#i should really just actually make a commission sheet and take comms. that would be ideal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

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CAPTURED BY THE CLANS : Part 9 of 10 : Science Fiction

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CAPTURED BY THE CLANS

Part 9 of 10

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

18231 words

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. Part 1 is HERE.

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Lezon turned her attention from T’cass alone to include the others. She told them all, “I was given the task of finding possible ships for your consideration. This morning, I used your comm unit to conduct a rough search. I stored the results in the file, SHIPS. The results are tiered by price in Clan Credit. I am not sure of your resources or I could have done better.”

K’ress and M’rel both thanked Lezon for her work. They had already learned that T’cass expected Lezon to be treated like a member of the clan, not a slave. They were truly amused that Lezon had already found the kitchen and set out serving cages with snacks to start their day.

They spent the morning looking over Lezon’s research list. Even with the end of a war, it was depressingly small. Less than a hundred appeared to be usable choices. One was a true antique.

Lezon pointed to the antique. “It is cheap and the information claims that it is flyable. Even with the cost of a refit, it will come to less than any of the others. Also, I can get you a discount on the refit.”

Now all three of the others gazed at Lezon as if her fur were falling out in patches. T’cass pointed out, “No shipyard on the planet will even touch anything over a hundred years old. Do you have any idea just how old that thing is?”

Lezon nodded, “If I remember my class information from the war correctly, that ship was made about one hundred and seventy-five to one hundred and fifty-six years ago. If it really is flyable, that’s why we want it.”

M’rel looked at K’ress and remarked, “Perhaps you were right about that psychiatric evaluation.”

T’cass asked, “How can you get a refit if no yard on the planet will do it?”

Lezon pointed out with a smile, “I know the Feront. It has two ring fusion city ships here for Treaty Commission scrap work. It has already agreed to do a scrap based refit of this ship, the D’ancer. We pay for parts at scrap price and it will give me the labor.”

Skeptically, M’rel asked, “Why would it forgo the profit? Friendship?”

“Partly,” Lezon grinned, “and partly sense of humor.”

All three gazed at Lezon as if they were trying to see inside her skull and figure out what was there. It was an interesting effort. T’cass spoke up first, saying, “I know the Feront too, and I never realized that it had a sense of humor.”

Lezon grinned hugely. “It most definitely does. Remember when it presented itself to be made a member of the Treaty Commission? All those gaudy uniforms and titles? They mean nothing to the Feront. One of its organic units is the same as any other to it. It was laughing at our rank system, which it still thinks is hilarious.

“That sense of humor worked to our advantage this morning. While I was on the comm to the Feront, a bureaucrat from the Planetary Resources Committee interrupted our call with a priority override. The Feront took her call and we switched to one of the twelve empty channels. The Resources Committee changed their call frequency to kick me off again. She told the Feront that no slave had anything to say that should distract its attention from the needs of the Planetary Government.

“When we could talk again, the Feront told me that the ‘needs of the Planetary Government’ were now firmly placed on its priority list. Just below mine.”

T’cass suddenly grinned wide herself and exclaimed, “Well managed Conflict! That is beautiful! Now, explain to me why we want a ship that dates to the earliest days of Inertial Drives. The spec sheet says that it can generate less than one standard G of acceleration. That is why that old hulk needs a reaction drive with a huge tank of liquid mass just to get off the ground. The interstellar fusion ramjet igniter is disassembled and less than half the ship’s volume is habitable. The power capsule can barely hold enough energy to get us to a close star, let alone the long range trading that we are planning.”

Lezon heard T’cass out, nodding agreement at every point. When T’cass ran down, she added, “Actually it can’t get out of the system, yet. It only has liftoff and in-system flight certificates. What makes it valuable is that it was built to lift off routinely at six G’s of uncompensated acceleration. It has a nine G red line which includes lateral maneuvers in an atmosphere as well. Only a System Siege Cruiser or a Battleship can take as much.

“Besides, because it’s such an antique, it’s dirt cheap. You should get out of the refit to Clan Family Class B Freight with a total cost of Clan Cr 250,000.”

Three heads turned to each other, eyes narrow in calculation. K’ress started to ask, “Where is all that cargo space coming from?” She suddenly got it and answered her own question, “The reaction mass tank, of course! It’s huge!”

The others began to nod in understanding. “We could at least go and look at it,” they agreed.

On the scrap field, they stood and looked up. The D’ancer still stood solidly on her landing jacks. The personnel port near her tail was gaping open. Lezon left the group and began to critically examine the seals on the port. K’ress joined her followed by T’cass.

The salesperson began to show nervousness and smiled ingratiatingly saying, “Really, now that you’ve looked at this thing, I have several good ships that have current certificates. They will pay themselves off in only a few years!”

Dryly, M’rel responded, “We saw. Clan Family Class J Freight. Way overpriced in this market, too.” She then called over to them, “What do you think, Guys? Will it make a good amusement park ride?”

The salesperson nearly choked. “You mean to actually fly this thing? With customers?”

M’rel looked brightly at her and said innocently, “Why your advertisement, dated only two months back, says that it comes with liftoff and In-System Flight Certificates. With only a little refurbishing of the interior it should make an exciting ride for the kits! Lots of noise, clouds of steam and an uncompensated three G blastoff to two hundred thousand feet! I can’t imagine a more exciting ride! Can you?” She batted her eyelashes at the salesperson, who was suddenly looking sick.

K’ress poked her head out the port and gestured to the salesperson, “Come in here, please!” she demanded. Inside, they all climbed the ladder over a hundred feet up to the engine control bay.

The power capsule lay heavy in its cradle. The big superconducting cables were laying like snakes across the floor, out of their clips and racks. The case of the Inertial Drive Control Computer was open and cables with empty connectors hung out. Several boards were clearly missing. Lezon was busily sorting the boards and components of the ramjet fusion ignitor.

“Madams,” she said deferentially to T’cass and the others, “the advertisement claims that the fusion igniter is complete but disassembled. This is not true. The entire ignition injector and initiator are missing. There are at least three control boards missing as well.” Without waiting, she swung agilely up the ladder to the control room.

T’cass, M’rel, and K’ress saw Lezon’s tiny ‘thumbs up’ signal as she reported, “Madams, this vessel was misrepresented. They have claimed In-System and Liftoff certificates. The entire navigational computer, the detection system and the life support control panel have been removed.”

K’ress turned to the salesperson and addressed her almost compassionately. “Yanking that stuff proves that this bird was headed for scrap. At scrap she’s not worth Cr 45,000. We’ll do you a favor. We’ll take her for Cr 60,000 but you have to earn that fifteen.

“We supervise all the work. Run us some tests. Charge the power capsule to ninety gigawatts. Run chill and superconductivity testing on all the cables. Replace the nav computers and detection system with anything that works well enough for orbital hopping. Put in any Inertial Drive Controller and program it for a .75 G max push. Run the Inertial Drive at .75 G for one hour. Replace the lock seals and pressure test the hull.”

The salesperson saw profit fleeing out the exhaust and started to retort, “Cr 100,000! That’s saving you ten grand! Strictly an as is sale at that price. You want certificates, they’re extra. Cough up!” Her eye caught T’cass inputting a connection on her comm. She had selected for a vision and speaker connection.

Several reptilian heads appeared in the vision field. Two homed on Lezon and one on T’cass. The others were looking about at what they could see of the control room. They all spoke at once in the typically polyphonic voice of the Feront, “Friends! T’cass, I have not seen you since your battle input at M’onafar! Most clever. I have made many notes in the Treaty Commission Archive about that battle.

“I was informed by servant Lezon that you will be buying a ship soon. Is this it? Shall I send inspection for T.C. certificates?”

