(On the Hunt) Chapter 35

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 35

Learning Process

Absolutely nothing was happening in the engine bay. Flynn had left his shift early, shadowed by a ninja, to go check in on Vince; they'd found one unconscious wrenchling and one annoyed medic losing at solitaire. So, about the usual. He hadn't intended to stay long—what was the point in watching someone sleep? Just a minute to ask if anything had changed, which it hadn't, and…

A monitor beeped, and Vince's eyes fluttered open.

"Vince!"

Jace jumped up immediately. "Chief, you can sit your ass down until I've had a look."

Flynn eyed him skeptically. At what, my ass? The fact that he'd even thought that clearly meant he was spending too much time with Lance; he shrugged and sat as the young engineer looked blearily around the sick bay.

"Oh no…"

"What're you oh-no-ing about?" Jace quickly got to work checking his vitals, though he wasn't expecting anything useful. The job was the job. This kid was something way beyond the job, they just didn't know what yet.

"Uh. That I sparked…?" Vince sat up for a moment, trying to remember the circumstances this time. Memories came trickling back slowly. Memories of the ship, of the visions, of the… stars? He felt a little dizzy, doubted it was physical, and laid back down.

"How are you feeling?"

"What he said."

Good questions. Something didn't seem right. "Um… fine?" This seemed like a lot more of a production than his usual sparks. For that matter, if the last thing he remembered was the Altean ship, how and why was he here? What he really felt was foggy. "Confused? Annoyed?"

"Well if you're the first one of those, I'm the other two." Jace put up his equipment and shook his head. "Your vitals are perfectly normal, still."

"Really? But…" What was bothering him finally put itself into coherent words despite the fuzziness in his mind. "…Wait. How long was I out?"

Flynn and Jace looked at each other for a moment. "…Afuckingwhile."

"Twelve hours exactly," Pidge clarified, and Vince sat bolt upright with a cry of shock. He had not noticed the ninja hovering about. "…Sorry?"

"Don't lurk like that!" He knew it was a lost cause and don't bother to dwell on it. Twelve hours? "No wonder I feel groggy."

"Yeah." Snort. "That and you sparking turned the fucking ship on for a few seconds, or something…" Their medic started taking another round of vitals, just to have something to do that felt moderately useful. Despite knowing by now it wasn't going to be useful. "You feel fine, seriously?"

"Yeah." Vince was still trying to wrap his head around the first part of that. I turned it on? Is that related to those… weird-ass things I saw? Do I mention that? "Physically anyway."

Jace eyed him. "I'm sure you'll be shocked to know I'm not qualified to treat psych symptoms."

Vince met his gaze sullenly, grumbling under his breath. "Yay shocked jokes."

"…I didn't even do that on purpose!" He was certainly not going to apologize, but he did look appropriately horrified. "None of you fuckers better tell Sven."

"We will," Flynn promised with a smirk; Vince snickered.

"Of course you will." Finishing up the second round of vitals, which were not appreciably different and definitely weren't abnormal, Jace retreated and sighed. "Okay, look. I can't find anything physically wrong, but we're not gonna risk it. I want you on monitors for a bit longer. So you are not cleared. You're gonna sit your ass in that bed and think about what you've done."

"It's not like I do it on purpose!" Admittedly, he'd put his hand on the panel on purpose, but he'd sure as heck not been meaning to knock himself out or turn on an ancient spacecraft.

Flynn narrowed his eyes slightly, then his smirk broadened. "Doctor, your presence is upsetting my wrenchling."

"It's mutual! I think he's just fucking allergic to Altea." Scowling, he turned and headed for the door. "Anyway, Chief, yell or send me a ninjagram or something if anything happens, otherwise I'll be back in a bit or if some monitor starts bitching." He left grumbling in Portuguese about spontaneous electrogenesis.

Looking after him, thinking about both the ship and the relic, Vince couldn't help wondering if being allergic to Altea might actually be a point… no, it didn't explain all the computers he'd set on fire before ever leaving Earth. He took a minute to try to get comfortable despite the monitors—a lost cause—then looked over at Flynn. "Did I really turn the ship on?"

The chief frowned. "That's a bit of an overstatement, but…"

"But?"

"The ship had some kind of power crystal," Pidge explained. "Unclear whether it was storage or generation, there wasn't enough left around it to tell. Apparently it lit up when you had your incident."

"We poked at it for a good while after, but couldn't get it to be anything more than a large rock."

Looking between them, Vince suddenly felt torn between intense relief and disappointment to be far away from the ship. "A big rock? Glew? And I missed it?" Something about that didn't sound right either, but his mind was still scrambling…

Pidge blinked. "There wasn't any glue."

…Oh. He stared at the ninja and tried to figure out how to even respond to that; as was often the case, the answer was not to respond at all.

Flynn shook his head. "What happened, Vince?" All Pidge had been able to tell them was that he'd been trying to open a panel.

As if Vince knew much more than that. "Well, um…" Of course something had happened. Something he didn't understand, didn't think he could explain, and definitely didn't want to try to explain… yet he felt like he needed to. If only to try to get a grip on it himself. Still, he looked at the two of them and grimaced. Flynn he might be able to tell about it, but…

Without him actually saying anything, Pidge stood and wordlessly left the sick bay; Flynn startled and looked after him. "Pidge?"

"He does that." Vince suppressed a sigh of relief. It definitely wasn't the first time his roommate had seen that expression. "I think it's my face."

Flynn considered that; Pidge did tend to take unusual cues. "Did he do what you wanted?"

"Yeah, kinda… I wasn't gonna say it."

Laughing a little—mostly because he could imagine Pidge's reaction to Vince wanting to spare his feelings—Flynn leaned forward. "Alright. So…"

"It sounds crazy." I'm really gonna say this out loud?

