(On the Hunt) Chapter 33

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 33

Mistakes Were Made

Keith was last into the briefing room, after setting up the passive perimeter sensors as a precaution. He was pretty sure he'd have heard about it if anyone had seen Galra here, but it didn't mean they weren't out there.

Besides, he didn't need to hear whatever bickering was undoubtedly going on as the team got situated…

Any conversation was silenced as he entered. "Alright. What did you all find out?"

"I make a fucking amazing pirate."

"There are Bataxi heretics."

"The snakes chill here."

"It was interesting."

…Maybe he would've preferred the bickering. Looking around blankly at his crew, he tried to figure out how to rephrase his question a little more helpfully, but Pidge did it for him. "Sir, I think he wants to know where we're going next?" He'd directed it at Flynn, who gave him a mildly irked look.

"Oh, we figured that one out," Lance said with a smirk. They'd already looked at Pirev's data. "We're looking for a planet called Sapzon."

"Snake lady drove a crazy-ass bargain for that one, too," Jace muttered.

"You mean I drove it down," Lance corrected with a snort, "and damn well. And we lived!"

Blinking, Flynn looked over at them and tilted his head. "You had to bargain for that?"

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't we?"

"Well," Cam shrugged, "we held ours at gunpoint for the same information."

"I didn't hold anyone at gunpoint," Sven objected.

"I was holding a gun, anyway," Vince muttered.

Lance gave them the same questioning look Flynn had given him. "I thought you guys were meant to be the nice ones?"

"We were!"

"We were very nice!"

"Until the Bataxi tried to steal all our stuff because we looked like dumb tourists."

"And even after they attacked us we were completely reasonable."

Keith looked between Flynn and Sven, one eyebrow slowly raising until it all but disappeared beneath his hair. "Sounds like you had an… adventure."

"We didn't violate any regs," Cam offered; it was about the best endorsement he could think of for what they'd done.

Pidge nodded his agreement. "We were even nice after we were finished with them. We let them live." That got him a look of sheer disbelief from Vince, and he shifted a little uneasily. "…What? We did, didn't we?"

"Letting them live was a given!"

"It was? Oh."

Vince gave what may have been the longest-suffering sigh of his life.

Looking at the others with a small frown, Daniel grumbled, "Why does it feel like they got to have way more fun than we did?" It didn't seem fair. He'd been in the group playing actual pirates.

"I had a fucking blast," Lance retorted immediately.

Shaking his head and pressing a palm to his forehead, Flynn broke up that discussion. "Anyway, they told us Sapzon being the administrative center for this place is an open secret. We went and asked the cargo pilots, they all said the same thing. Anything important goes there." He shot Lance a look. "Didn't even have to bribe anyone."

"…Well fuck." Their pilot sighed. "We bribed the snake. Of course we did. I mean, she is a fucking snake."

"Cute snake," Daniel commented.

"For a snake."

"Bokar was hotter."

Glare. "We will have that discussion about your taste in men, kid."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Freaks," Jace muttered, then raised his voice and looked at their navigator. "Hey Viking, I think telling us all about Sapzon would be a great change of subject from how hot the snakes were."

Sven agreed, personally. "Sapzon is… a very long way away. Very long."

Nobody was listening. "He once said I was hot, Lance," Cam snorted, "pretty sure he hit his head somewhere."

"There's no cure for that," Jace declared immediately, giving up on changing the subject. He exchanged looks with Lance as he spoke; the two of them did it so much better.

"WOW." Daniel stared at his roommate, betrayed and indignant. "I never said you were hot! I said you were cute but not my type—and why are you still stuck on that?"

"How far, Lieutenant?" Pidge was not prepared to deal with this again.

"Yes," Keith agreed, his command tone shutting down the discussion. "How far, Sven?"

Giving them the actual numbers wasn't even the best way to get the point across. "It's in the Rimward Corridor, on the other side of the Fourth Kingdom Incursion Zone. A bit spinward of Dradin."

Vince gave a low whistle. "That's far."

"The Rimward fucking Corridor?"

"Jalekya sa kye."

"Welp."

Keith shook his head slowly; if only they'd known that a couple of months ago. "Well… that's inconvenient. Why do they have it so far away?"

"Operational security?" Jace suggested with a snort; that was pretty much what Pirev had said, anyway. "Nothing anyone here fucking understands."

"Guessing that means it's not our next stop?" Lance wondered just how quickly their friendly snake woman expected them to show up.

"It doesn't seem like the most efficient choice, from this far away." Keith looked to Sven. "What are our other options?"

Sven frowned slightly. He'd been making routes from Zandrek; he knew the options, but he could think of multiple ways to handle them. Before he could settle on one plan to offer, he was startled by Vince pushing his datapad forward, projecting a map.

"We have two places nearby, don't we?" He'd been trying to keep track—it seemed like the least he could do when he kept sparking and getting knocked out by mysterious relics and forgetting to shoot pirates that ambushed them. "Butterborg mentioned a crashed Altean ship, and the Glis mentioned a planet in a nebula. They're both in this area, right?" He tapped with his stylus, marking the two spots and looking at Sven for confirmation.