Pleased, T’cass responded, “It is good to see you again, friend Feront. Yes, this is the vessel. It is advertised with certificates. The advertisement was forwarded to you under a T.C. seal already.” The saleswoman made a choking noise.

The scanning heads of the various units of the Feront scrutinized the cabin through the comm field and it responded, “This vessel is presently in violation of its advertised certification. The fine will be Cr 250,000 if it is presented in this condition. I hope that the missing equipment is merely out for repair or replacement.”

Desperately, the salesperson said, “Of course! We are still negotiating on details. There may be a down grade of certification, for a reduced price, of course!”

Several of the Feront had wandered out of the transmission field and others had wandered in but it spoke seamlessly, “This is reasonable. How much time is needed for flight certificate issuance?”

Glaring at T’cass, the salesperson said, “About a month. The vessel is an old one and we need to sure that equipment interfaces are safe.”

The polyphonic voice said, “I will see you in a month’s time, then, unless you call sooner, friends T’cass and servant Lezon.” The field went snowy blank and faded.

T’cass folded her comm smiling. To the salesperson she said, “The way I see it, giving us this ship with the repairs I stated would save you about Cr 190,000. Still, you have an investment to recoup and some profit to make. Cr 65,000?”

The salesperson avoided T’cass’ hand as she stalked for the ladder muttering, “We have to go to the office for the paperwork.”

It is hard to sulk while climbing down over a hundred feet of ladder but the salesperson managed it. With ill grace she waited for them to board her flitter for the run to the office. She tried to shut out Lezon but T’cass simply blocked the flitter door open with her body until Lezon was securely aboard.

In only three weeks the D’ancer was ready for her first liftoff in over sixty years. The Feront sent four of itself down to conduct the Treaty Commission inspection. It scattered throughout the ship, testing equipment in skilled claws. After a short time, one of it closed the ports.

“Pressure test,” observed K’ress calmly. Turning to the salesperson, she said, “Your people did a first rate job. Second hand parts but all serviceable. Clean mating of new gear and old, too.”

Resigned to the situation, the sales person replied, “Thanks. It was a dirty trick, getting that thing volunteer to do the inspection right off the bat, that way. It takes us from two weeks to three months to get the T.C. off their butts and over here. How come it’s so prompt for you?”

K’ress jerked a thumb at T’cass and Lezon. “Them. They both know the Feront and call it just to make small talk. I gather that they are among the few friends that it has. It was no coincidence that the Feront sent two fusion ring city ships to this system. It wanted to talk. Godesses! How they talk! Hours at a time!”

The hatches opened and all four of the Feront hopped out and swarmed down the crew ladder. Some of it facing M’rel and K’ress, some the salesperson, the Feront pronounced polyphonically, “The vessel, D’ancer, now has certificates installed for assisted reaction drive launch and high orbit work near to inhabited spheres.”

All four of its units turning as one, it descended on T’cass and Lezon like a pile of happy kits. “May I play with your entities again? I have thought of a possible strategy that may put you to a disadvantage!”

The sales person unbelievingly saw the slave that she’d snubbed so meanly at first meeting, leap to the back of one of the Feront creatures. She was calling, “T’cass, can we? It will only delay launch by a few hours!” Wheedlingly she added, “It will help our goodwill with the Feront. That could pay us well.”

M’rel ran it down like an accountant. “We have pad space paid here for two more days. The house lease isn’t up for four more days. A few hours? Go play, you kits! Just be here in six hours to lift this clunker into orbit for the rest of its refit.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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jq37 · 6 years ago

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The Gary Gygax Job (An Adventure in Two Parts)

I was asked to post my “Hardison forces the gang to play D&D fic” that I wrote for @alexromero so here it is. It’s actually just the set up and not the game itself because that would have been a whole undertaking but, anyway, I hope the anon who asked for it enjoys it.

Part One

BASE. Gyutou. Paris.

It's Parker's idea, surprisingly. Well, surprisingly to someone who knows Parker well but not very well. The team is breaking up, at least partially (though the kids have a secret pool running about how much wedded bliss Nate and Sophie can stand before they're ready to get back into the fight). She's not ready to lose two people from her very small inner circle.

"We should do, like, a girls' night," she suggests out of the blue, over the comms while crawling through air ducts (she has some of her best ideas in air ducts, which makes sense, statistically speaking).

"Girls' night?" says Hardison from the van. "You and what girls?"

"Me and Sophie. But also you and Nate and Eliot."

"Tha-that's just hanging out Parker. It's not a girl's night if there are guys."

She shrugs (tries to shrug. There's not enough space in the air duct). "Whatever. We should do it. I miss Sophie. And Nate," she adds, belatedly.

"Me too."

"Me three," Eliot finally cuts in. He's been providing an ambient background of grunts and things smashing into other things for the past minute or so, but that kind of thing is surprisingly easy to ignore after a while. "But can we do this AFTER THE CON???" They grudgingly decide to put a pin in it while Eliot runs his hand through his hair in annoyance. Honestly.

When they call the "Call us if you need us but please try very hard not to need us," number, they get Sophie, which is good. She'll be easier to convince and if they convince her, they've got Nate too. Parker explains her idea and Sophie is very into it: Group activity, once a month, full team.

Sophie's in so they're in business. Hardison puts all of their names into a randomizer and Parker ends up with first pick.

"Greece!" she says, immediately.

"Excellent choice, Parker!" says Sophie, picturing the food and beaches and museums. And then she remembers who she's speaking to.

"Parker, what are we doing in Greece?"

They find out two weeks later and Hardison thinks that it's a good thing he loves Parker to death, because he's pretty sure she's going to get him killed.

BASE Jumping on Zakynhos Island.

"Oh, come on!" Hardison whines as he's tossed a parachute. Sophie is also not thrilled, but she seems to think that encouraging Parker's social skills is worth 5-ish seconds of sheer terror.

The jump order is Eliot, Sophie, Nate (who is choosing to be amused by this whole thing), Hardison, then Parker. Hardison and Parker are the last two on the cliff.

"Come on you big baby," she says. "You've jumped off of buildings before."

"Not for fun."

She touches his chest very deliberately. "Then don't do it for fun. Do it for me."

He shakes his head and steels his nerves. "Sophie's rubbing off on you and I don't like it."

He is so happy to land in one piece that he immediately drops to his back and makes sand angels. From above, he can hear Parker's adrenaline-high scream. He opens his eyes, sees her parachute explode out, and then closes his eyes again. Maybe if he pretends to be asleep, she won't make him go again.

Somehow, Eliot's pick is worse.

He says they're going for a cooking lesson which sounds safe enough. The lesson is at a tiny sushi place in Brooklyn and the chef is some Japanese buddy of his. They're not allowed to know how they know each other specifically (Eliot says he's a "work friend") and they're not allowed to know his name, so they just call him Chef.

Everyone's having a good time and whatever work Chef did with Eliot before, cooking is obviously his calling.

And then…well, Hardison's not sure. It happens really quickly. The door bursts open and a man in dark clothes bursts in. There's a flash of silver from Chef's side of the room and the man drops. Hardison doesn't even have time to jump.

Chef isn't holding his knife anymore, Hardison notices. He looks across the room. It's implanted in the intruder's chest. A gun falls out of his hand and Nate kicks it away.

"What just happened?" says Hardison, trying to keep his voice level.

"It's a Gyutou," says Eliot. "Sharpest knife in the game."

"I'm not asking ab--why would you think I was asking about the knife?"

"Because the guy's Yakuza. Obviously."

"Wait, Yakuza? Like, Yakuza-Yakuza?"

"No, one of the many other Yakuzas out there. Yes, that Yakuza!" In the time it's taken them to have this conversation, Chef has dragged their attacker's limp body into a supply closet, found a clean knife, and gone back to chopping ginger.

Hardison has so many comments that he doesn't know where to start. He just throws up his hands and goes to stand in the corner for a minute. When he remembers that the corner he's in very recently had a dead body in it, he picks a new corner.