"That's nothing new around here."

That was an excellent point. And if he had to tell someone, well… "Um. I think I had a vision or something. Maybe just some weird side effect of the sparking?"

Flynn tilted his head. "A vision?"

"Two, maybe… it was all so weird."

Weird was nothing new around here either, but Flynn really had no idea where to go with that. Visions were things to be cryptically invoked by Hydran shamans and Daesulos oracles, not to just turn up in his subordinate engineers. "…You want to talk about them?" was all he came up with.

"No. Yes. No…" Vince exhaled deeply. "There were stars, constellations, I mean literal constellations, and I didn't recognize them but they looked familiar at the same time? And as if that wasn't bad enough then I was back on that ship, the Altean one, only it wasn't mushroom infested, it was new and glowing people were manning the stations. But then just like that I woke up and there were mushrooms and Pidge and then it all went black."

…Okay, maybe he had wanted to talk about it.

Flynn was quiet for a long time. What in the actual hell does one say to that? He flailed for something in his own experiences that might help, but there wasn't much; as alien as the world beyond Dathreil had been, at least someone there had had answers. Familiar constellations and visions of the Altean crew? It all seemed so…

Wait…

His mind had latched back onto something. Something he'd shrugged off as one more oddity, suddenly maybe—just maybe—far more relevant. "…Let me ask you something that's going to seem equally strange?"

Vince wasn't sure what he'd expected. Reassurance? Was that even what he needed, exactly? No sense refusing whatever thread his boss was trying to follow. "May as well."

"Remember when you fired the disruptor cannon at Bokar?"

…Not if I can possibly avoid it? "Yeah… why?"

"Because you fired it too quickly. Remember? We never put the backup generator on standby."

Vince's eyes went wide. He'd never thought about that. Too busy freaking out about the giant snake monster. "We didn't?"

"No. So… did you spark then?"

"We didn't…" He shook his head and struggled to think back. The fight, the scales in front of him, hitting the trigger, the immediate burst of lightning. "I don't think so… or… I didn't think so?" The image flashed back to him, the spark he'd thought he'd imagined since the console hadn't gone up in smoke. Had he really…?

"You're sure?"

"Not at all!" He nearly yelled it, then blushed fiercely and sank back. "…Sorry."

Flynn cracked a small smile. "It's alright."

"I used to just think this was an annoying 'why me' thing… now it's bigger than that, isn't it?" He couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.

"It looks like." Flynn was still kind of half-smiling, and couldn't resist. "At least now it's really not an attitude problem?"

Vince snorted. "You were the first one to get that it never was." Sigh. "I'm just… even more confused now."

He certainly wasn't the only one. "I wish I had answers for you."

"How could you, though?"

"Yeah, exactly. Faex…" The train of thought he'd been trying to stay aboard earlier reasserted itself, and he looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. Aside from the regular explosions, they had a weapon exceeding its design parameters and a power source briefly brought back to life. And the visions. How did visions play into it?

Maybe…

"You're speaking to machines," he murmured finally, feeling his way. "That's pretty much what this is, isn't it? You're speaking to them… in their language, somehow? And the ship talked back to you." Programming wasn't his strongest area, but following the language thread was getting him to something. Maybe. "The sparks are maybe… language errors? Mistranslations?"

"I'm definitely mistranslating," Vince agreed. He wasn't sure how he felt about the rest of the theory. It was reasonable enough for what they had, he supposed, but every time they had a guess something happened to complicate things. Maybe he just didn't want a new theory. "I don't know, it's weird."

"That seems safe to bet."

He supposed that had been pretty obvious. "Do you think it talked back because it's Altean? I got…" His eyes somehow became still wider. "…Those stars. I saw those stars then, too. When I touched the relic."

Oh. Well. Flynn closed his eyes, still trying to explain the unexplainable, trying to remember what Lance and Keith had said about the magical energy reacting differently to different people. "That relic… the crystal on it. Not that transparent crystal is rare, but… what if it's… the same composition as the rock aboard the ship? It did look like it was crystalline before the mushrooms and the elements got hold of it. Maybe you're… attuned to that crystal, the way Kogane is the black metal and Lance the red. Something with stars…?"

"Huh. Maybe." It sounded logical. And maybe trying to talk through it was helping Flynn come to grips—but it definitely wasn't calming Vince down any, and they were his sparks, so he felt like he should have the last say on the matter. And his muted response seemed to get the point across; Flynn wound down and nodded his understanding.

Then it got awkward. Just for a little bit. Though the mention of Keith was worrying him for other reasons, too, and finally he voiced the new question.

"Do you have to tell the Commander?"

"Tell him what?"

"About the vision." Blink. "Or was that you saying you won't tell him?" He still really wasn't up to his usual mental dexterity.

Flynn had not been saying that, and took a minute to consider the question. He saw no reason to tell… or wouldn't have seen any reason to tell, had it not been for the fact that Vince's reactions more and more seemed to be tied to their target somehow. Of course it could be a coincidence. It could be nothing but the reactions to the metal, just more intense. Or it could be far more…

"…I don't have to tell him now. But you have to do something for me."

Vince swallowed, looking into the chief's deadly serious violet eyes. "Yeah?"

"Don't go poking the relic again, or anything, but… if you remember anything more, if you see anything else, tell me. As close to immediately as you can. So long as this is just about you, you can take it at your own pace—or at least, I won't stop you. But if it comes to have some bearing on our actual mission… we may need to know more. You understand?"

He understood. It was better than he'd been expecting, truthfully. "I promise. And yeah, trust me, I won't be poking anything." I'm definitely not Hunk. In so, so many ways.

Laughing softly, Flynn leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder. "We've got enough questions on this trip already, what's one more?" He gave a wry smile. "Maybe that answer is waiting on Altea, too. If it is, we'll find it."

