#THEY SHOULD NOT LET HIM HAVE ACCESS TO SHIP EQUIPMENT

[marenwithanm]

Girl help I've become a trekie a few decades late.

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 05 - Glass of Gasoline

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Omega lets Sam Shepard off the chain.   Thank you to @sinvraal for betaing!

Chapter 5: Glass of Gasoline | Read on Ao3

02 November 2185, Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik System, Omega

Shepard shouldn’t be struggling with biotics. The implant insertion had been flawless. Every scan showed it was communicating with his nervous system exactly as designed. If anything, the biosynthetic fibers used to repair his nervous system should improve his ability to tap the gravity well, and the advancements in implant technology should increase the strength of his fields considerably.

He shouldn’t be struggling.

Perhaps this should not be troubling Miranda more than Shepard nonchalantly agreeing to stroll across a bridge dressed as a mercenary, in plain view of a vigilante shooting anyone who comes into scope, but thankfully Archangel isn’t stupid. The moment Shepard puts a shotgun into the back of a Blue Sun and opens fire, not one sniper bullet strikes his shields.

Archangel is indeed in trouble, just as Aria told them, and those who are drowning tend not to question lifelines.

Except Shepard, who has questioned everything Miranda has offered. Her attempts to ask about the implant’s performance have been swiftly rebuffed, but she can feel every futile twist and churn he makes in the gravity well. At best his corona is no more than a pale glimmer, a weakening flame desperately seeking oxygen.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

Well, not quite. The scarring still remains. Easily repairable if she still had access to the Lazarus lab, less so on the Normandy, but still possible. A few more weeks, and that, too, would have been rectified. There would have been no visible sign of her work. 

Damn Wilson and his short sightedness.

Shepard has been right at her fingertips for two years. Height, weight, body temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, metabolic rate, all of it. She is more intimately familiar with the body of Sam Shepard than she ever will be with a lover.

But she has no baseline for him.

Even without the biotics, he still fights like the Alliance’s hero. Alliance Ns are a sight to behold, and all of Shepard’s muscle memory remains intact. He is swift, brutal, with no fanfare or showmanship. Just a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips that chills her right to the bone whenever she glimpses it behind his faceplate.

Miranda is well-equipped to handle herself but she is no soldier, and this is a battlefield. For all her skills and all her training, it is Jacob and Massani, the former Blue Sun with a grudge they had recruited upon arrival at Omega, who carry the weight of the fight.

She checks the right corner as they enter the ground floor of the shipping warehouse where Archangel chose to make his stand, gagging at the sickening rot of death inside. Blood stains the floor, some blue, some red. A row of bodies lie hastily covered under tarps. Scouring mars the walls, with overturned furniture forming a hasty barricade. 

She is so caught on the sight of it all she doesn’t spot the mercenary on her left until Shepard yanks her out of the way and unloads with his pistol. A body hits the ground with a thud and a squelch. She didn’t see him switch to the pistol from his shotgun. Surely there hadn’t been time. But the man who would have killed her now lies in a pool of his own blood, and Shepard is already moving up a set of stairs towards Archangel’s perch on the second floor, her brush with death already forgotten.

“Massani, watch the entrance,” he barks over his shoulder.

“Goddamn right,” Massani replies, checking his heat sink. Combat is comfortable on him, like being in his armor is more natural than being out of it. But he still wears it, unlike Shepard.

Shepard becomes it.

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[mysticwolfshadows]

Taken - Zutara - Part 23

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

Chief Arnook isn't happy to see her in the war room, but Sokka stands for her.

"My sister is very familiar with the workings of Fire Nation ships. The layout, the crew, all of it. Her knowledge is invaluable."

Hahn snorts. "I bet she does, the filthy ash maker."

Katara narrows her eyes, and flicks a wrist. A shard of ice cuts through the mans cheek. Her gaze is deadly. "I don't care what you think of me. But your arrogance will cause you to fail, and that will endanger everyone in this city. Especially the women you have left defenseless with your backwards teaching. So you will listen, and you will be silent."

She doesn't give them any time to speak, simply pointing to the uniform stood in the corner. "That is an early Azulon era uniform, back before they optimized the areas below deck. They don't use shoulder spikes anymore, as the narrow hallways below don't have room for it.

"Their commanding officer is likely Admiral Zhao. Middle-aged, somewhat short, with large side-burns and a very short temper. He likes the sound of his own voice, and will be easy to identify, since he'll likely start shouting as soon as he realizes there are intruders.

"He'd be in the command tower, in the top room with all the glass windows. The easiest way to get there would be to sneak on through the stern, where an emergency ladder is. From there, enter the door on the back of the tower, and you should be able to make it up from there. If anyone stops you, asks you what you're doing, walk with purpose and say 'reporting to the admiral for special instructions'. It should be enough for them to overlook you. Try not to deviate from that phrase."

The gathered war council murmurs, taking in the information. She listened, annoyed that Hahn was put in charge. Sokka would have been a better fit. As much as he hated the Fire Nation, he did not let his hatred blind him when there was a job to be done.

"Are you sure?" Sokka whispers, when they begin to disperse for their various tasks. "That it's Zhao?"

She didn't have to ask who else it could be. "Bato told me something, back when we saw him. I'm... optimistic that we're wrong about what he's been doing."

Sokka eyed her, but didn't argue. He squeezed her shoulder, and gave a sharp nod. "I trust you, sister."

He leaves, going to join Hahn and the rest of the infiltration team. Katara wishes she would be allowed to go, since she was at least somewhat familiar with working the communications equipment. Zuko had once discussed the possibility of putting a comm tower in the village, if they got access to the proper equipment, and gave her a quick lesson.

Instead, she stays with Yue and Aang. She listens as the two talk, and follows them into the palace. She gapes at the warm, almost tropical oasis. Removing her coat, she sits by the pool, watching the two koi circle each other. It almost felt... She felt like she was back in the Fire Nation, sitting with Ursa and Ilah, by the turtleduck pond...

She barely hears Yue and Aang as they talk about spiritual things. Instead, she breaths deeply. She could almost smell the mangos that they would eat there.

"Is he okay?" Yue asks her suddenly.

Katara looks up, finding Aang sitting beside the pond, his eyes and tatoos glowing. "He's crossed into the spirit world. We just have to make sure that he doesn't get moved. His body links him back to the physical world."

The princess eyes Aang nervously. "Should we get help?"

"No. The fighting will be more at the wall. It would take a while for anyone to reach us here. I should be more than enough."

"You're wrong," a gruff voice cuts in, sending a chill through her veins. She turns, Yue gasping, as Zuko steps out from around the corner.

First / Previous / Next / Masterpost

[rosewind2007]

Ha!

Some people have asked in the last 48 hours:

“Like why the hell would anyone ship Murderbot and Gurathin?”

(I like to imagine them like ART clutching its function in Artificial Condition—“Ship Gurathin and Murderbot? That is irrational!”)

So, let me explain…no, there is too much. Let me make a few points:

This really starts out by asking the question: why did Gurathin want to know how the PresAux SecUnit was spending its time? Which is a really odd thing for him to want to know if you think about it.

The SecUnit is, as they have been told, merely a tool: it’s an adjunct to the SecSystem and HubSystem of the habitat, it’s a company device, a tool, a product of corporate surveillance capitalism and authoritarian enforcement. Up until the worm incident some of the PresAux team didn’t even now it had a face. Mensah didn’t want to rent it as part of the bond guarantee agreement, and called it (basically) a “hellish compromise.”

So, the rest of PresAux are in varying states of awareness about what Murderbot is.

In Future of Work Compulsory we get some insight into common knowledge of SecUnits: the workers are unaware they can speak, in fact adamant they cannot:

Asa took her arm gently. “They can’t talk,” he told her.

She [Sekai] shook her head as her friends steered her toward the access bridge. “No, it talked. I heard it.”

The PresAux team know their SecUnit can talk, it gives them a security briefing. Do most of them think this is the equivalent of a recorded message, delivered rote?

Surely Mensah, having seen its face and knowing of its intelligence (that hellish compromise) can’t think it’s anything less than a slave? But that aside: I am talking about Gurathin. And what what Volescu says Gurathin wanted to know:

Then Volescu said, “Gurathin, you wanted to know how it spends its time. That was what you were originally looking for in the logs. Tell them.”

Funny thing to want to know, like do you want to know how your roomba spends its time? Okay, this is Tumblr, possibly the wrong place for this question.

So Gurathin is suspicious, apparently right from the start of the book since on page 33 he first asks it a question:

“What about your systems?”

I would note that Gurathin asks MB two questions about how it is functioning, both just after it does something that goes against its governor module:

The other good thing about my hacked governor module is that I could ignore the governor’s instructions to defend the stupid company. “They’re supposed to be able to, but equipment failures aren’t unknown.”

Next thing anyone says is:

Then Gurathin said, “What about your systems?”

Later:

It was one of those impulses that comes from my organic parts that the governor is supposed to squash. I said, “As the only one here with experience in these situations, I’m your best resource.”

Gurathin said, “What situations?”

This looks to me like someone who either detects that MB is acting unlike a SecUnit should, or even that he can tell a governor module is being defied.

HOW does Gurathin do this/know this? He is after all augmented, perhaps he is detecting something in the feed? In Rogue Protocol when MB is spying on Miki via a drone it has taken over, Miki realises something is up:

Miki didn’t move, still staring into the dark with the opaque surface of its eyes. The feed was clear, it couldn’t know I was here.

Then Miki sent a directionless ping

I think Miki does know (Miki stares at the drone); and I think somehow Gurathin also knows.

This seems to indicate that Gurathin may know more about SecUnits than he’s giving away—but whatever: this is someone who has been closely watching Murderbot.

Like, really closely.

I think an absolutely reasonable reading of ASR is that Gurathin has a bit of a fixation on this SecUnit, and it’s a fixation that started before the worm incident.

He’s watching this piece of company equipment with unusual intensity.

I am happy to headcanon that this started with the security briefing, that Murderbot couldn’t keep its feelings out of its voice. I mean, can you imagine Murderbot doing the in-flight safety announcement on the plane? It brings to mind project mayhem’s replacement safety handouts…

Did Gurathin hear Murderbot’s real voice bleed through? Cynicism and sarcasm, a dose of irony?

It’s a thought. He never seems to doubt it’s a person. The fact that Rathhi says: “This is no more a machine than Gurathin is—”perhaps says something about how he sees Gurathin too.

I would note that Gurathin and Ratthi aren’t friends in All Systems Red—something which surprised me a little (I didn’t think they got along as well as they do in later books, but when I looked into it I was surprised!

Gurrathi Meta

So when the team heads off to DeltFall Gurathin is very suspicious and watching SecUnit, which it reports upon but doesn’t seem to spot the significance of—which is rather unlike our paranoid Murderbot.

Gurathin is the only member of the team not to express enthusiasm for MB going on the trip.

Gurathin was the only one staying behind who didn’t say anything

MB is actually about to start poking around to figure out what Guarthin is up to when the feed drops out (probably trying to figure out what’s wrong with it).

If anything I think Gurathin acts oddly about his rogue SecUnit suspicions.

If he knows SecUnits he will probably have heard the propaganda, which MB believes:

To quote MB: “I sure as hell would have reported me. Rogue SecUnits are fucking dangerous, trust me on that.”

I wrote a little essay on how Gurathin is right about a lot of things when it comes to Murderbot:

Gurathin was right

(It’s called that because he is)

Perhaps the strangest thing is that he just tries to immobilize it, and then makes his case. He doesn’t try and have it shut down whilst “unconscious”, and doesn’t even mention the (fairly critical information) until pushed. Gurathin’s expression was stiffer than usual. “This Unit has killed people before, people it was charged with protecting. It killed fifty-seven members of a mining operation.”

At this point MB believe this is true, and it lies to the diary about it, by omission at any rate: “What I told you before, about how I hacked my governor module but didn’t become a mass murderer? That was only sort of true. I was already a mass murderer.”

So: I honestly don’t think Gurathin’s behaviour here makes a whole lot of sense if you read it in a lot of ways—the way I think it makes more sense is that he is fixated. This could be sexual: perhaps when:

[Gurathin] said, “Why don’t you want us to look at you?”

My jaw was so tight it triggered a performance reliability alert in my feed. I said, “You don’t need to look at me. I’m not a sexbot.”

Well—perhaps MB is picking up something about the way Gurathin looks at it?

My personal reading is that Gurathin has become obsessed, an obsession perhaps sparked by MB’s anomalous behaviors? He is watching it intensely. It doesn’t have to be sexual, humans can get fixated without sexual attraction.

And then he so quickly accepts the rogue unit into his team! It holds him up against the wall by his neck (I mean, wow—one of the most intense bits of physical contact in the book). But Gurathin is rapidly team SecUnit: and he never sees it as “not a person” he isn’t kidding when he says.

(“I do think of it as a person,” Gurathin said. “An angry, heavily armed person who has no reason to trust us.”

“Then stop being mean to it,” “Ratthi told him. “That might help.”)

Gurathin and SecUnit work together to overcome GrayCris, Murderbot even grudgingly admitting Gurathin’s help:

“Gurathin had figured out how to use the hack from their HubSystem into our HubSystem to get access, but he needed to be close to their habitat to actually trigger their beacon. ”

“(Last night Gurathin had said this was a weak point, that this was where the plan would fall apart. It was irritating that he was right.)”

So: that’s some of the reasons from the first book, All Systems Red

[its-a-ittle-bit-cold]

Down to the place we used to lay when we were kids

4.1k

series masterlist

my masterlist

summary: On the way to your home planet, you and Anakin put the past at rest.

A/n: I KNOW i said i would post like 3 weeks ago but this chapter was a journey to write!!! enjoy <3

The Legacy always felt like home for you. When your Master got and named the cruiser, he always told you that the Legacy and the men who cared for it were the best of the best. You stand on the bridge, combat armor fully equipped, cloak thrown over your shoulders. You always get cold upon takeoff.

Your Clone Commander and right-hand-man, Jex, stands with his helmet under his arm, speaking quietly with Admiral Jakobsen while you observe takeoff, waiting for your mission partner. 

The newest distress signal came from your home planet - Onapesca. Unlike other Jedi, you actually remember your family, your parents and your cousins. Sometimes the memories blur, but others, it’s like you’re six years old again. The Council had disagreed and had had to vote on who they would send… until the next call came in, requesting you by name. Onapesca has a very specific force signature, and only those who know how to access that ‘frequency’ can enter the atmosphere without being battered and killed by force storms and the like.

And so, the Council sent you - and the Jedi with the most similar Force signature to you, General Skywalker. 

“So, I hear this is the party ship,” Anakin’s voice sounds behind you. You turn, brushing the sides of your cloak back as you turn. He’s there with Rex, who approaches his brother and best friend with a complicated handshake. “What’s she called, again?”

“Anakin, Rex. Welcome to the Legacy.”

“General, we’re ready for takeoff,” Jakobson tells you. You nod, turning back to the big windows that let you look out over the cruiser. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Admiral.”

Jex and Rex inform both you and Skywalker that they’ll go to speak with the troops before reporting back for the briefing for today. The journey to Onapesca from Coruscant is quite a long one - three day’s worth of space travel to reach the outer ring of storms. You’ve already debriefed the 500th, but the small force of 501st troopers brought with Anakin and Rex are none the wiser, so you schedule a full debrief in othree hours - enough time to get everything settled for the journey.

There’s inner turmoil poorly masked inside your soon to be partner (maybe it’s just poorly masked to you). 

“Is something wrong, Skywalker?”

Anakin glances at you. You keep your gaze firmly locked on the receding planet of Coruscant, lights flickering, lighting the whole planet up. 

“I can feel your anxiety, you forget. Is something bothering you?”

The blockade he’s built flickers. You try not to peek in, but you catch a glimpse of orange and blue and white. Wide blue eyes. 

That can only be one person.

“Ahsoka? Where is she, by the way?”

Anakin bumps your shoulder.

“You know, you’re not supposed to do that.”

You wait silently.

He sighs.

“She’s back at the temple. Training.”

