#//all i know is that he was entirely raised inside team galactic

[ring-of-galactic]

Your parents named you that at birth ?? Really ??

I never met them, but yes, one could assume that is the case. Not that it matters now, obviously.

[no-droids]

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions.  Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic.  There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic.  As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC.  Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction.  The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years.  “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think.  The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing.  Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars.  The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers.  Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber.  The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi.  Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics.  That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order.  The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers.  You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that.  At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility.  Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green.  Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?”  You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction.  “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums.  “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him.  Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage.  Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order.  Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones.  “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment.  “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it.  An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again.  The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does.  Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it.  A mild trepidation.

“I am…”  You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words.  “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him.  “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor.  “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify.  “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle.  “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return.  He always did have that effect on you.  “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach.  “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees.  “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition?  Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod.  “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same.  “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment.  In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature.  Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud.  Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please.  Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease.  Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order.  While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?”  You ask, the throne room doors now in sight.  You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council.  Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors.  “Now.  Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours.  “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar.  He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly.  Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature.  More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth.  You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks.  “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order.  No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright.  “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing.  The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns.  Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi.  You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class.  You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling.  Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do.  A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature.  You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location.  Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor.  Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy.  He went through the subsequent stages with you.  A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters.  Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went.  He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet.  Serenity.  Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean.  Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough?  Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing?  Were you simply just strong in the Force?  Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door.  He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking.  He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?”  A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been.  Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?”  You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…”  He eventually cleared his throat.  “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator.  “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long.  So long since he’s had to correct you in any way.  As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest.  It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way.  You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said.  He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes.  They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention.  It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room.  Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance.  The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around— 

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh.  The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events.  Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place.  The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it.  In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet.  “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you.  “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title.  She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods.  “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking.  “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time.  However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you.  “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words.  The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi.  There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move.  However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns.  “However.  As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence.  Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…”  She tilts her chin at you, considering.  “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war.  What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong.  This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars.  Full stop.  Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature.  “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically.  “My terms are simple, really.  All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you.  “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours.  “Thought I saw you back there.  Shall I elaborate?  I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.  

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out.  You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter.  Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you.  “Please.”

What?

You?  He wants you to leave?  But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation.  Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it?  Openly?  In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you.  “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned.  Your Master has never spoken to you this way.  You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud.  But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through.  Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course.  Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth.  He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult.  He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification.  He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts.  “Do you really still view her as a Padawan?  But she’s such a pretty girl.  And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts.  “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?”  Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Maker, he’s getting a headache.  “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne.  “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago.  There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges.  “And now we are grown.  Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs.  “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi.  The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people.  I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen.  But I fear that will not be enough.  The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities.  The Council will never agree to such measures.  There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience.  “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!”  The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration.  “I cannot make them fight!  They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake!  These traditions have lasted for millennia!  Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges.  “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs.  “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never…  It’s forbidden.  And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?”  He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature.  The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh.  “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually.  I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing.  However.  You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement.  This is the best I can do.  Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze.  “I… I don’t know.  I must confer with the Council first.  But… but with their permission…”  He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods.  “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise.  Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort.  He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before.  He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on.  “No matter.  What of the girl, then?  A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows.  “The girl?  What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly.  “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward.  “No, that wasn’t the deal.  The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual.  She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?”  She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room.  “Is that how you Jedi treat your women?  Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’?  Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way.  He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out.  Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order.  By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions.  You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully.  “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?”  She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment.  “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation?  There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her.  When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her.  “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding.  “Clever.  Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords.  But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage.  My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you.  I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now.  “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet.  But.  At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face.  Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?”  He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare.  “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?”  She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him.  “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand.  It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once.  He’s getting whiplash.  “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan.  Come now, don’t be daft.”  She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being.  “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs.  “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times.  We still send them, of course, as is tradition.  We have for a few centuries at least.  A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind.  She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies.  “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her.  “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?”  She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes.  “I see.  Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure.  Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice.  He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach.  “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this.  “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor.  “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.”  She almost sounds… impressed.  “Think, Obi-Wan.  Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight?  The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset?  The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her?  The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her.  To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another.  Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core.  Stars.  I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor.  “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan.  Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed.  If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?”  He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide.  “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance.  This was the only way.  And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay.  My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor.  You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories.  “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…”  He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?”  She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation.  “We are of similar age, correct?  Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps.  “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her.  “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully.  “She’s loyal.  She thinks much higher of me than I deserve.  She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare.  “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her.  After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course.  I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did.  And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.”  She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together.  “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it.  This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her?  My, the scandal it would cause!”  The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne.  “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master?  In my good temple?  Shame!  Shame!  Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?”  Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation.  “The youngling I raised?  The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.”  s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics.  “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan.  I did.  And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature.  Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth.  Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi.  Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury.  But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?”  You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred.  “Padawan?  Is that what he thinks of me?  That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child.  And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General.  You are a Consular.  You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs.  Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response.  You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity.  But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate.  Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still.  You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself.  Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life.  Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this?  This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion?  It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them.  It’s not fury, not anymore.  It isn’t sadness, either.  You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize.  That’s what this must be.  You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you.  You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi.  This is hurt.  Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches.  You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible.  So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.  

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice.  A peacekeeper.  A dove.  When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying.  “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why.  You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you.  For an eternity, he looks at you.  Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it.  “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room.  I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council.  Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters?  And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds.  “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year.  Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order.  “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon.  None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation.  Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?”  He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate.  Yes.  Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea.  “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly.  “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion.  “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi.  This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order.  May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.  

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good.  This is, in fact, very much a disaster.  This is a mess.  This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.  

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker.  First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation.  Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier.  Stars—he handled this terribly.  He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed?  Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone.  He should meditate.  He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts.  It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this.  He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there.  Sitting there, empty.  This is good, really.  Truly, this is a good thing.  A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really.  No, this just feels… grey.  Desaturated.  Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers.  This time you don’t look at him, though.  You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence.  You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state.  Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands.  You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before.  So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other.  His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you.  A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you.  You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak.  Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft.  “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you.  This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf.  Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself.  “Well, no—I don’t.  I don’t understand, but.  Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale.  “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused.  “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…”  You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible.  “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly.  Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far.  “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…”  Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud.  He still hasn’t looked at you.  “I find myself… wishing you were.  That we could go back to those days, the days before the war.  Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them.  The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one.  I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now.  In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign.  I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology.  “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him.  It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it.  Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee.  “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you.  Finally.  For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful.  “Ask.  Please.  That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more.  “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake.  Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor.  “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate.  The Uncharted Regions are… different.  They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic.  It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year.  The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask.  It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity.  “…What is…”  Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet.  “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap.  “Ah.  Yes.  That.  Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh.  Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more.  “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other.  Openly.  Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act.  In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform.  It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler.  He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you.  Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this.  And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission.  You understand now, you get it.

“Ah.  Okay.  And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?”  Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers.  “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once.  Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest.  Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial?  Are you hallucinating?  Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever.  How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage?  And yet never has one been so incredibly creative.  Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh.  Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time.  It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity.  This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter.  To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions.  Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really.  Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?”  You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you.  And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there.  He sees it.  Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say?  What did he say?  He tries quickly to remember.  That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to… 

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake.  He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours.  He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion.  You.  The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be.  The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right.  Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.”  Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you.  “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one.  And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically.  “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads.  “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through.  So he doesn’t try to hide it.  He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully.  You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years.  You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in.  You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter.  And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair?  The one with the fingernails?”  You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot.  “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?”  Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—?  People don’t—??”  You wave your hands around uselessly.  “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?”  He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise?  I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,”  you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much.  “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance.  He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often.  It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student.  Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody.  Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why.  Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them.  She gets bored, see.  Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions.  She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him.  “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly.  “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be.  It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?”  You eventually ask.  “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed?  That’s it?  No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod.  “No other options.  I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could.  It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same.  Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes.  Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay.  Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being.  “Well, what are—what are your… concerns?  Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet.  He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory.  He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him.  He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why?  Why are you able to be so… calm about this?  Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is?  When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical.  Are virgins typically so considerate?  Is he just being over-dramatic about this?  Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself?  Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why?  Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?”  You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes.  Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to.  It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing.  You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead.  “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small.  “I don’t know.  Not make any sounds?  Or hide my face?  Or… something?”

“You’re…”  Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them.  “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal.  I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think?  That this isn’t a ‘big deal’?  He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him.  Terrible.  On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side.  On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong.  Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly.  “I… No.  No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway.  A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour.  It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic.  “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence.  The translator turns back to you both.  “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet.  “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation.  He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables.  “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi.  If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what?  Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters.  “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly.  “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer.  You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him.  “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past  few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly.  “Either way.  Not a big deal.”

It’s strange.  He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected.  Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet… 

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic.  He’s certainly not being fair to you.  He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat.  “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time.  Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars.  Initiate the what?  Is this a self-destruct sequence?  It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly.  “Uh.  I guess.  Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally.  Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave.  “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars.  He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

[summahsunlight]

All For You, Part 13

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.9k+

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Pilot!Reader

Summary: Your life in the Resistance was not easy, being married to Commander Poe Dameron and a skilled pilot yourself. When you unexpectedly get pregnant, your life is forever changed. Raising a child on base is hard, but never having parents of your own as a child, you are determined to love your little girl and give her the best life. Poe is equally as devoted to you and your daughter, vowing to keep you both safe from the impending threat of the First Order.

Taglist: @thescarletknight2014​, @elmoakepoke​, @xxidontwikeitxx​, @liadamerondjarin​, @marvelofwitch​, @blushingwueen​, @april-14-blog​, @agents-assemble​, @paintballkid711​, @softly-sad​, @badbitxhbuckybarnes​, @kesskirata​

Remember you can always be added to the taglist! Just let me know🥰

Poe wasn’t being allowed to see you. This made him furious, which made Emmy upset when he shouted at the medics to let him in to see you. He was too distracted by his anger to even notice that the more he shouted, the louder his daughter cried.

Leia was drawn to the commotion by the noise--and by the baby’s obvious distress through the Force. “Commander.”

Jaw clenched, tight, Poe turned to face her. “General, they won’t let me in to see my own wife! She was hurt on that mission and they’re keeping me from seeing her!” he shouted, angrily.  Emmy, in response, balled her little fists up and sobbed, face read, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Poe,” Leia said, gesturing towards the upset baby. “You need to calm yourself, you’re making her upset.”

“What?” Poe snapped, then gazed at Emmy. Seeing her crying instantly mollified him. He wiped the baby’s tears and softly kissed her cheek, whispering,” Oh, princess, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay, it’s okay now, I’ll stop yelling--I promise.”

“Commander, come with me; let the medics do their job.”

“But...General...”

Leia glared at him; Poe adverted his eyes and followed behind her, still quieting the baby and feeling terribly guilty he had been the reason to cause her such distress. Emmy continued to whimper until Poe sat down inside Leia’s office and settled her in his lap; she snuggled against his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth. 

Reaching out, Leia wiped the remaining tears away from the baby’s cheeks. “I know you’re worried about Y/N, but Poe, you need to let the medics do their job.  When you’re allowed to see her, they’ll let you know.”

Poe sighed, heavily, shifting Emmy around in his arms. “It should have been me, not her. I should have led that mission. I shouldn’t have let her go--it’s too dangerous. Emmy needs her mother.”

“She needs her father, too,” Leia calmly pointed out to him.

“So I should just let Y/N go, without protection?” Poe said, jaw tight.

“It’s her job.”

“Yeah, well, she needs a new one.”

“Commander. You and I both know we’ll never keep her grounded.”

“I just want her safe.”

Leia felt for him, she did. It had to be incredibly difficult attempting to raise a family with a galactic conflict looming. She knew she probably shouldn’t bring up the idea of sending Emmy, and maybe you, away to stay with Kes--not now anyways with how angry Poe was. “Your wife is perfectly capable of taking care of herself--she was the one that guided the rest of her squadron home, safely.”

Poe took a deep breath, glancing down at Emmy curled up in his arms. He knew what it was like growing up without a mother--he didn’t want his daughter to experience that. But he also didn’t want her to grow up without him. “I don’t want Emmy to lose either one of us, General, but...this is so hard...the Resistance needs both of us.”

Emmy whimpered, rubbing her small cheek against Poe’s chest. Automatically, the commander pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. Leia wished she had some words of wisdom or even comfort for Poe, but she didn’t. “Maybe Emmy and Captain Dameron can go visit Kes--hear it’s been a while since you even spoke with your dad, Poe.”

“Guilty,” Poe confessed. “I’ve been so busy--just didn’t have time.”

“Kes would love time with his granddaughter,” Leia pointed out.

“I see what you’re doing, General.”

“Is it working?”

Poe smiled, softly. “Yeah. I’ll make arrangements for Y/N and Emmy to go see my dad for a few weeks. How does that sound, princess?” He addressed the baby, “Grandpa will love to have you home.”

Leia returned his smile with a soft one of her own. “Your wife is going to need some recovery time; going to Yavin maybe just what the doctor ordered.”

Emmy cooed softly, turning her big, brown eyes up towards her father. Poe stroked her cheek with his thumb. He would miss his little princess, but if sending her away, along with you--that meant it kept you both safe--it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

-----

Eventually, Poe and Emmy were allowed to see you. While it had been a close call, thankfully all of your injuries had been treatable and the medical team believed you would make a full recovery.

If you didn’t fly for at least three weeks. That was when Poe suggested you go visit Kes.

It turned out that the doctor wasn’t thrilled you’d be traveling so soon after being injured. When you didn’t show any indication that you were going to argue against Poe’s suggestion--Kalonia had relented. Maybe it would be good for you after all to get away for a few weeks. 

You weren’t leaving right away; your x-wing was still damaged and being repaired and the next transport off planet wasn’t scheduled for a few days. Both you and Poe were anxious about Emmy’s first space travel. It was a lot warmer on D’Qar than it was in space and you were worried that she would be uncomfortable. 

Poe had packed every blanket she owned into a bag for you, along with a little hat that he had picked up for Emmy while on a mission--you also made sure she had her favorite stuffy.  

Tucking the fluffy woolamander into the bag, you caught Poe frowning at you. “What?”

He continued to frown. “Wish my dad hadn’t give her that silly thing; I hate woolamanders.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have taunted them into chasing you.”

“I didn’t taunt them! I was playing under the tree!”

“It was their home.”

“Now you sound like my dad.”

Softly laughing, you closed the bag up and went to lay down on the bed. You were still recovering and very tired.  As you attempted to settle yourself in, Poe got up from his spot across the room to help you. He lifted your legs onto the bed and pulled the blanket over your body. 

Leaning down, Poe placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. He’d instructed his dad to make sure you got plenty of sleep--Kes seemed thrilled to be able to spend all that time taking care of and spending time with Emmy. “I wish I was going with you.”

You opened your eyes and glanced up at him. Gently your fingers caressed arm. “I know, but you’re needed here. Besides, I’m not going to be that long--just a few weeks until I’m feeling better.”

Poe nodded, sighing, softly. He wanted you to stay longer--at least until he had figured out who was leaking information to the First Order. He also knew that bringing up a longer stay on Yavin with his father would result in a fight--and Emmy was finally sleeping--he didn’t want to take the chance of waking her up.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, noticing the visual distress on his face.

“Honestly--no,” he replied, rubbing his hands over his face.

Sliding over, you made space for him on the bed and pat the mattress next to you. “Come talk to me then. What’s bothering you?”

Poe flopped down onto the bed with you, reaching you and pulling you flush against his solid chest. “Everything.”

“Darling, you’re gonna have to elaborate more on that.”

“I feel helpless.”

“Why?”

“Because--I can’t guarantee your safety.”

You brushed a few stray curls away from his forehead. “Poe, you could never really guarantee that.” 

His shoulders slumped, slightly. “I know--but I can’t even protect you from the people here--and that makes me sick to my stomach. Someone we’ve trusted is betraying the Resistance--betraying us.”

Emmy sighed in her sleep, your eyes flickered towards her crib. You didn’t care so much about your own safety--clearly, because you had barely made it back from your last mission because you refused to jump to light speed until your entire squadron was on their way home.  But your daughter’s--you were terrified about what it meant that the First Order knew about her. “Once we’re on Yavin, you’ll be able to focus more--we won’t be here to distract you.”

Poe’s arms tightened around you. He hated to think of you or Emmy as distractions; you were far from that--you were his entire galaxy. “You don’t distract me,” he said, then hummed low in his throat when your hand rubbed up his chest from his belly. “Okay, sometimes, you distract me--guess we wouldn’t have a baby otherwise.”

“That's probably true,” you chuckled.

“I’m glad you distracted me,” he whispered. 

“She is pretty adorable.”

“Like her mama.”

“I dunno, Poe, I think she looks more like her daddy.”

“Still pretty adorable then.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes just before yawning. Poe rubbed your back and urged you to go to sleep--you had a busy day of traveling ahead of you in the morning and he wanted you well rested. 

------

“Do you have everything?” Poe asked, anxiously.

“Yes, for the one-thousandth time,” you answered, smiling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pacing, “I just want this to go smoothly for you.”

“Hey,” you said, putting your free hand on his arm, “we’ll be fine.”

Poe looked at Emmy, one of your arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to your hip. He knew that everything was probably going to be fine--and this was not the first time you’d been separated from each other. So why was he so worried? Running his hand over his face, he sighed, and nodded. “I know.”

You moved in closer to him and brushed a soft kiss across his lips. If he had his way, he’d be flying you to Yavin himself, but already the General had a mission for Black Squadron and Poe was due to leave as soon as he saw you and Emmy off. “Be careful on that mission, Commander.”

His eyes shifted between you and the baby, and he did manage a weak smile. Returning your kiss, he whispered, “I’ll try my best, Captain, but remember, reckless is my middle name.”

“Captain Dameron,” the transport pilot called, “everything is on board.”

“Guess that’s my signal to go,” you said, feeling tears burn your eyes. “I’ll send a message to BeeBee once we get there.”

Instead of saying anything Poe pulled you and Emmy into his arms, kissing the top of both your heads. “I love you,” he whispered, pulling away from you, letting you go, and running his hand over Emmy’s soft curls. “Be good for mama, okay? I’ll see you soon, princess.”

Emmy smiled at her father, but then whimpered when she quickly realized she was getting on the ship and her daddy was staying behind.  Wiggling in your arms, she turned to look at Poe, standing at the end of the ramp, waving at her until the airlock door had hissed shut. 

Holding your daughter tightly, you pressed your tear soaked cheek to her head while she cried. You knew that leaving Poe behind was going to be hard but you didn’t think it would be this hard. 

Strapping into a safety harness, with Emmy, you hushed her, trying to ease her obvious fears of being on a starship for the first time. As the ship took off, you realized that you had fears as well--but they were much different than hers.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 5/7 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

(Note: Bold Italic script indicates Nureyev speaking Brahmese) 

Chapter 5

“God Damnit Thief!  Pick up your damned coms when the bloody doctor calls!"

"Again, apologies Vespa, I-" he coughed weakly into his hand, tripoding over his knees.

"Do you know how many times I had to call you?  Do you?"  

Nureyev sighed "Afraid not-"

"Seven !  Seven goddamn times!  Thought you were dead !  Or Steel!  Or captured or whatever!  We're in enough crap as it is without you two adding to the pile!"

“Vespa, I-”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, Thief; I swear to god I’ll snap your scrawny neck!"

"I'm-" he caught himself mid apology, "Understood-"

"I haven't heard Steel's voice, where is he?"

"Juno's- sleeping." Which is what he himself had been doing up to the moment Vespa rang. Stupid- a rookie mistake-

"Oh?  And how sure are you of that thief?"

Nureyev wiped the sweat off of his face, "I'm sure-" it had been the first thing he checked when the beeping of the comms woke him.  Even from here he could see the frantic rise and fall of Juno's chest.  The lady wasn't doing well.  

"Completely."  He coughed harder into an elbow.

Vespa sniff on the other end of the line.  Plainly suspicious, but that was nothing new.

"Fine, now you're on, we can get back to business…."  There was a clatter outside, his head snapped towards it ".... temperature down, or it can cause…." and another- "gotta make sure he's in the recovery…" and another and confound it all Nureyev, focus!  He shook himself back to the conversation just in time for Vespa to say "Did you get that Thief?"

"Hmm?  I ugh-" he floundered.  No, no he had not gotten it, and was just about to say so when he heard voices-

Lord, not now, please not now-

"Thief?"

Nureyev limped to a window.  Even in the dim light of the street lamps, he could make out the security uniforms of Galactic Stars First Bank.  

No-

Anxiety spiked his chest, making him queasy- or perhaps he already was-

Juno was in danger.  That much, he was certain of.  To say nothing about himself.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping lady.  Even with his features pinched and weary, he was beautiful-  

And vulnerable-

Plans began to formulate in his mind.  His first impulse was to find some crevice to hide in, to disappear.  But even with Juno’s help, he only just managed to get him to the sofa last time-  If they were found- well, he didn’t want to find out what they’d do to him.  

“Thief?!”

He could lure the guards inside, dispatch them quickly and save his leg the trouble-  But no, that would be too messy.  To say nothing of Juno’s sensibilities, inviting guards into their hiding spot introduced more blind variables than he’d care to gamble with.

Which left luring them away- Sharp teeth worried away at his bottom lip.  The injury would make things- challenging.  But he didn’t have to be fast.  After all, it was a fool who thought the best getaway vehicle was the fastest-  

What he needed now was a strategy; and to know how many employees he’d have to contend with.  

“God Damnit Ransom, the hell-”

“Apologies Vespa, I need Rita.”

“What?!”

“Ha-How many guards, am I dealing with- Rita?” Nureyev grimaced, pressing his back tight to the apartment's tinker toy brickwork.  Rita’s voice was going fuzzy around the edges, as though muffled.

It had been harder than anticipated to pick his way past the patrolling guards, yet alone work his way out of the safe house.

“Two, maybe four in your sector Mista Ransom.”

“Which is it? ”

“Hugh?”

“Which is it?  The- er- two, or the four?” there was a throb of pain that made his breath hitch.  Along with that ever present burning, biting its way deep.  

“Not sure but- are- are you alright Mista Ransom?”

“I- am a tad worse for wear.  Which is why I’d like to resolve this matter quickly.”