Something in his confidence was, if not contagious, at least comforting. "Alright. I could do with it just being something dull, though, honestly…"

"I wouldn't count on that."

"Yeah, I know. Just not how this mission works." At all.

"Not a bit. But you're doing a good job, Vince. You'll be alright."

His ears definitely went very hot at that, and he grinned sheepishly. "Thanks, Flynn."

Flynn's answering grin quickly turned into a smirk. "I think Jace basically said I have to stay here and keep an eye on you until he gets back, though. You want to talk about something more fun? Wiring, maybe?"

Vince couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah… yeah. I would love to talk about wiring. Let's do it."

*****

Hunk wasn't going to call it stress cooking. He was not stressed. He was concerned, certainly. His fellow wrenchling, and the cute nervous one no less, had been unconscious in the sick bay for hours for no apparent reason other than being Vince; concern was a natural reaction. He wasn't stressed. He didn't get stressed.

Okay, maybe he was stress cooking just a little. Nobody had to know that.

Sven was sitting at the galley table, watching him with interest. The threatened chili cook-off had not manifested, unsurprisingly; more surprisingly, a not-chili cook-off actually had. He'd been enlisted to judge well before 9-XRL, and if Hunk insisted the show must go on, Sven wasn't going to argue.

As for Jace…

"You let giant donut dude have a head start?" He entered the galley and shot his roommate a look of betrayal. "Seriously?"

Hunk turned and shot him a wink. "Bold of you to think he could stop me."

That, Sven acknowledged, was accurate… but it also wasn't as if he'd tried. "Contestants who arrive on time get the advantage of starting on time," he said piously, earning a glare that could've boiled water on its own.

"I was treating a patient!"

"How is he?" Hunk asked; they could both guess the answer from the fact that their medic was here, but he still wanted to hear what he'd actually say.

"Awake and completely fucking fine, obvs."

Had Sven not already been set on his course of action, the word 'obvs' would have done it. "I'm glad he's fine. That said, your outside issues are not something that is taken into account during a competition." He smiled. "I'd start cooking if I were you, you have to make up for lost time."

Was he being a little bit of an ass? Yes. Was he about to get called out for it? Also yes. Did Jace deserve it, and in fact, have only himself to blame for encouraging this sort of corruption? Oh, so very much yes.

Jace's expression seemed to go through that same entire thought process before he found words. "…So proud of you, caralho."

"Your influence has paid off, I know."

"Fuck yeah it has!" Still shaking his head, he grabbed a pot and started hunting down ingredients. "Okay, time to make some not fucking chili! And without knocking out our ninja."

"I'm keepin' a list this time," Hunk protested, holding up his datapad before typing in an entry and tossing a handful of something into a pan. "See? Here's a bunch of scallops!"

Jace blinked. They'd both handled their own requisitions for the galley, but he was certain the Alliance did not consider that a staple protein. "Why were there even scallops on the ship?"

"Cuz I'm thorough with the stockpiling, bro!"

"Yeah I guess you are…" He shook his head and turned to his own pot. "…since you're somehow still not out of murder pepper sauce…"

"Brought a case," the big man chuckled, then looked over at Jace's ingredients. The urge to ask him about breaking out the saffron while questioning his scallops was strong; he resisted and opted for a more general observation. The more indignant their medic was feeling about sharing the galley, the more traditional he tended to go. "Galinhada?"

"…I'm not fucking telling you!" That lasted about three seconds. "How did you know?"

"Cuz it's delicious?" Grin. "I bet even you can't ruin it!"

Glare. "Know what, the knife block is over here, and you might know food but I know anatomy. You fucking watch it."

"Jace, I think he just 'burned' you," Sven said casually, snickering a little at his pun.

It was probably mostly the pun that got him glared at, too. "Whose side are you on, Viking?"

"The food's."

Both the team cooks looked at each other for a moment, then exchanged shrugs. "Seems fair, yeah?"

"Yeah."

For awhile they actually stopped bickering, focused on their work as the cooking began in earnest. Sven stood up and started pacing behind them, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Everything smelled wonderful; he'd have chosen anything either of these two cooked over the most elegant restaurants his parents had ever dragged him to, and it wasn't just for the improved ambiance.

Silence with Hunk in the room was weird, though, and the smells were making him hungry. "How's it coming along?"

"Pretty good!" Hunk turned back and flashed him a winning smile. "Sure you don't wanna join in? Every cook-off needs a little lutefisk to make everyone else look good."

Sven snorted; the thought of giving them a lecture on the extensive preparation time required for lutefisk came and went. It definitely wasn't the point. "I'm going to have to pass. The judge should remain unbiased, and joining the competition would do the opposite of that."

"You wouldn't judge your own cooking!" Jace pointed out with a sly smirk. "We'd do that, and we'd totally give you feedback…" The grin abruptly faded as he realized he'd just done it again. "…Fuck, I think I just made a you joke."

He had, at that. "Seems as if my influence is paying off as well."

"Yeah, seems like…" The medic seemed a bit distressed by that, looking back at his galinhada; of course, it was cooking with the lid on and definitely wasn't going to save him. He looked over at what Hunk was doing—something with seafood and acorn flour—and got a reassuring grin in return.

"It's okay, Doc. We probably won't tell."

"I won't," Sven promised, shaking his head and rolling his eyes affectionately.

"That's a plus." Leaning back against the counter, Jace shot their navigator a look of mild suspicion. "You know, we didn't actually check your qualifications as a food judge."

This didn't seem like a task that required a whole lot of qualification. Mostly just enjoying good food, which… he supposed that would rule out their chief engineer, but not much else. Still, he wasn't just going to leave the challenge unanswered. "I like your sandwiches and his donuts equally, and I'm pretty sure that means I am in fact the only person on this ship qualified to judge this particular cook-off."