“Is she not your Padawan?”

“She didn’t want to come.”

That’s unlikely. You stay quiet, making sure your disbelief radiates toward him.

“She’s still having problems from the latest. I didn’t want to overwhelm her with another mission so soon.”

Finally, you turn to study him. He’s tired, eyes dark, heavy with a sort of exhaustion that comes and doesn’t go. 

If he’s this tired, how is Ahsoka?

“She’s fourteen, Anakin. I wonder sometimes if she should be here.”

By here, you mean in the war.

“We were younger.”

“Look how that turned out.”

You turn away from him, walking down the path out of the bridge. 

Look how that turned out.

You’re nine. 

This is a clear memory - one you revisit often. 

Anakin is a year older than you, ten when you meet, although you’ve been in training a lot longer, first as a youngling for a brief stint and then a Padawan learner, when you turned eight you were given a Master. 

He’s kind, one of the Masters who would visit the Crèche often in search of a Padawan. He sensed your Force presence and the ability you’ve already developed, requesting you to be his Padawan. 

As a young, advanced Padawan who’d beat some of your seniors already, you stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Until Anakin.

Until he found you hiding away in the gardens, wiping tears with the backs of grubby, mud stained hands, after a particularly humiliating win. 

He comes over and unravels the fortress of vines and flowers you’ve grown over yourself like a wall. The plants like him. They know that he’s just as different as you.

“I heard you crying,” He says. 

Your tears dry immediately at the sight of him. He can’t see you cry, you have to prove that you’re just like the other Padawans.

“I cry too,” he tells you, skipping right over the gap in conversation. You sniff shyly. 

“… you do?”

How could he, the Chosen One, cry? He’s already made a name for himself!

“Yeah,” He’s suddenly bashful. “I miss my mom sometimes.”

“Oh.” 

You miss your family, too.

“That’s okay. I miss my family, too.”

It’s his turn to be surprised.

“You do?”

He’s perked up, and so have you. This is strange - another Jedi who even remembers their birth family. 

So you talk, and talk, and giggle at his bad jokes.

It’s strange. You both need someone, someone who’s not your teacher or a friend, someone who understands the hurt of remembering.

And your Masters find you teaching him

how to manipulate the plants with only your hands, giggling when the flower he’s growing spits a wad of pollen in his face.

They share a look, and know this is the start.

Fourrteen, and blood runs hot.

You’re still getting bullied, but now Anakin is bigger than the bullies now.

He sprouted like a weed the past year and a half, growing what seems like five feet in the shortest span of time possible. He towers heads over your steadily growing self, now, all corded muscle and catlike movements. 

The next time you’re made fun of, pushed around in the height of insecurity, he’s there to throw a well-timed punch to the face of a nineteen-year-old Nautolan who’s shorter and stockier than him. 

“Anakin!” your voice has climbed octaves as the two brawl. Full-on, no sabers, no Force, brawl. Over one stupid comment and one poorly thought out shove. “Stop it! get off him!”

He doesn’t stop.

The other spectators are both screaming the the two Padawans to stop, and egging them on. Your throat catches on a sob, emotion building up, the feeling of helplessness is not one you’ve ever enjoyed.

You don’t know what else to do.

So you crack the force like a whip, sending them flying in opposite directions. Spreading your fingers and hands out separating the two Padawans, suspending them in the air just in time to stop them from hurtling into the marble walls. Everyone in the training hall goes silent at the sight of your huge feat of The Force, probably feeling the repercussions through the veil as Master Bosque, Master Kenobi, Master Secura, and Master Yoda crash into the room, seeing the two males floating, suspended in the air while you dig yourself dents into the marble floor, crackling under the weight of The Force. 

Anakin paddles his arms, trying to get free of your hold. 

At the sight of your Master, you let them down, setting them gently on the floor of the training arena. 

Anakin’s eyes are on you.

His eye’s swelling already, but he’s otherwise fine. The other… well, his robes are torn, he’s bleeding from one eye, and one of his tentacles is displaced. Definitely worse off than your best friend. 

Anakin winks at you as Obi reprimands him, and you bite back a smile as you leave with your own Master. 

After this, Yoda offers you specialized training to harness your capabilities over The Force, but that’s another story completely.

Sixteen, and Anakin is distant.

He doesn’t seem to know how to act around you since you’ve filled out a bit, gotten prettier, learned how to dress for undercover missions you go on together, posing as clueless teenagers roaming the streets of Coruscant.

Recently, you’re not friends, out roaming. You’re hopeless romantics, ducking into alleyways to pretend to break the code. 

You’ve dressed up in a nice little dress , hidden your sabers under the skirt and thrown on a bit of makeup.

Of course, this is all provided by the Order, for a mission investigating an emerging Coruscant Spice ring. Dangerous spice, that is, not the stuff you can snort and get a little woozy.

Anakin’s wearing a relatively nice-looking local suit, hair gelled back and braid tucked into a high collar. You can easily hide yours under your hair, but he’s got his shaved head to deal with as well. (and that little rat-tail on the back of his head).

He puts his hand on the small of your back - more like hovering it there- and you skirt the streets. 

You slip into an alleyway, one where you’ve been informed of a deal going down.

Anakin presses you against the wall and waits for the signs of life. Footsteps, a scuffle. Something.

You try to meet his eyes. He avoids it.

Your Masters are in your ears, just like your heartbeat thinking for itself. 

There it is. The deal. Someone’s coming into the alleyway.

Everything’s blurry with the scent of the cologne he’s spritzed on, something gross and insufferable. 

His lips are clammy on yours, you can’t really focus on the kiss: your first, and probably only. You’re listening in, and when the dealers leave, he’s looking at you. 

Looking at you.

“Don’t even think about it, Skywalker.” You click your comm on, wiping your lips. “Masters, come in. We have the location for the next deal.”

Anakin drags behind, quiet for the rest of the night.

After that, you go away for a while. Try to complete your Sentinel courses. Get everything ready. You go off world and try to give Anakin space.

Turns out, all the space in the galaxy isn’t far enough.

Age 20, newly knighted and  reunited, you join forces again to combat a string of terrorist attacks.

As a Sentinel, you’ve always felt connected with the general population, maybe more so than the rest of your Jedi peers. So, on your first mission after the Knighting ceremony , yourself and Anakin investigating a string of explosions and bomb threats, it was up to you dealing with the informants. 

The latest is a near-human around your age, witness to the bombing attempt of a sector of civilian shops. He’s bigger than you, charming, and a total flirt, and you can tell that Anakin absolutely hates him. 

You can trust him, you think, with being civil. He’s not been overly emotional since that brutal day on Tatooine when you were eighteen. 

Anakin, newly Knighted and full of pride and the sort of accidental prejudice that you’ve found lately in the Order, is certainly a sight to behold. In comparison to Aster, the informant, he’s wider, taller. More severe, more lithe, all corded muscle. 

He can be intimidating.

Not to you.

Never to you.

But he stands behind you so menacingly during your interview with Aster that you have to tell him to leave in your head. 

Aster smiles charmingly at you, pearly whites gleaming. 

When he leaves the first day, Anakin tells you that he has a bad feeling about him.

“You have a bad feeling about everyone.”

Now, it seems like so much could have been prevented if you had only followed his advice.

You sense his presence entering the room, even with your eyes closed. 

“You’re thinking about it, too.”

The briefing went well, no complications. Both groups of troopers fully briefed and in training together.

“The last mission we were on together.”

He sits down cross from you, your knees touching, the force flowing like it used to.

Like before the blowup, before the fall.

“Why are you so mad?” He’s waving his hands around, face red, twisted. You have this roiling boiling pot of overflowing rage in the pit of your stomach, tears huling up in your chest as you try to verbalize how you’re feeling. 

Because of Anakin, Aster is dead. Because of Aster, Anakin could be. 

And because of you…

Because of you, and your misjudgement,  this is the first mission you’ve been on, and the first you’ve failed. 

“Because, Anakin! You… You disrespected my orders, and you gave me your word.” You have tears threatening to spill. He’s never seen you mad, not like this. You take a. deep breath. “You promised me that you would go with the plan. You told me that you wouldn’t - that you-“

You breathe slow and heavy. 

“You put yourself in danger. You disregarded me, my orders, and my authority. And because of you…”

Anakin isn’t even shameful. There’s no regret in his eyes. The tears spill over.

“He’s dead. You helped kill a man, Anakin. He’s dead and you have no remorse for what you’ve done.”

Anakin gets this look in his eye, the one he gets after you’ve bested him in training. Like has angry and disappointed in himself but he’ll never admit it. 

You can’t be around him anymore for fear of saying something that ruins your relationship.

You get one, two, three, four steps in before…

The angry monster rears its head. 

“It’s cause you’re fucking him, right? That’s why you’re mad.”

His voice grates on you like he knew it would. 

How dare he.

“I let you cry to me, I held you in my arms and I put up with your bullshit. Get over it. I’m sorry your mother died. I’m sorry you think the world is against you, but that gives you no right to treat me like shit. I’m done with your bullshit. Get over your fucking attachment issues. I’m done.”

You spit out all the pent up anger like lava over your best friend. He’s so angry he’s seething, torn by your unusually biting words, words from someone he thought he could trust. You can’t stop the last words of your tirade from slipping out.

“Fuck. You.”

“You wouldn’t, I’m not rich enough.”

You close your eyes, laughing darkly.

“You’re pathetic. You don’t deserve that title you carry, that saber you wield. You wonder why everyone in your life leaves, well, mystery solved. They’d rather die than suffer through what I have.” 

You ignore the guilt building in your stomach, tears streaming down your face. You want to throw up. Anakin’s gone sheet-white, and instead of apologizing for letting your emotions take over, you turn tail and run.

You open your eyes, biting back the same jumping feeling in your stomach, like you want to puke up all your intestines and hide away in a hole for the rest of your life. Anakin won’t meet your eyes. maybe you won’t meet his.

“That was… hard to watch,” He drags out eventually. “I’d forgotten…”

“All the awful things I said?” You laugh, hollow. He nods. “You’re lucky.” Tears prick at your eyes at the memory of the pure hatred running through your veins.

“When I got home that night my sabers turned red. That’s the most hatred I’ve felt ever, for myself, not just you. I purified them, but the color never came back.”

Anakin’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t know that could happen. They did use to be blue, didn’t they.”

“Matching set,” You say. Your hands are shaking. “Anakin, I’m-“

“I’m sorry,” He darts out at the same time. He barrels on. “For doing what I did. For letting my emotions cloud my judgment. For attacking you when you were down.”

It sounds like he’s been rehearsing this apology, just like you. 

“I’m sorry, too,” You say. “Anger is never an excuse to say all those awful things, even if we weren’t in the Order.”

You fiddle with the hem of your robes.

“You changed my life.” Anakin breaks the silence. “I don’t know if it was for better or worse, but you changed me.”

“We changed each other, Anakin.”

You sit, knee-to-knee, like that, studying one another, finally at rest with what happened what feels like so long ago.

Arrival on Onapesca is a risky maneuver. The Force storms that surround the planet hide it away from your searching, and it takes almost half a day to fully breach all three barricades. You don’t know what awaits you, there’s no way to see through The Force the happenings on the planet.

You stand on deck in the small transport cruiser, Anakin at your side. You’ve cleared the cockpit, save Jex and Rex who will pilot the cruiser through the tunnel you create. The rest of your clone force is in the hill, the safest from the storm. Anakin is here for two reasons: He’s always been adept at lending you strength through The Force, and the second is a secret from him: he can take over if the strain weakens you to the point of not being able to support yourself and the ship.

Rex and Jex sit in commander’s chairs, operating the ship’s shields.

“On my count, lower the shields, Jex.”

Jex clicks a switch, salutes at you. 

“Three,” You begin. You close your eyes, holding your hands out in front of you, The shield begins to bloom from your fingertips. Anakin stands behind you, ready to grant you his strength.

“Two.”

You picture an invisible barrier between the ship and the swirling, volatile mess in front of you. You bring your arms out wide, willing your force signature to become you. 

“Now! Anakin!”

Your eyes snap open as his power overcomes you, and you plunge into the storm. 

The tricky thing with the entry to force-planets like Onapesca is that, along with the shield, you must also fend off attacks and phantoms, using an immense amount of control and drawing on The Force with the ability of a Jedi Grand Master.

Luckily, you have Anakin to aid you. 

You’re sure Jex and Rex think you look positively insane, but it’s working. 

You lash your hands out all around you, feeling the waves of energy cascading upon you, harnessing it, adding to the shield. The ship begins to pick up speed, torpedoing straight through the second storm barrier, and with it, your movements faster. 

Anakin and you, a sole being in The Force, Waves crashing over you but you don’t move, you press the water away, swimming to shore.

The high-speed noise and drag stops suddenly, bringing dead silence. You open your eyes, just to see the shield of multicolored light fade away, into a bright blue, cloudless sky. 

You look down into your home planet, all greens and shining cities, made of marble, metals and jewels, supported in the sky by the force, and the home world below, waterfalls from the islands cascading down into more of the same beautiful, mountainous landscape, refracting light, dancing like a hundred rainbows over the lakes and seas. 

The sun is going down as you approach the main capital city of Onapesca, Ostero. 

Ostero is a wonder in itself, buildings crammed together around green spaces, carved marble and gold architecture, all the forces of nature working together to build the connection to every building, a metaphor for the constant connectedness that the force brings to the world.

The people in the streets are a wide diversity of travelers and locals lucky enough to find themselves in this haven of a city, or they would be, if there were any.

The streets of the Capital are barren of any trace of life as the transport flies over them, bound for the castle. 

“That’s very unusual,” You point out to your companions: “What’s going on?”

The ship hovers over the castle. You’re jolted into Anakin, and you both fall to the floor, you on top of him. He grunts softly, and you roll off him.

“I’ve lost control of the cruiser!” Jex calls out. Rex is clicking furiously at the buttons.

Then it hits you.

“Oh!” You facepalm. “The hanger uses a Force pulley to bring in ships! I completely forgot about that!”

“You remember that from when you were seven?” Anakin asks, incredulously.

“No, I read it in the mission brief.”

Sure enough, the cruiser is being reeled downwards. You rush over and shut off the engine entirely, completely trusting the Force pulley to not send you crashing down.

“Things work different here on Onapesca, boys.” Your lips curve into the smile as the familiar hangar comes into view. “It’s almost like magic.”

It starts with fanfare, and you think, okay, this is normal. Trumpets and horns and big leaves and colorful sparks heralding your return.

Then comes the weeping. Lines of citizens weeping happily, to which all of your companions seem very awkward about.. Truth is, this is a little out of the ordinary.

After the weeping, when you step into the first courtyard that the hanger precedes, it gets really weird. Banners with your face on them in the Onapescan script that you can only haltingly understand. Statues of you and your family facing the sky. 

“Is this normal?” Anakin whispers. Jex and your crew are having an absolute field day with one of the particularly racy statues of you - a statue with a physique so drastically different from yours it’s, admittedly, funny.

“Absolutely not. Skipp, I’ll skin you alive if you send that holo to anyone.”

The aisle set out for you leads to a set of double doors entering the first lift, but they don’t open when you try them with a wave of your hand.

“What-“

“Your Majesty!”

it seems almost directed at you, so you turn your head, to see a disheveled looking old man in long robes - robes of a priest, the King’s right hand man- running towards you from one of the floating stone lifts off the path. 

“…Pieth?”

Pieth is older, frailer and thinner than he was when you last saw him, but he’s almost the same otherwise. Your Uncle’s best friend and companion, Pieth had tried to mentor you before realizing you were Jedi. 

“You’ve arrived! Ha ha ha!” he does a strange little dance. He was always a little eccentric, that Pieth. 

“Pieth, I’m here to respond to the distress call? I’ve brought a small clone battalion and a fellow Jedi Knight to assist you-“

“My dear friends!” Pieth rushes into an embrace with Anakin, who eyes you, paralyzed. “Thank you for accompanying our Queen and assisting us!”

Wait. 

“Pieth… did you say…”

This is the first time Pieth falls silent. 

“Pieth, my uncle? It was he who sent the distress call?”