That someone else seemed to actually be interested in the mapping made the navigator smile broadly, and he nodded. Flynn eyed his wrenchling and cracked a small smile as well; between the two of them, Vince felt himself flushing with more than a little embarrassment.

"Those are way closer," Hunk noted, leaning forward a little. "More efficient, yeah?"

"Much more efficient. Now we just need to decide which is most beneficial to start with." Keith swept his gaze around the room, waiting for suggestions.

Lance shrugged. "Eenie meenie mo it?" Jace shot him a scornful look.

Pidge was focused on Vince's map. They were close to the edge of the Interior Expanse; the planet labeled 9-XRL, where the ship had supposedly crashed, was in a bit of the Outer Reaches bordered on three sides by three Drule kingdoms. Following the border of the Ninth Kingdom back into the Expanse led to the nebula planet. And following it beyond that… eventually you wound up back in the Outer Reaches. Eventually you wound up… he closed his eyes, a moment rushing back that he'd nearly forgotten in the chaos.

…Shinori?

"We should go to the ship first," he said quietly. "Because there's another place we might want to try."

All eyes fell on him, surprised and curious. "Where might that be, Pidge?"

Leaning forward, he tapped Vince's datapad, the distant star that essentially marked the Alliance's coreward border. "Balto." He hesitated a moment, knowing exactly the response he would get for this, but that was no reason to compound the error. "The Galra I fought on Zandrek recognized me as Shinori. Most Alliance races don't even recognize a Shinori when they see one."

The stunned looks were, indeed, exactly what he'd expected. So was Jace's irritable scowl. "When the fuck were you gonna tell us that?"

"Seems fucking relevant," Lance agreed.

"I just did," he muttered. Then, a little defensively, "Mechka nearly getting killed by the relic seemed like a priority, vara sa tye?"

"Argh…" Vince was just as happy not being reminded of that out loud.

Hunk reached over and squeezed his shoulder, then looked up at the map. "Ninja's got a point—and we wouldn't've gone that far out before now anyway, yeah?"

"I mean sure, but—"

"Everyone calm down," Keith ordered, looking to the map as well. They would certainly not have gone there before Ixapre; it didn't seem worth arguing about. And it wasn't as if they were on a strict timetable to begin with. "He does have a point. If they'd be willing to share any information the Glis may have lost…"

"If they knew anything about the Galra wouldn't they have told High Command a long time ago?" Flynn asked. "We know there's a whole task force on them."

Pidge snorted. "My people are very far on the 'autonomous' side of the Selective Autonomy Doctrine—"

"—Just say they're fucking asshats."

"Lance…" Keith glared.

"What? Ninja appreciates honesty."

Sven shook his head. "Sometimes I forget that your charm is selective."

Their pilot winked. "Someday I might select you to work on it, Viking."

"I'd be honored." It was hard to tell if that was sarcasm or not, though the exasperated sigh was pretty unambiguous.

Pidge rolled his eyes. "The Lieutenant isn't wrong…" He looked between Lance and Sven. "…either of them."

"Still, they're your people," Keith said with a frown in Lance's direction. "Tact is necessary."

"Tact is illogical." He shrugged. "I don't really think my people would withhold militarily relevant information about the Galra. But Altea? It's a possible connection, and it's not the slimmest of leads we've followed."

"I think, if there's any chance they can help us, we should try it." Flynn's voice was quiet but firm; he could see it in Pidge's expression. The ninja did not want to go to Balto. Knowing what he knew about the situation, Flynn couldn't much blame him. And if he wasn't suggesting this lightly, they could at least take it seriously. "So the easiest path then would be what… up to 9-XRL, then down the border to the nebula planet and then Balto? And then we're basically on the edge of known space but at least everything's in the same direction?"

Sven nodded his agreement, though there was one glaring exception. "So long as we're going back to known space." That got him a few worried looks, but also a nod of understanding. It was a fair point.

"9-XRL is a treasure hunt," Lance said with a grin. "Sounds good to me."

"That sounds like the best plan, then," Keith decided. "Let's make it happen."

"Sir, yes sir!" Daniel barked with a mock salute; he had literally no part of accomplishing anything they'd just discussed, unless they happened to run into hostiles. Cam rolled his eyes.

"You are so weird sometimes, dude."

"I'm not even gonna bother with you right now, man…"

"There is one possible issue," Sven broke in, his eyes still on the map. "That region of space has a lot of Ninth Kingdom recon stations."

That was a complication. "Can we avoid them?"

"Possibly, but only through luck. I don't have the exact locations." Their navigator's tone took on a distinct note of bitterness. "Intel doesn't either, or at least they won't disclose them."

That unfortunately rang true, given they were going to the Outer Reaches. Incredibly inconvenient, but true. Still, it shouldn't be too much of an issue. "We should be safe passing through given their treaty obligations, shouldn't we?"

"Technically."

"We're fucking supposed to be, doesn't mean it's true." The controlling treaty for this situation, the Deros Convention, granted the Alliance free movement through the outskirts of Ninth Kingdom space; it was designed to prevent the Ninth from cutting off supply lines. Without question it applied to recon outposts. Exactly how scrupulously they believed the Drules would follow it was a separate question.