Both of them spun on him, looking horrified, speaking in unison. "You what?"

…Oh dear. "I've felt that way about all the meals you two have made."

"You are still way too damn diplomatic, we'll keep working on it."

"But… sandwiches… versus donuts?"

He shrugged. "They're both very good." There was a time for sandwiches and a time for donuts, and really he didn't see how they were even competing.

Jace stared over at Hunk's food again, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Okay, know what? We settle this right fucking now. And Viking likes me best."

Hunk just grinned again. "Ain't his taste in roomies we're judgin' here, bro!"

"Lucky you!" Smirk. "That means we can at least pretend you have a chance."

Sven just snorted and took his seat again. Having his impartiality questioned was to be expected here, he supposed. And it wasn't untrue that he liked Jace best… but he was serious about being on the food's side.

Soon enough, the food was ready, and Jace was dishing out a bowl of galinhada for judging. "Nailed it. On time."

"Smells wonderful," Sven declared with a smile, them looked at Hunk, who chuckled.

"Let 'im go first, that way it won't be a disappointment."

Jace elbowed him with a dramatic sigh, but didn't object, so Sven accepted the bowl and took a few bites. He'd never had galinhada before; it turned out to be a mix of chicken and rice and a few vegetables, all a startlingly bright yellow. And it was delicious. "This is great," he declared between bites, drawing another smirk from the medic.

"See? Don't be too let down when it's his turn."

Hunk had produced bacon-wrapped scallops and thin slices of breaded fish, and carefully arranged them into a smiley face on the plate. Which was more on-brand than his competitor had imagined was possible. Even Sven couldn't help a laugh. "Looks amazing." He tried a few bites and immediately knew where this was going to go. "Tastes amazing…" He tried to avoid it. He really did. He went back to Jace's for a few bites, then Hunk's again, and shook his head slightly. How was he supposed to pick one, really? They were both delicious, and completely different—which was pretty much how their cooking always went. "I can't decide."

Both of them looked at him as if he'd praised intel's efficiency or something. "Um."

"What."

Shrugging, he took a long sip of water and looked up at them. "Maybe you guys should try making the same dish if you want a judgment to come easier?" What few cooking shows he'd seen did it like that, he was pretty sure.

They exchanged shrugs again, with Hunk voicing the question. "Like what?"

"Hmm. How about an egg dish?" Even with Hunk and Jace around, breakfast aboard the Bolt usually consisted of grabbing a muffin or donut on the way to a duty shift.

Of course he'd said egg, not breakfast; Jace remembered the Viking's dislike of brunch and went somewhere else entirely. "Quiche?" he suggested as Hunk looked over at him.

The big engineer snorted. "On this ship? Omelettes."

"Frittatas."

"You're on."

Tossing a quick salute, the medic trotted over to the galley's cold storage and returned with a carton of eggs. "Ready for round two, motherfuckers!"

Sven settled back to watch, grinning. This ought to be good.

*****

Keith walked into the gym and looked around. He could still smell traces of the decontamination items that the engineers had used to clean up the mess Daniel had made… granted, it had been awhile, but the chemical smell was winning its battle with the air filtration. And he still heard about it from Flynn on occasion, so he knew he wasn't imagining things. Bridge brats…

He moved to the benches along one wall, setting down his towel, water bottle, and Raiden. Then he opened up another locker, pulling out two wooden practice swords and one proper sword. Cam was showing great progress; it would be interesting to see how he held up under an actual blade. He toed off his boots and peeled off his socks, then picked up his own sword and moved onto the mat, moving slowly through a couple of katas while he waited on Cam to arrive for practice.

It was about fifteen minutes later when Cam walked in—a little late, but not too much so, he hoped. He'd been on shift, then had gone to his room to change into something he could move in a bit more comfortably. Standing in the doorway, he watching Keith's smooth and steady movements and smiled, mesmerized. "Man, I hope I can get to be as smooth as you, boss…"

Keith paused, feeling heat creep up into his cheeks. "Thanks, Cam." He lowered his sword and turned to face him. "Get stretched out and we'll go through a couple of katas. Then, I think you're ready to step it up a bit. What do you think?"

Cam's eyes went wide and a grin spread across his lips. "Yes, sir!" He hustled to the bench and dropped his gear before stretching out and doing as he'd been told.

Chuckling, Keith shook his head, watching Cam fumble a couple of stretches in his excitement. By the time he finished and picked up his practice sword, he seemed to have worked all the nervous energy out. Or at least enough to get by. Nodding, Keith moved through the same katas he'd done earlier with him, noting how confidently he managed the motions now. "Very good. You've learned well, Cam."

"Th…thank you, sir." He wasn't preening. Not at all.

He totally was.

Moving towards him, Keith took the wooden practice sword and moved to the bench. He picked up the other sword and held it out to him, hilt first. "Shall we spar?"

Cam hadn't seen the other sword on the bench; his eyes went as big as saucers as the commander offered it. "Spar…with real… yes, sir!"

Keith couldn't help but laugh as Cam took the sword and tested its weight in his hands. "It's not quite as well balanced as mine, but I think you can handle it."

A real sword! Cam could definitely handle it. He hoped. "I'll try not to hurt you, sir."

He chuckled again. "If you can land a blow on me, I'll have deserved it, I'm sure." They might get some grief from their medic, but that wasn't even a deterrent at this point. "Let's do this."

It took Cam a little bit to actually get into the swing of things. Keith had anticipated that—he'd be a very poor teacher not to—and went much easier on him than with the practice swords as they eased into a rhythm. Soon the sound of metal on metal echoed through the gym, along with soft Russian and Japanese curses.