Pieth glances at your companions, eyes hovering on Anakin, whose whole body is tense. Like you, he and the clones have made the same connection as you.

“The late King Karthik died the last week. Our people have been in mourning and in hiding for fear of the virus that killed him.”

Your mouth drops open. Queen of Onapesca?

The death of your uncle, while tragic, was not unexpected. He had always been sickly, and that had been many cycles ago. You’re actually surprised he even lasted this long.

“The throne… Is mine?” 

“Traditionally, the throne falls to the heir with the strongest pull to the Force. In this instance, this is you, and with your companions, you will be the most capable Queen of Onapescan history.”

You share a look with Anakin. 

“Pieth, I think you’ve drastically misunderstood my purpose here.” You glance around the courtyard, the statues all making sense now. “I’m here to respond to a distress call, Not to become Queen of Onapesca. Also, my only force-sensitive companion is Master Skywalker, these men are some of the finest soldiers in the Republic, yes, but they are no Force-users.”

Pieth smiles knowingly, waving a hand. You turn to see some shrubbery between two statues of you doing increasingly raunchy poses part, leaving…

“Ahsoka!” Anakin barks. Ahsoka at least has the sense to look sheepish. You tilt your head. Being back on Onapesca has really messed with your ability to sense presences. 

Anakin practically drags Ahsoka over to you. She’s a mess of scrawny elbows and knees, orange skin blushing slightly as she glances at you, undoubtedly checking if you’re mad. You could never be, of course. You grin and wink at her, much to Anakin’s disdain. 

“Come, your majesty. Honored soldiers. High Priest and Priestess.”

Ahsoka and Anakin both stare at you behind Piethz Ahsoka mouths, What the Fuck! and Anakin hisses at her, Ahsoka! We don’t say the fuck word!, ensuing a hushed argument behind you, and all you can do is let Pieth tell you of the happenings on Onapesca, in revelry of your new title.

What does this mean, becoming Queen of Onapesca?

Will you be able to give the throne away? 

Or will you have to leave the Jedi Order entirely?

-

oooooook so…

I sort of have a plan for the rest of this series (like 5 more parts), so those are gonna come around eventually.

On a separate note, i’ve been busy with end of school stuff for the past month or so, so sorry for the weird update timings.

thanks for reading!!

[quietwings-fics]

the thing with feathers

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Jack & Lucifer & Sam) + Minor Samifer Additional Tags: Wing Grooming, Father-Son Relationship, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Queerplatonic Lucifer/Sam Winchester, because I say so., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Light Angst, Nephil Jack Kline, Child Jack Kline, Touch-Starved, ALL OF THEM. - Freeform, Forehead Kisses, Hugs, Good Parent Lucifer (Supernatural), Queerplatonic Relationships, Wingfic, Winged Jack Kline, Good Parent Sam Winchester, Lucifer is Jack Kline's Parent Wordcount: 2784 Summary:

Lucifer and Sam take care of Jack's wings.

The problem with raising a child who is half-angel is that Sam does not have access to all the information he would need to do it right. Cas is better equipped than him or Dean, but Jack is still the kid of an archangel, above Cas’s paygrade. In the end, that’s why Lucifer gets visitation rights (which in reality translates to ‘why Lucifer crashes on their couch and is impossible to get rid of.’) He’s the only one left who knows how to wrangle a child whose temper tantrums could easily make people explode.

(It’s not that Jack wants to hurt anyone. It’s that there’s a reason you don’t give toddlers guns, and that’s because they’ll figure out how to shoot long before they figure out why not to.)

Sam is still wary of Lucifer, but that’s a hard feeling to hold onto when he’s comparing the guy who wanted to burn the world to the ground to the guy making a lightshow on the Bunker’s ceiling for Jack to distract him from a nightmare. If there’s only one thing Sam knows, it’s that he’s going to give everyone a second (third, fourth, fifth…) chance. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise, couldn’t face his own reflection knowing he’d been afforded that much and couldn’t extend it to someone else. Maybe Lucifer doesn’t deserve that, or to be in Jack’s life, or even to still be alive after everything he’s done, but Sam’s world has never revolved around fairness. They’re here. Jack exists. Lucifer is trying. That’s what matters.

He knows how Dean looks at him. Like it’s all going to go to Hell again. Sam doesn’t know what Dean would have done if Lucifer hadn’t shown up and claimed parental rights, how Dean would have treated Jack without the threat of an archangel’s wrath hovering in the background, but they’re knee-deep in parenting the antichrist now. A kid isn’t something they get to back out on because he’s gotten inconvenient. If nothing else, Lucifer gets that. Sam thought he wanted some sort of legacy, a final fuck you to his own father, but Lucifer… he really did just want a kid. He wanted someone to raise and protect and watch grow, and to know that he’s turning out alright despite (or even because of) Lucifer’s own influence.

If Sam was wrong to let the devil in, then he’ll pay the price. But he’s not so sure that’s going to happen.

Lucifer and Jack are both early risers. That’s easy to do when you either don’t sleep or only need a few hours every couple of days. Sam is still human, and he can’t function without coffee. He stumbles into the Bunker’s kitchen and the tail-end of a conversation.

“-thought they would take care of themselves,” Jack is saying before he hears Sam and turns to greet him. “Good morning, Sam.”

“Good morning, Sam,” Lucifer echoes. Sam glowers at him because it's early, and he should not have to deal with the devil before eight.

“Morning,” he gives them. He goes straight to the coffee maker. Strangely enough, there’s already a pot waiting for him. It’s fresh, too. Lucifer continues whatever they were talking about.

“They don’t. You don’t expect the human parts of you to take care of themselves. Why would the angelic be any different?” It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to sort out that Lucifer’s upset, not angry, which is the first place Sam’s half-asleep brain goes to. He glances at Jack to check, but where Sam tensed up at Lucifer’s firmer tone, Jack is completely relaxed. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s never had a parent who prefaced shouting matches with disappointment. “Your wings are delicate, especially now. You have to preen them, or they’ll start to hurt.”

“What does that mean?” Jack asks. Lucifer frowns.

“This shouldn’t be new information to you. Castiel could have taught you this. Why didn’t he-“ Lucifer stops himself, his gaze flicking towards the darkened doorway that leads to the rest of the Bunker. Castiel has his own room here, now. It seemed a little weird for Lucifer to have one picked out and not him. Lucifer’s expression goes from confusion to realization to concern, and then he quietly says, “I can handle that later.” He turns back to Jack. “Preening is how you keep your wings clean. I can’t teach you to fly without them being in a good state.”

He tosses it out casually, but Jack hones in on it in an instant. If the half-smile on Lucifer’s face is anything to go by, that was intentional. “You promise?” Jack says.

“Cross my heart,” Lucifer responds, and when Jack tilts his head and frowns at the saying, he adds, “I promise.”

“So, how do I do it? Preening?” Jack pouts. “I don’t have to get in the shower, do I?” Jack is not a huge fan of showers. Dean thinks he’s being overdramatic when he says that the water hitting him feels like tiny knives. Sam, who has started paying more attention to the way Jack avoids certain sounds or textures, isn’t so sure.

“No. You should probably be careful manifesting your wings anywhere in here. Except around Sam, of course. He can take it. Dean’s eyeballs might explode.” Sam jolts at hearing his name. He’s been passively absorbing everything up until now.

“What does that mean?” he asks. Lucifer waves a hand.

“No part of me can hurt you to look at,” he says, “and Jack was a part of me, once.” Mercifully, he stops that explanation there because Sam does not feel like they need to explain the birds and bees to Jack this morning. “You could see his wings. You’ve seen mine.” Sam tries not to shudder. He’s seen a lot of Lucifer. None of it was pretty. Lucifer is watching him, and though Sam squashed most of his reaction, enough clearly reached his face that Lucifer catches it. He looks more upset than Sam expected, but as always, it’s brushed off and his focus falls back on Jack. “Technically, you could help, if you wanted to.”

“Help?” Sam and Jack say at the same time.

“It was a bonding exercise in Heaven. Michael used to-“ Lucifer stops, crosses his arms. When he starts again, he’s quieter. “If you had to guess, you’d think Gabriel was the messy one, but he always kept his wings neat and tidy. It was Raphael who had to be made to sit still so that I could comb their feathers back in order.” He takes a breath. Sam knows no version of the archangels except the ones in the aftermath, Gabriel as the trickster, Raphael at war, Michael as the dick he dragged into the Cage with him, but they were Lucifer’s family, once. And now he’s got nothing.

Or, he has Jack. Sometimes, how desperate Lucifer was to be a part of his life makes a lot of sense.

“Angels aren’t made to be alone,” Lucifer says. “We can take care of our own wings for a while, but in isolation, well, speaking from experience…” He shrugs, like this is something that doesn’t matter to him. Sam’s convinced that half the reason Lucifer doesn’t lie is that when he bothers to, he’s terrible at it. “So let’s look after yours and keep them from getting to that state, yeah, kiddo?”

“And Sam will help?” Jack and Lucifer both look to him. Curiosity and a need to help Jack win out over caution, in the end.

“Sure,” he agrees.

Sam’s seen angels manifest their wings in shadow but never as anything tangible before. The closest to that he's ever experienced was back in the Cage, Lucifer's wings cradled around him like there was anything he could do to protect Sam's soul from Hell, and that's a fuzzy memory at best. Now, they all huddle on the floor in Jack's room, his bed (and judging by the amount, Sam's and Lucifer's, too) stripped of blankets and pillows to construct a haphazard nest. Lucifer's and Jack's are softer than Sam knew they could be. Sam's blankets are the outlier, more function than comfort. Sam looks at the walls around them and makes a mental note to buy Jack more things to brighten up the room. Paint. A poster or two. Some glow-in-the-dark stars to stick to his ceiling and walls. He's a child, not a prisoner, and where he sleeps should reflect that.

"Scoot back, Sam," Lucifer says, and Sam moves without thinking, still looking at the walls. When he glances back, Lucifer's settled behind Jack. "Breathe. Try not to hit Sam in the face." Jack laughs. He rolls his shoulders.

His wings don't explode or blind Sam. They softly glow into existence, feather by feather. They're slightly folded at first, but Jack stretches them out. They seem shorter than Castiel or Lucifer's wings, round where theirs were broad. Lucifer catches them at the wrist as they extend, not halting the stretch. They're an off-white color. Jack flaps them a few times. Sam needs a minute to get over the awe of seeing them at all to start noticing the flaws. His feathers are a tangled mess. The wings themselves are mostly clean, but they're also dull, lacking the luster Sam has seen on well-kept birds' wings. Lucifer's hands drift down from the wrist to the tips of Jack's uppermost primaries. Jack's feathers puff up at the contact like hair standing on end, but Lucifer pets them back down, humming soothingly.

"You okay?" Sam asks. Jack's biting his lip. He looks up at Sam, looks down again, and then he says,

"It's... weird. Not bad. Kind of like getting my hair brushed." Lucifer folds Jack's wings back up, checking that it doesn't hurt him to do that. Jack shivers. "But... more."

"You going to help, Sam, or am I going to do all the work myself?" Lucifer asks. Sam moves closer. Jack's wings extend again, waiting for him to touch. Sam reaches out, but he stops, hovering centimeters from the feathers. Lucifer places his hand over Sam's, and when Sam doesn't jerk away from him, he slowly presses Sam's hand down on top of Jack's feathers. Jack gasps. His wing twitches out from under Sam's palm.

"You shocked me!" he says.

"Sorry,” Sam says. Lucifer chuckles, and he guides Sam's hand back down to Jack's wing. This time, it stays steady, though Jack still looks back over his shoulder, trying to see what they're doing.

"Easy," Lucifer murmurs. He's guiding Sam gently, getting both him and Jack used to the contact. "There we go." Jack's feathers are soft and fluffy where they aren't matted down, and even those patches feel like they'll be easy to comb out. Lucifer's hand leaves Sam's, and Sam feels a strange loss at the contact. Lucifer's touch is still calming, after all this time. It's no manipulation or trick. It's just a fact. He slides his fingers between Jack's secondary coverts as Sam watches, very carefully adjusting the feathers. Some, he only runs two fingers over, smoothing out the barbs. He glances at Sam, and Sam nods. He mimics Lucifer's movements with Jack's secondaries. Those feathers are larger, rustling under Sam's fingers. Jack stifles a laugh.

"Hold still," Lucifer chides softly. Jack's wings are moving, quick flicks and shifts that are off-setting Lucifer and Sam's attempts to fix his feathers.

"I'm trying," he protests. "It feels nice."

"It's supposed to." Lucifer moves to the scapulars, the feathers closest to Jack's back.

"No one touches me much unless I'm in danger," Jack says. "I'm not used to it."

And at that, Lucifer and Sam both pause.

Lucifer's the first to say something, "No, I..." He can't continue. Jack looks back over his shoulder again, frowning. Guilt wells in Sam's chest. He goes over the past few days, or weeks, and what Jack says is right. Castiel is the one who gives him the most physical affection, and even then, it isn't possibly enough for Jack to live off of. Sam's doesn't usually get or give to anyone more than a near-death hug every few months and occasionally pats on the shoulder or back. The fact that Lucifer doesn't give Jack more surprises Sam. Lucifer used to overwhelm Sam with how often he insisted on touching him, constantly leaning into him or stroking his hair, until Sam snapped at him to stop a few times. It all ended after that. Sam would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. But with Jack? Lucifer's always fluctuating between wanting to be involved in every aspect of his life and restraining himself from getting too close. Even if he wanted to give Jack daily hugs or ruffle his hair, would he even let himself? Even this, preening his wings, was excused by necessity, rather than purely being something Lucifer wanted to do to bond with him.

"I guess we're not used to it either," Sam offers, "but if you ever need that... You can ask."

"That's allowed?" Jack doesn't sound sure, and that alone breaks Sam's heart.

"Of course." He vows to do better, to watch how he interacts with Jack and try not to be so distant. It's not an easy thing to promise himself, but for Jack, he can do it.

He sneaks a peek at Lucifer's expression. He's withdrawn his hand from Jack's wing, and he's tensed up. Before he can think better of it, Sam puts his hand on Lucifer's shoulder. When Lucifer meets his eyes, he looks lost. Sam tilts his head at Jack. "You'll do better," he whispers. He slides his hand down Lucifer's arm to his hand and presses it back into Jack's feathers. Jack's wings flap.

Lucifer works on one wing and Sam works on the other. After a while of correcting feathers and combing them into place, Lucifer shows him how wing oil works. Jack chirps in surprise when Lucifer brushes one of the glands, a weird high-pitched not-quite bird noise. Lucifer chirps back. Both of them make Sam's ears ring a little but not hurt. The oil smells caramel-sweet. It's easy to spread over Jack's feathers. As they go, the wings begin to shine more, the off-white turning to pearl. Where the light catches the freshly-cleaned feathers, they glimmer with gold and pink light. Jack flaps and stretches again.

"So, I get flying lessons now," he says, delighted. Lucifer sighs.

"Fine, but take it easy on your old man. I'm not the best flier anymore." Sam makes sure Jack's coverts are all in order one last time, stroking down the length of the wing. Jack chirps again.

"We should preen yours," he suggests. Lucifer freezes.

"That's not a good id-" Lucifer starts.

"Why not?" Sam says. "Angels can't take care of their wings on their own."

"Sam," Lucifer hisses. It's far from anger. It's almost panic. Sam can't blame him. He keeps them well-hidden, from Jack and from Castiel. Sam might be the only one left on Earth who knows just how terrible Lucifer's wings have gotten, which means he's also the only one Lucifer would be comfortable enough showing them to for grooming.

"No part of you can hurt me, right?" Sam's not going to pretend Lucifer's True Form doesn't scare the shit out of him. He also won't pretend that he doesn't want to help him.