“Ohhh, ohh right!  Well Rita can help with that!”

“Thank you Rita.  Now- which way to the two or four individuals?”

He allowed Rita to guide him through the quiet streets.  She informed him that a dome wide lockdown had been initiated while the intruders were at large.  Sure enough, when he tried a few doors in passing, they refused to yield under his touch.  The citizens took the lockdown seriously.  

Nureyev made sure to make plenty of noise. He needed a show if he wanted this plan to work.  What worried him was that he was only half acting as he stumbled his way over the cobbles on a stiff leg.  He allowed himself to knock into bins and topple items into cars.  The noise he raised wasn’t loud, per say, but it was conspicuous on the quiet streets.  

“Where are these guards Rita?”

“They’ll be coming up any minute Mista Ransom, you just keep your eyes Peeled!  Make a right up here-” she directed “Peeled, hugh, ever consider what a weird thing it is to say.  That you should keep your eyes peeled?   I mean you do that and your eyes ain't gonna be good no more, least of all you.  Oh!  But there was this one stream where the monster worked its way out of a beautiful man!  Which was such a waist but what do I know about streams?  And its eyes were doing this crazy-”

“Any- minute?” he was starting to have doubts about using his own injured self as bait. He filed that deep in his mind.

“What?  Oh!  Yeah!  You got some baddies commin’ up right behind you.”

“Behind- Are you sure?” he panted.  

“Yeah of course I’m sure Mista Ransom!”

A quick turn confirmed Rita’s intel.  He was indeed being followed.  

They shouted something at his back, and Nureyev picked up his pace to a skip-hop, while his pursuers broke into a run.   A plasma bolt shot past his ear, sending a jolt of adrenaline through.  In answer he flipped over several barrels.  They cascaded into the small space, messing the ally nicely.  That should slow them down some.  It had to.

There was no time to pay attention to the ache of his lungs or the fire coursing through his leg.  Even as each step pushed him that much closer to being physically ill.  

File it away, Damn you- just file it away-

He screwed his eyes shut and pushed forward.  Forcing himself to keep moving, to keep breathing, to keep-

He plowed headlong into an old chain link fence with enough force to knock him to the ground with a strangled cry.  The traitorous links rattled and clinked all the way up to their restraints.  As if to add insult to injury, they stretched maybe ten, fifteen feet in the air.  There wasn’t a hope of making it over before his acquaintances caught up.  

“Mista Ransom?!” Rita sounded scared, she’d even stopped typing.  “What happened?”

“There’s-” he coughed “There’s a- barrier- ” There was another word, a better word, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of it.  It was taking all his effort to push upright on shaking arms, threading his fingers into the wire mesh to haul himself to his feet.  

“A barrier?  Like a wall or a buildin’ or somethin?  None of that is showing up on my schema-”

“A fence- Is there another way round?”  He took a moment to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry but, there isn’t anythin’ on the map.  Ya gotta get to the other side before ya have options.  Can’t you like, break through or somethin?”

Break through, of course, Nureyev could kick himself; it was so simple.  He extracted one of his plasma cutters from a pocket, heat humming through the blade.  In the end, it wasn’t even a good fence.  The blade made quick work of the links, slicing through them as one might margarine.  

Another blaster shot forced him through the cherry red ruin of a hole before it had a chance to cool.  He brought his arm up, shielding his face even as the sharp edges racked along his coat, hitting his leg- he hissed, nausea threatening to overtake him.  

“Mista Ransom?”

He scrambled to the other side, barely keeping upright.  

“Mista Ransom!  You’ve got more company comin’ straight at you!”

“What-” his voice cracked in exhaustion.  Through the gloom, he could just make out the second pair barreling down the narrow passage.  He could hear them barking orders at him now, probably instructing him to surrender or other such nonsense that he had no intention of following.  

“They’ve brought reinforcements!  They’re gonna’ block your escape roots!”

“Reinforcements?”

“There’s at least four more heading straight at you!”

Nureyev glanced back and spotted the first pair shoving through the debris.  Then that would make six-  Six on one, he didn’t like those odds.  A wrong step sent a jolt through him, his weakened leg nearly buckling under his weight sending him into a wall.  Again the world went fuzzy, blood rushing to his ears.

He wondered if the Carte Blanche really would come back for him if he’d got captured.  Something made him doubt it even as he shoved the ugly thought deep into a file.  

Think Nureyev.

Time, he needed time.  A had drifted to the modest arsenal on his chest.  There were a few smoke bombs he hadn’t touched, but the situation called for something more dire-

He plucked a pepper grenade from the clip, lobbing it over the fence with the practiced ease of one who’d spent hours on throwing knives.  Smoke tracked it’s flight through the air.  It struck the ground at the guard’s feet.  They yelled, scrambling back just as it erupted.  The choking fumes swallowed them in seconds.  

Nureyev was no longer paying mind to them, attention bent entirely at the remaining guards.  Four on one were more....manageable.  

He rushed the closest set, drawing a twin to his first blade wheeling them in tandem.  The man was no fighter, as soon as he got into their space, the man shrank back, his blaster forgotten.  

A tingling burn flushed across exposed skin making his heart plummet.  He’d made a mistake.  Nureyev hadn't accounted for the wind-

Spurred by the change in fortune, Nureyev dispatched the man quickly; maneuvering out of the way as he crumpled.  Life’s blood spilled over the cobbles soon obscured by smoke.

Smoke?  

Twisting and contorting, the smoke seemed to grow till it engulfed everything in its path.  Pouring down the cramped space.  The remaining guards tried to run, but were soon overtaken, same as the Thief.

Nureyev's throat closed against the onslaught.  He gagged and coughed over the very air, vision hopelessly obscured by tears.  The only good news was that he could hear his attackers do the same.  Panic began to fog his reason.  

He no longer noticed the burning of his skin or eyes, or the way his nose was running; no longer could feel the pain in his leg.  He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe .  The single thought spun round and round in his brain, desperately trying to figure a way around it.  He clung to the wall with every ounce of strength he possessed.  The coughing picked up even harder now till his chest crushed in like a deflated balloon.

Try as he will, his lungs would not expand.  There was simply no more air.

“Mista Ransom?” Rita, in the coms!  Rita who was still very much with him.  There was hope!  

Just then a hand clenched around a fistful of his hair, dragging Nureyev lower still.  He’d been found, even in a place like this, they’d still found him.  The employees of Galactic Stars First Bank were more like his creditors than Nureyev liked.  Even now she was growling at him in anger.  

Though he couldn’t understand the language, he knew she was asking questions.  Her breaths were short and forced yet still she managed to talk.  Had he not been in the grips of fear, he would have found her admirable.  

“Mista Ransom?!”

Through his bleary eyes, he could make out the cyan glow of a blaster pointed down under his nose.  She meant to shoot him, but was hesitating.  At any other time, he'd wonder why-  Instead he reached up to claw, to cling at her wrist, still with a grip on his knives.  She twisted and he bowed lower, leg quaking, his hand slipped and-

“Ah!” she squealed as his plasma blade bit into her arm, flinging  him back to a wall.  The impact miraculously forced air back into his lungs.  Though as soon as he got it, his body started to cough it back up.  Furiously he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it in.

It didn't work.

“Mista Ransom!” If Rita had sounded scared before, that was nothing compared to now.  Her voice was small and tentative in a way that would break any heart.  Even so, he latched onto her voice with everything he was worth.  

The light of the guard's weapon danced before him.  She may have been hurt, but she wasn’t down yet.  What’s worse was that she seemed to be calling for backup.  

The blade sang out of his fingers, digging itself into her thigh. This time she screamed and hacked, scrambling for the off switch while Nureyev made his escape.  It hadn't been where he'd been aiming, but close enough.  With any luck, she'd have trouble moving for a time.  

“R-ita-” he choked out, managing tiny gasps, every one a massive effort.

“What’s going on!  Have you been Gassed!!!!!” thank stars he would not have to explain.

“Y-yes-” he gave into a violent coughing fit.

“Oh-Okay, you need me to show you the way out!”

“Yes-” the fight had turned him around, making it impossible to tell which way to go.  He wanted to be free of the smoke as soon as possible.

“Can Do!  Oh!  This is just like one of those Spy streams like- well, never mind that right now.  Alright Mista Ransom, I’m gonna need you to move forwards about a hundred meters.” She instructed conspiratorially.  He obliged, thankful to leave the thinking to her.  Using the wall to keep him straight.  “Be careful when you reach the fork!” she cautioned “The passage on your left has a few baddies, the one on your right is clear!”  

On his right- he could just make out two voids stretching before him.  Stealing his resolve he propelled himself right and mercifully broke through the miasma.  He crashed into a dumpster, nearly running smack into the center of another set of guards.  

It had been the wrong way.  

There would be no time to recover, no time for rest.  Furiously he wiped his eyes and gulped down recycled air.  

Rita shrieked in his ear, “Not your right, my right!” but he had no choice but to tune her out.  

The fresh opponent rushed him, their partner charging their blaster.  Nureyev stumbled back towards the smoke, just managing to use his attacker’s momentum to spin them round into their partner.  Their partner roared, firing shots off at random as they fell.  Blaster spun out of their grip on impact.  A stray bolt savaged one of Nureyev’s coat pockets, scattering it’s contents on the stones.  Hopefully there wouldn’t have been anything important in there.  

Nureyev readjusted his knife grip and threw at the tangle of limbs.  One of the figures stilled.  He hobbled towards them as fast as he could, retrieving the blade.  He’d already lost one and that was one too many.  

It was a mistake.

Pain shot through his leg making him cry out.  He fell hard separated anew from his weapon.  He’d been struck down by the spare guard.  They spat words that were sure to be insults as they disentangled themselves from the motionless body.

Nureyev gasped, twisting away towards the fallen blaster.  It had landed some distance away, but one advantage of long limbs was reach-  The guard growled and caught his foot, drawing him backwards.  He kicked out and the hands clawed higher.  It seemed they both were trying for the same weapon.

"Let go- " Nureyev bit out attempting to dislodge the guard.

"Never, scum- " they shot back in perfect Brahmese.  Before that could sink in, fingers jammed into his bandages, into the wound-  Nureyev keened, paralyzed by the shock of it.  

First rule of thriving Pete, you can't afford to be loud.

Rita shrieked all the louder.  Nureyev was at once hot and cold and utterly overwhelmed..  He knew he was hurt, thank you, he knew it!  He could do without the constant reminders.  

The guard made use of their opportunity by clambering over Nureyev.  Hand planted on his spine, pushing him down.  The thief refused to let it be that easy; scanning for something, anything he could use-

There!

His pocket knife!  

Nureyev’s arm shot out, scooping up the tool and flicking it open.  He twisted, simultaneously throwing them off and swiping upwards.  The blade bit into cloth and flesh.  They reared back startled, leaving Nureyev to wriggle free.  On hands and knees he scrambled to the blaster.  

Nureyev may not have the skills of a certain lovely sharp shooter, but at a distance like this, he couldn't miss.  

The stunner went straight to their chest and all went quiet.  He folded over, resting his forehead on the damp of the grimy street, forcing down bile once more.

"Mista Ransom!!!  Oh Mista Ransom!  Are you there?  Please say you're there, cuz I'm not sure how I could face the boss if I…."

"Rita-"

"....got you blown up or somethin, cuz know I'd miss you oh so much but Boss- oh I couldn't imagine-"

"I'm- ha- I'm fine- Rita-" he tried again, louder this time.  His voice was thick and rough, entirely unlike the persona he’d been so careful to maintain around the crew.

There was a loud clatter from the other end and a sharp intake of breath.  It sounded as though Rita knocked something over "Mista Ransom!  You ought to feel ashamed!  Scaring a girl like that!  Don’t you know that-" she cut off abruptly “Ugh oh, Mista Ransom!  You gotta get out of there, stat!  There are reinforcements on the way and I don't think they are too happy!”

Nureyev groaned and thanked Rita.  He supposed it was a lucky thing that he was so averse to capture.  It had been a long time since cold stone had been so welcoming.  

“What are you waiting’ for Mista Ransom?”

“N-nothing- Rita.  Merely -becoming acquainted with the cobble work.” he murmured.  In truth, he was drained to his core.  His head was spinning, body aching, leg burning and he was just so- thirsty.  There was at least something he could do about the last one, but not for a while, and not without getting up.  The entire distraction had taken far more out of him than anticipated.  

“Mista Ransom, you know I don’t speak nothin but Solar-” she started, but he wasn’t listening.  

Distraction.  His mind snagged on the word.

That was right, he was luring Galactic Star’s First Bank away from Juno.  Juno, gorgeous, wonderful Juno who’d taken a poison dart for him, who needed him right now.  

Nureyev had to get back to him, no matter what.  

In the end, Nureyev had trusted Rita to guide him back to the safe house.  She’d insisted after he nearly ran into another set of guards.  He was too tired to fight.  More than once considering folding himself up into a corner and waiting for the excitement to die down.  Moving in the open like this- didn't sit well with him.  

It took a lot longer to return to the grubby street of the safe house, and longer still to check and recheck he hadn’t been followed or bugged.  

���Thank you again- Rita-”  Privately he vowed to do something nice for her if and when they’d return to the ship.

“Oh and Mista Ransom?”

“Hm?”

“Take care of yourself, alright?  Ya make Mista Steel real happy- and- and I want ya both back in one piece okay?”

Nureyev was taken aback for a moment, mind blanking over the words.  It was- touching, and he had no idea what to do with that.  

He cleared his throat.  “I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” and he meant it.  

[Special thanks to Scarlet_Trust who got me excited about this again.  Please, Please go over and read their wonderful works!]

[mjscornerr]

the can-can

for @broskepol (i don’t know if you meant this to be a writing prompt but i vibed with it and im bored at work)

(warning: can-can from orpheus in the underworld was blasted during the writing of this fic and as a result the entire work is on crack)

It had been stuck in Loki’s head all damn day.

It was a classical song with some sort of trumpet melody. “Can-can,” he remembers Peter calling it last night at his after-school Drama Club meeting. Peter claimed it was the Drama Club’s theme song.

A drama club that, believe it or not, Loki was a proud member of.

When Thor had brought Loki back to Earth, the team decided first and foremost that the god of mischief needed to be contained, to be isolated. He was too chaotic for their planet.

Whatever, Loki had thought. This coming from the gentleman that wanted to put a suit of armor around the world? Talk about paranoid.

Though when all was said and done, Thor hadn’t even been able to convince Tony to let Loki exist in harmony with mortals.

It had been Peter.

Peter suggested rehabilitation. He was the one that had seen Loki sitting bored out of his mind behind a thick sheet of glass, had been the one to hear Thor’s story of how Loki saved their people. He was the one that demanded Tony find any other method of familiarizing Loki with both humans and the world because, as far as Peter had been concerned, locking a person away just because they unleashed an entire alien race on the biggest city in the world “wasn’t fair.”

The punishment didn’t fit the crime, so it goes.

So there Loki was. Spreading strawberry jam and peanut butter on two slices of bread, humming “Can-can,” and silently wondering how he was finally living without a target on his back, silently thanking Peter.

“Are you...humming?”

Loki spun on his heel with a jump, butter knife flying out of his hold and splattering peanut butter and jelly on the floor as he made eye contact with Clint, who was leaning against the compound refrigerator with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“No.” Loki spun back around, his chin raised as he brought the two pieces of bread together and settled the sandwich on a plate. “I hate music. It’s too...happy.”

Clint scoffed, his arms crossed over his chest as he sauntered forward. “And I’m...what? Just supposed to believe that?”

“Do what you will,” Loki shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich and raising a brow smugly at the avenger. “I don’t control you.”

Clint clicked his tongue with a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright. I see how it is.”

“And how is it, bird man?”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been in my head before. I don’t know what fucked up game you’re playing here, but we’ve taken you down once. Don’t think for a second we won’t do it again.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the crap. Alright? You’re the god of mischief for christ’s sake. It’s in your blood.”

Loki clenched his jaw, his chin remaining raised as Clint stood inches from his face.

“You may have everyone else fooled, but not me. You can never belong here.”

Loki puffed his chest out, anger seeping into his gaze, his ears and cheeks burning red-

“Woah, woah, woah-“

Loki snapped his head toward the kitchen island as Tony jogged inside, his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Let’s all just take a breath. Alright? Legolas, you want to, uh...?”

Clint scoffed and turned on his heel as Tony brought a hand to the man’s shoulder and clapped it, turning over his shoulder and offering Loki a smile.

“Makin’ yourself some lunch there, Dark Knight?”

“...Trying to.”

“Right. Carry on.”

Tony led Clint out of the kitchen and heaved a sigh, hand remaining on his friend’s shoulder as they sauntered toward the great windows of the compound.

“...You wanna pull yourself together, dear?”

“He was humming, Tony. Humming a song like he’s innocent.”

“Look, alright, he’s getting there. But we can’t provoke him like that anymore.”

“Why are you okay with this? The guy is the literal master of manipulation and deceit, Tony. And why do you let him hang around the kid?”

“Loki can’t hurt Peter. There’s no one alive that can look in that kid’s eyes and try to hurt him. I don’t make the rules. Besides, Loki needs a friend that isn’t Thor.”

“I’m sorry, since when are we beating around the bush and treating him like royalty? In 2012 he’s killing at random and sending galactic armies down on us and now he’s making sandwiches in our kitchen? Humming?”

“Maybe he likes music.”

“Where did he even hear it?”

“Does that matter? He’s...immersing himself. He’s trying to be better. Who cares where he heard it?”

“It’s just weird,” Clint shrugged, squinting as he looked out the window at the blinding blue sky. “He doesn’t have a phone, and he definitely doesn’t watch TV. Just makes you wonder, you know, where he heard the song.”

Tony raised his jaw and narrowed his ryes suspiciously Clint’s direction, imagining all the ways Clint would flip his lid if he ever found out that Loki, for some reason Clint’s great enemy, was attending Drama Club meetings at the Midtown School of Science and Technology with Tony’s kid.

“...Could’ve been anywhere.”

“Hm.”

Tony’s answer had been far from satisfactory.

Clint was about to head home to his family for the weekend when he spotted Loki sneaking out of the compound, fully clad in a sweatshirt and jeans. He looked over his shoulder once before he was letting the door slip shut behind him.

Clint narrowed his eyes and followed him out, bow in hand.

Loki stopped beside one of Tony’s Audi’s. He looked both ways again anxiously before he was opening the passenger side door.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Clint growled and reached behind him for an arrow, fastening it in place, closing one eye for precision-

Clint’s eyes flew wide when he spotted Tony in the driver’s seat. He choked, quickly lowered his weapon, and watched numbly as Loki climbed inside the vehicle and shut the door behind him. The Audi peeled out of the driveway soon after.

“...What are you up to, Stark?”

Clint followed loosely behind the two in his car for about forty five minutes before Tony finally parked the car.

Midtown School of Science and Technology...?

The two climbed out of the car and began making their way through the front doors. It was four o’clock, so obviously school had ended by then.

Clint narrowed his eyes in suspicion and snuck after them.

They sauntered through the halls casually before Tony led them into the auditorium. Clint hurriedly ran to keep the door from shutting and slipped inside after them, bow and arrows still at the ready.

“...Okay, so, looks like everyone’s here, except...”

Clint crawled behind a row of seats in the audience, squinting as he watched a group of kids conversing, all seated in a circle on stage.

Two kids were standing looking at a clipboard. A blonde girl, sixteen or so by the looks of it, and...

Peter...?

“Oh, nevermind, there he is!”

“Hey, Loki!”

“What, no greeting for me?”

“Hi, Mister Stark.”

Tony patted Loki’s back as Loki hopped over the lip of the stage and crossed to the one empty chair in the circle.

“I beg your pardon,” Loki said in a polite, unfamiliar tone, smiling nervously as he sent an awkward wave to the group of kids. “I appear to have lost track of time.”

“You’re right on time,” the blonde one assured him, her smile beaming. “We’re covering improv today!”

“Oh, great,” Tony grunted as he seated himself on the front row in the audience. “I’m something of an expert at improv myself, you know. I have never planned anything that’s ever happened to me, ever.”

“Do you wanna join, Mister Stark?”

“...Nah. You guys got it.”

“If you say so. Alright, someone get the music.”

One of the kids hopped up from their seat and jogged backstage. A second later, classical music began playing softly around the theatre.

Clint gasped, betrayal flashing in his eyes as he narrowed them.

“The can-can...”

“Let’s warm up with the freeze game! Noes goes!”

The kids each quickly raised a finger to their nose. Loki was the last to do so.

“Aw, okay, Loki’s it for the first round.”

Clint scoffed. It? Loki’s it? Like he’s playing a god damn game of hide and go seek?!

“This should be good,” Tony said from the front row.

Clint saw red.

Peter sensed this, snapping his head out toward the audience in alarm. Tony frowned, turning over his shoulder.

But Clint was already running and fast, the music crescendoing as he grabbed an arrow, positioned it in his bow, leapt over the stage, landed on the apron-

“Get down!”

Peter’s cry of alarm sent everyone screaming and diving to the stage floor, hands over their heads protectively. Loki was standing with wide, terrified eyes as Clint aimed and fired his bow.

“No!”

Peter leapt forward and caught the bow a mere few inches before it could collide with Loki’s face. He stared at it in shock for only a moment before he was turning back to Clint, eyes wide.

“Mister Clint, what’re you-?!”

“Get down, kid.” Clint shot another arrow Peter’s way, the arrow exploding into a net and entrapping Peter inside as he collapsed to the ground. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Loki reached for Peter desperately, though Clint returned his aim to the demigod, expression seething.

“Don’t move a muscle.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?!”

Clint glanced to the side as Tony jumped over the lip of the stage, horrified gaze darting between the arrow aimed at Loki’s face and his kid, kicking and thrashing inside of a net.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I mean, Jesus Christ, Barton. I shouldn’t even have to tell you how wrong this is.”

“Dammit, Tony, this isn’t real. Okay? None of this is real! Until he’s been inside of your head, until he’s controlled your mind, you’ll never understand that everything he’s ever done was just for show.”

The auditorium doors clicked open. Clint faltered as Natasha, Thor, Steve, and Bruce walked inside, eyes immediately wide at the sight on stage.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Brother? What is the meaning of this?!”

“Golden Archer here had a bright idea to ambush a high school to settle a grudge. That’s the meaning of this.”

Clint lowered his weapon, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“...what are you guys doing here?”