It wasn't the same as the practice swords, for sure. It was almost easier… the way the blade sang through the air, skipping off the other, each clash of metal giving him a bit of new feedback. Several times, Keith nearly disarmed him, and he drew back to recover before trying to mimic those moves.

That last part wasn't working well—until suddenly it did. With a metallic screech Keith's sword went sliding across the gym floor, and Cam found himself pointing his own sword at him and panting, wide-eyed.

Blinking, Keith took a step back and gave a short bow. "Nice job."

"How the hell did that happen?" Cam lowered the sword, shocked.

"I'd say you've learned something," Keith answered with a grin. He moved to retrieve his sword and turned back to Cam. "Let's see just how much you've learned. Round two, shall we?"

Cam grinned back. "You're on, sir."

*****

Lance rolled his shoulders and sighed. It was just him and Daniel on the bridge, and it was eerily silent. Which wasn't like either of them, when it came down to it. But the kid seemed to be avoiding him, and he wasn't sure what it was he'd done this time. His mind went blank when he tried to remember any incidents… it was time to do something about it.

"Uh, so, kid… what's up?"

"I'd say the sky but we're in space—" Daniel groaned and cut that off. "Oh for fuck's… it's so awkward I'm making Sven jokes!" Sven jokes were better than the silence, but not by much.

Lance snorted and shook his head. "Why is it awkward?"

Daniel stayed silent for a bit, but then launched forward into the answer; he couldn't suffer in silence any longer. "I don't know if you can handle this. I can barely handle this." He inhaled deeply, realizing this was going to be a rant. He's not going to be able to handle this.

Oh shit. Lance noted the inhale and braced himself. Maybe he wouldn't be able to handle this.

"So you know when we were exploring the ghost ship and Keith fucking Sword-Up-His-Ass Kogane decided I needed to be babysat? Well, that wasn't all he decided I needed. He started going on and on about weird stuff, dude. Like weird! And depressing, if I'm being honest. He started saying how proud he was of me. Me! He's proud of me! I mean… I obviously have been WAY too well behaved. Keith is proud of me, I don't even know what to do about that. Then we started discussing Utah. You know how much I hate Utah, it's desert-y and gross and boring… it was my worst nightmare. And this all started because he said that you were my mentor person. Like, I don't need a mentor person."

Lance's brain had nearly exploded at the word mentor. He stared uncomprehendingly and tried to stammer something, but the words weren't coming and Daniel wasn't finished anyway.

"He ruined exploring a ghost ship. I mean… Do you understand how hard it is to ruin exploring a ghost ship? A ghost ship! Who knows when I'm going to run into another one of those?" Of all the many issues with that discussion, Daniel really didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive Keith for that.

"He called me a what…?" Lance finally managed.

"He said he was glad that I," Daniel made quote gestures, "found a mentor in Lance, and then proceeded to go on and on about how proud he was of me. It was wiggy, man. We were on a ghost ship and he was the creepiest thing in there."

"I'm not a fucking mentor." Lance shook himself and stared at Daniel. Am I?

"Exactly! Okay, I'm not Cam, I don't need a mentor…" He stopped short, the protest ringing hollow, and pulled his comic from his back pocket. Ever since he'd finished, he'd been debating between showing it to people or burning it. But it was still there, and voicing this out loud, to Lance, was a step too far. "…Goddammit."

"What? Why would you be Cam…" Lance trailed off, slowly processing the rest of Daniel's rant and the papers in his hand. Keith, you can't tell this kid you're proud of him! You have to know that's just going to backfire, fuck. "What's that? Your comic?" Daniel didn't answer, slumping down in his seat, the horror reaching deeper and deeper depths. "Kid?"

"…No, I really am. I'm a fanboy in denial, okay? I'm Cam, but with less mental clarity and self-awareness." He had become a full-fledged fanboy, worshiping his maybe-mentor with comic book offerings and sacrificing his dignity on the altar of being an ideal soldier. There was no more fighting facts.

"Kid, you're nothing like Cam," Lance snorted.

"You're right, I'm worse!" Daniel jumped out of his chair and shoved the comic in Lance's face. "I wrote an entire comic about a hero named Lancey-Pants! Fighting a crazy snake dude!"

"Kid…?"

"I mean, look up a definition of fanboy and my picture will be right there!"

"Kid…"

"I'm a fanboy whose commander is proud of him. I've been broken."

"Kid…"

"And I have a sort-of mentor who I idolize enough to make a comic about him!"

"Kid…!" Lance was getting another migraine. A dangraine, he decided, grimacing.

"I rest my case! I'm worse than Cam." Daniel plopped back down into his chair, slumping as far into it as he could. "Am I even worthy of being on an Explorer Team?" He slowly turned to Lance, an indignant and dramatic glare on his face. "YOU! You did this to me! You made me into—"

"—Daniel! Take a fucking breath!" Not that I have a clue what to say here, a mentor probably would—he realized what he'd just thought and shook his head. Fuck you, Keith!

Daniel actually stopped and took a deep breath in response to the order. Then his eyes widened in horror. "Oh god, I'm listening to authority!"

"I'm not a fucking authority!" Lance growled, frustrated, and tried distracting himself by grabbing the comic in Daniel's hand. Seeing the word Lancey-Pants all over it, he frowned. "And writing something where you call me Lancey-Pants repeatedly—despite all the times I've threatened you—is certainly not kissing my ass, now is it?"

"Technically you are kind of an authority, you do outrank me, and if you weren't an authority I would get to pilot way more often…" He paused and his mouth twisted as he took in the rest of Lance's words. Maybe it really isn't all that ass-kissy? "…I guess not?"

Lance was still staring at the comic, hoping for some insight into what the hell to do. But found himself distracted by the story and the artwork. He flipped a few pages, and really, it was… "This is pretty fucking good, kid. I'm proud of you…" He trailed off in horror. Oh shit, shit… am I a mentor? Did I really just tell him I'm proud of him, he's gonna blow!