Lucifer won't meet his eyes. He passes his hands over Jack's wings one last time before declaring, "You're finished. Stow those away before you end up accidentally blinding Dean." Jack folds his wings against his back. They disappear with a quiet pop like a bubble, and just like that, he could be a normal kid again. Well, normal as any kid who grew halfway up in a day's time. He twists, still grinning. Sam smiles back. Lucifer reaches forward hesitantly and cups Jack's cheek. Jack looks very small like that. Lucifer leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Jack's forehead. Jack's smile falls, not out of upset but pure surprise. He blinks twice, and then he launches himself forward, knocking Lucifer back. It takes Lucifer a minute to wrap him up in a hug, but when he does, Sam sees Jack shiver and burrow further into the embrace. Sam's not sure how welcome he is until there's a hand tugging on his, and Jack's pulling him closer. Hugging Jack means hugging Lucifer, too. Sam's okay with that.

Jack squirms between them so that he can wrap his arms around Sam next. Lucifer presses his forehead to Sam's before pulling back. Sam has one of their hands in each of his.

More than okay.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Buyer Beware: A Yuri story

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)  

“This is patrol craft nine-three-zero calling command; sector Sigma-twelve is clear, moving to next patrol.”

Mince flicked off the transceiver and started entering the new patrol coordinates into the nav computer. As he entered the final digit the computer flashed green as he felt the engines vibrations through the decking spin back to life.

“I don’t know why you feel the need to make that report each time we clear a sector.”

Mince looked up from the nav computer to see his partner waking from his nap and stretch out. Crumbs fell off him like the rocks of an avalanche and Mince could see the stains of several pastries still splattered across it like the finger paintings of a child. Had a senior officer been attached to their patrol ship Vicon would be hauled out and lashed until his uniform bore a new shade of red for such lack of discipline, but all of the officers were needed for the war effort and honestly Mince had grown tired of trying to change Vicon’s mind.

“It’s protocol to make routine reports.” Mince replied dryly as he got up from his pilot’s seat and went to the back of the cockpit to pour a fresh mug of Savatha Juice.

Vicon laughed and tilted his cap back over his head. “I doubt anyone in command even remembers us out here, let alone has someone reading out reports.”

He thumbed his right hand over his shoulder at the wall behind him adorned with a propaganda poster showing a Xinda soldier hoisting a cartoonish representation of a Marketh warrior up on a spear while females and children gathered behind him. “That thing’s almost as old as I am, and we’re still not even close to winning this war.”

Mince grabbed his mug and returned to his chair just as the jump drive finally kicked in and the ship was lurched forward at incredible speeds. On some level Mince wanted to tell Vicon that he was an idiot and that of course they would win the war, but he couldn’t deny that this conflict had gone on far beyond what was originally expected.

A minor skirmish over a colony world between the Marketh and his people the Dril spiral out of control nearly some twenty years ago resulting in nearly two decades of on again off again warfare. Every time the Dril thought they were going to have the upper hand and finally overcome the Marketh they would suddenly counter attack and drive them back. What was even more confounding was that the Dril navy vastly outnumbered the Marketh and had established a blockade around their entire territory hoping to starve them into submission, and yet still they had continued their fight. Military analysts had expected them to run out of war material five years ago, but every Marketh soldier was still equipped with a fresh uniform, combat supplies, shredder rifle, and at least five magazines worth of ammo.

“I’ll grant you it’s gone on too long,” Mince conceded as he took a sip of his drink, “but in the win so what does it matter?”

Before Vicon could reply with another snarky remark the ship jittered and exited out of the jump.

“Beginning scan now.” Mince said dryly.

“Who are you saying that for Mince? I’m the only one her-“

Vicon was interrupted by the loud chime from the return scans. This surprised Mince just as much as neither had expected there to be anything in the sector.

“We are reading a Cubato cargo hauler moving past the third planet.” Mince looked at the data being fed to his terminal by the scanners, quickly analyzing each strand of data like it was a letter from his wife. “It appears to be functioning order and we are detecting no distress signals on any frequency.”

“Cubato?” Vicon pondered, finally taking the moment seriously. He pushed himself forward, koc and began checking his own terminal feeds. “This system is still listed as off limits by high command, and the Cubato should be well aware of that.”

The sensor terminal chimed again and the pair looked down to see a second icon appearing at the opposite edge of the sector. It was far from hiding its presence and was making a straight path towards the anchored ship above the third planet. Unlike the first ship however, this second mystery ship was already in their database.

“New contact is registering as a Marketh light frigate.” Vicon called out as the two blips drew close together.

The terminal let out a series of beeps and chimes as new data began flooding in. Vicon took a close look at it then turned to Mince who nodded. “Several small containers are beings floated across from the Cubato hauler into the hold of the frigate, and if I’m reading this right each container is registering power signatures known for Marketh weaponry.”

Vicon leaned back in his chair as the realization hit him. “This is how they’ve been able to maintain the war.” He said to Mince who still looked confused. Vicon pointed to the Cubato hauler and continued. “The Cubato have been supplying war material to the Marketh and keep them in the war.”

Without warning the scanning terminal began ringing out warning alarms as the Marketh frigate suddenly broke away from the hauler and began making a b-line straight for their patrol ship.

“BLARGERSULTUFF!” Vicon cursed as he began rapidly entering keys to spin up the jump drive. “They must have finally seen us on their scanners.”

“Data collection finished,” Mince added as he strapped himself in, “command is going to want to see this; it could change the war.”

The alarms began ringing louder as the Marketh frigate began firing from extreme range. The chances of being hit by a plasma lance from that far were minimal, but it was never a zero percent chance.

“Jump drive ready, get us out of here!” Vicon shouted as the first plasma lances started flying past their ship.

Mince smashed his fist into the jump button and the ship lurched into a jump just as a lance strike came mere inches from hitting their cockpit. ------------------------------

A knock at the door drew Yuri’s attention from his novel and he put it aside on the waiting nightstand beside his chair.

“Come in.” he announced and the door slowly opened to reveal one of his aides shuffling into the room.

“Pardon the intrusion,” they began formally, “but there has been a recent development with operation Siberian railroad.”

Yuri hefted his cup as he listened and his aide brought over a fresh bottle of wine to refill it. He swirled it for a moment before taking in the scent while he nodded to his aide to continue.

“It seems our contact in the Cubato government used a third rate smuggler on the latest transaction with the Marketh and a Xinda patrol craft stumbled upon the transaction.” The aide pulled out a small folder from under his arm and set it on the nightstand beside Yuri. “The Marketh were unable to destroy the ship before it fled from the sector and reported their findings to Xinda command.”

Yuri picked up the folder with his free hand and casually skimmed through the documents in silence while he continued to swirl the cup of wine in his other hand.

“I had expected them to at least make three trips before they were caught, but in a way this unforeseen interruption speeds things along nicely.”

He casually tossed the folder back on to the nightstand and smirked at his confused aide as several pages spilled out on to the floor.

“I thought the plan-“his aide began before Yuri cut in to save several back and forth questions and answers.

“Was to continue arming the Marketh so the war could be prolonged?” Yuri finished. He took a final sniff before judging the wine ready and took the first sip.

“I intentionally diverted our higher grade smugglers to other tasks leaving our Cubato contact no option but to hire a third rate smuggler who just so happened to be in the area.” He took another sip of the fine vintage and looked at his aide still hoisting an expression of bafflement.

“I wanted the Xinda to stumble upon the transaction, thus confirming the involvement of the Cubato government in breaching the Xinda embargo and further infuriating the Xinda government with their arms dealing with the Marketh.”

He set the glass down and stood up, casually straightening out his finely tailored clothes and walking over to his aide. He felt like a teacher nurturing a bright pupil that was so close to solving the problem of their lifetime.

“Even with the arms dealing the Marketh were set to lose the war in another three years; but now with the potential entry of the Cubato people into the war when the Xinda attack them, the war will be escalated further and continue long into the future.”

“But what guarantee do we have that they will go to war with the Cubato?” His aide asked. “For all we know this could be easily resolved with a diplomatic negotiation.”

Yuri tilted his head in consideration of his aide’s assumption. “True, but you are forgetting the contacts we have in the Xinda government who are as we speak stoking their respective public into frenzy over this outrage.”

He put a hand on his aides shoulder and leaned in to whisper “Not to mention the anger that will wash over them when the two pilots manning the patrol craft are found dead in their homes; seemingly murdered by Cubato weaponry.”

The look of bafflement faded from his aide’s face as it was replaced with one of horrific realization. Yuri let go of his aide and returned to his chair and novel. He took one last sip of wine before setting the glass down and flicking through the pages to find his previous place.

“The goal of Siberian Railroad is to ensure that neither the Xinda, Marketh, nor Cubato ever gain enough strength to pose a threat to humanity nor her interests for that region of space. I personally find it so much easier and cost effective to have our enemies fight each other than waste time fighting them ourselves.”

With that final comment Yuri had found his page again and motioned his aide to leave. Compared to this latest Sherlock Holmes novel he had acquired planning a three way galactic war was but child’s play.

[theimaginatrix27]

I have realised that Odo is the reason I started paying attention to Deep Space Nine

I was talking about this with @roguetelepaths on Discord, but there was enough information for me to make a proper post out of it, so here I am, doing that.

See, when I was a kid, I usually got drawn into a show by acquiring an interest in a particular character. I first became aware of Farscape because of Rygel, I started hanging around when my father was watching rented episodes of Voyager because of Captain Janeway/the Doctor/Tuvok (they're tied, I'm sorry), Teal'c drew me into Stargate: SG-1 (closely followed by Daniel).

With Deep Space Nine, this character was Odo.

Before I go on, you should understand a couple things.

My Dad had cable when I was eleven/twelve.

I did not live with him, and did not see him every weekend, so I did not always have access to this cable service.

I therefore did not have access to Star Trek series in order for a very very long time.

There was a Trek block on one of the mixed-bag sort of channels this cable service had (there were several, but this was before Australia had a dedicated Sci-fi channel). It was on Saturday evenings and had TOS, TNG, DS9 and Voyager, in that order, starting at 7-30. If it wasn't Saturday night, I probably wouldn't have been allowed to stay up to watch Voyager, but it was, so I was.

Unfortunately for my future self, it was smack in the middle of the time period during which my brain was tuned to Dragon Ball Z all the time unless I had to focus on something else. Also I was like, eleven. My life had been pretty complicated already so I wasn't a sweet summer child who thought nothing bad ever happened, but I was not yet equipped to properly grasp the complexities of the Trek I was exposed to, especially DS9.

I know I was present when this channel ran Move Along Home (I can still remember the Allamaraine chant, though I did not process most of the rest of that episode), and I think I at least saw an ad saying that Saturday's episode was If Wishes Were Horses, if only because Rumpelstiltskin was in that episode and that's a weird thing to have in a Sci-fi show, my little brain thought. (I had not yet been exposed to Q. That's a story for another day).

The first episode I actively remember choosing to watch was The Forsaken. Because I'd seen the ad for that, and wait, this guy turns into a liquid? Cool! I wanna see this now!

This was also the first time I ever saw Lwaxana Troi, as far as I recall, so I got one hell of a first impression of her (I liked her very well by the end). But I was here for Odo, and I zeroed in on him. And learned both about his biology and witnessed a rant that established his personhood in my mind—it is not in fact nice to treate a shapeshifting being like a source of entertainment.

By the end of the episode, I was absolutely ride or die for this character. And he's the reason I started paying attention to DS9.

The only other episode I clearly remember watching during this period was Heart of Stone, because it was another Odo-centric episode I was fortunate to be present for, and this first experience of that episode had me absolutely shipping Kiraodo (I have discussed that before in my Kiraodo post), but before that, there was the reveal of where Odo got his name, and that absolutely pulled at my little twelve-year-old heartstrings, which is why I absolutely wanted his love for Kira to be reciprocated, because are you kidding? He just said his name meant "unknown sample"/"nothing", I was so wanting to hug him after that, and then he confessed love for this other character, and I love him, please let Kira love him too... (Also this was my first encounter with the Voice of the Link/the Female Founder, owing to how many episodes I'd missed due to extenuating circumstances beyond my control, and I wanted the mean Changeling to be proved wrong.)

So those two episodes informed my view of Odo for the next several years and beyond, and for a while there, he was hands-down my favourite character on DS9.

Over the next few years, however, my Odo love dropped to a simmer in the back of my mind because I had zero access to any Trek owing to moving away from my Dad and our subsequent permanent estrangement (long story, don't wanna get into it, it's ... there's a lot of underlying stuff irrelevant to this post). Eventually, Mum was able to get cable for us, a few months at a time, and that cable service had a Sci-fi channel now, and I had a connection in my bedroom, and could watch Star Trek without having to ask to use the family TV, and I got back into the Trek series I'd watched parts of with Dad, but grew to like them on my own terms, for my own reasons.

And at some point, I got to watch The Begotten (before Broken Link because I was at the mercy of reruns and also life made me miss episodes frequently).

And I already loved Odo thanks to the above experiences, but watching him with a baby of his own species (before Mora showed up) was so heartwarming, even if he was sad about being a solid at the time. And then the baby sacrificed itself to give him his powers back, and Oh no there went my heart again. And this basically cemented my love for Odo and his storyline and his people (even the ones that were mean to him sometimes).

I love the whole cast now, I was falling in love with the other characters when I watched The Begotten, but Odo is the reason I even started watching the show, and I have him to thank for my deep abiding love for it today.

And in light of this, it's no surprise I jumped onto the Dominion Fan train so fast. Odo needs a hug, I've always known this, but the more I learned about the Dominion races the more I realised they all did/do.

I can't undo the bad writing choices the showrunners made, or those other fanfiction authors have made, but I sure as hell can be niceys to them in my own stories.

Now, if you excuse me, I have to do something about my Dominion Week backlog. Dx

[wideeyedloner]

[fic] [sga | weir/dex; mckay/sheppard] let me be pacific

let me be pacific sga weir/dex; mckay/sheppard 4.5k words thank you so much to 429_CarCrash for the beta! :)

Summary:

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint. Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.” Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.” Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

ao3 link

Elizabeth is on the gangway outside her office when she first begins to notice.

Several huddles of extraneous personnel cluster around the gate room. Civilian and marine alike, they clutter the crosswalk, obstruct the stairs, and block access to the gate controls, talking closely and seemingly heedless of the work taking place there. Sergeant Chuck wears an annoyed expression but says nothing as he weaves around one such group to reach his control console.

“As a reminder,” Elizabeth announces, sweeping her gaze over the interlopers. “For everyone’s safety, all personnel non-essential to gate room operations should congregate in other, cleared areas of Atlantis. Thank you.”

The groups drag their feet but comply, and Elizabeth makes it with time to spare for her group Bantos fighting class.

—-

“This belongs to the Botany lab!” Dr. Parrish is easily a foot taller than Dr. Simpson, and holds the palm-sized bottle out of her reach with little effort.

Simpson glowers at the towering man’s hand as she stands on tiptoe and strains futilely for her objective. “The soft sciences are for—“

“—Toddlers and liberal arts majors, I know. You and McKay are cut from the same supercilious cloth. That doesn’t help your case.” Then, just because he can, Parrish lifts the bottle even higher.

Elizabeth really doesn’t want to get involved in this conversation, but it seems unavoidable; Parrish and Simpson are blocking the entrance to the mess hall. And today they’re serving that delicious meaty gourd from the cannibal planet. If she wants some before it’s gone, she has to get past them soon. With a pained little sigh, she fully rounds the corner, squares her shoulders, and makes her presence known.

“Doctors! What seems to be the trouble?” She makes sure to give them her least-friendly smile, hoping they keep it brief.

Parrish tips his head downward toward Simpson. “Dr. Weir. I was just explaining to my colleague that she may not just commandeer Botany equipment willy-nilly.”

Elizabeth turns to Simpson. “That’s true. Might you have a compelling reason to warrant diverting supplies from another department, or for not going through your department head?”

“No.” Simpson deflates. “It’s…a personal project.”

“That’s wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaims, smiling hopefully not-too-tightly as the lunch line grows behind the instigators. The meaty smell of the gourd makes her mouth water and her stomach growl. “While I’m afraid that I can’t support a formal request, it’s important that all of us here cultivate enriching personal lives that balance the stressors of our unique working environment.” She turns to Parrish. “With that in mind, Doctor, do you think Botany would be willing to share or trade?”