Sophie takes everyone for a weekend in Paris because of course she does.

Paris is great. No one tries to kill anyone in Paris. There's no jumping off of anything in Paris.

But…

But it's a little like being on a three-day date with your parents sometimes. And Hardison has been Team Nate and Sophie since day one basically. That doesn't mean he wants to know every museum in Paris they've done it in. Not that he's asking, for the record. But they'll walk in and give each other this kind of smug smirk and he can just tell. It's disgusting.

So, when Hardison's turn rolls around, he feels exactly zero guilt for choice.

"Dungeons and Dragons?" Eliot says with the kind of scorn he reserves for especially bad bad guys and Hardison.

"Oh, I don't wanna hear that tone from you, alright? I don't wanna hear it from any of y'all. Little miss adrenaline junkie over there," Parker blows him a kiss, "And your crazy Samurai friends," Eliot rolls his eyes, "And y'all two making googly eyes at each other for three solid days."

Nate takes a second from doing just that to say, "You're exaggerating."

"He's really not," says Parker.

"BASE. Gyutou. Paris," Hardison rattles off again. "I did your thing now you're doing mine." He pulls a d20 out of his pocket and holds it between two fingers with a satisfied smirk. "Age of the geek, baby."

Part Two

Nate claims character creation is too complicated for him to understand which is a blatant lie because Hardison has seen him rig an election and manipulate the stock market on the fly and give a guy a nosebleed with his mind like he was freaking Professor X.

"This isn't my thing, Hardison," he says. "Just make a character for me. I don't care about the details. Do whatever you want."

Do whatever you want.

Famous last words.

Hardison makes him a dwarf barbarian character with an intelligence score so low he'll have trouble scratching himself.

Nate texts him a one-word response: No.

Well if you don't like my painstakingly created character you can make your own, Hardison texts back.

Just fix it.

Oh, he'll fix it alright. But first, he has to deal with Eliot.

He tries a different tactic with Eliot.

"Alright," he says when Eliot reluctantly drops in the chair across from him, looking like he's just been plunked into the heart of Gitmo. "You don't have to make a character. I premade one for you. Check it."

He fans out the materials he's printed out that show the character he created--premade for Eliot's approval. He's a human fighter, with a greatsword as his main weapon. He's proficient in several languages, weapons, tools--Hardison had to fudge the rules a little to give him so many skills at level one but it's nothing more ridiculous than what he can do in real life. He even had a sketch commissioned--he knows from experience that Eliot is a sucker for cool artwork of himself.

Eliot's eyes scan the sheets of paper and Hardison thinks he detects that trademark grudging approval he was going for.

"Did I do good or did I do good?"

Eliot looks up, scowls, and then something clearly goes off in his head because a slight smirk replaces the scowl. Hardison doesn't trust it but he doesn't react either.

"OK," says Eliot. "I'll play your character. One change though."

Just one? He can handle that. The way Eliot was looking at him he thought something much worse was coming.

"Sure, what?"

"I want to play as a pacifist."

Hardison's brain BSOD's and reboots in time to see Eliot's slight smirk go full Cheshire cat.

"What?"

"I'll play your guy in your little nerd game, but I want to play as a pacifist."

"You're telling me, you want to play this character, this fighter--a guy whose entire skillset is based on fighting--as a pacifist?"

"Yup."

Hardison scatters the papers in front of him as he thinks of all the high-level encounters he'd planned, counting on Eliot's super buffed fighter to keep the party alive, just like in real life.

"I don't get no respect around here."

While he's reworking the campaign, he gets a text from Nate re: the second premade character Hardison sent him--a sexy tiefling ranger. A sexy, female, tiefling ranger.

You're aware that I know where you live, right?, the text reads.

Not my fault you won't be specific. I'm working on pure guesswork here, Hardison texts back.

Fix it, Nates texts again. Then he adds, Don't forget I know how to hypnotize people.

Hardison snorts: And I can hack your bank account and spend everything on My Little Ponies. Make your damn character Nate.

Sophie is confused.

"If there's no goal, how do you play?" she asks him over Skype.

He never got a chance to really explain how the game worked and clearly, she hasn't looked it up in the meantime.

"There's a goal. There's just not one singular goal. You usually get some kind of quest and then you choose whatever you want to do. It's an RPG, just without the computer." When she squints in confusion he explains. "Role playing game."

Recognition goes off in her eyes and he realizes how he needs to sell the game to Sophie. "You get to pick a character. Well not pick. Make a character. You come up with a backstory and their abilities--"

"It's like coming up with a cover."

"Yes, exactly. It's exactly like that but you can also do magic if you want."

After she makes the connection, she's sold. The next day, she comes over with her backstory prepared. Or, rather, her backstories.

"I made more than one character because I couldn't decide on playing as a bard or a rogue. They're both very me. Oh," she gasps in much more excitement than Hardison thought he would ever see Sophie Devereaux show about Dungeons and Dragons. "Is there any way I could play as a bard and a rogue?"

"I got you," he says pulling out an info sheet he'd printed in anticipation of her request. "Bam. Sophie special."

"Songfilch?" she reads from the top of the sheet.

"It's not an official class," Hardison explains. "It's kind of a homebrew hybrid I whipped up. Half thief, half performer."

Sophie lights up. "You made me a grifter!"

"I told you this was a fun game."

"One more question," she says. "Is it possible I could play as a vampire? They get the thrall ability which would be useful I think."

"Uh, well you could," said Hardison. "But vampires also can't enter homes without being invited. The whole point of being a rogue is sneaking into houses without being invited to steal stuff. You can't expect them to just open the door and let you…" His words trail off as he remembers who he's speaking to. She bats her eyelashes at him, teasingly. "Yeah. Vampire songfilch. Go for it."

Nate texts him again later in the afternoon. He thinks it's gonna be in response to the munchkin baker character he sent (not a real race or class but Nate's not gonna check) but, miracles of miracles, it's a real character. Not a full character, mind you. It's just sketchy notes for a character: A cleric turned paladin. Servant of the god Helm--god of protectors.

There's not a lot there but there's enough for Hardison to know he actually put effort into it. He thinks Sophie must have gotten to him. Either way, it's enough for him to fill in the blanks and make Nate a character he will actually enjoy playing once he gives it a chance.

An enjoyable character who kicks ass since Eliot is still refusing to.

Parker is actually pretty game about the whole thing.

Which she better be, Hardison thinks. You can't force a guy to jump off of a cliff and then get mad about a little geekery.

She picks her class easily (rogue, natch) but she has trouble picking a race.

"What are you playing as?" she asks.

"I'm not playing," he explains. "I'm running the game. I'm like the narrator."

"Oh." She frowns. "That's lame. It would be more fun if you played."

"Someone has to run the game, Parker."

"I guess," she says. "It's still lame though."

He helps her finish her rogue (halfling rogue they decide), but he's only half paying attention. By the time they're done, he realizes there's someone he needs to call.

Hardison arrives at the game sesh with a guest. "Hey guys," he announces. "This is Chris, my foster brother. He's exactly like me, minus the criminal activity and rugged good looks."

He's also white, but no one mentions that.

"What's he doing here?" Eliot asks.

"Hardison asked me to DM for y'all," Chris answers.

Parker realizes what this means first. "You're playing?"

He nods. "Elven Wizard. I'm gonna hack reality, baby."

Chris rolls his eyes. "You can't just use the word hack whenever you want to. It has a very specific meaning."

"I can if I hack the language," Hardison shoots back as he sits down.

Chris grits his teeth like he's had this argument many times before (which he clearly has). "Let's do this before I kill you. Not in the game, in real life. Are you guys ready?"

Hardison looks around the table: Fighter, Songfilch, Paladin, Rogue, Wizard.