Sure enough, Daniel became even more horrified than before. Not the way he had when Keith had said the same thing, no. That had been a deep sense of failure and disgust, the approval of authority filling him with shame. The horror that was bubbling up now was because deep down, he was absolutely fucking thrilled Lance was proud of him.

No, no, no, no, no…

"Can I take that back?" Lance recovered, looking at the expression on his face. It had been true, but it didn't need saying, especially now.

Oh hell no! "You better not take it back, or I will throw a full-on tantrum." The idea of Lance taking that sentence back brought on a different kind of horror, and he refused to analyze it any further. He didn't want it to happen, that was all he needed to know. "But don't say it again for at least six months, okay? I don't think my mental state can take it." His brain needed a break from all these new revelations about himself.

Lance blinked; had Daniel just said he didn't want him to take it back? Had he just been given permission to say it again? Heh… he smiled. It probably would happen again; the kid kept him on his toes. But it was probably best to not repeat it anytime soon. At all. They'd both sleep better at night.

"You've got a deal, alright… and we never ever discuss that fucking M-word again?"

"Deal! But you gotta tell Keith he's not allowed to say that either, that he's… you know. That sentence. I'd do it, but I…" He trailed off with a shudder. Under no circumstances was he discussing anything that had happened on that ship with Keith ever again.

"Oh, I'll have a word with him." Lance shook his head. A lot of fucking words. Mentor? The hell? He shoved the comic book into his jacket's inside pocket. "I'm keeping this, by the way."

"Awesome!" Daniel grinned. Maybe Lance wasn't such a bad mentor to have… if he had to have one. "So anyway, our shift is far from over and it's kinda boring…" His sweetest smile formed. "I think that's like, perfect timing for that pilot training you keep saying I need."

Laughing, Lance stood up and gave him a wicked grin. "Alright, seems fair, take a seat."

"Yes!" Daniel hurried into the pilot's chair.

If he thought this was going to be all sunshine and happiness, he had another thing coming. If Lance was going to train this kid, he was going to do it right. Mentor or not. "Just remember, kid… you asked for it."

*****

Lotor strode down the center of the hall, nodding in acceptance as slaves bowed low to him as he strode past, heading for his a'kuri's rooms. The door swished open and he stepped inside, pausing a moment, watching Romelle as she sat at a desk by the windows. She was completely focused on something that she was writing, and didn't even seem to have heard the door.

"A'kuri? I've brought you something."

Romelle had been practicing her written Drakure; she carefully lifted the pen and looked up at him, masking a quick glimpse of fear from her eyes. "Yes, sincline?"

Lotor crossed over and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. He smiled, seeing the carefully penned words on the parchment. "You're showing great improvement." He pointed to one of the symbols. "A bit more of a slope to that line on the klu, but the kur," he pointed to another, "is flawless, and I know it troubled you last time I saw you practicing."

Romelle blushed, part pride in her doing better, part embarrassment at still not getting them perfect. "Thank you." She pressed her pen back to the parchment and slowly wrote out the one symbol that needed a bit more of a slope on it. "Is this better?"

"Much." He nodded. "Remember, it evokes the mountains. Now, shall we give you a break from these studies?"

"Thank you… and yes, please. What is it you've brought?"

"Come." He moved to the center of the sitting room where there was a bit more space, beckoning for her to follow and offering her the object in his hand.

It was fang-shaped—given what she knew of the castle stables, Romelle suspected it might be an actual fang—and just slightly too large to be fully comfortable in her hand, though it wasn't too difficult to adjust her grip. The surface was glossy black with feather patterns etched in gold. At the top of the fang, a bestial skull had been carved, something that struck her as vaguely reptilian. She wondered if it was the creature the fang had come from. Regardless, it was both deeply unsettling and exquisitely crafted, and she couldn't tear her eyes away for several moments. Set between the two ruby eyes of the skull, a wing-like sigil had been etched in gold; she remembered it from her studies of mythology as a symbol of Kistrial. "Oh, my. That's quite impressive!"

Lotor chuckled at her expression. "Fearsome, isn't it? It is a gaive'llar, a traditional ceremonial weapon. Take it, and I'll show you how it works."

She carefully took it from him, surprised at its weight. She adjusted it in her hands, trying to find a comfortable way of holding it. "It's heavier than it looks."

He nodded. "It is made of moonsteel and treated by the occult scientists, a sacred technique used to consecrate certain tools. It imparts a certain gravity." He narrowed his eyes. "The royal blacksmith barely had this ready for you in time. He might have met the business end, had he not… but fortunately, he understood the urgency, and produced a fine work."

Romelle cast him a shocked look, though it faded quickly. "Well… deadlines are quite harsh when trying to craft something like this. It looks like he did marvelous work under such a constraint."

"Indeed." He produced his own, which had a somewhat more canine skull and sharp claw marks down the handle. "Watch carefully." He held the weapon in one hand, slid a finger up the edge of the handle, and the blade snapped out with a soft, ominous click.

Her mouth dropped open, a soft gasp escaping her. "It is lovely. Is yours moonsteel, as well?"

"Yes. It is traditionally used for gaive'llar. Let's see you open yours. Be careful with it, it is extremely sharp."

Nodding, she took an extra step back. It wouldn't do for her to accidentally cut her sincline. Carefully she mimicked what he'd done, almost losing her grip at it flicked open, studying the gleaming blade. "Beautiful."

Lotor chuckled, glad that she appreciated the weapon. Perhaps she will appreciate its history, as well. "These were once the traditional weapons of gladiators. Over time, they became too precious to be issued to all those who walked towards death—especially as using the weapon of one killed in battle would be an ill omen. In the modern arena, the gladiators choose which weapons they prefer. We who bear witness and sit in judgment of their glory bear the gaive'llar."