“I can’t.” Parrish looks truly pained as he grips the bottle with both hands. “This bottle was given to me personally by Dr. Abrams before he died of old age.”

The smile drops from Elizabeth’s face, realizing this is a massive waste of time. “Please excuse me,” she mutters, winding her way to the end of the very long lunch line. Behind her, Simpson exclaims, “Didn’t he get drained on that wraith supply ship?!”

Elizabeth holds on to the hope that she will at least receive half a gourd.

—-

She’s on her way to her quarters for the evening when she passes Dr. Biro and Lieutenant Reed speaking in hushed tones in the corridor. She tells herself she would normally mind her own business, but her ears pick up the words ‘orgy’ and ‘scissors' in distressing proximity to one another.

This makes her pause briefly in her stride and consider asking if she heard what she thought she heard, but then she’d have to admit to eavesdropping and she honestly doesn’t want to be involved with any more than she has to.

Still, those words bounce curiously off the walls of her mind until she falls asleep.

—

The library is one of the few places Elizabeth can count on enjoying the quietude that the ocean view promises. The tall windows, the smell of aging paper, and the unusual hours she’s usually there give Elizabeth the impression of the softest mohair shawl embracing her while she’s there.

She trails her finger along the spines of the fiction books, taking her time making a selection, when she almost bumps into–

“Ronon! We meet again.” Again, indeed. Sometimes before or after work, or on nights when she can’t bear to stay in bed, she’s found herself in the library, either alone or with Ronon as her sole companion. They’ve spent many nights in hushed fellowship, discussing Atlantis’ modest but growing collection of physical and digital books.

Elizabeth isn’t embarrassed to admit that attraction to Ronon has been coiling inside her like a spring, ever-tighter with each new encounter. He’s a handsome and clever man.

Ronon looks down his broad chest to meet her eyes. Elizabeth backs up a step and blindly slides a novel off the shelf to keep her hands occupied.

“Weir.”

“What are you looking for this time?” She peeks at what she’s selected. Fifty Shades of Grey. Oh, excellent.

“Something I haven’t read too many times.” Ronon glances at the title in her hands before smirking at the hot flush blossoming on her face. Of course he’s read this one, too. Hopeful arousal and mortification compete for emotional primacy at the moment, and she’s afraid to find out which will win out.

“Best of luck.” Elizabeth attempts to play it cool, reminding herself that they’re both adults. “Are you coming next Friday?”

Ronon grunts. “Sounds like you are, too.”

She doesn’t know if either of them says anything else–only that she flees the library without a book.

—

“Elizabeth, did’ye receive ma supply request?”  Beckett’s distinctive brogue comes from behind Elizabeth. She picks up her pace in the corridor, racing for the transporter.

“Elizabeth! Didnae ye hear me?” Beckett’s footsteps hasten behind her and she knows the jig is up.

She was almost there. Chagrined, Elizabeth wheels around with a grimace. “Carson. I don’t want to be insensitive, but I’ve explained that I only understand English.”

“Ah wis speaking English, woman! Ah wis talking aboot ma supply request! Medical’s stores o’ gauze an’ silicone adhesives hev diminished at in—“

“I’m so sorry, Carson,” Elizabeth said, holding her hands out in a helpless gesture. “But you’re going to have to email me.”

She continues backwards towards the transporter as she calls out, “We’ll figure this out!”

—-

This is supposed to be a mission debrief meeting for AR-1, but Teyla is on the mainland to discuss crop rotation with Halling, and Ronon (thankfully) only attends meetings he thinks will be interesting. With debriefing business concluded, she has further matters to discuss with the other members of the expedition’s triad.

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint.

Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.”

Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.”

Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

Next to him, McKay doesn’t look up from what he’s typing on his laptop to say, “By the way, Elizabeth, Donaldson wants you to know that Botany is out of that paper made from whettle reed from that bog planet. They use it to press the local flora samples. I told them to fill out the form and I’d sign off and pass it on so we can arrange the supply run.”

Elizabeth nods, adding that to her mental checklist. “I also spoke with Dr. Parrish. He had mentioned something you said about botany being—“

“—for toddlers and liberal arts majors,” McKay finishes. John mouths the words along with McKay, bobbing his head in amusement. “Yes, and?”

“Not that I disagree, but that’s not something your subordinate should hear from you. He looks up to you, Rodney. All of your staff do.”

Sheppard scoffs. “Isn’t Parrish like, six feet tall?”

Glaring at Sheppard, McKay sighs. “Point taken, Elizabeth. Although, I do seem to recall you calling me a ‘condescending poindexter’ under your breath before you signed off comms two months ago, so I wouldn’t be so quick on the draw with that rebuke.”

—-

On Friday afternoons, Elizabeth hosts a book club in the large rec room. The group is larger than normal tonight; Elizabeth attributes it to this month’s book, a perennial favorite.

“On Sateda,” Ronon rumbles, “Courtship rituals were more direct. Darcy would have died a virgin.” This elicits some giggles and murmurs of agreement.

“Courtship as portrayed in the novel is difficult to understand, even to many from Earth,” Elizabeth says, not meeting his eyes. She nods to Dr. Harris, who has been eagerly awaiting his turn to speak.

Suddenly, Dr. Kavanaugh’s braying laugh from the other side of the large room startles several of them.

Once that passes, Elizabeth nods encouragingly. “Please, Dr. Harris, go on.”

“I think we all know the feeling of being attracted to someone who’s out of our league in some way. That’s something I found relatable.”

Elizabeth reaches out and pats his hand. “There’s no such thing as a person being out of anyone’s league. I’m certain there are things about you that make you unique and a treasure to which no one in any galaxy can compare.” The other club members burst into a soft chorus of ‘aww’s, and Harris blushes. Elizabeth glances around, making brief eye contact with everyone. “That’s true about all of you. Don’t let anyone or anything let you believe differently.”

Laughter from the other group swells again, drowning out Harris’ response. Elizabeth excuses herself to cross the room. Several heads from Kavanaugh’s group turn as she approaches, and she recognizes Bates, Dr. Kusanagi, and Dr. Corrigan among those with him. Some are cutting out shapes: suns and moons, and some are sewing.

“Pardon me,” she says, bending to speak into their midst. “We’re having a quiet conversation on the other side of the room and are having a hard time understanding one another. Would you keep it down a little?”

Kavanaugh blanches as though caught, but quickly blurts, “There’s no need to get hysterical. Just mind your business–” Bates jabs him hard in the ribs with an elbow, giving him a look Elizabeth can’t decipher. “Fine. Yes. My apologies. We’ll keep it down,” he grits out.

Elizabeth bares her teeth, barely curling her lips enough to call it a smile. “Thank you so much.”

As she returns to her group, she wonders if she can still make good on her promise to send Kavanaugh to a desolate planet.

—-

During her individual Bantos fighting session, Elizabeth asks Teyla if she’s noticed anything unusual about expedition staff behavior.

Teyla advances with rapid, spinning strikes, forcing Elizabeth to struggle to maintain her defensive stance and on her feet at all.

“Elizabeth,” Teyla admonishes archly, “You know I do not participate in gossip.”

“Then what do you and Sheppard laugh so much about? He’s a notorious gossip.”

Elizabeth is nowhere near skilled enough to be a decent sparring partner, so Teyla provides generous openings for Elizabeth to launch her own offensive. Elizabeth spins and attacks those openings, which Teyla proceeds to block easily.

“He teaches me about Earth culture. I find your people fascinating. He has recently taught me about re-gifting and telemarketing.” Teyla delivers a swift blow to Elizabeth’s calf, knocking her to the ground. She rests the blunt end of her stick in the dip of Elizabeth’s throat in victory.

—

Simpson comes pounding on the doors to Elizabeth’s office with Beckett in hot pursuit.

Elizabeth stands slowly from her desk, watching Simpson fume and Beckett wring his hands outside her office. Eventually, she decides she can’t nap until she deals with this. Too many windows, not enough opaque walls.

When the doors open, Simpson demands, “Tell him what you told me!” pointing at Beckett. Elizabeth says a lot of things, so she can only shake her head in confusion. “About supporting my interests!”

Elizabeth curses her love for that gourd. It’s far too late at this point to pawn Simpson off on McKay. “What happened?”

Beckett responds as though Elizabeth was talking to him. “Ah caught her taking medical supplies, an’ we’re already short!”

“Carson,” Elizabeth warns, but her eyes slide over to Simpson, and she notices bandages over her earlobes cut into the shape of a moon and a sun. “Dr. Simpson, are your ears okay?”

One of Simpson’s hands flies to her ear, fingers self-consciously running over the bandage. “Er, yes. It’s for…fashion.”

“Elizabeth, ur ye gunna dae summat aboot ‘is?”

“Carson, please.” Elizabeth can’t focus when people speak to her in two languages at once. “Dr. Simpson, are the bandages from Medical’s supplies?”

“Where else would they come from?”

Elizabeth sighs; this is really a problem for Rodney. “Only authorized personnel may take those supplies, and for authorized purposes.”

Simpson crosses her arms and glares around the room, but finally spits out, “Fine.”

The issue has been resolved, so they can leave, right? “Carson–”

“‘At’s all ah wanted, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re really going to have to email me.” Elizabeth gently ushers Beckett and Simpson out of her office, and as soon as her doors close, she reactivates the lock.

—

At dinner, one of the sergeants on mess duty tries to hand her a bundle of cloth along with her plate of spicy braised invertebrate. She holds up her hand and says, “No, thank you.”

Dr. Heightmeyer reaches across her to take it as she says, “That’s mine,” and waves ahead in line to Biro, who waves back.

“What’s that about?” Elizabeth asks, intrigued. Heightmeyer rolls the fabric tightly and tucks it under her arm.

“I’m making a dress,” she murmurs, clearly trying to avoid conversation with Elizabeth. This strikes Elizabeth as odd; until now, she had considered Heightmeyer a close colleague and perhaps even a friend—certainly not someone she’d avoid in the corridors like Beckett (due to the language barrier) or Kavanaugh (for being a cretin).

“I’d love to see it when you’re done,” Elizabeth tries, feeling foolish for her wheedling tone.

“I bet you would,” Heightmeyer sneers.

—

Elizabeth has finally had enough. After dinner, she forgoes her usual cursing session off the northern pier and marches up to Sheppard’s room.

She enters without knocking.

Sheppard is on the floor next to the bed, holding War and Peace on his lap, ostensibly reading. McKay is seated at the head of the bed, a tablet on his lap propped up with a pillow. They look up in unison upon Elizabeth’s entrance and Sheppard slides the book—which he has been holding upside down— to the floor.

“Elizabeth,” Sheppard drawls. “I could have been naked.”

She arches an eyebrow. “With Rodney in your room?”

Sheppard screws up his face, seesawing his head from side to side in consideration. “Well, no? But a knock would have been a nice courtesy. Anyway, what’s up?”

“What’s going on with the personnel?

“Nothing more than usual. Why?”

“It just seems like something strange is happening around here and I can’t put my finger on it.”

Eyes back on the tablet, McKay makes a sound of derision, and Sheppard quickly elbows him with an apologetic grimace.

“If there’s something I should know…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a non-issue, really, and it’ll work itself out.” Sheppard smiles in a way that probably made all his previous commanding officers want to punch his lights out.

“Rodney?”

“Hmm? This is me minding my business.” McKay is becoming quite a skilled deflector, even if he still can’t lie outright. Elizabeth hates it. “Passing on the supply memo like you wanted. Doing genius things. Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

—-

Elizabeth is supposed to hole up in her room today for twenty-four hours of uninterrupted rest, and no fewer than five people have intercepted her on her way to her room to bother her for last-minute action items before she can sequester herself. If one more person pesters her, she’s going back to Earth and never returning.

When Moore approaches from the opposite end of the hall, Elizabeth eyes her warily. But as she comes closer, Elizabeth sees that she doesn’t need anything; she’s holding small, flat items in her outstretched hand like an offering.

“Moon or sun?” The way she asks is breathy with excited secrecy. She wears a crescent moon on her forehead. Elizabeth is faintly curious, but doesn’t care enough to ask for clarification. She needs to get back to her room, drink a thimble of Genii rotgut, rub one out, and sleep for twelve hours.

“Sun?” That seems like an appropriate choice. She works mostly during the day and enjoys being out in the sun. Moore plucks a blazing sun-shaped piece of fabric and sticks it to the corner of Elizabeth’s eye with a ‘boop!’ There’s some kind of adhesive on it to make it stick to her skin.  Moore smiles widely, sweetly, and continues down the hall. Elizabeth blinks and makes her way to the transporter.

Clearly, her memo has gone ignored, and the odd behavior continues. Many of these recent strange occurrences seem to be related. The mystery is unspooling. If this turns out to be some kind of cult trying to blow up the city, Elizabeth hopes it happens while she’s off-duty.

When the doors open, Ronon steps out, startling her. His eyes narrow mirthfully when he sees the sticker, and he looks her up and down, a slow grin forming on his face. When his eyes come back up to hers, he maintains contact for a few beats, allowing tension to build in the silence, before continuing on his way. “Weir.”

Elizabeth watches Ronon walk down the hallway before the transporter doors close, wondering how tight the spring inside her can get.

When Elizabeth gets to her room, she takes the sticker off so she can wash up, and continues with her plans for the evening.

—

Carson’s email comes through during AR-1’s pre-flight meeting. She notes which planets they need to visit for the requested supply ingredients and ignores the rest of his bleating message.

“Rodney, have you discovered an ancient device that would help me understand Carson?”

“Hmm, no. We have the translators, but those,” he says, circling his index finger around his ear, “only work if the other person is actually speaking another language.

Sheppard crosses his arms and slouches further into his seat with a look of confusion. “I love to razz Doc as much as the next guy, but I don’t get it. I can understand him fine.”

A loud peal of group laughter from downstairs cuts off Elizabeth’s reply, and she stands up to look out the window overlooking the gate room. It’s full of people milling around, leaning into each other’s faces, talking and laughing.

Elizabeth glares back over her shoulder. “One of you needs to tell me what’s happening. Now.”

Even though no message has come over comms, Teyla taps her earpiece and murmurs, “Yes, Halling, I would love to discuss my internet service provider options,” and racewalks out the door.

McKay rolls his eyes. “Sheppard told everyone that Ronon is single and looking.”

Elizabeth purses her lips, giving Sheppard and McKay what they refer to as her ‘mom look.’ “I should have known you two had something to do with it.”

“Us two?!” McKay protests, pointing at his own face. “I’m an innocent party, here.”

Sheppard throws his hands up in exasperation. “Just back that bus right over me yourself, Rodney.”

Glancing back at the commotion in the downstairs, Elizabeth objects, “There’s got to be more to it than that. This has been going on for weeks, and this is the second time I’ve had unauthorized personnel cluttering my gate room in that period.” When no answer is forthcoming, she continues. “May I remind you, John, that your mission will be grounded until all of this is dealt with, so now is the time to come clean.”

Sheppard takes a deep, slow breath, and blows it out all at once. Elizabeth feels the same way. “We were shooting some hoops, and Ronon asked if people on earth really ‘hook up’ in a sedoretu—you know, like in those Ursula K. Le Guin stories, with the morning and evening people?”

Elizabeth nods, squeezing the bridge of her nose against the pressure of the headache building there. She already knows where this is going. Sheppard has such a big mouth it’s amazing he ever got or maintained a security clearance.

The mystery is almost completely unspooled now, and instead of being satisfying, the answer is utterly stupid.

“The Colonel thought it was so funny he was practically giddy to share it with all the other little campers at the bonfire, and it spread like wildfire from there,” McKay adds.

Elizabeth’s head swivels back to Sheppard, staring disbelievingly. “So you were happy to let this rumor spread unmitigated and wreak havoc, not just among the marines, but throughout the entire expedition?”

“The Colonel was too busy enjoying Ronon’s hot space bimbo act and watching the rest of the expedition pant after him. Ronon was a soldier and knows that military installations are basically twenty-four seven hook-up parties. I can vouch for the scientists being a pack of filthy sexual deviants, myself, so once Sheppard opened his mouth, disaster was inevitable.”