It's a weird group.

He grins.

"Ready. Let's do this."

#leverage #alec hardison #nate ford #sophie devereaux #eliot spencer #parker #does parker have a last name?#is parker her last name?#idk bro and I need to get to work

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pftones3482 · 8 years ago

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Commission for the lovely @perihelion-tiger. When you say light angst, I instantly think sick fic, so I’m glad that’s what you were thinking when you asked for this. Under a cut for length.

Everyone in the castle was very much aware that Shiro had come down with something. He had been coughing non-stop for two days, his voice had become scratchy, and he couldn’t stop sneezing.

He kept insisting to everyone that he was absolutely fine, that it was nothing more than a head cold that would pass in a couple of days, and since they really didn’t have much of a choice, what with Prince Lotor to worry about, no one said much.

Hunk and Coran gave him easier to swallow foods at lunch and dinner without mentioning it, Lance and Keith tuned down their arguments to the point where they were almost non-existent when Shiro was in the room, and Pidge had taken to randomly showing up and handing him a glass of water whenever he was alone for too long.

Allura hovered.

She was the hovering type, and she knew almost nothing about Earth illnesses, and she was concerned about the black paladin. She wanted to help, but whenever she offered to find some kind of Altean medicine that might match Earth’s, Shiro politely declined, saying he was fine.

That was all well and good, except he wasn’t.

No one was talking about it and everyone was letting him get away with it and it frustrated her. Her father had put up with no illnesses on his ship, especially during war; if you were sick, you couldn’t fight. You had to rest until you felt at least 75% better. Allura agreed with his methods. She was worried that Shiro would get worse, that if they were in the middle of battle and he started coughing a lot or couldn’t focus, he would get hurt. Or one of the other paladins would get hurt because he wasn’t concentrating on the mission.

So yeah, she hovered.

She kept an eye on the other paladins too, of course, because she had heard that earthlings could catch illnesses from each other, but no one else had shown any sign of being ill aside from Shiro.

She asked Lance about it, curious, and got a bizarre answer. “Well I grew up with a lot of kids so I’m pretty much immune to every basic cold ever because my immune system is ridiculous, Pidge fights through colds faster than every person I’ve ever seen-I mean seriously, once she was throwing up in the morning and that night she had a normal temperature and was having a pizza eating competition with me and Hunk. And Hunk has every immunity shot known to man so if he got sick I would, frankly, be astounded.”

Allura thanked him and left before he could go on, her head spinning with far too much information (what the quiznak was pizza?), twisting out of the lounge and heading for the training room, where she knew she would most likely find Shiro. While Keith preferred to train in the early mornings and evenings, Shiro liked to work out directly after lunch.

Sure enough, she peeked into the room just in time to see him slice down a droid, his body absolutely dripping with sweat and his tank top plastered to his skin. His face was flushed more than usual, and when he called for only training level three, Allura stormed inside and called it off.

“You’re going to bed,” she snapped.

Shiro furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not tired.”

She pressed her lips together and gestured to his body. “Look at yourself. You’re only on level three, but you’re sweating like you’ve gone through five. Your face is flushed, your breathing is ragged, and don’t think I didn’t notice you skipping breakfast and lunch today.”

Shiro grimaced and rubbed his hand over the back of his head, taking a shuddering breath and closing his eyes. “I guess…I guess I haven’t been feeling super great,” he admitted softly.

Allura scoffed. “I know that. Now come on. You’re taking a nap. And I’m getting Pidge to help me find some kind of medicine similar to Earth’s.”

Shiro relented and started to follow Allura to the door. She saw the split second in which he faltered, watched his knees buckle, and she dove to catch him before he could hit the ground. Her arms strained a little as she lowered him, trying not to just let gravity pull him down, and then she pressed two fingers to her earring. “Hunk? Coran? Someone? Shiro’s passed out on the training deck. I need assistance.”

There were clamored replies in her comms, but she ignored them and shifted Shiro so that his head was resting in her lap, her fingers stroking through his sweat-slicked hair. “’Feel fine’ indeed,” she muttered fondly.

He groaned and pressed into her touch, her fingers freezing against his feverish skin, and she went back to running her hands over his head.

Hunk and Keith came sprinting into the room moments later, everyone else seconds behind them, and Allura leaned back so that Hunk could carefully pull Shiro into his arms. As much as she knew she could carry Shiro on her own, she was nervous. She didn’t know how to care for humans in this state, and she didn’t want to potentially hurt him. It stung a little, letting Hunk pry him from her care, but he would know better what to do than she would.

“Should we put him in a pod?” Keith asked nervously, gaze caressing over Shiro’s limp form.

Allura pushed herself to her feet and shook her head, pressing her hand back to Shiro’s forehead. “Unfortunately, the pods cannot do anything about illnesses. They’re for major injuries and cryo-sleep. Illnesses must be worked off on their own.”

Pidge nodded to the door. “Coran and I can go find some kind of medicine for him.”

The two took off and Keith and Lance followed Hunk and Allura to Shiro’s bedroom, where Hunk carefully slid Shiro onto his sheets and pulled back, looking worried. “He’s really warm,” he murmured, running a hand over his jaw. His eyes studied Allura for a moment. “He seems to react well to your touch; maybe stay with him until Pidge and Coran find something?”

Allura nodded and Hunk shooed the other two out of the room, shutting the door behind them and leaving her alone. She sank down onto the side of the bed, slipping her shoes off and tucking her feet up under her as she resumed pressing her hands to the warmer parts of his face.

His body was ridiculously hot, and she found herself wondering if he was overheating. None of the other paladins had seemed overly concerned about his temperature, but she knew from talking to them that the body could sometimes get too warm when one was sick.

She made the executive decision to start tugging off his vest, the easiest thing to get off, and she had it halfway down his arms when he spoke up.

“Are you…undressing me?”

Allura shrieked and flailed backwards in a very undignified manner, clapping both hands to her mouth and thunking her head back against the wall. She hissed a curse and Shiro winced, reaching a trembling hand out to grasp her elbow. His fingers were burning.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

He cut himself off in a coughing fit, his Galra hand dragging up into a fist as he pressed his mouth into the crook of his elbow. He gasped when he was done, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sorry,” he croaked again.

She pulled her hand from where she had been rubbing the bump on her head and leaned forwards, resting the back of her knuckles against his forehead. “It’s all right,” she promised. “I was just…you looked too warm.”

Shiro gave her a weak smile. “Actually, I’m freezing.”

Allura hesitated. “Is that…is that a joke?”

“No,” Shiro coughed, his eyebrows furrowing and his hand absently reaching for something on the bed. “When uh…hem…when humans get sick…”

He took a second to hack his lungs out again, finally curling his fingers around his blanket and trying to shake it out over his body. Allura took it from his grasp tenderly and did it for him, nodding for Shiro to keep speaking.

“Sometimes we’ll feel really warm,” he rasped out, clutching gratefully at the blanket and burrowing into it as far as he could. “But we’re actually freezing.”

“Humans are odd,” Allura grumbled, leaning over him again and making sure he was fully in the bed.

Shiro let out a harsh laugh that sounded like it hurt. “Got that right,” he muttered.

His eyes shut and for a moment his face twisted into an expression that was almost pitiful, his throat bobbing again. “I um….I feel real shitty,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “And…’m sorry I was so stubborn. But do you have-?”

As if on cue, Pidge came knocking into the room, a couple of bright yellow pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Found something that’s pretty similar to Tylenol. It might make everything taste like berries for a while, but otherwise it’s perfectly safe for us to eat.”

Shiro reached a hand out for the pills and the glass, fingers shaking and arm erupting in goosebumps as it reacted to the cold air. “Thanks, Pidge.”