"Intel's track record is what, a perfect zero?"

"They'd never make it on an Explorer Team."

Cam frowned, just slightly. "Well, treaty obligations aren't the same as questionable intel, right?" The Deros Convention was hardly some obscure bit of paperwork.

"He has a point," Sven agreed; Vince nodded too.

"I mean, it is a treaty."

"Yeah," Lance smirked, "but bitching about intel is more fun."

Though he didn't entirely disagree with that sentiment, Keith felt like he probably shouldn't let it go on too long. "Alright. We'll need to be careful when we breach out, but we move forward and hope for the best."

Sven narrowed his eyes. He really hated that phrase, especially with their track record. Next to him, Jace caught his eye and snorted. "Do we ever hope for the worst?"

"That'd really be us asking for it."

"I ask for wurst all the time," Hunk said brightly, "but this ain't a German deli." That got a couple of confused looks, several laughs, and one medic changing the subject.

"So what I'm hearing is we're gonna be stuck at our damn battle stations if we have any waypoints out here?" Sigh. "Sure, why not."

Lance eyed him. "You don't have a battle station, Doc."

"Unfortunately, yes I do."

"Since when?"

"Please don't get him started," Sven mumbled, to no avail. Jace shot their pilot his best death glare.

"It's to stay in my quarters and not get hurt."

Lance snorted.

"Are we finished, sir?" Pidge asked quietly. This seemed unlikely to be going anywhere at all productive.

"Yes."

"Thank goodness," Vince muttered.

"Thank god," Daniel agreed sarcastically, "some of us have things we have to do." Gunflowers and badass heroes and hot snake people wouldn't draw themselves.

Looking down at his clothes, Lance sighed. Leather pants were not the most practical spaceship attire. "Guess I have to de-pirate." Noting Flynn looking at him with amusement, he grinned. "I had fun."

The engineer laughed. "I bet you'll get another chance."

That did seem like a pretty decent bet.

*****

Dinner had been interesting, as ever. Hunk had made something called 'Cincinnati chili', which Jace had immediately declared not at all chili, and now they were apparently going to be having a chili cook-off sometime soon. Or at least Hunk was going to be having one. Jace had technically not yet agreed to participate.

Whatever it had been, Flynn had opted to go read up on the Deros Convention instead. Which hadn't told him much that he hadn't already known, but at least it made him feel a little better-prepared for whatever was to come.

Well, whatever was to come with the Drules, anyway. Not so much what was actually awaiting him.

The bay was empty a few hours later when he arrived for his shift. That was… strange. Pidge should be on duty, and he rarely left the systems console. There was something else that didn't feel quite right in the bay, something he couldn't place, but he set it aside for the moment. "Pidge?"

Silence. That was more than a little worrisome.

"Pidge?" He flipped the comm switch to the younger engineers' room. "Vince, is Pidge with you?"

"No sir. He wasn't here when I came off my shift."

Which was precisely as it should be. Stranger yet. It wasn't as if he could have left the ship… but this was Grumpy Ninja, so Flynn didn't consider the unease running down his spine to be all that unwarranted. Maybe the engine shafts? He should've heard Flynn calling to him there, but it wasn't as if he had any better ideas…

Turning to start checking the shafts, he abruptly realized what was wrong with the bay. Color. There were flashes of color out of the corner of his eye that didn't belong there.

Slowly, Flynn raised his head, and found himself staring at a bizarre mess on the ceiling. It looked like… lions? Yes. Lions. Except lions with electrical cables for manes, and bolts like Frankenstein's monster sticking out of their necks, and he was pretty sure there were rivets on some of them.

Robot lions.

He forgot entirely about Pidge. "Ceve! Hunk! What the fuck did you…" He trailed off, realizing he hadn't actually hit the comms yet, and took a few deep breaths. "…Hunk, get to the bay. I'd like a word."

"Uh, that sounds kinda ominous, pit boss. Be there in five."

Flynn sighed and looked back at the ceiling. The artwork was actually fairly impressive—sharp lines, careful musculature, fine details, even crosshatching. All the more impressive considering it was on the ceiling. But the damn things were kind of terrifying, and also staring right back at him, and he was positive he had not authorized using the engine bay as a canvas. Letting it go just didn't seem prudent.

The bay door slid open slowly, admitting an unusually nervous-looking Hunk. "What's up, pit boss? This ain't about the playlist, is it?"

Playlist? He didn't want to know. "No, it's not about the playlist. It's about why there's a mural on the ceiling of my engineering bay." Flynn crossed his arms. "It's very nice, I guess, but there are plenty of other ceilings you could've done this to, not to mention—"

"—Uh, pit boss?" Hunk held up a hand, looking completely lost. "Not to kill your roll here but I've got no clue what you're talkin' about." He looked up at the ceiling too. "Wasn't me. Pretty badass, though."

What now? Flynn hesitated, watching him carefully. Hunk never shied away from talking credit for his craziness, and his eyes were tracing over the lions in fascination. As if he'd never seen them before. Of course he was far from incapable of lying, but…

"…Help me find Pidge, then," he said finally, the original issue returning to mind. Even if the ninja had been checking an engine shaft he should be out by now. That should be the biggest concern. Then he could go drill Kogane on which of the bridge brats was vandalizing his bay. "Check the main engine shafts, I'm going up to check the hyperspace thrusters."