Sheppard waves his arms in front of him emphatically, as though attempting to physically clear the air. “What Rodney’s trying to say is, I didn’t take it seriously, thought it’d work itself out, and no one else seemed to have their thinking hats on.”

McKay’s protest is vigorous as he stands and raises his voice: “Because you have them fantasizing about foursomes with Ronon the Barbarian!”

Sheppard leans into McKay, who shoulders him away quickly. Sheppard only leans into him again. “Aww, he’s so cute when he’s jealous.”

“I am not—“

“He is. Remember Chaya? She was in a real rush to leave. Said it was the wraith attack but Rodney here threatened to hoover her up,” Sheppard mimics vacuuming, ‘vrrrrm,’ “with a proton pack, Ghostbusters-style, and use her to recharge our ZPM.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows jump all the way to her forehead. “I didn’t realize you were together.”

“What? You literally walked in on us the other night.”

Elizabeth squints as she recalls what she saw. “You could have been having a LAN party or a sleepover.”

Sheppard cracks a little grin at that, but McKay exclaims, “Sheppard said he could have been naked!”

“Okay. Well, I’m happy for you both and trust you to maintain the same standard of professionalism you were known for before your relationship.” That’s as tactful as she can be about it. Frankly, these two deserve each other. “You can count on my discretion, but I do want to point out the obvious: what about the US military’s policy against homosexual relationships?”

“I’ve given some thought to that. As you know, the US military back on Earth has a reputation for causing a lot of problems with the locals, especially overseas. Less supervision and all.”

“Where are you going with this? Are you saying you want to turn a new leaf, forge a new reputation?”

“Oh no, our reputation is trash out here, too.” Sheppard cringes deeply to indicate his feelings about the expedition’s activities in Pegasus, including his own. “We woke the Wraith, take ZPMs from civilizations that are already using them, and commit war crimes. I’m just saying Uncle Sam can’t see us, so I’d like to disregard certain rules and regulations that hurt our people instead of helping them.”

Elizabeth can’t disagree with that. “I’m sure there are LGBT service members who will be glad to hear that. You can count on my support,” She nods, smiling to see John embracing his role as the military commander of Atlantis in this way. “Now, are you going downstairs to clean up your mess?”

—-

The gate room is in chaos, leaving no room for authorized personnel to move around. Expedition members are scattered like stars, wearing cloth stickers of a sun or moon, or sometimes both. Some individuals wear bracelets, knitted hats, scarves with the symbols, or have added the adornments to their work uniform. Kate Heightmeyer, who spares Elizabeth a withering glare, wears a floor-length gown made entirely of what Elizabeth assumes to be gauze pilfered from Medical, and dotted with suns and moons made from whettle grass paper, whose supply is now completely depleted.

Scientists and military alike gather in groups, comparing decorations, comparing projects, laughing.

Ronon and Teyla lean against one of the pillars, observing the tumult and leaning in to speak to one another. Teyla catches Elizabeth’s eye, grinning in a way that confirms that she has kept up with expedition gossip, after all. Ronon follows Teyla's line of sight and sees Elizabeth, slowly stands to his full height, and crosses the room to meet her. The crowd, totally aware of his location, parts around him.

Service members and civilians alike, surprisingly, maintain their distance from Ronon, despite their interest. Their scheming, crafting, and adornment were where their daring ended; now they loiter, awaiting Ronon’s attention with an air of ‘pick me, choose me, have sex with me.’

Ronon crowds Elizabeth in where she stands beside the stairs, his eye flickering to something above Elizabeth’s right ear. His hand reaches up and slowly pulls something from her curls, maintaining eye contact and a self-satisfied smile the entire time. The attraction coils even tighter, making her whole body feel tense and hyper-aware.

Ronon’s thick fingers bring a crescent moon made of medical tape up to her face. Strange; she swore she had left that in her bathroom. She holds out her hand so he can place it in her palm, and he does, fingers pressing in and lingering for interminable, intentional seconds. Elizabeth swallows and stares at where their hands touch, even as Ronon dips his head down to meet her eyes.

“Weir.”

“Ronon.”

“Heard you might be the one to help me with an Earth book I don’t understand.” His eyes shine with mischief.

Elizabeth arches a brow. “Oh? Well, I’m happy to help you if I can.”

“Great.” Ronon’s smile is broad, and as he grasps her hand, it only now occurs to her that this powerful attraction hasn’t been entirely one-sided all this time. Her breath catches and her heart pounds harder than ever. “Left it in my room.”

Elizabeth looks around the room at Sheppard inexpertly de-escalating the arguing between marines and civilian scientists, at McKay getting shouted down by Heightmeyer, at scientists and marines accusing one another of jealousy.

Gate room operations will be suspended for a while while Sheppard deals with the consequences of his actions, hopefully without resorting to excessive threats of violence.

“I have time now,” she offers.

Still pressing the sticker into her palm as he takes her hand, Ronon leads the way.

Naturally, there is no book. Elizabeth is happy to relieve some tension regardless.

[iviarellereads]

Exit Strategy, Chapter 8

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which we have the technology.(1)

Murderbot's consciousness returns slowly, and its memory is shattered. (Some voices discuss whether they should have let the company put it in a cubicle, but no, that would let them study it and how it broke its governor module.) It follows its neural pathways to a memory storage of… what the hell is The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon?(2)

Then, more pathways blossom, allowing it to start accessing, sorting, organizing its memories much faster, as well as initiating its own diagnostics and data repair codes. (A voice cheers that it's showing increased activity, putting itself back together. MB identifies the voice as a client.)

It knows it's in a room, not a cubicle. It remembers Art, but a ping goes without response. No, it sorted Tapan and left Art. (Ratthi asks how it's feeling. It finds Ratthi tagged "my human friend" which seems unlikely,(3) but it figures "Fine." is a safe answer. Ratthi asks if it knows where it is. It asks him to wait while it searches for that information. He says okay.)

It recognizes that it's in a MedSystem. It wonders if they think it's human, and how stressful that would be. Then it remembers that a MedSystem would diagnose it with "a terminal case of being a SecUnit." (It says it doesn't want to be a pet robot. Gurathin says nobody wants that. It has him tagged that it doesn't like him. It says so. Gurathin sounds amused(4) when he says he knows. MB says it's not funny. Gurathin says he'll mark cognition at 55%. MB says "Fuck you." Gurathin ups his estimate to 60%.)

Finally, MB remembers the gunship. The terror paralyzes it, until it realizes it's not on the gunship, which was so clean and new, but a much older vessel. Still, its emotions are speeding up the repair process on memory storage as it accesses things to feel about them. Its diagnostics show its governor module is still hacked, and its data port not repaired. (It says it doesn't want to be human. Mensah says humans mostly won't understand that, believing that anything that looks human wants to be human. MB says that's dumb.)(5)

It's been ignoring its operational code in the rebuild, so it starts rebuilding that now that it remembers how important it is. Its organic bits remember how to walk, so it checks the room out. It picks up the sensor data from the flight deck, knows they're on approach to a station of some kind. The station is built around a big, old-fashioned ship.

Cautiously, Murderbot reaches out, and feels the edges of the station feed's reach.

Dr. Mensah said, “Do you know where you are now?” Home to her meant a planet. I knew that because I’d shipped memory clips to her family there. Important memory clips. Memory clips that had almost gotten us killed. I said, “I don’t like planets. There’s dust and weather, and something always wants to eat the humans.(6) And planets are much harder to escape from.” Behind her, Gurathin said, “I think that’s a yes.”

Mensah asks if it knows what happened. It knows it had a catastrophic failure. Mensah says it extended itself too far, does it remember? MB does, but doesn't want to talk about it.

Instead, MB asks why the ship is so old and shitty. Ratthi gets defensive, saying this ship came in the hold of the bigger one that became the station, with their grandparents. MB is skeptical about humans being packed in the hold, but Mensah smiles and says they were in suspension, because the trip from their former, failed colony took two hundred years. In Preservation, they allied with other systems settled in similar fashion, and rejected Corporation Rim aid, leaving them independent.

MB accesses information on Preservation, and finds that its status is better than equipment, but it still needs an owner, and it'll have to be a happy pet bot. Whether it said that aloud this time or some other time, Mensah reassures it that everyone else on the ship believes it's a person with more than usual augmentation, being brought to Preservation as a refugee. It turns, and finds Mensah, Gurathin, Ratthi, and Pin-Lee.

Pin-Lee says it fits the definition of a refugee, after all. Ratthi says it's all very dramatic, the crew think it's a spy who defied the company to save them. MB compares that to an adventure serial, right down to the inaccuracies. Mensah says they have options, now that its appearance has been changed, and it's had some success at… she doesn't quite want to say pretending to be human, so settles on "not being noticed." She's going to keep those options open, until MB decides what it wants.(7) On Port FreeCommerce, she underestimated its ability to fit into human society on its own, and she apologizes.

MB doesn't want to go to the planet. Mensah says it can stay on the transit station. It asks, in a hotel? Mensah says, if that's what it wants. It asks for a big display surface, and Mensah says that "can probably be arranged."

The memory rebuild continues, up to and through docking at the station. Mensah and Pin-Lee leave first, to distract the crowd. When the coast is clear, Ratthi and Gurathin walk MB out and to a hotel, adjacent to the station's admin center. They get a suite intended for diplomatic guests, and MB gets a whole set of rooms all to itself, connected to the others' rooms.

It doesn't like it.

An hour after it locks itself in the bedroom with the big display, Ratthi taps it in the feed, and says they set up a little network, and he hopes it helps.

Carefully, MB reaches out, and finds that they set up cameras in the suite lounges and hallways, so it can see everything coming and going except the private areas.

I had a complex emotional reaction. A whole new burst of neural connections blossomed. Oh right, I often have complex emotional reactions which I can’t easily interpret.(8)

Murderbot adjusts the code, so nobody can hack it from outside, then unlocks its door.

Mensah has quarters elsewhere on the station, and some of her family has come up to visit her, since she can't go planetside just yet. Pin-Lee, Ratthi, and Gurathin are staying on the station for meetings about what's been going on.

About twelve hours after they get settled in on the station, Arada and Overse come to visit. MB finds its memories of them and remembers that they're clients, a couple, they like each other,(9) and they like it. After twenty three minutes watching them on the cameras, MB comes out of its room to see them.

Arada doesn't hug MB, but bounces and waves her arms excitedly. She says they're going on a survey in a few months, it's not company or bonded, but she'd like for it to come along as security, though she's not sure how to pay it… Gurathin says it likes hard currency cards, and when MB looks at him, he says the obscene gesture is understood. Pin-Lee says it can't sign any contracts until its memory rebuild is complete. MB asks if its owner said so, but Pin-Lee says no, because she's its legal counsel, calling it asshole, maybe affectionately.(10)

After everyone else has gone to sleep, Pin-Lee goes back to MB's room with it, and gets its bag. It had double checked it, once it remembered the bag existed, and found Wilken and Gerth's unused ID cards and the hard currency it hadn't used yet, all intact. Pin-Lee says this is illegal, so MB can't tell anyone, and gives it three additional fake IDs, made by Gurathin, and more currency, the funds she and Ratthi gathered for the trip to TRH and didn't use. Preservation doesn't use currency, and they were drawn from the citizen travel fund.

Murderbot asks why.

Pin-Lee says, they want it to know they're serious about its freedom. It's not a prisoner, or a pet. Then she stomps out.(11)

MB spends a lot of time just sitting in the room, door closed, letting the rebuild processes run.

Twenty nine hours after arrival, Ratthi comes to get it to watch a newsburst with the rest of the team. It has a lot of interviews, but essentially, the bond company has declared war on GrayCris, and other corporations and entities are getting involved because of GrayCris's illegal strange synthetics trade. The newsburst refers to the data from Milu, and some of the videos are from Gerth and Wilken's blackmail collection.

Gurathin says they're out of it now. Mensah says, they still have to interact with the corporates sometimes, but this is a relief. Arada asks how MB feels.

The rebuild process was increasing in speed again, and I suddenly didn’t have any space left for talking to humans. I got up and went back to my room. *** Rebuild Process Complete at Cognition Level 100 percent *** At thirty-seven hours since arrival, I sat up. I said, aloud, “That was stupid.” Everything was clear, sharp. Note to self, never, ever jump into a gunship with a bot pilot and fight off a construct Attacker code again. You almost deleted yourself, Murderbot.(12)

It gets off the bed and sweeps the suites in its network. The humans are at a dinner event, except for Overse and Arada, sleeping, and Gurathin reading in the feed in his room. MB gets its jacket and bag, and slips out.

The station's security is like Milu's, concentrated where things are likely to go wrong.(13) Nobody notices it. Its camera-erasing scripts worked so well, there's almost no footage of its current configuration to be used in the newsbursts, and the common assumption is that it helped the humans off TRH but hasn't been seen since, so nobody expects to see it as it currently is.

The station mall seems to have limited feed advertising distance, and they're using two different currencies: hard currency for travelers, and barter for locals. Fortunately, passage booking takes hard currency. It's got time to kill, so it goes to the "Welcome Center", bemused. It's never seen anything like it before. There are kiosks, pamphlets, real humans ready to answer questions, and a holographic recreative play of the journey by the first colonists. When it's over, there's still no increase in security presence at the docks. It buys passage with one of the cards Pin-Lee gave it, and pretends to sleep in a transient area while watching the station's security feed.

The ship calls for boarding. It doesn't get on.(14)

It finds Mensah's quarters in the station directory, thinking what a bad idea it is to have private quarters listed publicly. It doesn't want to see her family, so it goes to her office instead. It breaks in, and spends eight hours laying on the couch, watching media, still waiting for security alerts that don't come.

Eventually, it picks up Mensah arriving with two humans and a juvenile who looks like her in miniature. MB stands and waits. Mensah is surprised to see it, but hides her reaction. She asks it for a moment, and it steps outside onto the balcony while she talks to the others.

It hears footsteps, and realizes the small one followed it out. She says hello, and it says hello back, and that it's her mother's security consultant. She knows, and says Mensah said if she asked its name, it wouldn't tell her. MB confirms it. Mini-Mensah says her mother also said MB saved her from corporate goons. MB calls that out immediately, Mensah did not say goons. The girl says it should know what she means. MB admits it saved her, and asks if the girl wants to see. She's surprised, but agrees.

MB has a lightly edited down version of the flight through TRH, at the end. It sends it to the girl, who is awed but tries not to show it. MB says Mensah saved it, too: shot a SecUnit with a mining drill.

The girl asks if it's weird that it's a SecUnit. MB says it is weird.(15)

Mensah comes out and finds them, and points back inside. The girl waves goodbye and goes to sit inside. Mensah says she was afraid MB would leave. MB says it thought about it. Mensah asks if it's thought about what it wants to do. It wants to watch media, it says. Mensah gives it a skeptical look, and says if that's all it wanted, it wouldn't have gone to Milu. MB says it watched a lot of media on the way.

Undeterred, Mensah says Gurathin showed her the video it sent him. MB was helping people, even people it was too late to help, it wanted to help. MB says it's programmed to help humans. Mensah points out that it's not programmed to watch media. MB privately concedes the point.

Mensah says MB has a job offer from GoodNightLander Independent. MB says it thought it was illegal to buy SecUnits in those territories. Mensah says they want to hire someone who may or may not be named Rin, who they think is based in the Preservation Alliance, whose citizenship is immaterial. Or, that's about how she remembers their request.(16)

MB is still in disbelief. They want to hire a SecUnit? Mensah says they want to hire the person who saved their assessment team, whoever that is. She's also been talking to Bharadwaj, and they think MB should consider making its story public, as a documentary. Preservation has a movement pressing for full citizenship of constructs and high-level bots. A full account of Murderbot's history might be a grand contribution, even if it was just allowing Mensah to share the account it gave at Port FreeCommerce as it left. MB is equally terrified and attracted to the idea.