She nodded and backed out of the room warily, probably concerned about catching what Shiro had, and Allura turned back to watch him struggle with the medicine. “Would you like-?”

He shook his head and swallowed, taking a long gulp of the water to wash down the pills. She took the glass from him when he was done and set it on the table. The lights automatically lowered in the room, indicating that he was ready to sleep for once, and Allura stood. “I’ll leave you be, then,” she said softly, glancing around the floor to locate her shoes again.

Shiro’s burning hand latched around her wrist and she glanced back, noting with a startled gaze that his chin was quaking. “You won’t…catch a human cold…right?”

Allura licked her lips nervously. “Not…not that I’m aware of. We don’t share the same diseases or immune systems.”

Shiro seemed to ponder his next few words. “Stay?”

She softened and let him pull her back to the bed. “Of course,” she promised. “Where should I-?”

He tugged open the blankets a little weakly, and Allura flashed back on something Lance had said about his siblings cuddling together for comfort when they were ill. This seemed…more intimate than that had sounded. Flushed bright red, she climbed into bed alongside him and allowed him to pull the blankets around her, arm tucking her back against his body. It was almost uncomfortably warm, but she didn’t complain.

His face pressed into the back of her neck and, with a deep, almost relieved sounding sigh, Shiro fell asleep.

She wasn’t far behind.

When Shiro woke up, he felt about six thousand times better. His throat still ached, and he was still warm to the touch, but his chills had gone down and he didn’t feel like pulling his lungs out. He came to slowly, blearily, and pulled Allura closer to his chest, nearly ready to fall back asleep when reality came crashing down.

His heart practically leapt from his body as he took in the sight of Allura tucked comfortably against him, aligned down his body to where-he choked-their ankles were intertwined.

Face suddenly a hundred degrees warmer, he started to pull away, only for her hand to clamp down firmly on his wrist and tug his arm back around her waist. She rolled a little to look at him and he found that he couldn’t speak, eyes wandering her sleep worn face, the gentleness of her gaze, and the tiny half quirked smile on her lips. “It’s okay,” she said, seeming to understand his distress.

Shiro pressed his lips together thoughtfully and then nodded. They shifted around until Shiro was spread out on his back and Allura was tucked against his side, her head on his chest and his Galra arm curled around her, hugging her to his body. “You’re allowed to sleep longer,” she promised quietly.

“The team,” he mumbled.

“Coran’s got them. Two hours until dinner.”

Shiro swallowed, his throat protesting, and he nodded, eyelids already heavy again. “M’kay. Soup?”

She chuckled. “If that’s what you’d like. I’m sure Hunk would be happy to make some for you.”

“Good.”

He slumped down, pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and settled back into his nap. Allura stretched her arm down, pulled the blanket back up, and joined him.

The paladins were definitely going to have blackmail on both of them later.

#shallura #voltron #sick fic #my writing #writing commissions #let shiro rest 2k17

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zombierunfiction · 8 years ago

Text

Season 2 Side Mission 1: Canada

The following the moring Charlotte was having a long awaited shower in the only stall Ed could get going. The water was cold but still let her get clean. Waking up that morning in Sam's arms on his cot was better than anything she ever felt before. Since the cot was meant for one person she woke up half on top of him.

"Runner Five? I need you to report to the main gate immediately." A muffle call on the intercom is heard. Charlotte looked over confused before turning off the water and drying herself off quickly. She tied her hair back into a tight bun and dressed quickly before racing out of the room. The cool air chilled her instantly waking her up even more. She runs to the comms shack hearing Janine and Sam arguing.

"I'm here. What is it?" Charlotte said as Janine looked over.

"You simply can't go off without leaving a report sheet. According to the protocol we've developed-" Janine started before Charlotte held up her hand.

"Calm your dander Janine. The report you want is right there on the file shelf." Charlotte said as Janine grabbed it quickly.

"Besides Charlotte was having a well deserved shower this morning. It's the normal allwed fifteen minute shower and some time in the rec room for excellent performance yesturday." Sam said looking at her.

Janine began flipping through the pages. "That would be in the report sheet, you know. We've developed these protocols for a reason.

"We don't need a report sheet protocol. I've got it all in my head! Mind like a steel trap!" Sam said tapping his head. Both Charlotte and Janine looked at him with various degrees of disbelief.

"Alright. Where's Runner Eighteen?" Janine asked.

Sam thinks for a moment. "Runner Eighteen? Still recovering in the hospital from flu."

"Two hours of duty in the armory, in fact. Runner Twelve?" Janine questioned again.

Sam sat up. "Oh, now, now I definitely know this one. Runner Twelve is, uh...sorting supplies in the food store."

Charlotte sighs heavily rubbing her face. "Training in the recreation area."

"Oh yea... trainning in the recreation area... yep, yep. He's always doing that, Khwargo. The thing is, Janine, I don't need to know that stuff. I know when the runners are out, and I know when they're back home safely. That's my job. What's this about, anyway? What do you need Charlotte for?"

Janine put the papers down and sighed softly. "Bit of a secret mission, actually. I've got the okay to... well. You know the transmitting station at Exit Point, that place on the hill?"

"Yeah. But of a zombie hotspot, though. And no strategic importance, the Major said. Not like we're going to be setting up a TV station any time soon... are we?" Sam asked.

"No, but I need Charlotte to take that backpack of equipment by the gate." Janine points to the large bag that looked stuffed. Charlotte walked over and picked it up with some difficulty. "That's right, Runner Five, that's the one. We need you to head out to the transmitting station, Charlotte. Today, we're going to attempt the first transatlantic broadcast since the apocalypse!" Janine said happily as Charlotte put on the bag.

"Damn Janine this is heavy as hell!" Charlotte said as she buckled it on.

"This is a long range transmission and needs that equipment to amplify it." Janine said simply.

Charlotte sighed then looked at them. "Alright well you might want to give me a headset and open the gate." She said looking right at Janine. Janine gave her a flat look before handing her the headset. Charlotte put it on the headset as the gate was opened enough for her to get out and the snipers took out a few morning zoms. She ran down the path heading for the spot that Janine mentioned.

Soon she made it to the area seeing that it was realitivly quiet. "Okay, Five, you're in the right location. Long-range cams say you're zom-free." Janine said.

"My own eyes told me that much Janine." Charlotte said.

Janine was silent for a moment. "Now I just need you to run around a bit."

Sam chuckles. "Run around a bit?"

"That's what I said. Maybe do a few loops through those trees." Janine said.

"If you tell me to start hopping on one foot I'm going back to Abel." Charlotte said as she started to run around the trees near by.

"'Run around a bit' is the kind of thing I say. It's not very 'have you filled in the report sheet, you know the protocols Mr. Yao' is it?" Sam said.

"Perhaps not, but it is accurate. I need Runner Five to quarter the transmission zone until we find the sweet spot. Picking up a signal over that distance is as much art as science." Janine said.

"'Run around a bit'?" Sam sighs softly. "I dunno, I never say anything so-"

"Out." Janine snapped.

"What?" Sam questioned.

"Clear the room, Sam! I need to concentrate on this extremely important transmission, not your blabber!" Janine said loudly.

"Blabber?! I dont-" Sam countered before Janine snapped again.

"Out!"

"Fine! Yes, alright, I'm going." Sam said angerily shutting the door hard.

"Thank goodness for that!" Janien said to his retreating back.

Charlotte stopped on a hill clentching her fists. "You know Janine now that Sam isn't here I'm going to tell you something that has been bothering me for a while."

"And that is Five?"

"You're a bitch." Charlotte said simply. "You treat everyone like dirt and have no respect for anyone in Abel. I understand your hostility because we all moved in on your land but that does not give you the right to be rude to people who are only trying to do their best."

"Is that it?" Janine asked slowly.