"You got it!" Hunk threw a salute and went to engine four, as Flynn headed for the exit and the elevator. He didn't have time to actually get out of the bay. "Uh, pit boss? We might have a problem."

…Oh, they had problems, alright. Flynn crossed over to him and stared in disbelief. Pidge was curled up just inside the engine four access hatch, out cold… and clutching a package of colored markers in his hand.

"The hell?" he said softly. "After all the noise we've made in here? Pidge!"

Nothing.

Confusion and worry were battling for supremacy now. He knelt, reaching out and shaking him, half expecting a knife to flash. Still nothing. He was able to take Pidge's wrist without incident; his pulse was rapid. Was that normal for Baltans? Flynn didn't know. But the fact that he still wasn't waking up was the real issue here. "Go get Jace."

"On it!"

As he listened to Hunk run off, Flynn looked back down at the ninja. And the markers. "The hell," he repeated quietly. What could possibly have led to stoic, businesslike Grumpy Ninja drawing fanciful ceiling murals was beyond his ability to imagine. "You'd better be alright, you little brat, if anything's going to kill you it's going to be me."

It only took a couple of minutes for Jace to come sprinting in with Hunk on his heels. "What happened? You just found him like that?"

Flynn nodded. "No idea what he was doing there, let alone—"

"—Move." The medic pushed him out of the way and knelt next to Pidge, hooking up a few biometrics monitors and muttering under his breath as he looked him over. "No trauma evident. Vitals are mostly okay. Pulse and temp are up, which is the opposite of what they should be. Fucking Baltans." He set his datapad on the floor next to him and scrolled through faster than it seemed possible for him to have read anything. But apparently he had; nodding to himself he carefully repositioned Pidge's limbs, tossing the markers out of the way. "Come on, ninjerk. Don't make me shove ammonia up your nose."

Flynn caught Hunk's eye and gave him a questioning look; he recognized the recovery position, but he was pretty certain ammonia was toxic. "Old-timey smelling salts," the big man whispered. "Must not wanna use the synthetics for some—"

"—They don't work on most aliens," Jace interrupted. "This one included. Gonna give it another minute though, see if he eases out of it before resorting to that shit."

Another minute felt like an hour. But finally Pidge twitched. Slowly his eyes fluttered open, taking in the metal floor he was laying on. Then he looked up.

"Komora sa kye?!"

Flynn exhaled—had he been holding his breath? Oh. "Welcome back."

"Back?" Pidge blinked and sat up, which earned him a sharp look from the medic. He ignored it. "What's going on?"

"Don't move your spine again until I tell you you're clear," Jace ordered. "Look at my hand here. Follow my finger, eyes only."

He obeyed, though he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it. Even Flynn could see he was unfocused. "I said what's going on?"

"You tell us. They found you unconscious in an engine shaft and apparently you decorated the bay ceiling before you passed out, and you're asking us what's going on?"

Rather than firing back, the ninja hesitated. "I what? What are you talking about?"

Flynn retrieved the markers and held them up. "You don't remember these? Or more to the point, drawing a big robot lion mural in the bay with them?"

"Komora?" He looked around, eyes still seeming to dart a little more quickly than usual. "I don't… I don't even remember coming down here for my shift in the first place."

Jace's scowl vanished again. "Well shit, that's a bad thing." He picked up his datapad and typed a few things in, though his eyes never left his patient. "What's the last thing you remember? Does your head hurt?" Frown. "And you seem pretty aware but I'm gonna need you to tell me who and where you are, to be sure."

Pidge was silent for a moment, then he looked up at Flynn. There was a definite question in his eyes, though what exactly that question was he couldn't tell. "Just answer the jackass," he finally ordered; it seemed reasonable enough. "We need to know what happened."

Jace didn't seem at all bothered by the characterization.

"…Specialist Darrell Stoker, serial 1549-1055, Explorer Team 686. I'm aboard the ACS Jupiter's Hammer, which the Lieutenant Commander will object to me calling it, outbound from Ixapre." He recited it mechanically, then closed his eyes. "My head feels fine, but the last thing I remember is… you and Hunk arguing over the cold?"

"Over chili?" Hunk offered.

"That's what I said."

"No, it's really not," Jace muttered, typing something else. His eyes widened slightly. "Here, I need to take some blood. How do you feel? Anything unusual at all?"

"Only like I've been asleep for weeks." Pidge opened his eyes and watched the medic intently. "Can I at least stretch some?" he asked as soon as the needle was out.

"Yeah, go ahead. It's nothing physical."

Flynn arched an eyebrow. "So what is it?"

"Twitchy eyes, rapid heart rate, slight fever, gap in memory formation…" Jace turned and looked pointedly out at the ceiling. "…solid evidence of being high as fuck, both literally and figuratively…"

Pidge glared.

"You've got theobromine poisoning." Jace glared right back. "Eat something you shouldn't have, ninjerk?"

Immediately Pidge's glare vanished, replaced by wide-eyed indignation. "I… no, of course not! I'm not an idiot."