“We’re here for the play.” Steve lifted a flyer from his pocket, eyebrow raised. “It’s Loki’s first show. It was on the fridge.”

“...What?!”

Loki sent an accusatory scowl Tony’s way. “You told them?!”

“It...might’ve slipped out over dinner. But I didn’t hang that on the fridge, I swear.”

Loki narrowed his eyes again, this time Peter being the victim.

“...sorry, Lo.”

“Wait...” Clint scoffed, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You signed him up for this, Tony?”

“...The guy’s already a drama queen. What else was I supposed to do?”

“We came to find you,” Natasha explained to Clint, “but you weren’t in your room. We assumed you already went home for the weekend.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Um, excuse me,” the blonde girl was saying from the floor, her friends around her shivering in fear, “but what is going on? And why is Peter in a net?!”

“Good question, Miss Brant.” Tony strode forward, sending a seething glance Clint’s way before he swiped one of his arrows from out of Clint’s pouch and used it as a knife to slice through the ropes of the net.

“You good, kid?” Tony brushed Peter’s hair out of his eyes gently, worry etched into the lines of his face.

“‘M good, Mister Stark. Thanks.”

Tony was just about to turn around and tear Clint to shreds, though someone beat him to it.

“If you hurt the child again,” Loki warned through gritted teeth, “I’ll be the one holding the arrow to your face.”

Clint scoffed. “See, Tony? He’s still the same Loki. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? That was eleven years ago. I mean, look at him. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans for godsake. He’s at a Drama Club rehearsal. What’s he gonna do, huh? Kill us all with the plastic prop sword backstage?”

“I don’t-I don’t know, okay? He’s got Asgardian powers. Any second he could turn on us.”

“He would never do that.”

Clint raised an eyebrow as one of the kids rose from the ground hesitantly, hands still raised in the air.

“Loki is...we really like him here. He’s good at drama.”

“Yeah,” Betty nodded, rising to her knees. “He’s the club historian. He takes all of our pictures for us. He even started on a scrapbook.”

The group chorused in agreement. Loki fought a genuine grin when he remembered that the avengers were watching from the audience seating, listening.

“Plus, he’s one of my best friends.” Peter smiled up at Loki from his knees. “Right, Lo?”

Loki bit his lip before he grumbled something under his breath, throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine. Fine, okay? I may have...I may have bonded with the humans. And I-I listen to music now, and I go to Drama Club meetings, and I wear...whatever style of clothing this is.” Loki turned to Clint, his stance still defensive though his gaze was sincere. “I’ve changed. Or, at least, I’m trying to change. All I need is a second...second chance.”

Loki stuck his hand out for Clint to shake. Clint raised an eyebrow, raising his jaw.

“No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

“No lying? No infinity stones? No alien armies?”

“None whatsoever.”

Despite himself, Clint’s lip quirked ever so slightly in a smile and he was taking Loki’s hand in his, shaking it with a nod.

“Well...alright then.”

Clint slung his bow over his shoulder and turned to face the avengers in the house of the auditorium, his gaze apologetic. Natasha, Steve, and Bruce was smiling up at him. Thor was wiping tears out of the corner of his eye.

“Brava!” Thor clapped, his lip quivering. “Excellent! Excellent display!”

“...You realize that wasnt the show, right?”

“I would be fine if it was.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugged. “I think that’s enough Drama Club for one day. What do you say, kids? Rendezvous for some shawarma?”

The group of teens all chorused in excitement, rising from the ground and all thoughts of danger vanishing from their minds. They slung their backpacks over their shoulders and descended the steps of the stage excitedly.

“Mister Stark,” Peter frowned as Tony wrapped Peter in a side hug, squeezing him. “I thought shwarma was reserved for after missions?”

“Well...” Tony gestured his head toward the lip of the stage, where Loki was dangling his legs off of the side and engaging in conversation with the avengers.

Actually talking. No fighting, no weapons, nothing.

Thor was ruffling his brother’s hair fondly, tears still brimming his eyes. Loki was rolling his own, scoffing at Thor’s adoration.

Clint was still suspicious though Natasha was nudging him in the shoulder, a smirk on her lips. Bruce had an arm draped around Steve’s shoulders as Steve threw his head back with a laugh at something Loki had said.

“...Mission accomplished, kiddo.”

//do not tag as st*rker or th*rki//

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 11

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

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Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

Sitting comfortably on her desk, Agent Rhea Darling was stirring her cup of tea with a silver spoon before adding a cube of sugar and some milk to her drink. She wasn’t taking part in the Battle of Ringo Vinda, but she was sent there on behalf of Emperor Dooku. According to him, she is to secure clone trooper Tup in her grasp.

With hot pink skin and black hair, the ISB agent was clad in a uniform that is like her partner, Lenora, except she was in a different department than her. Though her parents are from Zeltros, she was born and raised in Raxus Secundus, where she grew up in a terrace house with her three siblings.

Her only job was to uncover individuals or activities that would either lose a threat to the Galactic Empire, which is not as easy as it seems. If Rhea found sufficient evidence, she would turn over to the Investigations branch for further action, which Lenora is a part of.

They met each other when she was transferred to Coruscant to continue her duty as an agent. Before that, Rhea worked for the Separatist Intelligence on her homeworld throughout the entire war, when they transitioned into the Galactic Empire.

It wasn’t much of a difference for the Zeltron woman, though she missed the scenery on Raxus. Coruscant doesn’t have much greenery compared to her home, and she missed that. Her new surroundings were too noisy, and the air wasn’t as fresh as it was advertised on holiday pamphlets.

The only time she could find peace was when she was away from Coruscant, assuming that she doesn’t stumble into the actions, of course. Rhea was not a fan of the war, and she hoped it would end sooner. The destruction it had left in every corner of the galaxy, she hated it.

Why won’t the Republic remnants’ army just give up? she thought. If they had surrendered back on Coruscant, then they wouldn’t be fighting right now. We would live in peace and prosperity from their oppressive regime instead.

As she saw the starry view from her office, she received a transmission from Admiral Trench, prompting her to put down her cup and answer him.

“Agent Darling, we have captured the clone,” the Harsh admiral reported his progress.

“Good work, admiral,” she praised his effort. “Send him to me immediately, and under all circumstances, keep him alive. You know how particular the Emperor is, right?”

“Yes, Agent Darling,” he bowed, before ending the transmission between them.

This plan better work, or I’ll never be seeing Lenora again.

Boarding the shuttle, Rex grabbed both Fives’ and Yara’s arms as they sat down in the resting area. The ARC Troopers removed their helmets and were catching their breath as they were floating in space for a long period.

With ice formed on her armour, Yara felt her chest was burning inside as Rex sat beside her with concern, rubbing her back. “You alright, trooper?”

“Never felt better,” she replied, her arms clenched. “It was freezing out there and I could barely breathe. For a moment, I thought I would never see you all again.”

“Have a glass of water,” Ahsoka offered a warm cup, which they both accepted.

Slurping his drink, Fives exhaled as he leaned his head against the wall. “Now I feel better, though I still feel my lungs are stuck.”

“Take your time. We just want to know what happened back then.”

Fives and Yara looked at each other briefly, before the former told them everything that happened to Tup. “Both of us were dealing with the commando droids when they took him away to their cruiser. The funny thing is, we didn’t notice until we realized that his gurney had been cut.”

“We’re sorry, commander,” Yara apologised. “If we knew the Imperials were going to kidnap Tup, we would’ve stopped them by now.”

“It’s not your fault,” Rex placed his hands on her shoulder. “You both did your best.”

Then, Anakin entered the shuttle in his spacesuit with a frown on his face. “Did you find anything, Master?” Ahsoka asked, her voice laced with anxiety.

“All the medics were dead, along with the pilot as well,” he said, taking off his helmet. “It doesn’t look good.”

“The buzz droids got on the hull and broke into our ship,” Fives explained to his general. “Strategically, this attack makes little sense, unless like Yara said, they were after Tup.”

“The clankers took Tup?” Rex stroked his bare chin. “But why?”

“They must be responsible for whatever that was happening to him,” Yara convinced them. “I mean, why else would they risk themselves just for all of this?”

“She has a point,” Ahsoka gave a nod, her hands on her hips.

“It is possible,” agreed Anakin. “After all, they went to great lengths to capture him, and that means something.”

“We have to get him back,” Fives stood up in determination. “He won’t last that long out there.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way.”

I hope we’re not too late, Yara prays silently as the shuttle takes off from their last location, heading towards the primary station, where they believe Tup could be there. She wished she could close her eyes and drown herself out of this nightmare, but it was difficult.

For someone who has a habit of oversleeping, she couldn’t think about falling asleep, especially when Tup’s well-being is on her mind. As long as he’s safe and sound, then she could shut her eyes peacefully.

“He better be alive,” she spoke to Fives, focusing on him. “Or I’ll never rest for eternity.”

“We will find him,” Fives patted her back. “I promise he will be in safe hands after this.”

“And once we’re back on the Anaxes, will we be having a drink together?”

“Yes, we will have a drink with Tup, and we will also watch a scary movie together.”

“Fuck you,” Yara flipped the bird. “You know horror movies will keep me awake at night.”

Fives laughed. “That’s the idea. It’s meant to scare the shit out of you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Alright, if you’re done talking, we need you to get into position,” Rex interrupted them. “We’re arriving at the station soon.”

“Yes, captain,” Fives saluted, as he put on his helmet. “Come on, Yara, let’s rescue our friend out of here.”

“Right behind you, vod.”

[mandochlorian]

CHAPTER ONE

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

For over a decade, Y/N Y/L/N has been in a relentless battle with the sinister FIRST ORDER, never getting close enough to destroy one another. After a messy history with the boy who was once known as Ben Solo, he and Y/N had parted ways. Neither sides will rest until Skywalker, the last Jedi, has been destroyed.

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“I will never tell you. I only speak with the Resistance.” He shakes his head, eyeing you with disgust. You smile down at him, shaking your head as you gaze at his wrinkled features and the red lining his eyes. You decide now, at this moment, that you refuse to get old. 

“You’ve become a fool, old man. You could have been great.” Tilting your head at him, you raise your hand at his temple as your crew stand at attention in their black armour. When you do so, he furrowed his eyebrows and grunts in pain, “I gather you can feel me inside your head. You don’t need to tell me anything... You don’t have what I’m looking for. Not anymore.” Something in your mind sounds as if it’s screaming at you. Furrowing your eyebrows in pain, you turn to the side. You see a man in the front seat of an old ship. Him. We need him. “But someone else does.” 

Poe, cursing to himself, wonders how the hell the x-wings engine is failing him. With a wave of your hand, your guards pull him from the fighter jet, dragging him towards you. Yet another man kneels at your feet. You get a clear look at him as he’s pushed to his knees and you know he has a connection to the map. Poe Dameron, Resistance Pilot.

“Wow, no ominous mask? I must be special to see your face.” Poe states sarcastically, looking up at you through his dark lashes.

Glancing down at him, you return an unimpressed look, “I assure you that you are not.” You reply, your tone is emotionless and cold. The power of having the map in your possession is so close that you can almost taste it on your lips. However, you’re becoming impatient. You sense something else. It almost feels as though it is approaching you. You know who it is.

“Ren.” You knew it was only a matter of time before he showed up. He has a great hatred for both Luke and the Jedi. Ren wishes to finish what his grandfather started; eliminate the corrupt religion of the Jedi. And that includes Luke Skywalker. And the only way Kylo can do this is to locate him. If you have the map, you have Luke. And if you have Luke, you finally render Kylo’s entire existence meaningless. Once you have Luke, you have power over Ren.

It was evident to not only each other, but to all, that you were both the most powerful entities in the galaxy. Kylo Ren and his First Order, tied to the Dark Side of the force, and you and your team of smugglers, tied to stopping Ren’s antics. The Resistance, always trying to keep up, maintaining the belief that you belong with them. But it wasn’t always like this. Sometime in the past, there was a chance to change everything that currently stands, to choose a different path and end up with a different fate - to change history. But you’ve convinced yourself that you like things just as they are. The dark side gives you strength and power, discipline but yet the freedom to control anything in your wake. And though you don’t use it to instate a harsh rule, you use it to do whatever the hell you want. That is a power that you cannot afford to lose, not as long as Kylo Ren stands.

He can change his clothes, name, and he can even hold the rank of Commander of Starkiller Base, but you know you’ve always been more powerful than Ben Solo ever was. Or ever will be. That’s why you’re here first, on Jakku, with Lor San Tekka kneeling in front of your feet like the pathetic, helpless, old man he is. You eye him, his sad expression, and you’re left wondering how bad it must feel to waste such potential on trying to be good. Since the fall of the Empire, Lor San Tekka has been a galactic traveller who eventually worked with the New Republic - and now the Resistance - mapping the remote fringe of the galaxy, before retiring to Jakku. Truly a waste.

As the large door screeches open, smoke shoots from the exhaust pipes and Kylo Ren steps out. “You will never win!” Lor exclaims as you watch Kylo marching to you with Phasma on his left, “The Dark Side will never-” Before he can finish his rant, you wave your hand and feel relief at the sound of his neck snapping easily and quickly. Poe kneels there in horror, his brown eyes wide as he watches the man he had a conversation with ten minutes ago fall to the ground.

“Good to see you haven’t changed,” comes the modulated voice as Kylo stands before you. Deep down you have to admit that the feeling of waving your hand in such a way to bring death instantly was not foreign, but it had no good memories attached to it. He knew this.

“Kylo Ren, always one step behind,” you raise your eyebrows, looking around at the burning village, “what a pity. There’s almost nothing for your clowns to destroy.”

“Not necessarily.” Kylo tilts his head, looking down at you through his visor. “You’re still here.”

You step towards him, your eyes on his the whole time with an intensity that makes his fist clench. With your arms stretched outwards, you make yourself vulnerable. “Go ahead.” You taunt, never taking your eyes off Kylo, “If you think you can actually do it.”

You try to sneak into his head but it feels as though you’re trying to cross a busy highway, there are too many thoughts speeding through his mind at once for you to gain entry. One thought you can gather is that Kylo thinks about reaching for his lightsaber that’s tucked and hanging from his belt. But he stands still. And you watch him. Instead, he holds his hand out and quickly, catching you off guard, he uses the force to push you to the side for a brief second. Four of your crew members fire at him but its futile, he stops the lasers with his hands. Keeping your eyes on him, you watch as the green light black helmet.

“The pilot is mine,” You glare, narrowing your eyes at the tall man as you stand up and wipe your hands on your garment, “Find another way to see your uncle. That is… if he even wants to see his greatest disappointment.”

In an instant, his lightsaber is out and against your neck. It’s red hot flames contrast against your crews green blasters. You laugh. He moves his lightsaber slowly, loving how you have to move your head up to face him, even more, to avoid getting burned. “You won’t do it.” You mumble furiously, glaring up at the man. Only he can hear you. And from inside his mask, Kylo Ren grits his teeth and lets out a puff of air. He searches your face and he’s reminded of those moments you’ve shared with one another; those feeble childhood memories he wishes he could kill forever. A sense of longing passes you but you swallow it down, looking at the mask, the dark entity that shadows the face of someone who was your only friend.

“Take the pilot. Put him on board.” Ren barks his orders. You look towards Poe, attempting to search his head discreetly. Poe struggles against the First Order troopers, thrashing around as you try to get inside the pilot's memories. “It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, hasn’t it?” Ren states.

Your hand ghosts over your lightsaber as you decide your next course of action. “Always on the same field, never close enough to kill one another.” You state, still searching the pilot's memories for the map. “So, what are you waiting for now?” You ask, searching his face.

“I won’t kill you… today.” Kylo smirks, knowing he’s ahead of the game. He’s now winning his war against you and against the Resistance, or so he thinks. Putting his saber away, you narrow your eyes at the way he doesn’t step back. He’s trying to intimidate you, stick close to you to throw you off.

“You know, you’re many things, Ben.” You spit his name harshly, “Jealous. Violent.”

“Hmm,” he muses, tilting his head down an inch, “Keep going.” He orders, staring into your soul.. You’re sure that he can hear your heart nearly going into cardiac arrest. You just want him away from you.

“Stubborn,” wishing you could take a step away from him but you’re glued to your place as you tilt your head up to look at the tall man, “maybe even intelligent. But I never thought you to be a fool.” You smile, turning on your heel and walking away. Kylo bites the inside of his cheek, hooking his saber onto his belt before reaching his hand out, stopping you in your tracks.

Your crew aim their guns at his head but Ren’s troopers take steps towards them, shouting for them to lower their weapons, lest they want to meet their end. Both teams are in a standoff. You and your crew of smugglers and Ren’s stormtroopers. “Bad idea.” Kylo mumbles to them, pushing his other hand out and sending them to the ground in one big blow. You reach for your saber, nearly getting there until Kylo’s gloved hand tugs on yours and pushes it away from your lightsaber. You clench your teeth, taking a breath and watching the man rip your weapon away from you. “This belongs to me now,” he advises.

“What game are you playing?” You grunt, wondering how the hell you can’t run from his strong grasp. How has he gotten so strong? Or is it you that has suddenly grown weaker?

“The same game we’ve always played,” Kylo responds, walking around you in circles before placing a hand on your cheek, his thumb pressed against your temple, “Have fun finding Skywalker stuck on a desert.” He turns to his goons, “Put her lightsaber on board. Kill the miscreant smugglers she calls allies.”

You wanted to shout, clenching your fist at your side you push Kylo’s troopers back with the force, sending them flying but Kylo just stumbles back slightly. You can hear shouting and blasters firing from behind you as your crew put up a fight. His eyes are on you. Kylo places a hand onto your temple once again, gripping your hand to stay by your side. You’re dizzy, in disarray, you can barely see the mask in front of you as your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head. “Hm,” Kylo muses, his eyes narrowing as he searches your suddenly weak mind, “Change of plans… Put her on board too.”

“No,” you struggle, unable to control your eyes from closing, “D-Don’t… N-” Suddenly, in one big heap, you fall forward and you’re out like a light.

Kylo Ren’s vessel is large and dark and Poe feels like he can barely breathe. Kylo feels that too sometimes but for completely different reasons. Poe comes to his senses, his eyes fluttering open before he looks around where he’s being held. The interrogation room is quiet, dim, and lonely. Poe doesn’t expect it to be anything other than those three things. Quite stupidly, he pulls on his restraints but is stopped the sound of the door opening and heavy footsteps carrying a tall man inside. Commander Ren. The pilot looks up at the masked man, not afraid of what Kylo could do to him. He doesn’t look strong. Sure, his arms are buff, his frame is huge, and he looks like he could kill Poe with his bare hands if he wanted to, but Poe knew the language Ren was wearing upon his demeanour. And he was not a strong man, not where it counted anyways. It takes a weak man to be careless.

Kylo looks right back at Poe through the visor in his mask, eyeing the pilot sceptically. He looks like a typical Resistance Pilot. Rough around the edges, someone you could learn to manipulate, thinks they’re the main character in the story of their life. Kylo admires the way Poe’s handsome brown eyes glimmer with hope. Hope, something so graceful yet so fleeting; something Kylo was turned away from.

“Poe Dameron,” Kylo Ren states, with his teeth almost gritting together, “top pilot of the Resistance. I’ve always thought your talents we’re going to waste.”

Poe just glares at the Commander. “Your mom sure doesn’t.”

Kylo lets out a small breath of a laugh, sarcastic as ever. He wears the smile but on the outside is an emotionless void. “My mother. She still has hope for me yet, does she?”

“She will never lose her hope for you,” Poe states, his voice sincere and emotional, “She wants you to come home. And she wants you to know that you’re not lost.” It almost shocks Kylo. It seemed like, for a second, his mother was in the room speaking to him herself. Kylo’s heart beats faster.

“And I want the map to Luke Skywalker.” Kylo retorts, sitting down beside Poe who stiffens up on the inside.

“I don’t have it.” He tells the commander, looking away from his eyes as if somehow that’ll diffuse any force powers Kylo has.

“Hm.” Kylo breathes out, leaning towards the man. He pauses for a moment, before taking his mask off. It clicks loudly, filling the silent tension. Poe doesn’t turn to face him. “No one ever looks me in the eyes. They think maybe I won’t be able to get inside their heads if they don’t look. I guess people do say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Though luckily for you... I don’t have a one.” Raising his hand quickly, Kylo can feel himself breaking down the door of Poe’s mind and seeing it all, seeing everything... but not seeing what he had desired. Kylo leans forward, placing his head at Poe’s temple and searching through his mind. The pain feels like his skull is about the be crushed and Poe begins to scream, having to relive terrible moments over and over again as Ren sifts through the pilots head. “No.” He mumbles, finally getting the full picture of what happened, “C’mon.” He pushes further, gritting his teeth, “No!”

He can see what Poe had seen. Upon the realisation that he is not about to acquire the knowledge that he has been searching for, Kylo Ren can feel himself pouring over the edge of pure anger like lava boils over a volcano.

Lifting himself up violently, he rips his lightsaber from his belt, ready to destroy the first thing he sees. But he restrains himself, letting his gloved hands grip the hilt of his weapon with great strength. He takes a deep breath, thinking of you still on Jakku with the droid that had escaped. You have the upper hand now. You always have the goddamn upper hand. As Kylo Ren leaves the interrogation chamber, he can’t help but think over your words.

“Kylo Ren, always one step behind.”

Not for much longer, Y/N.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Movie Star”

Ok, so funny story, I can’t help but notice that as soon as school started, all of my stats went up, so I see you there browsing tumbr in class when you should be paying attention. Ha ha :)

I promised I would start writing more, so here it is the next story. It was a funny idea that I have had for a while, and I hope you like it, or at least find it entertaining. 

The mass operation to move UNSC’s military headquarters had begun shortly after first contact with the Galactic Assembly. They had originally deemed it prudent to move the base completely off world and out of the zone between Mars and earth orbit. So, they had set up headquarters orbiting Europa, which in turn Orbited Jupiter. They had done this mostly for its proximity to the fueling station based on the surface of Europa, and the particle collection operation harvesting from Jupiter’s upper atmosphere.

The U/N.S.C Harbinger landed shortly after operational sunrise using Jupiter’s  gravity well as a way to slow itself down and conserve the fuel used to travel over moderatly short distances. The ships short-range engines used fusion technology to power itself, but required a specific type of hydrogen ion to properly fuel the ignition process, so it was more than a good idea to keep their largest store of space vessels so close.