"No it's not. Janine I respect you for your land and for your knowledge in the same way I respect the Major. The difference is she looks for differences in people and new ideas. You on the other hand are as stiff and unyielding as a tree stump. If you want people to follow your rules you have to atleast treat them with basic human respect and give a little. Sam is not a soldier like you and me. Not many of the people in Abel are. You can't treat them with the cold hard smack of command." Charlotte said as she looked around. "No matter how much I want to knock you upside the head esspecially after what you said yesturday but I won't. Because even though you tried to hide it you're scared just like the rest of us. Show a little bit of that heart I know you have in there."

Janine was quiet for a long time as Charlotte went back to running around. A beep soon appeared in her pack. "And there's the signal. You're in range, Five, just go a little further. I'll tell you when to plant the transmitter and hook it up." Charlotte continued in the direction she was facing before static began to appear. "Okay drop your transmitter." Janine said as Charlotte takes off the bag and opens her bag pulling out the transmitter.

"Alright it's set up now what?" Charlotte asks.

"Hook-up's in place, relay's working. We should start to hear something now..." Janien said as the static gets louder. "If there's anything to hear." She amended.

Suddenly classic music began to blast in Charlotte's ears making her jump before a voice started to speak. "-acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune-" The static came back drowning out the words.

"I think that was Pride and Prejudice..." Charlotte said.

Suddenly the static cleared slightly as another voice appeared. "This is Canada calling."

"Canada? We're recieving you! Can you continue to speak while we calibrate?" Janine asks.

"Certainly. We're holed up here on the fifth floor of the CN tower in Toronto." The woman continued to speak as the static slowly began to clear up. "Barely clear visibility. We've been here for some time. The tower is easily defensible against zombie attacks. They can't manage the stairs." Suddenly the speaking because crystal clear.

"That's good yes. We've got your signal locked in, now. First transatlantic communication for months for us." Janine said excitably. "Glad to be receiving you!"

"We had some of the early reports regarding the death of the entire royal family, but since the, we've been mostly cut off. We've managed to hook up to the antennae on the roof here. Our broadcast now covers the entire Greater Metro Area, including city hall! And as usual, we're getting a lot of interference from US radio station, mainly of an evangelical nature. They're a little puzzled about the lack of rapture." The woman said with an older and somewhat raspy voice.

Charlotte snorted as she looked around. "Janine should I run around still or just hang out here?"

"I need you to stay with the pack right in that spot for as long as you can." Janine said as Charlotte sat down next to the bag and pulled out a gun from the pack. She checked the cartiridge seeing that it was fully loaded. "You said the entire metro area? That's very-! That's really quite a distance." Janine said impressed.

"As the Arrogant Worms say in their hit son, 'Canada's Really Big'," The woman said.

"Mm, yes. And you are the radio operator? Do you have a radio background?" Janine questions.

"Mostly a novel and poetry background, but I've been requisitioned by the Federal Government Zombie Royal Commission Parliamentary Task Force, all of whom have unfortunately been infected by our Prime Minister and are moaning and foaming at the mouth. And Parliament's not even in session." The woman said sarcasticly.

Charlotte snorted as she looked around seeing no zombies so far, which was a nice change a pace. "And you are?" She asked.

"Margaret Atwood." The woman said simply.

Charlotte's jaw drops as Janine stuttered. "Miss... Atwood. Yes, we - that is, I - we've had some celebrity zombies around this way ourselves, in fact!" Janine said excitibly. "We had a sighting recently of the zombified members of the whole of One direction! Ironically, they were all shambling in different directions!"

Charlotte snorts laughing softly.

Janine actually made a joke!

It was not a bad one either.

"I, however, am not a zombie. Yet." Margaret said confidently.

"No!" Janine laughs nervously. "Well, evidently not. Sorry." Janine clears her throat. "Excuse me. Yes. So. Um, how are things, over there in Canada?"

"The National Hockey League Stanley Cup Playoffs are not taking place." Margaret said offhandedly.

Charlotte laughs softly. "Oh lord... never knew Margaret Atwood had such a sense of humor."

"Right..." Janine said.

"Also it is not snowing. Or not here, anyway. But as the Arrogant Worms' hit song has it, 'Canada's Really Big'. So it's snowing elsewhere. Reports from the Artic indicate that things are good up there. They set fire to every plane attempting to land. They say they should have done this years ago!" Margaret said with a laugh. when Janine nor Charlotte returned her laugh she continued. "... It's a joke."

Janine laughed slightly. "Yes. And I suppose you never saw this coming, despite your many novels on potential future enviromental apocalypses."

"Novelists aren't soothsayers." Margaret said softly.

"I mean, Mad Adam? Should have been Mad Zombie, right?" Janine said laughing nervously.

"That wouldn't have worked with the themes of the book and there would have been an issue with the cover..." Margaret said offhandedly.

"Or, for example, instead of the Blind Assassin - the Blind Zombie!" Janine said almost beginning to sound like a raving fan.

"Mmm, I think you may have missed the deeper symbolic metaphysical metanomic post modern structuralist transgenderal genre=agnostic formalist intent of my-" Suddenly the static cut Margaret off making Charlotte sigh.

"Thank god."

"No! Runner five get up and get back to moving! Try to reestablish the signal!" Janine said deserately.

"Alright." Charlotte puts on the pack and carries the transmitter around as Janine seemed to be muttering to herself.

"It's a stupid idea of course it is, couldn't possibly turn The Handmaid's Tale into the Zombie's Tale, it'd lose all it's feminit message unless the zombie was a woman." Janine muttered to herself.

"Janine maybe if you calm down for a moment and breath you will feel better." Charlotte suggested.

"Maybe..." Janine said softly as the static cleared up again.

"Uh, I believe we were suppoused to be exchanging information? Do you have any information to exchange? Anything at all that, uh, comes to mind? Anything that's really happened?" Margaret asked softly.

"Oh, uh... yes!" Janine rustles the papers quickly. "I have my notes here somewhere." She groans. "Honestly,I'm worse than Mr. Yao. I never understood befor ehow he could be like this."

"You said it I didn't." Charlotte said standing in the new spot.

"We were told you had notes on zombie movement patterns. Do you have anything like that?" Margaret asked.

"I have... oh, yes! We've noted that zombies move in straight lines towards their prey, and can't differentiate bettween several different prey sources. So, if you move at the same speed away from them in opposite directions-" Janine explained.

"They'll move straight ahead, yes! And we have some useful intel you may be abel to deploy over there. We've discovered that the zombies respond very strongly to some Canadian pop music. They like Justin Bieber, but they can't stand Celine Dion." Margaret said seriously.

'No amounting for taste.' Charlotte thought to herself.

"That's very useful, yes! We've suspected that there was an audio trigger-" Janine started before Margaret interrupted.

"In order to keep the zombies away from the CN tower, we have to continually play 'My Heart Will Go On' from speakers mounted outside. I think it's sent me a bit crackers. But, as the Arrogant Worms say in their hit song, 'Canada's Really Big'." Margaret said making Charlotte blink confused.

She did seem a bit nutter but then again she had never met Margaret Atwood so for all she knew that was how she was.

"Um... yes!" Janine said as static started to appear again.

"We now have a weather front coming in from the northeast, and some zombies coming from the-" The static got bad for a moment before Margaret came back. "They're carrying shopping bags. Maybe they aren't zombies. They might be survivors of an Everything Must Go sale. No, no, zombies. That isn't lipstick."

"Wait! I wanted to ask you if you're working on another novel?" Janine asked hopefully.

"A novel, now? You must be mad. Have you been listening to 'My Heart Will Go On'? for the antidote, try: 'Canada's Really Big'." Suddenly Margaret's voice disappeared.

"Miss Atwood? Miss Atwood! Are you there?" Janine asked only to be answered with silence. Janine sighs heavily. "Well... I suppose you should come on home now."