"That's debatable, but it's not what I'm diagnosing." The medic frowned. "You know all the sources? I assume you're damn sure aware of chocolate, but no tea? Coffee? Esoteric shit like—"

"—Wait," Hunk broke in, looking between them. "He can't have chocolate?"

"This isn't the time to be shocked about people's food options, giant donut dude."

"It's not that!" He shook his head in frustration. "There was chocolate in the chili earlier."

All three of them turned to stare at him. "You put what in what?"

"But isn't chocolate a dessert?"

"Why would you ever…?"

"It's part of the weirdness that makes the dish!" Hunk shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, little dude. Had no idea you couldn't eat the stuff, you never said."

To Flynn's surprise, Pidge did not pull out his knife. He just scowled. "It's always been easy enough to avoid before, I didn't think it was relevant."

"It's always relevant," Jace snapped. "You're lucky the worst that happened was some crazy-ass artwork. You need to be more careful!"

"Right, I'll remember to ask next time if there's dessert food in the spaghetti sauce," the ninja muttered spitefully. "Humans."

"Sure, sure. Mock the humans, you little alien asshole. You're the one who went all Sharpie all over the ceiling." Jace snorted. "You can either come with me to the sick bay and finish sleeping it off, or you can stay here where Chief can keep an eye on you. You should be okay, but I don't want you alone until I run the blood test."

"I'll stay here."

"Thought so. Leave those monitors on. Chief, if he so much as swerves a little, bring him to me."

"Got it." Jace was still muttering about things that were not at all chili as he left.

Pidge crawled out to the opening of the engine shaft, looking at his own artwork in bemusement before standing up. He was shaky, and almost immediately crashed back to the floor; he shot both Flynn and Hunk his most impressive death glare. It didn't really have a lot to do with his falling down.

"Not. One. Word. Either of you."

Hunk bit his lip to keep from laughing, and Flynn had to fight down a smirk himself. "Wouldn't dream of it. Come on, let's get you to the sick bay."

*****

Daniel was in the gym, doing something that he should have done a long time ago. He glared at the pile of plush birds, topped with Cam's stupid flamingo, and poured the fuel he'd procured straight from the Bolt's tanks over the mess. Watching the silvery liquid flow over the birds with a small smirk, he lit his lighter.

His glare turned into a confused frown seconds later when the fuel wouldn't ignite. What the hell was going on? Rocket fuel was supposed to burn like crazy. He lowered the flame right onto a flamingo and slowly—too slowly—it ignited. Even then it was a slow burn…

Standing outside the gym, Lance waited for Keith to show up; he was getting some extra sparring lessons. He was going to beat Jace at least once in his life, just to see the asshole's face.

Keith grinned as he walked up to him. "Ready for this, Lance?"

"You don't have to look so happy about getting to throw me around on the floor, Boss."

"You might end up throwing me around. Shall we?"

"Fucking hope so," Lance said and pushed open the door… only to stop suddenly, causing Keith to bump into him. Both of them stared. Daniel was there, sitting down in front of the pile of bird paraphernalia with a frustrated scowl on his face.

"What is he doing?" Keith asked quietly.

"What the fuck, kid?" Lance shouted at the same time, having taken in the fact that the pile of stuffed creatures was smoldering.

"Dude!" Daniel spun around, startled by their sudden arrival; he'd been far too intent on his failing bonfire to hear the hatch open. "Don't you know it's bad form to scare someone when they're trying to commit arson!?"

Keith stepped around Lance to get a better look at the situation before them. It didn't really improve anything. "Arson," he repeated flatly. "On the ship."

"Well, I can't exactly do it outside the ship." Daniel looked around; they'd made him drop his lighter, and now it was scorching a dark spot into the gym mat. He pointed. "Chill, the mats are fireproof, there's little tags on them and everything, see?"

"Why are you trying to set plushies on fire?" Keith asked, trying to process the situation.

"Because they're birds!" Daniel shouted as if that explained everything—which personally he was pretty sure it did.

"But what… why are… I expected you to be better at fires," Lance stammered out; Keith looked over at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Really?"

Lance rolled his eyes at himself. That was what he was going with, the kid should be better at arson? But why wasn't the kid better at arson? "Well, yeah," he finally confirmed, shrugging as he stepped closer to the pile of birds. He really should have seen this coming, when he thought about it for more than a minute… he'd never realized just how quickly he could get a screaming headache.

"Usually I am better at arson, man. I think it's this shit fuel I put on there, I should've just went old school, you know? But I wanted them to die a quick and fiery death."

Keith froze, a feeling of dread washing over him. "What kind of fuel?" he demanded, looking at the pile more closely.

"Fuel, what fuel?!" Lance took it even less in stride.

Daniel tried to shove down the sudden panic as he realized what he'd already admitted to. Why had he said all of that? In front of Commander Sword-Up-His-Ass, no less?

"It's too late to even fucking try to get out this, kid," Lance snapped, recognizing the look on Daniel's face.