Listening with rapt attention, Romelle couldn't help but notice—and not for the first time—how much more animated Lotor became when discussing weapons and battle. "Thank you. I will do my best to be worthy of this… how does one close it? Just push down on the same switch?"

He shook his head. "I will demonstrate that, but not just yet. First you must learn to use it, at least for its ceremonial functions. You will be expected to pass judgment upon some battles… to command mercy or execution of the defeated."

Mercy or execution? "What? Me?"

"Indeed."

She quickly regained her composure as he eyed her appraisingly. "Oh, of—of course. Apologies. I wasn't quite expecting that, but I am ready and willing to learn, sincline."

He chuckled. Her innocence was quite amusing, but her willingness to learn and adapt to the superior culture impressed him more. "I know that you are, and I have full confidence." His smile slowly faded. "Remember, you are royalty and will be the Prime Consort to a mighty empire. Lives and deaths are always in your hands, even if not this clearly." He lowered his voice and grumbled. "My father reminds me of these realities of the throne constantly." He rather hoped that she might take on the most banal realities of the throne for him, but saying so now wasn't prudent.

"A large and heavy burden," she agreed softly. "I will do my best to remember that." Looking back to the weapon in her hand, she felt its weight all the more acutely. "If I may ask, will I be expected to judge some of the opening battles? I think I would like some time to watch and to learn before having to cast judgment."

Lotor considered that for a few moments, then slowly nodded. She wasn't a Drule, after all. It would be crucial for her to learn, and form her own decisions with regards to the combatants. "Perhaps you could judge the final match of the opening day."

She smiled. "I could accept that. Watch you and, I'm presuming, your father, as you judge earlier battles?"

"Yes, precisely."

Her smile widened as she looked up at him. "Will you teach me, now?"

Lotor leaned forward and kissed her forehead, chuckling. "Yes. Now, when called upon to judge, you will be at the front of the balcony. Pay close attention, a'kuri. Firstly, to order execution, you will make this move." He stepped back, well clear of her, held his knife level in front of him, then he held it high over his head and made a sweeping slash down. "Now, you try."

Romelle nodded. "One stands when ordering these?"

"Yes."

Taking a long breath she held out the knife as he'd done, lifted it, and then slashed down. "Like so?"

"A bit more enthusiasm, dear akuri!" He smirked. "But, yes, it gets the point across."

She cocked her head to one side. "Enthusiasm, yes. I am still learning, sincline." Enthusiasm for execution didn't seem like it would come easily. "What sorts of things should I look for when ordering an execution?"

"Truthfully? That judgment is your own, and entirely your own. If you feel the defeated were dishonorable, weak, cowardly… or if you simply believe the victors deserve to be rewarded with the blood of their foes, then it is execution. You may speak your thoughts when you pass judgment, or not. You'll see that in action, no doubt."

She nodded slowly. "A difficult decision, I'm sure."

"Indeed, it can be. Now, to grant mercy to the defeated—and to close the blade." He held his gaive'llar level again, tilted it to one side, and flicked it forward; the blade swung back into place.

It had happened a little too quickly, and Romelle's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Can you do that one again?"

He nodded, unfolded the blade and repeated the motion. "The folding of the blade is the important part, more so than the precise angle. You might, if you wish, outright set the gaive'llar down once you've done so."

That made sense. She carefully attempted the move he'd made, but her knife refused to close. "Am I doing something wrong?" She tried it again, with the same result.

Lotor blinked as he watched her struggle, then chuckled softly. "Ah, that's right." She is from a less advanced people. The mechanism used to close it was standard on many Drule devices. "Here. The small indentation on the hinge, keep your finger firmly on it. You don't need to press hard, just keep contact."

After a moment Romelle found the indentation. "Oh." She tried it again and gasped as it swung shut. "Oh!" She opened it again and performed the full move once more. "That's more difficult than I expected… I'm sure with practice I will get it." She carefully held the closed gaive'llar in her hands, considering it. Her father had never insisted she train with a blade, and working with this one she felt startlingly inadequate to the task. She wanted—needed—to know everything. "You said that these were once gladiator weapons. Are they still occasionally used that way, even though they are more ceremonial these days?"

"Very rarely. They are a difficult commodity to acquire anymore, and most gladiators are in no position to gain one. Though every couple of seasons one may appear. Why do you ask?"

She pressed her lips together firmly, driving the color from them before she spoke. "I was just wondering if it was bad form, in case something unforeseen were to happen, if they could be used to… defend myself?"

Lotor's eyes lit up in understanding. "Ah! Now that is a different matter." He studied her with increased interest. "And I'm very pleased to hear you beginning to ask about such important matters, my dear a'kuri. Of course, they can be wielded in combat, should it be necessary." He smiled proudly at her. "Shall I teach you?"

"I—I would like for you to teach me, yes. As long as it doesn't interfere with your other duties?"

If I can turn any part of this courtship into sparring practice, I will do so. Happily. "What greater duty can I have than preparing my consort to rule beside me?"

She smiled shyly up at him. "I would be a poor consort to you if I didn't learn."

"A'kuri, I would be more pleased than I can say to teach you. Shall we begin now?"

"I am able to now, yes." Penmanship had been getting a little tedious, anyway. She looked down at her dress and frowned. "Should I change?"

If you change, I will be watching… and we might not get around to sparring. He cleared his throat. "Would you be more comfortable changing? If you're forced to defend yourself in an emergency, you might want to know how to move in a formal dress. If you want to take up sparring as a hobby, freedom of motion is important."

She carefully considered his words… and the flash in his eyes when she'd first made the suggestion "Perhaps I should start in the dress for emergency situations, but I will find different clothing for our next sessions."