Charlotte picked up the transmitter and pack and started heading back towards Abel. "It wasn't so bad Janine." She said running down the path.

The sound of a door opening is heard as Sam steps in seeming to be in a better mood. "Janine! Janine, Janine, Janine. How was your top secret mission?"

Janine was quiet for a moment. "You were listening, weren't you?"

"I... uh, should I have been listening?"

"We got through to Canada. The radio operator was Margaret Atwood." Janine said as Sam took a seat.

"Hey! Well, that's amazing! I loved Oryx and Crake!" Sam said enthusiasticly.

"Me, too." Janine said as Charlotte came into Abel and dropped off the pack.

"Did you have a good conversation?" Sam asked as they walked towards the mess hall where some of the township was fixing the broken walls.

"Not really. I made a joke about Mad Adam." Janine said lowering her head.

"Well, that's okay. You showed her you'd read some of her novels, right?" Sam asked.

"It was a really bad joke." Janine replied.

"I didn't think it was too bad." Charlotte said.

"Yea it can't have been that bad." Sam said as they picked up trays and started to take the small amount of food they still had.

"It was! It was worse than 'that bad'." Janine whined as she sat down at the table.

The three of them began eating before Sam spoke up again. "I knew someone before the apocalypse who met Snoop Dog on Chat Roulette. True story! All she could find to say was 'uh, hi'."

"That's okay." Janine said sipping her water.

"Over and over and over again, until he disconnected?" Sam added on and for a moment Janine stopped sitting up.

"That's... that's made me feel slightly better." She said.

"I mean, at least you didn't say 'Mad Adam, Mad Zombies, more like'." Sam said before paling when Janine looked at him fast.

"You were listening." She said softly.

"What? No, I wasn't." Sam tried to console as Janine stood up.

"I think I'm going to walk out into a zombie horde now." She said as Charlotte put her hand on her shoulder sitting her down.

Janine looked at Charlotte for a moment before Charlotte smiled. "Hey atleast we know you have your likes as much as your dislikes. Just like everyone else." Janine gave a small smile nodding as she went back to eating.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

< 32 >

Season 1 Beginning

Season 2 Beginning

#zombie #zombies run #zombie run #ZombieRun #zombiesrun #run #runner 5 #runner five #runner5 #runnerfive #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

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eirianerisdar · 8 years ago

Note

I have a question about the story where Obi-Wan is mute and how Ahsoka reacts to that... I think they'd really get along, perhaps Ahsoka would be even better at understanding Obi-Wan than Anakin is.... how does Anakin react to this, and do you maybe have a short snip from when Obi-Wan and Ahsoka meet? *makes puppy eyes* (by the way, I'm anonymous reviewer ErinKenobi2893 from Fanfiction)

Erin! Lovely url you have here - I approve of it greatly. I haven’t really thought all the way ahead to clone wars era yet in The Silent Song universe, but I’d be happy to write you a snippet (an AU of the AU, in a way)

In this AU of TSS, we assume Obi-Wan is still 1) unable to speak and 2) recently elevated to masterhood upon Anakin’s knighting, according to canon.

Silent Laughter

Ahsoka Tano feels the thrum of the repulsors shiver up her new field boots, and quells the shudder before it can travel to her clenched fingers. She is not quite successful.

There is muffled boom as landing struts meet duracrete.

Ahsoka swallows past a throat completely dry and checks herself over. Her boots are shined to perfection, her belt buckled night, her lightsaber clean and oiled at her hip. The weight of the Akul teeth that frame the edge of her montrals carry the pride of her heritage; the new string of silka beads behind her right lekku her hope for the future.

Her hands unclench from beneath her newly-requisitioned bracers.

The transport has landed, and she is one durasteel wall away from Christophsis, war, apprenticeship, and a commission as Commander.

In the short moment before the ramp opens, she straightens her spine and cocks her head to a point just between polite deference and confidence. She is Ahsoka Tano, and she will soon be Anakin Skywalker’s padawan. From the stories whispered between the Initiate dorms, he will most likely appreciate a little…attitude.

The thought makes her smile, ever-so-slightly.

The ramp thuds onto cracked duracrete. The light of Christophsis’s sun spills into the dim hold, and Ahsoka has automatically descended halfway down the ridged metal before she fully registers the two figures waiting below.

One stands confident and cocksure, his robes a dark symphony of black and crimson, a scar skirting the edge of his right eye - eyes the colour of fire beneath earthy soil. The other, slightly shorter than the other, older, in flowing cream robes and white bracers to match, a curl about his lips that suggests a wealth of hidden humour, and eyes the deep, still blue of a silent sea.

Anakin Skywalker, and-

And?

Ahsoka glimpses the sheet of flimsy tucked into the older Jedi’s belt.

Oh.

Her heart skips a little at the realisation that she stands before two legends.

Anakin Skywalker may be the Chosen One, but Obi-Wan Kenobi - Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Silent Jedi. The master negotiator who does not speak; the Jedi that led a generation of young apprentices to wisdom and glory.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Jedi. And he has earned that title without speaking a single word.

I should have known it was Master Kenobi; I was sent here to bring a message to both masters.

Both senior Jedi seem surprised at Ahsoka’s arrival, though they certainly show it in different ways. Master Kenobi’s eyebrows raise just a fraction but relax almost immediately, as though he registers the surprise but accepts it, waiting calmly for an explanation. Master Skywalker’s scar tightens, though, as he frowns down at her from an admittedly very high height.

“And who are you supposed to be?” he says bluntly, a broad, Outer-rim accent stretching his words.

Ahsoka almost starts. He sounds far younger than she had supposed.

Master Kenobi tilts his head slightly at this, and though Master Skywalker cannot possibly see the motion from where he stands, he flicks his gaze towards his former Master, a brief look of chagrin flashing over his features.

“I’m Ahsoka?” Ahsoka replies, deciding brashness is best met with confidence. “Master Yoda sent me to tell the both of you that you need to return to the Temple. There’s an emergency.”

Master Kenobi folds his arms thoughtfully as Master Skywalker explains - just as blunt as before and slightly too heatedly, in Ahsoka’s opinion - exactly how pinned down the 501st and 212th are, and the utter mess that is both communications and Christophsis in general.

She replies as well as she can and offers to route a comm back to Coruscant through the orbiting cruiser. Master Kenobi’s smile becomes a little less faint at this, as though he sees her move and approves.

One cut-off holoconference to the Temple later - Ahsoka had been quietly impressed at the speed with which Master Kenobi typed replies to Master Yoda’s questions - she finds herself once again facing two inquisitive Jedi.

“Well, we’ll have to hold out a little longer,” Master Skywalker - no, Anakin, because Master Skywalker just doesn’t seem to suit him - says, without any real heat.

Master Kenobi gives his head a little shake, pulling a stylus out from under his left bracer and penning a few quick lines across the flimsy at his belt. To Ahsoka’s astonishment, he extends the flimsy to her. She bows automatically over it as she takes it, but then a gloved hand is on her shoulder, straightening her.

He smiles and shakes his head at her confusion, as if to say: Forgo the ceremony.

Ahsoka opens the flimsy, and is struck with the smooth elegance of the script.

My apologies, young one. I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am your new master.

She blinks. What? “I’m Ahsoka Tano,” she replies as she hands back the flimsy, barely remembering not to bow - The flick of Master Kenobi’s eyebrow says the motion does not go unnoticed - but she hurries on to avoid confusion. “I’m at your service, Master Kenobi, but I’m afraid I’ve actually been assigned to Master Skywalker.”

The look on Anakin’s face is priceless.

If there is any surprise in Master Kenobi’s eyes, it is soon replaced by mischief. His beard does not quite hide his delight.