Lance, Lance was why he'd admitted to everything. He was always confessing to things he had no business confessing to when their pilot was around, it was ridiculous. "I didn't even say anything… I don't know? The fuel kind of fuel?" No way he was explaining that he'd siphoned a bottle of fuel from one of the engine shafts. No way, that would go over so much worse than this already was. But one look at Lance had him wondering if trying to stay quiet was even worth it—Daniel's train of thought stopped in horror. Since when did he consider trying to get away with stuff not worth it? Lance, Lance and the stupid confusing feelings he created. How did he fucking do this to him? Ugh!

With Daniel frozen, Lance's eyes went to the smoldering bird-pile as well. None of the fuel seemed to have caught fire at all; much of it seemed to have rolled right off the birds, even. He could see bits of it, shimmery silver staining the mat… well fuck.

Standard Alliance fusion-rocket engines, the type used on most long range spacecraft, didn't use combustible fuel. They used extremely heavy, inert liquids, that could be blasted apart by fusion-powered processing lasers into harmless hydrogen exhaust. Ixapre had, among other things, carried the Alliance's standard heavy fuel mix. Which was composed mainly of…

"Mercury!" he bellowed, glaring at the kid in disbelief. "Fucking MERCURY!"

…Mercury? Daniel blinked, staring at the bottle. It had seemed like a weird color, but he really hadn't been worried about that. "Oops?"

Oops? Keith shook his head, wondering if Daniel even realized just how toxic mercury was. "Doc is not going to be happy about this…" They were going to have to decontaminate the whole gym, among other things. Such as their gunner.

Daniel shrugged. "I didn't get any on me. Just the birds!"

The room filled with Japanese curse words as Keith finally lost it a bit. Just a bit.

Lance stalked closer to Daniel, grabbed him by his shoulders, and bodily moved him away from the spilled poison. He looked him up and down to make sure nothing was on him.

"Hey!" Daniel yelled—why was he always getting manhandled?

"Don't hey me, kid. That stuff is fucking toxic!"

"Well, I didn't think it was a health drink. I didn't touch it directly."

Lance shook his head and looked at Keith. His first instinct was to protect the kid, even—especially—from his own horrible ideas, but even if he'd found Daniel on his own he couldn't have kept a mercury spill in the gym a secret. It was too late now, anyway.

As if on cue Keith started speaking. "Lance, get him to sick bay. Full decontamination. I'll stay here until one of the engineers can come and clean this up. Brennan…" He shook his head slowly. "I know you have a brain somewhere in your head, you need to start using it. I'm placing you on restriction for a week, and be glad it isn't more. A lot more." The fire had pretty much fizzled out as they'd been arguing about it. Or he would really have been in trouble.

He was in enough trouble anyway; Lance nodded and dragged the kid with him out of the gym. Immediately Daniel tried to pull a little understanding from their very weird pilot. "Aw, come on. Restriction? For what?" He was hardly new to restriction; he'd spent plenty of time confined to his quarters in the Academy, and it had always sucked.

Sympathy wasn't happening. "What do you expect when you try to bonfire a bunch of fucking toy birds? With mercury! Really, kid?"

"Fucking snart… I don't need decontamination, I'm fine. This is all so unnecessary!" How had this gotten so far out of his control? Even for him this situation had gotten out of hand way too fast. "You're very manhandly today."

"Yes, you need decontamination. We're taking no fucking chances. And if you think I'm bad, just wait until I hand you over to Jace."

"Awwww, man."

Suddenly, Lance stopped and grabbed Daniel's shoulders, hazel eyes locked on his. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I… I… I just got sick of looking at the birds…" He tried to ignore Lance's death grip and the look on his face, because it was all telling him he'd fucked up and, ugh, why the eye contact?

"You're smarter than…" Lance just felt disappointed, and it was probably showing, but fuck it.

Daniel blinked at Lance's expression. What the fuck is that look? Dread at the guilty feeling that was bubbling its way up in response to Lance's disappointed expression knocked any answer he might have had out of his brain. Oh no.

"…Come on, let's just get to Jace and get you sorted. Then you can start your really boring week of restriction."

"Can you stop with the face? And the…" Daniel trailed off in horror as it fully hit him that Lance expected him to be smart.

"I don't know what my face is fucking doing, but no, I don't think I can stop."

"Wait, wait, hold on. I think I've fucked up here…" He shook his head trying to ignore the irritating feelings Lance's face was giving him. Disappointment was not supposed to do that to him. Someone having high expectations was not allowed.

"You think?"

"You expect me to be smart?"

"Yes."

"Why? No. You can't."

"Yes, yes, I can!" Lance was pretty sure he had a migraine. Unless it was mercury vapor… no, this was definitely a migraine.

Daniel shook his head frantically, because oh. Hell. No. This was not good. Not good at all. "No. I've got a system, okay? The first rule of the system is keeping everyone's expectations very low." Low expectations meant that they were easy to meet, and Daniel didn't have to deal with too much bullshit when he didn't meet them. "The second rule is not giving a shit about people's potentially high expectations, so that I don't feel obligated to meet them. Alright? So you cannot have anything above low expectations." He wasn't quite willing to draw the throughline there, at least not out loud… the rule about not giving a shit just hadn't been working out so well, where Lance was concerned. Caring what the pilot thought of him was something he'd barely accepted at this point. How was it already fucking him over? This had never been so hard before—it was how his damn system had become a system. He knew how this was supposed to go. "Them's the rules!"