The crew unloaded all their cargo while Commander Vir took Sunny and Krill to report to the Admiral and other officials on the success of their current orders. He wore his uniform, light grey, pinned at the sides with the wings that signified his ran. He even wore the cap, which is something he tended to avoid wearing. Sunny walked at his right wearing the ceremonial armor that she had inherited from her father and the war staff she had taken as prize from her defeated mother. Krill floated at his left shoulder propelled by a backpack with a small attached motor, worn over a white lab coat he had taken to wearing after the fashion of the humans.

The base itself was teaming with life, men in women in a plethora of uniforms colored to signify their use. Brown coveralls for engineering and maintenance, grey for janitorial. Scientists wore light grey  lab coats while medical staff wore blue scrubs, paired with white coats when the doctors were involved. Commanding officers wore the standard military uniform in light grey.

They caught quite a bit of attention as they passed by despite the occasional glimpse of another alien lifeform working with the crews. Most of the time they would be tesraki, but he occasional Drev could be seen carrying boxes at the direction of a human officer.

They passed through a set of doorways that hissed open with the pressure difference, and into a steel grey hallway that lead down into the administration offices. The place was as austere as the military had preferred for thousands of years. The only decoration could be seen through open doorways and into offices, usually UN flags hung next to metals pinned into velvet backed glass cases and pictures of the officer shaking hands with someone important.  Commander ir had a similar office on the base decorated with an old US flag tattered and scruffy next to the pristine white of the UN logo on the other side. His purple heart and bronze star hung above the desk. For all purposes, it looked like any other office of any other commanding officer in the fleet…. Accept for his desktop background which held a screenshot from the cult classic series Replication, but no one had to know that.

-

They made it to the admiral’s office in good time, and the door was already open and waiting for them. She lifted her head as she heard them approach and stood from her desk holding out a hand. The commander took it with a greeting and stepped back as she greeted sunny with a nod of the head, “General.” before looking at Krill, “Dr.”

Sunny seemed pleasantly surprised that the Admiral had used her title, standing up just a bit straighter. Commander Vir’s fingers brushed over her forearm as if to say see, what did I tell you?

“Admiral.”

“I hope you have good news for me Commander.”

“Only the best, ma’am.” The man responded, “There have been no serious issues to report. All orders are going well, and our men have retaken the prison and returned all the inmates to their cells without complication. A few people died, but I am told most of them were lifers waiting on death row, and despite my slight disagreement the GA does not consider it a great loss.”

The admiral sighed deeply and spun in her chair to look out the window. A magnificent view of Jupiter’s powerful red rings rose up behind her, and Commander Vir couldn’t argue with the aesthetic nature of the image..

“I am glad to hear things seem to be going so well aboard…. To be honest things are…. A little strained here…”

Commander Vir tilted his head in confusion, “In what way?”

She threw up her hands in exasperation, “It is that ongoing issues with the LFIL and the GA. If we want to maintain our good graces with the GA we have to take their side in the issue. Personally, I don’t mind what people choose to do as long as both parties agree.” Her eyes moved across Vir and Sunny quickly, “But as things stand the GA disagrees with my sentiment, so we continue to remain neutral. However, our action, or lack thereof, has caused some issues planet-side. Our recruitment has gone down by almost 60% in the last month. People are shipping off on those Tesraki cruisers for their fill of space rather than join.”

“I am…. Sorry to hear that Admiral, but I am not entirely sure what I can do to help.” 

The woman sighed and stood, coming around the front of the desk, which she parked herself partially seated against, “Before I tell you, I want to make sure you know that you are in no way obligated to agree to this if you don’t want to. We can find some other way to get things done and I wouldn’t blame you, but it would be an unbelievable PR move.”

Commander vir looked on nervously, “Go on.”

“We got a call from an agency on the west cost….. And they want to buy the rights to your life story.”

Sunny would have sword she could hear Adam’s jaw pop out of place as it hinged itself open. He sputtered and gasped for a few minutes “My…. my life story…. Why would they…. What would they want that for?” 

The admiral raised on dark eyebrow, “Come now, Commander. The man who flew on the first manned mission into interstellar space, made first contact with an alien race, fought in the Drev War, and then became Commander of the first interstellar fleet. You’re life story is striking media gold.”

“What agency in California?”

The woman shrugged, “Hollywood Incorporated.”

He nearly choked. Hollywood Inc. was the biggest film cooperation that side of Earth, named for the infamous strip of land which had, two thousand years ago, produced some of the greatest actors of their time.

“I…. I don’t know ma’am.”

“Well, that’s entirely your decision, but I would suggest heading to their Martian office and talk to the director because he is going to keep pestering me until he gets an answer.” 

***

The Hollywood Inc. Office was located just towards the edge of the gravitational strip in the largest city on Mars. Because of its location, the gravitational field was slightly weaker. The children who wandered about where unusually tall for their ages, a fact that Commander Vir couldn’t help but notice as he opened the glass fronted doors and stepped inside.

The interior of the room was gaudy and over the top, lined with hundreds of vintage posters spanning the last two thousand years. He thought he might have seen a batman poster in the far corner that had to be at least two thousand years old encased inside a climate controlled glass case. It must have cost a couple thousand dollars if not more. The rest of the room was decorated in a similar fashion with hundreds of priceless moments of the entertainment industry from years long passed. Another climate controlled case held at least one of the costumes used in the original pirates movie. The thing should have been mostly ash and dust by now but somehow it had maintained its shape.

The three of them stepped up the nauseating checkerboard floor and up towards the reception desk. The woman who sat there looked like the Victorian era had thrown up all over her. He was surprised she could fit behind the desk, or even sit with the sheer amount of petticoats she must have been wearing underneath. He had to clear his throat a few times before she looked up, and when she did she looked positively board, “Can I help you?”

He rubbed his hands together awkwardly, “Um…. i was told to come here…. To meet someone.” She didn’t look particularly impressed at his explanation, so he cleared his throat, “Uh, my name is Commander Adam Vir from the UNSC….” He was cut off quickly as the woman leapt to her feet with a yelp.

“Yes, Yes of course, right this way, he’s been expecting you.” In the next second, he found himself grabbed by the hand and dragged bodily through a door behind the desk, and into a long, and even more lavish hallway. They hurried past a few rooms before she made it to the door, which opened for them, “Mr. Clayton Ellis, He’s here, he’s here.” 

“Wait Clayton E-” His voice trailed away slowly as he looked towards the end of the room and found one of the greatest directors of their time sitting at a horrible tacky golden desk in an overstuffed zebra chair wearing something that made him appear as a prohibition gangster, a powder blue suit with shoulder pads and matching fedora.

This couldn’t be real right? It explained the extravagance though, the man was known for being way over the top even as far as directors and movie producers go. The man stood as soon as he saw them a massive smile playing over his face as he made his way around the desk arms held wide, “Look who it is, the man of the hour, the star, the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Uh.” Adam said as the man caught him by the hand shaking vigorously. Sunny and Krill exchanged a confused glance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Ellis.”

The man waved a hand, which glittered with enough rings to satisfy a king, “Please call me Clayton.” He stood back arms still held wide, “And just look at you mmm mmm perfect main character material, I mean who doesn’t love an eye-patch, just the kind of little piece of personality I would add, you know.”

Commander Vir stood there in bewilderment, “I’m sorry sir, I don’t”

But the man had turned his attention away towards his companions, “And look at this. The quintessential alien sidekicks to our roguish human protagonist….. What a story what a set.”

Sunny couldn’t hold back a snort of derision, “Sidekick, excuse me.”

He turned his head eyes lighting up, “Check that, how about Love interest.” he spread his hands wide above his head as he said it, “Think of the publicity. With all the LFIL stuff going on this would be perfect.” He made  heart with his hands and framed the two of them in it, “I can see it now, the roguish space captain falling in love with this aesthetic exotic-

“Wow…. just hold on a second.” Commander Vir barked, “I haven't agreed to anything just yet, and I thought this was about my life story, about accuracy.”

The man waved a hand, ‘Right, right, right, but let's be honest reality is often disappointing. Sometimes film requires a bit of dramatization.”

Commander Vir crossed his arms, “I beg to differ. Unless you consider being almost brainwashed by sentient-space-vacuum dwelling humanoids boring.”

The man’s eyes flashed greedily, and he hopped up on his desk legs dangling over the floor, “Ok, I see you clearly aren't kidding around here, so I will make you a deal.” He raised his right hand, “I swear to be as accurate as possible, do my research and everything, but you have to understand, you are a national-no planetary hero, no interplanetary. You have the ability to be a role model for thousands of young minds who just eat up this media stuff. You and I can do some real good together.”

Commander Vir shifted his feet on the floor running a hand through his hair. He knew what his family would say. His father would tell them to shove it, his mother would want him to do what made him happy, his brothers would kick his ass if they knew he turned down an offer like this, and well….. The contract he could make with them, the things he could do with the money.

“I would have a few conditions.”

“Of course you would, of course you would.”

“I get royalties, and i'm not talking a measly ten perent, I am talking about thirty, and all of it better end up at a charity or you can color me gone. Plus this isn’t just some excuse to do some intense super action space thing with a ton of drama. I consult, and this thing better be accurate, or I am also gone, and my life story comes with me. Plus, don’t ask about things that are classified because I won’t tell you. Push me and I am gone.”

The man sighed, but waved a hand, “Alright, alright.”

He took another deep breath, “I’m not pausing my job for this, so you are going to have to have to talk to me on my free time. Try to underhand or backstab or go around any of these agreements and consider your ass sued.” Sunny champed her beak together for emphasis, shifting in her massive plate armor. Clearly she had a different idea of litigation than he did, but he would talk to her about that later.

Clayton took his seat back behind his desk again, “You drive a hard bargain there, Commander, but a deal is a deal. I will get the contract to you as soon as things are formalized.

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

The man shrugged “Long enough to have started the casting process. I even hired the man who will be playing you, isn’t that exciting.” 

“You have?”

“Yeah here let me call him out. Keith! You can come out now.” There was a shuffling from behind some of the stuff, and a man made his way out from the other side of the room.

Krill wasn’t particularly impressed, but by the way Adam took a step back it seemed as if he was, “Keith…. J-Jenning.” The man stammered.”

Sunny gave the  human a once over, and immediately didn’t like the casting choice, sure they had similar builds with blond hair and a charming smile, but this guy was….. Well he was a total Deva…. Not that she followed the gossip magazines…. Too much. But just looking at him, with his manicured nails and perfect hair, it just didn’t seem right. She much preferred Adam, rugged, useful, confident in his work, but also not a massive ass.

The man held out a hand, “Commander.” He looked him up and down eyes falling on the eye patch, “How the hell do you see out of that thing.”

Vir paused in his fan boying to look confused…. “Uh…. I don’t, that’s sort of the point.”

The man turned to look at the director, “Do I have to wear one, It would cover like half my face.”

Vir frowned, “No it doesn-”

“Look Keith poles say that women find a man with an eyepatch at least ten percent more attractive than men without one”

The man glanced over at Adam and frowned, “Well…. I guess I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Adam frowned, but before he could say anything a large blue shape had cut in front of him, grabbed the man by the front of the shirt, and lifted him to eye level, “Look here you little weasel, Adam is twice the man you are, and has more honor in one of his little toes than you have in your entire body.” She poked him in the chest with a free claw, “So I would shut the hell up and learn some respect  before I reverse the typography of your face.”  

A hand grabbed her by the elbow “Sunny, put him down.”

“Why he's got insurance on his face.” 

“Sunny, that’s an order.” She let him go with some hesitation grumbling the entire way.

Keith hit the ground with a hand around his neck . From behind them clayton began to clap slowly, “Bravo, bravo, what a show, what an act, such emotion, such loyalty. That really was deeply moving , you feel that Keith, you feel the sexual tension.”

“What.”

“Hey-”

The two men ignored them as keith rubbed his neck ,”I felt SOMETHING alright.” 

Clayton stood walking in a slow circle around sunny prodding at her armor, and her carapace, “Now ths, this is interesting, quick do something else intimidating.” 

Sunny growled.

“Oh yes, I have the perfect casting choice for you Rita Ortiz.”

Sunny tilted her head thoughtfully and couldn’t help but nodding. The actress was mostly known for  her roles in action movies somehow managed to dodge the romantic arcs that film still can’t let go of. She was cool, Sunny liked her.”

With a critical eye the director turned to look at Krill, who watched, uninterested and unimpressed, “How about you little fella.”

The Vrul remained standing arms crossed, “I think this is stupid, i think you’re stupid, and I thinnk he.” Pointing at Keith, “Is especially stupid. IF you just look at his eyes you’ll know he is a terrible casting choice. I mean look at him you can hardly expect someone with the pain threshold of a ballsack to play a decorated war hero.” 

That didn’t really get the response Krill had intended and had the man in stitches laughing on the on his desk, “The comic relief, I get it now.” “Wait, no I’m not-”

“We will be in touch commander, I look forward to working with you and your hilarious friends. Come on Keith, lets go call the studio, this is going to be big.” Commander Vir barely had time to react as the two men left them standing in the center of the room with confused expressions.

“This…. This is going to be a disaster.” Krill commented in the following quiet.

Sunny gave a sigh, “That should be the title of your autobiography.” She said nudging Adam on the shoulder.

“Yeah and yours should be Sidekick.” He said smugly.”

“Hey!”

He sighed then.

“You’re probably right though, this is going to be a disaster.” 

[annoyinglyjovialbird]

Voltron: Next Generation

Nuclear Decisions: II

Word Count: 2787

Darrar sat in the middle of the floor inside his makeshift cell. As soon as he was given full command of Seklok's former ship, he used the tracking device in the mecha to find the massive ship that housed the Voltron Lions and their Paladins. 

Speaking of the Paladins of Voltron, they were sitting in their chairs on the bridge. Three of them looked uncomfortable, one looked furious, and the last one looked confused. Shiro took in their expressions, wondering what had happened while he and Keith dealt with their new prisoner. You know what? Maybe he didn't want to know why Kova's eyes glinted. 

"Team," Shiro began, three Paladins already half out of their seats. "We have a prisoner." They sat back down, readjusted themselves, and paid more attention. 

"They want to speak with the half-Galra onboard." Keith stood next to Shiro with a hand on his hip. "Something about recruiting." Kova's eyes flared, her mouth curling in a sneer. 

"Eject him," Kova growled. Eyes turned to Kova who simply gripped her arms harder. She had her arms crossed like an angry school teacher.

"There has to be a reason he's here," Shiro said, trying to keep the peace.

"If there's a reason, why should we give him the benefit of the doubt?" Kova's gleamed dangerously. "He snuck onto our ship, where Keith was being held." Keith's eyes widened at the statement but agreed nonetheless. "Yorak's after me. Eject him." Kova ended with resounding finality. 

"We can't just eject someone without a good reason, right?" Caleb turned from his sister to his dad. Shiro didn't say anything, seeming to agree with Kova. "Dad, you can't be serious!" 

"We have to think ahead," Shiro said, turning around to look out the window to the inky black space outside. 

"This person," Kova began. "Could reveal Voltron to the entire universe. Why is it fair to keep him here longer than necessary, where he could confirm suspicions." Kova stepped around her console to stand in front of the railing around her station. "We either eject him or kill him, and last I checked, we are /against/ killing people." 

"Hey!" Kenny exclaimed. "Why are you looking at me?"

"Reasons." 

"Whatever his reason is, maybe we should hear him out first," Keith said, half-turning towards Shiro. 

"Hear him—" Kova's eyes widened at the blasphemous suggestion. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's looking for half-Galra, right? Chances are he's half-Galra, too."

"We can't boldly make that accusation, Kova."

"I can boldly make that accusation! I'm half-Galra!" Kova looked up, eyes losing their sharpness. "If the entire universe discovered Voltron returned, it'll be a bad end for all of us."

"Are you sure you aren't exaggerating anything? Maybe we should keep him. Yorak might want him back." Caleb turned around in his chair to stare at the back of Shiro's head, in hopes of having his voice heard. 

"Have you met Yorak?" Kova glanced between Caleb and Shiro's turned heads. "He's insane. He'll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and he currently wants me. We should let him go." 

"Uh," Liz shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Don't we get a say in this?" 

"No." All formerly speaking parties said at the same time. Liz reclined in her seat, meeting eyes with Kenny. He touched the side of his forehead with his fingers, keeping his hand flat. He also rolled his eyes while pointing at the arguing party. Liz smiled gratefully, nodding her head. 

"We were advised to keep Voltron a secret. We should continue to do that." Kova ended with a serious note. 

"Very well." Shiro turned around again, facing the teens. "We should cross-reference with the Altean database and touch base with Coran."

"If Earth was so out-of-touch with the rest of the Galactic Coalition, what do you think the chances are they'll help us?"

"I, uh, I actually, uh, um," Allie stammered. 

"Allie?"

"Sorry." She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "It's just that, I, uh..." Her words died on her tongue as she noticed that every pair of eyes in the room were now fixated on her and whatever she had to say. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, or whatever the Altean equivalent was. 

"Allie?" Kova tried to get her attention. "Allie." The young girl began to shake. "Allura." Kova's deep commanding voice finally got the young girl's attention, making eye contact with the young girl. "Look at me. Just me." Allie's breath evened out the longer her eyes met Kova's. "What about Altea?" Allie sighed, nodding her head, looking determined. 

"I have authorized clearance over the Altean records." Allie seemed to sit taller in her chair. "I wasn't just trained by Altean medics, I was also trained by bookkeepers, advisors, and everyone else who had a position of power over Altean life." She turned in her chair to face Shiro, Keith, and everyone else. "I just need a name." 

"Are you sure?" Shiro asked, glancing at Keith. 

"Yes." Allie sounded confident, nodding her head.

"Alright then." Kova stood to her full height, placing her hands on her hips. "Let's go, team."

"Kova." Shiro tried to stop her, but she ignored him. 

"Allie, you can use my console," Kova called out, watching the other teens file out of the bridge. Caleb joined Kenny on the long trek down to the engine room. Liz and Cake marched themselves to their rooms. Shiro, while hesitant, walked out as well with Keith on his heels. They would go back to the observation rooms in the med bay to interrogate their prisoner further. Kova was the last to leave, watching as Allie stood from her chair and climbed the staircase, slowly morphing. By the top of the stairs, Kova was now having to look up at the newly tall Altean. Kova was level with Allie's shoulder, but that didn't deter her. With a hand on her shoulder, the fear that had begun to brew inside Allie had seemingly dissipated momentarily. With a smile and a nod, Kova left the young girl alone on the bridge, closing the door behind her. The bridge door didn't close all the way, however, but Allie was oblivious to this. 

Her thin fingers hovered over the console's keyboard, wondering whether she should continue or not. Chances were her login didn't work anymore, and she would have to contact Altean directly. With that thought in mind, Allie set to work with an ease that scared her. She had typed the call code so many times before. Why was she afraid she couldn't remember it? 

The screen in front of the window appeared with three white dots on its Altean blue screen. The call connected just as Allie composed herself. 

"I truly hope you are calling to apologize." An older woman with blonde hair pinned back in a high bun with a braid crowning her head, sharp purple eyes, and pale green markings pointedly said. She was looking down at a screen in her hands, pressing something. Allie took a breath to calm her nerves as the woman continued. She had looked up to glare directly at the screen. "Otherwise, I'm hanging up." 

"Please don't, Romelle," Allie pleaded. Romelle put down the screen she had been holding and positioned herself to completely face Allie. 

"Allura," Romelle began, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "What do you want?" 

"I would like to formally request reinstatement of my access to Altean records."

"Really?" Allie had been bowing her head. At Romelle's reply, she looked up to see an eyebrow raised on Romelle's bored face. "I would rather you apologize."

"For what exactly?" Allie asked, confused. Even Kova outside the door could hear her confusion. She also jumped when Romelle slammed both her hands onto the table. 

"Are you playing coy with me, Allura?" Romelle's eyes lit with anger, while Allie tried her best to not shake in fear. "For denying your title!"

"Denying my—" Allie repeated as realization dawned on her. "What title is there for me to deny?" 

"Allura." Romelle's tone softened, as though she were explaining something to a child. To be fair, she was, but I think Allie is old enough to think for herself. "You are named after the greatest hero known to Altea. You should be carrying her mantle, her title, her very name, with honor and grace."

"Isn't it more honorable and graceful to let those close to her mourn than announce an heir?"

"What are you talking about?" 

"Her friends joined together to celebrate her memory." Allie looked down to her hands again. "Announcing an heir to the Altean throne on that specific day seems disrespectful."

"Allura, your father served alongside her for a great many years. You were named after a person of strength."

"So were a thousand others." 

"You are the daughter of the Emperor. The only daughter of the Emperor. No one else will ever have that honor."

"I know all that." Allie snapped. "I still don't understand what I have to apologize for." 

"For denying your title when you left Altea." Allie's jaw slackened. She couldn't have been redder. 

"Is that it?" Allie slammed her hands on the console, making Romelle jump slightly. "You're the one that recommended me to the Garrison! You're the one you told me to keep a low profile! That's why I dismissed the royal guard! That's why I didn't go around school announcing 'I'm Princess of Altea! Bow to me, peasants!' Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?" 

"Why, I never!" 

"Never what, Romelle?" Allura glared at the older woman. "Never suggested the Princess remain a secret until she has learned some valuable skills, then become offended when she isn't announced on Remembrance Day? Never instructed the guards to disguise themselves, then grew angry when they weren't ornate enough? Never announced the name Allura when asked what my name should be, then wondered why a thousand others were the same name?" Allie was close to panting as she listed off everything in anger. "Because you did it, Romelle. You did it all. So it's not my fault when I say that I don't want to rule people that don't know about my very existence! Not when I'm lost in a sea of a thousand strong." Her voice softened as her rant came to an end. Her anger left her with every word until it all left her body. Only the humming of the Coeus's engines remained, a constant rhythm through the silence. Romelle's violet eyes widened at Allie's outburst, so still that Allie thought the connection had cut out. Romelle moved to compose herself, with hardened eyes. 

"No." She said. Blood rushed through Allie's ears as Romelle said that one word. "I will not reinstate your access. If you need something, you call me. Understood?" Allie wanted to yell and kick and scream at the unfairness, but she didn't. She gave a slight nod, which Romelle pursed her lips at. "Goodbye, Allura." The screen turned off, letting the distant humming take over. The star-studded darkness swallowed Allie whole, to which she gritted her teeth at. A hand on her shoulder cleared the darkness, flling her with fear. The fear quickly turned to dread when she turned to follow the hand to its owner. 