Mensah nodded. “Again, there’s no rush about any of this. I just want you to know you already have options here,(17) and I expect you’ll have more offers for your services or advice as a security consultant. And that you have friends here you can discuss things with, whatever you decide to do, or wherever you decide to go.” I had options, and I didn’t have to decide right away. Which was good, because I still didn’t know what I wanted. But maybe I had a place to be while I figured it out.

=====

(1) Yes, as in, "We can rebuild it". (2) It accesses the show so often, its human neural tissue literally leads it there first. My heart weeps. Whomst among us. (3) It gets annoyed by Ratthi but it still had him tagged "friend". (4) I wasn't entirely alluding to this in the other chapters, I think the text supports my assertions that Gurathin stopped hating or being suspicious of Murderbot some time between its disappearance and its offer to help get Mensah back. But this gives me the warm fuzzies. I just love how they interact. Something something under a microscope rotating in a jar. (5) It's true, we are self-centered like that, we do believe ourselves to be superior and worth wanting to be. It's a failing we may have to reckon with someday. (6) I am internet poisoned because I can't read this passage without thinking of "I don't like sand." I wonder how much of that was intentional. (7) She knows it chafes at the idea of being a pet. She's made sure it doesn't have to. (8) Someday it'll learn to recognize the emotions, maybe even come to terms with them, learn to acknowledge them directly instead of stepping around them because it's got no desire to deal with that mess just now. But for now, we get these lovely, flowery dances. (9) Not always mutually inclusive with being a couple! I love that little acknowledgement. (10) At least, I like to read it affectionately. (11) I find this emphasis on stomping fascinating. She doesn't just leave suddenly, she stomps. What made her angry about that interaction? I might be a little too like MB to tell. Having her motives questioned? Or something else? (12) Do you think that's going to stick? Or is MB going to keep getting itself into trouble, and overextending its abilities? (13) I love that that's still the first thing it checks wherever it goes. (14) The point was never leaving. It was testing the boundary. (15) It's certainly within its rights to say so! (16) Murderbot, friend, pal, comrade, you are worthy regardless, but you have done good in this universe and people recognize that. It's so quick to dismiss its accomplishments in its grief at not being perfect, because it could never be perfect, both because it's not fully a bot and can't be bot-perfect, but also because it's not fully a human but it's operating in a world run by humans who make imperfect situations that necessitate messy reactions. But people resonate with you, with your compassion, with your desire to help. (Sorry I'm just having a complex emotion too.) (17) And there's that word again. They all understood that MB's reaction at first was, in part, affected by the fact that it didn't think it was allowed to do things. It spent who knows how many years not allowed to think freely. And to learn that it had been bought by a person in a political entity whose laws necessitated that it was property… Of course it still felt confined. So they've all done the work, to make sure that it knows their intentions and their intent to follow through, no matter what it chooses.

[anime-scarves]

Lately I've been deeep into Fire Emblem Engage. I haven't figured my thoughts out on it for a review, but Ive got some non spoilers tips for anyone playing.

Fill your farm in Somniel with dogs. For whatever reason they give you ingots and have a pretty high change to get silver ingots. This dramatically improves your ingot economy with essentially no trade off.

Anna is actually a mage in disguise. She has the highest magic growth in the game and weak strength and def growths. She can be functional as a warrior with a radiant bow, but she does better in magic classes.

You should immediately promote units when you can. This gives them a bump of stats for promoting and access to better growths. In previous fire emblem games you often didn't want to do this since you would cap at level 20 in the promoted class early and not be able to gain more levels. Engage has plentiful, infinite actually, second seals and when a unit caps out in their advanced class you can send them back to level 1 in it while retaining all stats.

Speaking of promotions.. Once your unit is promoted to an advanced class they can second seal into any other advanced class was long as they have the weapon proficiency to do so. Let's look at Anna here. In previous games you'd have to level her to 10 as an axe fighter, then second seal her to a level 1 mage, then level her to 10 as a mage before promoting her to be a sage. This is 20 levels as a beginner class and is not ideal. In Engage you could just promote her to warrior/zerker at level 10 axe fighter and then second seal her to sage from there. It uses the same amount of seals but takes 10 less levels as a beginner class.

Weapon proficiency can be acquired by gaining bond with your emblems. The easiest way to do this is train with the emblem in the arena. It's very cheap and once a character gains weapon proficiency they permanently have it whether they have the emblem equipped or not.

Kagetsu is a monster. I don't know why he got shipped as he did, but he's just straight up better than most of your units. Reclassing him into hero, wyvern knight, or warrior is very strong.

Miciah's Great Sacrifice is absurdly broken for gaining exp and sp. It heals everyone on the map to full and 1 point of healing is 1 point of exp and sp. You can gain full levels off this skill and you should aim to use it at least once a map. This helps tremendously for leveling Jean or Anna in the early game when they would otherwise be pitiful and struggle to gain meaningful exp.

That's enough for now. I will return later with more fire emblem tips.

[elendiliel]

Taking Flight

Just a bit of sliver-of-life nonsense that happened after a recent re-read of With a Side of Rust by @blueskyscribe (which I highly recommend, by the way).

---

“What have you been doing to these?” Knock Out shook his head in exasperation. He knew he was excellent at his job – he wouldn’t have survived as Megatron’s CMO if he weren’t – but the task in front of him was proving more challenging than anticipated. Still, he wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet.

“Using them,” Glitch said infuriatingly calmly. “General wear and tear mounts up over the centuries.”

“Especially if you don’t bother with proper maintenance.” Knock Out could admit to himself that that was a little unfair on his young colleague. The Autobot “field-tech” and visitor from another universe took as good care of almost all her equipment as anyone in their shared profession, better than some, but her most important tools – her hands – were scratched and scuffed perhaps beyond even his considerable ability to restore to prime condition. The damage was purely cosmetic; whether she were working on a patient or flying a ship, her hands moved as fluidly as any forged medic’s. But they were still painful to look at, and Knock Out had offered to do something about them during a lull in the Autobots’ (and Predacons’) battle with Unicron, an offer she had accepted. Following through on that seemed to be the Autobot thing to do, so he was dutifully doing it.

As he moved on to another scratch in her bronze plating, it struck him that she was almost literally putting her livelihood – and, in a sense, her life – in his hands. A medic’s career was often dependent on their manual dexterity; the best equipment in the universe was useless if its operator couldn’t control it properly. Being a field-tech clearly meant a great deal to Glitch, and yet she had entrusted the key tools of her trade to a former enemy who had tortured and tried to kill her, harmed or threatened a number of her friends, and been quite open about his selfish reasons for changing sides. Before he knew it, he was asking her, “Why are you letting me do this?”

She studied him for a long, unsettling moment, giving the distinct impression she was trying to figure out exactly what he meant by his question, then waved her free hand dismissively, channelling her inner Ratchet (his universe’s Ratchet, at least). “Per-lease. We’ve been inside each other’s heads. I know you’ve managed to hang on to some integrity, which is pretty impressive in the circumstances. And I can look after myself.” Despite appearances, Knock Out thought. Strange though it seemed to him, the young ‘bot had “come online” many centuries after the end of her reality’s last major Autobot-Decepticon war. Scars notwithstanding, she seemed to be a civilian to the tips of her delicate-looking fingers and upswept winglets (more like a car’s door-wings than those of her fellow two-wheelers from Knock Out’s home universe). But the ex-‘Con medic had treated too many Vehicons damaged by her inbuilt electromagnets and other medical tools to believe that.

Even before, as he wished she hadn’t reminded him, he had used a cortical psychic patch – on Lord Megatron’s orders – to gain access to her memories, and seen the Cybertron where she had grown up – a war-damaged world always prepared for the next conflict. And not much more before she somehow reversed the process, gaining access to his memories – including some he didn’t like to acknowledge, let alone share. He’d tried not to flinch as she alluded to that particular episode, but her sharp eyes – adapted for scouting – missed very little. And she seemed to have about as much control over her voicebox. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

“Not really, no,” Knock Out agreed. “But,” the newspark’s honesty seemed to be contagious, “it’s about time one of us mentioned the – rhinoceros in the room, is that the phrase?”

“Elephant,” she corrected him automatically. “No idea why. Elephants are bigger, but generally less aggressive, especially when unprovoked. Or so I gather. It’s often said that they never forget; I’ll have to look up whether that’s ever been verified.” Belatedly, she registered Knock Out’s be-quiet-and-let-me-concentrate expression, and obeyed it. He might not have known her for very long, but he knew a budding monologue when he heard it, and preferred not to have to listen to one when he was trying to work. Especially one about organic lifeforms, of which he had never been very fond.

But as it turned out, he couldn’t stay silent, either. “Where did these come from?” He indicated one of a number of shallow scratches on her left palm and fingers, distinguished by an unusual V-shaped depth profile both end-to-end and side-to-side, according to the scanner he was using to monitor the ultrafine procedure. (His eyes were good, but not quite that good.)

“Birds,” was her initial, baffling answer. His blank expression must have prompted her to explain further. “The ones that nest in or visit the tree that grows in our base in Detroit. Prowl used to feed them, and now it’s my job – or it was.” Concern and homesickness flickered across her face, very briefly. She must be at least as aware as he was that no Autobot worth their brand would let any being go hungry if they could help it, even an organic. “A few trust me enough to eat out of my servo, which is – quite something.” A soft smile lit up her whole face. “And well worth a few scratches. Last winter, one of them turned up with a broken wing. I don’t know how it happened, or how far he had to walk, but he came to me for help, so of course I took care of him.”

“Put him out of his misery?” Knock Out regretted his automatic, callous reaction even before the expected expression of shock and horror formed on Glitch’s features. He was dealing with an Autobot, not a Decepticon. “No! Set the fracture and fed and housed him until he recovered, of course. Which was quite a circuit-shredding experience at first. Bird bones are strong, but they’re hollow, to reduce the mass the wings have to lift, so they feel fragile. Especially if you’re my size, let alone yours.” Glitch was tiny for a Cybertronian who wasn’t a Mini-Con, not much more than half Knock Out’s height and skinny with it. “The whole time I was splinting his wing, I was terrified I was going to do more harm than good. Managed it, though.” That soft smile was back. “When he was able to fly again – you know that feeling when you know a patient’s going to make it?” He did, very well; there had been times when it was one of the few things that kept him going. “Like that, but more so.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Knock Out returned his attention to the task at hand – pun not intended. Less than a minute later, his tools must have found a sensor cluster by accident, because she burst out laughing, her winglets fluttering as though she herself were a bird. Some delicate but dangerous creature, whose elegant plumage and enchanting song distracted others from her sharp beak and sharper claws. (Come to think of it, he hadn’t known her winglets could move like that – they were usually folded as flat as possible against her back in the field, and held stiffly behind her shoulders the rest of the time, ready to form the sides of her vehicle mode at a moment’s notice.) “That tickles!”

“Sorry.” The word felt oddly rusty in his voicebox. Though he’d mollified plenty of disgruntled superiors in his time as a Decepticon, straightforward apologies weren’t his usual method. Glitch really was rubbing off on him already.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t prepared, that’s all.” She brought herself under control, winglets returning to their normal position. It was quite impressive, the way she could just switch off her naturally expressive body language like that. Impressive, and a little worrying. “To return to the subject of birds – there are a few breeding pairs that nest in Prowl’s tree. The same ones, year after year, he thinks.” The present tense perplexed Knock Out for a second. Wasn’t Prowl the one who sacrificed himself to reconstruct a shattered Allspark? Then he remembered she had mentioned that his ghost put in occasional appearances still. (Was that possible in his universe, and were there limits on who could come back? Better not drive down that road.) “One batch of fledglings made their first flights the day before I arrived in this reality. I was on Cybertron, but Bee sent me a vid. Would you like to see?”

Usually, Knock Out’s automatic, instant response would have been, “no.” While he admired Earth’s automobiles (some of them, at any rate), the same could not be said for its inhabitants. He’d barely tolerated humans even before Breakdown’s… encounter… with MECH, and at least with them one could hold a semblance of an intelligent conversation. Other organics… eesh. But while he’d weathered Megatron’s wrath, Starscream’s rudeness and Soundwave’s sheer creepiness perfectly well for aeons, as it turned out, he was not immune to wide dark-blue eyes and an open, earnest expression. (More open than even most Autobots’ in Knock Out’s universe, let alone any Decepticon’s. Glitch’s world had been shaped by war, but she hadn’t lived and vented it for anywhere near as long as any other Cybertronian he knew, and, Primus, it showed.) Besides, he’d done as much as he could in one session for her left hand, and could use a break. “All right.”

Her delighted grin shone like a tiny sun as she unfolded a miniature datapad concealed in her right arm (honestly, how many mods did one ‘bot need?) and called up the file she wanted, projecting the vid above the small screen so that Knock Out could see it more easily. Judging by the quality, it had been taken directly from someone’s visual cache, probably “Bee’s”. (The other universe’s Bumblebee, most likely. It didn’t escape Knock Out’s notice that Glitch had a band of yellow paint on her right wrist, interrupted by a black stripe, which looked to have been worn away, repainted and damaged again in the previous few months.)

The focus of the recording was a tree that seemed to have grown through both the floor and the roof of an Autobot-scaled building, and specifically a branch on which perched a family of birds Knock Out didn’t care to identify – two adults, their colour schemes indicating that they were of different genders (he’d somehow managed to learn that much), and a motley assortment of scrawny little ones of the same species, their feathery plating barely complete. The excited but otherwise unintelligible chatter that had been in the background faded away as first the caregiver birds demonstrated the takeoff, flight and landing procedures they wanted to teach their fledglings, and then, one by one, the bitlets – birdlets? – tried to copy them. A few managed it straight away; others couldn’t quite stay airborne at first, and by the sounds of it at least one ‘bot had to be prevented from attempting to help them. But before long, all the tiny aerials were swooping around as though they’d been doing it all their short, perilous lives, much to the delight of the watching Autobots, including the one next to Knock Out, cooing over the display like an overgrown pigeon. (He could identify that species, if only because one couldn’t escape it on much of Earth.)

Not that he really minded, he realised. A few times, before the war, he’d seen newly sparked fliers being taught such basic techniques by their mentors, and, diehard grounder though he was, the sight had never failed to fill him with hope for the future, however short-lived. It still had the same effect, even aeons later, on a wrecked planet that could only create new lives because of a devastating sacrifice, watching another world’s non-sapient fauna teaching their young ones. Life, robotic or organic, would always persist, no matter what.

“Breakdown would have liked to see that,” he heard himself comment as the recording finished. He wasn’t sure why he’d let that slip, but he couldn’t take the words back. And he needed to talk to someone about his late partner at some time; who better than someone who already knew what had happened to him (up to a point), who understood even a little of what it was like to lose a partner, and who had been trained to be discreet? (He was aware she’d told the other Autobots about Breakdown’s… ending, and found he couldn’t be too angry with her for that. Life might be easier if they knew, and he didn’t want to discuss it himself.) “He may have acted the brute, but he could be surprisingly gentle with people and things that didn’t pose a threat.”

“So I gather,” Glitch said, a comfortable level of sympathy colouring her voice. She paused for a moment, then asked, “Do all Decepticons wear masks, or is it just you two?” Judging by the flash of annoyance in her eyes, that had just slipped out, too, but she didn’t try to retract the question.

“It wasn’t exactly a mask,” he corrected her. “He did love to fight, but – it wasn’t the only thing he loved.” It still hurt too much to dive too deeply into that topic, he discovered, so he redirected the conversation a little. “And what do you mean, you two?”

“Takes one to know one,” she answered with a sly smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you’re what humans at this point in time call a precious cinnamon roll – don’t ask me why – under everything else, but there’s more to you than meets the optic. And you don’t have to take the mask off right away, but – you don’t have to keep wearing it all the time, either, not any more.”

Takes one to know one? “But… you’re an Autobot.” A stupid response, but his brain module was still short-circuiting as he tried to figure out why an Autobot would have to pretend to be anything they weren’t. They were supposed to be all about honour and honesty and talking about one’s feelings – weren’t they? (He filed the rest of her reply away to be parsed later. One thing at a time.)