"I think that would be wise. Come, then." He held his hand out to her.

Another thought occurred to her. "One more thing before we begin, sincline?"

He arched an eyebrow at her boldness. "What's that, a'kuri?"

"Is there… archival footage of previous fights? So that I might see how one judges, and perhaps you might answer some questions?"

He smiled broadly. Oh, yes, this courtship just became very pleasant. "There certainly is that. We could even watch some together after a bit of weapons training? You will need rest."

She smiled back at him. "That sounds wonderful." Much better than other activities, for certain. And perhaps it would be… fun? Taking his hand, she followed him from her rooms.

*****

Allura breathed deeply as she moved through the tunnels. It was hard to keep her hands from fussing. At times she was wondering if she was seeing things beyond the normal, beyond even the abnormal she was used to. Ghosts were one thing…

Reminding herself that the walls were not actually moving, she made her way to her private chamber. The past days had been difficult, with reviews of their options turning up little. By no means did she want to stay forever in the caves, but with their numbers, the pressure to respond to the Drule announcement was becoming wearying. The invaders had to be punished, which meant they couldn't just succumb to blind rage at the insult. They had to find a plan that would work.

She wanted to go above ground to see the situation for herself, but as she was now the sole royal in charge, she had not even seen the sun since her brother's passing. Hoping to curb her curiosity a bit, she had sent her small friends the space mice to the castle to spy and report back to her. She'd hoped to hear something by now, but so far? Nothing.

"Surely they're just being safe, and moving slowly as to not alert of their presence," she whispered to herself. Hearing her own voice made the surreality around her fade a little.

Fulfilling a promise to Nanny, she did finish a small meal that had been left for her before settling herself into bed. She hoped for sweeter dreams that could ease the pain in her heart, and as she drifted asleep, her mind granted her that relief for a time. But soon, too soon, her happy dream turned.

The field of flowers spread before her darkened, and the soil under her feet softened until she was sinking into the ground. As the dirt rose to her waist, the ground completely opened and she fell into a cavern. Part of her knew this was a dream, but she still felt the wind knocked from her as she hit the floor of the cave. Looking up to where she had fallen from, she could hear screams, and flames licked around the edges of the hole. She could hear voices calling for her from the surrounding darkness, but her attempts to respond were swallowed up in silence.

Looking about herself she could see tunnels, though she didn't recognize any of them. Following the one where it seemed the voices were coming from, it soon became clear that these walls were moving; they glowed and pulsed the farther down the tunnel she went. She slowed as she noticed the tunnel also becoming narrower, to the point that she didn't need to lift her arms much to touch the sides.

Coming to a stop to inspect her surroundings, she could hear the voices better. Chanting. Soft pleas for her to join them, whispers in the dark. Shivering, she tried to move faster, but the walls were closing in… one of her hands brushed the wall, and another hand formed from the earth to grab her arm. Crying out as she tried to pull herself free, other hands formed to reach out to her.

As she ripped the first hand from the wall, it withered and crumbled away. But as she looked up the walls were almost covered in hands, and she nearly forgot herself at the sight. It was only when hands started to come from the floor that she remembered her directions, turning to run as fast as she could back to where she'd come from.

But they weren't going to let her escape so easily. As the tunnel widened the hands became arms, grasping for her, reaching out faster than she could run and managing to grip her tight.

"Join us…. deep in the soil… join us… far from pain," the chorus of voices chanted.

"No!" she screamed, struggling against their grip as a visceral horror clutched her chest. "Let me go!"

"Join us… join…"

"Never!"

The hands were gripping her shoulders and legs, tightening their hold as she struggled to free herself. But beneath the chaos, she barely could make out another sound roiling just underneath the chanting earth. The language was old… so old, she had never heard the words spoken before, but she knew them and felt their familiarity somewhere in her blood.

"Rise… rise, our queen…"

Allura grunted as she pulled her limbs free, only to have to fight still more desiccated hands trying to reclaim their grip. "Help me!" she yelled at the new voices, or were they the oldest ones? With all her strength she stumbled forward through the darkness.

"Rise… be new metal… forged in… rise our queen…" the old tongue whispered.

Smashing herself free from the earthen prison, she dashed into the open cavern area. Skeletal forms shaped only in outlines of light stood by a rocky formation that led to the surface. There was still fire and screams coming from the exit, but also grasping hands, the same hands that had sought to stop her. One form pointed to the exit. "Be forged… of new metal."

Allura looked around at the shining forms, searching for answers to questions she couldn't voice. Their only words were, "Our queen."

Looking back, the hands were increasing and reshaping themselves into larger arms to reach her. Those near the exit were still, as though waiting. Rise… eyes narrowing, Allura nodded, drawing a deep breath. With a snarl she rushed the exit, breaking through the hands as though they were brittle clay as she focused on the whispers in the old tongue. It took all she had, but she reached the edge of the exit, staggering out with heat and flames swirling about her…

Crying out, she woke up in a burning sweat. She could still feel flames from her dream scorching her skin, the sensation of earthen hands clawing her flesh. Still echoing softly in her mind, the ancient words.

"Be forged… of new metal."

Rubbing her arms as she tried to make sense of the dream, she heard a small squeak from the side of her bed. Looking down, she saw a small space mouse by her side. It squeaked its name before relaying that it brought the information from the castle, and suddenly she was fully awake. Grabbing a light, paper, and a pen, she quickly wrote its report. Smiling at the information she now had, she gave the space mouse a piece of bread she'd saved from her meal as its reward, and it scurried away into the darkness.

Turning off the light, the dream still in the back of her mind, Allura felt now she could really rest. There would be much planning to be done when she woke again… the time had finally come, and not a moment too soon.

Clearly she needed out of these caves.