"You okay?" Kova's usually sharp amber eyes had softened, looking genuinely worried. Allie had shrunk down to her original height. Well, the original height that Kova had met her in. Allie was shaking, small hands balled into fists at her sides. At Kova's question, Allie's bright blue eyes welled up with tears, falling down her cheeks. Kova managed to lift her other arm so that Allie could hook her arms around Kova's waist, resting her head on the older teen's shoulder. Kova wrapped her arms around the young girl's shoulders, rubbing her back as she sobbed into her shoulder. Kova whispered in Allie's ear, but she heard none of it. She continued sobbing until there were no more tears to shed, and allowed Kova to lead her back to her room. 

———————

"What do you wish to do?" Vhix asked, looking from the front window to Yorak. Yorak's features were shadowed ominously, with fingers laced in front of his mouth. 

"Create a distraction." Yorak lowered his hands, staring at the huge white and orange battleship. "Draw her out." Vhix made a round-up symbol, getting the attention of the lower ranking soldiers, who set themselves to work. 

"Anything else?" Vhix asked. Yorak quietly eyed every structure on the Coeus until he found an odd-looking piece. A dingy satellite that seemed to be made of scraps was attached onto the outer surface of the Coeus, almost completely out-of-sight. Almost. "Yorak?"

"Fire on the satellite." Yorak turned, voice echoing in the command chamber. Soldiers immediately got to work, readying weapons. "Fire on the ones who come out until the Black Lion intervenes." Yorak strode forward towards the different officers, each of them doing all but physically pinning themselves to the wall as Yorak passed their desks. Shivers ran down their spines, but they said nothing, briefly stilling their movements. Vhix followed, curious as to what Yorak had planned. 

"Ready the cannon," Vhix ordered. "Aim for the satellite." Vhix got an answer quickly. Target was locked. "Fire." A small blast was fired from the wide array of weapons the ship had access to, but it was enough to destroy the small satellite on the Coeus. They waited for a few minutes, then a few minutes turned into twenty-five. Movement was spotted on the outer surface of the Coeus. The person wore Paladin armor, but it wasn't the color Yorak wanted. The Paladin was red. Caleb was close enough. It would motivate Kyla to react faster. 

"Fire on the Paladin." An onslaught of blasts was released from the ship onto the Coeus. Caleb barely had time to duck and hide when the shots began to ricochet off the metallic surface and onto his face. "Intercept his call." 

"Sec to Coeus, I need assistance!" Caleb said over his ear piece, his pleas being heard by not only the Coeus, but also Yorak's crew. "Sec to Coeus!" 

"Jax to Sec, incoming assistance." Yorak smiled creepily as Kyla's voice responded to Caleb's plea. Sure enough, the Black Lion emerged from the massive ship, roaring away. Along with it came the other three Lions dragging a fourth along with them. 

"Griffin to Sec, where are you located?" Another female voice came over the transmission. Before Caleb could answer, another blast landed next to him. His scream echoed over the transmission. He was safe, relatively speaking. His armor protected him from any sort of debris. The shockwaves hurt like quiznack, though. 

"Hold!" Kyla called out. Another blast came from Yorak's ship. "I said hold!" 

"Let's listen to her, shall we?" Yorak said, much too pleased with himself. The Black Lion had flown to a stop in front of Yorak's ship. "Hello, Kyla." 

"What do you want?" Her voice was cold, hard, and angry. Yorak smiled again. 

"I want you to listen to me." Yorak leaned forward, imagining Kyla was doing the same. "Join me or watch your precious team be destroyed."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh really?" The cannon mounted on the front of the ship lit up with purple energy, aimed directly at the Coeus. The Black Lion stood firm in its path, but it wouldn't be a match. "Your choice, Kyla. Join me, or die." She sat in silence in the cockpit. No words were exchanged, none of the Lions made a move. The Green Lion was perched on the Coeus, shielding Caleb and the satellite from further destruction. Blue held Red by a long tether, with Yellow directly above them. 

"Fine." Kyla sounded defeated, but defiant. Perfect. "Don't hurt them." 

"Of course, Kyla." The communication cut off as the orders were given to open the hatch. The Black Lion was pulled in by a traction beam, disabling the energy inside the Lion. As the Black Lion was being brought into the transport bay of the Yorak's ship, the rest of the crew of the Coeus could only look on in silence. 

Almost giddy, Yorak went down to the transport bay to meet his new comrade. Kyla wore her black and white Paladin armor with violet cuffs around her wrists. She wasn't fighting the soldiers who grabbed her roughly by the arms. 

"Well, then." Yorak shooed off the guards, taking their place on Kyla's arms. "Now we can have our little party."

"Little?"

"Yes." Yorak shoved Kyla forward to the other side of the ship, where the huge telecommunications happened. "We're going to announce the Fire's return to the entire universe."

[tessatechaitea]

Darkstars #5

What happens when two guys clash, each thinking they're the ultimate authority for good and each believes violence is the best solution to a problem? We'll find out this issue!

I didn't know hawks were angry assholes but I'm assuming Hawkman is the personification of a hawk's personality so it must be true. I also didn't know spiders were mild-mannered. Or guys were misogynist, short-tempered jerk-offs (you know, like Guy Gardner). I've learned a lot from comic books! I just looked over the cover again and I think it might be on my Top Ten Sexiest Comic Book Covers of All Time. Mostly it's due to the way it looks like Detective Crumbstache and Hawkman look like they're furiously trying to jerk each other off and the way Hawkwoman double grips that crossbow the way she'd not have to double grip my cock.

How come I never read Modesty Blaise? It was about two whole things, one of which I really enjoy!

The cover of this issue just got even sexier if you consider the inside advert as part of the cover which I do because look at the way Modesty is sucking off that gun. I bet I was planning on buying Modesty Blaise but then I jerked off over this advert, fell immediately asleep on top of the comic, and woke up later having forgotten all about it. It's the exact same reason I never read Warlord. Now I want to make this advert into a sign to protest the police. It should really confuse them! This issue is called "Slaves and Other Prisoners." If one of the "R"s in "prisoners" was a "B", it would be an anagram for pissboner. A better writer probably would have written about the problematic casual use of the word slaves in the American vernacular. "Vernacular" is an anagram for "anal curver." A couple of aliens have arrived in Earth's orbit to pick up Evil Star and his Starlings and transport them to Galactic Prison. They treat Evil Star like shit and Darkstar is all, "Whoa, my dudes! Chill out, man! Don't make me have to raise my voice! We're all cool here. No need for negative vibes!" Man, I really misjudged Darkstar Colos when I began reading this comic book. He's actually a decent cop. But then again, his story is the exact story of any cop that tries to be decent in a corrupt system that fetishizes violence, power, and respect. He's been shoved off to a backwater planet that's so far out of the Controller's sphere of influence that they've already questioned the leader of the Darkstars as to the need for space cops so far afield. Colos was trouble and he was acting better than the other cops so he got sent off to where he can't cause any problems. Weird to think that the phrase "can't cause any problems" in police lingo actually means "improves the system and works toward justice and accountability." Detective Chicago-head gets put on the Carla White kidnapping case. The cops don't actually know she's been kidnapped but they suspect Pappas, the Loco kingpin, took her against her will. But Detective Two-Sausages-One-Bun pretends he's been on a drinking jag and isn't in his right mind to lead a raid on Pappas's warehouse. That's because he wants to raid the place himself in his Darkstars Sidekick outfit. Once again, he's proving that he's a terrible cop (aka a status quo, regular, run-of-the-mill police). Detective Two-Sizes-Too-Big-Head had better hurry with the rescue mission because Carla White is currently being sold into the space sex slave trade. I was going to make a joke earlier about her being sold into the alien sex slave trade but then I thought better of it, realizing that just putting "space" in front of "sex slave trade" didn't rise to an appropriate level of satire that would justify making light of sex slavery. I did add the word "space" to sex slave trade at the beginning of this paragraph but it wasn't for a joke; it was just stating the facts of this comic book. Look, we all read the title! We all knew where this story was headed but I wasn't brave enough to broach the subject earlier. I just said that stupid thing about an nearly correct anagram and moved on. Oh, by the way, when Carla White hears she's going to be sold into sex slavery, she's all, "I'm not going to be the property of some Middle East sheikh!" Seems a little racist to me. I bet she felt dumb (and racist) when she found out she was being sold to aliens and not Arabs.

Is this why conservatives don't have any morals or ethics? Because they think if they acted on those things, they'd get sold into the space sex slave trade?

Since I've added "space" to the phrase "sex slave trade," I can probably call it hyperbole and satire when I write something like, "Boy! I sure wish all conservatives would get sold into the space sex slave trade!"

Actually, yes, Detective Mustached-Rumproast, that's exactly what you were supposed to do.

It's not the cop's job to become judge and jury because they don't trust the judge and jury will do their job. If that's why cops kill people then I think it means citizens are allowed to kill cops if we don't believe they'll do their job? Am I using logic correctly? I'm just a stupid libturd so I wouldn't know logic if it constantly @ed me on Twitter demanding that I debate it. Flint (that's the name of Detective Sausage-fingers. I learned his name because I've run out of different types of meat to compare his fat head to) breaks into Pappas's space sex slave trade warehouse where the ship is nearly fully loaded with slaves for space sex. But instead of battling the space sex slave traders and saving the day, he starts a fight with Hawkman and Hawkwoman. Where rock has this guy's pink, salty ham-head been stuck under his entire life? He doesn't recognize the good heroes of the DC Universe?! I wonder if Stan Lee had ever considered a law suit against every comic book that had two different heroes mistakenly battle each other before they realized their error and teamed up? It's so recognizably a Marvel idea that I would have awarded Stan Lee all the money. Unless the idea is actually from The Bible? I mean Cain and Abel almost pulled that trick except Abel just wound up being too much of a loser to survive to the team up part. During the confusion of the violent good guys fighting the other violent good guys, the rocket with the space sex slaves takes off. Hopefully Hawkman and Detective Flint will learn a lesson from this incident. Maybe suss out the situation before beating everybody you see to a bloody pulp. Darkstars #5 Rating: B. The Hawklovers were only in this issue for a couple of pages which is fine by me but probably not ideal for all the Hawklover fans who purchased this book because they were on the cover. I'm sure the next issue will feature more Hawklover action. I'm also sort of hoping that Carla White has now been launched into space and won't be rescued. She'll just turn up in a spin-off series called Space Sex Slave Traders. Obviously that never happened but now that I put the idea out there, maybe it did happen in another, better, sexier timeline.

[ring-of-galactic]

Greetings, I am Pluto, otherwise (formerly?) known as Saturn. I've grown to like my new name, perhaps even more than the original. Still, both are applicable for me. I've decided to give myself purpose in my absence... I am fourteen years old. He/Him, if you don't mind.

My name and titles, aswell as my team, as of now:

[Toxicroak - Atlas]

[Golbat - Neptune]

[Porygon - Janus]

[Ariados - Trill]

[Gallade - Perion]

//OOC://

Content/Trigger warnings for this blog: Suicidal thoughts, mentions of abuse/child abuse, self harm, blood, scars, injuries, self destructive behavior, crohn's disease, IBS, torture, unethical experimentation, self degradation, manipulation, obsession, pokémon abuse/violence, and unreality. If asked to tag something that I forgot, I will!

Linked with @rockets--ire! Family!

Hello! Solar here! Did a little timeskip just to make things easier for myself. No exact specified time, but.. less than a year. Not sure how older stuff fits in here at all soooo I'm giving myself a minor excuse to not bring it up at all lol

Basic info on this Saturn, as he is heavily headcanon and AU based: He's fourteen, and was raised by Team Galactic for all his life, mostly by the other Commanders and Cyrus, (by technicality alone for that asshole) so he viewed Cyrus as a father, and once upon a time, Mars wnd Jupiter as older siblings. He's still attached to their memories, even if they've went their separate ways. He's immature and young, reckless, impulsive, and unfortunately, since his entire life was in service to Cyrus and his abuse, he doesn't know how to be a regular kid, and is still struggling to learn. He's still all too used to the abuse he's been through, warping his perception of what he thinks he deserves, and what will happen to him if he gets in trouble. ..Things get pretty heavy very often.

He's also a Luxio/Wattrel/Zapdos hybrid now, and is still struggling to control the rampant electricity inside him, along with the new instincts he's developing.

No NSFW, or proship stuff. If you're proship then DNI.

Pelipper mail/malice, musharna mail/malice, in character anon hate, magic anons, are all accepted and encouraged! Very much want all the engagement I can get! Don't feel shy if you wanna send an ask! It's always appreciated! Have fun, everybody!

[sirro85-blog]

Humans are Space Orcs

Part 2

When Major Kovac returned to the accommodation his mercenary unit the "Dark Horses" were currently occupying his injuries, the attack by the Flet and his survival via an item of fruit seemed for some reason to cause a broad range of reactions.

His lover Captain Becca first looked nauseated when seeing him bleeding, then embraced him fiercely and then slapped him for getting hurt.

Captain Wolf seemed shocked more that Kovac was slowed by his blood loss than that he had overcome three "winged fucking puma" before joining in with Captain Dorman who both laughed and mocked while Kovac's wounds were cleaned, sterilized and dressed - this appeared to be a painful process.

Captain Gillespie was concerned for the safety of the Major and the rest of the unit.

Various riflemen in Kovac's service took moments to visit their commander and confirm he was ok, some like Knickers and Sergeant "Panther" both spoke of seeking immediate vengeance, others wanted to know how soon he would recover. Different human responses to the same event is something I've never fully understood.

Finally Kovac called a meeting of his commissioned officers. I was allowed along to witness.

"So if it's not personal and Kovac is adamant he hasn't stuck his bellend in a Flet, it can't be to stop us taking a contract as we have one lined up it must be professional, something from back in the day." Captain Becca said.

"That is a lot of history, we all served together in the United Nations Galactic Defence Force, the Galactic Defence Force and we've had 3 years as the Dark Horses, I can count a dozen conflicts with the Flet as primary antagonists and perhaps another dozen where they've been involved to some degree." Wolf looked at Kovac, "brother I love you but you picked a few fights in your time."

Captain Dorman shook his head, "It could be any of us or all of us, take out the Major and we're gonna find ourselves rudderless, we need to find an answer."

"If we are all at risk we need to look to our defences and I hate to say it but my troops are the weak link, medics are good soldiers but they aren't combat specialists like the rest of you, neither are the rest of my troop." Captain Gillespie gave a sigh, "we may have to confine them to lines."

"Good point Gillie, Bex 2 troop are gonna be in charge of keeping 4 troop safe; Dorman 3 troop sweep the lines, find any weak links, Wolf the whole of 1 troop are now on guard duty, have a roster drawn up and let the sergeants work out a routine between the troops." Kovac looked at his officers, "nobody goes off base alone, we travel in fire teams at least."

"Alright, and the Major has two guards at all times, I'm pretty sure I have the volunteers," said Becca, her tone brooking no argument.

An hour later Kovac was sitting in a chair facing an irate Becca flanked by the raw-boned, taciturn Knickers and the vociferous Cassidy, better known as Barbie his body guard.

"No, damn it Rad you're injured, you're not going out as bait now; or ever!" Becca said, her voice shaking.

"Im not waiting for them to come here, besides this time I'll have Knickers and Barbie watching my back," Kovac said calmly.

"Hey now Captain, I know you're worried but it may have all been a case of mistaken identity, perhaps they never wanted the Major." Barbie suggested, smiling sweetly.

"Yeah they no doubt saw him, and thought 'Oh hey, that 6'6" human built like a brick-proverbial with the white hair of an octogenarian he's close enough to our target' the Major is pretty damn unique looking." Knickers said with her usuall ascerbic tone.

The two women shared a glare as Kovac laughed, "look I trust these two with my life, more importantly I trust them with each other's lives, we'll be fine and if we get a bite and land something then we will have some answers."

Becca scowled a moment but finally nodded and the three left the fortified accommodation and returned to the market, Kovac shopped for a few hours, organising supplies and delivery, Knickers and Barbie sat at a table in the centre of the market, ostensibly sharing a meal but their eyes never stopped scanning the crowds. Kovac finished his errands and then stopped one merchant and asked for directions, once he received them he set off out of the market. The planet they were calling home was designated "Pelcar-3" and was known as the way station of the system, almost all trade routes went through Pel3 and as a result there were many storage districts, one of which Kovac entered now.

The warehouse was mostly empty but waiting inside was a Ditiri, humanoid in shape Ditiri were covered with a fine fur that gave them a "fluffy" appearance, they had a trader society and were not above working in less than reputable circles. Physically they were no threat to a human, moving significantly slower than most space faring species they did however have remarkably sharp minds and were considered cunning to the extreme.

Kovac and the Ditiri spoke for some time before the Major gained some information he was looking for.

"Flet will work for anyone, not like the Rhul, they are like humans in that respect, more so unlike Burtuq and Garax, Flet will work independently and not insist on being hired as a group, those three may have only been together for that job." Yellow eyes regarded the Major, "you are known Major Kovac, your achievements are known, past exploits may be coming back to haunt you."

Kovac nodded his thanks and the meeting ended, for the first time since I had met Kovac I feared for his safety. Kovac had fought in multiple wars if a former enemy was targeting the Major then entire star empires could be focusing their revenge on him and while the Dark Horses were good, they were not enough.

I don't know if Kovac heard the attackers, Flet are as silent as the earth felines they were nicknamed for but he threw himself to his left as a clawed paw lashes out at him, he landed heavily and rolled over coming to rest on his back, one foot planted on the floor with his knee bent and one leg raised off the ground with his knee pulled up to his chest, both arms bent so his hands were either side of his head, the largest Flet I had ever seen lunged at Kovac who raised his elevated foot higher.

The Flet was centimetres from Kovac when it dropped like a stone, behind it stood Knickers with a large club. She stared down at the motionless beast for a moment then nodded at Kovac, "plan worked," she said.

Barbie hurried to help Kovac up, "are you ok? Did it catch you? I forget how damn quick they are, thank God you're quick like a freak." She gave a small grunt as she pulled Kovac up, "you're not hurt are you? The captain would stab me in the tits if you got hurt...so would Knickers mind."

Kovac was adjusting the Flet on the ground and with a single movement heaved the 9 foot creature onto his shoulders with a slight grunt. "Gnnh I'm fine Barbs, really I am, thank you Knix, I owe you."

"No you don't" replied Knickers, she gestured and led the odd looking trio forward.

At the horses headquarters Wolf and Kovac had tied the Flet to the chair, while Wolf hummed a child's tune "pussy cat, pussy cat" a nursery rhyme that was fast becoming an abusive and xenophobic anthem when sung near Flet; Kovac left the room and returned with a bag, he crouched infront of the Flet and stared at the prisoner for a while. Then he spoke.

"Did you see the others?"

The Flet stared back for a long moment before giving the human "nod".

"Good," Kovac stood and walked to a low table, he set the bag down and reached inside. The first thing he pulled out was a pineapple, the kitty flinched at the sight of it, Kovac set it down on the table, then he reached into the bag again, he pulled a bunch of bananas out held them up while staring at the Flet before setting them on the table beside the pineapple, he followed this with an orange and then a yellow fruit that was oblong shaped the size of his fist, he paused for a moment looking first at the fruit then at the Kitty with an appraising look, finally he pulled out three limes individually setting them on the table before returning his focus to the agitated looking Flet. He looked in the bag and then at Wolf who gave a grin while producing a knife seemingly from nowhere, Wolf nodded encouragingly. Kovac seemed to hesitate before finally plunging his hand into the bag and placing at the end of the fruit chain a single kumquat. Wolf picked up the pineapple and spun it on the palm if his hand, his knife caught the light and glittered.

"Stop" squeaked the Kitty.

"Talk!" Yelled Becca from behind him.

Something that isn't understood by many is that the Flet are a matriarchal culture, the males may be the face of the military arm of their society but their females run the rest, so for the already intimidated Kitty having a female scream an order at it had a profound effect.

The Kitty talked he gave answers to all the questions he was asked only once did hesitate but Captain Becca's threat to "fuck him up with a kumquat" was enough to break his final resolve.

After the Flet was thrown out Kovac called an assembly, soon 150 men and women were assembled and Kovac spoke to them. He told them he was the target of the Flet Cosmic Imperium, it seemed he had been deemed responsible for the death of the heir to the throne and so was now sentenced to death. He informed them that there was no help to be called on and it was him against the Imperium, all of them were free to leave with his blessing, not a single soldier left there seat.

Some would tell you that this was human loyalty but they would be wrong, this was human insanity. Most of those thought Kovac stood a chance and those that didn't were so stubborn they wouldn't back down from intimidation.

In my fibres though I must admit that Kovac of all the humans I've known did make me wonder if he could achieve the impossible and defeat the Imperium with only 150 soldiers.

[dearophelia]

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 07

Thirty years after the war, things are as close to normal as they’ll get. Garrus is the turian councilor and Olivia runs Galactic Affairs, helping the galaxy rebuild. They’ve happily settled into the life they’ve built. Their kids are grown, and out living their own lives.

But something goes wrong on Nora’s latest mission. Very wrong.

chapter 07: what you call home is a box of memories

In which shit very much hits the fan. [read on AO3]

(thank you, as always, to @tarysande and @nightingaleseeking for endless cheerleading and support)

Charlotte Turner - Scientific Log - 3 March 2190.

Subject Rho remains stable. Aptitude tests (see attached results) show considerable promise, and subject seems likely to continue on the same trajectory. Subject is vulnerable to suggestion and wants to please her testers. Once her brain has developed enough to activate Damocles permanently, Subject Rho should be a perfect candidate for long-term programming. Estimations put the earliest Control trigger point at age 21.

While the team and I are hesitant to label this variant of Damocles an unparalleled success, it is most certainly a more viable prototype than all previous models. Experiment repetition determines true success. Subject Sigma is being prepared for pre-op beginning 0800 tomorrow.

Recommendation: provided she passes the next battery of physical tests, Subject Rho is ready for return to her parents on Rayngiri Station to begin integration and programming. For ease of assimilation, Subject Rho should be referred to in all reports from this point forward as Nora.

End log.  

***

Nora wakes up as two guards drag her down the hallway. It’s loud inside her head. Crowded. Chaotic. Like there’s another voice trying to be heard, but it hasn’t figured out how to speak yet, only scream.