“I’m also what’s known on Earth as “autistic”.” He’d heard the term before, never in any helpful context. She didn’t provide much context, either. “I don’t really have all the right words to describe it, but the short version is that my processor’s wired differently from those of most ‘bots. Not better or worse – just different. Sometimes too different to allow me to fit in in the “great Autobot machine”.” She rolled her eyes at that last phrase, almost concealing a flare of pain. Knock Out wondered idly who had coined it, and whether they were still available for dissection. Or vivisection. He didn’t really mind one way or the other. “I learned centuries ago to wear just enough of a mask that I could pass for nearly normal, but that comes with its own problems. Mostly the effort it takes to keep up the illusion of sanity. If I’d stayed on my Cybertron much longer – it wouldn’t’ve ended well. Being posted to Earth, though, gave me a chance to spread my winglets a bit.” She suited her actions to her words, winglets fanning out to their fullest extent. “I recommend.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he assured her. “But in the meantime, I still need to fix up that other hand of yours.” She held it out, and remained mercifully silent as he worked. She’d given him a lot to think about, but their conversation had made one thing clear. Grounders though they were, like the fledgling birds, they had both taken flight in recent months or years – she to Earth, he to the Autobots – and both were, or would be, all the better for doing so.

[akuzeisms]

  CONTINUED     ⤷ @grownpale

At this point, she was surprised he’d joined her. Pleasantly so, but she was. Their reunion was more than awkward, but he was one of the last people she expected to agree to what was… well, effectively about to be a suicide mission. And that was assuming they even found what they needed to about the Collectors; they were still working on that part. Right now, she needed people—people that she could trust.

“Uh… Kat’s—fine.” Rubbing her neck awkwardly, she smoothed her hair down over her shoulder, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, technically I’m not Commander any more, since I’m not active duty. Not with the Alliance, anyway.” Sure, she was in charge of the ship—its commander, in a sense—but she felt odd having him call her that. It felt too formal, too unfamiliar, even if she’d earned that level of respect.

Nevertheless, if he wanted to call her that, she wouldn’t fight it. “Uh… anyway, the airlock here leads to deck two, so we’ll start… here, I guess. To the left here is the bridge—not cockpit, though if you call it that, Joker will probably giggle like a little schoolgirl about it for a week,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Peering around the corner, she could see their pilot’s chair was empty; now that she thought about it, Joker had mentioned something about eating a real meal on the Citadel. “Joker’s our pilot. Well—Joker’s his nickname. Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau.” Leading him down the long path away from the bridge, she stopped in front of the large room before them.

“And this is… well, where all of the action happens, mostly: The CIC. Galaxy map keyed to biometric data, so only I have access to it unless access is needed by someone else for whatever reason. Oh, I should also mention that, uh… the ship itself is equipped with an AI. Shackled, but… yeah.” Even still, she was wary about EDI, even if the AI had proven useful. “So if there’s any questions you have and I’m not around, EDI probably has the answer.” She led him around the CIC, pointing first to one side. “Armory’s over there. I’ll let you look around there later; Williams offered to get you set up with some gear. She’s… a bit of a firearms enthusiast, so if there’s something in particular you want, she’ll find a way to get it. Other side is the tech lab, and Mordin said he’s working on something, so we’ll visit that… later, probably.” Better to leave the overly chatty salarian to his own devices, after all.

[burnwater13]

Grogu wondered if speeders came in different sizes. He didn’t mean big and bigger like his dad, the Mandalorian, and Cobb Vanth used, but different like small down to tiny. 

It had been bothering him for sometime that the world around him seemed to have standardized itself around one average height, weight, reach, etc. and that standardization made it hard for him to use certain tools and equipment. And by certain he meant almost all of it. 

There was no way he could carry around Din’s sniper rifle. He couldn’t even carry around his dad’s gloves without being significantly encumbered by them. The Mandalorian’s boots were huge compared to him and lets just say you didn’t want to hide in them, even though it was possible.

The world, any world, was not to his scale.

He had thought that the Jawa’s transport would be better until he was actually in one and learned that it was an abandoned mining vehicle that the Jawas modified. But since some Jawas were much taller than average it seemed like they had modified the sand crawler to at least provide some ceiling height for the taller people. 

He wondered what life would have been like if the place he lived was set up for his height.

Imagine never having to stretch so far that you lost your balance and fell. 

Imagine never having to drag a ladder around with you to reach things that were too high. 

Imagine having a tool that fit your three fingered hand because you could find them anywhere and everywhere.

Imagine having a speeder bike where you could fly it yourself and you didn’t need your Mandalorian dad to plop you into a saddle bag and forget your goggles so you got sand in your eyes.

Imagine having friends who looked like you did and enjoyed coming to visit you because everything you had was the right size for them as well.

Grogu liked imagining all that. 

Yes, he could use the Force to help him with things that were high and he didn’t need any help for things that were low. He was glad that he had people as petit as Peli as friends and as big as… well, his dad, in his life as well. 

He wouldn’t want his ideal world to make it really hard for the Mandalorian to visit with him and have fun and play games and stuff like that. But he would still like a few accommodations to make life easier. 

First, he wanted a set of steps or ladders into whichever ship they were using that let him walk into the ship rather than always doing triple back flips using the Force. Yes, they looked super cool, but he was a dignified being and thought he should have a dignified way to enter them. 

Second, he wanted a preserver set at a height that he could use it at. It was hard enough to get the door open on good day. On a bad day, when he was extra tired from saving his dad from bad things or healing him, or whatever, Grogu just wanted to walk over to the preserver, open the door with his hand and pull out a bowl of frog’s eggs so he could have a snack. Was that too much to ask for?

Third, he wanted a small pilot’s seat that could move around the cockpit of their ship that would allow him to access all the various flight controls. Sitting in his dad’s lap was great. They had very interesting conversations at times. But what if Din wasn’t with him? How was he supposed to take the N-1 to Batuu and pick up dinner? 

Finally, he wanted a real bed, made to fit him. With pillows and blankets and his collection of stuffed critters (not real critters stuffed, mind you, fake critters that were stuffed with fluff to cuddle). 

As much as he liked cuddling up with the Mandalorian, every once in while he’d prefer to sleep somewhere he couldn’t hear Din snore.

Size mattered, regardless of what Master Yoda told the younglings. It just mattered in different ways to different people.

[gameinfoxtbr]

Space Shooter Gift Code

Any follower of Space Shooter games will agree with me that it’s very useful to have additional resources such as gems and coins that are used for the upgrade of ships and hence the domination of the galaxy! If you are also in the same category of people who love Space Shooter and you are in dire need of gems and coins or any other reward, then there is a solution for you and this is through the use of a Space Shooter gift code Some of the features that are easily unlocked using these codes accompany the players with gifts such as gems, coins as well as other in-game incentives. Welcome to another post where we’ll provide all the information about Gift codes in Space Shooter, ways to use them, and the last known active codes!

💫 What Are Space Shooter Gift Codes?

Gift codes are codes that are specific promo codes that can be redeemed to get some free items within the game. That is why they are usually provided by the Space Shooter Developer during events, updates, or promotions. Such rewards may be gems, coins, and even exclusive items in the game that with normal gameplay would take days or even hours to be unlocked. 🏆

GameInfoX

🚀 How to Redeem Space Shooter Gift Code

It is very easy to redeem codes in Space Shooter! Just follow these steps to claim your rewards: - Launch the Space Shooter game on your gadget. - Again go to the root directory and under private settings there will be a tab labeled as settings. - Click Redeem Code in red color. - Please, type the code in the form shown below (codes are case sensitive). - Click on “Confirm” and get your free reward now! So do not forget to take a look at this Space Shooter game guide here for a complete list of the game’s mechanics.

GameInfoX

🏆 Latest Space Shooter Gift Code (2024)

Check out the following list of new Space Shooter gift code which will help you earn some fabulous rewards. Make sure to redeem them before they expire, as each code has a limited time window: - KHKKD – Redeem this gift code for 7 Gems, 30,000 Coins, and other exclusive rewards (Valid until October 4th, 2024) - QNXYJ – Redeem this gift code for 7 Gems, 30,000 Coins, and other exclusive rewards (Valid until September 29th, 2024) - MFKQY – Redeem this gift code for 7 Gems, 30,000 Coins, and other exclusive rewards (Valid until September 27th, 2024) - MUADY – Redeem this gift code for 10 Gems, 40,000 Coins, and other exclusive rewards (Valid until September 22nd, 2024) - DUTGV – Redeem this gift code for 7 Gems, 30,000 Coins, and other exclusive rewards (Valid until September 20th, 2024) Pro Tip: Do not forget to always look for new codes since they can release the Space Shooter latest version or new information.

🔥 Why Use Space Shooter Gift Codes?

Here are some major ways through which gift codes can make a positive difference in Space Shooter. Here’s why you should take advantage of them: - Free Gems and Coins – These are critical formative tools that are used to upgrade ships and buy new pilots. Codes also make you get items which which are difficult to earn in the game for free. - Access Unique Features – Certain codes might reveal features that have not been available to other users and may feature for a limited time only. - Level Up Faster – More resources means faster leveling up of the ship and equipment to face the higher levels. - PvP Mode – PvP fighting is always challenging and in Space Shooter, opponents are relentless. Getting upgraded ships or powerful weapons out of gift codes can make you a substantial part of the competition.

GameInfoX

🌟 Space Shooter: A Quick Overview

As we proceed to the broader description of the benefits of gift codes, let’s start by reintroducing the game. Space Shooter is an action-packed shooting game, which puts the player in control of space-age spacecraft and sends him/her up against UFO invaders. The game can be described as an appreciated one, due to its brilliant mechanics, realistic graphics, and outstanding bosses. 🚀 On the website, you can find all kinds of detailed information about the feature set of the game. Go here for this all-encompassing guide to About the Space Shooter.

🛠️ What Can You Get With Space Shooter Gift Codes?

When you use gift codes you will be able to unlock several types of bonuses that can change your gameplay dramatically. Here's a breakdown of what you can expect: 1. Gems In the case of Space Shooter, gems are the special currency that is further utilized for buying high-level upgrades and other unique features and accessories in the game. 2. Coins Coins are the regular currency, which is required for purchasing weapon and shield upgrades of your ship, as well as improving various systems. 3. Exclusive Items Sometimes, codes can offer special bonuses including special ships, unique pilots, or marvelous weapons you don’t see every day. By using codes, you can enhance the rating in the Space Shooter Tier List and defeat even the most challenging opponents.

GameInfoX

🌌 Tips for Maximizing Space Shooter Gift Codes

Here are a few tips to ensure you get the most out of your Space Shooter gift codes: - Check for Expiry Dates: Users should cash in the codes before expiry as some codes have a limited-time offer. - Stay Updated: Updates of the code can be found by joining the game’s pages on social media, like the Space Shooter Developer. - Use Gems Wisely: Gems are valuable! Use them only for upgrades that are under the premium list that will enhance your ship to be powerful or gain a new ship. - Don’t Hoard Codes: Because codes have a limited span of use, it barely makes sense to wait for any of them, so as soon as a code is received, it should be redeemed.

❓ Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q-1 To when are brand new Space Shooter gift codes published?A-1 The developers mainly introduce new codes during occasions such as events, updates, or even during a festive season. You should pay attention to Space Shooter latest update and the news.Q-2 Are the Space Shooter gift codes reusable?A-2 No, every gift code can only be redeemed once in the account of a specific player. However, it is possible to use more than one code so long as the codes are still active.Q-3 What do I need to do when my code doesn’t work?A-3 If your code doesn’t work, it means that the code either has expired or was entered incorrectly. Verify the code carefully for touch typists or check for the expiry date.Q-4 Is there the first, second, third, or fourth code if so; is there the first and the second code for the first and the second regions respectively?A-4 Occasionally, some code can be produced depending on the region in which the program running. The best way to ensure you’re using relevant codes is by following the Space Shooter Developer on different social media platforms.Q-5 How do the share my gift codes work?A-5 Yes, gift codes are often – if not always – transferable so long as no one has used them yet. You are welcome to share them with your friends or or other players.Q-6 Can redeemed gift codes be used in the next update is a question that may be asked by some users.A-6 No, once a gift code expires it cannot be reused. Remember that the codes have expiry dates within which they must be redeemed. Conclusion Space Shooter gift codes are a great passive method of increasing your enjoyment of the game without having to spend time collecting resources. These codes will assist you in leveling up faster, improving your ship, and grabbing special bonuses if you want more gems, a better ship, or other cool stuff! Another thing that you shouldn’t forget is to look for more codes and use them before they expire. Word Count: 1,045 Read the full article

[the-firebird69]

10 Massive Rockfalls Caught on Camera

Someone is hurling these rocks and having them fall and their son and daughter remembers seeing some show where they say they open the brook or something by letting a rock plow through it and it sounded like baloney and it is so we don't know if they other ones doing it or not but it was on the Twitter type thing and people will look at it and it does look a little suspicious but it does happen by accident no this guy Johnny is saying a lot of stuff and he's saying he's talking about asteroids and how you need to deflect them and what we know is it's very lame at this time it's ridiculous he needs to stop and if he doesn't he's going to get it all sorts of problems anyway we're starting now I'm sick of it

Thor Freya

Olympus

What did check this guy is people you need to stop having to talk I need to get by here we need him somewhere else he needs to leave

I'm ready for this now I am writing up orders now not the first part of the sentence you see here

Thor Freya John remillard has court tomorrow they're going to check his friends and try and match them against Adolf Hitler and yeah I know legally his name came out a few minutes ago actually and they said this is the guy that shot me it was Arnie and he didn't like him didn't like general stuck to him and he says I know who she is and he didn't he said that a girl is not her and he said who the hell is that and he started getting flashes like his body was heating up and he tried testing DNA and he couldn't get a good sample what he got said it was she was a giant and her physique says it and he says he found one and he is no she found me and all sudden he said laughing he says is that how it is and then it's lights out he thought it was cute and he kept it in mind and all sudden he saw Jen or Melissa or something no so the other ones and he thinks it was really hard he says he met you and then it was all over that's what he said he says what's over he says he's not a bachelor anymore and she said good let's keep it that way and left and said thank you for talking to me I can't believe it okay that last part was Hera and she says you're being obnoxious and good I think and that's how it's working huge army is going down. Huge armies are going down to these caverns and to try and access nozzles and to try and find the diamonds they said they might line up and they might and tons of people are saying it these computers are stupid and they're going after him and pretty quickly we have a major project hitting our way it's huge and it is Nevada and Ariana and he's been right there the whole time for years and getting ready he wants to make an impact we need to hire more people right now and we are. But the numbers are fantastically huge literally I'm out of the morlock there are 0.5%, it's half a percentage and that includes the islands they're going down there the foreigners are going down and the pseudo empire the first one has about 0.4% and then the pseudo empire 0.04%, it's not real big but they aren't foreigners are huge that's a huge chunk of the population but they have to to verify some things requires a lot of witnesses so we are going to see some fireworks is it enormous enormous number and they brought equipment and they intend to test and sooner and things like that and it should send it back right away but really underneath there's probably only a few caverns that are empty and the ships are below those they're also below the other ones they're below most of them and the ships don't extend that far some are like 12,000 20,000 but these diamonds would have sucked pretty deep so stay tuned but they are also attacking the pseudo empire in the northern hemisphere of the Western hemisphere and the north portion of the South American continent and their bunkers are depleting and badly and they're trying to replenish when it's difficult they're asking for help here. The situation for our son here is deteriorated his little big groups pulling from but they need to stop these people right here they noticed an independent state too no it's Independence Day 1 tons of them get toasted Independence Day 2 the movie has a different feel to it now they're kind of sick of their garbage and so we all those movies are going to start up in New York City and it's because of the court case and because of Newfoundland more so and attacking the bunkers of the pseudo empire is going to heat up like madness tomorrow. And the area will change hands a few times the numbers are going to be pretty big but it's not the hugest because the area is small it's pretty big though and there are artifacts in New York. It is a big problem because they don't want to move the cars and we think they're fighting over the cars and we're going to put up with a movie it's in

Thor Freya

Olympus they're going to try and move in West when you can't do it lower they tried several times

Oh good I finally waited for this

Hera