"Kid, I never play by the fucking rules," Lance shot back with his trademark smirk. "I expect you to use your goddamn brain, and also to fucking not play with mercury. I don't care how much you hate fucking birds. You got that? I've got expectations and you're gonna have to live with them."

"That… but that's…" Daniel whined, but it was no use. "Fine. I will accept your expectation for me not to play with mercury anymore." He was very pointedly not mentioning the 'use your brain' expectation. He had a feeling his definition of using his brain and Lance's definition were very different.

"Let's get you to Jace," Lance said with a frustrated sigh. He'd noticed the omission, but figured he'd gotten what concessions he would get for the day.

"In my defense, I didn't know it was mercury. I just thought it was regular jet fuel." The fighters he'd trained on sure as hell didn't use this mercury nonsense.

"Next time pay more attention to the class of ship you're in. You should know that, you know, as a trained pilot."

Daniel bristled. That stung.

The infirmary door was in sight, and Lance felt a wave of relief. "Okay, decontamination time."

"Fuck…" Daniel whined, but followed. May as well get it over with. They walked through the door… and stopped short at seeing Jace already working with Pidge, Flynn standing by the wall looking concerned.

"What are you doing here?" both groups demanded at once, and both answered in equally resigned unison.

"You don't want to know."

*****

Sven had managed to chart a course to 9-XRL that only required one waypoint. He could have charted one without any waypoints at all, but there were at least a dozen Alliance regulations about that sort of thing. They all said don't. Hyperspace travel was perfectly safe… for a time. Spending too long in an alternate plane of reality where the laws of physics were more like suggestions would eventually take a toll on ship and crew alike. A few minutes to recover and reset was all it took to stave off the dangers, but those few minutes were important indeed.

There was no way of knowing if they were about to appear in a Drule-occupied system or not. And no matter how many treaties and theories said they should be safe if they did, they were an Explorer Team.

Sure enough, everyone was at their battle stations when the ship breached out at the waypoint.

Sure enough, a contact came up immediately.

"Reading a station…" Cam's fingers raced over his console. "Tentatively a Ver'glauz class. That's Drule." He hadn't really needed to specify, but as tension gripped the bridge, maybe filling the silence was for the best.

Swallowing back his own nervousness, Keith nodded. "Anything else?"

"Two fighters in a patrol pattern. They haven't… no, scratch that, they're coming about."

"Triqir light recon fighters," Flynn reported from the bay. "They're minimal threat to us on their own."

"Then let's do our best to not attract any greater threats." Keith looked at their comms officer. "Do it."

Cam took a long breath, nodded, then opened the comms and spoke in careful Drakure. "Local station, this is the ACS Jupiter's Bolt, newly arrived in-system and requesting acknowledgment. We are here on a routine waypoint stop as permitted under the Deros Convention. We'll be out of your way soon."

Nobody else on the bridge could understand more than a token bit of what he'd said, but they could understand the long silence that answered. Keith and Sven tensed, checking their harnesses, as Lance and Daniel readied themselves on their controls. The fighters were coming closer, though they weren't making any aggressive or evasive maneuvers.

Static crackled. "Alliance vessel Jupiter's Bolt, we have received your signal." The voice that came across the comms spoke in slow, roughly-accented Common. "In the benevolent name of His Imperial Majesty, King Zarkon, your request is hereby granted. Be quick."

Everyone on the bridge breathed a sigh of relief as one; the engineers were doing pretty much the same thing. Nobody spoke. Nobody was really quite certain what to say… things going smoothly and calmly wasn't really their area of expertise, after all.

But every so often it could be nice.

*****

Larmina was still minding the castle shelter, sort of. She'd just finished reviewing the spoils of a recent hunting and scouting trip. The reports were strange; Drule patrols seemed to have thinned dramatically. But why? Not that anyone was going to complain, but an ominous sense hung over the shelter… and the return of the princess had made it that much worse.

Her return from the gryphon den had been somber again. Few had realized just how close Prince Tanner had been to death; if anyone would have questioned Allura for taking him outside in such a state, it was almost certain the peaceful look upon the young prince's face kept those questions at bay. Nanny took it upon herself to take care of the matter of Tanner's burial, in hopes that it would ease the strain on Allura. While the Council was content that the princess appeared to be mustering on, it was clear that the blow to her family weighed heavily on her. How could it not?

Those closest to her could see it easily; she only moved when called upon to do something in public. The moment Allura was in her private quarters, she would collapse in one spot and had to be coaxed to do anything else. For the most part, they'd been trying to give her some space, though how much space was really being given when the Council kept dropping by to inquire when exactly she would be ready to resume her full duties?

Hoping Auntie had improved a bit since her last visit, Larmina decided to veer off and go check in on her. Instead she found her sprawled silently on her bed, staring at a plush black lion that had red felt wings pinned on. That seemed a bit odd; the tales she'd heard of the legendary beasts of the plains had never mentioned any wings. She decided it must be an aesthetic choice that Tanner had made for his old toy. Sitting down beside Allura, she joined in just staring at the feline for a few moments before curiosity overcame her.

"Why the red wings?"