Her body feels too heavy and her head feels too light as she tries to get her feet steady underneath her. A dull pain thuds behind her eyes, and the hallway doubles and slants sideways.

She stumbles over her feet as they turn into the cell block and falls when the guards push her back into the cell with Rachel. Pain blooms behind her knees as she slams into the freezing concrete. Shivers start deep in her chest and she crawls away from the force field into a corner.

“Nora?” Rachel asks quietly once the guards are gone.  

Nora thrusts out one shaking hand, keeping Rachel at an arm’s length away. She could certainly use a medic, but the second voice scratches at the inside of her head, trying to find its way out. Focusing only on her breathing, and not the way her head spins or how every muscle throbs or the darkness pushing at the edges of her vision, she slowly turns and sits. She presses herself up against the corner, as far away from her teammates as she can get. A few minutes pass before she trusts that it will be her own voice when she speaks.

“The chip’s active,” Nora whispers hoarsely, staring at the concrete floor. Her vision swims again. She leans her head back against the wall and takes three deep, controlled breaths. She desperately wants to take a moment and let those three words sink in, but the other voice scrabbles at the walls of her skull.

“It showed up on the scan, and they brought someone else in, and,” the dull, wordless voice expands inside her head, beginning to push her own voice aside. She bites down hard, grinding her teeth together, and pushes back. “I don’t know, she had an assistant and he did something, and it was like someone stabbed me in the head. And now there’s this other…voice.” She gestures at the air beside her head, as if they could see the noise as clearly as she can hear it.

“Why’d they send you back?” Carlos asks.

Nora abruptly opens her eyes and looks up at him. Spots dance across her vision in the bright light. She very carefully avoids looking at anyone else. “I don’t know,” she says. It’s a very good question, and if roles were reversed, they certainly wouldn’t send her back unless…a thought crosses her mind. Nora thinks – hopes – that it’s her own. “Knock me out. Now.”

“Nora…” Alle says gently from her cell across the hall.

She forces herself to look at Alle, her best friend since they were fifteen. Alle bites her lip and looks like she’s about to cry. I’m sorry, Nora wants to say. You’re the reason I made it through high school and now I’m the reason you’re probably going to die here. I’m sorry.

“She’s right,” Jonah says. “If the chip’s active, they would’ve kept her away from us unless there’s something they wanted.”

Nora finally sits up straight and looks at all of them. She had no business going on this mission and they all knew it, but they all followed her here anyway.

“Montgomery,” Micah says,” right here,” he points to a pulse point under his jaw. “Just a little pressure. It won’t hurt and she’ll go right out.”

Nora manages to smile at him. Always calm, always centered, always her steady rock, even in the middle of this mission that’s gone as completely sideways as it could.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says to her. She gestures to Nora’s jaw and looks to Micah for confirmation. He nods.

“It’s okay,” Nora says. None of this is okay, and maybe it never will be again, but she’s a liability they need to take out of the equation. “Just do it. Please.” Her breath stutters when she inhales, and she doesn’t look at Alle.

I’m so sorry.

***

Alle watches, helpless, as Rachel hits the spot Micah pointed to and Nora crumples to the ground. Rachel waves her hand over Nora’s face, snaps her fingers, even claps her hands loudly right next to Nora’s ear, all to no response. Out like a light, just like Micah promised. At least it was quick and easy.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Nora’s her best friend, but right now she’s a liability. They’re soldiers, they’ve trained for this.

Well. Not this. No one could ever train for this. But they’ve trained for compartmentalizing, for dissociating from their emotions until there’s time for it, for focusing on the mission and the mission only. Three deep breaths – good air in, bad air out – and Alle opens her eyes.

Jonah’s popping the latches on his boot.

“Seriously?”

He stretches his neck to one side and then the other, cracking his neck, but Alle well knows that trick. She’s used it herself countless times as a discrete way of checking security cameras. “Move,” he whispers, not moving his mouth.

Alle blinks at him. They’re locked in a 9x9 cell. There’s nowhere to move. She’s on the verge of saying so when he gives her a slight shake of his head.

“Between me and the cameras,” he says. It’s eerie hearing him speak without his lips moving. “Look natural.”

“No one in the history of that phrase has ever looked natural,” she mutters, but gets to her feet. She dusts off her palms on her pants and walks to the front of the cell, just beside the force field. She cracks her neck, pulling the same maneuver as Jonah, and then stretches out her arms as she looks across the hall. Nora’s cell is diagonally across and at a bad angle, but she can make out her friend lying on the floor. Rachel’s put her folded-up sweatshirt underneath Nora’s head and is kneeling beside her. She holds two fingers to Nora’s wrist and looks at her watch.

“How is she?” Alle asks softly, once Rachel sets Nora’s arm across her stomach.

“Her vitals are okay, but I can’t tell what the chip’s doing without a scanner,” she whispers without moving her lips, just like Jonah.

Alle wonders whether Jonah had his entire team take ventriloquism lessons. And whether that might not be a bad idea for Chimera once they get out of this mess.

“What’s the number on those cameras?” Jonah asks, still a whisper.

Alle tries to surreptitiously squint at the camera, but it’s Micah who answers.

“ERC 5B,” he says.

“Good,” Jonah says, in a normal voice this time. “The Elanus B models don’t have audio.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Carlos asks.

Jonah stares at the solid wall separating their two cells, as if he could stare straight through the concrete at Carlos. “Asks the man who gave us a lecture on bears on the way here.”

There’s a brief pause. “Carry on.”

“Anyway,” Jonah says, “we should avoid talking directly into the camera in case someone on staff can lip read, but we should be okay to talk.”

Alle tears her focus away from her unconscious friend to look over her shoulder at him. She raises her eyebrow: he has his boot off now and frowns as he tries to pry something off the side of the sole. A compartment pops open. “Okay, what are you doing?”

He turns his boot so the open compartment faces down, gives the boot a solid tap, and a small omnitool falls into his lap. He holds it up, careful to keep it in her shadow.

Alle blinks. “You keep a spare omnitool in your boot?”

“You don’t?”

“Well, now I will.” Under the guise of stretching, mindful of Jonah’s warning, she turns back to the others. “Wu has an omnitool,” she tells the others as she bends over, palming the floor. Better Cerberus get a nice view of her ass than see the word omnitool on her lips.

“I can piggyback onto their outgoing signal, but it’ll probably only work once,” he says. “Votes on what to say?”

“Mission FUBARed,” Carlos suggests. “Short and sweet.”

Jonah sighs, and Alle bites back a grin at the flash of irritation that crosses his face. She shifts position, careful to keep the bulk of her body in front of the camera.

“While accurate,” Jonah says, “I think any potential help would appreciate a little more intel than ‘FUBAR.’”

“Mission FUBAR,” Micah repeats the headline. “Team captured, AA guns online, Vakarian compromised.” He pauses. “Vega will know what that means, but Cerberus won’t know that we know about the chip.”

Rachel looks down at Nora. “I think that ship has sailed.”

“We have to take the risk,” Jonah says. “Any rescue team needs to know what they’re walking into.” He starts to type the message.

“Uhm,” Alle says, stretching her legs back behind her into a downward-facing dog. “Just a thought, and I don’t know what kind of rock these guys might be living under, but maybe we don’t risk letting Cerberus know they have the turian councilor’s daughter? Call her Nora.” She sighs as her calves start to release their tension; she sat on the concrete floor too long.

“Good call,” the other three say in unison as Jonah changes the message.

A few minutes of silence pass while Jonah encrypts the message. “Okay,” he says. “Sent.” He slips the omnitool back into his boot and puts it on again. Alle stands back up straight and blinks away a light wave of vertigo.

“And now we wait,” Carlos says.

“And now we wait,” Rachel echoes.

Alle sits down at the front of the cell and sighs. Nora doesn’t move.

***

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Nora says, as much for her own sake as her mother’s. “I have meds, and Quentus is on call if I need a lunch buddy.”

Mom nods. “If you need anything…”

“I will call you,” she promises. Her heart starts to pound, but she has to go in. She can’t stand here in the school office forever. Good air in, bad air out.

Mom pulls her into a close hug. “I love you,” she whispers, and kisses her cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Nora hugs her tightly. “Love you too.” Before she loses her nerve entirely and begs for her mom to just let her take classes online for the rest of high school, she lets go and steps into the small inner room.

Five other transfer students sit at various desks around the room: three humans she doesn’t recognize, the son of the turian ambassador (she gives him a little wave, and he nods in return), and a drell she’s seen around at various parties. She takes a seat near the back; not too far to be in the back, but far enough away from the front and behind everyone, so she can see them all. No chance of them whispering behind her back. With a sharp breath, she settles into the hard chair and pulls her tablet from her backpack.

As the bell rings, another student runs in through the door, frozen coffee in hand, sneaking in right in front of the assistant dean. She sits down two seats away from Nor and affects a posture that looks like she was sitting there the whole time.

The assistant dean clears his throat in clear disapproval, the girl bites back a smile, and he begins introductions and orientation.

As soon as the bell rings, announcing lunch, Nora slips out and starts to text Quentus to see if he can meet her at the smoothie place down the street. Hearing her name, Nora turns around and sees Alle dropping her empty cup into a matter recycler and then rushing catching up with her.

“Want to grab lunch?” Alle asks, squinting in the fake Citadel sun as they walk outside.

Nora smiles. “Yeah, sure.” She quickly changes her text.

NV: I’ve got lunch covered QV: did you make a friend? NV: okay I know that’s supposed be genuine but you just sound like a dick QV: noted NV: and maybe QV: still want me to meet you after school? NV: yes please QV: i’ll have coffee. enjoy lunch with your maybe-friend!

She closes her messaging app and follows Alle down the street and around the corner, into an unassuming alley that smells delicious. Food stalls of all cuisines from all species line the walls, leaving only a small, crowded space to navigate down the street.

“Wow,” she says. The Presidium is huge, she could never hope to see all of it, but she thought she’d found all the cool lunch spots.

“Yeah. My roommate at Gagarin Prep went to CLA for a bit, told me about this place. Meet you on the other side in ten minutes?”

Nora nods and goes off in search of lunch. As tempting as that oorlak smells, she doubts they can make it levo for her like Dad can at home, so she passes the stall and keeps walking. She wanders the aisle and eventually settles on an asari fruit salad with grilled tofu.

On her way to the other end, she spies a familiar logo and makes a quick, unintended stop. “Hi, Lily,” she says to the woman behind the bakery stall.

“Hey, Nora!” Lily grins. “Your grandmother told me you were starting at CLA today.” She slides a sprinkled sugar cookie into a bag and hands it over to Nora.

Nora reaches for it, then hesitates. “Can I have two? I’m meeting someone.”

“Sure.” Lily puts another cookie in the bag. “Hannah’s here on Tuesdays, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Nora says, smiling widely. She puts the cookie bag into her backpack. She sees her grandmother regularly but knowing she could find her here during the week if she needed is nice. “I’ll see you later,” she says, waving as she heads off to the end to meet Alle.

She checks her watch as she exits the chaos - eleven minutes. Alle isn’t there. And for thirty horrifying seconds, Nora stands there alone.

Adrenaline rushes in, bitter on her tongue, and her breathing grows shallow. She wipes sweaty palms on her pants and tries to bring her rate back to normal through sheer force of will - she can’t possibly be having a panic attack on the very first day of a new school, she can’t, and if she starts on any of the coping methods her therapist gave her, it means she’s definitely having a panic attack.

And she is not having a panic attack.

And then Alle pushes her way out of the crowd. “Sorry! The gyro line was nuts –” she stops suddenly. “Are you okay?”

Nora lets out a slow, controlled breath. “Yeah,” she smiles. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

***

Nora awakens back in the lab, restrained to the chair. It isn’t the slow wakefulness of rising naturally, but the sudden jolt of chemically-induced consciousness. She immediately closes her eyes, feigning continued sleep. Maybe she’ll hear something useful. Whether she has the chance to inform her teammates about any intel is another story, and a problem for later.

“Are you sure about this?” Adam’s voice.

“Of course,” Charlotte says, a little annoyed.

“This wasn’t our intended target.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she says, with a clipped tone that clearly silences any continued argument. “This is better than we could’ve hoped for.”

“How so?” Adam again.

By the small sounds they make as they move around the lab, Nora gathers that they’re the only two in here.

Charlotte scoffs. “Do you really think Shepard and Vakarian aren’t going to turn the galaxy upside down to find their daughter? Our sources think there’s a better than even chance one or both of them will even come in person. It’s why we let her team’s little SOS through.”

Involuntarily, Nora stiffens at the mention of her parents and the trap they’re walking into. She doesn’t know how her team got a message out, but if she’s sent back to the cells, maybe – maybe – they can get a second one out with a warning.

A shadow crosses her face. Nora tries for another few seconds but gives up the act and opens her eyes.

“Of course we know who you are,” Charlotte smiles. It’s meant to be friendly, and Nora sees the ice beneath it. “I do apologize,” she says.

This woman has a lot to apologize for, but Nora suspects the apology isn’t for what she’s hoping. “For what?”

Charlotte draws a stool closer to the bed and sits down. She crosses her legs, primly tugging down the demure skirt. It’s a different outfit than before; Nora wonders how many days have passed. She picks up a tablet from the side table and begins tapping at it.

Nora raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“There’s a scientific explanation,” Charlotte says, turning her attention to a console above Nora’s head, “but it’s a little dull.”

Nora strains her neck backward, trying to catch a glimpse of the console. She’s strapped tight to the table and can’t do anything about the console, not even if there’s a big red control switch, but it feels better than just lying here. The angle’s strange, and the most she’s able to see before Charlotte pushes it over to Adam is an image of a brain with a glowing dot pulsing near the middle. Safe to assume it’s hers. Nora settles against the bed again and tests the restraints one more time, with just as little luck as before.

A slight buzz starts inside her skull, and the dull, incoherent voice from earlier begins to scream again. Both the buzz and the voice are so faint that she probably wouldn’t notice either if she weren’t lying strapped to a table in a quiet lab.

“I’m afraid reprogramming you is going to hurt,” Charlotte says. She looks down at Nora. “This would have been easier for both of us if you’d been with us from the beginning.”

“Somehow, I’m not too upset about that.”

Charlotte gives her a tight smile. “We’ll talk about that in the morning.” She looks over at Adam. “It’s ready. Begin, please.”

The buzzing slams into an earthquake inside her head, and the screams tear through her skull like they’re going to burst her eardrums from the inside out. Nora tries to hang on, tries to fight it and stay awake, but blinding-hot pain consumes her. She struggles against the restraints, trying to curl up in a ball, trying to cover her head, as if that will help at all. The bite of the restraints against her skin hardly registers through the stabbing, splitting, breaking feeling inside her head. Hot tears fall down her cheeks and a voice starts to plead – “Stop, please, stop, please please please, stop,” the voice sobs.

Nora hardly recognizes the hoarse, desperate voice as her own.

“Higher,” Control’s voice cuts through.

And then something snaps, ripping the last please from her throat, and Nora just screams.

***

Nora stares at her hands. The question has been burning at her for days, and now with Quentus out for the night with some friends and Dad stuck at work, she’s alone with Mom. It isn’t that she doesn’t trust her brother or father, but something about her mother has always just been…calm. Comforting.

True.

“Mom?” she calls quietly toward the kitchen. She waits for her to look over. “How do I know this is real?”

Her mother raises an eyebrow, and Nora taps at her head.

“Is that what this is about?” Mom asks gently. She drops a handful of mini marshmallows into both mugs and brings them over to the couch.

Nora takes one mug and waits until Mom’s settled beside her. “No,” she says. “Not really.” And it’s not – it’s about school and friends who suddenly turned their backs. But the chip isn’t helping. It never has. Part of her wishes they’d never told her about it. She knows why they did, and the rest of her does appreciate knowing, but she’s been thinking a lot recently about how everything would be a little bit easier if she didn’t know.

“Talk to me,” Mom says, reaching out to gently tuck Nora’s hair behind her ear, like she used to do when Nora was small and had a head full of curls.

She sips at her hot chocolate. “I used to be able to ignore it,” she says. “But then all that…crap,” she waves her hand with the generalization, wrapping all of her panic and anxiety and stress into one word, “happened, and I couldn’t anymore.” She shrugs. “Like my brain figured it was already freaking out so went ‘why not’ and added the chip onto the pile of bullshit.”

Mom nods and takes a drink of her own hot chocolate. “I’m real,” she says. “You’re real. And this is real.”

“If you were a Cerberus hallucination, you’d say that.”

She smiles a quiet little sad smile. “It’s something your dad said to me,” she says. “And I told him pretty much the same thing.”

Nora laughs softly and takes a sip that’s mostly melted marshmallow.

“But,” she waits until Nora looks back at her. “At some point, you’ve gotta trust something. Otherwise that pit’s pretty deep.”

She thinks about making a joke, about already being way over her head in that particular deep end, but there’s a strange look on Mom’s face. Sad, worried, concerned, and something Nora’s never seen on her mother before – fear. She swallows back the joke.

“Something made you trust me thirteen years ago,” Mom says softly. “Hold onto that. This is real. I promise.”

[page-of-tales]

Story: Frontier Medicine (Compiled)

When a conflict between the Ents and the Zygaroon erupts the Federation becomes home to their battlefields. On a distant and remote system one lone Zygaroon survivor comes into contacts with humans.

An optimistic look into possible future medical innovations. Rather than a look back this is more of a look forward at what kind of crazy innovations we will come up with.

Word Count: 7900

“Hospitals should be arranged in such a way as to make being sick an interesting experience. One learns a great deal sometimes from being sick. ”

― Alan Wilson Watts

Crash Landing

Clark Woods was in the living room reading articles on his hand held Screen. Reading local news was his way of winding down from a long day in the fields. There wasn’t much in the news itself. The weather report noted the changing season, warning people to watch for flash floods. Local events were rather mundane, which he sincerely appreciated. He yawned, wondering what he should make for breakfast tomorrow when suddenly the front door burst open.

“Father, father!”

It was Zeke, his young adolescent son. Zeke ran in practically leaping over the coffee table and grabbed Clark by the arm dragging him out of the chair.

“Something landed in the fields! Come on, look!”

Clark managed to hold his ground.

“Hold up son, what did you say? Something in the fields?”

Zeke spoke quickly, and Clark struggled to pick out the words. “I saw a streak of fire crash into the fields! I think it’s a spaceship.”

Zeke was flushed with excitement and Clark himself was now curious.

“Alright let’s go.”

As they both ran out the front door, Clark took a moment to grab his hunting rifle leaning against the door. Already he could smell something in the air. Smoke and dust was rising from the field. As the drew closer they saw that it was clearly a ship of some sort. A small one, capable of housing maybe 1-3 human sized individuals. It had skidded along the ground creating a deep blackened furrow. Sheets of metal had sheared off and were strewn scattered about. Despite the black smoke the ship didn’t appear to be on fire. Still the two approached cautiously.

“It’s a shuttle isn’t it?”

Zeke whispered. Clark was glad to see his son acting with some caution, he checked the chamber of his gun before replying.

“No, too small for a shuttle, looks like an escape pod.”

The two approached closer, Zeke kicking some debris out of the way.

“Doesn’t look like a human design.”

Clark muttered under his breath. The pair drew closer to the crash site. Zeke held his hand above the metal, “Hot. Oh, looks like a handle.”

Before Clark could say anything Zeke had pulled the handle. With a hiss 4 panels of the ship shifted forward before falling to the ground. “It’s an alien!” Zeke exclaimed excitedly. Then recoiled in shock.

Clark shifted to see, rifle held against his shoulder. It certainly was an alien. It wore a full suit that covered it’s face and much of its body. It’s general form vaguely humanoid in proportions, but was slightly taller than him, had a wider abdomen and four arms each with four digits. It also had a massive sucking chest wound from which purple blood pooled from.

Zeke peeked into each chamber, “I think they’re dead.” Indeed none of the bodies moved, and seemed unlikely to be able to. Abruptly one of the bodies flailed about.

It fell forward onto the ground and impulsively seemed to crawl a few inches before collapsing. Zeke started to move towards it before Clark yelled at him to get back. The figure didn’t move as Clark edged closer, the hunting rifle pointed at the alien. When he was right next to the alien it still hadn’t moved. With a foot he flipped the alien over. It’s face mask had been smashed during the crash landing and he could see a pale red face, an alien eye swiveling to look at him. For a moment the two stood in opposition to each other. Slowly Clark lowered the rifle. Setting it by the ground. Speaking slowly he said to Zeke. “Go and bring the truck. We’re taking it to town.”

Zeke to his credit didn’t stall and rushed off quickly. Clark maintained eye contact with the alien. “Help, friendly.” He spoke slowly, even though in the back of his mind he knew it was unlikely the alien understood him. He kept his arms held in front of him to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. Meanwhile his eyes assessed the alien. The figure seemed to be bleeding from a leg wound, purple blood drenching the entire suit. Clark reached to undo his belt, and moving slowly wrapped it around the mangled leg before tightening it firmly around. The alien grunted but didn’t resist. Not at all satisfied with his makeshift tourniquet but unsure of what else to do Clark rose to his feet. He checked the other aliens, shaking them trying to get a reaction.

But there was nothing. The alien called out, three distinctive sounds before repeating. Clark wondered it it was calling to it’s friends. Moving back to the wounded alien he placed a hand on it’s chest. It’s eye looked at him, the movement of its chest more erratic. Clark wondered if the atmosphere was poisoning it. But again there was nothing he could do about that, The sound of the truck approaching drew away his attention. The old red flatbed rolled right up to them and Zeke jumped out and in a moment the two of them dragged the alien onto the bed of the truck. “Alright, you sit in back, I’ll drive.” Clark threw the rifle into the cab and then whipped the truck around to race towards town.

Box Clinics

Zeke had “seen” aliens before. Sometimes you would see them near the spaceport outside of town. But they never went into town and most wore full suits at all times. A remote frontier world like this, so far from the Galactic Spine, didn’t see many alien visitors, made life quiet, but as Father said, quiet was good. Zeke kept a hand on the aliens chest, feeling it move slightly as it breathed. The whistling wind as they sped down the highway made it impossible to communicate, not that the alien would understand him. Up close Zeke noticed that the suit was in fact more an armor with thicker ceramic plating seeming to cover around the head and chest. Latches seemed to hold the suit together. He wondered if this alien being was a soldier. As Zeke watched he noticed the aliens eyes start to droop, a chill of fear ran up his back as he worried the alien might die.

