the shadows began to lengthen, the scouts were beginning to tire. And that was when they really started noticing the vultures.

"There's more of them."

"Jumping to conclusions, aren't they?"

One of the huge birds screeched at them, and Kraida took aim with her rifle. "Shut up, feather-head." They scattered, as if they knew what the weapon was for, but didn't stop squawking indignantly.

"I don't think their heads even have feathers," Toal muttered.

"You shut up too." She squeezed the trigger a few times, sending bright flashes of light into the darkening sky. One vulture screeched and fell, collapsing to the sand in front of them with one wing stripped and smoking. Toal kicked it out of their way, and the others fled.

But not for long.

Less than five minutes later, a shrill wave of screeches heralded the birds' return. This time, several of them had something gripped in their talons.

"What the…?"

The lead vulture dove for them, too fast to try to shoot. They ducked instead, as something bright red and wispy fell to the sand between them. A flower of sorts—they'd seen dozens of cacti with such blossoms.

As they stared at it in confusion, it ruptured, bright red pollen erupting in a shimmering poof. Where it hit their armor, it stuck… and sizzled.

"What the hell?!"

Suddenly it was raining red flowers. Every impact sent more of the burning pollen scattering over them, and as they tried desperately to get it off they only made themselves easier targets. Toal struggled to scrape the clinging pollen from his armor, while Kraida outright stripped her armor off, only to be struck directly by another blossom that immediately started burning into her skin.

It wasn't a quick death. As they screamed and burned, the vultures went back to circling, screeching in anticipation. The scent of burned flesh drifted over the desert, and finally the screams faded away.

The Arusian scorching sands vulture hadn't gotten its name for nothing. Really, the Drules could hardly be blamed for it… who would have thought this planet was inhabited by birds intelligent enough to cook their food?

*****

*The holidays are upon us, and with them comes... scheduling issue after scheduling issue, pretty much. We're going on a holiday quasi-hiatus—we hope to get a chapter or maybe two up at some point in December, but we'll be off our usual posting schedule until January. Have a happy December and all holidays therein, and we'll see you in 2020!