Allura wasn't startled by the sound; she reached out to stroke the plush's chin. "For his burning mark across the sky, and…" She paused for a time, and Larmina waited patiently. Looking lost in a multitude of thoughts, she finally finished, "It's just how he is." She tucked her hand under the plush creature's chin and sighed. "Does the Council need me? I can come…"

Larmina looked at Allura strangely; that didn't answer a thing. But she shrugged it off. "Look, I don't blame you for staying shut up in here." Allura shifted her eyes toward her. "You deserve time to mourn, and if you weren't royalty nobody would bat an eye at you needing time, but no." She picked up the plush and looked at it more closely, seeing memories of ghosts reflected in its shiny golden eyes. Nobody here had known she was royalty; she'd been given her time, and she'd used it pretty much the same way, hadn't she? "It sucks. I mean, even if Arus weren't being kicked around by the sinycka… what would you be doing if you really had a choice?"

Allura rolled over to stare at the cave ceiling. That wasn't something she'd really thought about… what she might do without the weight of her title upon her. "The mountains," she murmured finally. "I would stand on the highest one, and scream until my voice was gone."

Larmina gave a soft snort. Since Allura's return, she had been almost mute unless absolutely required to speak. Now she seemed to have found a voice, though still soft. "Maybe you'll get your chance once we've given the Drules a good kick or two back." Her aunt made a slightly strangled sound, and she paused, looking worried. "There's still some hope for that, right?"

"Yes… there's still hope." It didn't feel like there was much hope to be had, but she wasn't ready to renounce it either. Why bother to survive at all if she was going to abandon hope?

Studying her carefully, Larmina nodded her understanding as the feeling of loneliness drifted over her. Wiggling herself onto the bed next to Allura, leaning her head against her shoulder, she plopped the plush lion on Auntie's chest. "Well, we're here to stay by you, anyway. Me and…" Tapping the lion's nose, she trailed off in a question.

"Black."

"Yeah." The black lion's name was Black, it seemed appropriate enough. Hadn't Auntie mentioned Tanner's favorite stories being about a Black Lion? "Me and Black, with his funny wings and all, are gonna ride this mess out with you. First chance we get, we'll get you up to your mountain so you can scream it out. Sound like a plan?"

Allura smiled a bit and lightly tapped her forehead against Larmina's. "It's a good plan."

"You bet it is. We can yell about the fates together, five hells, let's have a whole party for it if you want. Does Black want to come yell about something too? Bet he does!"

You don't know how much he probably does… Allura pulled herself into a sitting position and squeezed Larmina's hand, managing a bit more of a smile. "Thank you…"

"Your Highness!" Both of them snapped their heads up as Coran's voice made its way into the room. Of all those who'd been intruding on the princess' mourning, he was about the last to show up unannounced. This had to be something serious. "Your Highness, forgive me. We have reports from the surface you must see."

"I'll come—" Larmina started, but Allura shook her head and touched her shoulder.

"We'll come," she said softly, but firmly. "Tell us what's happening."

"Our last scouts picked up a broadcast… couldn't help but pick it up, really. It's on a repeating loop on at least six main frequencies. They broke off their run and came back with it immediately." He led them to one of the outer corridors, where they could still pick up signals from the surface if they were positioned just right, and pulled out one of the few full-function comm devices left to the shelter.

The image flickered to life on the small screen before them: a dignified-looking Drule in formal garments, standing on a balcony. Not just any balcony—the intricate reliefs of the parade balcony of the Castle of Lions were unmistakable. As was the broken crown sitting on the railing in front of him. Allura felt her fists clench at her sides.

"People of Arus, my name is Governor Tarlok. I greet you in the name of His Imperial Majesty, King Zarkon. Your world is now part of the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy. Your king has perished; the last of your forces have been swept aside. There is nothing left for you to fight for. I offer you this gift: all who beg for our pardon will receive it. Step free of your shelters. Lay down your arms, swear your loyalty to Lord Zarkon, and I personally guarantee your safety." He paused. "Continue to resist, and you will be made the most grievous example."

Larmina's eyes narrowed as she looked at her aunt; a few remnants of tears seemed to be giving way to blue-hot fury. She was feeling it herself.

"They've taken the castle, then," the princess finally murmured, her voice twisted with pain and anger.

"Yes. We think the recall of enemy patrols may have been related to securing the castle perimeter. Our scouts noticed increased activity in the area since His Majesty's death, but believed it to be looting or perhaps awaiting a burial party."

Those reports sounded familiar; they'd seemed reasonable at the time. The sheer nerve, the sheer cruelty, of this… as the message started to loop Allura switched off the comm device, a little more forcefully than necessary. Her eyes darted from Coran to Larmina. "What do we do?" It couldn't be allowed to stand. But their options… did they have any? The Great Lions still slept, even with one speaking…

Larmina looked at her and found familiar words on her lips. Her mother's last words to her, becoming a mantra. "Survive," she said softly. "Fight. They haven't killed all of us." She looked back to the blank screen, her own turquoise eyes dark. "They won't kill us like this, right Auntie?"

Slowly, Allura nodded. If hope couldn't sustain her alone, perhaps this would. "Right."