Spotted Eagle was a small town, it was the largest settlement on the world, and its capital, but its population barely bumped above 12,000. It was a sprawling series of districts, it’s only notable feature being the spaceport just outside of town where large freighters and vessels were moored at dock. At this hour the streets were empty. The cold driving everyone indoors. It didn’t take them long to reach their destination close to the center of town. They pulled into the parking lot of the Box Clinic. An unremarkable looking building, bland concrete walls with no visible windows. Resembling more a warehouse than a medical facility. The alien had passed out, but was still breathing. The two of them dragged it inside. The waiting room was empty but notably there was no one inside to receive them either. Clark reached out to slam a red button on the wall labeled HELP. An alarm blared briefly and doors at the end of the room swung open. An automated voice spoke, “Please step inside the examination room, a medical professional has been contacted.”

The two dragged the alien into the room which was lit up by bright white lights. The room was absent of any features save a raised bed near one wall. The pair of them grunted as they lifted the alien onto the bed, it’s limbs sprawling to the sides. “Where’s the doctor!” Clark called out.

“One moment.” The electronic voice intoned smoothly. The sound of a call being connected sounded in the room. Zeke paced nervously. “Connecting, Doctor Yossar.” The voice said before it cut out.

A hologram stepped out of the wall. The blue light depicting a male human dressed in a lab coat wearing square rim glasses. The hologram even somehow managed to emulate the shine of his bald head. He looked at the two as he stepped up to them.

“Doctor Yossar, connecting from Angak, please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

Clark stepped aside to allow the doctor through. “We have an injured alien here. Hurt real bad.”

The Doctor looked surprised as he laid eyes on the patient. “I see. What happened?”

Zeke spoke up, “It’s ship crashed in our field. We pulled it out and brought it here.”

The hologram of the doctor raised its hands to gesture over the alien. Multiple coiled tendrils with grasping appendages at one end called Servos emerged from the wall to position the alien more squarely on the bed. “Did it speak with you? Do you know what species it is?”

Clark accepted a towel handed to him by a servo and wiped alien blood off of Zeke’s forehead. “I tried to talk with it but I don’t think it understood. No idea what species it could be either.” “

I think it’s a soldier!” Zeke blurted out.

“That’s good information to know.” The doctor nodded in appreciation. He hit some buttons on his wrist band. “Clarence, can you come here I need some assistance.” He turned and spoke to someone invisible to the other two. “Please identify this alien and contact the appropriate team, urgently.” Turning back to the alien the servos began moving along the body, tugging at the tourniquet and moving to touch around the smashed face plate. “Do you know how to remove the suit?”

Zeke stepped forward, “I do.” reaching past the servos he jiggled something loose and pulled off some of the armor. It clanged loudly on the floor. “Thank you.” The Doctor said. Together the two of them, servos and hands, stripped off the armor and a pair of scissors cut away the fabric of the suit. The alien body was largely hairless, with a few lumps in places humans didn’t have. Patches of discolored skin stood out and small wounds still leaked blood. Doctor Yossar thanked Zeke before directing him to chairs which could be pulled out from the wall. Then he set to work.

Remote Medicine

Doctor Yossar was located many millions of kilometers from the remote frontier world. Located on the megalopolis world Angak. Standing in a room that was physically the exact same room as the one containing his patient. A VR headset allowing him to see the room containing his patient and the servos mimicking his hand movements with the same precision and accuracy as if he was actually there. There were even a specific set of servos that gave him physical feedback through the haptic gloves. Dr. Yossar was well experienced, having completed nearly a dozen years with Clinix Box. But his expertise was not in alien health. This alien needed a specialist and fast. He hoped Clarence would come back quick. In the meantime he could still perform basic treatment and gather as much information as he could. He began wrapping some sterile bandages around the bleeding wounds, stemming the flow of liquids. With that complete next he attached a few electrodes to the body. The signals he received were shaky and not consistent with a human’s, but enough to read a electric activity in the body. Whether it was neural or somatic wasn’t clear but still was a positive sign.

Floating a little off to the side Doctor Yossar had a chart which he was filling in as much information as he could. Some of it was already present. The weight and basic measurements taken care of by the bed. A catalogue on injuries being made. Other general observations.

He tapped some controls and a rod extended from the underside of the table. It swept up and down the alien figure performing a rapid radiological scan. In his vision a 3D image of the alien’s internal structure appeared alongside the alien. He didn’t bother trying to parse the raw data, without knowing the physiology of the alien and corresponding reaction to a scan he wouldn’t be able to determine much besides cavity, liquid, and solids. He heard a voice speaking through the internal communications, it was Clarence. “The species is identified as a Zygaroon, I’ve contacted the medical team, they will be here in a couple of minutes. Dr. Liu is team leader.”

“Thank you Clarence, get ready to process a sample of blood.” Dr. Yossar reached into the wall to grab a syringe. In the examination room the pair watched as servo wielding the syringe extracted a sample of purple blood from the alien. The servo retracted into the wall and deposited the blood into a machine. “Able to get anything Clarence?”

“Give me a second.” Clarence paused as the data streamed in from the analysis machine. “I don’t know Dr. Yossar. Too many alien proteins, the machine can’t get a clean read. I think the blood caked in the machine. I’ll try a different method.”

A call opened up in Dr. Yossar’s vision. Credentials streamed by quickly as several callers connected at once. Then a new voice spoke in his ear.

“Dr. Yossar, I’m Dr. Liu, head of the xeno medical team. I understand you have a patient for us?”

“Yes, a Zygaroon, pulled from a crash landing from OJ-332. Surface wounds, severe injury to a leg. Internal bleeding, possible structural fracturing, and metal all over in the chest cavity. I’ve pulled a blood sample into the machine. And here is the raw scan data. Oh.” Yossar clapped his hands together. “It might be a soldier.”

“Alright thanks, we can take it from here but we would appreciate you staying on the line.”

“Of course.”

Dr. Yossar stepped back and the visuals in his headset notified him control was being ceded to the newcomers. Pulling the visor up briefly he saw he was still alone in the room. Pulling the visor back down he continued to watch the proceedings.

In the examination room several holograms appeared and gathered around the Zygaroon. They spoke quickly, as they assessed the situation.

“Weight 92.3 kg, height 201 cm. Gender ZX.”

“Age approximately 32 cycles.”

“Scan shows some prior surgeries, a couple of implants.”

“No major organ damage, functioning glands.”

“Arm fractures, internal bleeding in the chest.”

”Clot in leg.”

“Metal fragmentation in the chest cavity.”

“Surgery recommended immediately.”

“We need to know if it’s on any medications.”

“Dr. Yossar do you have information on medication history?”

“No, I pulled a blood sample but the data was garbage.”

One of the techs pulled up the roll of data in front of him. “Yeah, that’s an accurate assessment.”

“I’m guessing it clogged up the machine.”

Clarence’s voice came in overhead. “Yeah I can’t get the machine to respond anymore.”

One of the techs nodded at that. “Zygaroon blood is thicker than most. Fascinating clotting abilities.”

“We have to wake it up.” Dr. Liu said taking hand of the situation. “Ideas?”

“Stimulant?”

“No, possible interactions.”

“Slap it?”

“Good idea.”

A servo with an electrode reached up and shocked the Zygaroon with a jolt of electricity. It’s eyes snapped open and it seemed startled to be surrounded by holograms and the hovering tentacle-like servos. However it gasped aloud when it tried to rise and it fell back against the bed. The servos moving to restrain it gently.

“*Don’t move, we are here to help” Dr. Liu spoke in translated Zygaroon, which sounded like a mix of grunts and huffs in different pitches. The Zygaroon just grunted in pain, but it seemed to comprehend. It’s resistance ceasing. A servo extended holding a tube to the alien's mouth.

“Blow.” Dr. Liu instructed and the Zygaroon blew a breath into the tube. The breathalyzer was a basic diagnostic tool capable of evaluating the contents of an individual’s blood. From a breath a doctor could evaluate the presence of drugs, metabolites, and even cancer. After a moment the machine produced matches with recognizable compounds which popped up in everyone’s view. One of the techs began labeling the molecules calling them out as she went down the list.

“Stimulant, mild pain inhibitor, anti-toxin, I would recommend anesthetic #3.”

Dr. Liu turned to the Zygaroon, a model of the alien appearing in her hand. “*We are going to have to operate to heal you. You have fragments in your chest and internal bleeding.” She pointed to the locations on the model. “Do we have permission to operate.”

The Zygaroon paused a moment before answering. “*Yes.”

One of the assistant techs turned to Clark and Zeke still waiting on the far wall. “Please wait in the waiting room. We will inform you when it is safe to come back inside.”

One of the team members began entering in some chemical formulas and somewhere in the clinic a molecular printer began producing the anesthetics and other drugs they would require. The walls of the room opened up and a number of devices deployed in preparation for surgery. A line of fluids was hooked up to the patient and the servos moved the electrodes to different positions to attenuate the signal properly. The techs hurriedly conversed amongst themselves as they did a quick pre-check. Meanwhile Dr. Liu extended a mask over the mouth of the Zygaroon. “I want you to count back from 10.”

“10, 9, 8-”

Background Check

Dr. Yossar watched as Dr. Liu went to work. The alien was cut open on the table. Small specialized servos moved about in the chest cavity. Applying adhesive grafts to bleeding vessels, grafts made of a special polymer that would disintegrate harmlessly as the body healed itself. Another metal fragment clinked into a metal bowl, as the chest shrapnel was cut out. A small torch kept the internal bleed down. One of the techs kept a watch on the monitors. Announcing metabolite values at regular intervals.

It was quiet, the team was professional and practiced. Dr. Yossar now certain his patient was in good hands and his presence was no longer necessary took the opportunity to excuse himself and exited the simulation. He pulled off the visor and let it hang from the ceiling. Walking to the corner of the room he picked up a water bottle and took a long drink. Even for an Emergency call that had been different. Clarence poked her head in through the doorway.

“Good work doctor.”

“Thanks Clarence, quick work on the identification.”

“Oh that was easy, I just did a search for the system they were calling from. Apparently the Zygaroon and Ents are at war. There was a battle there just today.”

“A war?”

“Yeah, apparently over some ancient relic ships.”

“The Ents are allies right?”

“I believe so.”

“Better contact the authorities then. Not sure in what jurisdiction this falls in.”

“I can handle it, go ahead and take your break.”

“Thanks Clarence.”

Dr. Yossar plopped himself down in a chair. Then he recalled the pair who had brought the alien in the first place. He tapped his wrist band and searched for the local number of the clinic. They would probably want to know about the alien as well.

Waking Up

Flight Leader Tara awoke with a start. Hands flailing to grasp at something. Then the memories returned. The ambush, the battle, the destruction of her fighter, the plummet to the planet. Rescue. She looked around. The slight movement causing an irksome pain in her chest. She felt sore all over, but she was alive which seemed miraculous. White panels covered the wall. The lights above were dim but starting to come alight as she moved about. A Screen at the end of the bed came to life. A human peered at her and showed her its teeth as she stared at him. A translator bubbled to life as it began to speak.

“*Good morning. Flight Leader Tara.”

“How do yo-”

“We scanned your flight tags. My name is Davi, diplomatic staff located on Angak.”

Tara looked around but she was alone in the room.

“What happened to my crew?”

Davi’s face took on a somber appearance. Already Tara knew the answer but she had to confirm.

“I’m sorry, they didn’t survive.”

Tara subdued the well of emotion. She could grieve later for her flightmates.

“Where are the humans who rescued me?”

“They’re outside sleeping in the waiting room. They were quite concerned about your health.”

Tara raised her arm which had some device connecting to a machine by the bed which appeared to show her vital signs. A green line jumping in time with her heartbeat.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a hospital.”

Tara scoffed, wincing slightly at the pain that movement caused.

“No backwater would have a medical facility this advanced. It’s absurd.”

Davi paused. Somewhat unsure of what the Zygaroon seemed to mean.

“Well I don’t know how hospitals work on Zygaroon. Though you are correct, this isn’t exactly a hospital but rather a remote clinic. As you put it, a *backwater* planet like this does not have a population base that makes a large scale hospital viable. However, we have laws dictating that population centers of 10,000 must have access to proper medical facilities. These remote facilities are a result of that. They give the local population access to health care to even these remote locations. Does that answer your question.”

“Yes…” Tara trailed off. She had suffered mortal wounds and had been saved overnight. Apparently human medical technology was more advanced than they had been led to believe. If this level of care was present on their frontiers who knew what sorcery they could wield at their core worlds.

“So what happens next?”

Davi looked up. “Oh I guess they didn’t tell you. Guess I got in before the nurses did. The doctors note recommended a couple days in bed here just to make sure there aren’t any complications from the operation. After that we WILL have to detain you. The Ents have made a formal request to the Federation that we hold any Zygaroon soldiers in our territory. You will be treated as a POW and continue being given treatment for your wounds.”

The monitor beeped as her heart rate rose. Tara tried to rise, but the effort exhausted her. “I don’t have a chance do I?”

Davi flashed his teeth at her again..

“You’ll live, in fact I think you might enjoy the terms of your stay.”

“How.” She growled.

“Well, other than actually leaving the planet, you are free to go anywhere you wish on the planet itself. I’m sure you are aware you owe a life debt to the humans who saved you. In exchange for being your *wardens* they have requested you not be imprisoned or sent to the Ents. Their request has been granted. Your life debt will be considered fulfilled if you remain peaceably on the planet until the end of the war. I assume those terms are satisfactory for annulling your debt?”

Tara sunk into the bed, defeated and exhausted. “So this is the guile of humans.”

Davi flashed its teeth at her again, satisfied that the agreement had been settled. “You will have my number if you wish to negotiate for imprisonment. Goodbye Flight Leader.”

Preface

The Ents and Zygaroon had never been friends. Howevert hey had enough biological differences that they would rarely come into contact. Zygaroons breathed oxygen while the Ents metabolized fluorine. This distinctive difference alone kept them sequestered to different star systems. In addition, fluorine isn’t a particularly common element in an atmosphere so the Ents rarely colonized planets beyond constructing simple enclosed habitats on a few resource rich planets. Another contributing factor to the Ent’s general aversion to space travel.

There is one exception to that notion, and that is the Progenitors as the Ents call them. Humans call them the Libenters for reference. From what remains of their civilization the latest hypothesis is that the Progenitors were a space faring race some millenia ago that eventually faded out into extinction. For the Ents the Progenitors are akin to religious icons. Half of their colonies are constructed on planets holding trace remains of the Progenitors for the sole purpose of archeological research. As the name suggests the Ents view the Progenitors as having a key hand in their history, the details of which are unclear to outsiders.

You can imagine the Ents delight when they heard news that an ancient Progenitor city had been discovered by miners. They rapidly set off en masse in a large fleet to investigate the ruins, in the process they chased off the miners. In short summary the planet was in a star system claimed by the Zygaroon. The Zygaroon didn’t take kindly to the intrusion and attacked. The Ents dead set on the Progenitor ruins declared war. Skirmishes erupted along their borders, and neither side yielded the other any advantages. Both parties had attempted to ambush the other by circumventing through Federation space, and instead ended up spotting each other in a surprise encounter and having a running space battle that stretched across several star systems. As a human observer would put it, “The neighbors were having a tussle in my yard.”

Staff Meeting

Davi had to fight back a guffaw. The embellishment to the memo had caught him off guard. The line sounded familiar, maybe a quote from a drama. A timer notification popped up on his screen and he minimized the files. Davi took a moment to take a glance to his left and to his right as he sat upright behind the desk. On his right sat the Provincial Supervisor Theseus, leaning back in his chair to stretch long lanky arms. On his left sat the military liaison, Lieutenant Commander or was it Lieutenant Colonel, Akers was sitting reviewing some data on her screen.

Around the three a cadre of staff and aides milled about. There was a quiet buzz as they passed notes between themselves and the door to the room was swinging open constantly. The lights began to dim as the meeting began and the voices died down. One by one a projector beamed images of the System and Planetary leadership figures from across the province onto the far wall as communication was established. Light years of distance cut to a few microseconds of lag, a miracle of hyperspace communications. Yet even with that convenience came the hassle of  arranging the schedules of 15 individuals who had widely varying day and night cycles. That aspect of conferences would never change.

The last connection was made and for a moment the room was silent giving Davi time to look at the profile’s of the gathered leaders. Of the 12 local leaders 1 was non-human. 8 star systems were represented, for star systems that didn’t have more than 1 significantly populated planet the Planetary leadership and System representative were usually the same. Supervisor Theseus issued greetings and the transcriber began tapping on his keyboard signaling the start of the meeting. Sparing everyone’s time the topic of discussion was brought up immediately, the Ent-Zygaroon war, specifically the recent battle that had careened through Federation space. First off the broad strokes presented by the Lieutenant Major. A star chart was projected into the room and the liaison highlighted the intrusion points of the alien forces. Noting that the initial intrusions had been too far from any Federation force to prevent either fleet’s movement. Davi took his turn to note the Federation had logged a strong formal complaint to both governments, and was now moving to secure its border with both species. Elements of the Federation Fleet would be mobilized throughout the region, and further intrusions would be met with force. There was muted approval and easing of worry from the leadership.

Supervisor Theseus took the reins again and listed out some prepared guidelines for the leaders to follow. In general all they were asking was for inspection of current defenses, and for certain systems to prepare for disruptions as the Federation fleets moved through and about. The Ents military were to be given non-military assistance if requested, the Zygaroon to be ignored unless an emergency presented itself. The meeting was adjourned after a special communication line was established for any further requests or notifications in regard to the matter. After the last leader had logged off Davi let out a breath. The Lieutenant Captain flashed a grin at him, “You thought that was hard, here comes the media.”

The door to the office open and a surge of reporters with cameras flashing rushed in. Davi groaned under breath. He still had that Zygaroon to call. Today should be the day she was discharged from the clinic.  

The Funeral

Flight Leader Tara stood at attention in front of the graves. It was a clear day, the sun high in the sky. At her request her flightmates had been buried in an open field. The tall yellow grass shorn to create a clearing in the center. Fresh turned dirt marking the site of the dead. Above the graves a pyramid of branches marked the site. The humans had made a good faith effort in the burial. Her flightmates had been cleaned, dressed in violet garments, and laid to rest with their weapons. A warrior’s burial. Tradition stated she wear battle wear, however only her survival suit had survived intact. At the very least her weapons, her pistols and blades, had been returned to her. For the moment it would do. Around her with heads bowed stood several dozen humans, friends of her rescuers. With the final resting rites intoned Tara lit the pyramid aflame.

As the pyramid burned itself down the humans came up to giver her condolences. This was a human tradition and she accepted their words silently. Last were her rescuers, the father and son. They didn’t say anything, merely standing beside her. Tara averted her eyes from the embers to look around. It was a good place to lay her comrades to rest, however momentary. When the war was over the bodies would be retrieved and laid to rest on their homeworlds. The humans had promised to watch over them until then and she knew they would hold to that debt.

At last she settled herself. She spoke through the translator. “We can go.”    

Check Up

Clark Woods waited for Tara in the waiting room of the Box Clinic. Today there were a few other individuals sitting around, waiting for appointments or here to have a doctor examine a weird mole on their back. Clark made small talk with the grocery manager, and to a parent of his son’s classmate. They were eager to ask questions about his new occupant, despite their inquiries he waived off any questions on his guest.

Tara in the meantime was stripped down and doing stretches for the holo doctor. Evaluating her today was one of the nurses from the team that had treated her that first night. The nurse was making some notes and asking questions about her health. Tara gave succinct answers. “Yes, her chest ached. It was a 4 on the pain scale. No, she wasn’t drowsy. No, she wasn’t allergic to anything on the planet yes. Yes, she was washing her wounds.” Fairly standard medical processing.

The nurse seemed satisfied and told her as much. There had been no complications with the surgery. At the end the nurse recommended Tara maintain a low level of activity making sure not to overexert herself. She could pick up a package of various medications from the dispensary.

After the nurse disconnected there was only a brief pause before the diplomat stepped back into the room. He said hello to which Tara ignored as she put back on her clothes. He wasn’t put off by her silence and continued. The full script of the blood debt had been written up by the lawyers and he was here to orate the terms. She initially listened dutifully, however  as he droned on she stopped listening. The stipulations were common sense and water tight, preventing her from inflicting harm or being deceptive in regards to her imprisonment. Tara hadn’t been looking for loopholes in her debt, and wouldn’t have taken advantage of them if she found any. To do so would have dishonored the spirit of the agreement and bring dishonor to herself. The diplomat finishes and apologizes for the delay, he continues by saying they have connected a communication to her people as promised. He points out that there is a minute delay because of the signal lag. He leaves the call button on the screen for Tara to initiate, before leaving the room. After taking a moment to groom herself Tara connects the call. An image screen opens on the wall, after a few minutes of silence the connection clicks and a Zygaroon voice comes in.

“This is Grand Overseer Maga. Report.”

“Flight Blue-243, Flightleader Tara. I was shot down in an Ent ambush and am being held prisoner on the Federation world Naranja.”

There was a long pause.

“I see. Are you being treated well?”

“Yes, the humans have provided medical treatment and adequate shelter. I owe them a life debt.”

Another long pause, one which seemed to keep going.

“Very well. Stay strong and persist Flightleader.”

With that the call disconnected leaving Tara feeling suddenly very isolated. Frankly the reaction of her people wasn’t surprising. Given her individual status as a prisoner of war her people couldn’t offer her much. Nor could she offer much to them in her wounded state. Fighting off the feeling of abandonment Tara turned and left the darkened room.

Settling In

The drive back to the farm was quiet. Clark had seemed aware of her disconsoled mood, yet as always remained silent. Tara took the moment to look out at the passing scenery. Fields of crops. Of what nature she couldn’t quite determine. The fields seemed rather like an endless ocean, stretching to the horizon and with only the occasional copse of trees to differentiate the landscape. The quiet and monotony had an enchanting effect on the Zygaroon who only realized they had arrived at their destination when Clark pulled the truck into the driveway.

Tara’s cell was to be the unused spare bedroom. The bed had been modified to accompany her larger size and it now made the rest of the room look awkwardly small. The survival packages from her escape pod had been brought here and placed in the closet. Not that she needed anything from them. Clothes had been custom modified for her distinctly non-human appendages. The environment did not have any elements that were averse to her physiology. Bottles of vitamins were left untouched as her dietary needs were compatible with the humans.