“What? Nonononono,” Anakin splutters. It would appear shock galvanises him into motion; he circles around behind Obi-Wan and back to the opposite side, as though he is a small planetoid that escaped orbit, but suddenly decided it was not that good of an idea and so returned to its proper tether.

Ahsoka’s eyes widen. Huh. So Master Kenobi is Obi-Wan to her now? Maybe Anakin’s personality is rubbing off on her already.

Obi-Wan runs a hand over his beard as the faint crowsfeet at the edges of his eyes crinkle. Ahsoka is sure he is hiding a grin.

Anakin is still rambling. “There must be some sort of mistake. He’s the one who wanted a padawan!” The latter is said as he points one black-gloved finger at his former master.

Obi-Wan gestures mildly back at him, unaffected.

“Hey, Obi-Wan, you can’t do this!”

Obi-Wan looks pointedly at Ahsoka.

She folds her arms and narrows her eyes at Anakin. “Master Yoda was very specific. I’m assigned to Anakin Skywalker, and he is to supervise my Jedi training.” There. You can’t send me back, now.

Amusement leaks over the edges of Obi-Wan’s shields. If he is as formidable with shielding as he is with a lightsaber, Ahsoka is sure that inside, he is doing the Jedi-Master-equivalent of howling with laughter.

-That is to say, he pats a wide-eyed Anakin on the shoulder in a gesture of mock comfort, gives Ahsoka’s back a firm push in her new master’s direction, and then swaggers - there is no other word for it - over to where two gold-striped troopers are conversing quietly.

Ahsoka notices the one with command markings on his armour seems to know the Jedi is approaching even though he faces the complete opposite direction.

A voice sounds above her head. “You don’t see how he communicates with his troops.”

“No, I don’t,” she admits, turning back to where Anakin seems to have mostly calmed down.

“He holds all of the 212th Attack Battalion in his mind. At once.” Anakin turns and begins to walk, tracing a path through the clutter and debris.

“What?” Ahsoka has to raise her voice above the shouts and orders of the troopers around them.

“Technically he’s a High Jedi General,” Anakin says. “That means he’s in charge of a Systems Army - one of ten really big chunks of the GAR - but he personally commands the 212th. He gives general orders on text through HUDs, but on the ground he gives…impressions and images through his mental link with them. It’s usually enough for them to get his commands.”

Ahsoka’s jaw drops. “But that’s…”

“Close to six hundred minds, yes.” Anakin makes this statement without any particular awe in his voice, as though this is not unexpected of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

A slight niggling at the back of Ahsoka’s mind suggests that perhaps her suspicion is right. Obi-Wan Kenobi is…something. Something different.

“We’ll sort this out later,” Anakin mutters.

“Sorry, sort out what?” Ahsoka asks, jarred out of her reverie.

Anakin pulls up short, looking back at her. “The…apprenticeship thing.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what to say to that.

Anakin raises one hand to scratch embarrassedly at his mop of brown hair. “Uh, it’s not that we’re going to send you back, it’s just-” he pauses. “Let’s see how this works out?”

Ahsoka looks up at him and sees a young man Knighted early because of war, just as she herself is now sent to the field earlier than any previous generation, simply because a commander is needed in battle. So different to Obi-Wan’s steady, wise humour, obvious and constant even in the ten minutes she has interacted with him.

She can see why Anakin needs a padawan. But she can also see that he will not teach her alone.

“Okay,” she says, simply.

Anakin smiles, and it is a flash of white teeth in a confident face. “Come on, then. I’ve got to introduce you to Rex.”

@doctorwithafryingpan I hope that this is what you wanted! I’ve wanted to write tcw fanfic for a long while. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed writing this, though if the way Obi-Wan communciated with his men continued on to Order 66, we may have…extra angst. O_O

If anyone wants to read more of my work, you can find my stories on fanfiction.net and my Masterlist. Do reblog if you like!

#star wars the clone wars #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #the clone wars #tcw #my post #fanfic #replies #kenobi #anakin #ahsoka #the silent song #tss

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ask-de-writer · 7 years ago

Text

CAPTURED BY THE CLANS : Science Fiction : Part 11

CAPTURED BY THE CLANS

De Writer

written, 2006

18231 words

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan activity, art, fan fiction, music, cosplay, role play, or any other fan activity is actively encouraged!

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New to the story? Part 1 is here

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A door marked Authorized Personnel Only opened and a person with a brindled gray mane joined the conversation. “Hello, K’ress! Hi, M’rel! So, this is your new wife!” She put her hands on T’cass’ shoulders in greeting. “T’cass, isn’t it? I hear that you did remarkable work on the Strategy Board! My sister filled me in about your slave, Lezon! That is so romantic! She saved your life and then you saved hers!” Making a formal bow to Lezon, she said, “Your gallantry in action makes you most welcome, Warrior!”

Turning to the maitre de, who was now trying to sink through the floor in embarrassment, she called out, “G’ruffin! Get us the best table in the house! My little sister and I are celebrating her Triad!”

It was a long cheerful night. Lezon had never had crunchy flippers before and live snacks in general were something of a novelty. Imperial fleet warships didn’t carry luxuries like that.

The next morning T’cass woke in a happy fur pile. A hand, M’rel’s she thought, grabbed her and pulled her back before she could extricate herself. It was a lively morning altogether.

By the time that they got up, they found the front door of the cave-den open. Lezon wasn’t visible.

K’ress exclaimed, “I thought that you said that we could trust her!”

T’cass refused to be excited by the discovery. “We can. She left the door open, so she’s not far.” She put her head out and located Lezon almost instantly. She was sitting in the central garden of the house, engaged in a mediation.

Lezon noticed T’cass as well, and flowed to her feet. In the process, T’cass noticed, Lezon passed through three unarmed combat positions and ended in a ready but non-challenging stance.

T’cass promptly stepped out, settling into a classic V’naris guard. Lezon’s eyes lighted up and she bowed acceptance. The two circled, while M’rel and K’ress watched. The combat was over in seconds. Lezon was helping T’cass up to her feet and explaining the fine points of the move without any condescension. One professional to another.

K’ress promptly told M’rel, “I told you that they needed a psychiatric evaluation. Throwing each other across the house like that, first thing in the morning, before breakfast! Not sane!”

M’rel nodded. “Look at them. Big kits gone pro. I think that’s the first delighted smile I’ve seen on T’cass.”

K’ress said cheerfully, “Right. And she’s the one who got tossed into orbit. Like I said, nuts!”

M’rel replied softly, “I wish that we understood her as well as Lezon seems to.”

K’ress ruffled M’rel’s mane just behind the ears and said, “You’ve spoiled the argument, Love. You got me to thinking.”

They spent the morning looking over Lezon’s research list. Even with the end of a war, it was depressingly small. Less than a hundred appeared to be usable choices. One was a true antique.

M’rel looked at K’ress and remarked, “Perhaps you were right about that psychiatric evaluation.”

T’cass asked, “How can you get a refit if no yard on the planet will do it?”

Skeptically, M’rel asked, “Why would it forgo the profit? Friendship?”

“Partly,” Lezon grinned, “and partly sense of humor.”

“When we could talk again, the Feront told me that the ‘needs of the Planetary Government’ were now firmly placed on its priority list. Just below mine.”

“Besides, because it’s such an antique, it’s dirt cheap. You should get out of the refit to Clan Family Class B Freight with a total cost of Clan Cr 250,000.”

The others began to nod in understanding. “We could at least go and look at it,” they agreed.

The salesperson nearly choked. “You mean to actually fly this thing? With customers?”

TO BE CONTINUED

<== PREVIOUS NEXT ==>

Return to SCIENCE FICTION

note: the story is organized differently in the Science Fiction Section, being broken into longer parts than I am using here.

Return to the MASTER STORY INDEX

#CAPTURED BY THE CLANS #Science Fiction #Written by De Writer #Part 11

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