Tara knew she should count herself lucky. Rather than being imprisoned she was essentially on vacation. It was… a conflicting thing to try and think about. Her schedule as a prison was loose, but regular. She rose a little after the sun had filled her room through the room’s sole window. In the morning she spent much of it maintaining the grooming standard of a warrior.  She ate two meals with the humans. She would spend the day either walking the perimeter or resting in bed depending on the level of pain she was experiencing. In the evening she might play a game of Lilp against Clark or otherwise watch the sunset before heading to bed. The boredom felt much more in line with a prison camp.

She had asked how long Clark could expect to keep up this charade. His response had surprised her.

“The war won’t last more than a week.” Clark said with unwavering certainty.

“How long is a week?” Tara inquired, unable to bring herself to challenge the declaration.

“10 days.”

6 days had already passed since then.

A Nightmare

Tara glanced at the flight controls. But for some reason the readings she was looking at didn’t make sense. She tried to reexamine the data but she couldn’t understand what she was looking at. She turned to talk to her co-pilot only to see the entire fighter was filled with smoke. The thick oily smoke filled her lungs and she struggled to breath. Desperately she tried to call for help, for her crew to evacuate. Despite her growing panic her body seemed to refuse to listen. The smoke soon enveloped her and she started to choke. This was wrong. With a willful movement she thrust herself forward out of her chair as the fighter disintegrated around her.

When she blinked above her was a darkened ceiling. Underneath she could feel a mattress on her back, sheets soaked in sweat. Confused she sat up. Unfamiliar furnishings surrounded her, but after a moment the events of the past week caught up to her. As her racing heart slowed back down, and her gasping breaths stopped. Her chest ached and she reached over to uncap a pill. As she swallowed the medication Tara looked at the window. The frame just barely lit by the moonlight. A nightmare she thought to herself, the room echoed with silence as her mind fought with itself. Finding a balance point she laid back on the bed to try and go back to sleep.

Outside the door a figure slowly crept away as the breathing in the room returned to an even pace.

Idle Days

It was on the 7th day that Clark proposed a suggestion. At first Tara hadn’t understood, but after some clarification things became clearer. Clark was proposing a camping trip for the three of them. Nothing too wild, in fact they would be traveling just a couple hours to the nearby lake just out of town. Technically Tara had no choice in the matter as a prisoner of war, but Clark insisted on getting her to agree to the matter. He explained a change in scenery and a chance to relax would be good for her.  

The young boy, Zeke was quite excited. Even though they weren’t traveling far he eagerly rushed about the house throwing items into the truck. Tara found herself caught up in the boy’s enthusiasm, untangling the fishing line at a remarkable speed with her four arms. By noon they were driving down the road.

Naranja

To give a bit of background about OJ-332. The star system is located some distance within the borders of Federation space, and quite a distance from the warp points in the region. Various spatial bodies nearby made it difficult for hyperspace travel. Because of these factors OJ-332 would historically be largely ignored by all the government and major corporations. LEaving the colonization of OJ-332 up to the venturous independent settlers to move into. Within OJ-332 itself the only habitable and populated planet is called Naranja by the local populace. Naranja is classified as a desert planet with just enough of an atmosphere and water content to be colonized by humans. With a caveat of the atmosphere being a little thinner than standard. Like living at high altitude, without the actual altitude. From space the yellow orange terrain is wrinkled by mountain ridges and valleys, and its most notable feature is a large crater in the north-west hemisphere. Indicative of a long ago impact by a significant massive object.

Geological studies of the planet had determined that the impact had wiped out a thriving primitive biosystem present on the planet. All of that organic matter had been subsequently transformed into prime farmland. Human settlers had capitalized on this fact, with the primary economy of the planet supported by its agricultural industry. The viable and weakened biosystem providing an ideal base for growing food. All of its exports are directed to the overflowing interior Sector systems. Despite its potential for productivity, most of the planet is undeveloped because of how remote the region is.

Spotted Eagle was the first settlement on the planet, and in order to ease the process of terraforming, had been located by the largest body of freshwater on the planet. Development of irrigation and other projects had drained the lake somewhat. A decrease which made it the third largest body of freshwater on the planet.  

Lake Camping

Their destination was this small unnamed lake, and they arrived sometime just before the sunset. It didn’t take them long to find a camping spot and set up their campsite. Clark told the two should explore the lake while he prepared food. Tara took a walk to a small pier jutting into the lake to rest while Zeke ran up and down the gravel beach. The lake was for lack of better words, modest. You simply don’t get magnificent lakes on a desert planet. “Then again a lake is just a body of water and all bodies of water are the same in appearance.” Zeke had said after Tara scoffed at the lake as a tiny pond. The lake was of a moderate size, surrounded by tree covered hills. The water was largely undisturbed, and clear to the bottom. Tara could watch fish swimming around the legs of the pier. Laying on her stomach she ran her hands in the water. The cold sensation soothing to the touch. It was incredibly pleasant.

Some time later Clark called them in for dinner and they sat around a campfire eating their meal. Zeke eagerly showed some colorful rocks he had picked off from the beach, while Tara focused on the crackle and pop of the campfire. After the meal Clark pulled out a few more bags of foodstuffs. The two of them demonstrated an old human tradition. Smores as they called it. A melted over sugary dessert that repulsed Tara. Though she still ate eight of the monstrosities. Using her two pairs of hands to rotate the sugar balls on their spits to get an even brown appearance. Afterwards the fire was doused and the two split up to rest in the two tents they had set up. From her tent Tara could hear the sound of the water nearby, and the chirp of insects. She wondered how she would sleep with all the noise.

Clarks Past

The next morning Clark rose early. The sun was breaking the horizon. Surprisingly Tara was still asleep. Usually she would be up with the sun, doing her grooming. Clark let her rest. Moving to sit by the pier and look at the sun reflecting off the water as it slowly rose over the horizon. Blazing reds flashing off the waves, the light glimmering in a mesmerizing chaos. Absentmindedly Clark felt the old scars on his side. Old wounds from an old war. Though the pain had faded there were still something there. It was largely why he had left the interior for the frontier.

Behind him he heard the footsteps and turned to see Zeke had woken up. He held two fishing poles in his hands, a box of bait precariously balanced. Clark rose to help his son, the sun continuing to rise higher and higher.

Idle Fishing

Tara stumbled out of the narrow tent opening and blinked in the sudden light. She had overslept. Walking over to the cooler she grabbed one of the food bars they had brought along and scarfed it down. Looking for the others she saw them on the pier. She approached them and saw the two had fishing poles extended into the water. The father turned to greet her and hand her a pole. She handed it back to him and explained she didn’t know how to use it. He quickly showed her how to use it, it wasn’t a complicated device. A spool of line, and a handle. He baited the hook for her with a native worm, and then cast it into the water. She took the pole and sat on the pier. Dangling her feet into the water.

After a long while, the sun having noticeably changed position in the sky, Tara spoke up. “I don’t think this is working”

Clark reeled back in his line, examined the worm which was still intact on the hook and cast his line back into the water. “It’s called fishing not catching.”

Zeke groaned.

Home Calls

After some time the three of them had managed to catch 4 fish. Zeke and Tara had each caught two. Clark went about showing Zeke how to prepare one of the fishes, and then Tara took an opportunity to show how her people prepared fish. Sticking the fish on sticks they roasted them over a fire. Some tubers were wrapped in foil and placed in the fire to cook as well. The savory smell was even more gratifying when the three of them thought of the struggle it had been catching them. As they ate Clark perked his head up, hearing something on the wind. Following his eyes Tara saw a vehicle approaching the campsite. Clark rose as the vehicle pulled up to them. For a moment he conversed with the driver. Then he gestured for Tara to come join them.

“Tara there is news about the war.”

“The war?” Tara had almost forgotten.

“Yes, the Ents and Zygaroons are currently in negotiations for a peace treaty. We have a shuttle to take you home. You can go home.”

For some reason Tara hesitated. Here was the opportunity to return home, and she was hesitating. The moment stretched with an undisturbed silence begging to be broken. Tara’s hands fluttered by her sides as she struggled with her indecisiveness. Clark held up his wrist to his face even though there was nothing there.

“You know Tara I had planned to a vacation for three people for three days. That’s a lot of food that would otherwise be wasted.”

He glanced above his wrist to look her in the eye.

“If you wanted to stick around a few more days I’m sure the embassy gentleman wouldn’t mind.”

After a moment Tara found her voice.

“I’m going to need a moment.”

She turned and walked away from them, heading back to the pier where Zeke was skipping stones into the water. Clark turned to the man who seemed perplexed by the alien behavior.

“It won’t be a problem if she decides to stay right?”

“No sir, this is our only assigned task. There is another team going to handle the mediation.”

“I’m not a sir anymore.” Clark chided gently.

“Of course… sir.” The man said, muttering the last word despite himself.

Clark turned to look at Tara who was sat in a meditative pose behind Zeke.

“I think she needs this.”

“Sir?”

“I said to stop calling me sir, my name is Clark.”

“...sorry.”

[thesky-and-thedeep]

Destiny 2: Forsaken Spoiler Review/ Summary

This review is coming late into the game as I honestly needed more time to even fully appreciate it. Even now I haven’t yet touched the raid but I know bungie has honestly delivered something special with the Forsaken expansion. There will be minor and major spoilers below. Let’s dive into the Deep.

Forsaken starts off with Cayde and the Gaurdian being called to assist Petra Venj (the Queens Wrath of the Reef Awoken) with a prison break inside the Reef’s galactic Prison of the Elders. As you battle through and assist the Hunter Vanguard and Petra with bringing security back online it becomes clear that something more is at stake. The Prince of the Awoken Uldren Sov has broken free, having been imprisoned after being Taken (manipulated by the antagonist of Destiny: The Darkness) alongside with his Skorn Barons, a group of undead Fallen raised by Dark Ether (literally Ether tainted by Darkness). After breaking out the Barons and Uldren kill Cayde-6 and his ghost and walk off into the darkness of the space to continue their nefarious plot. And so begins the revenge quest of The Gaurdian. Lured in yet?

You then meet a lovely Unalaigned Fallen Baron called Spider who assists in your vengeance quest along the Tangled Shore, a new patrol area of the Awoken Reef turned into the Wild West of our Solar System. Tangled Shore boasts beautiful sky boxes and color schemes that Destiny has become known for: ranges of royal purples and blues to rusty oranges and reds. After a few jobs for Spider he tells you about the Skorn base which just happens to be right next door? While recovering some of his supplies, killing off Skorn, and fending off their Barons you eventually come upon the Fanatic, the Skorn Baron priest first brought back by Uldren’s dark ether. He escapes but promises to raise any Skorn and Fallen you kill under one banner and leaves you fighting one of his champions.

After the failed infiltration you then hunt the Barons across the shore. A few boasting interesting and lore wise awesome arenas. One uses a Hive Ascendant realm to augment his size and power to bend the minds of some hive that crashed to the shore following the death of Oryx the Taken King. Another has you chasing her as she rides her pike through a mobile battlefield. Of course a few sleeper stimulant shots make all the fights quicker, each felt unique and interesting even bringing back the disarming mines (yesss) from Prison of Elders. Killing all the Barons leads to the final mission: “Nothing Left to Say” where you chase down the Fanatic and Uldren before the can finish their plans. This culminates in a battle with a brand new enemy and a much more interesting story: what is actually going on? Uldren turns out to have been possessed by the voice of Riven, the last Ahamkara, a type of powerful wish dragon that had been Taken by Savathûn sister to Oryx. Uldren under this possession frees Riven and causes a blight upon the Dreaming City, the secret of the Awoken. You kill the Chimera that spawns from Uldrens ritual and watch a final scene: your guardian raising the Ace of Spades to Uldrens head just as he had done to Cayde, with Petra at your side aiming her gun at him also. Then it cuts to black and gunshot (or is it gunshots?) Cayde is avenged but what has happened to the dreaming city?

The Endgame has an entire dedicated patrol zone of the beautiful dreaming city. Only seeing it firsthand does it justice. Contained within are multiple secrets from mysterious Taken eggs around the area (since spawned in by the raid completion) to invisible chests only revealed by tinctures of queensfoil which also reveal rifts that challenge guardians to multiple different trials from jump puzzles to survival gauntlets. Also on the third week of the three week cycle a dungeon, a sort of three person raid, called The Shattered Throne is available to further challenge you. It is honestly a magnificent addition and I can only hope more are added in.

Next let’s talk about the weapon overhaul or reversion fusion? Almost all weapon types (excluding the heaviest of heavy hitters) have guns that can go into the Kinetic or Elemental/ Special weapon slots creating the fusion between Destiny 1 and Destiny 2 weapon slots. Your basic primary guns use white ammo boxes: scout rifles, hand cannons, smgs, pulse rifles, and sidearms. Your special weapons use green boxes: shotguns, sniper rifles, fusion rifles, and grenade launchers. Now these can all be either kinetic or elemental weapons depending on each gun. It makes plenty of sense in game don’t worry. Heavies are still on that dank purple, so all your rocket launchers, linear fusion rifles, drum grenade launchers, and heavy sniper rifles along with a few other edge case guns like the ever entertaining Tractor Gun. This revamp of the weapon system alone was vital in the longevity of Destiny 2.

Now onto the newest game mode: Gambit. A mix of PvE and PvP where two teams of four compete to fill a “bank” with motes of light and summon a Primeval to destroy. Also when banking 5, 10, or 15 motes you send a blocker that shuts down your enemy’s bank until the defeat it. Additionally, at certain points a portal opens up that allows you or a teammate to invade the enemy teams map to try and take them out. Getting kills causes them to lose motes or if their Primeval is live, cause it to heal. This knifes edge balance is quite a fun game type especially with a group of 4 friends.

All in all Forsaken has proven to be a wonderful return to Destiny 2 and the Lore that has been revealed is truly awesome and immense and I cannot wait to have more. I give it a solid 10/10.

[eagle-eyez]

Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon and Blue Origin, will fly to the edge of space today, 20 July, at 5:00 pm IST. This will be the 16th flight for the New Shepherd rocket, but the first flight with a crew.

The entire trip for the billionaire and his motley crew will last for a total of 11 minutes, and they will experience the effects of zero gravity for a total of three minutes. However, the date has some significance, as it has been chosen to coincide with the 52nd anniversary of Apollo 11 astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin taking their first steps on the moon.

The rocket will launch from Blue Origin's Launch Site One facility some 32km outside Van Horn, a rural town in Texas. The Karman line is the imaginary boundary between Earth's atmosphere and outer space and is 100 km above sea level. The Blue Origin flight will rise to 106 kilometres above sea level.

#NewShepard is on the pad. The launch team completed vehicle rollout this morning and final preparations are underway. Liftoff is targeted for 8:00 am CDT / 13:00 UTC. Live broadcast begins at T-90 minutes on https://t.co/7Y4TherpLr. #NSFirstHumanFlight pic.twitter.com/oShmtRmA4n

— Blue Origin (@blueorigin) July 20, 2021

This launch comes hot on the heels of another billionaire, Richard Branson, flying to space on his Virgin Galactic spaceplane with a crew of five other senior Galactic employees. Their flight did not touch the Karman Line, as it rose to only 86 km above sea level.

However, if this flight is successful, both billionaires will be able to add 'astronaut' to their list of titles. NASA and the US Air Force choose to define an astronaut as a person who has flown higher than 80 km above sea level, which both Branson, and now Bezos, will achieve.

While travelling to space is not a big deal anymore, these flights are a step in the direction of broadening the horizon of space travel. They are also exhibiting that their crafts are able to conduct safe human flights to space, while increasing the scope of commercial space flights as well as opening up the space tourism industry.

Both Bezos and Branson do not believe they are in competition with each other. This comes as a surprise, as Blue Origins had posted a list of differences between the two space flights and definitely hinted at poking fun.

During an interview with the TODAY show on NBC on Monday, Bezos said, "There's one person who was the first person in space – his name was Yuri Gagarin– and that happened a long time ago."

"This isn't a competition, this is about building a road to space so that future generations can do incredible things in space," he added.

Sir Richard Branson on the Late Show with Stephen Colbert last week said he was not competing to beat Bezos in this billionaire space race. He even advised Bezos saying, "Just absorb the view outside - really take it in. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

New Shepard Rocket

The New Shepard rocket is Blue Origin's reusable suborbital rocket named after NASA astronaut Alan Shepherd. He was the first American astronaut to go to space and also walk on the moon on one of the Apollo missions. Similar to the Blue Origin mission, he did not orbit the Earth. He flew 186 km high and returned to Earth; his entire trip lasted 15-and-a-half minutes.

The New Shepard rocket is designed to take both people and payloads to the Karman line, and all missions will last 11 minutes.

The rocket has flown 15 test flights and has proved to be safe for transporting human beings.

It is 18 metres tall and has only one stage. It uses liquid hydrogen and a liquid oxygen engine to power the rocket. The only byproduct is water vapour.

The rocket is launched into space at 3,700 kph and then the crew capsule separates from the rest of the rocket at 76 km. The capsule continues to travel upwards and reaches 106 km - the maximum altitude and coasts for some time before it begins its descent. The crew capsule has large windows that allow people inside to really get a 360-degree view of their surroundings. It is also spacious enough to allow everyone to move around and enjoy the outside scenery.

The capsule can carry six astronauts and is a pressurised cabin. According to the website, the vehicle is fully autonomous and there is no need for a pilot.

Seven minutes after launching and then separating from the capsule, the booster lands on the ground, around three km away from the launch pad. The capsule uses three parachutes and a thruster to help it land.

"We learned how to make a vehicle safe enough that we'd be willing to put our own loved ones on it, and send them to space," said Blue Origin CEO Bob Smith during a press briefing.

Female pilot Mary Wallace 'Wally' Funk, who is part of the crew, told NBC that she plans to make the most of the opportunity and is looking forward to floating, turning and rolling in near-zero gravity.

Spacesuits

Something that Blue Origin is doing differently is its spacesuits. It has decided to do a complete 180 and skip this significant and iconic astronaut look. Instead, the crew will have bright blue flight suits that will give the four crew members a uniform look without all the extra bells and whistles.

During the NBC interview, Bezos added they would fly in light "flight suits" only.

He said, "With the cabin pressurised, it's redundant; we don't need to use spacesuits, and we're going to be just like this," as he showed the chest of the flight suit that he was wearing to the camera.

The Virgin Galactic crew wore spacesuits; however, they were non-pressurised as well. Created in partnership with Under Armour, the suits and footwear will be worn by all space tourists that will fly Virgin Galactic. The line was first showcased in 2019 a la catwalk style, but in the air.

SpaceX CEO Elon Musk still does spacesuits for his Crew Dragon flights. During SpaceX's first human spaceflight, the black and white spacesuits were revealed for the first time in 2020. They have been specially designed and are customised for each crew member. The suits are also an important factor for the flight, as they are an extension of the spacecraft.

All-civilian crew

The all-civilian crew will include Bezos, accompanied by his brother Mark; a female pilot that NASA rejected for its astronaut program, Mary Wallace 'Wally' Funk and high school graduate Oliver Daemen.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jeff Bezos (@jeffbezos)

Funk, at 82 years old, will become the oldest person to go to space, while Daemen at 18, will be the youngest.

Mark Bezos

Mark is a financier and works at the Bezos Family Foundation. He was also a volunteer firefighter. He founded an advertising agency and is Senior Vice President at a charity organisation named Robin Hood. He is six years younger than Bezos and is most likely a millionaire like his brother, since he was an early investor in Amazon.

Bezos shared the moment when he asked Mark to join him on Blue Origin's first human spaceflight in a video on Instagram. He said, "The greatest adventure, with my best friend."

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jeff Bezos (@jeffbezos)

The two brothers are best friends and quite close, making him a logical choice to share this special occasion with.

Wally Funk

Sixty years after training to become an astronaut and being rejected by a sexist NASA program, Funk will finally go to space. In a video posted on Bezos' Instagram, she said, "I like to do things that nobody's ever done." She later went on to become a pilot as she has been training since she was nine-years-old.

Funk was part of a privately-funded, innovative flight program named Mercury 13 in the 1960s. All the members of the program were women and she was the youngest of the group. The program made women undergo the same training and tests as future male astronauts in the official NASA program.

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A post shared by Jeff Bezos (@jeffbezos)

Funk said, "They were testing us to our extremes." And at the end of the program, she was told she "had done the job better and faster than any of the men."

But the program was cancelled after NASA rejected it.

The first woman went into space in 1983 and in 1999, Funk said in an interview, "It was kind of interesting, the fact that we could have done it, and they just wouldn't let us. A dog did it. A monkey did it. A man did it. Women can do it, too."

Oliver Daemen

18-year-old Daemen will be the first paying customer for Blue Origin. He is a recent High School graduate who has taken a break year before he goes to the University of Utrecht in the Netherlands this September. He is expected to study physics and innovation management.

Daemen is replacing the $28 million live auction winner, who had to postpone his trip due to scheduling conflicts. Blue Origin has conducted a live auction to sell one ticket for this flight and the money raised was to go to the Bezos Foundation. The company has not yet revealed the name, age, gender, nationality of the winner. Daemen was the runner up in the live auction.

While they were interested in flying to space, Daemen and his father, Joes Daemen, dropped out of the auction after the bid started to skyrocket. Daemon Sr is the founder of a Dutch investment company named Somerset Capital Partners in the Netherlands, reported The New York Times.

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A post shared by Oliver Daemen (@oliver_daemen)

“He was a participant in the auction and had secured a seat on the second flight,” said Sara Blask, a Blue Origin spokesperson, in an email. “We moved him up when this seat on the first flight became available.”

Blue Origin has not officially revealed a lot of information about Daemen, including the price of his ticket.

Flying on the New Shepard rocket will fulfill a lifelong dream for Daemen. According to a statement, Daemen has been fascinated by space, the moon and rockets since he was four.

“This is a dream come true!” Daemen said in a news release from the family. “I hadn’t counted on this at all, until last week that surprising phone call from Blue Origin came. This is so unbelievably cool! The flight to and into space only takes 10 minutes, but I already know that these will be the most special 10 minutes of my life.”

source https://www.firstpost.com/tech/science/jeff-bezos-and-crew-space-bound-on-first-blue-origin-flight-everything-you-need-to-know-9821121.html